#|| Sad thing is that they play the victim as if I hadn't went through panic and anxiety attacks/sleepless nights/migraine periods

[pixelpaladin24]

|| The feeling of being able to post 💙Connor💙 and not feeling guilty about it oh my fucking gods I'll only look at the bright side of this situation like thank fuck i am allowed to feel happy

HHHHIIIIIIIMMMMM 💙💙💙

[oddberryshortcake]

Unnamed Diasomnia angst fic because I'm sad

Lilia didn't know a thing about love. 

Attachments came to him slowly and were so painfully ripped away from him. 

Even as he witnessed Malleus reaching his milestones as he grew up, thinking fondly of what his departed friends would think of their child…He still left the palace alone, slept alone, roamed alone…

It wasn't until he returned to those old ruins, that he found that baby…That he truly settled down and played house. 

But it was all pretend, wasn't it? 

He did everything a human parent would do. He witnessed how quickly this human child grew, as if it happened in the blink of an eye. 

He went through the motions and delighted in all of the child's charm. 

But at the end of the day, he wasn't this child's father. 

…So why couldn't he tell Silver that? Why did he hate the idea of making Silver sad?

Why did he delight in hearing Silver call him 'father' even when he wasn't meant to? Why did that little acorn necklace make his heart stir? 

It was his intent to foster a better relationship between humans and fae, but that was it…

When his magic finally runs out, he'll leave. There'd be nothing for him left in Briar Valley. 

Silver would live his short human life to the fullest. Malleus would be a fair and understanding king. All would be well. 

Stemming from his earliest memories of being alone in the wilderness…Scavenging for rats to eat and a tree to sleep under…Alone is where he belonged. 

He might have loved once before, but it was better this way. To leave, to be unbound, to be…

…

Once the dust had settled on Malleus's plot, when those who found the strength and wisdom to rise against him pulled him out of his overblotted state, Lilia saw a sight very similar to that he experienced during Malleus's youth. 

Distressed faces all around him, all victims of another one of Malleus's torrential magic outbursts. 

These humans were not as hardy as the fae who had fallen victim to his whims in the past. These humans were groggy, ragged, and struggling to climb up to their feet. But as was well, as it usually turned out, thankfully…

Lilia stood to give Malleus a stern scolding, but then paused in place, feeling a dreadful sense of unease. 

Something was not right, and he knew it the moment he woke up. 

He fought through his muddled memories, all mere impressions of his lived past…He remembered breaking through the fog, desperately trying to protect someone, urging them to rise against the darkness. 

"Silver?" Lilia asks, and he quickly finds him…Right at his side. 

Silver was collapsed on the floor, arm outstretched as if trying to reach the aurora ring that had fallen from his grasp, lying still beside him. 

Lilia kneels beside him and turns him over, watching as his head lolls limply to the side. Lilia places a hand on his hair, "Silver." He tries to speak louder, but his voice is abnormally small and fearful. 

He already knew what was happening, but every fiber of his being wanted to reject the very notion. He pulled Silver into his arms and held him tight, feeling the throes of a familiar magic claiming him once again. 

But Lilia knew this tale. 

The prince would wake up if someone truly loved him. 

"Wake up, I love you." Lilia whispered to him with a voice so small that not even the onlookers could hear. 

Nothing. 

His blood ran cold. 

"Silver, I love you, wake up." He spoke more forcefully, as if the magic itself hadn't heard him. 

His son remained so still in his arms that it was as if he was already dead. Even with how lax his limbs had become, how despairingly peaceful his expression was, Lilia knew that reality was far worse. 

"Silver, please," Lilia began to beg, growing louder. "Please believe me. I love you, I really do, and I'm sorry I didn't say it enough. I will tell you every day how much I love you s-so please…"

As urgency grew, so did his desperation. He was clutching Silver for dear life, hugging him tighter than he ever had in his entire life, and shouted. 

"I love you! I love you Silver, so wake up! Please don't leave me!" 

Sebek looked like he wanted to intervene, but Malleus stopped him. Whatever Sebek wanted to respond with manifested itself in quiet, angry tears and gritted teeth. 

Malleus tried to offer his sympathies all too late, and it completely went over Lilia's head, "Lilia-"

"I love you, Silver! I swear I always have! So come back! Come back to me!" Lilia screamed in his son's face. 

Tears he didn't even know he was capable of fell from his eyes onto Silver's face. He didn't even stir, not even a little bit. 

Lilia's fatherly panic finally reached its crescendo, and he screams loudly in grief, echoing off of Diasomnia's stone walls.

He hadn't noticed how quickly Malleus appeared at his side, extending a hand to touch Silver. Lilia quickly slapped it away and growled angrily, pressing Silver against his chest. 

"Don't you dare touch him." He hissed. 

"I want to help." Malleus insisted. 

"You can't!" Lilia cried, "Only I can, and it's not-"

It's not working. 

It's not enough. 

He is to blame for that.

Silver grew up to be a kind young man, worthy of his former princely title. He was compassionate beyond words, gifting Lilia with heartfelt presents and showering him with expressions of love, all of which he never felt able to reciprocate. 

How could he? Not when this was all an experiment to see if he truly cared or not. Not when he had every intention of leaving this boy behind to spend the rest of his days alone. Not when he saw Silver as a sad and frightened baby that had just escaped a centuries-long sleep without the comfort of a parent and thought of killing him right then and there. 

The love he felt didn't matter, because he felt it too late. 

Now Silver had been punished for his failure. Once again, those he loved so easily slipped through his grasp. 

Malleus is speaking again. He expresses his guilt over this being his fault. That he tormented Silver in the realm of dreams, that he fought against Silver's tireless efforts to save him from himself. 

Sebek appears at some point, still wanting to help but being unable to remove Silver from Lilia's hold. He speaks of Silver's bravery, how well he held it together, how much he cared for everyone else…

Silver learned the truth of his origins in Malleus's spell. 

He despaired in ways that were so predictable for his son. Who else would feel such personal guilt over something his biological parents did, even after they also perished in such a pointless and bloody conflict? 

Who else would be delusional enough to believe that Lilia of all people deserved better than the sweetest boy he had ever known. 

His self-hatred kept him tethered away from the waking world, trapped because he did not believe in what the good fairies wished for him. He didn't believe he was loved. 

He was so, so wrong. 

Decidedly, Lilia discovered a new purpose, a new way to redeem himself that might someday bring his son back to him. 

"I'm sorry I didn't make you feel loved enough. I tried my hardest, but it wasn't enough. I kept making mistakes, and you paid the price for them. I swear to you, no harm will come to you as long as I live. And not a day shall pass that I don't miss your smile."

Sebek hugged them both, and Malleus stretched his arm around all three of them. 

They weren't a perfect family, but they were real nonetheless.

And for whatever mistakes they all made, they knew one thing was always certain;

Silver loved them. 

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Told You

Summary: Before you move on, you just have one thing to say.

Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Mentions of character death, angst

Author's Note: Surprise! Two fics in two days?! I could not stop thinking about this idea. Sorry to share my suffering with you.

The owners of the Hawkins, Indiana Cemetery refused to allow Wayne Munson to buy a burial plot in his nephew's name. When the ground opened up to hellfire and brimstone and swallowed half of the town, the media placed the blame on the young metalhead; stating that he had opened up a portal to Hell after performing a series of ritualistic murders. They were afraid that a headstone in his honor would attract local Satanists- the other members of his cult- who might use it as an altar for satanic worship.

However, Wayne was a determined man. He went out of state to have a small headstone made, and with the help of a few of his friends from the Plant, nestled it quietly in the woods behind Forest Hills Trailer Park, where Eddie used to play as a child.

You had been back to Hawkins a few times since the evacuation.

It wasn't the same small town that you had grown up in. It was a ghost town. Most of its residents had chosen to flee to one of the neighboring counties or Indianapolis for a taste of big city life. The majority of businesses had closed their doors permanently and graffiti had now littered the abandoned storefronts. Missing person flyers were tacked to every street light and stop sign for miles.

You hardly recognized it in the months that had passed as you drove through downtown. The faces of the folks who had stayed behind were gaunt; frowns and permanently wrinkled in worry and sadness. Most of them were ones whose family members had gone missing and they were still holding a candle of hope that they would return.

One of them was Wayne Munson.

Even after he learned his nephew's fate, he didn't give up hope that maybe the boy had just left; took his guitar and his van and was out there- somewhere- playing music in a new band and making his own way in the world outside of the cruelty of Hawkins, Indiana. As much as you wished that to be true, you knew better, yet you would never fault Wayne for believing.

Forest Hills Trailer park had been abandoned. It was one of the four places that had been hit the hardest by the 'earthquake'. It had also been looted and nearly destroyed. Near the picnic table, there was a small memorial to the victims who had lived there that lost their lives on that day; four people, five if you counted Eddie, all of whom you had known and grew up with living in that same trailer park for most of your life.

You pulled your car over. The gravel crackled beneath your feet as you walked over to the memorial. It was littered with leaves and dead flowers, and as you usually did when you would come to visit, you dusted off the dried petals and cobwebs and placed a fresh rose underneath each picture frame. One for Ms. Debbie who used to babysit you when you were a child. One for Mr. Lloyd who was a kind old man who never turned down a plate of leftovers. And two for Mr. and Mrs. Roots who weren't the nicest neighbors but still didn't deserve what happened to them and their dog Cooper.

Your eyes began to burn as you looked over the photographs of the people that you had once known; the photos, the empty trailer park, all of it a reminder of the tremendous loss that you had felt. It wasn't just the people, the memories, your childhood- it was your home. It hadn't gotten any easier over the last seven months, despite how hard you tried to move on; looking out of your bedroom window at a street you didn't recognize, a neighbor that you didn't know waving as you drove by, trading one small town for another and having this trauma fester in your chest while everyone else seemed perfectly fine...

Eddie's grave sat at the base of a giant oak tree.

The green ivy that was growing up the tree had begun to spread along the headstone, and somehow, made it even more beautiful.

The old tire swing still hung from the largest branch and you remembered the countless nights spent out here with him; playing hide and seek when you were kids, pretending that you were characters from one of Eddie's fantasy books in an enchanted forest. Wayne would come out and set up a tent and you and Eddie would camp out for the night, telling scary stories and making s'mores. When you both got older, it became your spot to hang out and smoke and talk about all of the people that you both hated. You still came out to talk, only now it was less often and Eddie could only listen.

Sometimes it felt like you could still hear him.

You placed the last rose at the base of his headstone before taking a seat on the cold ground. All you could do is stare at his name in front of you; Edward Munson, beloved son, nephew, and friend.

"It's not getting any easier," you whispered quietly as you picked up a dry, brown leaf and mindlessly fiddled with it to keep your hands busy. "I thought that it would, you know? It's been over six months."

The cold, early October wind sent a chill through your body.

"I'm still waiting for you to call," a tear fell to your cheek. "I'm still waiting for someone to tell me that this was all a big joke and for you to bust through the door with that big, stupid smile."

Silence hung in the air around as you waited for a response that you would never get. You chewed on your cheek as you stared at the cold, grey stone in front of you.

"You know I told myself that I wasn't going to come and see you anymore," you admitted. "I told myself that I needed to move on, and my parents agreed." It was almost as if you could hear him chuckling from beyond the grave. He never really got along with your parents. "But I can't do that, not until I-" you paused for a moment and pulled a piece of paper out of your pocket. "I wanted to tell you this before, but I was terrified that you didn't feel the same way. And now I'll never know."

"Dear Eddie," you began, letting out a breath. "Right now, you're playing 'Romeo and Juliet' on your acoustic guitar and you think that I'm studying; I am, just not trigonometry. Instead, I'm studying the way that your hair falls over your shoulders and how your tongue sticks out when you're concentrating on the more difficult chords. You're so fucking cool, sometimes I hate you for it."

"That's not true. No, the truth is that I love you, Eddie." Your eyes burned with tears as tiny droplets fell to the crumpled paper below and left behind damp, grey circles between the lines. "I always have. Ever since I moved into this little trailer park, ever since you came knocking on my front door asking if I wanted to come outside and play. I'm pretty sure that you're my soulmate. You'd probably laugh at me if you knew I believed in stupid shit like that, but it's true. I wish that I had the guts to tell you, but I can't. I'd never risk ruining this. So you'll continue believing that I'm in love with that asshole, Tyler Sneed, and I'll continue to pretend that I am so that you never find out that it's really you. But it is you, Eddie. It will always be you."

You sighed and breathed in deeply, the cold air clearing your sinuses as you reached up to wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. You folded the note back up and sat it at the base of his headstone, next to the rose.

"So now you know my big secret," you let out a breathy laugh and instinctively waited for a response. A frown spread across your lips, once more, when you didn't receive one. "I should have told you that night. You don't know how bad I wanted to. But, there is a small part of me that is glad I didn't. Because I can't help but think that if you felt the same, if we had been together, it would have made losing you that much worse."

As you sat there, you couldn't help but feel the creeping sensation that there was someone there with you; watching.

Behind you, a branch snapped and you whipped your head around as you inadvertently gasped. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for the source of the sound; heart pounding at the thought that you were not alone. But it was just the wind; the tops of the autumn-colored trees swayed back and forth as if they were whispering to each other.

"I'm not coming back here anymore, Eddie. I can't." Just saying those words caused you pain. "It just hurts too much. I have to figure out some sort of way to start healing, even if it takes the rest of my life to do so. I know that you would want that for me, even though I also know that you're probably getting a kick out of watching me wallow in my misery from wherever you are. You were always kind of sadistic like that." You made yourself smile at that. "I miss you more than you could imagine and I love you."

You stood to your feet and dusted the dirt from your legs. Looking around, you took in your surroundings once more. You knew that this wouldn't be the last time you ever came to visit him, but that it would be the last time for a long time. As you made your way back through the wood, you could have sworn that you heard someone say, "I love you, too". Coming to a stop, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see dried leaves fluttering across the ground. Your lips turned up into a smile as you shook your head and continued back towards your car, and with your head held high and a weight lifted off of your chest, you left Forest Hills Trailer Park in your rearview mirror.

The radio was kept off on the ride home, not wanting to hear anything that was going to remind you of Eddie. You wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, but you were doing better than you thought you would be, and you wanted to keep up that facade for as long as you could. You didn't allow your eyes to linger on the arcade where you spent countless nights trying to beat each other's high scores or the tire shop he used to work at as you drove back through town; they were both shut down now, anyways, as was the pizza place you frequented after school on Fridays.

You'd always have your memories of this place, but it was time to leave Hawkins behind.

As you pulled into your driveway, however, you noticed a familiar figure sitting on your front porch. You bit down on your bottom lip and sighed as you opened your door and climbed out of the car. Just when you thought that you would be able to move on...

"Dustin?" You asked, not having seen him since you moved six months ago. "What are you doing here?"

The younger boy stood up and rung his hat in his hands. He looked anxious, and it worried you.

"Is everything- is everyone okay?"

"Y/N," He began. "There's something I have to tell you."

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

I am sorry this is going to be long but I am definitely interested in discussing Ada's trauma in 6! 6 is actually one of my favorite games in the series simply because of how expressive Ada is (I mean she's always expressive but here its a lot more obvious).

The amount of trauma that had to build up for Ada to get to a point where her emotions are obvious I feel so bad for her. Most of the RE characters have had shit lives but we still don't know what Ada's backstory is (at least, her canon backstory) and I'm 95% certain its not a happy one. So we have whatever happened in her childhood, then whatever got her involved in the espionage world, then we move on to her time working for Wesker and around that same time she did some things for Simmons too. And the rest of what happened in 2-Damnation.

Then we get to 6 and its an absolute shit-show for her. Every time she's on screen she's discovering some new information about these missions that she was assigned but didn't go on and then the whole Project Ada thing and her connecting the dots and figuring out she's got an evil twin running around. Not only that but she knows that Simmons is the reason that "Ada" exists. Oh and Chris Redfield is trying to arrest her too. In the scene with the tape and then the calls with Carla and Simmons, Ada drops her smile whenever she isn't talking (even almost frowning). So we can see that she's putting on a mask even just this far it's really bothering her.

The scene where Ada finds the research for Project Ada is fascinating to watch her expressions. Her face changes from shock and disgust to something like fear or sadness throughout that scene. And then Ada watches Carla fall and "die" - basically watches herself die. Again her facial expressions are fairly prominent. There's shock for the most part, but then for a split second she falls back into sadness. This continues into the next scene where she's talking to "dead" Carla and we see that Ada also sees Carla as a victim of Simmons, but doesn't excuse what Carla did afterwards.

When Carla transforms, I think that is probably one of the most traumatizing things Ada sees because again, she's watching this happen to basically herself and that's very different from watching it happen to other people who look nothing like you. i want to know what's going through her head. Is she thinking that this could've been her if she hadn't cut contact with Simmons?

The ending scene is probably one of my favorites, aside from Ada herself the music is just fantastic and really helps express Ada's emotions in that moment. At first she's wary/cautious of the cocoon thing but then we get this little head shake and her expression is anger. Eyebrows downward, eyes narrow, lips curled back, teeth clenched. She goes through nearly three clips of ammunition destroying that lab. She has no composure until she gets that phone call and I believe this is the only time we've seen Ada completely lose her composure.

And yeah the lab is dealt with, she's destroyed both Carla's and Simmons' legacies but I don't think she feels any sort of satisfaction in doing that. Catharsis sure, but I think she was at a point where something was going to happen. There was just too much built up. I highly doubt Ada has completely worked through the trauma she went through in 6. If we ever see her post-6 I would like to see how she's dealt with this, if at all, and I hope it would be in a healthier way than the men seem to take to deal with their trauma. Or if she's just thrown herself into her work because work is a safe, normal thing for her and would keep her mind off of China.

Yes! I love that we got Ada's campaign in re6! Separate ways was fun as well, but that was mostly just her simping over Leon lmao. But re6 really allows her to speak her mind and for us as an audience understand her better! I completely agree that you need to play her campaign to fully understand re6, but to really get into her mindset better.

From childhood, in lore books and stuff. It's speculated that Ada was forced into crime as young as 10, and she needed to do it to survive. She has NOT had it easy. People like to forget that she's a VICTIM. That she didn't ask for any of this. We see her handle all of her struggles with a smile on her face, but I really think that's the facade of Ada Wong that she uses to manage her own feelings and traumas.

That the idea of Ada Wong isn't even her. YES every time her smile drops, I DIE A LITTLE. How much PAIN is she in??? She even feels so bad for Carla, that she was also a victim to Simmons. That even Carla, who committed SO MANY CRIMES UNDER THE GUISE OF ADA. She (Ada) can still find it in her to see that Carla didn't deserve what happened to her. Ada is one of the strongest characters in re. And we just don't get to see it enough.

I really want some closure on whether or not the BSAA thinks that Ada is dead or not. They declared it, but then Leon's just like :D she's alive! Like not even that surprised. I just want to know if they ever figured it all out.

[starg1rlie]

hihi! hope youre doing well! ♡ ive never done one of these ask games before but they seem sups cute so i thought id give it a shot ! 💍 for scara please !!

im ambivert!! i really enjoy talking to people and love being around them! id describe myself as a rather calm and go with the flow. im a very patient person and like to see the brighter side of things. im a very physically affectionate person and generally just a pretty happy person 😭 i dont really like confrontation all too much but i will engage in some teasing if i know the other person is okay w it. unfortunately im also the victim of being a HUGE sappy hopeless romantic too 😔 i really enjoy writing :> music and nature are huge inspirations for me and are a big part of my life ! i also draw quite a lot too, it helps relax me and i love making things. i hope you have a great day and thank you for your time! <3 (apologies if this is too long! ^^;;)

(hello, my apologies for taking so long to get to your request, i hope that you haven't been waiting too long...i got a bit sick and i lost my motivation to write, since i dont feel like i'd be pushing out anything worthwhile for my readers at the time, but here i am <3 hope you enjoy)

biking around the city

its dangerous, he says, and yet, he still goes along with it. you first suggested it as a way to get some fresh air (as if the two of you couldn't receive fresh air from the front porch of your house), and he agreed, only because he knows how much you enjoy taking in the scenery of mother nature. of course he didn't expect for you to ask him to hold hands while doing so. if he had, he'd have refused to accompany you and would probably force you to do something else inside the house that wasn't quite so dangerous. he went along with it anyways, linking his fingers through yours as the two of you biked around the neighborhood for a bit. then scaramouche insisted the two of you head back, because it was getting late and your parents would probably murder him if he kept you out for too long.

he'll play the piano in the middle of the night

even though his mother had previously forced him to learn how to play the piano, he still secretly enjoyed it, despite all the smacks to the hand he received from his instructor. he hadn't played in a while and he felt a little nostalgic one night, so he plopped himself down in front of the grand piano, flipping the cover open and letting his fingers brush against the piano keys. slowly, he dipped into a simple melody he first learned, then ascended into a more complicated tune. all the while, he never looked up from his work, playing and playing until he played the last note. a clap startled him and he jumped up from his seat, whirling around to face you. you didn't tell me you played the piano, you'd say as he came over to wrap his arms around you. that's a one-time thing, he replied. only it wasn't; he started playing more and more every night, and you, upstairs in the bedroom, would listen contentedly under the covers, happy that he continues to play.

introduce him to romance

he legit hasn't had a single romancic occurence in his life (poor boy), and does not understand how you can be so sappy and romantic all of the time. so when you sat him down one night, scaramouche couldn't help but feel a little skeptical about the whole ordeal. romance wasn't his thing, not really, anyways. but you tossed a copy of "to all the boys i've loved before" and left him to "do his thing". a few hours later, you hear sobbing from downstairs and rush to see what's the matter. why are you crying? you asked him, rubbing a hand soothingly over his back. this book is so fucking sad, he'd say, wiping at his runny nose first and then his eyes. honey...it's a romance book...you replied, a little confused. i know. it's so fucking bad.

he'll teach you how to waltz

scaramouche isn't much of a dancer himself, but since there is a formal dance coming up at his school, and he wants to take you as his date, he practiced for weeks on end, ever since the school announced the dance. when he finally felt good about his performances, scaramouche invited you to his living room and placed a hand over your waist, the other gently clasping your hand in his. together the two of you swayed around the room until you collapsed into an exahusted heap, erupting into giggles. what's this for? you inquired, gesturing at his tuxedo and neatly combed hair the next day. what did you think i asked you to dance with me for last night? he shot back, re-adjusting his tie. we're going to the dance. with that, he promptly drags you out of the house to drive to the dance.

listens to your onslaught of playlists

it seems every day you manage to make a new playlist for him to listen to. him? he prefers indie pop and would rather slit his throat than listen to anything other than his chill music. however, since you put time and effort into the playlists, he'll scroll through it and play some of the songs in there. eventually, he'll find his head bobbing along to the songs and will scowl to himself, ripping his headphones off and glaring at his phone. your playlists...aren't as bad as i thought they'd be, scaramouche said the next day. his eyes narrowed just a bit. but we'll be talking more about your music taste in the future.

he'll organize a hike and picnic

since you seem to love nature so much, scaramouche mentally mapped out a plan for taking you out one weekend for a hike, and then a picnic at a pretty area, even going so far to take the scenic route instead of the shorter route. backpack and picnic basket in tow, he'll determindely hike up the hill with you, even though his feet are killing him and he'd much rather be relaxing back at home, watching riverdale. when the two of you finally reached the summit, he keeled over on his hands and knees, gasping and panting heavily. nope, this man is not in shape. want some water? you offer him, holding out a bottle of cold water for him. scaramouche accepted it gratefully and gulped half of it down before swiping at his chin. you're lucky that i decided to go through with this, otherwise we'd be rewatching riverdale again at home, he said pointedly, wiggling his index finger at you while he tried controlling his breathing.

[napo-leo-art]

Hi! From the OC asks: 7, 17 and 23 for Gavin? No pressure though!

Of course! And no worries, I love answering these. Thank you for the questions! (Under the cut for length)

7. What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

I haven't really changed Gavin all that much, but I do have one bit! TBH, the first time I played him was Book 2, and I hadn't played him in Book 1 (I did one of those "make a new character with summary" things). And then I ended up really liking him and went back and played 1 with him LOL. So, I am very into things like musicals and dancing and singing, so I have the tendency to lump those onto my OCs. Gavin was the most recent one of these! And then I realized that trait combined with his skills and his general attitude was pretty similar to another OC I had*, who I really love and have had for several years, so I thought I should explore some other options. I especially wanted to do stuff that I'm not familiar with, so I fell into frat boy stuff and sports LMAO. I'd love to draw some shit for that, but I'm really not a team sports kinda person.

*Jesse Acevedo, he's my Breach: The Archangel Job oc and I've rped with him quite a bit.

17. What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

That's a great question. I'm gonna avoid anything that happened in the Wayhaven books, since a lot of characters went through that and I'd like to give more info LOL.

Outside of Wayhaven stuff, it would probably be the experience that led him to quit law school. This is a sensitive topic so I don't want to add a ton of details, but in short he (as a defense attorney*) was legally on the side of a defendant who really did commit the crime that was alleged, which was already terrible. Then the defendant physically attacked the plaintiff (accuser) in the trial, between actual court appearances.

Gavin (and myself) would put priority on the victim of this attack, but it still was the sort of experience that was life-altering for him, and a terrible twist of his good intentions. His goal was to provide a good defense to the accused who couldn't afford a good attorney, but the reality of having to defend the people who actually did commit the crimes they were accused of had a much bigger toll on him than he expected, and it felt wrong to keep pursuing pretty unfiltered cases.

*this is not the correct term, but I can't think of the right one at this moment- in the US, the court will provide you a defense attorney if you can't afford one, and that was the job he was going for. District attorney? Point is, they are a defense in criminal cases for people who do not have the resources to defend themselves legally.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

I almost said 'vulnerability', but that's not strictly an emotion LOL. It's the most "true" answer, but let me give a bit more.

I think maybe lovesickness? is the hardest for him to process. He's had a lot of shallow relationships and hookups and he gets into them completely willingly, even considering he knows he'll get his feelings hurt. The part where it *actually* hurts is the worst, because he has nobody to blame but himself. Like, let's say Mason didn't have feelings for him. Mason made it completely clear, and he caught feelings anyway. So why is he hurt? He knew what he was getting into.

But really, he can still be hurt by that of course. He made a bad decision, but it still hurts.

As for expressing? Probably sadness, it's one of those emotions where people feel the need to protect or help you in some way, and he always feels very weird not dealing with those things on his own. He's definitely not the gossipy type, and sometimes the kinda sadness you have really needs to be explained to get it all out. It's easier not to express it.

I think anger could very easily be the replacement outlet for him, but he's not an angry person in the least. So he buries it under a lot of other emotions, or just hopes it'll go away on its own.

[muddyorbsblr]

Ohh holy hell goddamn from the first paragraphs I already knew we were dealing with an unhinged Bucky since he's literally peeping at her from her bedroom window, and then deciding that he was gonna make this Valentine's Day ✨special✨, like I knew we were in for one hell of a dark rollercoaster ride.

Poor Steve though he had no idea Reader even liked him and now he's in the hospital because of Reader liking him 🥺 Like when I read that part I was just like "NOOOO". That's what happens though when he gets in Bucky's way, I guess 🙃 And then top it off with that warning after he got jumped, poor pretty blondie was probably just all "Goddamn now I wish I couldn't remember what he looked like" 🥲

I really liked the nod to the movie though with YN reading the card and thinking "Who the hell is Bucky?", and also this bit establishes that this stalker is someone that she hadn't been aware of until he made himself known to her. And this was such a terrifyingly convincing take on a stalker and the completely unhinged and irrational mindset that they have.

And something in the way that he fixated on YN as well just rings so convincing because she's so trusting and naive and naturally leans toward choosing to rationalize and see a completely non-malicious light on things, that it leaves Bucky with this wide margin for error because even if he slips up something or other, she might just think "Oh I could have sworn I left my curtains closed before I left, but I guess I didn't" or "Oh maybe my landlord finally found his keys and this is just a sweet little gesture from him".

Like she's so sweet and trusting that it makes me sad for her knowing what's next for her 🥺

The completely heartbreaking part though was this part that told me that Bucky wouldn't have actually had to go down this path. Like he actually probably stood a more than decent chance with her if he just introduced himself and didn't just go dark and psychotic on her:

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve thought he was attractive. With piercing blue eyes, brown hair framing his face and stubble covering a sharp jaw, he was undoubtedly handsome even if there was a dark look in his gaze that sent a new wave of fear washing through you. 

Dammit Bucky you couldn't have it all with her without the fear and torment, but you just had to do it this way, didn't you 😭

But then he kept talking and it made him even more of a terrifying character because of that "hollow affection" in his voice. It's like he sees her as a literal doll to possess and play with, and all of his actions are him unable to rationalize that she isn't a doll that's meant to follow the play script he's laid out, but rather that she's a living breathing person that should be free to be attracted to whomever she wants 😭 And then my brain went back to the whole "preparing his truck" bit and the scariest question popped up in my mind:

Has he done this before? How many times has he done this before?

And the flash forward in the end where you could really see how effectively worn down she'd become from how consistently he kept on telling her "you're mine and you know you're mine" that she actually believes that it's acceptance and happiness? Like she actually became his literal doll playing house with him in his cabin in the woods? That was just so chilling and such an insanely good depiction of Stockholm Syndrome that I've seen in a fic.

Me thinking about Reader like:

I really liked that you didn't take on this story as a dark romance or even a stalker romance, but a truly dark story where the only "happy ending" is in the mind of the stalker and the victim is really portrayed as such. Like I'm not always up for dark stories but this was tastefully done and much as my heart broke for Reader and her life now, it didn't make me as sad as some other dark fics I've read before that I've had to up and walk away for a good few days/weeks or drown myself in fluff & smut to wash it all away

Also another thing I really appreciated: That this didn't include any explicit smuttery, and instead it was just implied that yes of course he did take her when he got her to the cabin. It was such a well done approach that the horror can be just as effectively delivered in what wasn't shown alongside with what we as the readers/audience were shown.

You're definitely gonna be a go-to for me when I want a good dark fic in the future.

pretty little doll

pairing: stalker!bucky barnes x reader

summary: it's valentine's day and bucky barnes has been stalking you for months, but he decides it's time to finally take you and make you his doll.

warnings: dark themes and elements, stalking, jealousy, non-consensual kissing, voyeurism, obsession, mentions of violence (not against reader), abduction, gaslighting, implied mindbreak/brainwashing/stockholm syndrome (idk what it is or what you'd call it so just including all the possible things), if i missed any tags please let me know!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: so this was inspired by @bellasburdens's valentine's day this or that's she put together! one of them is about finding flowers left on your kitchen counter by a stalker and i chose bucky barnes and then i just couldn't get the idea out of my head!! so please enjoy some very, very dark bucky barnes—the complete antithesis to the fic i posted yesterday 😅 happy valentine's day y'all ♡♡♡

-

When you got dressed the morning of Valentine’s Day, you had no way of knowing that choosing to wear a cute matching set of pink lingerie—just for yourself, just to make you feel good—would be what set everything that came after into motion. You had no way of knowing Bucky Barnes was standing outside your Brooklyn brownstone, watching through your bedroom window from across the street as you get dressed. 

Bucky had his black cap pulled low over his eyes and he was damn near drooling at the sight of your body wrapped in pretty pink lace. It took all his self control not to touch himself while you stood in your bedroom in your lingerie, unaware of his eyes devouring your curves. He could stare at you forever, and he was determined that he would.

You didn’t know until later that moment, while he watched you dress, was when he made his decision. Because of your pretty pink lingerie, which he believed you wore just for him, he decided it was time to take you. It was time to make you his.

That Valentine’s Day started out like any other day—besides the lingerie. You got up, got dressed in your bedroom at the front of the first floor apartment you had to yourself in a converted Brooklyn brownstone you loved. You went to work in Manhattan, where you tried to get your projects done in between meetings and trying to time your coffee breaks so you’d run into Steve Rogers, a guy from the art department you had a crush on.

That day, you weren’t successful in catching sight of Steve in the break room, and it was the topic of conversation during lunch. You grabbed a table with your friend from work, Wanda Maximoff, at the café around the block from your office building. Wanda, who’d had this conversation with you many times already, told you again that you should just talk to Steve. But you reminded her how you’d get flustered if you were in the same room as Steve, shaking your head and wishing he would make the first move. Wanda smiled kindly and patted your arm comfortingly.

Unfortunately for Steve, that conversation happened in a public place, well within earshot of anyone who might want to listen in. 

It wasn’t until the next day that Wanda learned Steve was put into the hospital that very afternoon, not too long after you and her returned to the office from lunch. Steve had been stepping out to grab his own lunch when he was attacked. He told the police he was mugged by a large man, but couldn’t remember specific details of his appearance. In truth, he remembered Bucky’s face perfectly, but decided to heed the warning his attacker left him with—to stay away from you and not mention anything to anyone unless Steve wanted Bucky to return and do much worse.  

You wouldn’t know about any of that until much later, when Bucky finally confessed to you that he’d been enraged hearing you talk about another man like that. Even though Bucky had already decided to make you his that day, he couldn’t stop himself from taking out his anger on the blond man. After all, how could you truly open your heart to Bucky if you were hung up on some punk named Steve Rogers? He’d come to the conclusion it was best to make sure Steve stayed out of the way.

That afternoon, while Bucky was confronting Steve, you were still blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, or that your life was going to be completely upended before the day was done. You just went back to your desk after lunch and slogged through the rest of your work, excited to get home. You didn’t have any Valentine’s Day plans, but you were eager to relax. However, your evening would be far from relaxing. 

You noticed the first hint that something was wrong too late.

Later, you’d kick yourself for not seeing the signs of Bucky earlier—the curtains of your bedroom window open despite the fact you’d definitely left them closed and the barest hint of men’s cologne you didn’t recognize in the entryway. But that evening you were still so blithely naive, you didn’t realize something was very, very wrong until you walked into your kitchen and spotted a bouquet of pink roses on the counter, a card next to it.

You froze in the doorway. No one else had a key to your apartment. Even the landlord, who lived on the garden level below you, didn’t have one since he’d lost his copy a couple months prior.

You’d later learn that Bucky had stolen your landlord’s key. He’d initially planned to just make a copy and return the original to your landlord so he wouldn’t notice anything amiss. But the thought of anyone else having unfettered access to your apartment had rage churning in Bucky’s gut. It didn’t matter that your landlord was a kindly old man who’d never dream of entering your apartment uninvited, Bucky couldn’t bring himself to return the key. So he kept the original and used it as often as he liked.

But on that night, you were too frozen with fear to make the connection between the stolen key and the flowers in your kitchen. Blind terror slithered down your spine, making you shiver despite the fact that you were sweating under your winter coat. You had the chilling sensation of being watched, which was ironic since, at that moment, Bucky actually wasn’t watching you—he was preparing his truck for you. 

It was one of the few moments he didn’t have his eyes on you. But somehow you felt them, like all the times you’d been observed without your knowledge compounded and hung heavy like a scratchy blanket around your shoulders.

It occurred to you that you should call the police. You knew, instinctively, the flowers were evidence of a break in, but your brain started rationalizing instead. Maybe your landlord had finally found his key, and maybe he’d left the flowers for you as a nice gesture. Maybe he’d let in one of your friends to surprise you for Valentine’s Day. You convinced yourself you had to be sure it wasn’t something innocent, so you didn’t look silly for calling the police.

When you looked back, you knew that was your biggest mistake. If you’d just turned around and left, if you’d gone to a friend’s and called the police, or at least knocked on your landlord’s door, nothing that came after would’ve happened. In fact, the police may have even caught Bucky. 

But you didn’t turn and leave. You walked into your kitchen and picked up the card, flicking it open. 

My sweet, pretty doll, it read. I knew you were the one from the moment I laid eyes on you. You looked so beautiful that day, your eyes sparkling and your smile so wide it took my breath away. When you put on that pretty pink lace getup this morning, I knew it was just for me. You put it on because you knew, before I did, that today was meant to be the day we make our relationship official. Don’t worry, doll, I’m ready. My heart is yours and you’ll soon be mine.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the sound of it loud in your head as you read the card. It was signed, Yours, Bucky. But all you could think was, who the hell is Bucky? Your thoughts raced, trying to figure out who he could be, imagining all the strangers you’d interacted with over the last few months to try to figure out if you could place him. But you came up blank. New York was a big place and you couldn’t remember all the faces you’d see in a single day, let along the weeks or months he’d been stalking you.

It was time to the call the police you decided, and you were so flustered by the card, it wasn’t until your had reached into your coat pocket and found it empty that you remembered you’d left your phone at the office. Well, you hadn’t left it on purpose. You’d misplaced it, and you were too excited to get home to bother looking for it too hard. You figured it’d turn up on your desk the next day. But as you stood in the kitchen, staring down at the flowers and card left by a stalker you’d been completely unaware of, you realized your phone may not have been misplaced at all.

The sound of your apartment door closing wrenched a scream from your lips and you spun around to find a man standing just inside the closed door.

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve thought he was attractive. With piercing blue eyes, brown hair framing his face and stubble covering a sharp jaw, he was undoubtedly handsome even if there was a dark look in his gaze that sent a new wave of fear washing through you. 

The man was big, too, easily standing at over six feet tall with broad shoulders encased in a black jacket that was open over a black t-shirt. He wore dark jeans, a dark cap on his head and black boots. Everything about him screamed predator and you knew with absolute certainty that you were his prey.

Your body tensed as your gaze flitted around your kitchen, looking for an escape. But the man—Bucky—was standing in front of the only entrance to your apartment and you didn’t think you could make it to your room and get a window open fast enough to escape him. Your mind realized you were trapped before your body did, your blood still drumming an insistent pulse through your veins, your heart pounding with the instinct to flee. 

So focused on escape, you almost missed it when your stalker spoke, breaking the quiet of the kitchen that was only filled with your harsh, panting breaths.

“My pretty doll,” Bucky murmured, his gruff voice almost sounding soft with the endearment. 

But your ears picked up on a flat hollowness to his tone that made you think the emotion he put into his voice was nothing more than play acting. The attempt of a sociopath to pretend he felt anything real. That what he felt was truly love and not a demented kind of obsession. It filled you with horror. 

Bucky stepped closer and you flinched, pressing your back against the kitchen counter like you wanted to keep as much space between you as possible. He stopped.

“Don’t be afraid, doll,” he said in his best attempt at a soothing voice, his hands up like he was trying to placate a wild animal.

In that moment, you wished you had the teeth and claws of an animal—something sharp that could hurt the man who had come into your home, who had watched you for countless hours while you’d never known. You wished you could scratch and claw at him, do anything to keep him at bay. But instead, you just watched him warily, unsure if it was worth it to put up a fight. You still didn’t know how dangerous he could be, even if you could sense violence in his every movement.

The man was still talking, still murmuring in a low tone like he could calm you down with his voice and his words alone. “I won’t hurt you, doll, I promise,” he said, but then he tilted his head to the side like he was thinking. “Unless you make me,” he added. He said it like a reassurance, but you took it for the threat it really was.

Bucky moved another step toward you and when you didn’t lash out or try to escape, he became emboldened, getting closer until he stood just in front of you. His hand reached up and cupped your cheek. His touch was gentle, but you had to brace yourself not to flinch again, already learning he didn’t like that.

“My pretty, pretty doll,” he cooed, that terrifying hollowness undercutting his affectionate words. His face was arranged in a mask of tenderness you didn’t believe.

You stared up into his blue eyes and they were flat, emotionless. No matter how much he could try to pretend to be sweet with his words, his gaze didn’t lie. There was a vast emptiness inside Bucky that he was desperate to fill, and you knew he’d already decided you were the sacrifice he’d feed to the yawning void in an attempt to stave off being consumed himself. You whimpered, knowing the fate that awaited you and succumbing to the fear overwhelming your body.

Bucky shushed you in a gruff rumble, cupping your face in both hands. It wasn’t until his thumbs swept softly over your cheek, wiping away tears, that you realized you were crying. 

His blue eyes were bright and intense on your face as he watched you. “So pretty when you cry, doll,” he murmured, his eyes going heavy lidded as they followed the tracks of your tears down your cheeks. 

Slowly, Bucky ducked his head down, and then he brushed his lips against yours. You froze, not wanting to anger him by fighting, but not wanting him to continue either. So you just let it happen. You let him press his lips to yours more firmly, let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him coax a response out of you. A soft sigh escaped and you felt Bucky smile against your mouth, pulling you tighter against his body. You melted into him, the adrenaline from the fear draining out of you until you were soft and loose in his arms.

Later, you’d learn that not fighting Bucky’s kiss was your final mistake. He would tell you that kiss was what made him so sure you were his—truly his—and that you knew you were his. Because you didn’t fight him. You didn’t bite his lip or try to push him away, you just stood there and let him kiss you, your lips so soft against his mouth, the salt of your tears on his tongue. He took it as a sign you’d already surrendered to him.

Eventually, you came to believe him. Not when he gathered you into his arms and took you away from your apartment, never to return. Not when he showed you to his cabin in the woods, your new home together. No, you didn’t believe him until much later.

But eventually you did. You believed you were his, and he was yours—you believed you were meant for each other. When you decided to believe, it didn’t feel like surrendering to him, but accepting your new life with Bucky. When you finally accepted it and believed it, it was a relief. You could finally find peace.

It didn’t matter anymore what he’d done to make you his, you were Bucky Barnes’ pretty little doll and you were happy.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Don't touch...

(L/n) (Y/n).

Quirk? Unknown to him until the days of today...

Your company after all these years had been quite... enjoyable for him to not say the least. Most of the time you wore a mask, gloves and clothes that covered most of your skin, yet you always opted to be more free, feel the sun and the wind on your skin... he never get it why though.

Without the clothes you would remember a bit of him, flinch away from the touch even before it could touch you... yet when it was on your clothing you just reacted calmly and dare he say even sweetly.

He came to know you as kids, just barely when he entered the yakusa Pops showed to him you.. a kind soul that asked him if he wanted to play despite the look of distrust and hatred he gave to you just when you looked at him.

He never complained about you not wanting to be touched, he didn't liked it either. But he could tell you had... different reasons. As the years went by, he notice the dreadfull and even the remorse behind those (E/c) eyes of denying someone touch, a pat on the head, a hand shake... a hug.

It was... strange.

It's funny how reverse psychology worked... thats at least what he deduced from his own analysis. He didn't felt comfortable, heck actually he felt sick to the stomach if everyone else got too close to him or forbid God to ever lay a finger on him... but with you? The more you would get away from him, the more he wanted you to stay by his side... you were one of the few whose he felt comfortable enough.

He had gone through one of the most painfull feeling right on his childhood. Parental neglect and abuse, not even mentioning the pain he had to atture of controling his own quirk, testing on both victims and himself. Seriously, what could be worse than that?

Simple. When he found out that he was actually catching feelings for you, and your neglect of touch was even from him.

He didn't know what was so special that left his skin itching to just brush against yours...he just.. needed to test the waters. Yeah, it was only that.

The Hassaikai for a very long time had a plan for touching you. Since you werent as deadly and scary as Kai, and had kinda of a good partnership for all of them, he just could watch the shit go downs.

But soon stopped being a joke one day where Mimic went from behind you and tried to grab your wrist as you listened to his other plan to tell Pops later. He didn't even could tell you before your reflexes acted and you kicked Mimic square in the face.

"Dont. Touch me. This is not a joke anymore." You muttered in anger before bowing to Kai and leaving the room, his golden eyes widening at the drops of tears you let it slip from your eyes.

Mimic never once thought that the young sucessor of the Hassaikai could be even more enraged and such a monster when dealing with you. Rappa could only laugh since this time he wasn't the one having his ass beaten and overhauled. Haha poor him I torture him sometimes here

He couldn't understand... until the day where you were crying your eyes out. He couldn't understand until you just threw three blankets at him and hugged him for all your might.

His breath suddenly dissapeared...he didn't know what to say or even do at that point, and just when he was about to lower his arms you pulled away from and took the three massive blankets away from.

"Sorry, Chisaki.." you sniffled as he blinked, stoic gaze still present at your depressed state. "Really, forgive me I-"

"You never once told me about your "despise" for touch." He interrupted you, letting you lift your head for him to speak again "We both know my reason, but you're far away from a clean freak person or a mysophobic... explain it."

His eyes never widened at the point where it even hurted his whole life.

Your illness. Your quirk. That was why you couldn't touch anyone neither let anyone touch you. Your quirk allowed you to give resistance to others with only one glance and gave you amazing reflexes... but the consequences were way too big....

Hearing this made his skin form into hives, anger at despicable things rising even more.

From that way beyond, he promised himself that he would create a cure. It didn't even matter, he just needed a cure for this. A cure for you to stop suffering.

More years went by... he saw your worry at Pops condition, he saw your worry towards him for both being charged with the chore of taking care of the girl and both for him to get the tittle as the big boss.

Yet he couldn't stop. When he discovered Eri's quirk he saw a hint of light on the end of the tunnel. You wouldn't ever need to use thick clothes to protect yourself from vanishing from existence.

The bullets were only experimental. He selled most of them to be used as... experiments. He would use the first serum on you, and this way you could stop this nightmare where many nights you confessed to him... as he confesses his own sins.

You wouldn't like to know about Eri, so he simply erased the idea of telling you that. He never answered your questions on what he was working. His mind fooling him that he wasn't exactly lying to you if he hadn't said anything.

He could only be relieved to graze your skin under only using his gloves... at first he thought it would be enough, but no.

Love is like a damn drug. The more you get, the more you want. And he couldn't help but want more.

The bullets were a success... but he knew heroes were coming towards him. That blonde and green haired kid surely were behind this...

So the least he could do was give you a night to remember if anything went wrong on those next few days.

"A festival?" You asked with wide eyes before gasping at him putting the box on the desk. "Huh?"

"You always talk about them." He answered nonchantly, montioning with his eyes at the box as hs stuffed his hands on his pockets.

You snickered and opened the box carefully before widening your eyes, picking the golden and with traces of shiny green yukata on your hands... you were out of words until you gasped at Chisaki leaving and standing on the door way, giving you only one side eye glance as he spoke before he closed the door.

"I expect you to be ready by 8."

You blinked in shock before softening your gaze, holding the yukata over your body as you could only smile...

You were tired of living this way... if it meant you could spend a night with the man you love normally... so be it.

.

.

.

The sky had a bunch of lanterns and it shined with the lights of it along with the stars. You bounced and walked happily ahead of Chisaki with a basket.

He was always wary of anyone who ever dared to step closer... the yukata covered your legs, chest and arms. But you noisy self insisted on going without gloves and he was actually worried that the material of the yukata he brought wasn't as thick to protect your skin.

Yet he had to only breath in and out, the air making it hotter around the area where his mask was... he had one of the serums in here. With him. Soon he will inject, and gave to you your freedom.

"Ne Kai! Look at that booth over there!" You tugged on the material of his own yukata as his golden nonchantly gaze looked at the mans throing balls and hitting the aims of the booth, winning prices for their kids and partners.

He let out a "tch" before noticing how your eyes shined and how your lips quivered up at seing the stuffed animals the man was giving.

Blinking, he sighed, muttering how he this was a waste of time before he dropped a bunch of coins to the man and grabbed three balls.

You clapped your hands in glee as he threw the three balls and with the most perfection he hit the three aims right on the middle of it.

"Choose." He said nonchantly while grabbing a napkin and wiping his GLOVED hands as you pointed at a cute yet fluffy and chubby penguin. Without the man grabbing the stick, he lifted his hand up and yanked the stuffed animal and hand it to you as you squealed, nuzzling your face on it with glee... making him smile at how innocent and sad this scene was.

Everytime you would look at a treat or just a snack he would buy... you even wondered with wide eyes and mouth full how much he brought to this festival as he only growled for you to not speak with a mouth full.

You were hugging the price Chisaki won to you for warm as he looked at you and stopped, it was on a fair and quite isolated area of the festival so he found the perfect time to give you the medice. Your cure.

"Cold?"

"A bit." You giggled before you saw him taking a box and overhauling it, showing a little red capsule "What's this?"

"... (Y/n).. I despise touch. I really do.. but I can't lie that I wasn't expecting at least to feel a real contact between us, skin to skin... you know how much you affect me? To have me, Chisaki Kai, wanting to at least feel what your skin feels like? Feel how soft those lips are instead of just receiving a quick kiss on my mask..." you blinked, raising a eyebrow with a sad smile.

"I wish I could do this way sooner-" you stopped talking as soon as you heard laughter and voices of childs running and playing around.

"Brats..." chisaki sighed at the sign, a quadruple of two girls and two boys chasing them, the two young girls greeting both of you as the one of the boys screamed after them.

It all happened so fucking fast... the last boy tripped and it was about to fall with his head on a rock... it if it wasn't for your good reflexes the boy would had fall.

"Thank you miss!" The boy mumbled with a smile as you, with both hands on his arms helped him.

His and your eyes were so wide... you looked at him and his gaze was filled with horror.

Your hand started to fade, a bunch of (E/c) butterflies started to form and fly away instead of the hand that was suppose to be there.

He couldn't even fucking move as you looked at him... he expected everything but the huge smile and the sob of happines you let out before jumping on him and hugging him with tears in your eyes.

"Finally I can touch you..!" You sighed with a sob, not feeling your legs anymore.

"(Y/n)-!" He dropped the bullet on the ground and clenched onto your back as his eyes started to burn before you locked his lips so softly, your eyes closed as your image faded away and his eyes wide open...

The last thing he saw was your smile as your body was replaced with lifes and butterflies... his knees gave out when he could only tigger at the yukata he bought for you...

The whole festival was all happy and cheerfully until they heard the shouts of pain of a man inside the peacefull and full of butterflies forest.

A/n: eeyyy dont even need to coment the damn visible reference right? :D

[thisdreamplace]

I had a nasty fight with my former bff. This was long ago. She did the whole 'boycotting me' thing at school and afterwards had a mutual friend pass her msg to me, saying "tell her [me] to get it into her skull that she's not the center of the world, who does she think she is? Stop acting like a #" Im simplifying the words, her actual words were nastier

I got thinking today abt this fight, and her comment abt me that is still way too fresh in my mind even tho I hadn't recalled it in 2-3 yrs!, and I actually decided to use the law to revise my friendship to feel better as what happened after the fight was shameful on my part. But before I knew it, I started rmmbring my relationship with her. How I became a total victim. Got so stuck on her validation, begged her to be friends with me (after I got the degrading msg. 🤕 silly me w/o a backbone lol) and stayed her 'bestie' for way too long. Only after it's all over im noticing smth messed up abt out 'feiendship'. It wasnf that normal I think. She would get so pissed if I did anything that went against her thoughts/beliefs/way (which is why she called me a selfish # that major fight). It was so subtle the way she showed her disapproval. To her, if I did anything not aligned with her, or even makih decisions on my own which didn't involve her, it was wrong. And had consequences like her beinf distant for days etc, or getting angry if I didn't mind read her bla bla, I just had to keep her at the top 24/7 and she expected everyone else to do the same... which I thought was normal... It wasnt. And what would be even more crazy is she never realized how that meant she always wanted the attention. That she always wanted it her way! It just makes me feel... Sad.... When I look back. How couldn't I have notived it before? I used to be strong headed, opinionated before I became 'besties' with her.. That all has changed. I wonder why -_-

It may be dumb on my part but with the weak mind and insecurity I had then, I took that fight/her reaction to the heart and internalisef this stupidiy (DENY MYSELF if the other alternative was denying HER. I didn't think it was wrong. For the oldme, it really wasn't wrong smh). Aaah I'm so sorry old me :(

This fight started bcoz she asked me for smth and I refused, instead of relenting like I always would, and I see now that her reaction (to me not being an obedient # to her ig?🤢) was basically her setting rules. It was wrong of me to refuse, yes, but why did she react that way? Why did this pattern continue? That everyone was selfish if they didn't think of her ;_; like how do u deal with this? And the icing is when I too started to defend her and make excuses for her all the time. And ik I'm making her out to be so strong, don't worry... I accept the strong only rule when the weak submit. And I was weak as hell, so its understandable this whole thing. I think 😅

Idk. I seen your posts abt eyipo with other anons so i hope u can tell me figure out what this was. Its clear to me she was projecting smth about me, and mb throughout our whole friendship she was projecting me. And I would think it was her hurting me, that she was right and I was wrong or maybe I did smth wrong. Mb I thought I deserved being punished that way?!

Today I suddenly had an aha moment and I realised... this is how a victim thinks. I didn't know I was a victim when I was living that stoey aka thought I was powerless. When in fact I really wasn't?! Haha still accepting I 555% created ALL that. The law can knock you out haha

Enough old story I just want to ask, what du u think the msg she sent to me was? Did I really deserve such a reaction (did I mention she included other girls in the boycot? 🤢) just for standing up for myself? What about the whole 'fight' aka showcase of power? And the entire yrs of being friends why did I never realize I was only hurting myself so much by putting her before me? And also, with the everyone pushed out thing, how did it fit in? Like why the hell did I give her too much power in validating me by giving in after the fight in the first place?, and while I did have some fun times (saying this so anyone else who reads this doesn't think it was pure torture lol. We had some common interests tyat no one else in the class shared when we first became 'friends'), deep down I was so unhappy so why didn't this reflect on her? I mean why didn't she ever sense just how much she'd hurt me, why didn't she see how much I put on the back burner coz of her?! Was it as she saw it as her right? I'm just so confused

This is still a bitter pill to swallow tbh but I have to face this in order to move on. This person and my life with her has left me wit many scars and I got to understand how I did this so I never attract such a person in my life again. Its not even abt bejnf a victim. As I said, these victimy things were subtle and I only noted them when it was too late and I was a shell, like she getting super pissed and disapproving if I had a differing opinion and me blowijg it out of proportion and tailoring my views or not expressing them so as to not feel the disapproval...thanks boycott conditioning ig? 😭 Aaaah even talking agaunst her rn is making me uncomfortable. Which makes me think I still am scared of her subconsciously even tho she's no longer in my life. Like, what in me made me choose her? I haven't healed, obviously by this ask as u can tell, but idk what is it in my self concept that had this whole thing in my past even happen

My friend, I also want to say I think you're a beautiful soul 🥺. And im sorry for the long ask lol. And I pray you'll always have all your desires. And plz, was it hard for u at first when u learned about u creating everything? The good, the bad, and the repulsive (like this story)? How did u get over old stories? Ty ty ty 😭

To begin with you're being really harsh on yourself. Like, I know it's hard, but it's never that serious. And trust me, this is something I have to remind myself of regularly. Because there have definitely been moments in life where I look back on myself in that moment, and I feel like I was pathetic and would slap myself if I could. But the truth is, there's just no need for any of that. We always did the best we could. We always did, period. We couldn't have done anything differently and this will continue to be true our entire lives. Looking back on the past with such overwhelming feelings, is really not needed. I get looking back to learn from it, but practice coming from a place of love and acceptance instead. It will help you grow, rather than get stuck back in this cycle of self-hate and confusion. Plus, you actually never need to analyze the past to grow but that's beyond the point right now.

To me, by reading your ask, the message she sent to you was clear. You feel you deserve less in life, you feel you're not good enough, you feel like a victim to life and others, you feel like you're not empowered or the operant power of your reality. It's not about her being wrong and you being right, and I get this is one of the hardest pills to swallow. Everyone is you pushed out. Therefore, there's simply no such thing as who is right and who is wrong anymore. It was only ever you.

When it comes to everyone is you pushed out, you have to understand this person isn't this way because that's who they are. They were that way because that's who you were. Inside of you, you brought their character to life. Therefore, the same way you are not stuck to such an undesirable self concept, neither is that person. It's not that you chose her and attracted her in. You were just dealing with yourself. That's what I hope you walk away from this response understanding. Because by thinking she was outside of you, you're missing the mark. And this is such an important concept to understand when it comes to the law of assumption, because it's really at the forefront of everything. People play such a huge role in our lives, whether it's relationships, jobs, opportunities, etc etc. So understanding how everyone is you pushed out actually works is extremely important.

So instead of putting all this blame on her or even putting the blame on yourself, all these memories really do is give you a glimpse into who you were at the time. It shows you the beliefs you held about yourself. It shows you what your self concept was. That's all it's doing. So in that way, there's actually no one to blame at all. I know it feels good to put blame, even when it's on yourself, but the truth is there's no room for blame when you learn about the law. You simply take responsibility and become empowered by the power you have held this entire time. And you practice making it work in your favor.

If you want to see how something was apart of your self concept, all you have to do is pay attention to what you are thinking/feeling. Shame, not being good enough, etc etc is all just stories you once held onto. Now you don't have to hold onto those stories anymore. Now that you know the power you hold, you get to make a new decision for yourself. Rather than ruminating of the painful past, allow it to be and know how that's not your story anymore.

Was it difficult for me to accept how I created everything? Yes and no. It's been a journey. While I could accept it logically, emotionally it was still very painful. Many times I wanted to cry and lash out when I felt alone and felt upset that no one was there for me. Although, I knew deep down it appeared that way because of my own concept of self. So yeah, it's been a journey. And it's honestly not always delightful. But this is the journey we have to take for the rest of our lives, so we might as well get used to practicing and applying these concepts. Instead of continuing to hold ourselves in such painful lights. I got through old stories, and I continue to get through old stories, by feeling all the pain that came up. By allowing myself to cry and feel however I felt like during those times. And in the back of my mind I knew I was getting stronger in my power. I knew how I would keep persisting once the pain subsided. And little by little, old stories fade more and more. That persistence to continue choosing better for yourself, is truly more powerful than it may seem in a difficult moment. Have trust in how it's all working out for you regardless.

Hopefully this is helpful! Thank you for your kind words. 💖

[momentspassd]

Believe it or not it wasn't all advantages being the height that he was. Reaching for something on a high shelf, sure. Looking for someone in a crowd, absolutely. Being able to spot a face over the shelves he couldn't forget no matter how many times he'd willed his brain to just let her go? No fucking way. There wasn't a single positive to that.

Is that really her?

No, no his mind was playing tricks on him. That brunette a few aisles away was just some woman who had an uncanny resemblance to Theodora Nowak.

Even the writer knew in his gut he was in preservation mode, lying to himself to keep the hemorrhaging from starting.

What the hell was she doing in Blue Harbor?

It seemed the universe, the powers at play, decided to make fate intervene because he'd been too weak for far too long. Without even wanting to, nothing to actually say because what was good enough at this point, Sam's feet were delivering him the direction that the woman he'd wanted to marry was shopping about.

Three years gone, the lawyer looked very much the same woman he'd been planning a family with in his head, yet — Teddy appeared so different simultaneously.

Grief and hardship changed people, had an effect on them, and the New Yorker asked every god in that very moment that it not be because of him. As much as it would pain him to learn he was less than, Samuel also didn't want to be the source of that kind of pain. Perhaps she'd not felt like the victim of a car wreck, ejected through the front windshield and laying on the hard pavement like he had.

One could only hope that he really hadn't mattered all that much in the long run.

At the end of the aisle his almost fiancée was perusing, he stood and stared, ensnared and captivated by what clearly wasn't a doppelganger nor an apparition.

Theodora Nowak.

Voice choked in his throat, just like every time he'd picked up his phone and never made the call or sent a message, the author was reminded of why and how he'd left. Then all the silence that ensued following his departure. He'd sat on a couch in California with a woman that was dying and had been meeting the child he'd been led to believe was his own when he'd felt the vibration of texts and missed calls.

Things never answered and never returned.

He hadn't known how to do that.

Where did those specific words come from?

This all went on while he grieved the loss of his mother. A woman who'd been his best friend growing up. It had all been too much all at once and when something had to give, Samuel was a man that broke and left far too much damage in his wake.

When their eyes met the man with umber eyes held her gaze even though he could feel the flames of hell reaching up for him and grasping his dark blue jean clad legs. The underworld was awaiting him for all his sins. It didn't really matter what was in her hands and who it might be in service to, where they were currently — all Samuel could do was look at her. Drink her in. For once he wasn't looking at her through memory or photos he still had on his phone.

"Wait —" He'd tried as he saw Teddy's face twist with heartbreak and hurt then rush past him. At first the writer wasn't certain that he should chase her, run after her, the whole fateful moment had him stunned in place. Feet unmoving.

Reality was a cold, hard slap in the face however.

You can't let this happen twice.

You can't let her slip through your fingers.

By the time Sam had sprung to action Theo was already out of the door and this is where he was thankful for long strides as he swiftly made it outdoors and she wasn't too far down the sidewalk.

"Teddy, wait!" At her side within a few rushed steps, he didn't dare put a hand on her and instead moved in front of her so that she had to stop. "Please. I know I have no right, but please."

Chest heaving up and down, adrenaline clouding his thoughts, umber eyes held her sad gaze and he nearly dared a finger to swipe along her wet cheekbones. This was the closest he'd been to the woman that had been everything to him in three years. His heart was ready to leap out of his chest and yet again his throat felt uncomfortably tight.

"I'm sorry. I really am." A somewhat closely cropped brunette head shook gently from side to side. "I am so very sorry."

x. status -> closed for @momentspassd (samuel) x. location -> carnal knowledge

Theodora supposes that, if she was going to rank the advantages of living in Blue Harbor versus New York, the ability to shop at places like Carnal Knowledge without having to look over her shoulder for paparazzi would be, indisputably, one of the top three.

Not that she makes it a habit to shop here, mind you. It’s not like she’s had much of a love life to shop for, anyway. Even self-pleasure had taken a backseat these past couple of years, what with the stress of being ghosted by the man she thought was the love of her life and being passed for partner again and again and again at the Nowak firm and there was also the whole ‘starting a business’ thing that had her losing more hair than not in the shower. No, she hasn’t made pleasure a priority, and even now, surrounded by — wands and lube and lingerie, oh my! — she’s not really thinking about herself.

Genie, a friend of hers back in New York, is hosting a bachelorette party for herself (because she doesn’t trust anyone else to do it for her, which is fair) and, considering most of the clientele is rich up to their necks, she’s requesting gifts be in the form of the ‘kinkiest, weirdest sex shit she’s ever seen.’ Theo knows Genie, and she can’t imagine she’s going to be able to find anything weirder than what she’s already been into, but she supposes that’s the challenge.

She’s holding a set of edible lingerie in her hands, frowning down at it contemplatively (how does one digest such a thing?) when she feels a presence at the end of the aisle. Despite her best efforts to not make eye contact, it’s almost instinctive to look up to make sure she’s not being stalked or harassed, and when she meets the other’s gaze it turns out to be — well, worse.

There’s something to be said for a sentient universe. Moreover, there’s something to be said for when said universe sets you up for humiliation, failure, and heartbreak all at once. Theodora doesn’t know what kind of cosmos she’s pissed off, but doesn’t really have time to figure it out as her heart breaks in two all over again at the sight of Samuel Harrison, standing at the end of the aisle, looking straight at her. Several thoughts happen in quick succession — has he always looked this tired, is he shopping for the woman he probably left me for, why is he here, why am I here — and before she can say anything to him (like the tens and thousands of things she’s dreamt she would say to him if she ever saw him again) her feet are already working their way past Sam, hurriedly towards the exit.

The beating of her heart is so loud she almost misses the cashier insist that she pay for the fucking lingerie she’s still fucking holding before exiting the store with it. She feels her face redden as she walks to the register and hands the outfit to the cashier, shaking her head. “I don’t—” she doesn’t finish the sentence, instead just turns on her heel and exits the store in a flurry of heartbreak and desolation, furious tears accumulating in her eyes, some strays already falling down her cheeks.

She can’t be here. She can’t be anywhere near him, she thinks as she freezes outside the store, unsure which way she’d parked. The bile that forms at her throat (the feeling of his thumb wiping away her tears as her parents missed another birthday), the prickling sensations that’s started in her hands making their way up her arms (her head on his lap as he read to her), and the ringing in her ears (his laugh on a Sunday morning) all don’t help her case — so she starts walking, unsure of where she’s going, so long as it’s nowhere near where she’d been.

[thejoshuaglenn-blog]

You're a Good Boy, Charlie Brown

The key purpose of a Tumblr blog here is really a brain dump: logging thoughts, feelings, narrative and such is easier in long form than via a brief Facebook post that generates half a dozen "oh no, what happened" comments. As I'm writing this, most of it seems like bullet points and organized timelines. If you're looking for a TL;DR or current state of thoughts, it's the last section titled The Day After, and the Day After That.

A few days ago, Niko and I said goodbye to our first dog, Charlie Brown.

I'm not keen to chat about it a lot. There's more to process than I have time to type; most of it centers around being fair to myself and to Niko, taking the time to appreciate his life without beating ourselves up, and avoiding the overwhelming mire that grief can become.

Joining the Family

CB was a rescue, a hapless victim of the 2016 Louisiana floods and a happy-go-lucky participant in a "dog for a day" event hosted by a local shelter. I fully expected to rent him out for a day, give him a few great experiences, and return him. For myriad reasons, we never did bring him back to Pet Rescue by Judy, and he's been with us ever since.

At adoption, he was estimated to be around 4-8 years old. With a kicked-in shoulder that offset his collarbone and ribcage, some assorted dental issues, and other little signs of damage (cigarette burns, what the heck is wrong with people), it was tough to really gauge his age. That means he left this world at the ripe old age of something like 9-13, which isn't terrible considering all he'd been through.

Charlie Brown was the iconic good boy. He seldom barked, he never licked or jumped, and just wanted to be in the same room as his favorite people. He had a few toys that he cherished, never ripping them up, just carrying them with him from room to room and whining a bit, unsure of where he could store them for safekeeping. Apart from some separation anxiety issues and an occasional urge to bolt out the door and book it as far as he could, CB was by all accounts an easy first dog: more like a low-effort cat than anything else.

Slowly Falling Apart

Over time, the health issues increased. Intermittent but predictably regular upset tummy. Bad gums, bad teeth. Random gooey skin lesion. Eye ulcers. Since October, we've been averaging 2-3 unplanned vet visits a month — many incurring some hefty bills. We'd take out another credit card, find another financing plan, but it adds up. So does the emotional toil on the family; so does the anxiety toll on the dog.

You start to think about quality of life for the dog, you know? He'd had a few teeth removed to sew up his gums after they kinda detached and fell apart from his jawbone — so he couldn't chew anything hard. Couldn't even chew a tennis ball, which was the only toy he took interest in anymore. Couldn't have any fun treats like peanut butter or other soft chews, as his tummy would have bad flare-ups that usually ended up with him attached to an IV bag. After finally settling in and learning to play well with Atlas, Charlie Brown started to get pretty irritable whenever Atlas got frisky.

He still loved running around outdoors, and was in otherwise great health.

I can't tell you how guilty that makes me feel, even now.

Moving to Waltham

Before we left Orlando, there were so many crisis moments in emergency vet offices where Niko and I talked about how long he could ride this roller coaster. CB obviously was not a fan of vet visits: loved the staff, but was notably anxious and panicky when separated from us, and he had grown very loathe to the process of poking, prodding, and whatnot.

Shortly after moving to Waltham (he was a champ in the U-Haul), Charlie Brown had a severe colitis flare-up. He was losing so much fluid and was growing very lethargic over the day. Vets are hard to get into these days: with the sweep of "pandemic puppy" adoptions, the vet industry as a whole is saturated with demand, and practices are responding as best they can. There were just no emergency clinics available to us within 20 miles, except one that noted "we have no availability, but you can come and wait, and we might be able to see you in 4 or 5 hours." So we did.

It was a very late night. Charlie Brown came home with us with another round of the same antibiotics he'd been taking almost regularly since December for his assorted ailments, and some probiotics. The next day, CB seemed a bit better and brighter, and Niko and I went into the city for part of the day. We came home to find he'd had an accident, but it was just... blood. So so much. And he looked so in pain, so ashamed, so guilty, so anxious.

So we went back to the vet ER. It was another very late night. I didn't know how many of these late nights we could afford; neither of us knew how many of these late nights it was fair to expect Charlie Brown to endure.

Do you plan on letting a pet go after an extended crisis visit? Do you plan on letting a pet go in a time of relative peace?

Camping Analogy, and a Best Last Day

When you're off on a long hike, and you see daylight start to fade as the sun begins to set, you begin to think about finding a good place to set up camp for the night. It's abysmal to do this after the sun has already gone down: where you could have had preparation and structure, you have chaos by flashlight.

A dog's life is in your hands. You're his whole world: all food, adventure, pampering, challenge, treatment, and care come from you. More than anything, we wanted Charlie Brown to have a peaceful, restful life. Now that we started thinking about it, we wanted to be able to give him a peaceful, restful passing as well: not as the climax of another overnight crisis with injections and yelps and beeps and cowering and anxiety and fear, but in the still quiet of familiar sounds and smells.

His very last day was a great one. Fresh Pond in Cambridge: a massive stroll around a colossal lake with an absurd bounty of new smells, kind people, happy dogs, and a brisk New England breeze. He got to swim in a little side pond — that boy lived for jumping into random lakes. He ran around the broad field that is Kingsley Bowl, chasing a thrown ball the very very farthest his sad pop could throw it — and he brought it back. We bought him a steak. We told him how much he brought to our lives.

And then we waited.

Lap of Love is a sort of home delivery service of dignified passing for pets. There's more to say on that hour than I care to pen, but throughout the procedure, we never left him. Charlie Brown passed enveloped in our arms and laps and sobs and hugs.

The Day After, and the Day After That

The rest is just thoughts. Your head starts to feel like a coffee shop where your grief comes in, sits at a table with you, and unloads. You nod, listen, and wish them well. I hope I can keep processing this way — I find it helpful, and less overwhelming.

I wish he had been able to play with his tennis ball more. Since his jaw surgery — even out on Kingsley Bowl, nearly a month and a half after he should have been fully healed — any kind of chewing would cause renewed bleeding and pain.

I wish we had hugged him more. But truth be told, he didn't like hugs. They made him uncomfortable. So we gave him a hand to lay his head on, or a knee for him to pop his head upon, as often as he liked.

There were so many times I felt inconvenienced by owning a dog at all. They weren't the majority, but... now each remembered time feels like a splinter of selfishness.

I miss how familiar the back of his neck felt under my hand, just behind the ears, where the waves of fur meet and crash and make a long cowlick of foof and fluff.

His happy smile and his stressed smile were very similar, but you could still tell which was which.

I loved being there for him in thunderstorms.

When you think about it, we sort of were hospice care for him. We weren't his original owners; we just wanted the rest of his life to be painless and fulfilling. He had so many trust issues when he first came to us. And in the end, he loved anyone he met.

I miss feeling around with my feet to make sure I don't step on him on my way to bed. I miss setting my feet on the floor as I wake, stooping down, and giving his head a good squishy rub.

He never did get to see Boston snow. I mean... thousands of dogs never get to see snow. But I was really looking forward to sharing that experience with him.

I wanted so badly to bring him to a point of health, and then say goodbye when he was feeling well. Seeing him have his Best Last Day, part of me whispered "murderer" with cold accuracy, and I have a hard time shaking it. He was so happy — but between jaw bleeding after playing with a tennis ball, seeing him scratch his eyes that were starting to ache with ulcers again... I know the unbridled happiness came with the reality of his declining health.

Atlas was the best thing that ever happened to that boy. I know Charlie Brown was at least a little disgruntled that his easy-going day-to-day had been interrupted by a chompy puppy, but Atlas brought out the young pup in CB: ripping palm fronds to shreds, playing tug, playing tag, meeting new dogs with confidence and assurance.

I used to get so mad at my mother-in-law for feeding Charlie Brown cinnamon donuts. I wish I'd given him more. Heck, I wish I'd given him more peanut butter. I'm frankly surprised he hadn't died of peanut butter overdose years ago.

Where Charlie's health had limits, we kept going with Atlas. That might mean taking Atlas out to play with a ball or a tug toy, because CB couldn't. It breaks my heart now to think of Charlie at the glass door just watching it happen, all because he physically couldn't play the same. I know he didn't understand that.

We took him out to Park Ave maybe once or twice. I wish it had been more. Truth be told, it was the same as the dog park, though: he was kind of a loner. Loads of people or dogs made him anxious. So while I might idealize the past and wish he had sat at our legs for lunch after lunch at an outdoor thoroughfare, ... I think he would have been miserable. I think he would have rather just curled up at the base of the couch and dozed while we watched a show.

He was so trusting. I could just drag him onto his back and onto my lap for cuddles and a good tummy rub. No complaints.

He looked so gaunt these past few months. I keep looking at earlier photos, and I really didn't realize just how grizzly and drawn he had become lately.

I miss seeing him randomly waiting for me outside the bathroom door — or curled up on the bath mat while I was in the shower, having sneakily nosed the door open and wanting my company while I was rinsing.

For his first few years with us, he was incredibly playful. I've been going through old videos — it's like going outside just blew his mind, and toys were either for cherishing daintily, or thrashing about and throwing to oneself and gnawing. He lost that after a time. He regained it a bit when Atlas joined the party. But it still faded. I'm sure that's inevitable, but it makes me sad to see the early vibrant puppy in those old recordings, and how different he had been in recent months.

[scstoll]

This is EMIGRATION live on RTE2!! #awaygame

I woke up. Everyone around me was still asleep.I pushed my head against the cold window. The minibus pushed on past Leixlip towards the M4 and the end of the world. 

“Johnny Giles here, we´re live from the Airport Hopper where _________

___________  is just the latest transfer to attempt to search in some vague and sunny destination the antidote to the mild disappointment served in the overpriced glass of craft beer which we call Ireland.”

The Airport Hopper passed by three track-suited lads on a jaunting carriage, like the last of the Mohicans who hadn't noticed as the 21st century had apparated, Harry Potter style, around them.

I shuffled the left-over papers in the empty seat beside me. Irish Times columns, Indo rags, the Leinster Leader. My eyes settled on a lone op-ed from the Irish Times, the class of a thing which helps people pretend that they are still middle class. “You wouldn’t believe what Niamh did?´´ it proclaimed. Just like that I was back in every single conversation that anyone has ever had about them newspapers...I´d just sit there  there falling asleep, like literally passing out on top of my scrambled eggs while _________ is still talking. It’s not that they´re boring, It’s just that we live too close to each other.  So yes, I would believe whatever Niamh did, because in Irish logic I am practically her. All of that stuff wasn´t for me anymore; exotic O’Neills jerseys, useless Irish times columns (e.g. 10 reasons why I am both a) rich and b) deeply unfulfilled). I thought to myself;  All that was for whoever comes back. I mean, who ever comes back?

Here disappointment is general, hope exceptional. I was my own favourite TV show. In the strange moonlight of the Airport Hopper you could watch yourself back in the Cinema Nostalgia but it seems better not to. I mean, It would always have sounded better to stick it out at home. At what point did we become so fucking worried about how our decisions sounded?  How much of your life is an echo chamber and how much is just echo?  Of course, taking a moral stand is for people with plus size bank accounts. I´d try and drown that one out once I was sat by the departures lounge as my phone refreshed endlessly and my pint grew less and less appetising. Christ, why'd we ever let it go so far?

“Eamonn Dunphy here, lets have a look at some classic highlights from the last year or so...”

A dozen pubs and three or four funerals and no weddings just yet. Eventually they all just became the same generic social event in which people drink for a while and then countdown to the next one. Slow down says the lads. And then sure there was surely no stopping us?

“ Johnny Giles here, I have to disagree with Eamonn there.  I was under the impression that there had never really been any starting ´us´? 

Well Johnny, I´d have to concur. We are all the same people. We are all the exact same people we were ten years ago. The world has up and gone without us and those with even an ounce of sense have gone to Vancouver but I'll still tell you to slow down because I haven't changed a bit and I don't actually remember what ambition is meant to feel like. All I feel is nausea.

In a way, you missed the lads even though they were at nothing. To be a bit happy by yourself wasn't as good as being a bit miserable with others. But I mean how long does it really take to get Maynooth to Dublin and back? About forty odd years. 

And how exactly did I, a member of the most over-educated and over-prepared generation in recent Irish history end up in this small bus surrounded by part-time airport workers and cold American tourists, shivering my way towards Terminal 1?

Eamonn again, “I´d like to play another one here, it´s not a great highlight but it really gives us an insight into the build up..”

I remember being stood plonked by the Massive Mace outside Donabate, filling up on petrol and yet more coffee.  Every cup was an an adventure, sickly sweet and unfulfilling. Eventually waving becomes the same thing as drowning. The interview hadn´t gone well from the time the principal had fallen asleep during my answer to her first question. The clearly senile second interviewer was still pure convinced I was a student and not a teacher. The principal had been rudely awakened by her own snores so she had to ask another question. She looked at me in a stern and slightly off-centre way, “Tell me, why do you think you should get one of the literally 7 jobs going this summer, please tell the truth?” 

And I'd just sit there like an awkward Obi Wan Kenobi. Thinking to myself ´truth, now that's a name I've not heard in a long fucking time´.

As I began my reply she started checking her phone and by now the second interviewer was starting to nod off too. So I suppose I panicked. I´m still not sure how my by now cold cup of Frank&Honest made it from my hand to splashing both of them awake, but by God it did.

The coffee dripped down her face like a mask that had melted. I grabbed my coat and walked quietly out the door.

The principal stuttered in silence like an android that had malfunctioned.

The truth is that once you have too much skin in the game; you are the game.

“Oh well, that one was probably best left to the imagination” Says Eamonn Dunphy.

Thanks Eamonn, thanks for everything.

Still and all you could still find yourself victim to the nostalgia express approaching from the unlikeliest of angles. Come back to me Wexford town. Visions of it being sunny for an ages long stretch in the summer and tiny country shops through Baltinglass, Tinahiely and Carnew. Even Rathvilly not looking as scary in the July sun. Playing handball on Cullenstown beach and after going up through Enniscorthy to have pints in the sun outside the Stores because one day a year makes all the rest of them worth it. 

“Johnny Giles here to pop that particular rhetorical bubble. Roll the tape”.

Visions of a lad lamping a boxer outside of the Stores in the November drizzle. People cleaning sick up off the walls on a Sunday. Lads sitting in empty pubs wearing wife-beaters like sad, violent Hardy Bucks cast-offs. Just Gorey in general. 

Come back to me Wexford town. But not for the love of God, as you actually are.

By now the other passengers were beginning to wreck the mini mental RTE panel which is the moral arbitrator of all Irish men who are not quite thirty yet and not quite 21 anymore.

The Americans were complaining about the bus´s not so new plastic upholstery. A disaster is what they were calling it, and an international incident was in the works.

The chairs were just a bit cracked in the middle is what I reckon, but I didn´t get a chance to reckon out loud because an elderly and probably mentally ill women had been awoken. 

She had no clue what was going on but she didn´t give two fucks. Approaching the conversation at an intersecting angle the women spoke.

“That's what happened to my marriage” she blurted out, content, she returned to cloud cuckoo land.

The sentence hung in the air like an unfinished simile. The bus stopped. I got out. 

As I went by the arrivals lounge I watched the tourists return from Fuengirola, sunburnt and broke. The faraway grass has always got to be greener until you get there. I mean you never see lads in holiday Insta-stories with t-shirts saying ..“Well, this is not class”.

“As always a big thank you from myself and all the lads. See you next time on ´This is emigration, live on RTE2!”

I took the small suitcase; hurried into Terminal 1. On the plane I watched Netflix so that I  wouldn’t be tempted to look back at the houses growing smaller and further away with each crippling second. 

Anyway, líon na bearnaí for yourselves lads.  

“A nation holds its breath...”

[ri77y]

Hooked up with a guy. Found out after that he was hiding a girlfriend from me (I wasn't being stupid he went to crazy lengths to hide her from me and we hadn't been together for the signs to become obvious yet). He got mad at me when I ended things with him and started seeing other guys to the point where he has irreparably ruined my reputation through false lies and rumours. It's sad cause he acted so serious with me so I know it's stemming from a place of hurt. Any advice on what to do?

Ignore him. Don't contact him or reply to him. Keep your life low key and move on and away from him.I love how he's playing the victim when he's the one that was dishonest and scheming. You don't owe him shit.

[cheznii]

It first started 4 1/2 years ago. I had this friend, I'd known him since I was a month old. I can remember playing & watching cartoons & snacks with him growing up, I can still picture his face as a kid. Then we got older & I can remember fishing on the dock, it usually turned into swimming, he swore you couldn't be sad at the water. I can picture his face then too. Then one day he was just gone. He'd killed himself & there's still questions I'll never get answers to. He'd convinced me so many times that I had more to live for than I had to die over. He'd talked me off of so many ledges, but he never gave me the opportunity to talk him down. Now I think of him & I see my little brother crying at his funeral. Now the water makes me A little sad, but it brings me peace. Things started to get easier again, until about a year ago. There was a car accident. Another friend didn't make it. I still remember our dumb talks back in middle school & promises to get together & meet up. I remember my best friend coming into my room & just crying, no words were said because what could you possibly say? But life goes on. Until it didn't for another one about 6 months ago. This one hit possibly harder than the first. I'd known him for my entire life too. I can remember being kids & playing in the sandbox, then being in middle school & walking home & the parties & the long talks. I remember the comfort he brought being one of the few friends that'd known me through everything, I never had to explain my life. Then we were adults & we'd grown apart, but nothing had changed. I remember how excited you were to see me & how it made me comfortable all over again. You told me things would get better, that I'd figure it out & how I deserved so much more than what I'd put myself through. I remember the last time I saw you, you were gonna get out of here. You were gonna do it right & get better, but you never got to come back. You overdosed in Florida & I remember the hurt in my gut that felt like it'd never go away. In reality it still hasn't. Christmas came & I felt a little normal again, until the next day. There was another overdose. He didn't make it either. This time, I just felt numb. I remember all the dumb shit when we were 16, the parties & the time I hit his car & he was so mad, but he couldn't yell at me & said he couldn't be mad at me. I remember when I had my daughter & he just had to come see her. He was so happy for me. I remember the last time I saw him too, things were really rough, but he didn't Care. He told me I'd figure it out, that I always do, he reminded me that I've been through hell before, just a different type of hell & I'd get out if this one too. He knew what I needed to hear & made sure I heard it, but now he's gone too. I don't think I really gave myself a chance to greive him. Then yesterday. Yesterday I saw the news, there was a double homicide, the victims hadn't been named & I didn't even think it could be anyone I knew. But one of them was. I've only know her for about a year, but I remember the first time we'd met. She told me we were going to be best friends. I can still hear her say it. I remember that night & the many that came after. How she never let anyone be in A bad mood. I remember her birthday, we went to see her parents & she'd introduced me to her family, we went out to celebrate & no one ever imagined it'd be her last birthday. She's gone Too & I still don't know how to handle it. I feel numb, but the churning in my stomach just doesn't stop. I don't know how to do it anymore. I've spent all day contemplating what could've happened & wondering who is next. How long do i have left with my best friends? My boyfriend? My siblings? My parents? My daughter? I can't sleep, but all i want to do is sleep. All I want to do is sleep until i can wake up & none of them are gone.