#He’s had to have made this joke at least once

[thewoollyviking]

Yes, Rose fucked up. She fucked up interpersonally with the gems and with Greg. And those choices were hers. She should be judged by those actions.

But why exactly do you think she kept those secrets? You think it’s because she’s some manipulative monsters or selfish coward?

No, it’s because she grew up under a living hell under the Diamonds.

Lemme give you some context here, friend;

According to the art books, all four Diamonds are rough around 20,000 years old. To give you an idea how old that is compared to irl history…

There are figures early humans carved from mammoth ivory and spear tip of flint that were made when the bottom of the North Sea was still a mammoth steppe in Doggerland.

Subtract the time Rose spent on Earth after the war (give or take a few centuries) and assuming the craptastic treatment she endured under the Diamonds has pretty much been the norm for all that time, and she had been abused for roughly 10-12,000 years. Rose’s pain predates written language and agriculture.

I. Do not. Give. A single. Chicken. Fried. Fuck. How sad the Diamonds think they were after losing Rose.

Oooooh booo fucking hooo Blue sulked in the middle of a human zoo Rose never even wanted in the first place.

Yellow knew she wanted to spare Earth and wanted to blow it up.

And White’s first action seeing “Pink” return was to send a mind controlled version of her original Pearl to greet her as a power move. To remind her what happens when she doesn’t control her power.

They didn’t mourn Rose. They mourned the person they wanted her to be.

And that’s made all the more clear once they realize Steven isn’t Rose. No moment to think about how Rose being gone was actually their own fault, not the act of some outside gem. Not moment to think about why Rose was so desperate to run away.

“Aww Pink’s gone? Gee that sucks. Welp, time to find a new pink!”

Fuck dude, some people mourn Healthcare CEOs more than the Diamonds actually mourned Rose.

And yet they get that nice fairy tale happy ending where they can be quirky space grandmas who think what they’re doing will ever hope to make up for the suffering they caused.

Meanwhile, Rose’s own loved ones feel like they have to apologize for daring to mention her in a positive light and say they’re making excuses for her.

Steven by the time of Future isn’t facing any gems that are actually a threat (bluebird is a joke character she don’t fucking count). He’s spent 5 seasons demonstrating why it’s better to talk about your feelings and the gems offer to help him at pretty much every turn and yet Steven chooses to forego that in favor of taking everything out on Rose.

The Diamonds have been the instigators who make every worse without fail. They’re the reason Rose came out as such a broken fucking person and yet we’re asked to pass more judgement on her for not being enough of a perfect fucking princess to solve things Steven’s way?

Rose spent her entire goddamn life clawing her way out of that pit of misery but we’re supposed to scoff at her for getting mud on her dress along the way?

What the fuck was the point in showing that Rose spent that lifetime trying to be better to just end it with “maybe her family would be better off if they just stopped thinking about her altogether.”

There’s a fucking reason this stupid fucking fandom took glee in harassing me and friends of mine for not joining them in burning Rose at the stake and it’s because of how Future, either due to time constraints or genuine creative decisions, completely dropped the ball on her.

I still love this show. But I cannot and will not ever watch Future. And if Rose ain’t there to heal, than at least let me take comfort in making the Diamonds hurt.

Sometimes I think about how and why some people had such a *bad* reaction to the end of Steven Universe, specifically in regards to the Diamonds living.

Even though they no longer are causing harm to others and are able to actually undo some of their previous harm by living, some folks reacted as though this ending was somehow morally suspect. Morally bankrupt, even.

And I think it might be because so many of us were raised on a very specific kind of kids media trope:

They all fall to their deaths.

Disney loves chucking their bad guys off cliffs. And it makes sense- in a moral framework where villains *must* be punished (regardless of whether their death will actually prevent further harm or not), but killing of any kind is morally bad for the hero, the narrative must find a way to kill the villain without the protagonists doing a murder.

It's a moral assumption that a person can *deserve* to die, that it is cosmically just for them to die, that them dying is evidence that the story itself is morally good and correct. Scar *deserves* to die, but it would be bad for Simba to kill him. So....cliff. (edit: yes, cliff then hyenas. But cliff first. Lol.)

Steven Universe, whatever else it's faults, took a step back and said "but if killing people is bad, then people dying is bad", and instead of dropping White Diamond off a cliff, asked "what would actual *restorative*, not punitive, justice look like? What would actual reparations mean here? If the goal is to heal, not just to punish, how do we handle those who have done harm?" And then did that.

Which I think is interesting, and that there was pushback against it is interesting.

It also reminds me of the folks who get very weird about Aang not killing Ozai at the end of Avatar. And like, Ozai still gets chucked in prison, so it doesn't even push back on our cultural ideas of punitive justice *that much.* and still, I've seen people get real mad that the child monk who is the last survivor of a genocide that wiped out his entire pacifist culture didn't do a murder.

[cirambay-stories]

Teething

dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel was crowned as The Trusted Adult to accompany you to your wisdom teeth extraction appointment. Chaos ensued.

Tags: no outbreak, age gap, most likely exaggerated effects of sedation, sexual themes

Word count: 3.1k

The skies were painted with shades of copper and lilac when you arrived home. A familiar pickup truck was parked in the driveway next to your dad’s own F-150, and you slipped your way through the narrow passage between the two to get to the backyard through the narrow side alley of your house, sticking twigs of overgrown shrub brushing against your arm.

Laughter bounced against the pillars supporting rusting canopy adorned with vines and wildflowers, echoing around the tiny dining area. Around the table were three men you could discern blindfolded: your dad and his friends, Joel and Tommy Miller. The three looked pretty scruffy, which made sense since they most likely just got out of work before they decided to have some beer and smoked ham time at your house. As usual.

Tommy made a comment about a boat and your dad and Joel burst out laughing again, almost shaking the earth with the lethal combination of old men’s simplistic jokes and immense vocal cords abilities.

They hardly noticed your presence until you put both hands on your dad’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head. He smelled like barbecue smoke.

“What’s so funny?” you grin. Joel greeted you with a polite nod, while Tommy put down his beer can to wave at you. “Hi Joel, hi Tommy.”

“Sweetheart!” your dad slightly twisted his torso to meet your gaze. “Tommy was telling us about his recent fishing trip. How was today?”

“Okay-ish,” you patted his shoulders once more before letting go and starting to make your way towards the backdoor, leaving the men to their fishing jokes again. “Have fun, guys.”

“Oh, before I forget!” your dad clapped. “I am so sorry, but I won’t be able to take you to the dentist this Thursday. They want me in San Antonio to overlook—”

“Daaad,” you groaned, although your face showed nothing akin to annoyance, just sorry. “I’ll see if my friend can take me.” you tried to comfort him, even though knowing your friends, you’d have a bigger chance of losing your teeth in a car crash than in the operating room.

“What’s happenin’?” Tommy furrowed his brows. “You okay?”

“I’m having my wisdom teeth removed,” you pointed at your cheek, the approximate area where the third molar of your upper right side of jaw was growing sideways. “One popped out and it’s growing weirdly, so I got an x-ray and it turned out all four of them are developing in such shitty positions, so, they’re taking them all out.”

“All at once?!” Tommy gasped, to which you nodded as you purse your lips.

“More cost-effective, or whatever.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll take her,” all eyes went to the source of the voice: Joel. He was staring directly at your dad. “I’m free Thursday.”

“‘Ppreciate that, man, but—”

“Really?” you beamed, prancing your way towards his seat and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Joel!”

The man raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat while Tommy laughed. Your dad shook his head slowly at your endearing antics, his eyes meeting Joel’s as they silently said ‘Thank you, and sorry’.

The next time Joel’s gray Ranger pulled up in front of your house, you had been waiting on the porch with a smile worthy enough to be on a billboard advertising toothpaste.

.

The fog in your head started to clear just enough to let you notice the figure sitting by your side. Joel’s broad shoulders took up half the room—or at least it felt that way in your dazed state. His arms were crossed, and his brows furrowed as he watched you with what looked like mild concern. You blinked a few times, your vision wobbling like you were looking through a fishbowl. You couldn’t really register where you were or how you ended up here yet.

“Hey,” he straightened his posture up the second he realized you were awake.

“Whoa,” you slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “You look good.”

Because he did. That was the first thing you noticed about him. You couldn’t remember if it was exactly true, but a voice in your head told you that Joel always looked good. You believed it. And he did right now, with clothes all ironed, beard trimmed, hair combed. Joel wouldn’t admit it, but he’d even put some styling powder on his hair today.

His lips twitched, and he scratched at his beard, unsure of the appropriate response to give. “Uh, thanks. How are you feeling?”  

You ignored the question. “Does my dad know you’re here?”  

“Yeah,” he said slowly, leaning closer. “He was there when I said I’d take you here, remember?”  

“No.” You deadpanned, voice thick and blunt. Your tongue scraped against your gum, and it touched some soft, fibery, wet cotton balls. You almost gagged.

Joel sighed. “Alright. Uh, pain anywhere? Are you comfortable?”  

You tilted your head, as if trying to access some hidden inner truth. Then, with startling conviction, you announced, “Sweaty.”

He quickly raised from his seat, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe your forehead with when you suddenly choked into tears. You could barely get the words out through the swollen jaw, numb tongue, and spiky throat. “I miss my daddy…”

You felt like the saddest child in the world. You didn’t know where your dad was, but most importantly, your brain wasn’t able to assess where he might be. But he wasn’t here. And that alone was enough to send you spiraling into agony.

Joel looked around awkwardly, clearly out of his depth. “Sweetie,” he said, reaching out to pat your cheek gently. “I’m here.”

You blinked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “Where is he? Did he sell me to you?”  

“What?” if only you were sober enough to see the expression on his face. 

Tears continued to pool in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. “What am I supposed to do, being sold to a person like you?”  

“Person like me—What’s that supposed to mean,” Joel withdrew, seemingly offended momentarily before he realized he was talking to a group of at most six brain cells, half of them blackout drunk.

“Hot,” you sniffled. “Hot like you.”

Joel freezed. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he muttered, “O…kay. Uh, let’s call for a nurse, okay?” He stood up and looked toward the hallway.

“I don’t even know how to be a housewife!” you lamented, gesturing wildly toward a painting of sand dunes on the wall. “You’re going to dump me in the middle of a desert!”  

“Honey,” Joel said, his voice strained but calm. “Nobody is dumping or selling anybody, okay? Just—wait here. I’m gonna go get a nurse. I’ll only be gone for, like, five seconds.”  

You watched him disappear behind the wall, your lips quivering as you began counting on your fingers. “One… two… three… four… five…” You looked up at the hallway, waiting for Joel to come back as you realized how alone you were in the room. You didn’t want to be alone. The fluorescent light was hurting your eyes and the air smelled like a dentist’s office. You were in one, but you didn’t really register that. Panic set in like a tidal wave. “Joel?” 

“Joel! JOEL!” You thrashed in the chair, trying to swing your legs over to touch the ground, ready to bolt after him like some kind of lovesick lunatic. It was hard, like you were learning controls for a video game for the first time, and your limbs didn’t move the way you wanted them to. Joel returned with a nurse moments after. She was holding a clipboard and if not for the mask hiding her expression, Joel would have seen that she was wearing a smile that looked dangerously close to a laugh.

“You’re back! I thought you were leaving me…” your voice cracked as you reached out toward Joel with snot running freely down your upper lip. “I’ll be a good wife from now on, Joel, I promise.”  

“Oh,” the nurse said sweetly. “Sounds like someone’s still a little loopy.”  

Joel ran a hand over his face, mortified. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” she smiled at him before checking on you. “Definitely not the worst I’ve witnessed. You’ll be okay, won’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded.

She asked you to open your mouth, and you attempted to talk to Joel the entirety of it, moving your heavy tongue around, making barely coherent noises. At one point you reached for his hand and he took it.

“Hoew, wa ho hayhee hee hahee?” which would translate to ‘Joel, was our wedding in Bali?’, like Joel would’ve been able to decipher it. He just played along in hopes to shut you up.

“Yes, yes, of course.” he cupped your hand in his.

“Okay, now bite down with pressure, okay?” the nurse said softly after pulling the blood-soaked cotton balls out and replacing them with new ones. You did as she said. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” you smiled at her. “You’re so nice.”

“And you’re so nice, too.” she said as she gathered her clipboard and metal tray. “We’re all clear here, you are free to go home. If you prefer to wait out until she’s not so disoriented anymore, please use our waiting room since we have to clean this one before the next patient.”

“Thank you.” Joel nodded politely at her.

“Any more questions you’d like to ask the doctor?”

“I think we’re all covered. Thank you for everything. Let’s go, sweetie.” he helped you stand up, and the second he let go your body leaned, craving to touch the floor. Both him and the nurse reached out to you, crashing their heads in the process.

“Ow!” she yelped.

“Sorry, sorry. I got her. I’m really sorry.” he slightly bowed down as he held you steady, one palm planted on your ribs just below your breasts.

“Sorry,” you parroted, utterly oblivious to what just happened.

“It’s alright,” she laughed lightheartedly as she reached down to fix your shoelaces. “There you go.”

“Thank you again. We’ll stay out of your hair now.”

.

After what felt like eighty years, Joel finally got you on the passenger seat. He could feel his lifespan shortened significantly, and his back hurt so much trying to crouch to your level as he guided you across the parking lot. He should’ve just carried you—would’ve been much quicker and better for everyone involved.

You touched the dashboard, feeling the texture underneath your fingers like it was the first time you got in a car. Joel closed the door next to you and scurried his way around the car hood to the driver’s side, sighing when he got in.

“Joel, what’s your favorite pie?” you asked as he leaned over to put your seatbelt on, hand fiddling with the belt when it got stuck and you instinctively ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Pecan,” he muttered, body getting tense under your casual yet intimate touch.

“Oh, I had pecan pie at my house recently.” you withdrew your fingers as Joel straightened up and put his own seatbelt on. “We’re like, soulmates, or something.”

Joel started the car. “Yes, that was me. I brought the pie to your house.”

“Wow, you’re so kind.” you smiled, eyes tearing up, as if bringing you pie was the equivalent of saving all kittens in the world. Joel rolled his eyes and shifted the gear from neutral, and the two of you slowly moved out of the office parking lot to the road.

You cupped your own swelled cheeks, feeling the spherical cotton balls nested between your jaws. “I don’t like these, Joel.”

“Yeah? Wanna take them out? Do you think the bleeding has stopped?” his eyes ran between you and the road in front of him back and forth, getting ready to merge onto the highway.

“My mouth is so full,” you whined, and you fished one cotton ball out, all wet and slightly red, before rolling the window down and throwing it out. It bounced on the dry concrete behind you briefly before it got run over by another car.

“Hey, no littering! And keep your arm inside, my fucking god, d’ya wanna lose it?” Joel yelled, one arm leaving the steering wheel to pull your hand into the car and close the window back up, almost taking up the lane next to you. A semi-truck passed through and the driver honked their horn, deafening. You snarled at it while Joel mouthed a quiet ‘fuck’.

“I still got more inside,” you pointed at your open mouth, like Joel couldn’t tell from your slightly muffled voice still.

“I know, but either keep it in your mouth until we get home, or find some—I don’t know, plastic bag to keep it in, alright? Try the glove box.” he points at the compartment in front of you. You fiddled with the handle, and when it opened it revealed a little toolbox, a pocket knife, a folded map, and two dusty condoms from God knows when.

“Joel, what is this?” you pinched one out for Joel to see, voice thick with betrayal. “You’re cheating on me.”

Good fucking god. Joel snatched the thing out of your hand, shoving it back into the glove box before slamming it closed. He shouldn’t have been panicking like you were actually his bride and he’d been two-timing you after work, because you weren’t, and the only thing that had been in touch with his dick in the past six months was his fist. “I don’t know how it got there. It’s from a while ago.”

But the damage had been done. You covered your face with your hands, eventually took the remaining cotton balls out and let them go onto the floor mats. Joel winced.

“What should I do? Is my blowjob not good enough?”

Joel was the most uncomfortable he had ever been his whole life right now, and he once witnessed his friends’ parents hitting it crazy style with the same banana pudding that was served at dinner smeared everywhere when he was there for a sleepover, so that was saying a lot.

“You have never—what are you fuckin’ doing?!”

You had leaned over as much as your seatbelt allowed you to, fingers reaching to unbuckle his belt. “I’m gonna show you how good I c—”

Joel lost control of the steering wheel as he tried to shoo you away, but you latched your palm around his bulge like leech. He accidentally turned the truck too much to the left, switching lanes without warning, and abruptly hit the brakes for a split second when he thought he was going to crash into a Camaro, almost slamming you forward if not for the seatbelt. Three cars honked at the two of you as they passed, one was generous enough to give you the finger.

He pushed you back to your seat, both of you huffing and puffing. There was silence for about thirty seconds until Joel composed himself.

“What the fuck did they put you under, because I need some,” he muttered under his breath before speaking clearer. “Put your hands on the dashboard. Now,” he commanded, eyes flicking between you and the road.

“Why?” you mumbled, your fingers twitching like they might reach for Joel’s belt again.

“Because I said so,” Joel grunted, shifting in his seat to try to hide his hardening length, jaw tense as he kept one hand firmly on the wheel. “You wanna be a good wife, don’t you?”

You blinked slowly. Joel was right, you wanted to be a good wife.

“Yeah,” Joel continued, eyes narrowing slightly, still focused on the road. “Only good wives put their hands on the dashboard.”

“Really?” you laughed, the sound drifting lazily out of you. But you planted both palms on the dashboard anyway, sunlight pouring on the back of your hands, warming them up. 

“Yeah—yeah,” he muttered. “Look it up.”

“I can’t, my hands are on the dashboard,” you frowned, chin pointing towards your splayed fingers.

Joel rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You just have to believe me, then.”

You thought of it for a second before nodding. “Okay. I believe you.” 

He glanced at you, eyebrows lifting. “You should. You’re my wife.”

Your head tilted, a lazy grin spreading across your face as you processed the words. You’re my wife. Somehow that was the most beautiful string of words you had ever heard. “Am I a good wife?”

“Sure. You got your hands on the dashboard. Guess that makes you a good wife,” Joel said. Your loopy grin was infectious despite his best efforts to stay stoic.

“I’m a good wife,” you repeated to yourself, beaming.

There was a beat of silence before you leaned slightly toward him, eyes bright, head swaying with the motion of the truck. “Are you a good husband?”

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened for a split second, his gaze flicking to the side, then back to the road. “...I don’t know. Do you think I’m a good husband?”

“Yeah,” you said immediately, so sure of yourself as you gathered the evidence in your hazy brain. “You took me to the dentist. You got me pecan pie.”

Joel scoffed, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Driving and pies, guess that’s the key to a successful marriage.”

.

By dinner time you were already out of your groggy state, although the pain started to creep back in despite the painkillers that you just sat in the living room with a frozen pouch of CapriSun pressed against your cheek. Joel hadn’t said much but he did stay until your dad got home.

He had hoped you blacked out and didn’t remember anything from earlier. He wasn’t sure if he could live knowing you were able to remember that you were so eager to put your mouth on him, on top of you calling yourself his wife, on top of you casually admitting you found him hot.

And because he got hard in the car. He didn’t know if you saw it but for his own peace he would like to believe that you didn’t.

Joel was a little bit grateful that Tommy wasn’t there because he would never let this die.

He would never let this die himself.

When your dad set some burritos for Joel and applesauce for you on the counter, Joel was ready to go home and get drunk while pondering in the shower.

“You’re leaving already?” you licked the applesauce, tasting it innocently, and Joel had to remind himself that licking applesauce was not a sexually enticing act.

“Yeah, working early tomorrow. Get well soon.” he stood awkwardly as he pocketed his keys.

“Thanks a lot, man,” your dad got up to give Joel a hug with his back facing away from you, and you stared Joel dead in the eyes as you mouthed playfully: ‘Husband.’

His lips twitched. Seemed like he would never know peace ever again.

[channiesbakery]

lazy weekend —

prompt / request — slow morning routine with jeonghan

pairing — reader + boyfriend!jeonghan

word count — 589

genre — fluff

author’s note — i miss jeonghan 💔

lazy weekends with your boyfriend were your favorite types of weekends. ones where you have nothing planned so you can sleep in, waking up from the sun shining through your windows and not from an alarm blaring at you.

and if it’s not the sun waking you up, it’s your boyfriend’s lips, peppering kisses all over your face until you wake up.

“i thought we agreed to sleep in this weekend?” you mumble sleepily to him. “we did. it’s almost 11, sweetheart,” jeonghan whispers against your cheek. “besides, i’m bored,” he adds, making you huff. “so you wake me up because you’re bored?” you ask and he just grins.

“well, i was just giving you some sweet kisses, you woke up on your own. but since you’re up… let’s get our day started,” he says, pulling you out of bed.

your day fully starts in the kitchen, both of you working together to prep your breakfast. jeonghan mixes the pancake batter while you cut up fruit.

when you glance over, you see him meticulously shaping each pancake.

“you’re so extra, you know that?” you tease, watching as he made bunny shaped pancakes. “only the best for you sweetheart,” he grins.

you eat in a comfortable silence, only occasionally giggling at a stupid joke jeonghan makes or nudging his side playfully.

jeonghan takes care of cleaning up and washing the dishes, sending you to the living room to get your activity for the day set up: a new lego set for your growing collection.

you hear him connecting his phone to the speakers, a soft song playing before he joins you on the living room floor.

“i can’t believe you bought three lego sets at once,” you sigh at him as you sort the pieces from the first baggie.

“well I couldn’t decide which flower set i liked most! besides, now i get to give you flowers that last forever,” jeonghan smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you begin building, each of you building small pieces then connecting them. when you got to steps where you couldn’t work ahead, you’d settle for handing him the pieces he needed.

but as relaxing as this was, doing anything with jeonghan always had its chaotic moments.

“we’re missing a piece– oh god, how did we lose one–” “hannie–” “we can’t continue without it–” “jeonghan!”

you finally cut off his panicked rambling with a kiss to his lips. “sweetheart, we’re missing a piece–” “you were sitting on it,” you tell him, holding up the tiny green piece.

this happens at least 3 more times before you finally finish building.

before you bring the finished orchid bouquet to add to the shelf filled with all his other lego builds, jeonghan makes you pose with the flowers.

“do we really need to do this every time we build something?” you ask but hold the flowers, smiling as his snaps the photo.

“of course. i need a new lockscreen. besides, i like to document my favorite memories with my favorite girl,” he grins before taking the legos from you, setting it on the shelf.

“i think you need to be put on a buying ban for now. we’re out of space,” you say, looking over all his other legos.

“aw, but i just saw that they came out with the home alone lego set!” he exclaims. “hannie, where on earth would we even put that?” you give him a look.

“looks like we’ll just have to convert the guest room into a lego museum.”

[13atoms]

The Morning After the Night Before (Declan O'Hara x Reader)

My first Rivals fic! Big shoutout to @stellamarielu and @rivalsispunk, who’s work I wholeheartedly recommend and was, inevitably, inspired by when I decided to join in writing about Declan! <3

Summary:

Bff’s dad!Declan x Younger!Reader

As a friend of Taggie’s from college, you’re invited up to the Priory for the Venturer party. By the next day Taggie and Maud have both vanished, you don’t want to leave Declan alone in that big empty house. [5k words]

Contains: Exposition, feelings, then a bit of smut. Exhibitionist!Declan, big age gap, post!Maud rebound sex, lots of foreplay, Declan is a fiend, 90% exposition, priory!sex

The Priory was quiet the day after Maud left. It was the first day of a new era, of Venturer, rung in with hangovers and that bittersweet feeling of a moment to celebrate passing by unacknowledged.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t go anywhere else. Taggie had invited you up from London for the party, and then promptly been distracted by an MP with a sharp jawline and foul jokes, only to disappear with Seb at the end of the night. With her departure Taggie left you with the sense you were living in a haunted house, filled with Maud’s books and earrings on sidetables and the leftovers from the party to snack on whenever you could bring yourself to eat. Patrick and Caitlin had found friends to crash with. You knew why they couldn’t come back. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t leave.

Sometime in the early afternoon you had heard movement upstairs, and made yourself scarce, hiding in the lounge, tidying what you could and drifting along the spines of the novels which lined the O’Hara’s huge bookshelves. You’d picked up something that could’ve been Maud’s or Declan’s – you weren’t sure. It didn’t look well-worn. You’d been meaning to read The Shining for years, now seemed as good a time as any to sit at the end of the O’Hara’s sofa, and try not to think about what you had seen the night before.

“I didn’t realise you’d be staying.”

A hundred pages had passed before you heard that thick Irish lilt, rich with that kind of blunt hospitality which had to be imported from Dublin. You knew it sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, particularly in this passive-aggressive pocket of privately-educated England. You liked it.

He looked startling similar to the Declan O’Hara you were used to watching on TV. Not much like the Declan O’Hara who would pick Taggie up from club nights and sleepovers, waving with a sly, knowing smile from the car and asking if you’d be able to get home safely.

“Taggie invited me for the long weekend, but…”

You gestured around with the book at his empty living room. His empty house. There were streamers stuck in the rafters, too high up for you to grab and shove into a bin liner.

“Apologies for my daughter’s lack of hospitality,” he sighed, and sat down heavily in the armchair adjacent to your sofa, face in his hands for a moment.

He rubbed the skin of his forehead aggressively, and when he looked away his face was marked red, his hair thrown into chaos.

“That’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be back. The quiet is nice, after last night.”

Declan hummed, and spread his arms along the back of the chair, reclining. For once, spreading out didn’t make him look any bigger. He was wearing jeans and a smart white shirt, but it obviously hadn’t been ironed.

“You’re reading Stephen King?”

“Oh,” you closed the book around your fingers, showing him the cover, though he already knew, “yeah. A borrowed copy, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Please, borrow or eat or steal whatever takes your fancy. It’s the least I can do to make up for this shitshow. And my daughter’s forgetfulness…”

You chuckled, and looked anywhere but Declan. He had such an intense gaze, you wondered how anyone stood their own against him across an interview stage.

“It’s really fine. I’m glad she seems happy, or at least excited…”

Declan huffed, stared at the ceiling, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. His hands came together and met his lips like a prayer.

“Have you read The Shining?” You asked quickly.

He was a master of awkwardness, and of silence and question evasion, but you didn’t want to pressure Declan in his own home. If he were one of your friends, you’d already be crushing him in your arms, letting him break down against you in the fiercest hug you could imagine. Instead, he was Taggie’s dad, who you’d never been able to bear to look at too closely, and watched obsessively whenever he appeared on television. You’d even watched him judge a pagent, for God’s sake, crammed around a kitchen table with your housemates complaining and a VHS Taggie had sent whirring away in the player.

You felt a swoop of pride when he perked up at your question, a glint of white teeth visible as he leaned forwards to take the book from your hands, your page number lost. You’d find it again later, in exchange for that dry brush of his fingers against yours. Declan flicked through the pages, eyes moving quickly.

“I have. That’s my copy, in fact. I don’t think the girls ever ended up reading it.”

Something on the page caught his attention, and he hummed as he skimmed the prose.

“Oh, room 217, gives me the shivers even now,” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you frowned, tilting your head.

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say anything. He has a lovely time in room 217.”

He was joking, and you laughed to be polite. Declan looked drained. Exhausted, hungover, sad.

“Can’t wait,” you replied dryly, as Declan dropped the book onto the coffee table between you.

“I had to stop reading it in bed,” he admitted, glancing from side to side, as though his secrets might be revealed to some unwanted intruder, “I started waking Maud up, talking in my sleep about a ghost in the room.”

You laughed, again it was because Declan wanted you to – wanted to keep the mood light – but you never quite found the right pitch and volume. Maud. He seemed to remember then, talking about her, what had happened.

“I’m sorry you had to see that fiasco yesterday,” he had shifted his voice, and become formal again, like he was introducing his show.

You remembered his falling face, Maud telling him to beg, bag in hand. You remembered Taggie, putting on a mask after the tears had fallen, and the hollow way she imitated the cheeky eyebrow raise you’d exchange over schoolgirl crushes and flirting in clubs, before she sought out a man old enough to be her father. She’d been crushed.

“No, it’s… don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t need to say what for. He shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling. The house was so, so quiet. Declan’s breathing was quiet, but you could see how laboured it was in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you think she’ll come back, after rehearsals?” you dared to ask.

“I don’t think she’ll come back after the run’s done, to be honest.”

There wasn’t anything to say. You looked up at the fireplace, ancient and beautiful. In the long centuries the house had stood, you wondered if it had seen any sadder sight than this.

“She’s a fucking star!” he announced, voice too loud and his hands flying up, up, before crashing back to his thighs.

You froze, watching him cautiously. He cleared his throat, and made fleeting eye contact as he glanced at you, suddenly appearing sheepish.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

You murmured that it was fine, but in truth you had no idea if you actually said anything. Declan was panting. Tears or rage seemed equally likely, and he looked at you beseechingly. You wished there was anything you could do to answer him. To help him. The silence went on for longer than you wanted, but there was nothing to say. What could you offer?

Not that ‘there would be others.’

Not that ‘she never deserved him’, handsome and sharp and so, so damn principled it made you ashamed.

He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could see it, the muscles flaring and thinning. Your heart pounded in sympathy, something hot and nauseating darting around your stomach, and when his eyes met your sympathetic gaze, you couldn’t bear it. You watched the floor by his feet.

“I knew she was cheating on me. This time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

Declan sighed, and rolled his head, stretching out his neck. You wondered if he’d been drinking, if he was still drunk. You could smell him, aftershave and sweat, but no whiskey. His eyes were clear and sharp, there was something so controlled about him. He was always in control of the frantic chaos around him. Action and madness had always circled around Declan.

“I’m just sorry for the girls. They deserve better than a father who can’t keep their mother. Or a job. Or a house,” he laughed hollowly, and fell back into his sofa again, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Mr O’Hara…”

He smirked at you from where he was collapsed, a twitch of his upper lip hidden by his moustache. You could really see his amusement in his eyes, sparkling. You thought of evenings spent at their London house, Declan making the family roar with laughter over a takeaway while Maud was elsewhere. He was always doing something, when he was with his kids. Inventing clever games and telling stories and beating you all at cards. He was a man in control of every room he entered.

“Please don’t sound like you work for me.”

“Sorry,” you teased back, “but don’t half those people last night work for you now?”

He groaned, head in hands, but it was teasing this time. You knew he was joking. Declan kept his eyes uncovered, checking your reaction.

“Christ knows. I’ve no idea who does and doesn’t. Maybe I work for them? It’s all on my head if it goes tits up, though. That’s the main thing.”

“That doesn’t sound stressful at all,” you collapsed a bit in sympathy, pressing your face to your forearm, laying against the arm of the sofa.

“No,” he groaned, “selfish as it is to say, a runaway wife is the last thing I need right now.”

“At least she’ll be happy,” you ventured, and froze as his stare fixed on you, heart catching in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you rambled, “as in, she’s doing what she loves. Not… not that you made her…”

He stayed quiet, and watched you. It was a poor thing to say and a misstep and suddenly you froze. You’d overstepped, lying on his sofa and reading his books and joking with him like he wasn’t Taggie’s bad.

“I just meant, it might be easier, not worrying so much. That she’s making her own choices, and you’re not to blame for whether she’s happy.”

“Maybe I did make her unhappy.”

“Declan…”

He ignored your plea, his gaze fixed firmly on you, warm and intense and melted-chocolate brown. It was far too much, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“I thought we were doing well. Not, well, per se, but well enough. Well enough that she wouldn’t leave me for London the first chance she got.”

You had no idea what to say. You let him speak.

“Everyone else in this fucking town seems to cheat at their heart’s content – God knows Corinium has herpes in the sofa cushions – and yet… I thought she wouldn’t. They all seem to pretend to be happily married, but my crime? Working too much? With the rate Maud burns through money, there’s no other choice. Venturer was all so I could finally stop being at someone else’s beck and call. She’d have supported that, back then. When we first met.”

When Declan stopped speaking, and let the room fall into uncomfortable silence, you realised you could hear your own heartbeat. It was pounding in your ears. Your pulse was thumping in your throat, and it hurt where your chin dug into your arm. The Priory was old and thick-walled and it absorbed all sound, so the quiet between you was absolute.

It wasn’t right, or any O’Hara home to be quiet. They were the loudest family you’d ever heard.

Finally, when it seemed like Declan was never going to speak again, you could bear to look at him again. He was still staring, but you weren’t sure he’d realised you were in the room. He looked so morose; you couldn’t bear it.

“I think Maud might never have been happy here. No matter what you did. If all she wanted was to be on-stage, what else can replace that?”

“She wants attention,” Declan sighed, “that’s what Maud’s always wanted. To be adored. Maybe she didn’t feel adored enough.”

“I think a lot of women would feel lucky, I mean, watching you with Maud… it was obvious how you felt for her.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, and rest his head against the arm of the oversized armchair, mirroring you.

“I’ve often wondered if she needs too much for any one man to give,” he speculated, the gentle rhythm of light-hearted teasing was back in his voice.

You were surprised to realise how much you’d missed it. Still, you weren’t sure what to say.

“She needs hundreds,” he continued, “fawning over her every night, cheering and throwing flowers. And maybe someone to watch her in the odd play as well.”

You laughed, sincerely this time, and it made Declan laugh too.

“God, that’s terrible,” you played at scolding, but had no heart for it.

Declan was smiling, indulgently, watching you sideways with half of his face pressed into his armrest and forearm. He was flexing his hand out absentmindedly.

“True, though,” he scoffed, “I always wondered what you must have thought, when you girls got all dressed up to go out and Maud showed up, all miniskirts and cleavage. You must’ve thought she was a nutter, trying to outdress her own daughters.”

“I actually asked her if she wanted to come out with us once,” you remembered fondly, “I was sure Taggie was about to murder me with a curling iron.”

Declan chuckled. Lethargic and curled up on an armchair, the fierceness of two decades in entertainment melted off him. You could see his frownlines when he raised his eyebrows to listen to you, but they soon smoothed again. Was this how he had looked when Maud first met him, gentle, relaxed?

“I was always glad she had you,” Declan admitted, “I was glad to see you, on the nights you’d all go out together. Knew that meant there’d be someone to look out for her.”

Something had changed, and he was talking to you as a peer. Dissecting a time when you’d been younger, known less. Maybe seeing his wife walk out on him qualified you to speak on equal terms.

“I think Taggie’s the most sensible person I know, I’m not sure she ever needed me.”

Declan sighed, and gestured into thin air, and you remembered how the two of you had ended up alone in the house. The hours of tears over Rupert Campbell Black, a small fortune in phone bills that Declan had paid silently, as penance for bringing his family to the Cotswolds.

“She’s got a good heart. Not sure I’d say sensible.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew Declan adored his kids above all else.

“With their genetics, I’m afraid all of them were going to end up brash. Emotional.”

“Clever, though. And kind. Isn’t that what matters?” you weren’t talking about Maud, and Declan knew it.

“They’re already better people than we ever were,” was all he offered.

You had been completely enraptured by their new house when you visited, and privately fascinated by the ‘countryside’ version of Declan. You had hoped he’d be less stressed, but from what you’d gleaned about his business ventures, nothing could be further from the truth. Nonetheless, there was something different about him.

About how he watched you.

Something self-assured, despite Maud and his kids abandoning the house. Perhaps it was your imagination, but it looked as though Declan was trying to work something out.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“Hang out with you, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

You remained silent. Declan read people for a living, and he knew that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“I suppose I’m meant to wait for her to come back,” he sighed, “and beg again, perhaps. Try not to catch crabs off whatever actor she’s under.”

You couldn’t help it – you winced.

“Sorry – I shouldn’t say shit like that. Tag would tell me off. I just… I’m not sure how many more times I can take it. It’s humiliating. Pathetic.”

“You’re taking the high road, I suppose…”

“Ah, fuck the high road!” he interrupted you, and threw his head back against the back of the sofa, “I’m tired of the sodding high road. There’s no one there, at the end of it, saying ‘congratulations on keeping your wedding vows while your wife fucked another man’. I know Maud. She’ll fuck around in London, and if it goes badly she’ll crawl back, and mope until she finds another ‘casting agent’ to fuck. If it goes well, I’ll never see her again, and if Venturer ever makes a profit she’ll divorce me to get it.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and when Declan’s brown eyes met yours past the forearm he’d thrown over his face, you realised his eyes were glassy.

“Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear all that. Christ.”

“No, I… I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Declan… I can’t imagine.”

“Do you know what isn’t fair? What really isn’t fair? For all that talk about being abandoned and lonely and bored, I’d come back after work, or sneak back on my lunch break, and it was always ‘not now, Declan’. Every single time. ‘Neglected’ my arse.”

When you froze, it felt like a prey instinct. Declan was talking about his sex life. To you. His lack of a sex life. Christ. The way Taggie complained about her parents, you’d imagined something very different from Declan. You’d imagined Declan a lot, in fact.

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

You weren’t sure if it was your swearing, or your sentiment, but Declan’s face cracked into a grin.

“You’re telling me!”

“God, if I had a man in my gorgeous house, sneaking back on his lunch breaks…” you broke off with a laugh, and looked anywhere but Declan.

“You’d what?”

Was he closer? Declan’s voice was serious, and you had to glance towards him to realise he’d leant forwards, elbows on his knees.

“I’d take every chance I could get,” you finished quietly, and the words seemed to linger in the room forever.

“Atta girl,” Declan murmured.

Fuck. You could hear the shifting of his clothes as he fidgeted in his seat.

For a long time, you remained in silence, wondering if the heat you felt would suddenly dissipate. The air had become molasses thick, and you couldn’t look at Declan. He wasn’t far away, a few feet, when he leant forwards. Finally he slumped back into his armchair, legs spread obscenely far apart.

“Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

You wanted to laugh. In disbelief. In embarrassment. Your clothes felt too tight against your heated skin. Instead, you murmured a no.

“Good. Not a damn man in London good enough for ya.”

The silence played out a little longer. You wondered whether Declan cared about fidelity at all. If he was going to move at all. For a while you just watched him. Forced yourself not to look down, top see if he was as turned on as you felt. It was obscene, how exhaustion and stress and misery still couldn’t hamper his good looks.

There was something more than look about Declan, though. Something in his mannerism. The intensity he watched you with. The way he catalogued every little time you’d interacted. The way he was letting his eyes sweep across you, his gaze hot and searching.

“I don’t want you to regret this, I’m not…” he began.

“I know what a rebound is.”

Your voice was so hollow, it turned bitter, and surprised you. His lust-drunk eyes widened suddenly, and the tension returned to his face. You could feel your own body respond, growing tenser, startled.

“I don’t know what you take me for, sweetheart, but I’m a damn sight older than the boys you’re used to. I wouldn’t know how to ‘play games’ if I tried. I swear. This is the first chance I’ve had to fuck you, and if you’ll let me take it, you’ll have a good time. I promise, the greatest thing about you is that you’re not my wife.”

He paused for breath, and seemed to struggle for a moment. You noticed his hand gripping his thigh, stopping it from shaking.

“You’re kind, and patient, and you listen to me, and you’ve read bloody Stephen King from my bookshelf without me begging you to care about what I care about.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gorgeous. As soon as Taggie brought you here, I knew you’d ruin my fucking life. You used to ask me how every show went, do you remember? Back at the BBC? Not even my damn wife did that.”

He held a hand out for you, but you weren’t sure what to do with it once you took it. Fingers entwined, you climbed onto his armchair, straddling his lap. Declan groaned, and latched onto the exposed column of your neck, his free hand enormous as it found your waist.

“Oh, your ego likes me? Is that it?”

“Him too,” Declan murmured, and shifted, so that you suddenly realised you could feel him, hard against the crotch of your jeans.

“You’re too young for me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Who cares?”

He laughed, and you knew it was what he’d wanted to hear. Declan pulled more of your weight onto him until you were practically crushing him, thighs on thighs and chest to chest, and then he kept squeezing until his closeness began to hurt.

You rolled your hips and ground down against his lap, hoping to distract him, and Declan groaned, bassy and gorgeous.

“Tag can never know,” you breathed, and felt Declan’s hand move further up your torso in response, clutching the underside of your breast.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

When you wrapped both hands around his face and detached him from the underside of your jaw, Declan only released with a grotesque, went smack. You missed the feel of his tongue, skin chilled where his mouth had been, but it was far more important to pull him to your lips. He went willingly, head heavy in your control, looking up at you with glazed hazelnut eyes.

Declan groaned when he kissed you, matching his hands to your face as he took control.

“Do you know how fucking glad I was to see you yesterday?” he groaned against your lips, migrating across your face until he could return to the sensitive join of your jawline and neck, “and I couldn’t even admit to myself why. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Honourable,” you mumbled, “I think it’s honourable.”

His hands were back on your body, groping until he could shove your bra up, pinching at your nipples through your clothes.

“You’re not gonna think I’m very honourable after tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

You were grinding on Declan, desperate for the flashes of friction you could find against the seam of your jeans. He kept getting distracted, groaning when you found an angle he could feel.

“Think I might make you cry, I wanna see if I can make you tell me to stop. You ever been eaten out?”

When you didn’t respond, he squeezed your breast hard, making you yelp. You could feel the jolt from the pain between your legs. He cooed as he rubbed the pain away.

“Sorry baby, didn’t realise you were so sensitive,” he was mocking you, and it was making your entire body thrum.

A laugh shuddered from you, and Declan finally slid a huge, warm palm beneath your shirt and across your stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs, and we can get these clothes off, hm? Unless you want people to see.”

He slid a hand to the back of your neck, just firm enough to keep you facing down towards him. With his other hand, he began pulling your shirt up, until it was peaking above the mess he’d made of your bra, flesh spilling out obscenely.

“You’re right opposite the window, you know love, that big driveway. Anyone could be coming up to the house… and see you like this. All mine.”

Even lust-addled, you gasped, and tried to look up, but Declan’s grip on your neck stopped you, forcing you to stare down at him.

“You want me to make you cum here, right in from of anyone? In front of Tony? Or Rupert? The postman? My wife might walk back in right now…”

“No!” you gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of him kneading at your exposed breasts, your bra cutting a tight line across them, “please, Declan…”

“You’re sure? I don’t care,” he told you, glib, as he toyed with whether he could reach his mouth to your nipples, a wet tongue snaking across your skin.

“Declan!”

Finally, you wriggled away, and he gave up the moment you resisted him. You glanced up at the gravel driveway, exhaling shakily at finding it empty. Declan was chuckling to himself, pulling your torso closer again so he could mouth at your flesh.

“I did ask if you wanted to go upstairs, I think you were distracted.”

Finally, you could bring yourself to laugh breathily, pulling your shirt down despite Declan’s wandering hands fighting you.

“Upstairs!” you demanded, and pulled Declan to his feet.

He was walking differently, from how hard he was, and you palmed over his crotch, desperate to feel him. Declan groaned, and reluctantly tugged your hand away, adjusting himself.

“Before you get too mad at me,” he returned to your neck, and spun you in front of him, forearms bracing across your chest and stomach, forcing him against you.

You realised then he was framing you against a mirror, forcing you to look at how ravaged the pair of you looked. And the clear view Declan had of the driveway behind you.

“You’re a bastard, Mr O’Hara.”

Declan laughed, but you could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the gulp which moved his Adam’s apple.

“I told you you’d say that.”

“I’d assumed for better reasons than that,” you teased.

You wrapped your fingers around his belt, and began moving the leather to undo the buckle. Declan groaned and it caught in the back of his throat, rising to a whimper.

“C’mon, old man. You’ve made me some big promises.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep them,” he admitted, “if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s okay,” you ran your hands along the inside of his waistband, feeling his stomach muscles twitch at the contact. “I know it’s been a while. How about you put that silver tongue to use first, yeah?”

“Christ,” Declan groaned, as you finally undid his fly. You stroked across the fabric of his underwear, and Declan threw his head back. His eyes were clenched shut, and his wandering hands had finally fallen to his sides.

“Do you think you’ll make it up the stairs?” you teased, “or should I just go up and finish this off on my own?”

Finally, he opened his eyes, and encircled your wrist with his fingers, pulling you away from him.

“Don’t say shit like that, love,” he went for your ear again, teeth grazing the skin and his lips salving where he’d been, “I’ve imagined that enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh yeah?”

You drifted your hand across his shaft one more time, and Declan let you, loosening his grip on your wrist.

“Come on then,” you teased, and took off.

He was slow, slower in his current state, but you let him chase you, up the stairs and across the landing, his breathless, deep laugh following you as he gave pursuit.

“I’m not that old,” he insisted, as he finally caught you on the upstairs landing, wrapping his arms around you from behind and briefly pulling you from the ground.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re really making me work for this,” Declan growled, sliding a hand down the front of your jeans. You laughed, safe in his grasp.

“I was just worried we’d never get up those fucking stairs.”

He chuckled, and pulled you against the bannisters, fighting with the button of your jeans. You laughed, and let him struggle, until the moment he succeeded, and his fingers met your clit, slippery and swollen.

“Please, just pick a room,” you begged.

“C’mon, love. Give me one here.”

You realised his gaze was out, across the fields, on the path where any one of the bastards in this village might see the pair of you. They wouldn’t, of course, but that was far from the point.

“Declan!”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Make it quick,” you conceded, and gasped as he let his finger slip fast over your clit. You could see the bliss on his face in the reflection of the window.

“That’s up to you, love. Think you can be good for me?”

“You’re the one,” you gasped, as he changed pressure again, experimenting, “you’re the one fingering me, Declan.”

He kissed you, suddenly, sweetly, on the cheek, fingers still working quickly over your clit. Despite the pressure building in between your hips, you laughed.

“What?” you asked him, catching him grinning to himself in the glass.

“I can’t believe I just heard you say that.”

[radioiaci]

Alastor had no real reaction to Vox's joke - though he did have some concern when the other seemed to disappear to again empty the contents of his stomach. Brow furrowed, he made a mental note - to ensure that Vox both ate something and drank an adequate amount of water once they found a better place to stay. He was becoming very keenly aware and accustomed to the other taking such poor of himself that it seemed to backfire on him frequently.

Something to remedy, maybe. Or try to.

When Vox returned, Alastor had stepped at least once or twice, cautiously over the threshold, sparing the other the briefest of sideways glances before speaking again.

"No. Just me."

The seal broken now, on entering the home, he finally began to take more gradual steps into the hall, the floorboards creaking with every step. There was no salvaging the home - half consumed by plants, mold, decay, and dust, he was not here for the bones of the place. What he was here for perhaps still lingered inside, his eyes traveling over the walls and against abandoned furniture as he turned into the first - and largest - room. A living area, still fully furnished with stuffy, decrepit items of the time, and broken through with reeds and small flowers. There were scuffle marks on the floor here or there where small animals might have nested - but it was empty now.

Against the far wall, Alastor spotted marks. Carvings into wood beams that traveled upwards, his name scrabbled against the surface next to it and worn in over the years from erosion. But one could still make out several letters.

He crouched, running his hands over the lines. Obviously meant to track his height over the years. From ages three to twelve, it seemed. She had stopped tracking once he became a teenager.

If Vox wandered, he might come across one of the other rooms. Two bedrooms - one meant for a child and one meant for an adult. Both were damaged beyond repair. Cracks in the walls leaked sunlight and anything that still hung in picture frames and up on shelves were caked in dust and grime. One photo of Alastor and his mother - a dark-skinned woman with grey streaks in otherwise tightly coiled hair, pulled up into a bun - might remain in the largest bedroom, positioned above an old desk, missing at least one leg.

Next to them in the photo would be a man, pale white with stern and icy blue eyes, his hand braced tightly against his wife's shoulder, with both of their other hands placed onto Alastor's shoulders in turn.

None of the three looked particularly happy.

Vox freed the other’s hand as he seemed to gain some confidence back- or at least curiosity. And started moving into the home. Before the other even got to the stairs though, Vox had his hand on one of the wooden railings that seemed to be firmly seated in mud, and about as sturdy as a paper straw now. He wiggled the thing back and forth. Then let go and it in no way bounced back into shape.

The tv man scooted in front of it casually- unsure of the other’s… attachment. To it being retained. This would be the second.. maybe the third time Vox broke something of Alastor’s. But the deer had yet to mention it. If he ever even found the messed up snake skeleton stashed away in the bathroom.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wonder long, because in barely another minute, Vox flinched out of his thoughts as Alastor’s foot went right through the floorboards of the porch.

Despite himself he gave a little chuckle under his breath.

“There goes the resell value.” He teased. He followed gingerly, but when the door opened, a smell of rotted wood and plants- maybe mold- along with long stagnant air drifted from the hallway. Vox suddenly was quickly reminded of his late night bathroom visit.

He struggled to swallow the urge to throw up. And succeeded.

Until Alastor sneezed—?? And made a sound like a chipmunk being stepped on. He laughed out loud, but just once until his muscles protested. Then backed out a step and moved out of sight. Emptying his already thinned out stomach again over the edge of the porch and into the bayou swamp below. He spit once, and returned to the hallway after only another half minute.

And wasting no time in pulling his pack and lighter out. But he didn’t exactly have a water bottle to get the taste out of his mouth.

“Fuckin’ell..” he mumbled again.

“You have siblings..?” He asked casually, his voice a bit hoarse again.

[hypnzo]

Hello! First of all, i hope you are having or had a good day <3

I really like your writing! So I was wondering if I can do a request for a fic with the reader being the daughter of Hypnos and comforting/helping Percy with his nightmares?

It could be of the two of them in an established relationship or that, to comfort him, she confesses her feelings/Percy admitting his feelings for her since the nightmares make him afraid of losing her?

If you can't or don't feel comfortable that's fine, tysm 💞

Embodiment of Comfort

Percy Jackson x Hypnos cabin!Reader (Gender-Neutral)

Warning !! English is not my first language, there might be so mischaracterizations.

Note: I'm not exactly so proud of this work, I was really tired when making this, so I apologize for its bad writing...

You've been friends with Percy for quite a while now. Your friendship started around his first week in camp, but you didn't expect anything from it.

That was until you realized how you've been silently gushing over him, the son of Poseidon—Percy Jackson—a name that everyone around the camp knew and admired.

You couldn't blame them though—black hair, tanned skin, toned body, great personality, kind of a dork, what's there to not admire?

However, being a child of Hypnos meant nothing to you. It felt really dull... Mostly because everyone just seems to know you as someone that sleeps all day and has nothing to contribute unless "sleep" was the talk.

If you were being honest, the thought alone made you feel even more disappointed knowing your childhood crush was simply just out of your league.

“...Gods, I hate that guy.” you murmured against your pillow. To be real, you didn't really hate Percy—maybe you did, but only since he's been an annoying buzz in your head all day long.

Maybe a part of it was your fault, but you'd defend yourself and say that at least more than half of it was his fault.

“He doesn't even have to be all that charming... Those black hair, sea-green eyes...” you paused, hugging your pillow, looking afar bit too starstruck before you began once more, “especially those sea-green eyes.”

As you were zoning out on your bed, you heard a voice cut through your thoughts—a voice that was, unfortunately, familiar. “Sleepy?”

Shit.

You blinked, averting your gaze towards him while your mind panicked and you swore you've said every cuss words known to man.

It wasn't intentional—genuinely, you felt like an idiot saying those words out loud—you felt even more stupid, knowing that you've completely forgotten that Percy was here all along.

“Percy, uh...” you started, but now you wished you could go back in time for a few seconds so you were able to just shut yourself up.

He looked sleepy, his voice sounded groggy as well, however his grin seems to just strengthen against the pillow he was snuggling with.

“So, I take it you have a crush on someone?”

“No!”

“Right, right.” he says, adjusting his position to lay on his back like a starfish, staring at the ceiling of the bunk bed. “You hate the guy. Got it.”

“Shut up.”

“Will do.” he says, motioning a ziplock on his mouth, but the cheeky, almost smug-like grin that was plastered on his face never faltered on his lips one bit.

After a few moments of silence, he motions to be unlocking the imaginary ziplock on his mouth, his hands finding his own hair while his eyes remain shut.

“What now?”

“Soo... thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For your service.” he joked once more, only to receive an unimpressed glance from you which made him shut up. At least for a moment...

“No seriously,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced up at you, “thanks...”

“If I'm going to be real honest with you, sleep has never come easy for me. Especially during my first week in camp.”

You blinked, remaining the silence you've stilled, letting him pour out his words while his gaze would often shift from one furniture to another.

“I just want to thank you for just.. being there,” he sighed, “If I'm being real with you, sleepy,” he murmured before he continued, “nightmares have been gnawing at me left and right.”

“And really, your comfort—no, your presence alone has helped me. I don't know if you even realize it, but you feel like comfort itself, as though the very essence of it was mused after you.”

“What are you saying?” you felt your breath hitch at his words.

He paused, looking for any uncertainty in your eyes. Despite his shaky nerves, he looked into your eyes, letting out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding.

“...I like you.”

...

“Was that too forward?” he chuckled lightly though his laugh felt breathless as if he was just as nervous as you were about the whole situation.

“Sleepy?”

“Sorry, sorry, uh,” you snapped out of your focus, however your words couldn't get itself out of your throat like it was stuck there.

Despite his panicking nerves, he patted you on the back as if to help and ground you on what was happening. “Relax, it's just me.” he chuckled lightly.

“Do you really mean that?”

“That I like you? Of course I do. Why wouldn't I mean it?”

You didn't know how to begin your words, the only sensation you could feel was the way your palms start to form its cold sweat. “I like you too, Percy. Might I now add that I have been crushing on you for quite some time now as well?” you uttered out sheepishly.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you smiled, “I mean it—like for real. You're like one of the coolest person I've ever met and you don't even have to try.” you say, feeling his hand tangle in yours.

“I try really hard, actually.” he chuckled lightly, brushing his hands against your hair, tucking it in behind your ear before he pressed a quick, kiss on your cheek.

Hesitantly, you held his face in your palm, feeling him lean onto your touch as he tops his hand over yours while his thumb skimmed through your knuckle.

“Thank you, sleepy.”

“You don't have to thank me for anything.” you leaned in with a smile to draw a peck on his nose.

Have a request? Feel free to send one in!

[reminaofthedust]

One more time before I go

Rating: E (nsfw)

Word count: 800+

Warnings: SMUT. Minors Do Not Interact.

Tags: mutual masturbation, slight jealousy, friends with benefits situation.

a/n: just a short smut.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

He pushed you back first into his bed.

Sweat beading his forehead, he pumped his cock with newfound vigour, this new angle giving him full view of your spread-out cunt.

"Fuck—" he gave out a choked grunt as he watched you run your fingers between your slick folds. His knees hit the edge of the bed, watching you closely as you moved farther back into the mattress to give him an even better view. He groaned watching you adjust your hips to spread yourself eagle in front of him. 

His hooded eyes fell to your face, scrunched up in ecstasy. He could watch your expressions all day long, but he didn't have much time. Both of you had patrol today, you in the evening and him right now; not much time in between, but he wanted to put his hands on you anyways. A quickie would have to do. You both knew if you let him take you the way you both wanted, he would both be extremely late. So you settled on this.

"Shit... god- you're—" He was out of breath, caving his hands tighter around himself as he watched you pleasure yourself with rapt attention, eyes fixed on your finger sliding slowly in. 

The sound was so sinful; the wet sounds of your hand working yourself up mixed with both of your moans. He was fighting his eyes from rolling back, wanting to not look away from where your finger entered your tight hole. He wanted to push that hand back, slot himself between your thighs, and feel your eager pussy welcome him in. 

"Can you... fuck... can you get o-one more in?" He watched unblinking, pupils blown out to take it all in as you inserted one more finger and picked up your pace. You looked so beautiful. All for him. Just for him.

He climbed one knee up on the bed, using it to spread your legs further. He felt his balls tightening as your moans got louder, the squelching sound rapid, his bedsheet pooling beneath you with your spent. God, he wanted to come inside you. Push your hand away and show you how only he can fuck you the way you like and get you there as many times as your body allows. But he had to be patient; he didn't want to scare you away by being too demanding. This was new. Whatever this arrangement between the two of you was. A stress relief, he had initially thought. 

Until he saw you laughing way too hard at a joke some idiot made. He felt his heart clench with an unfamiliar emotion. And anger, and it found a way to leave his system that night as he put you through the mattress, both of your clothes still on, too impatient to lay claim on you again. You liked it a lot, apparently, you teased him about his passionate outburst the next day.

That's why he didn't feel comfortable leaving you out and about without having had you at least once. Mark you up with his cum. If nothing else, it would calm that unfamiliar beast inside him that wanted to tear any man 2 feet from you, limb to limb. Of course, you didn't have to know all that; just enjoy him.

He felt himself close; climbing both knees up now, he took his rightful spot between your thighs. Still towering over you, he motioned for you to sit up on your elbows. 

"Tits," was all he said, and you obediently lifted your breasts up at him, squeezing them closer. When you looked up at him, all innocent, he lost it. Giving himself a last few more pumps, he came. His thick ropes of load coat your chest and your neck. You watched them run down your belly with fascination.

When he finally found himself calm down, he tucked himself back in. "I'll get you a rag."

"No need." You flopped down on your back again, your tits bouncing deliciously with you. He found his eyes fixed on them again. White coating your nipples, he wanted nothing more than to put his mouth on them. But he had his duty, and so did you; his more urgent right now than yours.

"I gotta go," he said despite himself. 

"Can I crash here for a few hours? I need to take a bath first."

"Sure, whatever you want." He said too quickly. You could take his damn house for all he cared. 

You smiled at him from his bed, with his cum all over you. "Don't get yourself in too much trouble." You yawned as you stretched yourself on his bed like a satisfied cat, "Got a few more things I want to try."

He smirked, picking up his bag and coat. "I'll see ya tonight." The sentence is no longer a question but a statement of what was to come later. He will see you again and again and again until you grow sick of him.

[thechy-fychannel]

Giigling about what if Hilson only kept their relationship secret at the hospital. Outside they are lovey-dove grossness and stuff but in princeton-plainsboro they are best friends worsties. Only hr (and by extension, Cuddy) knows. Its cause of homophobic patients (house won't get to do his mad scientist experiments otherwise) and that its a puzzle that keeps house entertained.

Idk if they do comitment at all but i like to think they wear matching ring on chain or other necklace material :)

also giggling about this !! I am a huge fan of the trope of no one at the hospital knowing that they're actually married (or domestic life partners bc gay marriage wasn't legal in NJ until 2013 boooo 👎) it's honestly one of my favorite silly lil headcanons for them.

The running joke about wilson being divorced 3 times actually stems from house joking about their own breakups. they've had some really bad breakups that they consider "divorces" bc if they had been legally married, they would've divorced and remarried each other like 3 times. honestly house made the joke at work one day abt wilson being a three time divorcee and everyone just assumed that he'd been married to 3 different women. they let everyone believe that since they didn't want to come out at work anyways.

he's only been legally married once, which was to sam and has been with house on and off (but mostly on) ever since they met. I can even see house still being with stacy for a while, but that was during one of their "divorce" eras. they "divorced" sometime in the late 90s, wilson got with bonnie pretty much immediately after in order to hide his pain from breaking up with house. house got with stacy sometime not long after, then the infarction happened and stacy left. wilson pretty much immediately dumped bonnie so he could get back with house and take care of him. julie never actually existed, that's just the name they use when wilson is complaining about his "wife" to others bc he can't call house his husband. this is why we never actually see julie, she never existed.

they "divorce" again during the tritter era, and then wilson meets amber. a series of very unfortunate events occur and then hilson gets back together during Birthmarks and that's the last time they "divorce" and get back together. each time they get back together, they have a cute lil unofficial ceremony somewhere where they renew their vows and exchange the same rings they've been wearing since the 90s bc it can't be a divorce without a wedding alfjalfk.

ppl see them fight at work all the time and they make their jokes abt how they're probably sleeping together or at least they want to, but it's all really jokes bc ppl assume they're both straight. but really the fighting is absolutely just foreplay and then they go home together and have the nastiest sex imaginable and then cuddle after and are sooo lovey-dovey to each other. I love the idea of them allowing themselves to be soft and loving with each other outside of work. They're both romantics, especially house, they just show it in their own ways. like house lovesss to send wilson flowers pretending to be a secret admirer (further perpetuating the idea that wilson sleeps around with lots of women) but wilson always knows they're from his hubby.

the only other person from work who ends up finding out is thirteen (and amber knew about them before she 💀) and that's bc gay recognizes gay. she never ever ever tells a soul that she knows, but when house picks her up from prison and they are in that lil motel or whatever eating the rhubarb pies, she overhears house on the phone with wilson being so sweet, telling him that he loves him, that they'll be home in a couple of days and he misses him. house didn't realize she was within earshot and he gets all mad and flustered abt it, but thirteen opens up to him abt her brother and what she did. it's a rly sweet moment that allows them both to be open and vulnerable with each other and house tells her all about his relationship with wilson. after that, she occasionally gets invited over to their place for dinner or on holidays when she doesn't want to go home. she gets to witness them outside of work first hand, watching them cook together, house making a mess and wilson yells at him, house yells back, and then suddenly they're laughing and kissing in the kitchen, happier than she's ever seen them before. she would never ever out them and they know that. when she sees them together, she understands why they wouldn't want anyone else to know bc they have something so real and sweet and special, they want to keep it safe for as long as possible.

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer didn't know what a meeting between Heaven and Hell would look like, but sitting in a room of white marble and a large round table with very obvious looking angels and... the Devil, definitely wasn't it.

He glanced around the room and took in the two angels. One was tall, and the other seemed to be at least 6 feet or just under. He actually looked a lot like Samael, but then, if the bible was true, Samael was once an angel. So that made sense.

What Lucifer was trying to understand is, is this THEE archangel Michael or just some random angel called Michael.

The woman next to Michael was a different story. He had no idea who this was. She didn't match any descriptions in the bible, and she looked more bird like. She didn't look bad, far from it. In fact, she was quite intimidating. She was probably the tallest one here. The only one that got close to her height would have been Adam.

Speaking of Adam, he looked calm. Too calm. Lucifer narrowed his eyes at his king. Adam actually looked proud of himself. Cocky. He wanted to groan. He knew this meeting could go sideways, and a sassy Adam could be the cause of that.

Adam perked up as he felt a nudge to his shoulder. Glancing to his left, he smirked over at Samael.

Samael: You really need to stop this shit, Ad. It's not just you that gets his ass handed back to him on a platter.

Adam: Mm, sounds delicious~. Tell me, Sam, when will you be round to meet my newest little one~?

Samael: Hm... maybe next weekend-.

Sera: Silence.

Lucifer flinched. Her voice was as intimating as her.

But out of the three on Hell's side of the table, he's the only one who jumped.

Sera: This meeting is to be addressing one of your Sin Incarnates' recent activities on Earth. And beyond.

Adam: Ooh, do tell~.

Michael: This isn't a joke, Adam.

Adam: Oh, I'm not laughing unless you are~.

Sera: Adam. Sin of Lust. You will face trial for your actions on earth, specifically the godly monasteries.

Adam: Trial?! You've got to be kidding me!

Michael: I'm not laughing. So, there's no kidding.

Adam glared at the angels: ...Fine. Where?

Sera: In Heaven-.

Adam: Ha! Yeah, no. That's not happening. I have a baby at home waiting for me- and I mean, not even an hour old. So no. I'm not going anywhere.

Michael growled: you don't have a choice.

I am CRAVING some demon nun!Adam right now!

Help me, Things! 😫😫😫

Okay, I can help you.

*Cracks knuckles*

What about Demon Nun Adam x Human Priest Lucifer. Like maybe he's losing his faith a bit but is sticking with it for his father.

And Adam is the new "nun"

[w3ndytheraccoon]

u/awholelottaspoon

Am I the asshole for killing my teammate ?

This is going to be very long. My friends and I had been thrown into this hunger-gamesque death game that was cut up into “sessions” that lasted a few hours where we have multiple lives, but the twist this time was every session, there would be a “wildcard”. The wildcard sounds exactly like what it is, a special thing that usually makes our lives harder. Now, I’m not proud to admit this, but I was the first out, during the fifth session. I thought that was it, I died, then I’m out of the game and I’ll wake up in my bed, waiting the next time the eldritch beings decided they want me in another death game, but no. This time, I wake up in a dark void instead, and it only became more confusing when my friend and Teammate SM joined me. So we sit around and waited for a while, until one day, we were pulled away violently. Like, ripped away from the void and we woke up back in the game, and considerably weaker than we were before. Turned out it was the seventh session, and the wildcard was everyone had a superpower, and we were brought back because one of the powers, ZC’s, was necromancy. Fitting, considering they’re an undead, and I wonder what power I could’ve had, or her power if no one died, but I digress. Since they brought us back, we had to follow their orders, simple enough. Strangely though, our first order was to go “throw the lamest insults we can possibly manage” at our friend (bestfriend, in my case) and only teammate alive left, G. He was so happy to see us it actually made me feel abit bad when we made fun of him. Turned out, G’s power was that he could copy anyone’s power for five minutes, so after some discussing with his new temporary teammates and us, he copied ZC’s power and brought us back, which means we were under his control instead. It was all fine, until we died again and was brought back by ZC. She wasn’t happy, to say the least, and declared us traitors. Since we were at her control and our “lives” depended on them, we denied all fault and blamed G instead. She thought about it for a moment, then said we had to kill him. Well, orders are orders. Between me and SM, I decided to do it. I approached him, told him ZC said we can stay with him for abit, and he was visibly very happy about it, which did not help my guilt very much. When he had his back turned while he was fishing, I burnt him using lava and then got out my axe and hit him with it until he died, which prompted GT, one of his then teammates who was nearby, to killed me as well. G wasn’t very happy about it when he came back, he killed SM and me and called me a “filthy traitor” as he did, which, once again, did not help my guilt. It felt even worse when I was finally back thankfully not the void but my home instead, since the session ended the moment I died, and SM cracked a joke about us being “bad teammates”. I’m sure he was referring to the fact we were bad at staying alive and were bad teammates to ZC and her allies, but it felt different after what just happened. The game is over at the moment, we’re all back home and G and I are cool now, but I can’t help but wonder. At first I thought since it wasn’t my choice, I’m not in the wrong, but the more I think about it, the more options I realised I could’ve take, like failing on purpose maybe. My friends told me that while it was slightly traumatic, it really wasn’t that serious, even G himself, but am I the asshole ?

[tinyspectre]

that’s rough buddy

[kingdomofbellows]

No. No stop it. Don’t. Don’t look at her like that. You’re not allowed to look at her like that!

Irene’s heart twists in her chest, eyes stinging as he just…gazes at her with that fondness. He wasn’t allowed. He’s supposed to hate her. Be disappointed in her. Mad at her. Look at her with the same cruel indifference that space has for human life. Don’t look at her like a parent noticing similarities of themselves in their child. You’re not allowed. You’re especially not allowed to sound…human. To have human struggles. You’re god. You do like god things that you don’t regret because you’re all knowing and it’s all part of your master plan.

The plan. The grand plan that she had heard repeated to her over and over and over again. The same grand plan that she swore she’d be rebelling against until she was dragged kicking and screaming to her grave. The same plan that took her mother, excused her father’s abuse, and kept Willow on the edge of death.

But this didn’t sound like he had a plan, and she wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse. Regardless, her anger had faded and now she just felt an overwhelming sorrow. Her eyes sting with threatened tears and she grimaces.

She manages to summon a snarky smile for Vox though, reaching down the front of her shirt where she had hidden the ring.

“Dang, I was really looking forward to making you dance like a goober.” She attempts to joke, securing her fingers around the ring and slowly pulling it out. “I…no..If I wasn’t going to give it to him, I had planned to destroy it somehow. No one needs that kind of power.”

She walks to Eli, keeping her fingers clenched so tight around the ring that she could feel it pressing a painful indent into her palm as she rests her fist on top of his hand. She hesitated for a moment, her other hand coming to curl around his wrist.

“You…did love us once, didn’t you? We weren’t always…failures and abominations in your eyes…right? Once upon a time at least.” Came her soft murmur. Regardless of his answer, she’d open her palm and drop the ring into it.

“Now…please. Help him.”

Irene would shoot Vox a look before her eyes drop, letting her arm drop to her side. She’d hurt herself if she wanted to thank you. Just turned out she didn’t currently want to. Instead she was running on barely any sleep, self sacrificing to a suicidal degree thoughts, and an Oreo, and she was ready to kill God or become him.

“I’m not sure Lu is going to want to remember.” She’d murmur to Vox. “It might just hurt him knowing daddy only cared for a brief second before he fucks off into the nether again..I know it’s his choice but…”

A thought occurs to her and her eyes snap towards Eli.

“What’s the catch? This is all rather convenient that you suddenly come back and all of a sudden are sooooo concerned about your son even though you KNEW it was all happening. You reek of absent father wanting money so what is it? You want us to throw ourselves at your feet and suck your ass with praise on how magnificent and wonderful you are? That truly, everyone’s favorite sky daddy is an awesome God like my sister is convinced you are? You want something and I don’t believe for a single fucking second it’s cause you’re worried about Lucifer being on his deathbed.”

@burningfeathersx

[natelia-aldelliz]

I just had two different thoughts (that's twice as many as usual!) :

What if Ghost decided to learn how to speak Gàidhlig as a surprise for his Johnny only to have him look at him awkwardly because "sorry LT, I only know a few words of Gàidhlig, my native language is Scots...."

".... So I can't call you maw rye?"

"..... Is... Is that mo ghràidh?"

"So you do know Gaelic!"

"I said I knew a few words!"

Or, what if it was a bad day, Soap is already feeling a bit distraught, stuck in his head, emotional, irritable, he has difficulty focusing (more than usual) and he can feel a headache coming. Remarks, teases, that he usually lets slide with a joke seem to cut him, deeper and deeper with each one.

Ghost doesn't notice. No one does. Because Soap does his best to not be a bother.

But then, Soap is talking about something he likes back home and Ghost cracks his usual "speak English" joke. But this time Soap freezes.

He wants to say "I'm sorry I'm speaking my native language, that your people, to this day, are trying to eradicate and ridicule", wants to lash out, be mean, but he doesn't.

He just smiles a little, without his eyes, and tells everyone that he's going to bed. Because he knows that it's not fair to now be mad about something he usually jokes about. Deep down he knows that Ghost doesn't mean it like that, that it's their little inside joke.

But it doesn't keep him from crying in his pillow.

[arundolyn]

bpd is really really annoying bc first of all i feel like ive felt whatever way ive been feeling if its been 5+ minutes of feeling that way for my Entire Life. and this lack of emotional object permanence is kinda making me feel like i never had a mom anyway in the entire month since she died

[anotheruntitledsong]

i did like the hidden palace but (SPOILER if anyone hasn't read it?) i'm genuinely so annoyed at how Arbeely is handled like... I wish i could be sad but i'm just fucking irritated. I was overly invested in him and that's def why but i just feel like they did him dirty

[jitteryfool]

God, I am genuinely struggling to watch The Office. I love sitcoms, I love the memes spawned from that series, so I thought I would easily love this show but MY GOD is Michael Scott the most obnoxious, frustrating and hateable character I've seen since Ross Geller.

It's such a pity because I actually started to care about Pam and Jim's story, they have genuine chemistry and I want to see how they will finally get together but I cannot stomach another second with that snivelling, annoying bug masquerading as a human man and yet the story expects me to care about him and laugh at his antics.

The beginning was so rough I just quit, but the last few weeks I gave it another chance and also because I had nothing better to do, so I mostly let it run in the background while I was doing other stuff.

But Season 3, Episode 1 broke me. I can't anymore. I was rooting for Oscar when he finally snapped and yelled at Michael for his disgusting, homophobic behavior. Like, finally some real and true accountability and consequences for Michael's truly vomit-inducing behavior? Is a marginalized character FINALLY allowed to yell at him and tell that man-child no?

BUT THEN. THE SILENCE AND THE LINGERING CAMERA WHICH MADE IT CLEAR THAT I, THE WATCHER, AM EXPECTED TO FEEL BAD FOR MICHAEL? OSCAR FUCKING APOLOGIZING TO HIM?

Oscar yelling that he doesn't want to touch Michael and then later is forced to anyway because oh no, the cishet white man's feelings were hurt :( he didn't mean to be homophobic but the mean gay is now yelling at him :(

There are about 4 minutes left to the episode but nope, I'm out. My patience is stretched so thin I am feeling the urge to punch someone.

I will continue to enjoy The Office memes but the show itself is just too unwatchable for me because of that one character.