#; the citrus screams into the void

[peaches2217]

I got a shit ton of writing done (four pages!), then I managed to clean for nearly an hour, and then I showered and did a full skincare routine for not just my face, but my entire body! “Peaches why are you saying this like it’s an accomplishment, any regular person can do that shit” well I’m Way Below a Regular Person, so I’m proud of myself 😌

My bathroom shelves are organized at last and my skin is soft and almond blossom-scented, plus I may be able to post a fic by week’s end. I’m gonna call that a win!

[citriosis]

[screaming into pillow]

[leet911]

Regret

They've been in Wildemount six days and Imogen casts sending every night before bed.  It hasn't worked yet, but still she tries.  She steels herself for the static as she weaves the spell and murmurs her message into the void.

"Laudna?  Can you hear me?  Tell me you're alright.  I need you to be alright.  Please.  I'm sorry, Laudna.  I–"  The screeching feedback interrupts, washing out her words and cutting her off.  A spike of pain shoots between her eyes, making her falter.

Imogen lets out a grunt of frustration, flings her pillow against the wall, and when it drops to the ground with a most unsatisfying sound, she invokes her power.  She pulls it from the ground with telekinesis, rips the pillow apart in the air.  As down flutters around the room, Imogen thinks of screaming, but then she remembers that Laudna isn't around to mend her messes, and she instead falls back to the bed with a sob.

There's a soft knock at her door.  "Are you ok?"  It's Fearne.

Imogen tries to steady herself and her voice.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Can I come in?"  Fearne is not convinced.

Imogen opens the door and looks around sheepishly.  There are still small bits of dust and feathers drifting around the room.  She realizes then, that she's not wearing her gloves, and her markings are clearly visible.  Self-conscious, she rubs her exposed forearms where the "Whitestone is for lovers" shirt doesn't cover.

Fearne steps in and glances about.  Her voice is soft and gentle.  "Do you want a hug?"

Imogen nods without looking up.

Warmth engulfs her as Fearne reaches out.  "It's ok if you miss her." Fearne smells like the outdoors, like wilderness and animals.  It reminds Imogen of Flora, and Gelvaan, and those mornings spent in the woods with Laudna, back before it felt like the world was ending.  Or maybe it did feel like the world was ending then, but for entirely different reasons, and they hadn’t known it actually was ending.

"It's…" Imogen rubs at her own neck,"it's just that I promised myself we wouldn't be apart again."

"None of this is your fault."

"But I promised her I wouldn't ever leave." Imogen thinks she might cry, and she hates herself for it.  All this power at her fingertips, and she still feels useless.  Calm emotions beckons at her, but that sounds too much like avoiding the question.  That sounds too much like cheating.  Because maybe Imogen believes she needs this pain, that she deserves this punishment.  Imogen was supposed to save the world, even if she never asked for it. Imogen was supposed to save the world so that Laudna would have time to hear all the things Imogen still had to say to her.

"We got sent away, maybe they did too.  We'll find them."

"But what if we're too late?  What if something happened, and Laudna needs us, and we're not there.  You heard what Deanna said.”  Imogen’s voice drops to a whisper.  “What if Laudna needs me?"  And she isn’t sure if the whisper is to keep the thought from Fearne or herself.  Because the next thought stays inside her own head, not daring to be spoken or broadcast.  What if I need Laudna?  See, Imogen remembers the last time Laudna was beyond the reach of her magic and what that meant.

The arms around her tighten.  “Laudna is stronger than she looks.  Orym and Ashton are too.”

Imogen sighs, nods her head.  She knows it’s true.  Laudna is the strongest person she’s ever met.

“Do you want a cookie?”  Fearne asks all of a sudden.  “FCG made them.”  And she rummages through her pouch to pull out a lone cookie.  “It’s not warm anymore, but it’s still pretty good.”

Imogen takes the treat because accepting seems easier than refusing, and eating is easier than talking.  She’s not really hungry but she bites into it anyway.

It’s a gingersnap, of course.   It’s crispy on the outside, and a little soft in the center.  Just like Imogen. Or Laudna. The surface is sweet, dusted with sugar, but there’s depths of spice hidden underneath.  And in the finish, the slightest tang of citrus.  Esteross’ recipe.  Laudna’s favorite.

The rest of the cookie is devoured.  And to Imogen, it tastes just like regret.

[tristayranambrosio]

"Flirt/Casualty" Day 1 - February 18 DWC

(This short story is told from the perspective of a former band Mate and how Trist and He met. You know before Trist was all Star-Void-Elfy. Enjoy <3: Note that its a little steamy and about a very tormented Orc who struggled very much with being himself until my Bard stumbled into his life) I nurse the sour ale in my tankard, I despise the flavor and would much prefer the tang of citrus and sweet mixed with some honey wine that I see the softer fellows in this den can be seen enjoying. Not me… no I have to sit and watch as the Crimson Curtain comes to life at the arrival of its star lutist. He is like a feast for my starving eyes, and I imagine if it was his lips I drank from… even this piss-water would taste like bliss. Instead I see him lean over a table and flirt with one of the affluent patrons and my tankard groans in protest under my white knuckled grip. Luckily for me an Orc bitterly suffering through the sorry excuse for a drink and scowling at this brazen display of flamboyant softness isn’t out of place here. In truth I crave the comfort of its magnificent colors, and the beautiful staff… I want to drink their sweet scents, roses and citrus… to bathe in them to bask in the relief it’d be just to live in their embroidered silks, rather than the oppressive Leather plates and spikes the Chief insists I have to wear to attract the attention of some she-orc to bear my sons. I snarl into my tankard and take a long furious gulp and attempt to swallow it with the revolting thought of using some poor female like that… knowing my mind would wander back to the laughing eyes of the Rose scented lead that has started in flirting with a fellow across the bar from me… Seeing how the soft beauty of an elf lightly squeezing the other Mercenary's arm and admiring the build sends my blood on fire and I briefly contemplate making the bastard another casualty of my fuming jealousy… No one else should be allowed to touch my Rose… none of them are good enough… fel neither am I… And yet… I flash back to the bright curtains while he grips them as tightly as I do my tankard. I imagine him screaming my name under my palm as I make him stifle it lest his boss hear what I’m taking from him… I imagine how it’d feel to pull his hair until he was panting and spent just so I could kiss his shoulder and tell him everything. That I’d never wanted someone as badly as I did him… I’d had my share of elven males, loved their tender perfect bodies for the pleasures they were to touch, this one though, he haunted me ever since I heard him sing… play… on Nestor’s old wine stained stage. He laughs again at something the jackass across from me says and I’m out of my Stool and about to storm over and yank my Rose away from this-this-... I halt when the Bard meets my eyes, struck with an overwhelming sense of terror, rage, and desire, with no idea which of those is reflected in my eyes. He’s unafraid, meeting me stare for stare, only in his Light Pink eyes I see… amusement, he’s not intimidated by the growl that I didn’t even realize was escaping me. “Easy, big guy, if you’re looking for a fight I’ll oblige, but Nestor told me you wanted to meet.” He extended a hand smiling… at -me- and I feel my face twist with glee and fury with a focus, that Bastard Busybody Ring-master I will kill him, “I’m Trist’Ayran Ambrosio, a pleasure-”

The way his tongue rolls over the last word has my body at attention and my nostrils flare… my anger at the meddling Cabaret Director temporarily dispelled as I’m being offered a hand I’d imagined on every part of me and I am once again glad that armor and leather doesn’t have much give as a rule and my state isn’t betrayed to be what it was, fixated entirely on this little Rose’s hands… eyes… lips… I grunt and force down my thoughts of how I’d like to hear him speak around parts of me I’ve only ever shared with soft sweet males like him… He waits patiently, his hand held out to what he must see as a brute of few words and even fewer kind ones. I make a show of crossing my arms and sneering at the Cabaret and despite loving every inch of it growl, “Did the Fop? Figures he’d send the Tavern Flirt at me. I’m -not- interested.” My body revolts and rails against my statement, the lie it was… I wasn’t just interested, I was obsessed… I had been for weeks… months… Trist withdrew his hand smoothly as if I’d not just looked at him with the well practiced disdain I leveled all openly true people with, and he smiled, “No one’s twisting your arm, big guy, not that I could… but you play?” I huff and keep my mask on firmly, indifference, disinterest, annoyance… even when within I yearn BURN to feel him -in- my arms… “Drums.”

Trist beams… and my heart slams so hard within my ribs I swear I feel it trying to burst from me into this Bard’s hands, like it was trying to escape, fly to him from the moment I heard his voice, then saw his face… Rose Quartz eyes and the most magnificent Autumn Maple hair that framed his perfect features in waves and curls that smelled like the Roses that haunted my senses ever since. “Well I’d love to see what you’ve got for me, Big Guy, but it’d be nice if you could give me a name… Otherwise you’re just gonna be some generic ‘big guy’ and if you’re joining up… well I’d like to be able to introduce you as you…” Oh what I could show him… what I had for him was a lust so intense it was making my blood power anything but my mind, and again I delayed my reply assailed with the image of showing just what I had for him… and hearing him say my name, “Jezza” My voice is a growl that I hope is intimidating and not giving away where my thoughts had gone… I needed to get a hold of myself… have this damned bard, and then put him from my mind forever. It wasn’t healthy, and if I can’t repress this need… this weakness for him and what he awoke in me, I was never going to be able to face my Tribe. It was not as if I could sire on him… but, Ancestors help me, my body certainly seemed to wanna give that a go with the urge building in me by the moment, not to mention the restless nights that showed my supposed lack of interest or virility with proposed brides was simply a product of them not being this soft bard… Get it over with, get him out of your head… this is not normal. “Jezza.” My breath stopped. My heart seized… say it again… I willed him. “Jezza…” He tasted my name testing the sound on that damnable tongue, “Handsome name for a Handsome Brute.”

He was- “Are you MOCKING me runt?” I nearly roar. “Nah. Just flirting. Lets see what you got.” With that he sauntered up… and tucked a pair of Drumsticks under my belt… and I could swear he did it to glance under the hem of my leathers… but I was too distracted by the proximity… how he somehow smelled even better than I imagined, and how my eyes nearly rolled back in their skull knowing just how close he was to me. It was over too soon. He pulled away and swatted my hip, “You coming?” The bard brandished his lute as he sauntered to the stage tilting his head to the Drum set in the back, but I was almost rooted to the floor. Staring at this brazen… cocky… magnificent -thing- that I was going to -make- mine. I rumble and to myself, “Not yet… but you’ll see to that soon.” I stormed up to the stage all bravado and seething outrage… but I play… and Oh… I bask in the first time my Rose really sees me and feels me in the beat. The novelty will get stale… and my Life will start and I’ll leave all this behind. Maybe after a few more songs. 

@daily-writing-challenge

[nothought-headfull]

Where I personally stand on headcanons for COD men. Don’t argue, I won’t budge, make your own headcanons okay.

Price: Probably makes dad noises when he sits or stands just due to the amount of wear and tear the job has done to his body, even being in good physical conditions. Probably snaps crackles and pops too (same dude). But I don’t see him as an old old man. Don’t think his visions as shit as so play it off to be, if he has glasses it’s probably some mild script from squinting all the damn time plus like a mild astigmatism. Also I think he smells musky and burbony but in more in the context of cologne scent notes rather than literal bourbon. I don’t see him as the kind to drink on the job.

(And now for a break bcs I rambled :) )

Ghost: Autism coded (not literally diagnosed but very similar), yes that’s just to make me feel better for when I stare into the void like he did in the car with Ale and Rudy. Probably thinks two fish in a tank is peak comedy for a while. I can see him having scars on the body and face but I personally don’t think they’re quite as extensive. Will admit I haven’t read the comics (bcs I’ll cry probably), so that may not be canon complaint and I’m willing to admit that. I also feel like based on the way homeboy firmly grasps everything that recoil and vibration from weapons has a tendency to lock his hands up or make them stiff.

Gaz: man is gorgeous, clearly takes pride in his appearance and selfcare. Wouldn’t be surprised to find out man has like a 12 step routine or something. His hair is beautiful his stubble is beautiful. I will sing his praises until I die. I love a man that enjoys selfcare and does a great job while doing it god damn. But I also get some adhd vibes from him, the way he goes 0 to 100 in some missions and then goes back to acting appropriately. His focus is in multiple places at once and he probably has the most chaotic internal monologue second to Soap.

Soap: and on that topic we have our most feral demolitions specialist (I love him.) I feel like he cracks jokes to lighten the mood, and can’t handle when folks on the mission are business only (and in hindsight really appreciates two fish in a tank but felt bad he didn’t in the moment). Honestly I was surprised in game how many times Soap could manage to put metal in the microwave and laughed that he considered it an option to distract. It was great. I want my mind to operate on that sort of level of engineering and pure chaos. Also feel like he’s accidentally given himself chemical burns on at least two occasions or didn’t handle C4 correctly and started itching. If I remember correctly it’s sort of like touching fiberglass? I could be wrong on that.

Alex: Most beautiful facial hair in game (sorry Price). the mustache details are just beautiful. I feel like out of the field he’d be the guy to use beard wax and care products. Like he puts a lot of pride into that but not in the full hipster look way (no disrespect, just not the vibe I catch.) I personally hate the way facial hair feels but I know he takes damn good care of it and it’s gotta be soft. I will not back down on this one bite me.

Alejandro: This dude looks like he smells fucking phenomenal. His hairs prettier than mine for fucking real. Also I’m willing to bet like he smells like a combination of musk, cedar, and eucalyptus. But I’m willing to lean into it that he may have citrus of some sort or cinnamon in those cologne notes. I can’t decide which is better in this situation. Even breaking him out of prison he looks god damn fine and put together. He’s beautiful. I adore him

Rudy : seems like the kinda guy to always be out together, the hair has product in it for fucks sake. He’s perfect. Like every detail of him screams I love looking good and I love doing it and honestly he’s so right for that. Multi step hair are guy. What the hell is 3-in-1 product? He doesn’t know that.

[oblivions-dawn]

CACKLES

IT'S WEDNESDAY AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. No it's not but fuck it I can't contain my evilness anymore I MUST SHARE. I MUST SCREAM. THE WIP IS UPON YE AND YOU'RE NOT READY FOR IT Sniping with love @thequeenofthewinter @blossom-adventures @avantegarda @thelavenderelf @mareenavee @umbracirrus @yewphoric and anyone else that sees this and wishes to share their WIP!! >:3c No obligation of course huehue. You have no idea what I'm keeping from you right now. Where it ends--the next like three or four sentences that follow--WOULD MURDER YOU. Yes I am once again keeping the good shit to myself MWHAHAHAHAHA. Enjoy what I give you and scream knowing that there's so much more to this HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHE

“You’re hurt.”

Larimar blue eyes fluttered open. Snow fell silently from the silver skies, their gentle dance swept away by the soft yet salty sea breeze. Vigdis squinted at the sun’s blinding rays that showered over her reclined body. A figure loomed above her to partially block the sun, draped in shadow. Cold fingers traced along her scarred cheek in a tender caress that sent a shiver down Vigdis’ spine.

“You can’t run forever.”

She gasped—the ground disappeared beneath her, and she plummeted into darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut, slammed her hands over ears as a thunderous roar ripped across the void—

“I won’t hurt you.”

She opened her eyes again.

Persimmon irises glowed back, nestled in oceans of ebony so dark that no light could penetrate them. A faint blue light glittered and flickered across her pale features; weaved through her dark hair; danced in her eyes. Citrus and florals swirled in her freckled nose; their breaths dissipated together into a misty fog.

She was too close.

For so long she had tried to keep her distance—to stay away from Serana. At first, her hatred for vampires and need for self-preservation above all else was enough . . . until it wasn’t. Her anger flared as questions without answers bubbled in her mind. Just how long had she felt this way? When did her hatred fade?

And when did something else take its place?

[demonica-31]

Hey guys, I need a little bit of help. I’m doing a Halloween themed game on ClanGen, but I’m having trouble figuring out how to name my characters. The only names I’ve been able to come up with are

1. Pumpkin

2. Were/Wolf

3. Chocolate/Cocoa

4. Bony/e

5. Skeleton

6. Skull

7. Witch

8. Zombie

9. Dead

10. Franken

11. Undead

12. Gourd

13. Spider

14. Corpse

15. Mummy

16. Eerie

17. Creepy

18. Crypt

19. Fear

20. Web

21. Troll

22. Hob/Goblin

23. Blood/y

24. Corn

25. Sugar

26. Sweet

27. Sour

28. Spirit

29. Ghost

30. Ghoul

31. Wraith

32. Fright

33. Stitch

34. Rat

35. Needle

36. Beetle

37. Glow

38. Lantern

39. Grave

40. Tomb

41. Freaky

42. Sliver

43. Grim

44. Phantom

45. Tarantula

46. Eldritch

47. Maggot

48. Vampire

49. Bat

50. Midnight

51. Fairy

52. Sprite

53. Vulture

54. Mushroom

55. Worm

56. Wither(ing)

57. Wilt(ed)/(ing)

58. Demon

59. Slime(y)

60. Dead

61. Cinnamon

62. Caramel

63. Coconut

64. Wisp

65. Rot(ten/ting)

66. Coffin

67. Howl/ing

68. Scream(ing)

69. Gore

70. Casket

71. Fungus

72. Taffy

73. Buried

74. Banshee

75. Beast

76. Bean

77. Monster

78. Nougat

79. Peanut

80. Sprinkle

81. Syrup

82. Ooze

83. Gooey

84. Cream/y

85. Knife

86. Cleaver

87. Slash

88. Doll(y)

89. Frosting

90. Icing

91. Glaze

92. Cookie

93. Cake

94. Poison

95. Cider

96. Shark

97. Metal

98. Mold/y

99. Nightmare

100. Hiss/ing

101. Severe/d

102. Cadaver

103. Devil

104. Ro/bot

105. Carcass

106. Lollipop

107. Licorice

108. Gummy

109. Jellybean

110. Marshmallow

111. S’more

112. Frog

113. Pie

114. Walker

115. Brownie

116. Fudge

117. Sharp

118. Razor

119. Buried

120. Chip

121. Bitter

122. Cyborg

123. Cyber

124. Digital

125. Pixel

126. Pixie

127. Blade

128. Toadstool

129. Snake

130. Cobra

131. Glitch

132. Spine

133. Chill(ed/ing)

134. Coffee

135. Espresso

136. Tick

137. Leech

138. Sting

139. Serpent

140. Cauldron

141. Iron

142. Potion

143. Pudding

144. Vanilla

145. Flour

146. Piranha

147. Boar

148. Pig

149. Leather

150. Orca

151. Anaconda (don’t want none)

152. Gorilla

153. Alligator

154. Crocodile

155. Turkey

156. Citrus

157. Lemon

158. Lime

159. Unicorn

160. Dagger

161. Clown

162. Jester

163. Void

164. Leprechaun

165. Orc

166. Torn

167. Shattered

168. Tea

169. Butter

170. Butterfly

171. Diamond

172. Gem

173. Alien

174. Mocha

175. Banana

176. Mermaid

177. Siren

178. Angel

179. Soda

180. Popcorn

181. Voodoo

182. Rattle(d/ing)

183. Dragon

184. Scale(d)/Scaly

185. Blueberry

186. Raspberry

187. Mango

188. Strawberry

189. Grinning

190. Dancing

191. Latte

192. Spice/y

193. Cozy

194. Tar

195. Acid

196. Melt(ed/ing)

197. Autumn

199. Cheesecake

200. Twilight

201. Grape

202. Shard

203. Crisp(y)

204. Still

205. Rabid

206. Bitter

207. Twisted

208. Bullet

209. Charcoal

210. Feral

211. Griffin

212. Nymph

213. Melon

214. Crimson

215. Plum

216. Salt(y)

217. Ring

218. Somber

219. Hyena

220. Decay(ed/ing)

221. Whiskey

222. Margarita

223. Cocktail (that's a whole entire name right there!)

224. Beer

225. Pirate

226. Glitter

227. Moon

228. Powder

229. Heathen

230. Garlic

231. Firework

232. Trick

233. Treat

234. Widow

235. Eclipse

236. Butterscotch

237. Gargoyle

238. Honeydew (another full name!)

239. Pomegranate

240. Malt

241. Milk

242. Tangerine

243. Kiwi

244. Apricot

245. Blackberry

246. Cranberry

247. Fig

248. Papaya

249. Pineapple

250. Raisin

251. Eclair

252. Drowned/ing

253. Viper

254. Wicked

255. Glass

256. Gem

257. Jewel

258. Thrash(ed/ing)

259. Venom

260. Almond

261. Cashew

262. Pistachio

263. Walnut

264. Fruit(y)

265. Bomb

266. Cherry

267. Chamomile

268. Volt

269. Jolt

270. Punk

271. Goth

272. Emo

273. Grunge

274. Hex

275. Vex

276. Snap

277. Macabre

278. Crazy

279. Insane

280. Muffin

281. Chain/Saw

282. Hammer

283. Hook

284. Machete

285. Axe

286. Slice

287. Loon

288. Lunar

289. Phoenix

290. Nail

291. Balloon

292. Fizz/y

293. Foam/y

294. Froth/y

295. Spook/y

296. Flesh

297. Haunt(ed/ing)

298. Poltergiest

299. Apparition

300. Soul

301. Scare/crow (Another full name!)

302. Cold

303. Elf

304. Ogre (someBODY-)

305. Frenzy

306. Mirage

307. Spunk

308. Darkling

309. Minotaur

310. Basilisk

311. Chanterelle (it's type of mushroom)

312. Clementine

313. Nectarine

314. Orange

315. Wizard

316. Broom

317. Mystery

318. Yeti

319. Cryptid

320. Wendigo

321. Behemoth

322. Kelpie

323. Goat

324. Amarok (it's a type of wolf)

325. Pegasus

326. Truffle

327. Saffron

328. Croissant

329. Strudel

330. Pepper/mint

331. Paint/ed

But here’s the thing. I’m running out of ideas! Can you guys help me come up with more names?

[strangerpeace]

So this is a long venting post about my life, but I don’t really have other places to vent on the Internet and maybe some of you will find this amusing. This isn’t a bit. All of this is stuff that has me pissed off, awake at 6:38 AM EDT, typing on a porch, ready to cry and scream and fight God.

Life sucks right now.

And I’ve been making so much lemonade out of lemons that I am now the Citrus Deity.

In no particular order:

- our landlord has been super patient with us, but we owe like 3k of back rent and are like this close to being evicted. that’s great.

- i’m unemployed right now, due to a bunch of academic political bullshit and the fact that when it comes to having resilience in the face of bigoted co-workers or passive aggressive office culture who in no uncertain terms let me know that they hope I die, I’m a wet paper towel made of crying

- there’s a whole ass interpersonal drama between me and a long time friend

- i have really bad acid reflux and it hurts like the dickens

- and then there’s the fucking ghost, but we’ll get to her

- i was accidentally a dick to a bunch of my streaming friends because of prior interpersonal drama and it sucked a lot. apologies and understanding is there, but also god damn it, why am i like this?

- every day i wake up and i just continually feel like, wow—there’s no way to get out of this failure spiral is there? I’m 39 going on 40, a PhD dropout in philosophy and theatre, my streaming career is stalling because my headspace is all fucked, my TTRPG development is also stalling because my headspace is fucked and it feels like I’m shouting into a void, i’ve had to do fundraisers just to get our phones back?, so like another fundraiser for rent is just… alado;mal;sdjfalksdjf

- don’t even get me started on the system shit (yes, i’m a system, etc. etc.)

- and then there’s the fucking ghost, the newest addition to Mount Fucklife. I’m so mad, I’m not even like… spooked out or creeped out. This fucking OLD LADY with a creepy fucking distorted face glitches my phone camera and of fucking course the video is corrupted and somebody in the system decided “nope not dealing with this” and deletes it. But it doesn’t actually matter if anyone believes this, the important part here is that last night, my long time partner ends up taking a swing at me in her sleep!?, quickly apologizes, and says she had a dream where an old woman wouldn’t stop yelling at the two of us about how we’re sleeping in the same bed and we’re not married. And my partner got so mad that she had to punch to get out of the dream. I asked her to describe it and lo and fucking behold, oooo spooky, it’s the same old lady.

Ya’ll. I am being haunted by a fucking old lady who is soooooooo upset and can’t update her fucking retrograde ass beliefs about sexual ethics and relationships during everything else. Like for FUCK’S SAKE, lady, READ THE FUCKING ROOM.

I do NOT have time, energy, or the spoons to somehow explain 21st century sexual and relationship ethics, or polyamory, or interracial relationships to a motherfucking old racist biddy ass conservative motherfucking PHANTASM.

YOU SPECTRAL BINT, I HAVE ACID REFLUX. GET ME SOME FUCKING PEPCID AND TUMS AND THEN MAYBE. MAYBE WE WILL FUCKING TALK.

Anyway, unprofessional language and questionable metaphysics aside, if you need an educator or tutor in English, Philosophy, or any other humanities, please reach out and contact me via DM. If you would like to donate, I also have a Ko-Fi (ko-fi.com/strangerpeace). ok i need to get some sleep.

[imightbemadbutatleastimfree]

Tuesday 14/5

I want to take my face off. I want to remove every part of me that doesn't look right. I'm covered in spots and sores and I want them gone, can't use most skin care cause I'm allergic to citrus and fragrance oils and the likes so I'm basically fucked on that part but I still want nice skin. I look like a hag but I'm still not old enough to drink. I look like I've had 3 kids but I'm a lad who's never been in a relationshipover a year. I've got man tits bigger than a lot of women and I want to cut them off. I want it all off , I want my ugly nose and chin and skin gone. I want to rip the fat from my legs and arms and stomach so bad I feel my fingers itching when I see it. I've been dieting for years but it's far to slow and I keep going back up. I have a bad day, I eat like a pig. I'm stressed about college work, I eat whilst I work. I'm out trying to enjoy myself with people I like, all I can think about is eating. I wish I could just sew my mouth shut and stop myself. I'm disgusting and deserve to be miserable and ridiculed for it but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I can't fucking stand myself, I turn mirrors around and hide from cameras. I tell people I'm scared of photos but really I know I'm just to ugly to be in them. I want to get better so I never have to think about this body ever again. I got this fat by being a miserable slob and ill get out of it myself. Everybody just tells me I'm perfect the way I am but if this is perfect I want to die. I'm a pig in need of culling but I'm also the farmer to lazy to do it. If it were really up to me, this would be the last thing the world heard from me. I'm nothing but a cyst to this planet.

Ill scream into this void till I'm to well to need it anymore, or until I can't scream anymore. Either way, I know this isn't a solution

[muchlovekatia]

✧ ˚ · . "𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔." — theodore nott

. . theodore nott x

reader ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

SYNOPSIS: you are a good friend. it is just a favor that you need. if only theodore weren't so uncooperative.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🫐

warnings! :

smut!! ,, mdni ,, oral sex ,, fingering dead dove don't eat ,, swearing .

"do you think it would work.. if i touched her like this?"

.ೃ࿐ 🎞️

〰️

THEODORE NOTT'S dormitory smells of cigarette smoke and light citrus. the scent he wears on his clothes, his skin, his gaze, his breath, as you've always observed. it's the first thing you notice when you invite yourself in without bothering to knock, without even pausing outside of his door, the first thing that has never failed to make you question whether you truly hate him or not.

but the boy sitting at his desk chair, toying with a pen that he lightly touches to his lip, reminds you just why you do. theodore's back is to you, therefore you cannot actually see him, his long legs spread and his eyes directed out the slightly-open window. he quickly looks to the door at the first creak in it's swing, quickly relaxes when he realizes it's you. but you are just as tense as you were walking up. he wears a navy blue shirt, buttons at the top undone, face contorting from question, to neutrality. slightly unfazed, he turns back to the window. "change your mind about that offer, l/n?" the offer was a quickie. yes, this is why you hate him.

keeping your face void of emotion even in your state of mixed annoyance and trepidation, you clear your throat, walking fully in and shutting the door lightly behind you, but staying shy against it still. you are hesitating to say the words. to stall would be to show your utter nervousness, but you also can't just dive into the topic all together, right? at the same time, you know what you need to do. if it's to be a good friend, you will face the reprimand, the teasing. "that will remain a no, nott."

you hear him huff a small laugh, the clicking of his pen against his desk pausing for a few moments, before he swivels his turning chair and faces you. like some king on a throne, addressing a peasant. you keep your irritation at a minimum, making sure you look just as cool and collected as he does. "well? are you going to tell me why you're here, then? i was under the impression you hated me. showing up at my dorm says otherwise."

he holds a look of mischief on his face you want so badly to slap right off. instead, you dig your nails into the meat of your palms, inhale. "trust me, this is the last thing i want. but.."

his brows raise.

"i... i'm here—" stuttering. big no, "—because.. i am in need.. of something... rather specific."

"are you?" his lips quirk up into the grin you know oh so well. "you have me intrigued."

don't shift. don't breathe. don't move. you have the authority here. right? don't you? force the words out, if worst comes to worst, even when your brain is screaming at you to run, even when you know what this will come to. "i need.. a favor, if you may." this has that stupid grin spreading even more, a huffed laugh escaping his lips. you grit your teeth. no, this is you being a good person. don't get mad. "my friend... she seems to have taken a.. liking to you. alexia. the blonde one. i'm sure you know her."

"has she?" he says humorously, tilting his head slightly back. and fuck, you just shifted. focus on the citrus.

"don't act oblivious to it, nott. i think we both know—"

"choose your words carefully, l/n. you want my help, don't you?"

yes, you do. automatically, your mouth closes. maybe he's the one with the authority here. the spread of his legs, the way he loosely holds his arms, the smile on his lips says so anyway.

swallowing and pausing a moment, you make yourself calm down before starting up again. "she.. hasn't told me explicitly, of course. but as her friend, i'm obligated to know these sorts of things. so i know she at least.. likes you. a little. so, i think it would do you both quite well if you gave her what she wants."

theodore, of course plays the role of oblivious so well. he looks more engaged by the syllable you form, more convinced with each breath you take. to you, he looks his usual self. "and what might that be?"

how annoying can he get? you bite the inside of your cheek, shifting on your feet. "i don't know. maybe.. show a bit of interest in her yourself? or even just... smile at her? compliment her? anything that doesn't involve mocking her to get back at me right in front of her." yes, he'd approached you and her a week before, and already, you knew something would go down. laughing at her for screwing up her potion in class, though? that wasn't what you expected at all. you were witness to the look of utter devastation on her face immediately after. "i think it would be in both of your best interests to just give her what she wants."

nott's brows raise slightly. he tilts his head to the side—such a small gesture, but speaking such measures—and leans forward, pen still in his hand, resting his elbows on his knees. "us both?"

and if you weren't nervous then, you are now. the topic... of sex.. or, rather, romantic intentions... with your enemy? it has your legs itching to run far far far from this room, has your hands begging to fidget and twist and turn. but no, you keep them steady, look at him with those cool eyes. "it's no secret, nott, your body count. at least, the girls you fuck don't keep it one."

now, he has the audacity to smile. his lips pull over his teeth in a full blown grin, and he runs his tongue over them, so perfectly handsome in the incandescent glow of his lamp. your thighs squeeze together unintentionally.

"ah, yes. i suppose you're right." he leans back again, lifting his pen back to his lip. "okay, in that case, that task doesn't seem that bad.. but.." he pauses. for effects, you assume, "i wonder.. how should this concern me, if you hate me as much as you claim?"

and he has a point.

theodore is amused by your jitteriness, you know, having to even dabble in the romance topic with him, your enemy, and for some reason, it's not making you angry. but you don't want to discuss that, even. it is not helping your case at all. "look, i ask of you this small favor, just once. you don't even have to like her, go out with her.. if you could just— be nice, at least? for merlin's sake, you made fun of her clumsiness right in front of her just to get on my nerves last week. you know how much she likes you, theodore." you exhale deeply. "so just give her what you both want. for me."

this seems to amuse him further. nott sure does like to toy with you. he stares at you a moment. "is that a command?"

you inhale sharply, tensing. "no."

theodore squints his eyes slightly at you, his head cocking to the right. "mhm.. and if i... help you... do i get something in return?"

oh lord. you grit your teeth. "of course not. i am not going to pay you to lead my friend on. if you are going to do it, if you are going to be kind, you need to want to. that's the whole point. know, though, if you keep up the teasing act around her, or to her, i swear on all that is good that i will never speak to you again. not even to yell or shout or fight you. you'll just look stupid, following after me, mocking me, knowing you won't get an answer."

his lips part into a more toothy smile, and he breathes a short laugh. "not a command. a threat."

confidence restored, you straighten and push back your shoulders, pride gleaming in your eyes. the last thing you expect is theodore drawing himself out of his seat, into a stand, and staying by the desk. "well, surely, i don't want that, do i?" he quips, shaking his head. "to look stupid?"

when he takes a step forward, you feel everything in you halt. your blood, your heart, your thoughts..

"okay, so say i did help you. you think this would work? this.. flirting? you think i'll sympathize with your case just this once, don't you, y/n?" he's drawing nearer. with each step, you feel your skin tighten around your body more and more. "so tell me, what could i do to help, hm? what could you possibly want me to do with your dear friend, y/n? touch her? kiss her, maybe? fuck her? is that what you want from me?" you refuse to budge. well, your body refuses, paralyzed with fear and trepidation.

your stomach is twisting and turning, and the evidence of your nerves are shown through the red on your cheeks. everything in you tells you to run as he stops a few inches before you, reaching out and skimming his knuckles across your arm. your skin ignites beneath his touch, butterflies dancing merrily in your stomach. "would this work, y/n? touching her like this?" he asks, his eyes rising from his hand, to your own.

in your hazy, slightly horrified state, you stammer out, "probably." the last jab at him using the last of your confidence. your cool demeanor is completely gone now. "whatever you usually do works— works a charm."

your whole body is alert yet relaxed at the same time, sick, horrendous desire coursing coursing coursing through you. theodore voices a short chuckle, and in his proximity, you feel it fan out across your face. the smell of cigarette smoke rides his tongue. "oh, but i'm sure you know exactly what this.. alexia would want from me. at least give me the benefit of your advice.."

now, his hand rises to your face, fingers brushing against skin so sweetly it would pass as the caress of a lover. but nott is no romantic. this is horrible, twisted lust. not attraction. surely, right? "tell me, y/n. is this how i should handle her? so gently? should i look into her eyes as i do you? should i hold her face in the way i hold yours?"

your throat is constricting and contracting, heat is gathering in the spots of flesh he grazes with his nimble fingers. you are utterly ruined, unraveled, ravished before him, but there is still some left of you. could he undo the rest? "i don't know," you somehow manage to choke out, eyes darting to his lips, because as you speak, his dart to yours. there is something wrong with your voice. it's high, and pitchy, and so obviously laced with want you don't know how you're holding up. theodore seems to be thinking the same thing.

he does not care.

he leans in, down, his hand slipping to your ear and tucking away your hair, and his lips press oh so benignly to your lobe, that you almost don't feel it at all. you do feel the words he says next though. they are life and death and reincarnation against your skin. "do you think it would work.." he kisses you there again. "...if i touched her like this? do you think it would seduce her?"

all of you is alight. yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. yes. it would. because it's working right now. "theodore," you say strictly, almost pulling away. you can't. you don't want to.

"y/n. give me an answer."

and is this how all the woman he beds feels? in the moments leading up to the shedding of clothing? do they also feel this alive, but also so dead? and even the thought of the other girls he's fucked cannot stop you from wanting this want to because something more. you can't remember to hate him, even when it's so obviously there in your mind. your desire is blaring brighter and stronger. it is much more tempting. it always has been, hasn't it?

"if i touched her like i touch you, do you think she'd like it?"

so you say what you know you shouldn't. "yes."

and what a word. what a fucking word. because it is one syllable, and three letters, and it doesn't even mean a lot at all. but it is what has theodore pulling away from the whispers of your hair, staring into your eyes like you just harnessed the stars and offered it up as a christmas present. it is what, in mere seconds, has his lips on yours, and his body against your own, and his hands shoved into your hair, and your back against the door.

your body moves on command. theodore's mouth is soft, supple, but he uses it in such a harsh way. this. this this this this this.

his hands roam everywhere all at once, as if they can't feel enough of you. they skim your waist, up your torso, fly to your jaw... there is a slight furrow in his brow. you are his muse. you are the concentration of his force.

and his tongue is prodding your lips, and prying open your mouth, and exploring exploring exploring exploring. fuck you're wet. have you ever been this damn wet? heat is pooling in your core, aching to be touched by the same fingers he's used to mock you. you're moaning into his mouth, muffled by his sweet movements, and the door you're pressed against is no match for his intensity.

"theodore..." you sigh when he pulls away, hastily admiring the mess he's made of your lipgloss. he tilts his head and licks the remnants off, and it's the hottest fucking thing you've ever experienced. you can't help but move yourself against him in your desire.

at that, he lets out a low groan, throwing his head slightly back. "fuc— tell me again— what you always say. say— it again," he whispers breathily, his words short and stammered.

brow furrowed and eyes closed, you don't even think to try and guess. "w— what?"

"that you hate me." his voice is perfectly hoarse. "tell me that you hate me again."

you're pulled slightly from your pleasure, forcing your gaze on him. god, he's so beautiful, your lip product smudged on his face, his hair mussed. when has he ever been this beautiful? or has he always been? why have you never really noticed? he's kissing your neck, your jaw, sucking at your skin, and you say the words with such disregard, but such intensity, you know they aren't real. "i hate you."

and he's kissing your lips again. harder. harder and harder. so fucking hard, you're scared your lips and tongue will be bruised by the morning. "i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you—" you repeat over and over again into his hair as he nips and licks, hands tangled in his hair, as if reciting a spell, a mockery of the school work long forgotten. he makes a sound like a grunt, and suddenly, he's pulling you off the door by the waist and pushing you onto his bed, crawling over you, his lips never once leaving your body. "i hate you so much, it's all i can think about sometimes."

and his grip on your hips tighten until it's painful in that sick, pleasurable way. then, he's kissing down your jaw, sucking and nipping the whole way, like he can't get enough. because he can't. your hands find themselves in his hair, pulling, tangling, squeezing, as you moan out into the warm, citrusy air. "this is a bad idea..." his lips end up on your collarbone, biting into the bone. you arch your back into his touch, wanting more.

"i know." his hand trails down your torso, then under your tank top, feeling the cloth of your bra underneath. and his voice is so raspy and breathy, you question if you ever truly hated him at all, like you always liked to say you do. this doesn't feel much like hate. this doesn't even feel like dislike. "fuck, y/n."

and it's all too fucking much. "theodore— fu— please.."

he's running his hands along the plains of your breasts through your bra, and it's everything all at once. he looks up at you with those dead eyes, studies your face. "yea? you want this? you want my cock?" and he presses a kiss to your collarbone.

when your only answer is a moan, though, he's leaning back up to your face and retracting his touch from beneath your shirt, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes on his. his thumb presses against your lips, forcing your mouth open, and hooking on your teeth. "use your words, y/n."

in your haze, you nod at the same time you breathe, "yes, please, theodore. want it— s— so bad.."

at that, he's smiling, straightening, pushing your shirt over your head and throwing it who knows where. he leans back into a kneel to admire your breasts, before sinking back down and trailing sloppy kisses from your neck, to the hem of your bra. you mewl and whimper, hands gripping his hair, as his hand explores, sinking to the clasp and quickly undoing it. when he's pulled off the skimpy cloth, he wastes no time latching his lips to the peaked bud of your nipple, licking and nipping gently. you arch your breasts into his face, crying out as a new wave of pleasure hits. his hand gently travels to your other boob and pinches your nipple, palming the soft flesh.

"so fucking beautiful—" he whispers softly, pulling back to admire you again. with your head thrown back and your brows furrowed, such a look of pure desire twisted into your face, you might just be the most beautiful thing on earth. he can't help but lean forward and kiss you messily again. "god, y/n."

and you can't remember a time where your name on his tongue was anything close to annoying or irritating. he pulls away. "fuck me, theo—" you stammer out, looking at him with such lust, voice almost like a whine, and perhaps it's the nickname, that has him halting slightly, that has him hovering silently over you, searching your eyes, like he might need to hear the words again to confirm, before reaching down and quickly unbuttoning your pants, shoving his hand inside without even bothering to pull them down a bit. either way, you're not complaining. you throw your head back when his finger circles your clit through your panties, pressing ever so slightly yet eliciting moan after moan from you.

"so wet.. you're fucking soaking. is all this for me, baby?" he whispers, watching your face as his fingers toy and play, pulling the fabric aside and teasing teasing teasing. you buck against his hand, desperate for pleasure.

"y— yes! mhmm— fuck—" you choke out, nodding your head rapidly and stupidly along. a smile ghosts across his lips, and the look on his face—if you could see it—would tell you he's feeling like the luckiest man alive. he looks down at where his hand is touching you, retracting it and studying the glistening liquid on his fingers.

"shit," you hear him utter, forcing your eyes to where he's assessing, and the sight has you mewling for more. when his gaze meets yours, he looks utterly lost in desire. "you're driving me crazy, l/n." he drops his hand to the hem of your pants, stare still fixated on your eyes, and drags your jeans and panties down down down your legs.

watching it feels like reading a poem. you throw your head back as cold air hits your soaking pussy, whining shamefully. but his eyes are still on yours, watching, as his finger lightly begins tracing the line of your slit. a gasp, your body tensing. the "theo.." that falls from your lips has him growing harder than he's ever been, and yet, he quietly just teases your entrance, running his digit up and down until you're begging, clenching around open air.

"please, theo.." you plead, meeting his eyes. they look up at you from between your legs, and it is a sight that could make you release then and there. you squirm, a mewl leaving your lips.

and that is his cue. he shoves two fingers inside you without warning, curling them and pumping then in and out of your soaking pussy faster than your brain can comprehend what's happening, while his thumb traces your slit. you choke on a moan, your back beaming off the bed, your mouth falling open. "shit—! theo— oh god—!"

his fingers working at you, theodore gives a curse, studying your pretty pussy. "so tight.. how m'i gonna fit, hm?" he mutters to himself, looking back at you and almost bucking against the bed at the sight. damn, you're so fucking beautiful. he leans back up, kissing and biting down your body as his fingers abuse your cervix. your slick wets his hand, running down his palm, and you moan and mewl and beg, breathing heavily, while he murmurs and blows against your skin.

"i know, i know, baby," he whispers into your neck, trailing sloppy bites over your body until he meets your clit. he retracts his finger, and you whine desperately, thinking he's teasing you, but then, his tongue is licking a stripe up your pussy and his thumb, spreading you open. you cry out all over again, throwing your head back, your fingers finding his hair and tangling themselves in, pushing his face closer. your thighs wrap around his head as he spears his tongue inside you, lapping at your wetness like it's his last meal on earth. "taste— so good, baby.." he speaks between licks.

the sound of your cries and wet licking is all you know right now. your back is arching off the bed over and over again with each delve inside you. all while he stares straight at the glistening plains of your face, screwed in desire, mouth open around all your moans. he keeps a hand on one hip to hold you steady, and one above your pussy, his thumb toying with your clit.

"theo theo theo theo," you repeat in the same way you promised falsely that you hated him moments earlier, grinding yourself on his face. he hums as he licks, and it sends vibrations through your core, his name growing louder and louder with each passing second. "fuck, theo! fuc— ahh—!"

and this should last forever, his tongue lapping and lapping and spearing inside you, his eyes on your face as you take it like he always dreamed you would. his lips latch around the bud at the top of your clit, and it has your legs shaking around his ears, a curse choking out of your throat as you realize you're almost at that edge. almost. there. "i'm gonna— fuck— theo— cumming—!"

and he pulls away.

almost immediately, your pleasure halts. without his tongue, your orgasm is failed, nothing. your movements still. you go quiet. everything goes quiet. confused, frustrated, angry. that's what you are. the magic is gone. you're back to earth, and it is much bleaker than you remember. "what the fuck—?" and when you look down, theodore is standing up, wiping your juices from his face and licking them clean off his fingers. "theo—"

and you think maybe he's going to start again, when he climbs back over you, kissing his way from your collarbone, to your jaw, your fingers confusedly tangling into his hair again. his teeth latch onto the lobe of your ear, tug, and let go, and then.. "tell me, y/n, do you think your dear alexia would like that?"

and quiet ensues, and shock mars onto your face, your lips parting, your eyes going wide, and your blood running dead cold. nott, with a couple of words, has just ripped a rug from beneath your feet. and you're left on the cold, hard ground, searching for words. and he hovers over your ear like that a moment, all lost, shivers running down your bare spine that was once bounding off this very bed, his bed, and then he's pulling off of you and standing at the edge of the mattress, staring at you with that smug fucking look on his face.

"we'd better hope, hm?" are his last words. and he's gone.

.

for my book girlys, yes, this was inspired by THAT scene in the wicked king (holly black) because CARDAN AND JUDE ARE SOSOSOOSDBDHHEBE 😻😻

go read the cruel prince if you haven't yet!!

[citriosis]

i hate it when i treat myself and then shit hits the fan and my body just decides mm. no longer hungry actually. want to lie down and rot. bitch you wanted a family style meal like an hour ago we're eating it right the fuck now!!!!! RRRRRGH

[peace-and-light-poetry]

Screaming on the Back Patio

Her job can be taxing On both her physiology and her psyche

However, some occasions can give her pause

She found herself With such that situation Though, in this case,

She needed to scream

Certainly, she wouldn't do that No, not during the call she was in But she'd do this afterwards

It was cold outside And it snowed some hours before But she wouldn't be outside for long

She tried to keep her breaks short But this occasion warranted a longer one Still, she needed to scream

She'd go out On the back patio, In a white citrus nightgown and red slippers

And scream Into the cold white void.

[vrepit-salt]

"Lemon" is #1 on trending. I just had flashbacks to 2012.

Please....I can't, I'm not strong enough...

[citrus-cactus]

Hmm

So, even without a big red banner at the top, apparently your posts can still be incorrectly flagged as “sensitive media” that does not show up in tags. This has happened with my latest artwork and I’m really not sure what to do about it.

The only reason I knew about it was I happen to run another blog that still had Safe Mode turned on for some reason. In the other blog’s dash, here is what I see of my original post:

Spoiler alert: This is hiding some PG-rated floaty shoujo shipping nonsense featuring two characters from Pokemon. Ooh, saucy-- save the kids!

(it’s been about 12 hours and I have received NO emails telling me this post has been flagged in any way, by-the-by)

Clicking on “View post” opens the right-hand blog view, and--oh, look!-- there’s a way to contest at the bottom. Great! I’m the Pope of Nope, gonna click that sucker on the right.

Which leads to uh... well... what happened, exactly? Are you reviewing my post? Are you doing ANYTHING? This is extremely unhelpful. 12 hours later, I have been presented with no evidence that this button did anything whatsoever. An email would have been nice. Actually turning off the “sensitive” flag on this post would have been even nicer.

Anyone else ever have this problem or know of any workarounds? So far, I have not been able to find mention of this use case in the most recent Tumblr Help Center documentation... nor in an older cached version that actually contained the phrase “sensitive content” I found on Google.

Any help @staff can provide would be most appreciated.

[five-rivers]

Quit Your School, Join My Ghost Band

@brokeitwiththepowerofmathamatics

.

Danny screamed into the void.  It screamed back, quite literally, ectoplasm and pseudo-emotional loci echoing the sound and feelings back at him.  The tree next to him was stripped of leaves, but regrew them even before Danny dropped to his knees, gasping.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t breathe.  He curled in on himself, hands grasping at the purple-gray rocks that made up the floating island.  

As a ghost, he didn’t need to breathe.  Shouldn’t need to breathe.  He’d been to space with no oxygen.  He shouldn’t be out of breath, ever.  

Iron and salt coated the back of his tongue and his body shook.  His rings flickered in and out.  He tasted citrus and copper.  He spit, and his saliva was speckled with green and red.  Gross.  

At least he hadn’t transformed this time.  That was good.  Keeping a secret identity didn’t just keep him from being arrested, it kept him from being horribly experimented on by the government.  Or his parents.  Or random ‘ghost hunters.’  Or alien enthusiasts.  Man, those guys were not picky.  Something people should have already figured out from their obsession with ‘probing.’ 

He pushed himself up to sit on his heels.

Having his strongest attack wipe him out like this really wasn’t ideal.  Yeah, it was a last-ditch thing, not something he was going to pull out for just anyone, but what if it didn’t work?  What if he went all in, and his opponent still had fight left, after he’d run out?

He’d die, that’s what.  

Since he wasn’t an idiot, no matter what his grades said, and he didn’t actually have a death wish, no matter what kind of jokes he made, he was practicing.  Because practice made perfect, or at least better, and with the way the ghosts coming through the portal were getting stronger and nastier…

He shook himself.  He’d probably be okay to try again in an hour or so, if he wanted to go the endurance route.  Repeated use should make it easier, right?  That was how things worked.  Or he’d be able to fly home.  

He was highly tempted to fly home.

“Wow, babypop, that sounded pretty wretched.”

Danny jumped and overbalanced, finally getting around to face Ember while crouched on the ground.  It was his luck to run into an enemy while practicing a skill that incapacitated him in an effort to not get incapacitated in front of an enemy.  

Ember, for her part, looked unconcerned.  She blew a bubble in the neon pink gum she was chewing, and popped it.  

“You’re gonna wreck your voice if you keep up like that, you know?”

“What?” rasped Danny.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to wreck your voice.  You’ll wind up sounding like a fifty-year-old lifelong smoker before you’re twenty if you keep that up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Permanently, I mean, rather than this temporary bit you have going on here.”  She traced a finger over him.  “Have you never heard of vocal warm ups?  Or maybe just not screaming at the top of your lungs?  It’s godawful to listen to.”

“Well, sorry to disturb you, but that’s how my power happens to work,” said Danny, angrily, wincing at how his voice cracked.  

“Are you sure?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Ember rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.  You don’t know squat, do you?”

“H-hey!”

“It’s so painful listening to you.  It makes me want to put holes in my eardrums.”  She flicked her fingers, and a tongue of blue fire appeared between them briefly before dissolving into a small, paper card, which she held out to Danny.  “Look, when you’re done feeling like you just gargled sandpaper, come look me up.  Believe it or not, I do know my way around voice based powers.  And how to scream without destroying your vocal cords.”

Danny stared at her, uncomprehending.  

“It’s a calling card, dweeb.  Medieval, I know, but there aren’t exactly phones or road maps around here.  Not safe ones, anyway.”

“A what?”

“God, you’re a loser.  A calling card.  It’ll show you where to find me, moron.  Have you never been invited anywhere?”

“Not in the Ghost Zone,” said Danny, before grimacing and rubbing his throat.

“I almost feel sorry for you, but honestly I can’t blame them.  You kinda suck.  Try honey.”

“Wha?”

“Honey.  Like from bees.  You have heard of bees, right?”

“I’ve heard of bees.”

“Good for you, babypop,” said Ember, in a falsely sweet voice.  She took her gum out of her mouth and threw it at him.  “Later!”

.

Jazz attacked his hair with brutal efficiency.  

“She said all that, and then stuck ghost gum in your hair?”

“To be fair, to her it’s just gum,” said Danny.  “I’m just hoping it doesn’t gain sentience.  Or, you know, eat all my hair.  How much do you think you’ll have to cut off?”

“Uh,” said Jazz.  “Still working on that.”

“I mean,” said Danny, as Jazz tugged on his hair, “she seemed sincere.  As sincere as Ember ever is, anyway.  She could’ve wasted me by herself just then, too.”

“I suppose that’s true.  It seems a bit… confrontational, though.”

“Yeah, maybe.  But not in terms of, like, other ghosts, if that makes sense?”

The scissors went snik snik near his ear.  “Uh huh.  In that context, sure,” said Jazz.  “But I’m not entirely sure it’s smart to judge ghosts by a completely different behavioral scale than humans.  If someone from Casper High walked up to you and treated you like that, then gave you an invitation to their house, would you go?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“Really?”

“I mean, I have done that.  I went to Dash’s party, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, you did,” said Jazz.  “But didn’t they also mercilessly mock and demean you?”

“Well,” said Danny.  “Yes.  Yes they did.”

Jazz sighed.  “You’re going to go anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yep.  I mean, hey, worst case scenario is that we fight each other, and we do that every other week, anyway.  Right?”

“I guess,” said Jazz.  She put down the scissors and Danny heard something drop into the trash bin next to them.

“Oh, are you done?  Thanks for–”  Danny ran a hand over his hair.  What was left of it.  He brought his other hand up to check what he was feeling.  “Jazz.”

“Okay, before you get mad, I did tell you that I’d never cut anyone’s hair before and you had a lot of gum in it.”

“It’s gone Jazz!”

“It’ll grow back!  Our family doesn't have a history of male pattern baldness!”

“I have school tomorrow!”

“You can wear a hat!”

“Not all day I can’t!”

“What are you kids–  Oh my,” said Maddie.  She came fully into the room.  “Oh dear.”

Danny put his face in his hands.

.

“It isn’t that funny!” complained Danny.  “You can stand up now.  You don’t even need to breathe!”

Ember did not straighten up.  In fact, she pulled her feet off the ground so she could rotate in the air, laughing.  Gradually, she drifted to the center of the stage that made up the majority of her lair.

“Your hair.  It’s even better than I imagined!  Serves you right for doing it to me!  Ha!”

“You did that on purpose?”

“You were there when I threw the gum, babypop.”

Danny huffed.  “I’m going home.  I don’t have to deal with this.”

Ember grabbed his shoulder.  “No, you’re not.  I’m a ghost of my word, and you really do have atrocious screaming technique, even if you do have a great set of pipes.”

Danny was dubious, but he stopped.  

“Great,” said Ember, “we can get you started on some warm ups.”

.

“You’ve been doing the warm ups every day?”

“Every day,” confirmed Danny.  

“Alright,” said Ember.  “Let’s hear them.  Then you can do one of your screamy things.”

“It’s called the Ghostly Wail.”

“That’s so lame.”

.

“Here, see if you can sing this,” said Ember, shoving a sheet of paper at Danny.  

He looked down at it.  “Uh,” he said, “I can’t read this.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, there aren’t actually any words here.  Just notes.”

“You can’t read music?” asked Ember, in disbelief.  

“Believe it or not, fighting ghosts all the time kind of precludes me from being in band or choir.  Or anything extracurricular, for that matter.”

“Precludes.  You steal that word from your sister?”

“A vocabulary test, actually.”

“God, you’re hopeless.”  She materialized her guitar.  “Sing along with me, loser.”  She strummed a chord.  

“You know, I’m starting to detect an ulterior motive at play here.”

“Shut up and sing.”

.

“I’m not here to learn guitar,” said Danny.  

“Either learn it, or you can say goodbye to my help.  You’ve been able to do your thing without collapsing, right?”

“I guess,” said Danny, a bit sulkily.  He had always wanted to learn to play an instrument.  It was just the method…

“So, hold the neck like this.  No, not like that.  You’ll put a nasty crick in your neck.  You still have all those stupid little bones.”

.

“What’s going on?” asked Danny.  There were a lot more ghosts in Ember’s lair than there usually were, swarming over the stage and the seating in front of it.  

“Oh, good, you’re here.  You’re backup vocals and guitar.”

“I’m what?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” said Ember.  “I know you aren’t deaf.  Speaking of, earplugs are in that jar over there.”  She pointed.  

“So,” said Danny, “this is the ulterior motive.”

“Well, yeah, dipstick.  What do you think we were practicing for?”

.

“I hate you,” said Danny, hoarsely.  

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  Ember threw a bottle of water at him.  “We have another gig on Tuesday, one o’clock.”

“I have school.  And I’m not part of your band.”

“Quit your school, join my ghost band.”

“... No.”

“Alright, Saturday, then.”

.

Danny stood on a lonely island in the Ghost Zone.  The tree next to him flexed its leaves.  

He took a deep breath, and wailed.  

When he was done, he was still on his feet.  

“See?  I told you it’d pay off,” said Ember.  “Now, this is our playbill for our next gig.”

“I’m still not in your band.”  His throat was a little sore, but it was nothing as compared to what he’d dealt with before Ember’s lessons.

“It’s cute how you still think that, babypop.  Anyway…”

[angeli-marco-writes]

Oi!

May I request a Blurb?

I was thinking about 'Stay Stay Stay' by Taylor Swift and for a Character maybe Doctor Stephen Strange?

A/N - Thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy :) I do not own Dr Strange as a character, nor do I own the song lyrics used. All credit to creators.

Warnings - swearing, mention of adultery, low-key toxic relationship.

Cold sunlight shatters into fractions, bouncing off the mirrored wardrobe that covers one wall of the master bedroom and hitting me right in my eyes. It's blinding, so I grasp for a pillow, and smash it over my face. A long groan spills from my lips upon the memories that come flooding back in the darkness.

"Fuck you Stephen! Rot in hell!"

His face was a picture, cheeks flaming red with anger, "I didn't fucking sleep with her!"

"Yeah, and why am I expected to believe that?" I spat.

I shoved him, palms on his shoulders, and knocked him halfway across the floor of our bedroom. He didn't retaliate, just stood there with his jaw wide and his eyes a blank void, running one scarred hand through his dark beard.

"Because I have never done anything to make you doubt me, y/n, that is why."

I scoffed as loud as I could, scooping my phone up off the bed and throwing it across the room at him, the ‘incriminating’ evidence glaring on the screen.

"Get. Out."

I scream at this. I broke my phone and told him to leave? I've no idea whether he did go, or if he stayed and slept on the couch... I hope he's safe. I love him. So much. And he usually finds it funny when I'm mad, but last night... last night I took it too far.

I roll out of bed, hoping for the best, and push the door open, expecting to find an empty flat, so I wrap his shirt around me and inhale the distinctive citrus scent, but there he is, coffee in his hands at the breakfast bar.

"You stayed," I breathe, almost in disbelief.

"Course I did." He nods to the stool beside him, and pulls it out for you. Your feet carry you before your mind or mouth can agree.

"We should talk about it," I say gently, "I read you should never leave a fight unresolved."

He shifts in his seat. "Okay, let's talk. I'm so sorry, Darling."

"No, I'm sorry, Stephen. I shouldn't have believed that dickhead so-and-so. I know you'd never do anything like that to me." I ramble, desperately trying to stop my voice from wobbling or, heaven forbid, cracking.

I take one of his hands in mine and squeeze, imploring him to look at me, and when he does, his crystal blue eyes are filled with tears "I think it's best if I always stay."

Thank heavens. I couldn't cope without him. I couldn't live a single day without him by my side... but I don't think he knows this. He took the time to memorize me. My fears, my hopes and dreams. And he never once shamed me for a single thing.

Now, as I look at the man beside me, he's the one I fell in love with, not the broken shell of a man I created by screaming at him last night with my horrible accusations I didn't believe—in my heart—for a second. I've been loving him for quite some time, and it's about time he knows.

"Before you, I'd only dated self indulgent takers who took all of their problem out on me." I say, blinking back tears at the memory. He holds my hand tighter, his scars rough on my fingers, but his soft smile encourages m to continue. "But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing." His gruff chuckle lifts a smile to my lips, "And I love you, because you have given me no choice but to stay, stay, stay. No one else will love me when I get mad. It's all you, Stephen."

A gaping hole opens in my heart as my breath hitches, ready to swallow me whole if his answer doesn't come very, very soon. I've just poured my heart out to him, and he won't even speak?

Only when I look at him do I understand why, worrying his bottom lip as he lifts a small black box from his pocket.

"Stay, stay, stay; that's all I ask of you," he whispers hoarsely, "I love you, y/n, and I've been loving you for quite some time. It's been occurring to me that... I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life. All those times you didn't leave, when you really should've because I can't possibly deserve anyone a fraction as good as you are..." A sob wrenches from his chest, and before I know it, he's kneeling on the tiles before me, holding my hand tightly, and staring up at me with those baby blues that could convince me to do anything. The final words slip past his lips,

"Will you stay forever?"