#to the sociopaths who love them yet find them pathetic

[antigonenikk]

its literally them your honor

[the-labyrinth-of-me]

You know, the thing about Trevor’s and Michael’s relationship and outlook on teaming up again is this: Trevor entered Michael’s mansion and was silent enough not to be noticed by anyone. He most likely heard Michael and Jimmy insult each other and argue about the weed. He heard them being dysfunctional. He saw Michael for what he was – miserable depressed washed-up retiree living off past glory. When his name meant something. And Trevor found himself asking: this is what you betrayed me for? This is what got you to get out of the game? Is sitting by his pool and daydrinking the ultimate goal for a criminal? Michael was naive. He thought that if they cut ties with North Yankton and old acquaintances, moved to the Sun State, away from the snow, away from any possible danger, they’d be happy. He always seeks the easiest solution and never wants to work for change. He tells himself he did everything he could and it wasn’t his fault. Then he meets Trevor, and Trevor sees right through him. It doesn’t take long for him to realise that Michael doesn’t fit into Vinewood. He knows Michael. But Michael doesn’t want to hear it. Michael wants to escape his trailer trash past so badly that he crafts a personality filled with traits that don’t represent him, just to fit in. Because he has to fit in, he has to enjoy his new life, otherwise it would have all been for nothing, the betrayal, the deal, everything. But he doesn’t and he doesn’t want to be what he thinks he needs to be. It doesn’t make him happy. He misses being a big number and the adreline during and after a job, he misses seeing his name on the evening news. But the mansion and the jacuzzi and the daytime drinking is all he got now.

And Trevor kind of, sort of envies and hates him for it. Not that Trevor secretly wants to live like Michael, heaven forbid. That’s not his style. But Trevor knows what Michael thinks – that this way of living means, or should mean, stability. Home. Love. Having made something out of oneself, especially after his career at the air force didn't work out the way he planned. A life without much to worry about, on the surface. Being trailer trash himself, it’s this what Trevor craves, the change of a fresh start with people who love him. Michael doesn’t and didn’t take that chance and Trevor hates him for it. But he also pities him. And seeing him like that makes him sad. His old running buddy, having more than to wish for yet still he’s miserable. Michael’s life should be endgame for each criminal, a way of telling the world that he made it, but in fact, Michael killed himself along with Brad, euphemistically spoken. He really did kill Michael Townley.

But does Michael want to trade with Trevor, who seems to be indefinitely more satisfied with his life than him? God forbid, no. Whenever Michael sees Trevor, his old friend is a constant reminder of what could have become of Michael, if he didn’t quit . The drugs, the insanity, everything. Trevor is AU Michael Townley who kept robbing his way through America. Trevor is what happens with someone who didn’t quit when it was the right thing to do, at least to Michael. Of course, things with Trevor are way more complicated, but Michael doesn’t see it like that. For him, Trevor is proto trailer trash. The living embodiment of it. A reminder and a telltale sign that his decision still was right. That he never wants to get back to that. Back in the life. Trevor would drag him back down and then they would have Ludendorff, 2004 all over again. He can’t go back. As much as he misses Trevor, but he can’t. Again, it would have all been for nothing then. Trevor calls him out on trying to fit into an environment he isn’t made for, and of course he’s right, Michael still is trailer trash deep down, with his issues and sociopathic behaviour and Michael does know how the world really works, as he says as much. He tries to fit in with people he used to rob, which Trevor finds pathetic, but it’s the decisions Michael made who led him to this. Decisions he regrets how, but decisions nonetheless.

Michael always wanted this. Being looked up upon and admired and envied and all. Michael with the big house and the expensive car and the beautiful wife, all that. He wanted to live the American dream. Trevor on the other hand is more of a simple man. He just wants someone to love him and where that is under which circumstance, he doesn’t care. He learned to be happy with the little things he has. His life is a constant series of shit and horrible events, he learned to lower down his standards a lot. He’s not in for the biggest goal anymore, that shit lies long in the past. He just craves for that one thing that is practically around and available everywhere – love. Him and Michael both. A love that they find in each other, as different as they are. But neither of them sees it or is satisfied with it. It keeps them alive and running, sometimes side by side, sometimes against each other, but still together, somehow.

[filipinosamflynn]

MORNING STAR TIER LIST + THOUGHTS

I finished the whole bloodydamn series! Yippee! Surprised how relatively fast I sped through Golden Son & Morning Star, I never read books that quickly. As per usual, I will word vomit my thoughts at random below the cut (where obvious spoilers are abound), but I really enjoyed it! My ranking of the original trilogy is 1->3->2.

Characters: 10/10, nobody major felt weak in here, unlike the previous books where I would point out a specific character as "I pray to god this is just set up and not all they're going to do for the rest of the series." The only ones I found lacking were Ash Lord, Romulus & Harmony, but it's painfully obvious they still have future stories to explore.

Personal Enjoyment: 8/10, didn't feel as exciting as Golden Son, but don't discount it just because of that. If I read a fucking book until 2AM and it ISN'T a school required reading, then I enjoyed it.

Plot: 10/10, a great sendoff to the original trilogy while leaving things still unfinished for the rest of the series.

Overall Rating: 9/10, damn good book. Pierce Brown's writing is damn good (but that was obvious).

I think I'll start with the start. We come back from Darrow suffering™️ and see him all feral in chains, and that was uhhhhhh

After Darrow serves cunt in jail, we see Jackal and god damn is he AMAZING in this book. So worth the anticipation for him to actually do shit because every time he shows up, I'm having fun. He's just such this evil, sociopathic bitch and I love him. He's also a bit pathetic, which instantly shoots him high on the tier list for that alone. I love genuinely terrifying villains who are having fun in their roles, but are also just bitch ass hoes at the end of the day. He gets shit done, and he's so fucking scary, the ending with the nukes???? HELL YEAH THATS WHAT I WANTED FROM THIS GUY!!!

Onto another villain I perceived as disappointing throughout the series, Antonia! She redeemed herself in my eyes. She just needed a few scenes to be a piece of shit, and she did it and all of them were great. Thistle's death made me say out loud, "FINALLY!" Then her escape from prison? Wow, okayyyy slay.

Cassius was there in prison too, and damn he's phenomenal in this book. This man is so complex and so torn apart, I had such high excitement every time Cassius showed up because I had no clue what could potentially happen. I forgotten how much I loved Cassius's and Darrow's dynamic from book 1. His ending was SUCH a big twist, I had no clue what to expect as things went along. I am so glad he got his shit sort of together and realized "Hey! Bigotry bad!" I did find it hilarious how they call each other brothers but Victra's over here in the corner shipping them and I think that's iconic but also

Victra unfortunately hasn't won me over yet, but I think she's cool. Her and Sevro randomly getting married was iconic.

OH AND SEVRO this little man is just going through everything. My man remembered the series he was in and started to have some sad moments, which was great to see. I love this scamp, but on account of everything that happened to him, he definitely feels a lot less fun to see, but him randomly shitting his pants is great. I was surprised by how in depth we got with him and how he acts being forced to take a leadership position: he sucks at it. He's too chaotic like a rampaging but chaotic teenager and I think it's great! His fakeout death just... AAAAAAAAA- thank god it was a fake out death ! 😃 Anyways, Sevro shifting himself to be more red-like was a great change, I highly appreciated this bit.

Without any proper transitions, Roque! I thought he was a nifty voice for Darrow, but once he started being evil I found him pretty cool. He's sort of like the anti-Cassius in some sense where Darrow fucked up in maintaining this friendship and so you feel bad for him :( Still, the parade shit was uncalled for, and I got spoiled he commits self unalive, but that sounds oddly poetic of him to go out like that. His ending satisfied me :)

Mustang put me on edge the whole way through. I sort of expected Darrow and Mustang to sort things out and kiss at the end, but that was a bit of a rollercoaster to get here 😭 She is awesome, and I think she is at her best in this book. Her dynamics with everybody is awesome, I love her. I do fear book 4 since she became the new dictator and this is still a series and more books after this soooooo MUSTANG BETTER NOT ACCIDENTALLY FUCK SHIT UP FOR EVERYONE ELSE 😃 she already said "bloodydamn" in this book, so if she betrays darrow in book 4 (where all shit starts to go down apparently) then i will feel horribly sad

Best for last is Darrow. I love this man, he is such a compelling character. This is the best we see of him since it feels like he is running at full capacity, on account that he no longer has to act like a bitch ass gold and fully embraces being Red, the aspect that I wanted to see out of him in the first place. He can finally say "bloodydamn!" Yay! :D The whole series feels like it was building up towards building Darrow into this incarnation of himself, and I couldn't be happier. The rebellion is at full swing, so that means Reaper has got to be at full swing too.

Now that we're fully engrossed within the rebellion now, I am so thankful we got some non-golds on the team. Orion, Ragnar, and Holiday come to mind. Orion is just chill, I love her, and especially her disposition compared to other blues (BUT SHE NEVER GOT HER FUCKING PARROT). Ragnar is awesomely badass, and I will miss flipping the page and seeing lines of text in bold and thinking to myself "oh my god ragnar is here." Holiday shows up, and she's cool, I guess. I'm assuming she's only being set up here or something, BUT I find it so funny that HER of all characters gets the first f-bomb in the series. It's so random, but I guess it was to set the tone as "this book is more serious than the past ones, be prepared 😉." Eitherway, that's iconic behavior.

Characters I wanted to talk about are done. In the book we are finally in the full war of the rising, things definitely ramped up quite a bit from the harry potter hunger games of book 1. The sci-fi shit is in full display, and it's super cool. I do have a preference for the hand to hand combat scenes over the ship combat scenes. I had difficulty tracking what was happening sometimes in the ship battles due to the terminology. It still felt super frantic and adrenaline pumping, fun stuff. Walking around with lowcolors and interacting with them casually was what I wanted, I was afraid the book would focus extremely heavily on golds based on books 1 & 2. The scenes with Darrow and his family as such sweet comforts, I could do with some more fluff considering the suffering I am scared for in Iron Gold and especially Dark Age.

Overall, the book was excellent! I loved it, and I am fully endeared to the series.

Now here comes the big leap: Moving onto Iron Gold. I have been warned that Iron Gold onwards is unrelentingly angsty, everything I was so averted away from in Book 1, only people say it's somehow worse. So because of that... I am most likely going to take a break from reading everything else until I feel myself emotionally prepared. If book 1 drained me despite being the weakest in the series, I am terrified for what the future holds. When my college relents and I finish Six of Crows, then I will see Iron Gold. The rebellion still isn't over. Break the chains!

Sooo yeah! Had fun with it all! I'm glad I got back into reading thanks to this series. It's surprisingly easy to pick up once you get appropriate content warnings, and after book 1, you really sink your teeth into it and can't stop reading. Anyways, below are a few shitpost thoughts I had on the book:

• Darrow really has a damn grip on Pax, first he named a ship after him, and then their son? That's iconic, Pax's legacy of cuntiness deserves to live on 💅✨️

• I was also surprised that Virginia was the one to give birth and not Darrow.

• Mickey Mouse didn't show up :(

• Cassius's, Sevro's and Darrow's periods probably synced

• The howlers touched tips together at least once

• All of the Xenoblade Chronicles casts would fit right into this world and vice versa

• I theorize that Lysander is actually the purple guy

[cosmicjoke]

Ah, chapters 113 & 114 of AoT, and I’ve only got one thing to say.

Zeke, am I supposed to be feel sorry for the bitch?  Well I DON’T.

No, seriously, fuck this guuuuuuuuy, I know I keep saying it again and again, but God damn, if these two chapters didn’t just solidify my hatred for the bastard.

First of all, he is just... the most whiny, delusional, self-pitying pathetic loser, just... he really is.  I feel like a character in a Peanuts comic strip every time he opens his mouth.  All I hear is “whaa, whaa, whaa”.  And his delusions of grandeur would almost be funny if they weren’t so pathetic.  

Here’s the thing, alright, and I’m sorry if I’m going to offend any Zeke fans with what I’m about to say, but too bad, I guess.  

Everything out of this shitheads mouth is a lie.  And just because he’s convinced himself of his own bullshit doesn’t make the lies coming out of his mouth any more true.

He turns Levi’s fellow soldiers into Titans.  He does this without remorse.  Don’t try to tell me Zeke felt bad about it.  He didn’t.  You know how I know he didn’t?  Because in his private moments in the immediate aftermath, he mocks Levi over having done it, gloating about his supposed master plan of using Levi’s compassion against him and utilizing it to ensure Levi’s own demise.  Zeke’s entire attitude here is sickeningly unbothered, unburdened, uncaring, and smug in the EXTREME.  He mocks Levi’s compassion, literally makes fun of it and lambasts it as a pathetic sign of weakness when he says “I know you’re a caring leader.  Your soldiers haven’t done anything wrong.  They’ve just grown a little bigger.  You wouldn’t, say, slice them to pieces over that, would you?”.  This is Zeke making fun of the fact, finding AMUSEMENT in the fact that he’s just murdered 30 people who have never done a single thing to him, and reveling in what he thinks is a victory that will lead to Levi’s own death, reveling in having taken advantage of and weaponizing a better man’s kindness and compassion.  Zeke is ENJOYING this moment.  Just like he enjoyed killing all those soldiers in Shinganshina.  And then, the kicker, and this is a particular point about Zeke that just makes me absolutely sick, he pretends to himself as if he didn’t want to do it.  He PLAYS at his own regret, saying, “I didn’t want do this either,” and yet in the very next breath, continues to treat what he’s done with grotesque flippancy, saying “Still, how sad... There wasn’t even a battle or skirmish.”  Gloating over how easily he’s bested Levi and his men, before going on to sink further into his insane delusions of grandeur, blaming their inability to trust one another on Levi’s inability to “understand”.  I’m sorry, Zeke, but no.  You didn’t even TRY to help Levi understand, too wrapped up in your own egotistical god-complex to consider it a possibility.  ‘Oh, only I could possibly understand, along with Eren, the great task we two special beings have been burdened with.  He makes assumptions about Levi’s life, about the kinds of things he’s seen and experienced, and convinces himself that they couldn’t be anything like what Zeke has (which, hilariously, is all wrong, since out of everyone, Levi knows better than anyone else in the SC what it’s like to be treated as a second class citizen).  Zeke just assumes Levi couldn’t possibly ever grasp the complexities of the outside world, and so that’s why Zeke didn’t even bother trying to talk to him.  Blah, blah, blah.  No, Zeke, you didn’t share your stupid ass plan because you wanted to continue to feel special, like you’re the chosen one who gets to decide the fate of an entire race of people.  The most hilarious part of this entire sequence is when Zeke is thinking Levi couldn’t ever understand the concept of all the world’s militaries bearing down on Paradis at once, and what that means, couldn’t grasp the urgency of the situation, as if ZEKE HIMSELF isn’t completely fucking responsible for that situation in the first place.  Zeke literally engineered it.  He created the problem, and now wants to position himself as the savior.  He’s just such a loser man.  The God damned definition.  

And as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when it turns out Zeke’s plan to take Levi out failed miserably, and Levi comes after his sorry ass like a bat out of hell, Zeke continues to mock Levi, to laugh at what Levi’s just had to do in order to survive and pursue Zeke.  He says “Where’d your adorable little men go!?  Don’t tell me you killed them all!  The poor things!”.  Are you fucking serious?  Zeke’s behavior here is one of the most sickening things in the entire story, bar none.  The way he laughs at Levi here for having to cut down 30 of his friends and comrades, the absolute display of sociopathic glee and disregard for the severe, horrific trauma he’s just caused this man, is honestly shocking.  Man, I’m sorry, but anyone who sympathizes with Zeke over Levi after this display maybe needs to reevaluate their moral compass, because it’s damned broken.  And just as an aside, Zeke’s cowardly fear of Levi is also pretty damned funny.  He’s just such a bitch./

We go from this perverse display of psychopathic megalomania into Zeke’s backstory, and again, I’m sorry if I’m gonna offend any Zeke fans here, but to all of that, I ask, so effing what?  Oh, boohoo, Zeke’s mommy and daddy didn’t shower him with praise or spend any time playing catch with him, and somehow, I guess, this is meant to excuse his attempts later in life to commit mass genocide.  Poor, poor Zeke.  Yes, his childhood was sad, he experienced neglect from his parents for two whole years, was used by them as a pawn for their idiotic plans, and ended up disappointing his father when it turned out he had no real talent.  And again I ask, so what?  This sort of experience isn’t exactly what one would call unique, or even extreme.  There are countless children in the world who go through the exact same thing in various forms.  Parents who put too much pressure on their kids to succeed, parents who try living vicariously through their children, parents who make their disappointment known and even punish their children for failing to live up to their expectations (something Zeke’s parents never did, by the way).  The point is, this isn’t even what one would classify as extreme hardship.  It’s a sad story of a child being neglected and not receiving enough love from his parents.  This isn’t to undermine the very real pain one experiences from those things.  Not at all.  That pain is real and legitimate.  But it’s also fairly common and pedestrian, as far as childhood trauma is concerned, and it doesn’t even remotely begin to justify the extreme lengths of megalomaniacal, sociopathic, genocidal tendencies he later displays.  Also, Zeke also had his grandparents, who did love him and spent lots of time with him.  He had Mr. Ksaver, who played with him and acted as a mentor to him.  It wasn’t like Zeke had no one and grew up with zero connections.  That’s BS.  

Levi calls this bitch on his shit later in chapter 114, as Zeke’s muttering away in his delusions about how he’s “saving everyone”.  He asks Zeke “That was your plan?  Mercy killings?”.  Levi’s asking Zeke here who the hell gave him the right to decide who lives and who dies?  Who gave him the right to decide who’s life is WORTH living?  When Levi says him getting to die by being eaten by a Titan is pretty merciful, considering he stole the lives of so many of his comrades, Zeke’s reply speaks volumes about just how warped and demented his thinking is, when he says “I stole nothing.  I... saved them.  Them and the children they would have... I saved them all... from this cruel world.”.  He’s literally justifying murdering countless people by trying to redefine that murder as “saving” them.  It’s not murder because it saved them from ever having to suffer again!  He’s absolving himself here of his sins by casting his actions in not just a favorable light, but trying to sell them as heroic and admirable.  He takes no, actual responsibility for what he’s done.  He removes himself from that responsibility by pretending he was doing a good thing, an honorable, noble thing, by murdering a whole bunch of people who’d never done jack shit to him.  Yippee for Zeke, I guess.  He’s the very definition of an ego-maniac, of someone suffering from a messiah complex.  He’s insane, and morally depraved.  The very fact that he’s the one who comes up with the idea of eradicating the Eldian race by rendering them infertile is only further proof of this.  What teenager comes up with a plan to exterminate an entire race of people and thinks it’s a good idea?

Right before he blows himself and Levi up, he screams “I’m hope you’re watching, Mr. Ksaver!”.  He’s indulging in his own, fanciful notions of himself as the “chosen one”, as a unique person who alone is capable of delivering humanity to salvation.  He’s showing off, asking Mr. Ksaver to watch him as he “saves the world”, because all he cares about, really, is making himself feel special, of fulfilling what he’s deluded himself into believing is his destiny, his right to decide the fate of the world. 

And then he almost kills Levi in the process.

I swear, I wish Levi had just chopped his shitty head off right then and there.  No one can blame Levi for chopping the bastards legs up like he did, for being so angry.  It wasn’t just that Zeke had killed so many of his fellow soldiers by turning them into Titans, or tried to kill Levi by turning them into Titans, it’s also how Zeke laughed about it, and laughed at the pain he’d caused Levi, treating all of it as if it was worth nothing, and then having the unmitigated gall to cast himself as the hero bestowing his benevolent mercy on all.  Give me a fucking break.

Fuck you Zeke.  I hope you rot in hell, you dumb shit.  

Also, fuck you to Floch too.  I hate that bastard almost as much.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw​ @commonintrest​ @emmojoy​ @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​​

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever  since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones. 

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant.  “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

Feedback is always appreciated!

[athenamikaelson]

I like your writing a lot it’s all super creative and you write dean very well! I was hoping I could request a Dean x reader where after Sam went to hell you moved into the Same town as Lisa and dean. You continued to be close with him and it makes Lisa uncomfortable and basically she tells the reader she has to leave if she wants dean to move on from his past life.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request-I like your writing a lot. It's all super creative and you write dean very well! I was hoping I could request a Dean x reader where after Sam went to hell you moved into the Same town as Lisa and dean. You continued to be close with him and it makes Lisa uncomfortable and basically she tells the reader she has to leave if she wants Dean to move on from his past life.

Warnings- Alcohol, Lisa being a b*tch, angst

Word Count- 1520

“SAM!!!!” Dean’s cries are heard over my own as I hold Bobby’s lifeless body to my own. Tears streaming down my face. I look up to see the ground close up and Sam gone along with the gaping hole. My eyes divert to Dean as he falls to his knees, a lifeless look on his face. Oh no.

2 months later…

“Ben no that’s not how you hold a wrench. Didn’t your father teach you this already?” I stopped talking as soon as I heard what I said. Ben looks up at me with a confused glare.

“I’ve never had a dad.” I quickly pat him on the back and walk off not trying to get yelled at by Lisa again by my so called, “sociopathic tendencies.” It’s not my fault I don’t understand children.

I quickly made my way over to Dean who was laying under his never family car that he bought after putting the Impala in storage. 

“You and the kid become friends yet?” Dean’s gruff voice calls out under the small van. A fucking van. Never in a thousand years would I have ever thought I’d see the Dean Winchester drive a minivan with his own free will. But, Lisa wanted a van so they got a van.

“Nope. Doubt it’ll happen. Kids as bland as your cooking.” I take a beer from the cooler next to the toolbox. Dean slides out from under the van and gives me a disapproving look. He stands and takes the beer away from my lips and takes it for himself. 

“Hey! What the hell man. That was mine.” He rolls his eyes as he uses a rag to wipe his hands. Veins prominent as he stretches his fingers out. Oh how I’d love to-

“Kid you listening.” Dean knocks me out of my gross fantasizing.

“Stop calling me that. I’m only 3 years younger than you. The same as Lisa, and I don’t see you calling her that.” 

“Calling me what?” And in comes the Devil. Oops. Sorry Sammy. 

Lisa walks through the garage door and beams at Dean. The smile falters for a moment when she sees me. Dean wraps his arm around her waist bringing her in so he can place a kiss to his head. They stay like that. Wrapping each other in each other’s normality. I stand up not wanting to watch this for another moment longer. 

“Well, um. I’m going to head home. Long day and whatever.” I start to walk off. Making it another foot before Dean calls out behind me.

“Y/n, you good?” He has a questioning look on his face. No Dean I’m not. The man I’m in love with his wrapping his entire essence around a she-demon.

“Ya. I’m fine. Bye Deany,” I look over to see Lisa glaring at me, Dean is obviously oblivious, “Lisa.” 

Dean looks down at her, which makes her quickly plaster a fake smile on her lips and beam at me. 

“Night Y/n. See you later!” Ya if I don’t send you down to be bunk buddies with Sammy first.

5 Hours later. 

A rerun of The Golden Girls as I sip my beer, sleep not finding me tonight so I decide that alcohol will fix said problem. My head full of thoughts from the horrid day when Sammy left us. Dean’s screams never leave my dreams. So here is to another night of Golden Girls.

When I just about to grab another beer a knock sounds at the door. Wondering why Dean would be coming this late I quickly make my way to the door. I obviously don’t expect any of my neighbors because well. Let’s just say I haven’t been as welcoming in the neighborhood as Dean. Much to his complaints. 

“Dean what are you-” Oh her. Lisa smiles back at me. A devilish look in her eyes.

“Hello Y/n. Not Dean by the way. Can I come in?” Without getting an answer she brushes by me and walks in the living room. 

“Ya. Make yourself at home Lisa.” I follow behind and she picks up an empty bottle of beer and gives me a disapproving look.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Y/n. Drinking alone, how sad are you.” Oh God if she wasn’t Dean’s girlfriend I swear to God I’d-

“Well enough of the small talk. I need to address something to you.” Ugh. What now?

“Please Lisa. Make yourself comfortable. Or you know get out of my house?” Sarcasm dripped from my lips.

“Well Y/n you’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like if I wasn’t ever around you or Dean anymore wouldn’t you?” She raises an eyebrow as mine go up in surprise. I go to the object before she stops me.

“Don’t act like it’s a lie. I know you love him. A blind man would be able to tell. And I’m not blind. I mean you really think Dean doesn’t know either? I mean what the hell Y/n. He calls you,” She smirks, “kid. And that’s all you’ll ever be to him. A sad little puppy that follows him everywhere. I mean you followed him to his girlfriend's house after his kid brother died. Do you not see how you’re suffocating him. God Damn, you're pathetic.” I freeze, my fists clenching behind my back. I step a foot forward in anger.

“You bitch!” Lise holds up a hand stopping me from getting in her face. 

“Sweetheart think this out. Fighting Dean’s girlfriend. Come on, even you are smart enough to realize that would be a stupid idea.” I step back. She’s not wrong. 

“Did you just come here to gloat about your relationship Lisa? Because if so you made your point and can let the door smack you on the way out.” Lisa steps forward.

“Y/n that’s not the reason I came. I’m really trying to be a good friend here and give you some much needed advice.” I laugh in her face.

“Oh ya? And what exactly would that be?” Her face dead pans.

“Get the hell out of this town.” My face scrunches at her threat.

“Are you threatening me? In my own house!” She holds up her hands. “No of course not Y/n. Don’t you see it? You’re holding Dean back. Everytime he sees you he thinks of his past life, hunting, Sam. That bad life. It’s holding him back from having what he truly wants. A family. And you’re just a bad reminder of his loss of his past one.” She pats me on my back and leans into my ear.

“If you truly love him, you’ll leave him and let him be happy.”

She tightens her grip for a moment before walking to the door and opens it, about to step out before turning over her shoulder.

“Goodbye Y/n.”

Loading my last bag into the cab of my truck I step back to place the keys of the house into the mailbox for the ease of the realtor. Taking one final look at the overgrown grass that I never cut, the vines wrapping around the white exterior of the house and my last name scrawled horribly into the mailbox I moved to get into my truck.

Good bye apple pie life. I hated every second of you.

Making my way towards Dean and Lisa’s house I passed all of our neighbors houses, all the neighbors I never made the time to interact with because of a moment like this. This life would never truly be mine so why lie to myself.

Pulling up on the side of the street across from Dean’s I get out of the truck and stop in front of the house to prepare myself for what lie I’m going to tell Dean on why I’m leaving. 1. Would be that I have a friend in Montana that needs help on a hunt or 2. I’ve loved him since the moment he laughed at my stupid joke about bikers 4 years ago and if I truly love him I have to let him go so he can be happy. Even if it is with She-Devil. Ok. So definitely going with choice 1. 

I’m brought out of my thoughts by the sound of deep laughter. Dean. 

I look to the dining room window to see Dean wrapping his arms around Lisa, his head thrown back and laughter spilling out from the half opened window. A smile wraps on his face before he wraps his lips around hers. Both pulling away after a second with such love in their eyes. Ben walks into the kitchen rubbing his eyes from sleep and looks at the 2 adults in confusion before Dean grabs him into a hug pulling Lisa along with him. They stand there laughing as if nothing matters in the world. Just them. Like a family. Oh.

Turning my back on him as I make my way to my truck. Tears prick the edges of my eyes as I pull away and make it to the end of the road without turning back.

“Good bye Dean.”

Taglist- @akshi8278

[gray-is-neutral]

Before the Fall

Hey y’all! I posted this on my AO3 acount, but I wanted to post it here too.

......however, if you were to want to check it out.....my name is addicus_ace_of_gray. 

If not, that’s chill too. Let me know what y’all think! Leave a comment or don’t that is also chill. Thank you! :)

I looked at the ceiling, mapping out Moriarty’s next move in my mind. I blocked everything out. I had to. Everyone was starting to doubt me. I was used to them thinking it was me who killed the people whose murders I solved, but not John. Never him. He had to know it wasn’t me. He had to. He has to.

It was quiet when I came to. It was dark. Night had fallen while I had laid still. I looked around the apartment. It was a wreck and I understood that, but the idea of cleaning it sent panic coursing through my veins. It didn’t make sense, but I knew where everything was, and I will know where everything is in the morning. 

I smelled tea and reheated leftovers. John was home. I weighed my next actions. Does he want to see me? If he really did, wouldn’t he try to get my attention? What if he had been and simply gave up? What if he didn’t want to see me, and is just being really bad at sneaking about? What if he thinks I don’t want to see him? What if..what if?

“Are you here?” John asked in the same stern, but gentle I’ve grown used to. 

“Yes,” I responded, monotone. 

“Did you figure it out?” he inquired, setting a bowl of soup from yesterday in front of me. His eyes searched me. He was trying to deduce me. He was never quite good at it though. I honestly think that it would ruin him if he was. I would hate for him to ever be anything like me. I would hate for him to know what I see when I look at complete strangers. I would hate for his beautiful heart to become as cold as mine. I would hate for him to be a freak too.

“Sherlock?” he said after a long moment of silence.

“No,” was all I could manage. This was getting past mildly embarrassing. 

Moriarty was no longer just a difficult case. He was the cause of my humiliation. I never thought I would care if there was another who could outwit me. I was sure there was. John has many times, and so has Mycroft. I am by no means, unaware that others are more intelligent than I am, but this was something else. 

John loved it when I solved the case and saved the day. He has made me a hero, not only in his stories, but in his own mind as well. The problem is that I am no hero. I am a pathetic, lonely, broken addict who can barely call myself a man. I have no illusions about this. I may work on the side of Angels, but never confuse me for one of them. I knew how I am, but I wanted to be the hero he deserved. I let him believe I was a hero; we were playing pretend. We played out this fantasy so long, I almost believed I was good. I was the hero John wanted me to be. I was the hero he saw me as. The hero he needed.

Unfortunately, fantasies never last. Surely John knew I was not the hero he thought I was. Surely he’d listen to the whispers. 

“He’s sick.” “I knew there was something off about him.” “Psychopath.” “Murderer.” “Freak.” “Should have locked him up years ago.” “Any second. He’ll snap any second.” I replayed those whispers time and time again. I felt my throat close up. 

‘No,’ I told myself. ‘You are a sociopath, you can turn this off. You don’t have to feel this. You don’t have to feel. I don’t have to feel.’

“Sherlock?” John cautiously called to me, trying to pull me from a rut before I could fall into it.

“Yes?” 

“Let’s not think about Moriarty tonight,” he said, coming to sit by me. 

“Why don’t we play a game, or perhaps watch the telly?” he persuaded. 

“Why would we do that?” My heart sped up despite my brain telling it that this was only John. 

He was my John, though. He wasn’t like everyone else. He was what kept me here. He was what kept me from going too deep. He brought me to Earth. He put the fear of God in me. He brought me home, patched me up, and ran back out with me. He was my best friend. He made life worth living despite the constant boredom.

I looked John in his eyes; they had an odd look in them. What was that emotion? Was it emotion?

“Because,” he said. He mumbled something else too, but I never got to hear it.

“What?” I stammered a little. I took deeper breaths. He smiled just a little bit. A whisper of a smile that he reserved for girls he had been dating, but this one was more...natural? No. No. No no no no no no. Don’t think like that. Don’t do that to yourself. 

Please, don’t do that John. I’m really trying here. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make my heart feel like it was close to exploding. Don’t make my stomach do cartwheels. Don’t make my face combust in a deep red blush that I can’t hide. Don’t make me blow my cover. Don’t- my internal panicking was interrupted.

“I said, because tonight, it’s just us. Don’t think about Moriarty. Don’t think about Mycroft or Molly or Mrs. Hudson. Let us have some fun while we have this moment?” he suggested. 

He avoided my eyes. He was fidgeting with his hands in his lap. He was nervous, and I guessed he noticed that I had figured that out because his ears went that cute shade of pink that could make me lose all of my senses. 

‘You are a sociopath! Stop that! Turn it off!’ I screamed internally. I was having a hard time turning it off, though. He looked up to meet my eyes and gave a small, but genuine smile. It was a nervous smile. A nervous smile, but sad eyes. What could that possibly mean?

“What did you have in mind?” I asked coldly. No emotion. I can’t do that to myself.

“Alright, two truths and one lie, but with alcohol,” he said. He leaned back into the couch. He now met my gaze.

“Mrs. Hudson doesn’t like drinking-” I reminded him. 

“I know, but she isn’t here,” he responded.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“How does the game work?” I asked him. 

“Someone tells two truths and one lie, you have to guess the lie. Guess wrong, take a drink. Guess correctly, the other person has to drink. Winner is whoever is the least drunk,” he explained. 

“Okay,” I hesitated. “Who goes first?”

“I’ll go,” he said.

We started the game. As it turns out, I did not know as much about my friend as I thought I did.

I soon got very drunk. Very, very drunk. 

Everything was nice, though. I was nice and warm. I was with John, who I think might have been just as drunk as I was. How would I know, though. I was so very drunk.

“Okay. Okay. It’s your turn,” I said, downing the shot. 

“Okay, let me think.”

“I actually like the way you turn up your collar when you want to feel cool. I am in love. I’m tall,” he was almost giggling. 

I laughed and said, “The lie is that you’re tall.” He smiled and took a drink. 

“Your turn.”

I was drunk. I wasn’t in control. I was looking at him. Flushed from alcohol. Laughing from genuine happiness. He was beautiful.

I could hardly be responsible for what I said.

“Okay,” I said. “I am experiencing extremely high levels of dopamine, oxytocin, norepinephrine, and serotonin. I like making you blush. I am not in love with you.” I smiled, proud of myself. I had managed to make him blush again. 

“Perhaps we should end the game here. You are hammered,” he said. I took a drink and tried to say something witty. Maybe I had?

I was sleepy.

Maybe I walked to my room? No, he helped me there.

He said something maybe?

He put me in my bed, I think?

He sat at the foot and he...he 

He sobbed. Was I imagining this?

He wailed with an anguish I have never heard before from him. Why? Why was he crying?

What did I do wrong? 

I blacked out, but as it turned out, I would be asking why a lot more than I had ever thought.

It was early that morning when I realized something was wrong. The memory from the night before was hazy and pieced together from what I found around the flat. 

John must have not woken up yet, so despite my splitting headache, I cleaned up the place for him and put on some water for tea. 

All I remembered from the night before was his laugh and smile. I also heard this God awful wail that must have belonged to a banshee. God, it still rang in my ears.

I also started up what I hoped could pass for food. I’ve never been much of a cook, but I tried all the same. 

As I was making my way to the fridge to look for the eggs, a knock came to our door. It was an odd sort of knock. Solemn and quiet, as if the person on the other side didn’t want to be here. Lestrade maybe?

I went to the door. It was indeed Inspector Lestrade. He stood with his hands folded in front of him. Mrs. Hudson was with him. That was odd. 

I looked them both over. They had been crying. Not a good sign. 

“Sherlock. We need to deliver the worst sort of news, but we need you to sit down first,” Lestrade said. 

I looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Why? If it’s that horrible, let me go and wake John. He will need to hear this too,” I said, dashing to go get John. 

“No. Sherlock-” Mrs. Hudson called after me, but I didn’t get why. John would need to know of this too. He is family. If it concerned me, it concerned him too.

I knocked on his door before dashing through the door. “John wa-” I stopped. He wasn’t there. His bed was made neatly. Everything was in order, but he was gone. Where could he have gone?

“Sherlock. Please sit down!” Lestrade begged as he struggled to hold in his tears. “Please.”

I turned to face him. I was confused. “Have you any idea where John might be?” I inquired. “I can’t be told devastating news if he’s not here. There is no use in-”

“Sherlock John is dead!” he yelled, but I ignored him. 

“There is no use in repeating it twice. If John isn’t here, and you go ahead and tell me, then I will have to tell him and if it is truly terrible news, I don’t want to have to tell him.”

“Sherlock did you not hear me?”

“Hush now,” I said as I felt something warm and wet roll down my cheeks. “I have to find John.”

I went weak in my knees. “Sit down Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson cooed and tears ran in black streams down her face. “He’s in a better place.”

“Better place?” I demanded. I was losing my grip. I could feel my world crumbling.

“Sherlock, I’m genuinely very sorry for your loss.” Mycroft came in. He was not mocking me. He had real tears in his eyes.

“No.” I begged. My whole body shook.

“Sherlock. John’s gone,” he said, stepping between Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. He pulled me into a tight embrace.

I let him. “Tell me it’s a joke. Please please Mycroft. Please. Tell me this is a joke. He’s okay. He’s not gone. Tell me. Tell me please.”

“He’s gone.”

“How?” I demanded. “If he’s dead then tell me how!” I demanded.

“No. Sherlock,” Lestrade pleaded. “Give yourself a little time to process before-”

“He committed suicide.” Mycroft’s cold, monotone voice broke me with his words.

The world seemed to break with me. My mind palace was crumbling. A sound so horrible filled the air. I couldn’t understand where it was coming from. It was similar to the one I heard from the night before.

“I’m sorry Sherlock. You’ll understand one day,” was the last thing I remembered John saying. That wail of anguish was his last night. This morning, it was mine.

I curled into myself and I sobbed. I never knew that I could.

I sobbed and sobbed. I was more than broken. I was more than grieving. I was dying. And at that moment, it didn’t seem all that bad of an idea.

Thank you for reading. :)

[xellshun]

Feeding The Beast

I stand firm when supporting one of my favorite quotes: Evil is never born, it is created. All things were once good in the beginning, even Satan.

With the developement of my disorder and my descent into becoming a sociopath came many dark traits that I’ve used countless times to calm my urges and impulses. Most of them are fairly common among those with ASPD. But one quality has always stood above all the others.

My desire to victimize as many women as possible.

This post will focus on this trait rather than HOW it came to be but I will share a little bit of my past just to give you a general idea of it’s origins.

Over the course of the last 7 years I went through 3 very traumatic relationships. But before I did, I was a very kind hearted, ambitious, compassionate person with a huge dream of some day finding the love of my life, building a family, and living out the same fairy tale ending that my parents and their parents had before them. I had this perfect image of how my love life would work out and I based it off of what I watched my family build as I grew up. I grew up with a very close, caring, and loving family. So going into adulthood that’s just how I thought things were supposed to be.

I didn’t realize how fucking wrong I truly was and I was no where near prepared for the 7 year long nightmare I was about to go through...

The first of the three stages was when I lost my first true love - the mother of my beloved son. Not only did I loose her along with all my hopes and dreams of having that fairy tale ending. But I lost her while she was still pregnant with my son... So along with the initial pain, my first experience of pregnancy and my introduction to being a father were stripped from me and left me in a state of mind that pushed me into making my FIRST step down the dark I would eventually get lost in. She was what I would eventually call “The First Heartache”

The second stage happened with my next serious girlfriend. She would not only be my second love but would also end up being the girl who would eventually become extremely abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally - she tortured me. She ultimately become what I called “The Abuser”

At this point, my disorder was born and rapidly growing. Coupled with emotional distress and a newly developed addiction to drugs and alcohol, my next relationship would only escalate the problems. She was a drinker, a drug user, and eventually a cheater. Her betrayal lead me down a path filled with an unending urge to stay intoxicated to cure the pain. And even though I should have left both her and the last girl, I didn’t. I was constantly trying to fill the void in my heart left by the first girl. But this third girl was no better than the last. She eventually became what I called “The Drunk Cheater”

By this point, my son was 5 years old. My relationship with him and my family was greatly damaged. I had come off my ADHD medication, struggled to stay employed, struggled with money, wrecked and totaled my vehicle, got into trouble with the law, did time in jail, struggled on and off with addiction to both drugs and alcohol, lost many of my friends... And above all else...

I lost myself...

And I forgot the feeling of remorse... Of empathy... And love...

The person I became and am now is the total opposite of who and what I was 7 years ago. Me then and me now wouldn’t even recognize each other if they met...

And thus, the sociopath was born... And within the dark pit of inhumane emotions, impulses, and urges.. The strongest one was my unending thirst for revenge...

And with that, the player mentality became supreme. And with it every aspect of my life would shift, change, and become centered around an unending cycle of chasing women. It started out as me just having fun and enjoying the single life and eventually evolved to what I do now.

So what do I do? For starters, I supress the monster underneath, I go out and I hunt women. I will often create several dating profiles, all of which with the same pictures, the same information about myself, and it has quickly turned into a game of seeing how many women I can sleep with in the shortest amount of time.

People would probably tell me “You sound like every other typical asshole player.” And it’s partially true, but in my mind I am a hunter. But I don’t hunt with the goal to kill (or hurt these women). I hunt with the goal of capturing and retaining them. I go out with my sociopathic mask, looking friendly, nice, and emotional. I play the part of a good honest man who just wants to settle down. For each individual girl I would learn her, everything about her, I would research her and read her like a book. I would figure out exactly what she wants and needs in a partner and I’d become that to the best of my ability. Once they are lured in I deceieve and manipulate every situation. Slowly and pateintly I shift the mood and create a large amount of sexual tension. I never come off as the creep, I never make them uncomfortable, and I always wait for THEM to make the first move. Why? Because it makes me feel powerful. And when we finally reach the point of having sex the sexual side of my sociopathic tendencies comes out. You see, I don’t care about finishing. It’s not what I look forward to and I don’t need to finish to be happy. The only thing that matters is HER pleasure. In those moments of intercourse I do everything in my physical ability to fuck them in every way they fantasize about. The porn star comes out and my one and only goal is to fuck them to the point where they are physically sore and trembling from orgasms. I want them to have issues walking the next day, I want to rearange their insides, and turn their intestines into soup. It almost never fails and this newly found dark skill has increased my body count from a pathetic 5 (my son’s mom) to a body count of 52 as of this last weekend.

But do I stop there and leave them in the dust? Hell no! I keep them around, I drag them around, and am constantly looking for new targets daily. I keep them around for many reasons - sex, money, drugs, alcohol, transportation, parties, new friends... And some times I’ll keep them around and create friendships with them so I always have someone to talk to or hang out with.

This way I am never bored and can always feed whatever hunger comes into my darkened heart...

I have done so many messed up things. Slept with more than one girl in a single day, slept with a new girl every day of the week, fucked a girl and then fucked her best friend. I’ve made women cheat on their boyfriends and then turned around and hung out with their boyfriends. I’ve made wives cheat on their poor unknowing husbands. Some would find out and their wives would leave them for me. Others would simply ask me to never mention it. Do I respect their wishes? Of course! Like I said. I never purposely treat any of these women poorly. I do this so that I can retain my image as a good and normal man. But more often than not, it’s the sex that makes them come back. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve dicked down. I’ve been with all kinds of girls. Blondes, redheads, burnettes, thick girls, thin girls, small boobs, huge boobs, some who could be porn stars, some who were covered in tattoos and peircings, some were cam girls, some were strippers, some were partiers, drinkers, some were moms, some were church girls, some were younger, some were older... I think the only type of girl I have yet to be with is an Asian... Gunna have to change that...

I’ve been all over the place too. I can’t go to ANY surrounding town from where I live without knowing a girl I’ve fucked there. It’s hard enough when I’m out running errands too, can’t go fucking anywhere without the chance of seeing one of my victims.

All in all, it’s the thrill of the chase, it’s the thrill of knowing what lurks beneath the mask while they remain clueless, it’s the feeling of being so cold and heartless yet have the ability to bring them so many emotions I can’t feel, it’s about giving them the best sex of their lives, it’s about the satisfaction of leashing them along like pets, it’s about POWER and CONTROL. The two fucking things I had so little of when this all started during those 3 toxic and traumatizing relationships.

And in the deepest, darkest corners of my sick mind... In these many moments of deception and manipulation... I trick myself into believing that these poor girls I victimize are my exes.. In an attempt to feel some type or form of revenge to dowse the neverending burning fires of PURE HATRED that have turned my entire world into a place of devastation that is now just as dark as my heart...

For me, women as a whole, are my newly developed drug addiction. When I see them, I don’t see people, I see prey that I can use for whatever benefit I see fit. And if those benefits run out I simply take them to the slaughter house and use them one last time. Rejection doesn’t faze me either. If a single sheep manages to escape my fenced in prison it doesn’t bother me, the herde always consists of between 10-20 women at all times. It’s as easy as a simple hunting trip, which I honestly enjoy. After all, it’s always good to get out every once in a while.

This is what my life has turned into. A never ending sickening cycle of trying to fill in the void within my heart that they left behind those years ago. But in the end that ONE thing that can fill this whole is the one thing I avoid the most - Love...

Yes, my therapist knows about all of this. It’s great because my therapist is a female so it’s nice to be able to share my stories and brag to a girl who’s job is to help me. She probably thinks I’m a fucking piece of shit and I don’t blame her. But she’s a professional and has to help people like me.

We’ve discussed goals throughout therapy on ways for me to relearn the feelings of empathy, remorse, love, and so on... It’s one of many goals and this is the one I have the most trouble with... Part of me wants to change and go back to being normal. But the other part of me wants to keep doing what I do best because it’s just so much damn fun.

So will this part of me ever change? I think so. I hope so. The only other times I went from being a total man whore to a faithful loving man was every time a girl would come into my life who was strong enough to snap me out of dark ways... So far it’s only happened twice. My body count is at 52 and going up more quickly than ever. I’ve spoken to thousands of women, met hundreds, recieved thousands of numbers, thousands of X rated pictures and videos of these women, I’ve had sex thousands of times, and it’s getting to the point where these women just seem to blur together...

There’s little hope of finding a girl strong enough to pull me from the darkness this time. And honestly, I’m okay with it. I am at a point where the darkness is comforting and feels like home...

So this time around.. Not only does she need to be strong enough to pull me out... She needs to be brave enough to venture into a world of total darkness...

[tired-college-student-writing]

Here we go Loopty Loo pt 3

Summary: Graduation was supposed to signal the final time they all spent time together at UA, to show they have all grown into the Heros they dreamed of being.

It was supposed to be, but when has anything ever been easy for class 1-A?

AN: A Yagi central chapter for the big guys big day!

pt1

pt 2 

pt 3 (HERE)

pt 4

___________________________________________

Loop #12

___________________________________________

Looping was… odd to say the least, even after so many years, they had yet to find a point of origin for their travels through time and dimensions.

Shouta and the students were making it through the best they could but the man could help but feel increasingly isolated.

Every single one of his students were partially his children at this point. Though he wasn’t going to admit that to their faces, he was fairly certain from the grins he got when he grouched about them they had guessed how he really felt.

He supported them throughout the trials and hardships of being stuck as high schoolers for nearly forty years now. They had plenty of happy, sad, uncomfortable, and embarrassing moments between them at this point, especially when the dorms ended up being built each first year.

He stocked them with enough candy, soda, and junk food to give them all heart attacks by twenty-five if they ever broke out of these damned loops, but also encouraged healthy eating ad spent more of his own money on keeping fresh produce and food in their kitchen then he was willing to admit.

He trained them passed what he ever had before, knowing that while their skills and abilities reverted each time they returned back to the start, the knowledge and muscle memory stayed and he wasn’t going to allow them to slack no matter how much he wanted to. It didn’t mean he was above treating them enough that Mic and Midnight had accused him of going soft more than a few times.

He allowed them more freedom then he used to because he knew they weren’t as naive as they once were, turning a blind eye if they brought alcohol back to the dorms, or got up to some ‘extra training’, though he took a certain twisted glee in forcing them all to sit through the safe sex talk each time they switched genders. He was not dealing with any of them getting pregnant, even if it meant throwing condoms at the red faces of his children and talking to Recovery Girl about getting the girls on birth control.

Even so, he felt so far separated from the students that were sixteen years younger than him. He was the adult, the only adult in this situation. Sure he was making sure to keep his relationships with his friends and lovers in every timeline they ended in, putting in the effort to be a good friend and allowing a few more of his walls to fall around them then he ever would in the original timeline, but there was only so much that could be helped when he could discuss the strain time traveling was having on him.

Sure he could talk to the children but… what kind of father was he if he put his own problems onto the kids that were just doing their best to stay afloat? He was their support, they didn’t need him breaking down on them to weigh them down further.

That’s how he found himself in bed at 3 am, on the first day of school, trying desperately to go back to sleep before he needed to go see the brats for the ‘first time’ all over again.

Had he slept in his bed the first time? He couldn’t remember, though he would appreciate it if the switch didn’t happen at ungodly hours of the morning.

Finally, at 5:30 he gave up and slowly made his way to the school. If anyone asked he could just claim that he had covered a patrol the night before and curl up into his sleeping bag until he had to be down in class 1-A at 8:45.

He tried to think over the changes to the timeline, as he entered the school, memories of this timeline crowding around his memories of the original and subsequent timelines, though he found himself fidgeting with his capture weapon in a way he hadn’t since high school, seems as if he never kicked the habit after Mic teased him one too many times this go around.

Everything seemed to be similar enough to the first timeline based on his memories with a few minor changes, he and Mic weren’t dating, this go around, but were still good friends. He had almost not made it into the hero course his first year due to taking second in the Sports Festival, but it was found out during the break between semesters the kid that beat him had cheated and was subsequently demoted to Gen Ed while Aizawa has been moved up. He still worked with vigilantes, though he was more friendly with them then he originally was.

Nothing too major for him to keep in mind about himself then, what about recent events?

He recalled watching the entrance exams, seeing the students through an overly critical eye, making snide comments he hadn’t truly believed since the third loop, he can’t think of any major changes from his kids, except… Midoriya…

He hadn’t shattered three limbs this time, had he?

No, if he remembered correctly the boy had actually managed to wrack up a mediocre five points from the robots this time from a lance and throwing knives he seemed to summon out of thin air before the Zero-pointer had appeared. He had still launched himself to impossible heights by a pair of wings that seemed to be made of light and blasted the robot back with a bolt of pale green lightning before passing out. Recovery Girl said there was nothing she could do for him but let him sleep. He hadn’t bothered to check up on the boy after that, not knowing him yet.  

Whatever his power was it was powerful, but was it still One for All?

It didn’t seem like it. That would be new, not seeing the boy cultivate the power bestowed upon him by All Might.

But now that he thought about it he couldn’t remember the meeting introducing All Might to the staff including the truly mind breaking revelation of the man’s true skeletal form… was it possible that he never got injured… Was he still the Yagi that Aizawa had started treasuring as a friend almost as much as he did Hizashi, Nemuri, and Tensei?  

His answer came sooner then he thought when he entered the staff room, blissfully empty at this earlier hour, only to hear a quiet sob from the adjoining bathroom. He slowly worked his way over, mind racing as he tried to figure out which of his coworkers could possibly be having a mental breakdown before the first day when he started making out the mumbling.

“-do this. It’s just a bit different than times before. You just need to… make friends again and find a way to train Young Midoriya to be your successor again… or is his current quirk to different? Damnit can I still give it to him without the other teachers growing suspicious? … I can’t give it to someone else… even if he’s not the same… it’s always been him…”

Yagi was… what did he mean by again? He couldn’t possibly…

“Stupid Stupid Stupid. Why are you even looking for a succeeder? I have a lot of life left in me now, I’m only 49… I really am pathetic, huh. Even now...”

The sobs were becoming too much for Aizawa to listen to without intervening, he had to know…

All Might jumped and whirled around to stare at him with wide eyes as Aizawa stood in the doorway. The tear tracks and red rim eyes worried Aizawa but he couldn’t help but notice the man in front of him wasn’t quite filling out his suit, even if it wasn’t quite as noticeable as it usually was, the shadows around his face receding almost entirely and his iconic bunny ears were gone, framing around his face in crinkled strands instead.

“Aizawa-kun!” He squeaked, scrubbing his face harshly, attempting to paint his famous smile back on, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here for another hour… I’m sorry that you had to witness me like this, it seems I was more panicked about teaching then I-”

“Toshinori,” He cut in causing a startled gasp to escape the man, who he couldn’t recall ever telling them his true name this timeline, “If I said the names Eri and Overhaul, what would you think of?”

The number one hero stiffened, hands clenching next to his legs as his shoulders shook.

“A very sweet little girl that needs saving and a maniac that harmed Eri-chan because of his quirk. How would you describe them?”

Aizawa couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his cheeks, “My daughter that I never get enough time with, who loves apples, Deku, Mirio, and to braid my hair with purple ribbons, and a sociopath with a god complex that despises quirks.”

All Might’s legs gave out after he started describing his little girl, sinking to the floor with another sob on his lips.

“You’re stuck too,” He whispered, as Shouta came to sit next to him, “You’ve been going through these damn loops just like I have.”

“Number 12,” He agreed, “You’ve been through this alone?”

The man nodded, but a real smile was already pulling his lips upward, “But, we have each other now, right? We don’t have to be alone anymore!”

Aizawa didn’t fight a smile, “Optimistic as always, you damn sunflower.”

He laughed, “How can I be upset? I’ve just received the best news I’ve had since this entire thing has started!”

“I don’t know,” Aizawa huffed, “I think finding out you still have your stomach and lung is pretty good news.”

“It came with the price of Young Midoriya knowing me, however,” He sighed, a sad tinge entering his words, “I prefer the constant pain to not having my boy being with me.”

“Well…” Aizawa drew out, “I don’t know if that’s entirely true.”

When Aizawa marched into class with the number one hero in tow, the students all froze, Kaminari snatching up the eraser to erase the words he and Bakugo were already writing on the whiteboard Momo must have created when she arrived. A glance over the room confirmed that all 20 students were there.

“Hello Class,” He greeted with a slight smirk, “I would like you to meet Yagi Toshinori, or as you know him better, All Might, he’s Looper number 22.”

That’s all it took for Midoriya to launch himself out of his chair and leaping across the room into his mentor’s arms, who caught him on instinct as he looked like he was about to start crying again. Aizawa had done his best to help Izuku through the strain of being so close yet so far from his mentor as he went through the motions of getting to know him over and over again even though he already knew the stories of One for All and All for One down to the finest detail and knew Yagi enough that he had called him dad in almost every timeline they had been in so far. From the tight hold Yagi had on his successor, and the gentle way he cupped the back of his head, it was clear the strain had been mutual.

The others stood back, eyes wide as they kept looking back between the hugging pair and Aizawa.

He merely sighed lightly shoving Yagi’s shoulder, “Get in the room idiots, unless you want to explain why you’re hugging a student you should not know in any fashion.”

“Easy,” Todoroki offered, “Just claim you’re his secret love child.”

Midoriya groaned, pulling his face from his mentor’s neck, “I told you for the last time, Shoto. I’m not biologically related to All Might!”

Yagi just laughed, withheld tears causing his voice to be raspier then anything, “Well…”

Aizawa smirked, “Oh? Do tell Toshi.”

The man moved Izuku to one hip rubbing the back of his neck with his open hand, “Two loops… or maybe three loops ago, Young Midoriya was my biological son, though Inko made me promise to not tell him until he turned 18, even after finding out I was training him to be my protege. I decided it didn't change the bond we were forming so why did it matter?”  

“Oh my god,” Deku whispered, “I can’t believe your conspiracy theories came true.”

“I’m not really surprised by anything anymore when it comes to these damn loops,” Shinsou sighed getting a groan of approval from around the room.

“Enough talking,” Aizawa snapped, “Y’all know the drill by now.”

Yagi raised an amused brow, “Y'all? It looks like I’ve rubbed off on you a bit my friend,”

“Shut your star-spangled mouth, I want to get this over with as soon as possible so I don’t have Midnight and Mic pounding down my door to ask why I’m going so easy on the class.”

Mina snorted, “Like they didn't think you tried to adopt us all by the second month in the original timeline.”

“Detention for slander, Ashino,” He called as he walked to the front of the room, cuffing her lightly on the back of the head as he passed.

He forcibly had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he sees the whole class grinning up at him as he leaned on his podium. All Might having sat on his desk with Midoriya still fused to his side.

“Okay since Katsuki and Denki are leading this thing this time you get to explain to All Might what’s we do every time we start a loop.”

The kids launch into a quick explanation as Katsuki rewrote all the rules again and copied down the major changes they had noted already.

Midoriya’s new quirk, Astral Weaving, was in the number one spot, but under it was also a few changes about families and old classes. Most interesting was how Shoto was still in contact with Toya but was pretty sure based on his looping memories that his brother was still Dabi.

“I got nothing to add,” Aizawa hummed turning to his coworker, “Yagi?”

The man just smiled before smoke began rising from his form, causing Deku to blink as his seat only shrunk slightly.

“Holy Fuck!” Sero cried, causing the entire room to be up in arms, awe, and happiness rushing through them to see their teacher was okay for the first time since they meet him.

Aizawa didn’t even try to lessen the smile on his face as he saw the first real All Might patented grin, not just a facade, not just the fake plastered on one that never seemed to reach his eyes that he had gotten so used to seeing since the beginning of the loops.

Surrounded by his friend and their kids, Aizawa could finally see the silver lining again. ___________________________________________

Taglist: @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @plaguedoctorsnake (I’m so sorry for forgetting to tag yall in pt 2) 

[thecreepiestcarrie]

#JusticeforJohnnyDepp: Johnny’s witness statements at a glance (Kevin Murphy & Kate James)

Things I Cover in this Post:

AH’s consumption of alcohol and prescription pills

AH consistently lying/submitting false documents in order to get what she wants

the dogs in Australia

AH lying to Homeland Security

AH’s abuse of Johnny (both verbal and physical)

the shit in the bed

AH bullying/threatening/intimidating members of Johnny’s staff

The two witness statements I’m including highlights from come from: Kate James- personal assistant to AH for a little under 3 years & Kevin Murphy- Johnny’s estate manager for 8 years, ending in 2016

Before we get into that, I would really love it if you could check out and sign this petition that is demanding an official review into the misconduct of the judge for this case, Andrew Nicol.

It’s a lot of talk about the illegal smuggling of the dogs into Australia, which could definitely come off as tedious af, but I feel this is an excellent demonstrator of the character of Scum and how she tries to manipulate/control all those around her. That is mostly what this instalment is going to be about, employees speaking to the character of Scum and her non-existent relationship with the truth.

Beginning with a woman who worked as assistant to Scum, so Scum was paying her, you would think her loyalty would be to her employer, the person she was working for and spending lots of time with. Well, nope, coz Scum is exactly that - SCUM.

More of Scum bullying/belittling Johnny. But I mainly included this part so we could take a look at Kate’s account of Scum drinking ‘vast quantities’ of wine each night. Johnny recounted in his witness statements of his ‘difficult’ relationship with drink and drugs, including visits to rehab facilities in order to get sober. He talks specifically of March 2015, in Australia (when she mutilated his finger), saying:  Under the stress of the situation, I poured myself a glass of vodka and drank it. It was with this glass that I broke my sobriety. Kate was fired by Scum (actually blindsided is how she put it) in Feb of 2015, so the testimony of her buying non-alcoholic beer for Johnny holds up to me.

Before I started reading properly into this case, I was nervous to properly research into it because I was thinking that I would read something about Johnny that I didn’t like and I was terrified that I’d never come back from that. 12 years of my life- loving, idolising, being inspired by this man- I didn’t want that to end in a blazing burn of ‘wow, what a shithead, I can’t believe that’s what I dedicated time/money/energy to’. But halleloo, he is everything I’ve always hoped he was and potentially more. So I included this section not just as a ‘wow, Johnny is the greatest’, but also, Scum’s assistant failing to see any signs of injury, which is just another voice to add to the booming chorus at this point.

Here we have Scum wilfully and knowingly breaking laws for her own benefit.

Here is the photo that was submitted as part of Kate’s evidence. It isn’t super clear but I’ve highlighted the date, as well as some of the flowery language Scum employs to portray herself as so much better than she is and just going over the top with that.

This is a check Kate submitted in her evidence. To me, the signature doesn’t seem to match the one on the document from Scum. But what is important about this check is the name: Savannah McMillian, the fact that it’s from the Bank of America and the date, of September 2014, which is the same month of Scum’s false document (if you zoom in).

There is no chance in Hell that Savannah was just a friend of Scum’s visiting America for a magical trip. No ma’am, no Pam. I also wanted to include a screenshot provided by Kevin Murphy of an email from Savannah, in which she specifically introduces herself as Scum’s assistant. So here is another lie to add to her list (is there even any room on the tally board anymore?)

‘She felt that she was above the law’

Hmm, what does that remind me of? Oh right, the symptoms/signs of antisocial personality disorders aka SOCIOPATHIC BEHAVIOUR! Referring back to Mayo Clinic, they describe: a disregard for right/wrong, arrogance/sense of superiority, unnecessary risk-taking, failure to consider negative consequences/learn from them, consistent irresponsibility and so on and so on.

She’s lied and perjured herself in the past - why wouldn’t she continue to lie to get what she wants? aka- this whole hoax against Johnny.

Grease? Calm down sweetie, you’re not in the mob. Just say bribe.

GREASE ME UP, WOMAN!

Anyway, let’s move along to Kevin Murphy, a man who worked with Johnny for 8 years and had to deal with a lot of Scum’s shit.

Here we have Johnny telling a member of his staff about the physical abuse he was being subjected to - why didn’t Scum do the same and tell members of her team? Oh right, because it never happened to her.

Kevin was very involved with all of the dog smuggling bullshit and it became a personal matter for him. All of this could’ve been avoided... If not for Scum’s selfishness.

She threatened him and his job and then tried to place all of the legal blame of the smuggling onto him.

Again, I wanted to touch on Scum’s use of alcohol and even drugs. I wanted to be fair to Scum in this, maybe she was using Provigil under a prescription, just like Johnny and his Roxicodone. So I did some digging and I found that yes, Provigil does require a prescription. 

But, from what I could gather from my reading, you can get some over the counter substitutes that have a lower dosage.

But no.2, I found a website where you can purchase Provigil.

I took the liberty of adding it to a cart and selecting checkout. I took all of the steps up to the point where I’d have to pay and guess what? Not once was I asked to provide any details of a GP or of a prescription.

Again, to be fair to Scum, I checked to see if you could also get Roxicodone on this website and guess what?

No, no you can’t.

I don’t intend for this to be taken as conclusive evidence in any way, but it was something that I found interesting.

I really wish they had gotten it DNA tested.

Scum told three different versions of this shit in the bed story-

shit? What shit? There wasn’t any shit in the bed

Yeah, lol, there was shit in the bed, just a harmless prank, got ‘im!

It was the dogs the whole time

And then she projects onto Kevin the fact that she lied, because that’s what she loves to do. She takes her own behaviour and applies it to other people to get them in trouble. This indicates to me that she knows her actions are wrong, but I guess she just thinks she can always find a way to get out of it.

Is she a child? Is she an actual infant? Is she a fucking child?

He had to go and tell 8 other members of their/Johnny’s team to make sure she wouldn’t misbehave and then she went and did it anyway! Is she a child?! It’s like she’s a fucking kid who the Dad has to tell the babysitter that ‘no, she isn’t usually allowed candy, please don’t give her any’ and then the babysitter catches her with a stash of candy anyway! It’s pathetic!

Johnny didn’t want the dogs to come at all and yet, he’s the one who bore most of the brunt over here in the media. And still does, if you refer to this incident, it’s not her dogs, it’s Johnny Depp and his dogs that he snuck in to the country that pissed off the government.

She had this man believing he was going to lose his job because he was trying to correct a legal wrong that she had knowingly committed.

And here she is making a joke about it, on her own fucking Instagram. She had someone take that photo, typed out the caption and decided: ‘yep, this is something I can stand behind, this is fine, this is great content’ and posted it to the world.

Here we go again with another example of that sociopathic behaviour, with her showing a complete lack of remorse and a lack of empathy over the damage this did to the other people involved.

I hope this has helped to provide a greater insight into the type of person Scum is, how manipulative, ruthless and uncaring she is to any/all of the people around her when she’s in pursuit of a goal. I also hope this has helped to shed more light on Scum and her habits with alcohol and pills, which she doesn’t want you to know about, of course. It’s kinda hard for her to consistently call Johnny an addict when she clearly cracks into the goon sack a fair amount herself.

[unfortunatelysirius]

WOULD IT REALLY KILL YOU IF WE KISS? // TOM RIDDLE

💟☼💟 PROMPT 💟☼💟 Y/N L/N is intrigued by Tom Riddle. Almost to a dangerous extent. And even if it kills her, she’s going to learn his secrets… 💟☼💟 A/N 💟☼💟 Wow guys, I haven’t written a Tom Riddle imagine in SO FUCKING LONG. I’m sure you all are thinking, “Why can’t you just write more for Whispers in the Dark?” The answer is… the story direction for that series isn’t the current idea ringing around in my head. Give me feedback on this and tell me whether you’d want more Tom Riddle imagines, pls. If y’all think this seems unfinished, it’s because I wanted to see if you guys wanted a second part? See you all soon, I’m in an inspired mood haha! 💟☼💟 WARNINGS 💟☼💟 Angst, angst, angst… slight sexual content? Oh, and angst! 💟☼💟 WORD COUNT 💟☼💟 1781

      “I know your secrets…”

       It came as a whisper, in the dead of night. She was asleep, lost in a dream, but then his voice appeared. It snapped her from the abyss of sleep, gave her the sensation of falling. Now, she startled. Her eyes blinked open. She thought she saw a glimpse of a shadow on the wall, but it was gone before she had a chance to analyze it. He knows, doesn’t he? she thought.

       He did know. Tom Riddle knew everything.

       “Look closer, but you’ll find nothing,” said the voice—his voice—like a sadistic purr. He sounded like a predator who’d just crept on its unknowing prey. “Though, it’s not really unraveling the truth that tempts you. It’s the chase. It’s the thrill. Right, Y/N?”

       Her heart thumped violently. He knows, he knows, he knows, she said in her head, like a fucking chant. She felt insane, yet there wasn’t a single drop of shame, for the lack of stability in her mind.

       All she could bring herself to care about was the way he said her name.

       “Say it again,” demanded Y/N, snoozing roommates be damned. “Say Y/N.”

       He chuckled—was he mocking her?—as a bitter adieu, and Y/N was left in the darkness once more.

       I’ll find your secrets, Tom Riddle, she thought, a cold sweat enveloping her body. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t fear the consequences of discovering the truth. And he was right—she didn’t even care about the truth. It was the chase that thrilled her. It was the thought of his cold eyes on her, that he’d punish her if she got too close. Even if it kills me.

       -

       She cornered him, at the end of Arithmancy, mere hours after she’d dreamt of his voice. He was walking with a group of Slytherin boys, barely contributing to their conversation, a look on his face that implied deep contemplation. Y/N had watched him all lesson, not bothered in the slightest when he returned her glances, and she was desperate to ask him his reasons for appearing in her dreams. Why his voice was all she could hear. Why she thought about him at every moment she was awake, and why her infatuation for him had turned into a full-blown obsession.

       But when she appeared before him, when all the boys halted in their tête-à-tête to stare at her, she couldn’t work up the nerve to ask what she truly wanted. What would they all think of her, for saying she had an obsession with Tom? They’d think her mad—or, at the very least, pathetic.

       Y/N batted her pretty Y/E/C eyes at Tom. “I’ve got something for you,” she told him.

       The boys oohed, watching Tom for his reaction. What could Y/N L/N have for Tom? There was nothing in her grasp, no carry-on that implied a hidden gift. She was empty-handed, with a coy smile on her face. All the boys with their scatterbrained heads knew what that meant.

       Tom played his disinterest well. He said coolly, “Alright.”

       “Follow me,” said Y/N, with a beckon. Like a loyal dog would its owner, he matched her pace step for step, not even questioning her intentions when their walk led to a cupboard. Not even fighting it when she pushed him in and shut the door.

       As the door slammed closed behind them, Y/N turned to Tom. Her smile turned mean. “You won’t be able to hide forever, Tom Riddle,” she told her. She pressed him against the wall, a loud smack! echoing in the tiny room. Tom’s face was unreadable, not even reacting when she dug her nails in his arms. “You aren’t invisible. Not to me.”

       “You’ll find nothing,” said Tom. And then it was her that was about the wall, as he turned the tables, fast as lightning. His dark brown eyes were void of any human instinct. “Look all you want, Y/N L/N. You’ll be looking for a very long time.”

       Y/N sneered. “I look forward to it.” And then she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. The kiss quickly became a bite, as she nipped at his skin. She wanted him to devour her, to ignite her until she was nothing but ash and residue, and if it took dressing down his mystery, if she had to change him from an anomaly to a revelation, she would.

       She left the cupboard without another word.

       -

       HE WAS in her dreams that night.

       She dreamt of herself in chains, as he watched from the other side of the room. He wore a cloak of scarlet red, his hair blending into the darkness. His eyes glowed a violent red, the very color of his cloak, and there were ugly, bulging veins that swept around his neck like snakes.

       “You’re afraid,” said Y/N, as Tom’s cool gaze inched across her skin. “Afraid I’ll get too close. Afraid I won’t like what I find.”

       Tom did not smile, nor laugh. He didn’t move his eyebrows, or give her anything to make her think she was right. His gaze stayed where it was.

       “Fear is subjective,” said Tom simply, voice empty. There was not a single touch of emotion, nothing to insinuate he was human. It was like he was purely mechanical.

       This did not settle well with Y/N.

       “Or objective,” she countered. “Everyone is afraid. And you, you’re burdened with it. I’ve never seen someone so frightened.”

       “What do you know? You’re an ignorant little girl,” said Tom, his arms crossed snugly against his chest. “You know nothing.”

       “I know you’re full of secrets and full of fears.” And she looked at him—really looked at him. Even if his exterior were cool and calculated, that did not mean the same for his headspace. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe he truly wasn’t afraid. If he weren’t, then he wouldn’t mind for her to find out what he was hiding.

       Every man is the same, thought Y/N. Made of blood, bone, and anger. A liar and a master manipulator.

       “You know nothing,” repeated Tom.

       “I know most,” Y/N said. And she smiled. “Soon, I’ll know nothing. Watch your back, Tom Riddle. You never know who might sink a knife into it.”

       She laughed her way into a disoriented sort of awakening. What awaited her was a deep need, embedded into the nook of her belly.

       It itched. It burned. It spread.

       All because of Tom Riddle.

       -

       There weren’t many who stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, but two of the castle’s occupants were Tom Marvolo Riddle and Y/N M/N L/N. It wasn’t long before Y/N became aware of this interesting predicament. When she did, she began to follow him everywhere.

       On the third day of being followed around, Tom finally snapped. He let her follow him into the Forbidden Forest, before he appeared to confront her.

       Tom materialized behind her. “Are you my shadow?” he snapped. It felt gratifying when she jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. “You will find nothing. You’ll continue to find nothing, you foolish, insolent girl.”

       “You underestimate me,” said Y/N, her bravery nothing but a reminder of her youth, of her ignorance. She looked and acted the part of naïve narrator, something Tom Riddle felt obliged to tell her, regardless of the time or day.

       “You underestimate me.” Tom backed her into a tree. A creature howled in the distance, as though marking the setting. As his hands came up to trap her against the bark, he leaned closer. His eyes were like beads of nightshade in the moonlight. “I could hurt you.”

       “But you won’t.” Y/N felt eager. She wanted him to hurt her. That same need she had felt for him for years made its grand entrance, turning her stomach into a rickety cage of nerves. It tipped and toppled, no amount of stability able to keep it stationary. “Maybe you should.”

       “I could kill you,” Tom told her, narrowing his eyes. “Foolish. Foolish, foolish girl.”

       Y/N smashed her lips into his as a response.

       It was like animals who hadn’t eaten in days, made ravenous by their hunger. Tom’s nails left the wood and attached themselves to Y/N’s shoulders, digging into her skin so violently they left imprints. He slammed her deep into the wood, his teeth clashing against her own—as she opened her mouth, as she pressed her tongue into his mouth, desperate to taste him, feel him. Her skin went ablaze everywhere he touched.

       Yet, his touches, his taste, they all felt empty. Dormant. His sexual ferocity felt like primal instinct, rather than a result of his human wants and needs.

       Human. Is he? Y/N pushed him off.

       “You’re not human,” she cried.  

       Tom simply wiped his mouth. “Don’t do that again,” he warned her.

       “Maybe I should. Would you hurt me then?” Her smile was cruel. “Hurt me, Tom. I know you wish for it.” She wished for it herself, for fuck’s sake. If she truly wanted, she would imperius him, make him do it against his own will.

       “I wish for nothing,” said Tom.

       “I do not need to be a Legilimens to know you are lying to me, Tom Riddle,” Y/N said. Her lips tingled at the memory of his mouth, the way it moved against hers. Like they were molded for one another. Yet, she knew she was being pathetic. Pathetic, like he’d labelled her. Like they’d all labelled her. She was letting him control her. And the worst part was that she was letting him.

       Tom eyed her coolly. “Foolish,” he murmured.

       Foolish. A foolish girl. Is that all I am to you, Tom?

       The thought plagued her for the rest of the evening, into the night, where she tossed and turned, his name following her into unconsciousness.

       -

       Not human.

       Tom Riddle was not human. And even if he were human, he wasn’t made of the same constituents she was, nor their peers. He was sociopathic—selfish—with a mindset so subjective it was almost sinister to think he knew what empathy even was. Love. He didn’t know what love was.

       I wish he did, thought Y/N, almost subconsciously. And that’s when she knew.

       It wasn’t the chase. It wasn’t his secrets. It was her wishing he knew love, and wanting it, craving it—even if she knew, he was not capable. Even if she knew he was callous. Cruel. Cold.

       He will never love you.

       She truly was foolish for thinking he ever would. She let herself hope, for one solid second, that he wasn’t pure machine.

      She was stupid. And she was wrong.

      Just a foolish, foolish girl.

       And she was.

[vampirrediaries]

Enemies Of The State : Dark!Klaroline {15}

summary:

This fiction follows the events of just how Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes lost everything that tied them to their humanity, leading them into something neither of them can come back from.

—————

{10 years ago}

Klaus Mikaelson wanted so desperately to find Caroline Forbes. For her safety he’d devoted his time seeking his older brother who’d wanted her heart in his hands, yet what was the point when she was already on the path of her imminent death?

There were very few things that unsettled Klaus. Siphoner’s were one of them, and the Gemini Coven just so happened to contain one of the devices needed to break out one of the dreaded parasite witches.

Malakai Parker.

Kai Parker, he had decided long ago, was probably as evil as he was. Pure evil reincarnated with no redeeming qualities. A sociopathic killer who conveniently had the ability to kill supernaturals who’d possesed witch magic with a simple touch.

The minute he’d found the news that Kai was banished to the mercy of a prison world, he hadn’t thought of the danger of Siphoner’s. After threatening the Gemini Coven to keep the ascendant hidden away from prying eyes, of course, he’d decided the matter was dealt with.

Until now.

“You don’t think she’s looking for it,” Rebekah stuttered as she looked as her brother wide eyed. “How on earth would she know-”

“It doesn’t matter how she knows!” Klaus cut her off sharply. “You know perfectly well what would happen if he escapes that bloody prison.”

The rest of the group had complexed expressions, obviously confused on what they were talking about. Kol looked ashen, knowing exactly what this situation could bring amongst vampires.

“She needs Bennett blood to activate the ascendent,” Bonnie spoke up heavily. “Caroline doesn’t know anything about magic anyways.”

“She obviously went to the bloody Coven with a purpose in mind,” Rebekah snapped. “That idiotic girl will be the death of all of us!”

“Watch it,” Klaus hissed with venom. “She couldn’t be more idiotic than you, letting her go when you knew she was without her humanity like that. Pathetic.”

The original sister went red with anger, all traces of weakness vanished from her expression at her brother’s words. She knew better than to let him walk all over her. Not this time. Her next words were spat out in pure hostility.

“I’m pathetic?” Rebekah flashed towards him, red faced and enraged. “Who left Caroline here all alone because they were too afraid of feeling love? Figures, you wouldn’t know how it would feel to be loved. Everybody bloody hates you, Nik. You left the girl who was willing to care for you and now, she hates you too because you are weak. That, my dear brother, is the epitome of being pathetic-”

Klaus didn’t let his sister finish her little rant about what she thought of him because in a flash, she dropped dead on the ground, the hilt of a silver dagger glinting in the early morning sunlight, protruding from her chest.

—————

Caroline and Katherine had been driving to god knows where for what had seemed like a couple hours now.

“So what’s the plan, hmm?” Caroline continued coating her nails with a black polish. “I still don’t understand how Kai could help us in our ‘freedom’”

“We aren’t fully free,” Katherine hummed from the drivers seat. “Your little Mystic Fall buddies are probably dying without their piece of human frailty.”

“Please,” Caroline scoffed. “They’re glad i’m gone.”

“I heard. What was that business with precious little you becoming more like a vampire should be?”

Caroline remembered all too well about the feeling of her vampirism consuming every bit of her soul when she was still with her humanity. It was different then, her conflicting emotions driving her to the point of switching it off. That fight with her ex-friends was just the tipping point. Not that she cared about it, obviously.

“I don’t know,” Caroline hummed. “Vampirism getting the best of good little Caroline i suppose.”

“So where is good little Caroline now?”

“She’s dead.”

***

“What on earth did you just do?”

Kol Mikaelson looked upon his sister with widened eyes, who was still laying temporarily lifeless on Caroline’s front lawn.

“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Klaus rolled his eyes, turning away from the scene. “She’ll be back to her incessant little self the minute i pull the thing out.”

“She’ll never forgive you,” Kol breathed out. “She’ll hate you forever.”

Stefan let go of Elena’s hold, who was holding on for her life in worry that her’s might be in danger. Walking over to the greyed body of Rebekah, he looked solemn.

“Was that for Elijah?” He asked quietly. “The dagger.”

“Of course it was for Elijah,” Damon Salvatore approached beside his brother. “He wants to dagger him, don’t you Klaus? Some things never change.”

“Stop it, Damon” Elena speaks up timidly. “It’s better that he’s dead. He wants to kill Caroline.”

“Look at what she’s done Elena,” Damon rolls his eyes, gesturing to Rebekah’s corpse. “All of this for what? She switched if off, and look where we are. Let Elijah deal with her.”

“You better shut it before my brother makes you, mate” Kol says in a quiet voice, glaring at Damon. Little did he know, Klaus already heard it. He was just waiting for Damon to say more.

The angrier he could make him, the better.

“Let me tell you something,” Damon turned around, facing the group. “Caroline Forbes is useless. She’s weak, and shallow and honestly? Makes everything about herself. Like right now.”

“Damon-” Stefan had a warning tone in his voice obviously scared for his life, but the Older Salvatore didn’t care.

“Hope you had fun with the Mystic Queen!” Damon called out to the Hybird, who’s control was far beyond controllable. He smrked. “I know i did.”

The events the proceded as soon as those words were spoken happened in a flash.

Before anybody knew, Damon was sputtering blood as Klaus plunged his hand through his chest, grabbing ahold of the rapidly beating heart. He wanted him to suffer.

“You had fun with the Mystic Queen, eh?” He spat out in pure hostility and revulsion, taking immense pleasure in his suffering “Not as much fun as i’m going to have watching you beg for your miserable little life.”

Damon only began choking on his own blood, as Klaus twisted his heart ever ao slightly. He was surely going to kill him, as the rest watched in horror, not daring to say anything in protest.

“Alright,” Kol approached his brother carefully. “That’s enough, Nik.”

Klaus barely heard him, preparing to kill the Salvatore in front of him. Elena cried silently at the scene, Stefan and Bonnie seemingly frozen in place, when his hand left Damon’s body. Empty.

“You aren’t worth the energy i give in killing you,” He whispered menacingly. Damon breathed heavily, dropping to the floor in an instant as his life was spared. Elena and Bonnie ran to him.

“Bloody hell,” Kol mumbled as he opened his car door. “Everyone needs to get in the car immediately.”

Elena held Damon as Bonnie, Stefan and Klaus stared at Kol. He held the map in his hands, sighing heavily as he got in.

“Let’s find Caroline.”

—————

“What the hell are we doing here?”

Katherine and Caroline stood in the middle of Bourbon street, New Orleans.

“A witch i’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently resides here,” Katherine responded, making her way through the crowd of tourists. “I need something of hers.”

“And it just so happened to be here of all places?” Caroline complained. “I hate New Orleans.”

“I could imagine why,” Katherine snickers as she effortlessly pushed he way through the crowd. “I don’t think your boyfriend is here, cupcake. Don’t worry.”

Caroline grumbled under the breath as she followed the doppelgänger’s lead. It was infuriating, really. New Orleans was the last place she’d wanted to go, and for what? A stupid witch?

“Just hurry up, I wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”

After what seemed like a couple minutes, the pair had reached the cemetery. It was just as Katherine had remembered when she was led here by Klaus, the link she’d needed desperately lifted thanks to Elijah Mikaelson

God, Original men were so incredibly stupid.

She made her way into the cemetery, Caroline following suit stubbornly. It was eerie, the aura of death and magic fully present in the air. She smiled, knowing that the witch was close.

“Hello!” Katherine called out all of a sudden. “Where are you?”

The blonde stood perplexed as she leaned against a tomb stone. That must be the witch that Katherine had required the services of. She’d hoped that they would show up already, wanting to get out of this city as quickly as possible.

“If you scream like that, you’ll wake the dead.”

Katherine smiled.

The doppelgänger turned to face the woman that’d appeared out of nowhere, a pleasant expression on her face. “I was wondering if you’d still be here.”

Caroline examined the witch. She was beautiful, her long black hair reaching her waist. There was something in her eyes, however. They shone with a twisted darkness, which would unsettle anyone.

“Of course i’d be here, Katerina. You have something i desperately require.”

“Conveniently, so do you.”

The woman smiled, sitting down at her alter that’d consisted of black candles instead of white. It was vast, and dark substances were spread out on the dirt.

She was practicing black magic.

“This is my friend, Caroline Forbes.” Katherine gestured. “She’s just tagging along for the ride.”

“Nice to meet you...uh?” She stopped mid sentence, waiting for a name.

“Amelia,” The woman answered with a sickly sweet smile. “Amelia Bennett.”

——————

masterlist

[velvetv0nblack]

An open letter;

(Possible trigger warning)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, maybe because this theme of abuse has be something I’ve been experiencing as a third party, the person removing the victim this time, you know the role many of my friends filled within our tumultuous relationship... maybe it’s because my friends abuser is now threatening and harassing me for helpingher leave... maybe it’s because I’ve finally found my therapeutic dosage of lithium, am in a clear mind and are therefore able to reflect properly for the first time in my life... or maybe it’s because this is not an apology, I mean maybe it is if you had only been a serial cheat, but the truth is you fractured my skull and cut me open with a knife, so this is not a fucking apology. Also I’d rather rip my own eyes out of my skull, smash them with a hammer, and then inject the liquid into my ass than actually engage you in any kind of conversation, so knowing that this is the one platform you can still check for me on, I’m going to post this here... Its about time I had my say without putting myself in physical danger.

You would think I wouldn’t have an essay to correct your 3 lines of a nothing apology, but here we are I guess.

This kind of self deprecating “I wasn’t good enough for you” narrative is truly infuriating, and not because you were actually good enough for me but because of the very reasons you proved yourself not be “not good enough”. You weren’t undeserving of me because you didn’t work, I am physically incapable of doing so myself and I didn’t fall in love with you because you came across mad motivated. You weren’t undeserving of me because you took drugs, drank like a fish or smoked like a chimney, we were both purposefully killing our selves in the same way. You weren’t undeserving of me at all, until you fucked my best friend in the bathroom and collectively gaslit me into wondering if I was imagining the whole thing, and slowly but systematically broke down my confidence and support network away from me. I want this to be very clear; the reason you do not deserve me or any other decent human being is because, you are an abuser, you abuse people.

I was barely a whole person when I met you. I was barely an adult. I had lived through so much already, and had been abused in every area of my existence. I was easy pickings to you. The issue was you were not a pawn to me, a player in any game, or any of that. To me you were this fascinating, beautiful soul, to me you were someone who needed my love who needed someone to support you and I couldn’t believe that you chose me to fill that role. I was freshly 18 that month, and I had just had a flat mate steal £3k and kill my kitten.

I weighed all of 63lbs that night you lost the plot on me because I didn’t want to go to Big Red to watch that actual cunt of a waitress smile at me as she gave you lap dances, it’s not even a dance joint it was a fucking bar. You allowed other people to emotionally abuse me with you for months up until this point and I just didn’t want to go, all I wanted was the keys and I would of gone home alone and gone to bed. Why you feel the need to publicly humiliate me again instead of just leaving it? You couldn’t just go be adulterous without me watching and hurting, so you followed me home, screaming at me the whole time. You told me I was pathetic, you hated me, I should just kill myself- on a bus on a Saturday night, from the bar I worked in, in soho, back to our place near Caledonian Road. I was so unstable anyway, undiagnosed autism, misdiagnosed mental health issues, on the wrong if any medication, deep within the throws of an addiction and eating disorder... you. I couldn’t take you verbally ripping my heart out anymore when I decided that throwing myself from our 3rd story window would hurt less. The fact I could of died isn’t what made you grab me and stop me jumping, no in fact you told me you don’t care if I kill my self as long as it’s not in the flat, you were much more concerned with the amount of drugs in the flat and the prison opposite our window. At that point you threw me full pelt across the other side of the room, all 63lbs of me flew through the air like a paper aeroplane and smashed directly into your guitar. You know your beloved custom Les Paul? The headstock came off, and at that very moment despite the fact you were the one who threw me, my life was the one in danger. You started strangling me and threatening to have men come down to London to gang rape my then 14 year old sister. It gets a little fuzzy, that’s what your brain does when you experience potentially life ending trauma. I do know I ended up with stitches in my lips and hands, that you fractured my right eye socket- that I still suffer issues with to this day- and had black bruising covering my entire body like a bus had hit me.

For a couple of years there my brain completely blocked out important details of that night, and a lot of our relationship. Don’t worry though periodically I have the real type of flashback where I relive these events and I come back to reality remembering more than I ever wanted to. I’m yet to even touch on the fact that whilst I may of been able to escape you in waking life, my dreams are perpetually stuck in this horrific PTSD dream land, a town that is a mash up of all the places I’ve been traumatised in my life, the place you eternally reside inside my head to traumatise me whilst I desperately need to rest. You haven’t really left my life despite the efforts I have made to avoid you (I think I’ve seen you once, from a distance once at Download 2 years ago, my heart fell out my ass, and I dragged Camilla in another direction) I have only 2 dreams in 6 years that haven’t included you chasing me down to finish what you started and kill me or keep me captive. But that’s what trauma does, and oh how you traumatised me.

I really loved you though, that’s why I stayed, and those couple times I tried to leave before I came back. I loved you so unconditionally that it took me realising that everyone else around us was so complicit that they’d help you hide by body. To this very day I cannot believe a man, a male roommate, walked in on you pinning me into a sofa by my neck, with both your planted knees on top of my chest, full weight suffocating me, biting the end of my nose until it was blackened and he had the audacity me I needed to calm down. I have to label the guy the world biggest pussy in my head so I don’t get wound up about it.

I wasn’t perfect, I can never be perfect, I have more imperfections than most. I am severely mentally and physically unwell- I sure as hell am a pain in the ass to love- however I cannot actually think of a damn thing I did to deserve constant unending emotional abuse, threatens and follow through of physical abuse and then after I left stalking and harassment. I am difficult but I am not deserving of abuse and that’s all you gave me in the end... unless of course you “needed your baby girl to suck your dick” - that was the only time you were ever nice to me, and I know because I recently read back a bunch of our texts and you flipped between “I hate you, I’m gonna kill you/kill your self” to “I need my beautiful girl to come and suck my dick I love you so much” is actually fucking insane. - Should I bring up the fact you would bang pathetic girls on the scene and then dicknotise them into stalking and harassing me with you? Because... what I had the audacity to leave a man, of over 6ft tall, who would become violent to my 5ft 63lbs self?

So yeah, you didn’t deserve me, but not because of any self deprecating attention seeking reason but because you’re a sociopath, who seems to take pleasure in fucking with vulnerable women.

Am I happy? Now that’s a fucking difficult one to answer.

I ended up homeless on and off for a year. Despite the homelessness I had suffered before this was worse because of the place I was in mentally.

You caused me to develop complex PTSD.

You caused me to have a 3 year long psychotic break.

You caused me to live in secure supported housing, where I was prayed upon by other residents.

You caused me to fall victim to abuse within the system

Not sure if you know this but our mental health services sucks ass, after leaving you I had a delightful therapist that would text me telling to kill my self and would tell me you were right to abuse me.

But I got one thing from our relationship, I fine tuned my “four Fs” ...I no longer freeze or fight in the face of difficulty... I developed an ability to fawn.

Dead ends are no longer in my eyeline, I will metaphorically straight on walk through someone else’s house to get where I need to be, I will jump the fence, break the locks and out run any guard dog. I may fall down but I’m never out.

When I was diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses and essentially lived in hospital for 3 years, even when I thought to end my life it was weighed out by the thought of “how do I get to a place we’re I can do even 5% of what I want? What do I have to change, manifest?”.

You see if you could only temporarily break me but not stop me then why the hell would I let my own mind and body do that? That ability to fawn came with an ability to find a middle path, to be diplomatic. That ability to fawn gave me the patience to understand medical text and use that to access the right care. ~ I am actually thinking of starting a medical degree just to prove I can ~ I am now 98lbs and healthy for my size and stature, I now have a home with a housing association who like me so much they have me a lifetime partner agreement, meaning I will never be homeless again. I have been clean 7 whole goddamn years and 2 months. I have the most beautiful empathic cat, 2 foster dogs and an incredibly patient partner, who has known me before you had ever entered my life. I am as healthy as someone in my position can be, I still struggle with the anorexic thoughts but I eat everyday of the fucking week now.

I am not “happy” as happy is an emotion and emotions are fleeting but I am content in living for the simple life I have fought ever so hard for. I am strong, and determined and constantly fucking working on making more for myself. I’m proud of myself.

All I have to say is get therapy. If you’re really sorry work on yourself enough to be able to apologise properly before you fuck my day up by rising your head again for this weakness. I can’t say I don’t have morbid curiosity, because that’s me all over, however I’m much more determined to keep all that I have work for mentally, emotionally, and physically safe. For that reason I would never in my right medicated mind talk it out with you, email you back or seek you out. I’m sorry, it is what it is.

You can not damage someone irreparably both mentally and physically and think “I’m sorry for being a cunt” even close to cuts it. You are mentally unbalanced, in a way not even I can relate to.

[midnight-circus]

sometimes you just gotta meme for the new guy.

this is two memes combined so sorry if theres similar questions i couldnt be bothered to post them separately lmao

it’s fuckin huge My Bad

-

Names? If you were to choose another name for your oc, what do you think it would be? Did you choose their name for how it sounds or for its meaning?

Tbh it was a toss-up for a long time between Mallory, Felix and Everaud, and eventually the first two won. I chose it for how it sounded, but as it turned out the meanings of his first two names juxtapose pretty well together (first name Mallory - ‘unlucky’, second name Felix - ‘lucky’). His surname, Valkner, I also picked for the sound - the meaning of ‘warrior’ doesn’t really pertain to him lmao

He hasn’t gone by his legit first name of Mallory since he was about 12, and has used Felix almost exclusively since then. he fuckin hates it. most of the time.

Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

No, he grew up without much money and instruments would have been a luxury. He’s vaguely considered it as an adult, but is pretty certain he’d be useless so hasn’t bothered trying.

How does your oc fare in the dark? Are they scared? Do they trip over things really easily or navigate like they have night vision? (Or do they have night vision?)

He doesn’t like the dark much, but he’s not scared. He’s just got bad eyesight.

How well would your oc fare as a teacher? What subject would they be best at teaching? What about the worst?

tbh he’d probably be pretty good as a teacher to a group of like...primary school kids, maybe from 5-11 in age. He’s quiet-voiced, fairly mild-mannered, and has a strong sense of fairness and justice - the problem would arise when it came to older pupils, teens and up, trying to get the upperhand, bc he’s not authoritative in the slightest and would probably cave. Give him a room of toddlers tho that he’s only responsible for in short bursts and he’d cope pretty well. Either history or english lit would be his forte; sports would be worst. the boy can’t run.

What was your oc’s relationship with their parents like? If they didn’t have any parents/didn’t know them, who in their life was the closest to a parent to them?

It’s...good? I guess?? It’s complicated. his parents love their kids dearly and Felix didn’t go wanting for affection, but if anything it went too far the other way. He was absolutely smothered as a kid - after several near-death experiences with childhood illnesses (bacterial meningitis, which developed into encephalitis, then sepsis in his leg), his mother wrapped him up in cotton wool and never really let go. He couldn’t leave the house alone, he couldn’t go outside on cold days, he couldn’t move at anything faster than a walk - after being in and out of hospitals from 5-years-old to 8, and then being kept on a shelf from then, it really had an impact on how he learnt to interact with other kids his age. It’s also given him an unstable footing in life itself - he’s never quite certain if he’s going to lose everything at the drop of a hat, because that’s how they used to act around him. Now, with the distance of adulthood, he loves them and appreciates that they were trying their best, but he can’t help but resent them a little if he really thinks about it. He gets around this by not thinking about it.

Does your oc have any allergies, intolerances, or other sensitivities? How dangerous is it? Does this affect their daily life in any way?

he’s got an allergy to letting himself be happy it’s very serious

Does your oc prefer being in a crowd or being completely alone? How many people can be around them before they get uncomfortable?

Generally he’s more content alone - conversation doesn’t come naturally to him, particularly if it’s a crowd of strangers, and he’s more content in his own company. If he does find himself in a crowd, he will take himself to the edge of the room and people-watch rather than mingle.

How open is your oc to trying new things? Are they the adventurous sort, or would they rather stay in their comfort zone? Why?

He needs to be talked into things, otherwise he’d never try anything - he knows his comfort zones and he’s very comfortable in them, and is not inclined to venture outside. If he’s nudged into doing something, he may end up finding that he enjoys it - doesn’t necessarily mean he’d do it again under his own steam, but he doesn’t always regret the experience.

Does your oc have any best friends? Who was/is their closest friend? What about their worst enemy?

Pathetically enough, he doesn’t, really. Sylvia was his best, and to be honest his only friend, and when she left his social life left with her. He loves her still, but he loves her platonically (even if he hasn’t realised that yet) and that wasn’t enough for her, understandably. Outside of her, there’s not really anyone else.

No enemies. He’s not important enough to have enemies.

How dangerous is your oc? Are they completely innocent, or someone to be feared? Do others know?

tbh Felix’s level of danger is about the same as a puppy with a knife in its mouth. like yeah it might get you by accident but its way more likely to hurt itself and its not really done anything to deserve that so really its more important to get the knife away from it for its own benefit than yours

What is your oc’s vision like? Do they require glasses, are they completely blind, or do they have 20/20 vision? Does this have an effect on their life?

He wears glasses for pretty much everything - he’s not blind without them, but his vision’s bad enough that he wouldn’t be able to cope for the whole day if he left them at home.

If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Probably for getting mixed up in something he didn’t mean to get involved in - Felix is the sort of person to say ‘yes’ to one request because he felt pressured and then find himself 20 ‘yes’s down the line embezzling money from the government for the Serbian mafia with no idea how he got there. He’s quite easy to manipulate - a person who knows how to press his buttons can generally work the answer they want out of him. 

How quiet or loud is your oc? Are they easily capable of sneaking around without being heard, or do they feel it’s impossible to stop talking?

He’s pretty quiet - tries not to draw attention to himself if he can avoid it, and he doesn’t really speak unless he’s spoken to.

How stylistically fancy is your oc? Or would they rather go for comfort and plainness instead?

His primary concern is durability and price - he needs something that will either last for as long as possible so he doesn’t have to replace it any time soon, or something that is cheap enough that it doesn’t matter if it wears out, and ergo, Primark. He oftens window-shops for nice-fitting, fancy clothing in the London boutiques he passes on the way to work, but has never bought anything like that in his life and can’t bring himself to even consider it.

What’s your oc’s preferred mode of transportation? Walking, vehicle, (or in a sci-fi/magic setting) teleportation?

His preferred mode of transport is a car, but his isn’t always working properly so when he has to, he takes a bus - he doesn’t like walking if he can avoid it, partially because it wears him out and partially because he’s kind of physically lazy.

Is your oc always late, always early, or always right on time? Is there any reason for this?

He’s always early, because he leaves early, because he’s already envisioned about 20 different disasters that could make him late on the way and he’s trying to circumvent all of them.

How empathetic is your oc? Or are they closer to being a sociopath? Any reason why?

Felix doesn’t really realise that he’s empathetic - he thinks he’s just doing what everyone does, but in fact he will go out of his way to improve a situation for someone if he thinks they’re being hard-done-by for no benefit to himself, even to the extent of bending or breaking rules. It’s partially why he got into the law-scene - he wants to see things bettered for people who need it.

How much does your oc swear? Or do they keep completely clean? Why is this? Is there any situation where they would be the opposite?

Swearing doesn’t come naturally to him - he’s one of those people who will swear only under their breath and still manage to feel guilty about doing it. If he is going to swear out loud, he does it in German and it always comes out clumsily.

How does your oc’s own perception of themselves compare to how other people see them? Is your oc aware that other people see them differently (if it’s different)?

It’s pretty different. In his mind, he’s pretty useless - a bit of a waste-of-space who has coasted through life by pretending to be better than he is, kind of dull, kind of boring, kind of unattractive, altogether too much of Nothing Special for anyone to really be bothered with. Realistically, he comes across as responsible and competent at his job, perhaps a little highly-strung and nervy but nevertheless perfectly capable of managing the responsibilities he has. It’s his own self-doubt that cripples him, for the most part - people see it in him, and perhaps it makes them wonder if there’s a reason for it.

Is your oc a workaholic, or do they find it hard to be busy at all? Do they find it easy to relax, or must they have something to do at all times? Why?

if he’s not working, he’s thinking, and that simply won’t do. Felix’s whole life is work, for the most part - he throws his all into it, and isn’t sure what to do with himself when he’s sitting at home alone in a dead-quiet flat.

How energetic is your oc? Do they have trouble sitting still or do they feel low on juice all the time? Any reason why?

He’s constantly exhausted. It’s because he’s depressed. He hasn’t figured that out yet.

How does your character sleep? Peacefully, fitfully? What position do they sleep in? What is their typical bedding like?

Not very peacefully - Felix is a light sleeper, so although capable of getting to sleep relatively quickly he wakes up in fits and starts throughout the night. He tends to sleep curled on his left side, on bedding that is cheap, serviceable and durable. He can’t afford to buy anything decent. He finds it easier to stay asleep if there’s ambient noise in the room - white noise, the TV, whatever.

Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

He’ll suffer a pretty bad nightmare here and there, generally to do with hospitals or medical procedures, but they aren’t chronic.

How easy to annoy is your oc? Do they have common pet-peeves or are they stoic in response to everything? What is their reaction if the source doesn’t stop?

he’s real easy to annoy lmao. He’s got a list of pet peeves a mile long and he’s very easy to get a rise out of, so people who enjoy getting a reaction (Lyon) find him very entertaining pickings. He keeps telling himself not to get so worked up because it only encourages things, but he can’t help it.

How does your oc view housework? Do they absolutely hate it? Do they enjoy having their surroundings neat and tidy or do they not notice?

He hates doing it, but he really enjoys a clean space afterwards and goes a long way to keep things organised. Disorder stresses him out - he particularly can’t bear people coming into his space and messing it up.

Your oc has to make something for an art exhibition. What would they make? How terrible is it? Would they enjoy making it?

oh christ. the thing is, he’s actually not that bad at art - he’s got a good handle on anatomy and perspective and can reproduce images or photpgraphs fairly well - but he thinks he’s useless and has never shown anyone anything. he’d produce a pretty solid sketch of like a coffee shop at 5pm or something dull like that, apologise profusely for the result, and hate every second of it.

What is your oc’s vocabulary like? Does it match the way they talk? How would you describe their speech?

He speaks pretty well - he’s precise with his words and keeps a quiet, even tone, and his vocab is fairly developed. If there’s a flaw with his speech, it’s that he speaks rather too quickly, because he’s used to being constantly interrupted - it becomes a race to get the sentence finished and his point across, before someone can cut him off.

He has a south German accent, but it’s a little softer for years of living in England - it gets stronger when he goes back home to Munich.

Is your oc more likely to follow instructions exactly, throw them out and figure it out on their own, or make it all up? What are the results like?

He follows instructions to the T, and doesn’t have the impulse to experiment and mess around with them for fear of making a mistake that he’d then have to clean up; that being said, if it becomes a matter of fair treatment, he may be inclined to bend the rules here and there.

Is your oc afraid of touch or do they actively seek it out? Is there a reason for this? What are the exceptions?

lmaoooOOOOO he’s petrified, whilst at the same time desperately craving it. He’s horrendously touch-starved, but his childhood lizard-brain learnt to associate touch with painful medical procedures, so he shies from it by nature.

How is your oc about medical care? Do they avoid any form of healthcare that they can, do they seek it out over every little scrape? Do they treat their injuries/illness all by themselves?

Felix carries an awful lot of medical trauma with him; he’s terrified of medical care, whilst simultaneously being something of a hypochondriac convinced he’s got some sort of Terrible Disease at all times. to be fair, this is because he once had a Terrible Disease, which then led to a second and then a third Terrible Disease before the first could even be treated, so he does have form for it. He also can’t handle blood and has been known to pass out at the sight of it, but would rather do that and recover on the floor than go to hospital.

He will avoid hospitals At All Costs.

How competitive is your oc? Is every little task something that they can win, or are they just in competitions for the fun of it? Is there anyone they’re most competitive with?

He’s sort of competitive accidentally - he doesn’t want to be, but he feels like he needs to be in order to succeed. He is desperate to prove himself, desperate to show his mother than he is more than capable of managing his own life, but he will run himself to exhaustion trying to get there. He’s happiest when he’s left to do his own thing without feeling like he’s competing against others, when he’s content that he’s appreciated by the people around him and is able to take that appreciation at face value, but he hasn’t come to that realisation in himself yet - he just thinks he’s doing it wrong.

How skilled at lying is your oc? How frequently do they lie? For what reason? What situations would be the exception?

lmao he can’t lie to save his life it’s actually kind of sad to watch. he’s a Blusher, for one, so he’s already tripped coming out of the gate, and then he starts falling over his own tongue the second he’s asked a question he can’t give a truthful answer to until it’s painfully obvious to everyone. it’s just sad.

What is your oc’s immune system like? Are they invincible to illness, or are they compromised completely from the slightest of dirt?

His immune system is terrible - a side-effect of his childhood. If there’s an illness going around, he will catch it.

Does your oc do anything “just for the aesthetic”? Or are they completely practical in everything?

Totally practical by habit, but perhaps he’d be happier if he wasn’t. He’s not used to doing things just because he wants to, because he’d enjoy the experience - there has to be a reason for it, else he’s not justified in doing it. Same goes for purchasing things that he wants - if he can’t come up with a good, solid, practical reason to buy himself something, he won’t buy it. ‘Because you want to’ is not reason enough.

If you had to choose a single object to act as a symbol for your oc, what would it be?

One of those candles that re-ignites itself when you blow it out.

If your oc could only eat one thing for the rest of their life (while miraculously not suffering from malnutrition), what would it be?

He’s got a massive sweet tooth and spends a lot of time baking, so probably cake - he’s fond of little gay French patisserie nonsense.

How prepared is your oc? Ready for the worst no matter what, or completely lost in every situation? Would they have a medkit when it was needed? Would they have an umbrella if it rains?

As much as he panics, in a legitimate bad situation he is capable of keeping his head - he runs on adrenaline and suffers the consequences later. He carries a first-aid kit in his car, but has never needed to use it, and yes, he always has an umbrella.

How charitable is your oc? Or are they more stingy with their resources and money?

god. He is stingy, but not out of a miserly nature - he just legitimately does not have much money. He never has, ever since childhood, and that shit is ingrained in him - you watch what you’re spending, because you never know when you’re going to need to make an emergency payment.

If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

Short guy, kind of round-faced, round glasses - kinda looks like he’s lost even when he isn’t. Jumps if you bump into him.

Does your oc have any pleasure that embarrasses them so they keep it secret? Or are they open about all the things they enjoy?

literally everything that he enjoys, he’s embarrassed about. He likes old black-and-white movies and he’s embarrassed about that. He reads shitty romcom fiction and he’s embarrassed about that. He enjoys cooking, he’s embarrassed about that. He actually enjoys sex, believe it or not, and he’s embarrassed about it. Don’t even fuckin get him started on his kinks because he’s embarrassed about them. tbh Felix doesn’t really know how to enjoy himself without guilt or shame, because he always feels like he needs to justify the things he likes and he doesn’t know how to do it. He’s just embarrassed.

What is your oc’s stamina like? Would they be able to run a marathon, or not run at all? What about walking/another physical activity? How are they with exercise in general?

Shitty stamina - he’s got weak lungs and the extent of his running ability is running for a bus and then needing literally four hours to recover. He sort of makes a vague attempt to exercise at home, but is easily discouraged and would just rather lie on the couch having a crisis of body-image.

How long can your oc stay focused on one task before they get bored? Do they constantly have to switch things up or do they hyperfocus? What sort of things is it the opposite for?

Felix is the king of repetitive, menial tasks. Set him in front of a diary or a spreadsheet and he’s well away. He really doesn’t mind thoughtless admin labour, even as he insists that he’s capable of handling more responsibility - and although he is more than capable, he also feels comforted by the predictability of data-entry. A nice mix of both would be ideal.

What smells bring back specific memories to your oc? What are those memories like?

Antiseptic and rubber floors, with that underlying stink of sickness. They’re not good memories.

How jumpy or easily spooked is your oc? Do they have a fight or flight reflex to being startled, or are they never startled at all?

He’s super-jumpy and easy to startle, which is delightful to some people. Between fight or flight, he’ll fly.

How polite is your oc? Do they do everything with the utmost courtesy, or do they completely refuse to say please and thank you?

He’s unfailingly polite, because his mother would have beat him with a shoe if he wasn’t.

How flexible is your oc? Can they touch their toes or do they have trouble just sitting down because of how stiff they are?

He doesn’t think he’s flexible at all, but certain intercurricular activities with Lyon suggest that he’s more flexible than he thinks he is.

What is your oc’s typical walking like? Do they speed-walk everywhere, do they take quick short steps or long paces? How loud are their footsteps?

Because his legs are kinda short, he walks pretty quickly just to be able to keep up with people - quiet steps, because he’s trying not to draw attention to himself.

If your oc was in a video game, what would their idle animation be?

Cleaning his glasses, putting them back on, squinting through them, then taking them off and cleaning them again ad infinitum.

What topics does your oc know the most about? Are these obvious or would these be surprising to others?

He’s a talented cook and has absorbed quite a lot about flavour profiles and all that shit that I know nothing about so I’m not going into details lmao. He’s also got a bank of knowledge about classic films that he keeps to himself, as he’s never convinced anyone would be interested. He’s got a lot of shit that he keeps to himself for this same reason, and therefore there’s quite a lot he could surprise people with if the right topics came up.

What time of day is your oc most awake? What about most tired? Do they get up at the same time every morning without need of an alarm, or is their sleep schedule all over the place?

Tries to tell himself he’s a morning-person. He isn’t. Left to his own devices he’d wake up about 10 and fall asleep about 2am, but he’ll insist if asked that he’s naturally inclined to wake up early.

What would someone blackmail your oc with? Would they be successful in getting what they wanted?

they’d get hold of a list of his pornhub browsing history and yes, they would absolutely be successful.

How easily does your oc get attached to things? Does everything have a sentimental value to them, or do they see nothing as more valuable than its practical use? What about with people/animals?

He gets attached to people and animals very easily, but as for things - he gets angry when he breaks or loses items, but that’s more to do with being stressed about having to pay to replace them than anything sentimental. He’s thrifty to a fault and won’t throw anything out until it’s absolutely unusable, to the point that he’s gotten pretty skilled at sewing repairs in order to avoid getting rid of clothes. He does have sentimental attachments to a few things, but not the majority.

How stubborn is your oc? Are they easily convinced of the opposite opinion, do they not agree but let it happen anyways? Or do they cause conflicts with their inability to budge in their decisions?

He’s not stubborn, as such, but he does know his own mind. He can be talked around or into things quite easily, but he does like to feel as though his voice has been heard.

How much has your oc traveled? Why is this? Would they like to travel more? Or are they perfectly fine with staying home?

He’d prefer to stay home - there’s too much room for error travelling abroad, and the risks don’t really outweigh the benefits for him. He travels back and forth between England and Germany, and he has visited France before as a boy, but that’s about it.

What signs tell that your oc is nervous? Do they fidget, is it in their expression or the way they say things? Or are they very skilled at hiding it?

He fiddles with his glasses and fidgets his hands around, and is also (as mentioned) a blusher - he’s Not Subtle when he’s nervous or flustered, which in turn makes it worse.

How superstitious your oc? Do they end up following them ‘just in case’? Or are superstitions incredibly important to your oc? What are some that they believe? What about the ones they don’t?

He says he isn’t superstitious, but I’m not certain that’s true - I think he’s superstitious despite himself. He follows them, then gets annoyed with himself for following them and assures himself that he won’t do it again, but then when it comes to it next time he follows them again anyway. He won’t walk under ladders, won’t open an umbrella indoors and he broke a mirror once and almost died. The only one he doesn’t believe is unlucky black cats, because he’s never met a black cat that was unpleasant.

[shainlov]

New Years Exchange!!!

@the-sociopathic-jacket I was your gifter! And this is... longer than it was supposed to, I’m so sorry.

Nemuri never forgave herself, but life moves on.

A year before Midnight joined UA staff, she had a difficult case including her family members that no hero should've go through but it’s just such a common trope.

Nemuri Kayama was forever convinced that the case of Sosuke’s killer was going to forever stay her hardest one. Even five years later, she still grieved the boy she didn’t know until a few brief moments before his demise.

If she were to guess when it all began, it would be when she got involved in the case. Though… Sosuke’s... parents would point at her pathetic hero career and shout that it was then when she went to the hero school when she started... she doomed Sosuke to death... because anyone else would’ve done a better job and saved him.

If she never went to the hero school, Sosuke would’ve never attracted the attention of that villain. Or any villain at all.

If she were a smarter woman, a braver-- If not for her incompetence he'd… well, either way, she’s never been the same.

Kayama saw horrible things, but the death of the young boy taken it’s greatest hit on her yet.

She couldn’t bear the guilt alone... she was very bad at handling her feelings on her own. She depended on people to help her to take care of herself when she was at her worst.

Of course, those people weren’t either Present Mic or Eraserhead, they barely held their emotional baggage. It was her wife who helped her through awful episodes each time.

Midnight was ever so slightly jealously looking at a monitor, watching a disgustingly romantic scene playing out between Ms. Joke and Eraserhead - it was the origin of Emi’s “marry me” joke that she repeated endlessly tormenting both Nemuri and Shouta with.

Both of her... friends were very good actors - convincing enough to make Midnight envious, even a little worried about whether they were genuine. She had to pinch herself to calm down and tell herself that Aizawa Shouta was gay. A few times.

Shouta would never answer to the advances of a person he wasn’t attracted to. Shouta would never try to hurt Nemuri either - hell, he asked many times if she was alright with his part in the operation because he knew of her silly crush.

Other than three of them at the scene, there were also two other underground heroes and a nearby police station on alert, waiting tensely for a signal. One of the extra teammates was inside the bar as an immediate back-up, while Midnight was waiting outside with the other guy. Shouta said he's never seen either of them before. It made Midnight wonder about how big the Underground Agency was.

That’s when Nemuri’s mobile meant for hero-related stuff rang. Excusing herself, she stepped out of the van, gladly distracting herself from the monitors.

“Lovely," She murmured to herself, "who’s this?” She answered in her "Midnight" voice, she didn’t recognize the number. Her fans liked to get her phone number from her agency’s site and call her. Some were sweet, while others just plain creepy.

“Mistress Midnight,” The voice on the other end of the line striked her immediately as someone dangerous. She was pretty good at reading people based off of their voice alone. Nobody in her agency had this voice and only those people addressed her as Mistress. “I’d suggest you come to your office quickly and pick it up, you have a very important message there." The person sounded almost giddy, like a little child who got a treat, or rather, in this situation, left someone a treat and wanted to see their reaction to it. With years of hero training and experience, she formed a suspect’s profile. "Time is extendable, but I don’t have forever.” This could be another freaky fan, but her gut was giving her especially bad vibe. “Ah, and don’t worry, we’re going to meet soon.”

Kayama was confused as to what the hell was that supposed to mean, but for now, she returned to the van. She was still on her mission and she had to keep the watch in case of Shouta and Emi requesting a back-up. Stepping back into the van, she bumped into the underground hero guy.

He shouted at her to get out there and "do her thing" because the operation was going to shit.

Alright then.

Nemuri counted herself as a part of the case ever since the villain called her phone which led her... home. The home of a naive pretty little girl who grew too fond of heroes and aspired to become like them.

Which resulted in the pretty little girl getting kicked out.

At 4 AM, about five hours after apprehending the villain gang and sending them into jail, Nemuri was sitting in her office.

Her leg bouncing as she looked at her phone. She had only a few saved numbers - only people she trusted were there, but there was an exception. There were two numbers saved of people she didn't trust one bit, and the missed calls came from them.

Back then, the agency building was her only home - she had a side room off of her big office - where she lived. Her office was modest, the only pieces of furniture were a desk, three leather armchairs, and her chair on wheels. The walls were covered praising articles and her posters, and also a sue for "too revealing outfit". She won that lawsuit by saying that the costume-regulation laws weren't established yet. They served as amusement for her bad mood.

In her desk's drawer, there were letters from her fans, police officers, some secret admirers and not-so-secret ones. She never responded because of her brand, and the other reason was... well, she was irreversibly lesbian. Male advances flattered her, but she wasn't interested.

"Hard to get" was helping her to sell more merchandise.

Below that drawer, she held some private things - like embarrassing photos of her cousins and aunts - and her identification documents. Only a small fraction though, she knew how things could get messy, and the most important stuff were kept in the side room, where she was the sole person who had access. It was relatively small and consisted of a pull-out couch and a wardrobe, and a small kitchen, and it connected to a bathroom with a shower and bathtub.

She used the shower at around 1 AM and ever since has been sitting motionlessly only changing the object that she was blankly staring at. The leather armchair in her office already dried from the water her wet tangled hair left.

Two notifications read:

You have missed 4 call(s) from Father

You have missed 17 call(s) from Mother

...and Midnight was… puzzled.

What was she supposed to do? The Kayamas have disowned her ages ago! What could’ve they wanted from her? They had everything! She was their disappointment! Her parents disowned her when she got into the hero school because she didn't want to play "status", and "power", and "house".

She disobeyed and went against what her parents thought was best for her. What was she even to them after all? A doll? They've married out of love and she was supposed to be sold? What's fair in that?

Pretty face, no brains and talented at dress-up games - that's what she started as. She still had little to no brain, but she wasn't useless anymore.

Surely, there was no emotional attachment to her. After all, they threw her out of her--their home. Well, not officially, and since that wasn't legal and they didn't want to be labeled as child abusers by abandoning her, they got her an apartment, moved her things and paid for it until she was 21.

She got her act together, unlocked the phone to look at dozens of missed texts.

Most of them were demanding to call back as soon as possible. When that list ended, she noticed the gap between this flood of texts and the last ones she sent them on New Year’s Eve back when she was 22 and hoped that she could fix their relationship... somehow.

So, not minding the hour, she called. It took two attempts - each to different parent - before Mother picked up. Her voice sounded… weary.

“Hello?”

“What happened?” Midnight didn’t quite sit well with the fact she was talking to her parents after promising herself to not look back.

“Nemuri?” The surprise in the woman’s voice that answered the phone was no wonder - she didn’t hear Nemuri’s voice for straight-up over ten years.

“Yeah. Why were you calling me?”

“Well… it’s about Sosuke, yo-- my son.” Nemuri flinched at that.

Of course, her parents wouldn’t know about her being aware of who Sosuke Kayama was. Her mother didn’t tell her she was pregnant, she officially hasn’t met him, she never talked with him. Nemuri was disowned sixteen years ago, and Sosuke was fourteen.

When she heard her mother went into labor, she sneaked into the hospital to greet her replacement and wish him good luck, but after that, she didn’t make any effort to contact him.

“What about him?” She kept her voice flat.

“He’s been kidnapped and it’s your fault.” Kayama Saori’s voice was sweet in her perfume commercials, but now it made Nemuri want to throw up. She leaned forward with her ear pressed to the phone. The heroine didn’t know whether she wanted to start apologizing or to throw the phone yelling that it wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not. Did you call to send me hate mail?” For the first few moments, it didn’t reach Nemuri that she was talking about a kidnapping over a phone. She never came to accept that her mother and father rejected her. So now, thoughts processed slower than usual.

“They want you to be the one to find him. You HAVE TO do this.”

“They?” Nemuri frowned, slightly surprised her mother hasn’t broken into wails yet. That was unusual…

“Yes. Whoever did this.”

It’s a game then?

Midnight bit at her thumb frustrated. Her little brother-- Sosuke was in danger because of her hero career? Was that true?

“I’ll call the police to question you, I am not a detective.” She said simply going for the disconnect button.

“No police or else he will be killed. Hurry.” Her mother hissed before she hung up. That left Nemuri frozen in her seat. So it was because of her.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848440

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Lindseyyyy is it too late for this? lol I wish you would write a fic where it took so long for the gang to figure out Clarke wasn’t Clarke, that when she did return(maybe saved herself somehow—I’m such a sucker for your fics when C is her own friggin’ savior tyvm 🙌🏽 lol) major angst ensues. Sorry, I’m feeling lots today😬😂☺️

Looooooove! No, no! Not too late - I’m having way too much fun with it!

Clarke felt everything.

She felt the moment her breathing slowed, when her brain started toshut off. It was excruciating and terrifying, and something she wouldn’t wishon anyone. Then, she had to watch her body be used for horrifying acts, againsther own people, against her family,without them realizing it.

Perhaps that’s where they were. Where she stood with everyone. Theycouldn’t put it together, they couldn’t separate who she was from whatthey did. There were days when she wanted to give up – to succumb to the hellthat became her mind as she was locked away. But then… then she thought of whatshe would say to them if she had another chance. How she would approach itdifferently, how she would lean forward with herself, no longer keeping peopleat arm’s lengths.

So when she can see the horror in their expressions, Josephine still incontrol, Clarke knows she has to do something. She has to save them, even if itmeans saving them from herself.

“No,” Bellamy breathes, taking a step away from her. “I-It can’t be.”

Josephine tilts her head in a murderous way. “Is it really so hard tobelieve, Bellamy? That she’s gone?”

“You’re lying!” Murphy spits to Bellamy’s left. “Clarke is one toughbitch who wouldn’t be taken out by someone as pathetic as you. You can’t kill—”

“A cockroach?” Josephine asks. “Sure you can, John. You just have to paralyzeit.”

Bellamy’s expression is one that Clarke wishes she never had to see.The heartbreak. The despair. She’s seen it before – even worse, she’s seen itdirected at her – and all she wantsto do is cry out. But she knows he can’t hear her, he can’t see her. He can’tsee how she’s fought to get back to him, to back to all of them, only to be behindglass. It’s as if she is back atMount Weather, but she never escaped.

“No,” Bellamy swallows. “No, Clarke can’t be—”

“Dead?” Josephine taunts. “I assure you, she can. Because this is allmine.” Josephine gestures to Clarke’s body. “It was kinda a drag at first, butI learned that I can get over all the baggage if people listen to me all thetime. I mean, you guys bitch so much,I don’t know how she hasn’t just murdered you all yet because it makes life somuch easier, but you know. C’est la vie.”

“Josie,” Russell warns behind her. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m right and I should say it.” Josephine says, gesturing at them. “They’vebeen super annoying.”

Bellamy still looks at her as if she’s shot him. His eyes are widerthan Clarke has ever seen them and they glisten.

“Actually, I think turning them into – what do you call it,nightbloods? Super catchy, not going to lie,” Josephine says. “And then we justbreed them so we can bring all the primes back. And just keep them so we canhave endless nightbloods and we’ll live forever. It’s the perfect plan.”

“Josie!” Russell exclaims, eyes wide. “That is sociopathic. We can’t—”

“Actually, I wasn’t asking.” Josephine says, nodding to guards behindhim.

“Hail Josephine, hallowed be her name.” People say behind her, theireyes glazed over.

“Josephine!” Russell cries when people restrain him. “This is not whatwe agreed on!”

“No, but as usual, I need to make the decisions because yours are soweak.” Josephine sighs. “Tie them up. We’ll start the procedures immediately.”

Clarke watches in horror. She wants to scream. So wants to reach out tothem. “I bore it so they didn’t have to. I killed so they didn’t have to. I did everything so they didn’t have to!”Clarke screams. She puts her hands on her head. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’twant to do it!”

Clarke takes her hands off her head. “I just want to protect them. It’swhat I’ve always wanted.”

Josephine flicks her fingers. “Bring them—”

She stops.

Everyone stares at her as she looks around. “My lady, everythingalright?” Someone asks.

“I—”

Clarke knows.

She never wanted more blood on her hands. She never wanted to killanother person. But they are too important. They are all so important.

Clarke will not apologize forsaving those she loves.

Everything comes back in pieces. It’s like someone turned a television,but the signal isn’t fully available. It’s fuzzy and in pieces, and at onepoint she feels something sharp against her back. It feels like she’s drowning –her head hurts, her body hurts, and she can’t breathe.

When she comes to, people are surrounding her. She’s vaguely aware ofsomething wet on the back of her neck. Her head lolls on the ground and someoneprops her up. “Josephine!” They cry. “Josephine, please!”

Clarke’s eyes flit open, her body trembling.

“Josephine!”

“Try again.” Clarke manages, her cheeks dragging across the ground asshe tries to stabilize herself.

People recoil.

Clarke brings her hands in front of her, hoisting herself on herforearms. “Clarke?”

Clarke moves her head to the noise, seeing Bellamy’s face yards away. “Bellamy?”She breathes, her lower lip trembling.

His face breaks into something mixed between relief and sorrow. “Oh mygod, Clarke.”

There’s a few clicks and Clarke looks up to see weapons pointed at herheads. “What have you done with Josephine?” Someone asks. A piece of metal ispressed against her head. “What have you done?”

Clarke brings her hands to the back of her neck. Her fingers are wetwith blood. Open flesh.

Clarke rummages around until her hands scramble against the Mind Drivethat’s on the ground next to her. She grabs it, taking it in her fingers. “Takenback what’s mine.”

No one stops her when she stands to her feet.

Clarke steadies.

She stands in the center of everyone, still. Sure. Her family is off tothe left, Russell and his on the right. The people of Sanctum filling inbetween.

She stands.

Mind Drive in hand, Clarke looks at her family. She sees the pain ontheir faces. Losing her and regaining her all at once.

Her body doesn’t quite feel like her own. It’s foreign and strange.Like putting on an outfit that you haven’t tried in years. It doesn’t fitright.

The guards blink and stare at Clarke. “W-What?” Someone asks, staringwhere Clarke is. “H-How are you… they are gods. They are immortal!”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.” She responds. “They are humans, just likeyou. Just like us. The only difference is, we try to save each other.” Shemoves and places a hand on one of the Sanctums’ guards faces. “The differenceis, we don’t take each other’s lives under the guise of faith.”

***

It ends like it started.

Quietly.

Except instead of being paralyzed, Clarke is surrounded by a bubble.People who are afraid to talk to her, people who are afraid that she isn’t her.Clarke learns to ignore it, settling back into the loneliness she was used to.

“What are you planning on doing with Russell?” Clarke asks, barginginto a meeting where everyone is circled. A few people jump. Someone even movesaway from her. Clarke would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t hurt, soshe looks to the ground.

“Why?” Emori asks suspiciously.

“I’d like to speak with him.” Clarke answers. “And I’d like to takeresponsibility of him.”

“Sounds like something Josephine would say—”

“I wish you would treat me like I hurt you on purpose.” Clarke states,her eyes watering. “I never wanted to hurt you.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Doesn’tmatter, though, right? All I do is apologize and then do it again.”

Raven recoils. “Clarke, I—” she clears her throat. “This is different,someone stole a body, you didn’t have a choice—”

“And I did before? It was the only choice.” Clarke asks, shutting her eyes. She hears Bellamy’s intake of breath. “I was told youguys or Mount Weather, I chose you guys. I was told Grounders or you guys, Ichose you guys. I was told you guys or the City of Light and I chose you guys.Enough.”

Clarke clears her throat. “I am no longer going to apologize for savingthe ones I love. And I wish you would stop asking me to.”

Clarke turns to leave, whirling around. “Clarke,” Bellamy reaches outand grabs her arm. “I—” He looks around to the room. “I can’t believe I wasn’tthere again.”

She closes her eyes. When she does that for sleep, she sees thenightmare. When she opens them, the nightmares remain. “It’s not your fault,”Clarke says, blinking. “I would never put that on you.”

He shakes her head. “You don’t have to bear it anymore. That’s why I’mhere. We can bear it.”

“Bellamy, I—”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Bellamy insists. “I’m here for you, do you understand? I’m here.”

Clarke pauses. His words reverberate again and again, and it clicks.

The world is so lonely. It doesn’t mean you have to be alone.

Clarke sucks in a breath. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moving throughout Sanctum, she moves quickly so no one can stop her.She doesn’t stop until she’s at Russell’s cell, trying to find the anger towardhim she expected.

He’s crumpled against the cell, his hair disheveled and clothes dirty. Whenhe catches her eye, he scoffs. “Come to finish the job?”

Clarke doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks to the guard, who gives herthe key. Unlocking the cell, Clarke moves toward him. “I understand your pain.”She states, eyes watering. “People leaving before you’re ready for them to doso. People leaving because of decisions youmade. I understand.”

Whatever Russell expected Clarke to say, it clearly wasn’t that. Hestares at her, eyes incredulous, but doesn’t respond.

Kneeling in front of him, Clarke places a hand on his knee. “I used tobe afraid of dying. That I would die young. It seemed like I was destined forit, you know? So much had happened. You cannot prevent death from happens. Itis all around us. It is like air. The people we love, they leave us. Peoplenever realize being left behind is so painful.”

Clarke moves in front of him. “I realize, I’m afraid of dying alone.Surrounded by nothing but my demons. The faces of those I killed. Of those Icouldn’t save.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m not afraid of death, Russell.”

Sucking in a breath, Clarke smiles at him. “I realize that you havenever had to face death. You’ve been postponing it for so long, I thought youmay like some company. Because I wouldn’t want to die alone. I can’t imagineyou would want to either.”

Clarke pulls something out of her pocket and shows it to him. Russell’seyes widen. “I am to be publicly executed for my crimes.”

Shaking her head, Clarke says, “Not if you don’t want to. And if you’reafraid, I’m here for you.”

Russell stares at the pill in her hands. She’d grabbed it in the lab duringone of her lucid moments, ready to take Josephine out if it meant the end ofher. He takes it from her, holding it close. “Clarke—”

“I know.”

Russell squeezes his eyes shut. “I just wanted to make up for theeclipse. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”

Because she does.

“I’m here.” Clarke says as he places the pill in his mouth. “I’m here,so you don’t have to be scared.” She reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Russell asks. “I-I killed you, I took yourbody.”

“You don’t have to apologize for trying to save the ones you love tome.” Clarke says, eyes watering. “You never had to face death before. There wasalways another body, another host. This is uncharted territory. I’m not sayingwhat you did was right. But I’m here for you anyways. Because I’d like to thinkin the grand scheme of things, we’re not alone.”

“You’re not.”

Clarke frowns at Russell’s statement as he slumps against her shoulder.His weight grows heavier against her. She looks up to see a throng of people standingoutside the cell. Bellamy, Murphy, Jordan, Raven, Madi, Emori and Echo. Theyall stand before her as she holds Russell’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. We’re hereto help you.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” Russell states, his words slow.

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear streams down her cheek. “Don’t beafraid, I have you.”

Staring ahead at the people she always called family, Clarke takes abreath. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next.Safe passage in your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” Clarkelocks eyes with Bellamy, who stares at her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. “Maywe meet again.”

Bellamy closes his eyes. He mouths it, as if just for her.

“May we meet again.”