#I hope this reads coherently. I’m like tired rn

[licantropa]

cw: psychological torture, the consequences of forbidden knowledge, and i think thats it

ep 97 {30:00 - 39:54} written

Capsize stands right in front of her. And it isn't the memory of her, or some doodles in her thaumonomicon, or even visions caused by things which she should not have known. It's actually her…It has to be.

The distant muffles of her friends seem to more-than-imply otherwise, with Jordan claiming that it’s his dear pet slime, and Tucker claiming that it’s her in the tube.

Tucker screams in agony and Jordan proclaims that he’s figured out the puzzle, it all becomes background static to her.

She stands there looking up at her. At Capsize. Everything she’s worked towards, all the patience and sanity and sleep that she’s sacrificed, it should feel wasted. But She can’t help the relief, the excitement that overwhelms her in this moment.

Capsize is looking back at her.

Blows air on the glass and writes out ‘iH’, dotting the i with a heart before the message disappears completely. She puts her palm on the glass and leans in towards her. Sonja goes to do the same before she’s all but burned herself on the heat emanating from the glass.

Sonja’s shaking, the situation has finally clicked for her. All her tools and armor and anything useful has been left outside of this crypt. All she is left with is herself, all she has is her own fists to bang and break the glass.

It doesn’t work. Because why would it? When is she ever that lucky? When is it ever this easy?

Knocking brings Sonja’s attention back to Capsize. There’s a smile that graces her features, the slight shake of her head lets her know her attempts at a breaking out has been futile. She blows on the glass again and draws a diagonal arrow.

Behind her is not a door, but an opening. Blood waterfalls down, an exit. Had that always been there? She doesn’t want to go. But, she looks back and receives a wave goodbye.

She moves slowly and swims even slower. The liquid is thick and hard to maneuver through.

She reaches an air pocket in the blood waterfall and she sees her. Again. Just standing there. Glass window looking out to the nether, Capsize died here, back home. Sonja none the wiser, she had to be told, explained to, because she wasn’t there.

It all happened so quickly. We couldn’t do anything. Ianite will fix this, we’ll save her.

Sonja will be faster, accomplish what they couldn’t the first time. She’ll save her.

She runs to her, almost tripping over herself in the process and right when she’s there, so close, arms length away, Sonja falls through the mirage hitting glass.

Doubt -> me: you'll never find out how to keep going

Again. This thing that can't be her but is, is sitting there on this ledge, facing her, reaching out.

Capsize disappears before Sonja could even grab her hand.

Her fist meets hard hot dreamwood, and fuck this. It's all fucked. Maybe she should just go back, that Capsize didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon, and if she goes back even further than that she could get more supplies, figure out how to break the glass. That'd be so much easier, so much easier than deciphering gibberish magically imbued to be a headache of a time when she wants answers and an even bigger migraine when she when she finds none there for her.

No no no no no no…

That’s Martha talking. She can figure it out, she will, she has too.

Doubt -> me: you can't do this...you can't bring her back

Sonja makes it to a new area, a prison, where she sits and cries…

"Sonj!" Tucker's finally regrouped with them, and the relief he feels is like no other. Sonja's safe and well, and he hasn't doomed her to an awful fate of burning in lava. The far off-look, one that's become too familiar as she delves deeper into forbidden knowledge, makes Tucker uneasy. The dried tears on her face makes him feel even worse. He puts a hand on her shoulder in hopes it'll provide some comfort. "Are you alright? What did you see that's left you so...?"

"Boris."

I don't really wanna rewrite too many canon scenes for my post timeline, but I keep thinking about the bit in Season 2 where they're about to enter Helgrind's nightmare world and need to kill an apparition of a loved one. And I just can't think about that scene but Sonja sees Capsize.

Like she finds herself face to face with the person she's trying to revive, and has to kill her. Even if she knows it isn't the real person, it would still be so difficult to actually do it.

[coffeehighallthetime-blog]

I am Kind not Complacent Chpt 5

Hello! Here is Chpt 5! warnings: some mention of overstimulation and comfort through panic attack.

Chpt 5: 3K

{Prev}-{next}

Heimdall x fem!reader (they're both kids rn)

multi chapter

hope you enjoy it! and thank you to @engardeitsme as usualllll love you buddy, thank you for your support!

thank you to @lunaryasha, @nokolla as well for reading!💜💜💜

A/N: also sorry for the typos it's very late lol

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Is there a single thought going on in your head?”

Heimdall had asked the question at least three times now and the girl was starting to lose her patience, twiddling her thumbs as Heimdall glared at her. The discomfort of letting the boy try to have free range of her mind made her uncomfortable, no matter how many times they had done it now. And his lack of empathy, taking her time, running through her head, only to blame her? He really was a weasel. 

“Certainly,” she spoke stiffly, breathing through her nose. “I’m just not focusing on any particular thought. Which is the point of the exercise in case you forgot.” She watched as his eyes squinted and snorted, poking at his furrowed brows.” also, I don’t think you’re supposed to make it this obvious that you are running through people’s heads.” Heimdall’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he batted the girl’s hand away. 

“I’m working on it, ok?” He muttered, trying to relax his features as he continued to pick through her thoughts. It was a jumbled mess of things, like muttering getting louder and quieter, with just a few words popping out at him. He could tell she was getting frustrated with him, an angry rumbling in the undertow of her musings. Nothing to give him coherent information. It didn’t help that anything he was able to grab onto was interrupted by the thoughts of people all the way on the other side of the lodge. One moment, he could hear Yn’s thoughts start to get louder, and the next it was some trivial rubbish of a maid doing chores, or the fighters sparing outside, horses in the stable, or his damn brother, Thor, snoring. Heimdall growled and threw his head back, rubbing his temples with his palms.

“It’s still too loud!” the girl sighed at this, pulling a leg up to her chest while the other dangled over her chair.

“We’ve already moved three times, Weasel. I think this is as quiet as it’s going to get for us.”

“I know, which is why I feel even more pissed off!” he bolted from his seat, pacing around the room. “We’ve been at this for weeks and all I can hear is gibberish and your surface-level musings! It’s ridiculous. Do you have ‘any’ thoughts in that walnut you call a brain?!” the girl frowned, turning her head away. In the thoughts that thrummed threw her into Heimdall's ears he only heard: ‘...I…..Heimdall……idiot….’

“Excuse me?” he frowned, turning to her. She looked at him confused.

“What?”

“All I heard was my name and the word idiot!” the girl raised a brow, knowing she had more to her thought. She was tired of being treated like an idiot. Still, she decided to smirk and held her hands up in defeat.

“Well look at that, it seems I do have some thoughts in this walnut.” she snorted as the boy crossed his arms, trying to hear more insults.

“Also, I don't know if it’s occurred to you,” she leaned back in her chair, “ but I’m not enjoying you clumsily poking around my head either for weeks on end. So forgive me for trying to keep some things private.”

They indeed had been meeting for weeks now, after supper in Heimdall’s room. Only to migrate through different parts of the lodge when it got too loud for him to concentrate. The first few lessons had gone well, but the two thought this was merely due to Yn concentrating on a single thought for Heimdall to listen to. This obviously would not be the case when he had to find out information from people against their will, so the girl suggested they move on to Heimdall trying to read her free-roaming thoughts. This proved to be much more difficult and only seemed to get worse the more he strained to listen, instead being overflowed with noises and thoughts far from where they were. The girl also didn’t enjoy the next level of mind reading, flushing when Heimdall would point out thoughts she didn’t even know she had. It was all very invasive. 

“We are getting nowhere,” Heimdall growled under his breath, flopping back into his chair across from the girl. He sighed and looked up at her, arms crossed. “Why is it that I can hear you perfectly fine sometimes and the next, there is nothing but mumbling?” the girl relaxed her shoulders, sensing the boy’s frustration.

“Well,” she started, her hands folding over her raised leg, “I want to try to hide things in those moments. I don’t like having you up here,” she pointed to the space between her brows, “but if I focus on what I want you to hear, you seem to have an easier time with it.” Heimdall sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. 

“I need to be able to look at everything no matter if you want it hidden or not.” The girl frowned, not liking the idea of the boy with that kind of power. She sighed, however, remembering their agreement.

“Do you think you may be siking yourself out?” he just looked at her, a confused pull at his brows. She continued, standing up to pace as she spoke, “What I mean is, when it’s based on instinct like the first time we fought, or when you could hear me on the wall…it was like a survival instinct. You knew automatically what to do.”

“I guess,” he frowned, crossing his arms, “but it’s not completely quiet, it’s just a mess. Like thousands of people talking over each other. And I can’t tell what’s your thoughts, other’s thoughts, or outside actions. But when I concentrate I get closer to honing in on just your sounds.” the girl nodded in agreement, a hand on her chin as she stopped in front of the window, the afternoon breeze flowing through and the sunset light shining over the horizon, covered by the wall. She hummed as she got an idea, and because it was louder than the rest, Heimdall could catch wind of some of it. “What about the wall?” He asked, looking at her over the back of his chair. She smiled and turned to him, and his face fell as he heard the rest of the plan racing through his head.

“Oh, no. No no no. we are not going back out there. The All-Father is already suspicious.”

“We’ll go in the dead of night!” she said with an excited smile, getting closer to him.

“You’re crazy!”

“Does anything come out of your mouth except insults?” she huffed, hands on her hips.

“ For you?” he asked with a sarcastic smirk, “Never.” she ignored the boy, grabbing her things. 

“It’ll be an experiment.”

“I’m not an experiment.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He huffed. Though he couldn’t hear what she was thinking, he could tell her thoughts were running a mile a minute. And he didn’t like her tone.

“I’m not going.” he stood firm, and though he didn’t show it on his face, Yn had started to be able to tell when he was growing anxious. And right now, he stunk of nerves. The girl sighed, slowing her movements, and faced Heimdall. 

“Fine then. We don’t have to go,” she reassured him and felt the tension ease slightly. She smiled, “We’ll stop for today.”

He hated her ability to ease him. And that no matter how much he tried to control his emotions, he couldn’t resist the calm she gave him. He knew it was from her powers, and it terrified him. He should not be able to be so easily influenced. He reasoned to himself, that he was building a tolerance to her powers, and soon it wouldn’t work on him. She was just a stepping stone. That’s all this was.

With a wave of her hand, she was out of the room, spouting about how he could knock when he couldn’t sleep before shutting the door. Like he would ever in a million years, go crawling-

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

There Heimdall stood. Ridged in front of Yn’s door. Cold sweat beaded at his temple, and he held in sobs, biting his lip till it threatened to bleed. His hands gripped at the bottom of his shirt and he trembled in front of the girl’s door. He hated it. Hated waking up to the sound of phantoms in his head, endless mumblings rattling through his mind like an echoing hall. He hated not being able to quiet them, the power they had over him. He hated the fear that seeped into his bones from the sounds in his head, and the consequences of being caught for being unable to deal with them on his own.

But most of all, he hated that what he had found was finally able to quiet his mind was snoring softly on the other side of the door in front of him, without a care in the world. That he was supposed to be learning information on this girl, and nothing more. He was the god of foresight. A gift bestowed on him. And he was using this girl, a stranger, a possible enemy, to calm himself. And she let him. It all made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t know were possible. 

Still, despite how he wanted to run back to his room. Simply will the sounds to stop. To be able to understand the girl’s intentions and report them to the All-Father so she could finally be out of his hair. Despite all of it:

There he stood, trembling, willing his voice to whimper just a bit quieter. She left the door unlocked. She had started doing so so he wouldn’t have to knock and make extra noise. Her kindness frustrated him. He had never experienced anything like it before. He thought it must have meant she wanted something from him, and he would die before he gave it to her. 

Heimdall’s fist wrapped around the door handle, and he swallowed as he twisted, pushing the door open. Yn stirred, waking to the sound of her door opening. She rubbed her eyes and watched as the boy slowly walked in, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him before collapsing to the floor, letting his sobs rasp out of him, biting his arm to stay quiet. Without a second thought, Yn’s voice filled the room with soft music, and she quickly got out of bed, her little feet padding over with a blanket in tow, falling to her knees in front of him and pulling his head to rest against hers. 

He hated how his chest already felt lighter. How warm she felt against his cold sweaty head. How she paid no mind to his heaving and trembling, ignoring what he knew she thought was a pathetic display. No matter how many times she would reassure him, he told himself he knew she looked down on him. It felt disgusting. And over everything else, he hated that she made him feel at peace. 

They stayed like that, a crumpled mess on the floor, as Yn’s voice thrummed through Heimdall’s chest and calmed his heartbeat, quieted his sobs, and ceased his trembling. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and when she felt them start to still, she pulled away, the song still chiming from her mind into his. She took the boy's hands, easing him to stand, and brought him to her bed.

“Here, sit down, okay?” She sat on the bed, her back against the wall, and pulled him to the spot next to her. He was too weak to protest, leaning his head back against the wall once he was sat, and just took in the song and silence. No matter how many times he came to the girl’s room, the relief he felt was still overwhelming in its own way. They stayed like that for a while, just like they do every night he came to her room. Sometimes she would read, her voice soothing him back to sleep. Sometimes she talked about what she learned with Mimir, not expecting any answer as Heimdall let her silly little thoughts be the only mumbling he could hear. But for some reason, tonight, as she spoke just above a whisper for him, trailing off about her home and how she would crawl up into the trees to sleep there when she had a nightmare, he responded.

“Why did you crawl into the trees?” He asked, his voice raspy for strangling down his tears. He felt Yn stiffen for a moment, then shift to look at him. He didn’t look back, leaving her to sit in his question for a moment before she smiled, looking away from him again.

“Because I was afraid of getting eaten. Do you know what a drekki is?” Heimdall barely nodded, peering to look at her. 

“Big lizard… lots of teeth…”

 “Well,” she started, “I had this nightmare all the time, of a drekki swallowing me up while I slept, and staying alive in its belly.” 

“That’s disgusting” Heimdall’s nose crinkled, feeling a shiver go down his spine. The girl giggled and nodded in agreement.

“I know. So I would sleep in the trees and tell myself an aching back was better than living in a drekki. Even here, I still get nightmares sometimes, and I want to sleep on the roof!” she smiled sheepishly, and Heimdall felt a small lopsided smirk pull at the side of his cheek despite his best efforts. Perhaps worst of all, he found himself caring less and less. Letting himself continue to ask questions, and even started to answer some of hers.

“Why do you not tell anyone about this?” She spoke softly, turning to look at him.

“Because I’m a god,” He didn’t hesitate at the question, answering as though it were simply a fact of life. “I am the Scion of the Aesir, given the gift of foresight by the All-Father.” a look of pride shined in his pink eyes, but it soon left as he looked at the clock ticking on Yn’s bedside table. “... If I cannot handle this gift,... I am unworthy. I am a failure.” he turned to look at the girl desperately. “ no one can know. You especially. You make me weak.”

“Resting is not weakness.” Heimdall frowned, shaking his head at her.

“I’m meant to be a soldier.”

“You’re a kid, Heimdall. We both are.”

He snorted, turning away from her.

“You don’t get it.” he mumbled, “you don’t have a home to protect, or a family to make proud.” 

There was silence, the music had stopped, and Heimdall heard the rising speed and weight of the girl’s heart pounding against her ribs. He turned to her again, seeing her face contort, her breathing got uneven and she curled a bit into herself. Despite this, however, she turned at Heimdall, a sad smile tugging at her cheeks. 

“That was pretty messed up, Weasel.” her voice cracked slightly, and she turned to look away, stifling a sniffle and whipping a tear from under her eye. Heimdall felt an ache twist in his chest. He felt guilty, without her powers to influence her. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke without thinking. She scoffed.

“No, it’s fine. But so were are both clear, I did have a home, and a family” Her voice grew cold and it made the boy want to shiver like she breathed ice in his face. “I watched it all burn to the ground.” her voice didn’t waver, but her hands shook. “And then I picked up the pieces and made myself something I could live with. Now I’m here. Away from everything I know and no one in Vanaheim will even mourn me. Because everyone who knew me is dead.” her voice rattled like dice at the end, and she stifled a sob, turning away from him. 

 “ I didn’t-” his voice was faster than his thoughts, “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I was just-” he tripped over his tongue, “ I didn’t mean to hurt you, I am sorry.” his own voice was weak and he was unsure why, “ I just-” he breathed out, “I hate it.”

She turned to look at him, tears silently trickling down her face. It was only fair he comforted her in return. That’s what he told himself as he dabbed them away with his sleeve.

“You hate what?” she asked in a cracked whisper, not pulling away from him. He swallowed before admitting for the first time both aloud and to himself:

“I hate the weight of it…I wish I was alone…I wish,” his voice trailed off. And though he didn’t finish his thought, Yn somehow knew what he meant, and sighed, sniffling quietly. He swallowed, looking down at his knees, “I didn’t know that’s what happened…”

“ No, you don’t…” she mumbled, shaking her head. “ because being alone for years is not worth the peace of solitude. I promise it’s not.” she glared at him weakly, “and maybe you should have read a little deeper before trying to use my past as ammunition.” Heimdall frowned, placing a careful hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“I really am sorry…” He spoke, fully aware of his words this time. Yn sniffled and looked at him for a moment before she smiled, weakly.

“I’ll think about accepting it. You sound honest enough.” she teased and he couldn’t stop his smile. “Hey,” she nudged him, “you’re being nice. Without me.” she shrugged, “Sort of.” he chuckled slightly and nodded.

“ I guess I want to be a little bit nicer to you…” he shrugged back, “sort of.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[dilatorywriting]

hello ~ hello ~

Hope you're feeling better! I, personally, have been a bit dead to the world since late April. This past May was kinda odd, honestly. I think everyone I know and know of just. died for the month. Collectively. At once.

I actually wanted to slide in here and pick your brain about your ongoing Monster Mayhem stuff, if you're up for it? Just like a general status overview question, since I feel kinda out of the loop 😭 And also because I know that I tend to like talking about my feelings on my current wips, so I figured maybe you might too? If not, dw!

I'll put these in bullet points since it's kinda easier for me to organize my thoughts that way

Jack: I remember you saying awhile back that you expect Part 2 to be the final part. Is that still holding up, or does it feel like it'll be longer?

Rook: From the pacing, I'm getting the vibe that this one might be another 4 part story? mayhaps? Or maybe Rook isn't like the other girls TM and gets something different.

Vil: I haven't read this one yet, but I'm excited to sit down with it soon! What's the overall length/number of parts you're planning for at the moment?

I'm pretty sure this was asked at some point before, but what's your stance on epilogues? There has been... discussion. about a Leona epilogue before, I recall, but are you considering epilogues for all of them, or only specific characters?

What's like. your vibe, rn? With each of the stories? Like in terms of "I'm really feeling this, so I'm working on it and it might be posted in the nearish future, assuming no disasters" to like "I plan to continue this, but not rn. I've got a different worm chewing on the brain lettuce atm". Ik you literally just answered an ask similar to this, and said Leona part 4 & Vil part 2 are the one's you're focused on, so I guess this is more so geared towards the Jack and Rook ones? Or other stuff you're secretly planning. I have a vague memory of a "forgot your birthday" scenario that was on a poll a few months back

I'm honestly just curious, really. Back from the dead and wanted to catch up

Also I. have a third Monster Mayhem Azul brainrot. It's not a fluffy one. If I can wrangle it into something more coherent, I may send it your way. Not dissimilar to the fashion of throwing a pebble at someone's window to get their attention, but accidentally putting a hole through the glass, and taking off running.

-Reaper

I'm gonna put this all under a little cut thing just because I feel like there's quite a lot! So here we go~

Jack -- It would still only be two parts I think! I only had short plans for that going forward, and it's currently at the bottom of my bucket list so to speak, not for any big reason just because Jack isn't one of my favorites so he falls behind on what I actually want to write.

Rook -- Was a bit more up in the air in terms of what I wanted to do. Had started writing a third part for it, but Rook's in particular felt very like, episodic? If that makes sense? Rather than an overarching cohesive arc. So I could write so much more little random side stories! But aside from a bit I had sort of planned regarding Riddle, there wasn't too much specific I had in mind.

Vil -- Probably one or two more parts to wrap up what I wanted with him; most likely one of the same length as the first. But that one of all of them may get a separate little piece because I am such a sucker for mermaids/sirens soooo that may get some special love

Epilogues -- bit of a mish mash. Really depends how I'm feeling tbh. If I want to write something, I'll word vomit like no one's business, but if I'm not overly invested then I probably won't bother writing one. But again

Vibe Check -- I’m absolutely wiped. Not with these stories, because I do genuinely love them. But like, back to back tough placements on top of illness is a trip. So I’m a bit more tired and less motivated than I normally am, just because most of my brain is chewing on actual school work and case reports and trying to not make myself look like an idiot every time I’m asked for a diagnosis list and go “uuuuhhhhhhhh.” But! I have some brain worms. Right now — big thing I’m working on is the second half of a very long commission. Which is loads of fun but also there’s so much to chew over there, so that takes a lot of my brain. On the side, I was really also writing my Vil Siren Part 2. Because that’s also a lot on the brain and it’s very different Vibe to the commission, so like it’s a good one to go back and forth between depending on what mood I’m in. Jamil is also very On My Brain right now oddly enough. I think because I read a short little Naga piece a while ago and it reminded me how much I love them. So that's on my brain a lot. As for the others, Jack has sorta fallen to the wayside admittedly. Mostly because I adore him as a Bro, but he’d just not usually a character my brain swoons over, so he’s sort of just… existing. I also wasn’t entirely sure where I wanted to go with that other than just “oh wow we fixed it together!” And that’s a factor too. As for other things, the birthday one comes back and forth depending on my mood, but idk if that’ll ever go up. I have lots of it written, but not enough to post or really toss together straight away. If that makes sense

[lggy]

This is probably not very coherent because i’m busy cooking rn and have to get up like every five minutes. My tense definitely shifts but reading this over again would give me a headache.

During the rebellion, Shad gets so sick and tired of Gene failing his missions that he starts getting more brutal with punishments. Like instead of Gene being dragged off for torture, he ends up attacking him and ruins half his face with his claws when he fails to find Zane again. After Laurence and Zenix take a particularly important bastion, he breaks Gene’s arm in a fit of rage at the news and then sends him out demanding he either take it back or die trying. (It’s obvious which option he wants.)

Of course still being newly half-blind and not having much use of one of his arms, Gene is promptly captured by the rebels and Laurence decides to hand him off to Dante out of pity. That way Shad still loses his main general but Gene’s kept away from Shad and Dante gets to settle his grievances with Gene.

Dante’s still very conflicted about his feels towards Gene and instead of executing him elects to have Zoey see to his injuries and puts him in the jail so he can figure out a plan. He doesn’t trust Gene for extremely obvious reasons but he feels bad for the state he’s in and he does still kind of want to know if Gene really is all evil, even if by now he’s come to the conclusion that it’s foolish to hope that he isn’t.

SHIIIT THATS COOL.. i like 'Antagonist lose their bite and gets pitied by caring protagonist' trope

[omg-imagine]

Distraction

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: Johnny distracts V the best way he knows how.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: language, smut (oral + rough sex, choking)

A/N: Please don’t mind the weak plot, this was just an excuse to write p*rn featuring the only character I want to romance in the game but can’t. Also, for the sake of this fic, let’s just say he can touch V and vice versa :)) Hope you enjoy!

V was pissed.

No, she was beyond pissed.

And when V’s beyond pissed, she’s sure to let the whole fucking world know.

“Tone it down, princess,” Johnny cuts in once he’s heard enough of her long-winded rant.

V stops her relentless pacing around the apartment and shoots a menacing glare towards the rocker.

“I warned you not to take that job from the start. Now, look at you, bruised up from head to toe, and cheated out of your eddies.”

“That son of a bitch promised me half the cut,” V recalls bitterly, her chest heaving from the fierce anger spreading all throughout. “I’m gonna make sure Cruz regrets asking me for help.”

The merc stalks off to her stash, muttering low under her breath how she plans on raising hell the next time she crosses paths with him. As V polishes her guns (something she typically does to calm herself), Johnny approaches the small room to the side with the same cocky attitude that would surely piss her off even more.

He can’t help himself at times; he sure does love pushing V’s buttons.

“You done whining or what?”

Rolling her eyes, V turns her head to see Johnny standing there as he takes a drag on his cigarette. Normally, she doesn’t mind him smoking around her, but after an exhausting night where things didn’t work out in her favor, she was quickly reaching her boiling point. “You better clean up all that ash on the floor when you’re done.”

“Since when did you start caring about this shithole of an apartment being neat?” Johnny comments, more so as a tease, and this earns him another scowl. “Don’t waste your energy on Cruz. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Didn’t know you believed in karma,” V adds, narrowing her eyes.

Devilishly, he smirks at her, tossing the cigarette butt to the floor then crushing it with his shoe. “Hon, there’s a lot of things you still don’t know about me.”

“Yeah,” she agrees before brushing past Johnny. “I’m heading out.”

His figure glitches momentarily, reminding V that he was nothing but a ghost residing in her mind, despite how real he feels. Even if she wants to leave this “shithole of an apartment” for some semblance of peace and quiet, she knows Johnny will only follow. He’s tethered to her for what could possibly be the rest of her life.

And yet, no matter how big of an asshole Silverhand was, she’s grown fond of his presence.

Not that she would mention it out loud. Ever.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” V simply states, wondering what the point in Johnny asking her that question when he could easily find it out for himself was.

It’s truly unfair how he can read her thoughts, but she can’t read any of his.

He chuckles low. “Gon’ pay a joy toy to fuck tonight?”

“No, I’m going out for a drive, distract myself from that shitshow earlier. You better leave me alone.”

“Well, I’m a little insulted,” Johnny snorts, feigning offense. “I thought you liked my company.”

“I’m tired of your company. You never shut that mouth of yours.”

Before V could head to the door, she feels a metal hand encircling her wrist, holding her in place. She glances behind her, meeting Johnny’s deep, dark eyes, which hid a multitude of secrets. It’s been a while since she has felt a touch that wasn’t full of malice. Though his palm is cold from the material it’s made out of, a distinct heat spreads through her body—

It was a familiar warmth, one that radiates from V at his mere touch.

And when Johnny’s lips curl into a shit-eating grin, she knows that he has sensed it too.

“Shut my mouth? I think I can do something else much better than that.”

Johnny’s gravelly voice fuels the desire burning deep within V as he pulls her closer, her feet moving at their own accord. “God, I wish you came with an off-switch.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this little game we’ve been playing.”

V doesn’t respond, her pulse quickening with anticipation. She lets out a shuddering moan when Johnny leans in, his hot breath grazing her silky skin before his lips crash against hers, possessively. He floods V’s senses all at once as he hungrily kisses her, letting him take the reins.

It would be a lie for V to say she’s never pictured a moment like this. A moment where she finally succumbs to Johnny’s charm and allows him to lay claim on her. It’s always been a constant dance between the two, a chemistry disguised as indifference, a craving left unspoken. Amidst the degrading insults and the snarky attitudes, deep down, they have always wanted the same thing—

To fuck each other’s brains out.

“Still tired of my company, V?”

“Just shut the fuck up for once and take off your pants.”

The grin on his face hasn’t disappeared. It only grows broader. “Ask, and you shall receive.”

Johnny roughly grabs V at the waist, his fingers curling underneath the hem of her shirt as he pushes her towards the bed. His mouth latches onto her neck, no doubt marking her for all of Night City to see.

They fell onto the mattress without finesse, similar to how V kisses Johnny feverishly, all tongue and teeth. Void of tenderness and only driven by the urgency of lust. She was too distracted by her want to care for the taste of tobacco from his last smoke. The hands traveling every inch of V’s frame lights up a fire in her, bringing a high that no drug on the black market could ever do.

Surprisingly, Johnny allows her to take the lead for a bit when she straddles him, his hardening cock pressing up against her aching cunt. She gages his reaction as she grinds on his clothed erection, a wicked smile forming to the sight of him being teased.

“You like that, huh? Fuck, I can’t wait to have you inside of me.” She feels herself growing wetter and wetter, losing patience just as swiftly as the man under her.

Without warning, Johnny flips them both over, the length of his body now pressed against hers from above. He wastes no time peeling V’s shirt and bra off, pausing for the briefest of seconds to admire her bare breasts. His cybernetic hand squeezes one soft mound as his lips descend on the other. She moans, and they were pure music to his ears, sounds that were so beautiful he could write endless songs about them.

“J-Johnny,” V stutters out his name, unable to contain herself anymore. She doesn’t remember the last time someone has quickly reduced her into a mess, and desperately she wanted, needed more.

The way his name trembles from her mouth drives Johnny into a frenzy, simpering at the fact he really hasn’t done much yet, but it was enough to leave V quivering. She looks too sinful beneath Johnny, too delectable. He’s well-aware of how long she’s gone without sex, and he’s now bent on ending that sad streak of hers.

Hastily, Johnny removes V’s pants and underwear in one quick go, his gaze devouring her beauty like a starved man staring at his meal. “Wow, you’re fucking drenched down there.”

“Fuck,” she gasps, one hand reaching forward to grip at his lengthy locks as soon as he delves in to taste her dripping nectar for the first time.

“You enjoying yourself there, baby?” Johnny’s inquiry needs no response. He could already tell she is solely by the way her eyes flutter shut, her head lolling to the side.

One lick. Two licks. Three. He surely knew how to work that deft tongue of his.

Johnny’s cock continues to throb in the confines of his trousers as his lips encircle V’s swollen bud, but he doesn’t end there. She wants more, and he’s willing to give her just that.

More.

V squirms when two chrome fingers enter her heat, stretching out her walls to prepare her for the serious pounding coming up. She’s lost in the sensations, unable to form a coherent thought or word. Johnny’s tempo was slow at first; tantalizing, nearly torturous. But once he starts moving faster, pumping even harder and reaching that sweet, sweet spot of hers, she begins to pant wildly as she fucks herself on his hand to get more friction.

“Holy shit, you’re a goddess,” he croaks after pulling back to study the needy woman looking back at him through half-lidded eyes. V is tight around his fingers, and he could only imagine how it would be like with his cock buried deep inside her instead.

Each rough stroke of Johnny’s digits against her wet walls brought V closer and closer to the brink of orgasm, her moans increasing in both volume and frequency. He urges her to let go, whispering into her ear how he wants to see and feel her coming. The gruffness in his tone turned her on even more, and V soon finds herself falling over the precipice, flushing hot with euphoria as Johnny watches, awestruck.

Satisfied, he beams at his work, which was only half of what he intends to do this evening. Being gracious, Johnny gives V an ample minute to recover, using the downtime to wipe the glistening wetness coating his beard before tasting the juices he’s collected.

Delicious, he thinks. She tastes as good as she looks.

V eventually comes back to her senses, propping herself up on her elbows as she gazes at Johnny with an almost dazed expression. “Perhaps the rumors are actually true.”

“Which one?” Silverhand asks, ridding himself of his clothes at the foot of her bed.

V pauses prior to answering, the sound of metal clinking filling the air as he unbuckles his belt, stripping off his leather pants afterwards.

“That you’re the best pussy eater in town,” she then reveals, glancing up briefly to see the smug look on his face before her gaze falls to his groin again.

Of course, Johnny chooses to go commando, and no, she wasn’t shocked at all.  

Silently, she marvels at the dick nestled in a thick bush of dark hair. Girthy and long with a slight curve upwards, the thought of it being inside her, barely fitting, made her mouth water. He wasn’t lying when he casually mentioned having an impressive cock.

It definitely did not disappoint.

“Oh sweetheart, that was nothing,” Johnny declares before climbing back on top of V, settling in between her legs. “The main act is just beginning.”

She doesn’t wait for Johnny to kiss her. In an instant, V’s lips were on his, her tongue pushing into his mouth, faintly tasting herself at the same time. Meanwhile, Johnny grips the base of his leaking cock, rubbing its engorged head against her slick folds that had her breathing heavily. V cants her hips impatiently, and through their kiss, he chuckles at her eagerness.

“So desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” Johnny husks mockingly. “How badly do you want me, slut? I wanna hear you say it.”

A moan escapes her throat at his words as he rubs his tip against her clit. V wants him so, so bad that she’s begging incessantly, something she never does in any of her past fucks. Usually, she was in complete control, never the one to relinquish her power.

Maybe that was the reason why V was utterly drunk with pleasure from this steamy session with Johnny. It’s good not to be in control for once.

“Shit, Johnny. Please, just fuck me already. Fill me up,” V pleads, now helpless at this point. She has to come again, this time around his cock. She repeats her keening over and over again, hoping that it was enough to feed into Johnny’s ego and finally show her mercy.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Tugging at his cock, Johnny forces V’s legs to spread wider as she waits for him, mesmerized. Her pussy was soaked from his ministrations, but when he starts pushing into V, the burning stretch of her walls trying to accommodate his thick length leaves her in tears.

Those tears, however, weren’t entirely from the pain. V was also shedding tears because of how full Johnny makes her feel.

“Fucking hell, V,” he groans as she clamps down on him. “You’re so fucking tight. Damn, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“We were too busy pretending to hate each other,” V replies, digging her nails into Johnny’s back when he begins to move.

His thrusts are slow but rough— as if he’s getting accustomed to the wondrous feeling of being inside of V. It doesn’t last long, though. Johnny has always been a hard and fast kind of guy, the one that does two or three more rounds before passing out. He’s bragged about his amazing stamina as well, and despite V believing she could match it, she probably won’t be able to tonight.

Not when he’s fucking her into the mattress like this for their very first time together.

Johnny’s brutal pace doesn’t falter. He pounds into V harder, faster, rougher; as if his life depends on it, the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh bouncing off every corner of the room. His slick pre-come mixes with her honeyed essence, allowing him to seamlessly reach the depths of her center. Sweat drips down the side of his face as he maneuvers his mechanical hand to wrap around V’s delicate neck, adding pressure when she doesn’t resist.

“That’s it, baby,” Johnny growls next to her ear, rolling his hips as he squeezes her throat tighter. “You’re making me feel so good. I’ve always known you were a dirty whore.”

V’s gasping and thrashing, but she doesn’t want him to stop. She loves the rush of blood through her head far too much, especially with Johnny slamming harshly into her. It gives her a thrill she has never experienced with anyone else. Pretty sure he’s ruining her for others.

But whether this was part of his intentions or not, V doesn’t know. Nor she cares enough to figure it out.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me, V. Look at you, taking all of my cock like the fucking slut you are. You’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you? You practically dream about me every night, and don’t you deny it.”

She doesn’t. Johnny was right, though it doesn’t really matter at this very second. His hold on V loosens for her to speak, and she inhales as much air her lungs could possibly take. She could feel it again, the ultimate high she’s been chasing once more. Johnny’s shaft dragging against her pulsing walls brings her even closer to it, building up the pleasure rising in the pit of her stomach.

“I-I’m close,” V warns, the pressure inside her threatening to break free. “Shit, Johnny, I’m gonna come soon.”

Johnny’s hips jerked harder, causing V to cry out. “Yeah? You’re gonna come? Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure you come on my cock.”

Halting, he drapes her left leg over his shoulder, allowing him to slide in deeper than he has before. Johnny then pushes his metallic thumb into V’s mouth, and without prompt, she swirls her tongue around it, coating it with her saliva. Not missing a beat, his movement resumes, all bruising and all punishing. He brings his wetted finger on her sensitive pearl, stroking it as if he’s playing his guitar on stage.

The change in angle proves to be the final straw for V, who’s litany of high-pitch moans spurs Johnny to fuck her even more forcefully. Again and again, she takes everything he gives her, and in turn, she encourages him to follow her into the abyss. Her pussy caresses his cock with every frantic push and pull, and she notices how he’s gradually picking up speed, losing his rhythm in the process.

“Your cunt belongs to mine now,” Johnny mutters, gritting his teeth, and it’s becoming clear to V that he’s holding back just for her. “Come on, V. Let go, let go for me.”

Lust-blown eyes lock with V’s own, wordlessly urging her one last time to come undone. Several sharp thrusts later, she finds herself clenching around Johnny’s cock, her orgasm shooting through her like a rain of bullets. Unabashedly, V shouts as her vision whitens, intense waves of ecstasy washing over her shaking body. She’s too absorbed in bliss to realize right away that Johnny was still in her, dick hard and ready for a similar release.

Once she finds her bearings, V grinds her hips against Johnny’s, and immediately, his nails dig into her as he begins to move inside her yet again.

“Don’t stop, Johnny,” she purrs, watching him fuck her with both fast and long strokes. “I want you to cum deep inside me, baby. Shit, I want it so badly. Please, give it to me. Please…”

With a strained moan, Johnny suddenly climaxes, snarling as he shoots searing ropes of his thick, creamy cum into V, painting her inner walls with white. His features contort with pleasure as he throws his head back, his breathing shallow and ragged. When his heart rate returns somewhat back to normal, he slowly pulls his softening cock out, smirking at the sight of his load dripping out of her.

Afterwards, he flops down beside V with a huff, joining her as she stares blankly up at the ceiling. Johnny clears his throat as he shifts closer to V, who instinctively rests her head on his chest. His cyber arm curls around her, and she sighs deeply, seemingly content.

“How about that for a fucking distraction?” He says, recalling how the two of them got here in the place. “Don’t even have to go on a ride to clear your mind. Feel free to ride me instead.”

V laughs at his jest. “It was a great fuck, the best one I’ve ever had if I’m honest. But I’m still going after Cruz.”

Johnny hums in response, seeing V’s weary eyes growing heavier. “Fine, but just to let you know, what happened between us isn’t a one-time thing.”

“Fuck, I hope not. You’re stuck with me till the end of the world, buddy.”

“It’s a good thing you have an amazing pussy then.”

V smacks him lightly as exhaustion begins to take over. Sure, she was still pissed she didn’t get her eddies, but at least now she knows the prick named Johnny Silverhand was surprisingly a cuddler.

And that piece of information was worth gold.

Permanent Tags:   @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein​ @unaspiringwritings​ @planetkt​ @breakthenight​ @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

[mittensmorgul]

I might be missing something obvious but why did Lucifer not need Nick's consent to use his body as a vessel?

I assume you mean when Crowley shoved him back into Nick's body in 12.08? Using a modified version of Rowena's "send him directly to the cage" spell and the banishing egg... heck what was that thing called... THE HYPERBOLIC PULSE GENERATOR, right.

>.>

Honestly, for me? The only part of that whole situation was that Nick was apparently STILL IN THERE TOO.

In 12.13, Crowley describes to Lucifer how he crammed him back in Nick's vessel. And you know what, I'm not putting a bunch of Eugenie villain monologue dialogue here, because I am just too tired lol. If you want to read start here:

http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/12.13_Family_Feud_(transcript)

from the first FLASHBACK scene (just search that word on that page, it takes you right there)

Davy TRIES to make it make sense in 12.15, explaining how Nick's body was effectively made into the cage:

CROWLEY: That chain around your neck? Was nothing. A stylish accessory. This vessel… That's your true prison. It's been warded with runes and spellwork from the Cage, carved into every molecule. In there? I own you. [ Sighs ] I'm just getting started. So… I'm gonna put you back in your hole, and then I'm gonna go find your spawn, and I'm gonna rip him apart while you watch. And then? I'm still just getting started. [Crowley punches Lucifer in the face]

I remember being like YES CROWLEY DOES HAVE A PLAN, THIS WILL ALL MAKE SENSE EVENTUALLY. Like... why would he of ALL people not want to shove Lucifer into the cage and lock it back up? It just made NO SENSE.

And all Davy's hard work at laying down a coherent explanation for HOW he was crammed in there falls apart in the next bucklemming episode with all the wtf "polarity reversal" nonsense. And Lucifer taking back control of his vessel and having that same sort of power over Crowley.

WHY. IT WAS ALL SO STUPID.

Things Crowley could've done after 12.17 but for some reason did not:

-recruit the winchesters for help, confessing what he did with lucifer -rebuilt the Lance of Michael (Davy in 12.12 again trying to give us a weapon that could stop Lucifer... and Crowley breaking it to save Cas... he and Cas had a mutual interest in killing Lucifer at this point...) -asked for Rowena's help sending Lucifer back to the actual cage... or HONESTLY if Crowley understood her spell enough to pervert its course to send Luci to Nick's body, he should've been able to do this one himself... >.>

Probably half a dozen other things that would've made more sense... but no...

The show wanted Lucifer/Nick more than it wanted Crowley, which... ugh...

Which brings us to the end of s13, and Lucifer's demise. I assumed that would actually be the last we'd see of him. *ugly laughing*

But no, apparently whatever magic Crowley had used to forge the Nick Vessel for Crowley required Nick's soul actually being in there? Which as you point out with your question is... nonsensical...

The phrase "discarded vessel" Crowley uses in his first convo with re-envesseled Lucifer implies "empty," i.e. that Nick was no longer in there. Knowing what we do of Nick, and the assumption that he was dead after 5.22, the logical conclusion was that he went to Hell and Crowley just shoved him in the "cage vessel" with Lucifer, or otherwise used his soul in the reconstruction of that vessel into something equivalent to the Cage. I think they were hoping there was enough flimflam in there for us to just handwave that one and not think too hard about it.

Which is honestly how I approach all Eugenie plot points. The most unfortunate thing is how it clearly affects the rest of canon, with Lucifer and then Nick overstaying their plot welcome by a decade. Though I do appreciate the other writers doing their best to point out how Lucifer's entire plot out beyond s11 revolved around how he felt he'd been rendered irrelevant to the story, and always fighting to center himself in the narrative as if anyone cared about him at all. Even Chuck just... dismissed him, basically. So... at least we have that shred of satisfaction?

But yeah, it's... it's exhausting, and this is the best explainer I've been able to come up with for any of it. I should probably have some more coffee and read this over to make sure I didn't miss anything big, but I just don't want to devote any more brain power to thinking about Nick rn... maybe later. :'D

[frogtanii]

It’s wind anon!! Just very very soft rn. Got 5 hours of sleep and generally have been tired so expect less coherency than most of my other asks.

This might just be an entire thing of Akaashi brainrot. School stress has killed off any brain cells. I stare up at my ceiling and my head be empty.

Anyway—aaaaa it was even better than I imagined. Reactions! Akaashi being worried and anxious waaaa—I too be the anxious type. For me, it’s really hard for me to start doing things because I worry and think about them too much. It’s really easy to get yourself trapped in a cycle. I really liked how we saw Akaashi’s POV to this.

His thoughts towards Bokuto...I empathize a lot! Him being upset at their distanced relationship while remembering something they did together is just top tier content. However, I think Akaashi and I are a bit different. I’m the clingy type when it comes to people I really really like. Akaashi is...hm...respectful? He puts value in being polite, and with that comes a bit of distance and detachment. Not to say he can’t love people as much as anyone else—just that he would be more demure and quiet with his affection.

Anyway! Let’s continue. Akaashi signing the contract because of Bokuto, I am— awestruck. I simply cannot. I will gift Akaashi an owl plushie for when he’s anxious and wants to squeeze something soft. Call wind anon weak if one so wishes, this automatically ‘redeemed’ him in my eyes.

His care, selflessness, and adoration :0! Wind anon practically buzzing with beaming smiles.

And yes! The therapist talking about how the environment would/might be bad for him—though actually, it’s not that high energy? Or maybe it gets hogged energy when they are able to bounce off each other but so far there seem to be a significant amount of introverts. I’d imagine it would be more isolating if/considering they might not have the same passion of books as Akaashi does. Though it’s more helpful to be in familiar places when it comes to anxiety.

Meiko...I will figure out a way to launch a textbook at her face. I cannot believe the audacity. Just because he isn’t as “showy” as he others doesn’t mean he is boring. He’s perfectly fine the way he is and if it was me, I would be willing to listen to him talk about books anytime! So what if you personally find a book boring; I would definitely be enraptured by his passion when talking about it.

Next, the hug!!! Don’t have much to say besides I wish I could do that with my friends irl. If only they could’ve continued on forever...Bokuto being hurt when Akaashi stopped :0! I hope that they hug lots when it’s just themselves then, we wish for everyone of them to be happy and fulfilled so yes.

I’m legit falling asleep (so sorry) so I might have to end it here.

Wind anon would 10/10 lean on Akaashi and listen to him read-aloud, chances are him reading aloud helps with his anxiety. I can just imagine him reading until we fall asleep www. Us cuddled with a blanket over our graceless tangled limbs.

Wind anon will try to finish this act after she finally gets some sleep... but she does love fr0ggy very very much! Just also...needs the sleep...to function.

Do take care!!

hi wind nonnie!!!! i hope u get some sleep babes!!!! && now, after reading all of this hehe, i think i ship u and akaashi — i feel like u would be a very wholesome duo so kith kith <3<3 i love u too & i hope ur sleep is v sweet n sound muah <3

[reki-of-the-valley]

Vent post feel free to ignore me. Just gotta exteriorize a bit

But like...... I'm tired. I'm just so tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Everything feels heavy. And I know it's just an episode, that I'll feel okay in not too long, or maybe it will take some time, maybe I'll be tired for months, but rn? Heavy. And you can feel it in my writing. You can feel how heavy I feel. I never hide how I feel, I put that on display rather plainly because it helps me take steps forwards. Writing is an outlet for me. But it's also a mask. A mask to all my feelings. One step forward is one step back.

Things are rough rn. And I know I'm fortunate in life. I'm in uni, I'm studying something I should love, but it's just... Heavy. It's the only word I have today. It's the only word that feels adequate. A weight I want to get rid of but that's stuck on me.

What do I mean should love? Easy: I love literature. Despite what I say about being illiterate, I do genuinely love reading. I love finding pretty phases and words. I love feeling emotions that aren't mine but that are nonetheless real. I love being touched by an idea. I love reading because I hope, i sincerely hope that what I write can make someone else love reading. And you know when Langa asks Reki if he can be the only one who doesn't know how to ollie and Reki says sure but you won't really get anywhere if you don't learn? Yeah. I tried to do that but with reading. Be the only writer who doesn't read. I quickly learned that it doesn't work like that and i quickly learned that I do love literature. So I decided to major in it. Because I'm supposed to love it.

But studying something you love is not always.... It's heavy sometimes. It's heavy and mixed with my heavy anxiety... It's not a match made in heaven.

I am an extremely anxious person. I don't think I've ever hidden that about myself. I've always been rather honest about my anxiety and how I can get these fits of anxiety very suddenly and I can spiral into a panic very easily. It's something I know I have to deal with, that I've learned to manage even if it is hard to get out of my head sometimes. Hell, just posting fics causes a great deal of anxiety because of that fear of "what if it's terrible." Pleasure and anxiety somehow go hand in hand for me and it's weird. Weird but in the end, my panic does vanish and the happiness I find in sharing my stories comes out on top.

But anxiety is something exhausting. It's exhausting when there is no counter to it. So while I feel anxious every time I post to ao3, the feeling of happiness associated to telling stories and sharing them with all of you far outweighs the panic I feel, the spiralling, the what ifs. There's that counter, anxiety vs pleasure. For school... There is no counter. There's nothing to balance out the fear, the panic, the spiralling. And that's when I know it gets out of hand.

It's been awhile since I've felt this bad. It's been precisely 5 months since I've felt this heavy. I've had 5 months with minor panics, minor attacks, but outweighed by so many pleasing moments that they didn't mean anything to me. I didn't let them hurt me. Because I was doing something that genuinely felt amazing, like i was flying. Especially in the past 2 months.

Now I don't want to be overly sappy, but the Sk8 fandom has done wonders for me. I feel far more confident, I'm passionate about the boys, I have nearly 150 of you guys following me, there's fanart done about my shitposts and fics (I love you so much you don't understand how much those mean to me), and my writing has touched quite a bit of people. And sometimes it makes me cry because I've never had this much attention on me. And maybe it doesn't seem like much, but to me, it means the world. You guys mean the world to me. (I remember going through stories on insta the other day and seeing my fics being recced by an artist that I really look up to. I sobbed. Or sometimes I get notifs about people bookmarking my fics and I recognize the names and I'm just there like ??? How did this happen???)

So I had months of feeling uplifted, but now? Yeah, all of this still makes me feel great, but real life? Not so much. Real life sometimes I just want to quit it. Not in a death way, not anymore, but in a "I don't want to do anything anymore" way. Because it feels heavy. Feeling sick every time I have to get up, it feels heavy. Feeling nauseous as hold a novel, it's heavy. Feeling like shit, that choked up horrid feeling of illness that never really comes every time I open my computer, it's heavy. Anxiety is heavy. Fear of not preforming properly, of stumbling in my act of the perfect scholar, it's heavy. And today felt like my breaking point. Today was the worst I've felt in a long time. Today, anxiety induced illness pushed me to the point where I felt like I was going to pass out.

I don't remember what my point was when I started writing this 20 minutes ago. Maybe it was just to vent. Maybe it was a no filter moment, put all my thoughts down and hopefully feel better. Maybe it was just a moment of heaviness that felt too unbearable for me to keep it to myself, hide it within me like I've been routinely doing for the past 20 years (ok, fine, probably more like 8 years but whatever. I don't know when the anxiety really started to come up. I wan to say when I started high school and felt the need to top everyone. Compensate for something I was missing. Praise? Was that what I wanted? Was praise all I craved? Validation? Are those the things I seek when I out myself out there? I should know what I want but I'm ignorant to my own desires.) There was a reason for me to start this, but the reason I do not remember. Maybe I've just been too engulfed in my own misery. Maybe this moment will pass, that I'll move on to a new moment, one where I don't feel like utter shit. Maybe this is a way of trying to move forward. Maybe this is just the consequence of me writing for 12 hours about how confessions allow the confessor to breathe, rid themselves of their shame and begin life again. Maybe that's what I want. Maybe I just want to get rid of the shame I feel about my anxiety.

I don't know of this is coherent. I broke down crying halfway through it

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 1

EDIT (6/10/2020): I know this is unprofessional as hell, but I added more because the ending didn’t sit right with me. Was too excited too hurry up and post and forgot there was a reason I plotted things out in a certain way. Hope you all can forgive me.

Finally! Chapter 1! I hope you guys enjoy it. I loved reading your comments and every kudos made me more excited to keep writing. Also, I apologize for the weird spacing throughout the post. I had to copy it from scrivener to AO3 to here and it just made things messy, but it’s 1AM rn and I’m tired.

Read on AO3 or Fanfiction.net! 

click here for: Prologue |

Emily shifted in her seat, head rebelling after spending a week in the dim light of candles which cast everything in an orange hue and made the shadows dance on the walls. Even her large circular glasses did nothing to ease her sight… it was a wonder she wasn’t already legally blind. Either way, she had the mother of all headaches. 

 The constant fires always left E uncomfortably hot and the layers upon layers they were forced to dress didn’t help. First thing the wardens did when they arrived was strip her down and burn every shred of fabric… her favorite shirt nothing but ash. Clothing standards were non-negotiable. Evening wear on the left side of the armoire. Don’t mistake it for your daily clothes or you won’t receive dinner. Cocktails before-hand at 6:30 sharp. Lucky for Emily, she was always early for everything and had yet to find out what the punishment was for that particular faux-pas. She wished nothing but to grab the t-shirt and shorts she had arrived in just to find some relief.

  “Be careful what you wish for,”  Her mother had always told her. 

 At first, she had been relieved when the others arrived. Now she had to wonder if she would have been better off on her own… the supplies she had counted in storage would certainly have lasted longer. Small little cubes with all the nutrients they needed. They probably would have been better with non-perishables, but she doubted the wardens would risk a venture outside to hunt for some… not like they would be able to eat it, anyway.

 Another stabbing pain pulsed at her temples, hands going to smooth it out as she listened to the chattering around her that sounded more like white noise than coherent sentences. Waiting out the apocalypse in solidarity would have driven her insane, humans being the social creatures they were. However, she doubted any of them would survive the end of the world with their sanity intact. 

 Not that one could guess it was the end of the world by the conversations of her fellow residents, most of them rich and most of the snobby. Gallant and Coco were thick as thieves… their personalities almost comically matching that of Regina George from Mean Girls. Evie, Gallant’s washed-up film star of a grandmother was almost repulsively republican — so homophobic and racist that most of the residents hoped she’d have a heart attack and die. The Stevens, a mother and son pair along with the son’s boyfriend, were tolerable. Andre liked to throw shade, but he was balanced by his witty counterpart, Stu. 

 She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she thought of their earlier conversation.

   “It’s like Satan’s Spotify playlist,” Stu had joked in response to Gallants endless complaining, making Andre nearly choke on the water he had been drinking. 

  “For the amount of times I’ve been told I’m in league with the devil, I’d have expected him to have better taste.” Emily had joked in return. 

Stu laughed and Andre only sighed, “don’t even get me started on the clothes.”

  “Well at least you don’t have to wear a corset,” Coco had snipped, hand going up to pat at her hair in an attempt to keep it in place.

  Emily tugged at her own, something poking her in her stomach, “These are not historically accurate.”

  “Let me guess,” Stu said, gesturing to her glasses, “history major?”

  “Insomniac.”

  The pounding returned to her head and she leaned on the table, pressing at her temples with the hope of some relief. Maybe she could ask a Grey to get her some ice… she doubted Venable had a stash of ibuprofen in the reserves. 

 It had been 14 days since they had gotten here. 3 of which she had spent on her own, wandering the halls with a candelabra like a damsel from a Victorian novel. She tugged at the high collar of her shirt. Whoever designed this hole in the ground was determined to have them living in a corset-laced wet dream. 

 “Are you okay?” The girl beside her asked, a gentle hand placed on Emily’s arm. She had just arrived at the outpost, 2 weeks after the bombs dropped, with a boy around the same age. They had barely been able to introduce themselves before Venable cut in, ringing a bell obnoxiously to usher them to dinner. 

 The few words the pair had said still haunted her. 

   “It’s all gone,” The brown-haired boy had told them at Gallant’s insistence, lips pressed into a thin line as he tried not the let the emotions that came with those words to overwhelm him.

  “Everything,” The girl echoed, voice hollow.

  Gallant fell back as if he had been shot, panic threatening to overtake his lungs after it was done squeezing the life out of his heart.

  “What…” Emily had stuttered out, trying to calm herself, “What did it look like?”

  Andre’s voice had cracked and spat out like venom, “who cares about what it looks like?”

  Stu had placed a hand on his lover's shoulder. His brows were furrowed and there was a slight shake that came over his body. Andre curled into him, Stu wrapping his arms around him as if he could somehow shield the man from the world. 

  Her anxiety spread through her like a wildfire, the attempted facade of strength cracking, “It matters because it could tell us how fucked we are!” 

  “We’re well past fucked!” Coco had snapped.

  The girl with ebony hair focused on Emily, eyes welling with emotion she all too well understood. 

  “No sun…” She said, forcing the words from her mouth, “just green… smog.”

  “Does that mean anything to you?” Stu had asked her, eyes betraying his own fears.

  “Hiroshima happened in the… 50s? Chernobyl happened in the 80s,” Emily began to say, too in her thoughts to notice the side-eyed stares of her companions, “and that was still radioactive before it was radioactive… again.”

  The comment seemed to stir something in the new girl’s head, “I heard about that… people were able to take trips last year… once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Coco scoffed, “so is dying.”

  “Wait, so like… this can go away?” Gallant asked.

  The girl looked to Emily, “People were living on Hiroshima before all this.”

  “Possibly,” Emily mused, “Then again, we’d have to multiply that incident by… well, a lot.”

  “We’d have to find out where and how many bombs were dropped.” The girl added, “as well as the area affected by it.”

  Coco frowned, still more focused on her hair than the literal end of the world, “could you stop talking like that? You’re seriously freaking me out.”

  “We’re all freaking out,” Dinah snipped.

  “Just tired,” Emily reassured the girl, leaning back in her chair. She realized she had yet to ask the girl her name, but the Grey’s entered with their meal before she could — one Grey for each purple at the table. The large black plates were almost amusingly large in comparison to the singular small cube that sat at its center. 

 A full table-set was spread out before them, silver soup spoons, teaspoons, knives, and a salad fork mocking them every day. They stood out against the dark wood and reminded them that they were doomed to a life of tasteless jello for the rest of their lives. Emily finally understood how her pets felt, fed the same food day in and day out… at least she had bothered to change up the flavor. Her body rebelled against her after the third day, gagging whenever she brought the cube anywhere near her mouth. A few days of starvation quickly rectified the situation and greatly amused her jailer who was all too happy to put the food back from whence it came.

 Venable chose the seating arrangements, naturally. Emily was sat beside the two new arrivals, positioned as far from the woman as possible. It was an arrangement neither of them minded. Emily didn’t hold her tongue in moments such as these and she didn’t like placing her wellbeing in the hands of another. Venable expected complete and total control over her residents, enforcing strict standards of order that were almost as tight as her hair, tightly pulled together in a double french twist at the back of her head. Emily was the stray hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter what she did. 

 The new arrivals stared at their plates as the Greys placed the cubes before them, sending each other confused glances and waiting to see what the rest of them did. It hardly looked appetizing, brown and having a texture reminiscent of a health-nut’s chia-seed protein bar.

Emily poked at her own food for good measure, feeling her throat clench at the mere thought of eating again. It didn’t listen no matter how many times she tried to reason with it. You’d think the body would behave and finally realize that this was as good as things would get.

 Gallant turned towards the girl to his left, “Don’t be too disappointed.”

 “Darling,” Evie sighed from the other side of the table, spreading a napkin across her lap, “You don’t know what disappointment is until you’ve slept with Yul Brynner.”

 The mere thought of the old woman having sex was enough to make Emily’s lips curl in disgust… maybe she didn’t need to eat after all. For once Dinah was amused by the old crone, chuckling as she cut apart her cube like it was a five-course meal instead of the science project of Elon Musk. 

 “I want to die,” She could hear Gallant mutter a few seats over, head in his hands as he contemplated his decision to bring his nana along on whatever this adventure was. 

 Dinah was quick to explain the cubes to the new pair, “The cube on your plate contains every vitamin our body needs…”

 Across from Emily, Coco ungracefully shoved the entire cube into her mouth with one fell swoop, cheeks puffing out. Dinah continued to speak, pretending to have not seen Coco, words coming out rushed, “…or so they tell us.”

 “Whether or not it aids in our caloric intake is up in the air,” Emily added, following the woman’s lead and gently cutting into the cube. 

 “The fewer calories the better!” Evie proclaimed from down the table, waving her fork in the air to accentuate her statement.

 “Until you become a skeleton.”

 Emily had learned from Dinah’s example to take small bites, savor it. She hoped it would fool her body into thinking it was eating more. Either way, her stomach still growled and she was grateful to her handler for taking her to Chick-Fil-A on their way to the Outpost. The mere thought of that last meal made her mouth water.

 Coco’s silverware clattered onto her plate as she closed her eyes and whined, “I’m still hungry… I am so tired of the hunger.”

 A fist to the table made Emily jump, dropping her own silverware in turn. The girl next to her looked to the other residents as Coco stood up abruptly, letting her chair screech against the floor as it was thrown back. She looked to Emily and all she could do was offer a half-hearted shrug that said,  “same shit as usual.”

 … God, she missed John Mulaney. 

 “Fuck! This! Bullshit!” Coco continued, “With all the thought that went into this they don’t have a  single  bag of  Pirate’s Booty  in the pantry?”

 Evie sat back as if watching a soap opera while the rest of the residents braced themselves for another tantrum. Coco raved on, unaware of the sudden looming figures coming up behind her, “For a hundred  million   dollars a ticket, I expect goddamn Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen cooking us   real  food!”

 Then she stopped, a tap of a cane on the floor signaling the arrival of Venable, Miss Mead on her heels like an obedient dog. They braced themselves for another, self riotous lecture on appreciating what they had as if none of them mourned for what was. Slowly, head bowed and aware of her impending doom, Coco turned. 

 The slap rang in everyone’s ears, causing a collective gasp to fill the room. The brown-haired boy beside Coco caught her as she fell back, her hand going instantly to her cheek. As she stood once more she took it away and examined it. Emily could see the barest hint of blood on the blonde’s fingers. A growl threatened to rise in her throat and her lips curled in a disgusted snarl.

 It was hard to keep calm as she addressed the woman donned in black, “we’re all adults here. We can use our words… I hope. At least  some  of us have mastered that much.”

 Venable turned to her. The black-haired girl beside her shifted uncomfortably. One could cut the tension between the two women with a knife. 

 Finally, Venable pulled her eyes away and turned her focus to the spoiled girl before her, her hand resting back on the cane she always carried, “Let me be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding. We have enough nutrition to last for the next   18 months  and if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.”

 Slowly, Coco sat. Shaking hands pulled away from her cheek as she reached for the chair. She was so scared that her movements were stiff. Yes, she had been yelled at before. God knows she was a stubborn woman with a temper, but no one had ever slapped her before.

 Venable retreated into the only exit of the room, slithering back into the shadows. Venable’s tone bordered on the overly-theatric, playing the part of a woman burdened by knowledge she dare not speak lest it disrupts the peace. 

 “You could have told us that from the very beginning.” Emily blurted out.

 The woman didn’t even bother to look at her as her lips curled into a mocking smile. When she finally turned to Emily, her tone was thick with condescension, “and cause  unnecessary  panic?”

 “You know what they say about communication and relationships.” 

 “ Situation ?” Gallant asked, waving a hand to get their attention, “What is our   situation ?”

 Miss Mead looked to her boss whose face glimmered with uncertainty and surprise, but only for a moment. Venable was debating whether or not to tell the truth or keep them in the constant state of unknowing, easy to control. If she were still in college, Emily could have written an essay on the ways Venable reminded her of the worst sort of people in their history books. 

 “We had a perimeter alert this morning,” She finally told them, less than pleased with the fact the words were leaving her mouth at all, “Something penetrated the grounds. It was a carrier pigeon delivering a message from our benefactors.”

 Coco gasped, “Wait! A pigeon! Can we eat it?”

 Emily sighed and leaned on the table, resisting the urge to hand her head in her hands. This place was going to be migraine city the moment she tapered off her medication.

 Miss Mead’s tone echoed her feelings, brows scrunching at the pure idiocy of the question.

 “It was  contaminated   by the   fallout .”

 Her response didn’t phase Evie, who made it abundantly clear she had never made a meal for herself in her entire life, “Can we  boil  it?”

 Venable reached into her pockets and pulled out a small sliver of paper and began to read, “There are no more governments. Only rotting mounds of corpses, too many to bury.”

 Emily’s hands fell to her lap and curled into fists until she could feel her fingernails embed themselves into the flesh of her palms. All she could hear were the voice-mails, each and every last plead for life. She could still hear her brother’s voice, cracking in a way she hadn’t heard since their grandmother’s funeral. It was etched into her brain to the last breath. To his last breath, he took his role as an older sibling seriously, trying to soothe her fears instead of his own.

   “I don’t want to die. God, I don’t want to—”

  Venable continued reading, “Starving people kill for a piece of bread.”

   “I love you… I… You were… are a good sister.”

  “Three outposts have been overrun.” Venable’s voice droned on, voice cracking ever slightly as she reached the end of the letter, “We are the last vestiges of civilized life on the planet.”

   “I… I know you would have made a difference… I wish I could have seen the life you would have created.”

  Venable looked to them all as she read the last line, “be vigilant.”

 Emily was pulled from her thoughts by a squeeze to her hand, instinctively pulling it back until she realized a hand covering her own. When Emily met the ebony-haired girl’s gaze she offered a reassuring smile, Emily nodded in a small message of thanks before brushing away the single tear which had begun to roll down her cheeks. 

 “Everything we know is gone,” Mead summarized, eyes blank. It was nice to see that even the Warden and Venable felt fear. Made them feel… human.

 “In  two     weeks ?”, Andre shook his head, staring blankly at his hands, “That’s all it took?”

 In a rare show of empathy, Gallant reached out and squeezed the man’s hands. Emily noted the way Stu watched the interaction, eyes watching the hands as if it were a snake slithering in his direction.

 “They made you think the system was a rock,” Mead explained, standing at attention with her hands locked together in front of her, “It was a water balloon. One prick of the needle and —”

 She made a popping noise, “that’s all it took.”

 It wasn’t as if Emily was surprised. One of the first things she learned in a college psychology class was that the only reason the world didn’t fall into chaos was due to people putting faith in a system that would protect them… conventional. The bombs had scattered them, left them weak to the chaos that ensued. It reminded her of the way roaches scattered when sprayed with Raid. Lawlessness was the antithesis of reason, mob mentality was evidence enough of that. It was textbook horror.

 “We will only survive if we follow the rules,” Venable emphasized.

 Emily scoffed. Some of Venable’s rules she understood while others were a blatant overreaching of power. She could understand the “no sex” rule to a degree. Copulation could result in the creation of new life which they had no means to sustain, but even the Victorians had condoms and you couldn’t walk into a 7-Eleven without finding a rack of Plan B. Not to mention half the residents were gay which made her rules pointless. 

 “Rules are the basis of order,” Venable said, clearly addressing her despite staring at the wall above them, “unless you find yourself to be above the rules? Too   special  for them to apply?”

 She hadn’t a moment to voice her thoughts, quickly distracted by the army of wardens that quickly began to fill the room. They all watched with bated breath as The Fist bent down to whisper in Mead’s ear, her lip twitching and eyes flitting to the ground as she gave the other woman her full attention.

 “There’s a problem.”

 Those 3 words were enough to break Venable’s gloating, head snapping to the side like Coco’s had a moment ago. They all watched the pair, unsure of who to keep a better watch on — Venable or Mead.

 “We’ve detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room,” Mead informed her boss.

 Gallant was quick to point fingers to the new pair, whatever empathy he had shown with Andre gone like the wind as he moved from them as if they had the plague, “It’s them! They just came from the outside!”

 “No!” The girl exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously and sitting forward in her chair, knuckles white around the wooden arms, “No! We were checked when we got here! We’re clean!”

 She looked to Emily for aid, brown eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her eyes glimmered with confusion and panic, searching for an unspoken question. Emily’s brows knitted and she bit her lip, eyes flickering between the girl before her and the wardens preparing a device that looked like a microphone attached to a larger box.

 “No,” the boy echoed, “we went through decontamination.”

 His eyes also went to Emily as he continued to speak, begging for her to understand, “we were cleared.”

 Emily opened her mouth but could find nothing to reassure them. Mead addressed the room before Emily could utter a word. “Place your hands on the table… and don’t.  Move .”

 Shaking her head at the girl, Emily did as she was told. This hadn’t happened before. She didn’t know what to expect. As the device clicked from her left, she edged her pinky towards her knife. It wasn’t sharp. It didn’t have to be sharp to cut through jello. With enough pressure, it could cut through skin. The rest of the room faded away as she kept her eyes on The Fists' hands, a second device in her hands as well. Emily’s heart hammered with each step closer.

 “Radioactive contamination,” Mead spoke, devices crinkling like static as they hovered over each person, “is a grave risk to our  entire  community.”

 The Fist, a giant of a woman with blonde hair pulled back from her face, towered above Emily when she was standing. Sitting down made her feel like a child in the presence of a giant. She held her breath as she felt the device get closer, clicking sounds falling silent as soon as it came above her hand. The Fist repeated the motion a few times more, making Emily’s heart go haywire in her chest, before moving on to the new arrival next to her, the clicking resuming once more.

 “The clean rule is there to protect all of us,” Mead continued, now going over the boy who sat stiff as a board, eyes following the woman’s every move, “A  single stray gamma particle can cause skin lesions. Your DNA breaks apart, your body disintegrates. You’ll   wish  you died in the blast.”

 The residents weren’t sure what to make of her speech. It wasn’t as if any of them graduated with a degree in radiology. They had learned it in high-school, sure, but that was ages ago… before there was colored TV for some of them. 

 “But someone here decided,” Mead went on, circling the table for a second round of testing, “that their  individual needs  were more important.”

 Emily tensed once more as the stick was waved around her, Mead pausing momentarily to look down at the box she held in her hand to see if it had somehow turned off. Finding nothing, she continued. “Someone went outside. Touched something  dirty .”

 The room was holding their breaths. They all knew they were innocent, but didn’t trust their companions as far as they could throw them. Their gaze followed the device, then to the person next to them, then to the person in front of them. They searched for a sign of guilt. It was easier to point fingers when someone looked shifty. 

 “Makes me sick to think that this person,” Mead spit as she made it to gallant, “to risk contaminating all—”

 A wild crackling filled the room. They all jumped in their seats, eyes focusing on the hairdresser. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat, paralyzed as the vultures began circling, donned in leather and stronger than any of them could hope to be.

 “No,” The man said after a moment, shaking his finger as he looked to the Wardens, “nononono. That’s a mistake because the  only  thing I’ve touched is Coco’s hair.”

 The Fist stood over Coco and shook her head. Mead gave the final order, voice lacking any pity, “she’s clean. You’re dirty.

 The wardens grabbed at Gallant, claws latching onto him as he began to struggle.

 “No!” He cried, “this is impossible! That machine is wrong!”

 Fingers dug into his shoulder and Gallant cried out in pain, dragged to his feet and across the floor. The warden closest to him placed him in a choke-hold, Gallant letting out a fearful sob as he clawed at the man’s arm. Evie stood, chair screeching across the floor as she reached out towards her grandson with trembling hands.

 “This is outrageous! Stop! Please, stop! Bring him back!”

 Coco gasped and let out a cry, hands moving to cover her face as her eyes welled with tears. The girl beside Emily looked between herself and the boy in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly as she began to hyperventilate.

 Gallant scream pierced the air, “Evie!”

 The crackling filled the room once more. In their panic, they had failed to realize Mead making her way towards Andre and Stu. The couple could only stare at each other, the seconds dragging on like hours.

 “No way!” Stu chanted, refusing to look away from Andre, “No! No way!”

 “No,” Andre sobbed, reaching out towards the man and trying to pry him from the grasp of the warden pulling him away. He was thrown away with a shove.

 “Get your hands off me!” Stu screamed, another warden now going to carry him by his feet.

 Mead’s voice rang out from the chaos, followed swiftly by the marching of footsteps.

 “Take them to the decontamination room!”

 They could hear the groans of their fellow residents echoing down the hall. The sounds resonated long after the steel doors had closed.

Emily reached out for the hand of the girl next to her. Her face was frozen in a gasp, eyes wide with terror. Her hand rested on hers which still sat on the table. She squeezed back and held on for dear life.

                   ----------------------------------------------------------------------

  For once the saloon was quiet. Evie had gone to bed. Emily currently sat next to a crying Andre, Dinah opposite her. He hadn’t been able to stop crying since dinner, now unable to do more than hiccup.

 “How could he have been contaminated,” He sobbed, a horrible epiphany crossing his mind as he turned to Emily, “do you think they—?

 Emily gave him a look, “Did you forget Gallant’s little hand-squeeze during dinner? He was coming on to you, not Stu.”

 Andre had a fleeting smile before anxiety overtook him once more.

 “What we need to do now,” Dinah said, running a hand up and down her son’s back, “is make sure Stu comes back safe.”

 Her words were less than comforting, Andre shoving away her arm and staring at her with an emotion Emily couldn’t quite place… somewhere between distress and anger.

 “Why wouldn’t he be safe?” he demanded, looking to the brunette when his mother offered no response. Emily opened her mouth, hoping something would pop into her head, but she was at a loss for words. She couldn’t reassure him of anything. It would be a lie.

 The man scoffed, stepping back and shaking his head, “I can’t believe you.”

 He turned on his heels, breath hitching once more as another fit of sobs threatened to take over him. Why Stu? Why not them? Of all the residents Stu was the least deserving of—

 Emily rose, hand held out to stop him, “Andre—”

 A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. Dinah took a step around her, hand trailing down her purple-clothed arm until she held her hand, the other coming to rest on top of it.

 “Let me talk to him,” the woman tried to reassure, the events clearly have shaken her as much as Stu. 

 Emily pressed her lips together and nodded, pulling back and watching the woman hurry towards her son, heels clicking down the hall. The door clanged shut behind her and silence filled the room.

 … but only for a moment.

 “What’s going to happen to me if they find out Gallant is —” Coco started to ramble, “I mean I  was  the only reason he was here in the first place.”

 “You were clean,” The brown-haired boy pointed out, face twisting in confusion.

 “Well, I know that!” Coco exclaimed, turning on the couch to face him, “but who’s to say there won’t be a  second investigation. I mean there had to be a   reason   they were tainted.”

 She went quiet for a moment, hands held out in front of her as if she was having a revelation, “oh my gosh! If they kill Gallant who’s going to do my hair?”

 Emily sighed and sat next to the new girl who was wringing her hands and staring into the fire. 

 “I never did ask your names,” Emily noted, looking to the girl and the boy.

 “Timothy,” He said with a nod of his head.

 The girl was pulled from her thoughts, turning from the fire and to the people behind her, “Emily.”

 Emily chuckled, “You’re joking.”

 “What?”

 “It’s the end of the world and I can’ escape the fate of having a basic girl name.”

 A smile curled at the other Emily’s lips, then a laugh, “really?”

 Emily extended a hand, “Hi, Emily. I’m Emily.”

 “There’s two of you now?” Coco groaned.

 “I was named after my grandmother,” The other Emily said, taking her hand and giving it a shake, “you?”

 “My parents looked in a baby book and picked a ‘less common’ girl name. 21 years later and there’s at least three Emily’s in each one of my classes.” 

 “God, this is going to be confusing,” Coco sighed, pressing her fingers to her nose in a praying motion, “Oh! I know! Emily 1 and Emily 2… no... That’s too wordy.”

 “Middle names?” Timothy asked.

 “No way in hell,” The two replied.

 “I can always go by ‘Em’,” she said, “god knows I’m used to it by now.”

 “M?” Coco asked, “that’s original.”

 “Well, we can’t all be named after a brand of cereal.”

 “I was named after Coco Chanel!” she snapped, turning to Timothy with crocodile tears, “You get it, right?”

 “…yeah?” he answered, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion, “The clothing brand.”

 He looked to the two Emily’s as he spoke like he was part of some hidden camera show. The two could only laugh and shake their heads as he was quickly rounded into another one of Coco’s monologues.

 “My parents named me Coco because they knew I was destined to make it big. So it was only natural that I…”

 Timothy looked ready to face nuclear winter. His guilt over the previous dinner altercations made him feel guilty for wanting to run away, but the boy always had a hard time saying, “no.” The Emily’s watched on, sparing him pity-filled glances when he looked to them for help.

 “So did you pay your way in here or are you here for your  superior  genetics?” Emily asked. 

 “Genetics,” Emily… Em replied, “I was supposed to be on the east coast but someone paid for me to be transported all the way out here.”

 “Who?”

 She shrugged, “no idea. Some rich snob wanted their dog to go with them… at least that’s what Venable tells me.”

 “I’d hardly call her a  trustful  resource.”

 Em laughed, “That we can agree on.”

 “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

 “More than we have rations for,” Em sighed, reaching for a glass of water, “Fallout could last up to five years and we’ve talked about Chernobyl… but nothing on this scale has ever been recorded.”

 Emily stared blankly ahead and nodded, trying to recall all she had learned about the matter in school, “we could be here for 30 years… maybe more.”

 “Sorry,” Em offered, “anyone here can tell you — I’m not one to speak to for optimism or reassurance.”

 “No,” The other girl shook her head, “I’d rather blatant honestly than pretty lies.”

 “If we had anything more than water I’d toast to that.”

 Emily laughed and shook her head. She reached for a glass of her own and held it up.

 “Let’s toast anyway.”

 Em smiled and leaned her glass forward, a dull clinking sound filling the air. 

 “What were you doing?” Em asked, leaning back and taking a sip of water, “before the bombs hit?”

 “Protesting. It sounds minuscule now… climate change, minimum wage.”

 “Everything is minuscule in the presence of death.”

 “Poetic.”

 “I sure hope so,” Em jested, “or all the money I wasted on an English Major was worthless.”

 Emily laughed, “Is that what you were doing before the bomb’s dropped?”

 “Nah… I was at home… enjoying summer. I was working on our campus’ literary magazine and selling art prints online as a side-hustle.”

 Em shook her head, silence sitting for a moment before Emily spoke.

 “I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

 “I don’t think any of us do, but at least we’re not alone.”

 “I wouldn’t call this particularly good company,” Emily admitted.

 “It’s not,” Em blatantly admitted, earning a short laugh from her companion, “but you and timothy seem alright.”

 “And you?”

 “Well…” Em said, side eying Coco who was still avidly speaking without a sign of ever stopping, “I’m no influencer.”

 Emily snorted and shook her head, “that may be for the best.”

                            ------------------------------------------------

“All I’m saying is Stu was boring and using up our food, and that lesions won’t work with my complexion.”

Em rolled her eyes and looked to Emily who once again sat beside her as Coco’s tirade went on. The blond-haired woman once again was patting at her hair like she was on the red carpet. They looked to Timothy across from them who just sat looking blankly ahead of him. Em smiled at shook her head, not able to blame the man for pretending he was anywhere else but here. If not for the mandatory cocktail hour and communal meals, Em would have stayed as far away from the others as possible.

Days had passed since Gallant and Stu had been forced into decontamination. Gallant refused to speak of the incident and… well… they knew where it got Stu. One would have liked to have said that Coco had shown some respect for the deceased, but the farthest she got was initial shock followed by contempt towards their fallen comrade.

“Fuck you,” Andre spat, murder in his eyes, “I hope they come for you next.”

“If they don’t,” Em noted, Coco’s eyes glaring into her own, “I will.”

She gaped at her, nose curling as her expression turned into one of disgust, “Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

Emily gave her a look like a mother trying to get their child to behave among strangers.

It’s not worth it!” She hissed under her breath. Em was far too annoyed to pay her any mind. She could forgive selfishness and vanity, but her complete lack of sympathy for those in pain? It didn’t matter if it was genuine. All she had to do was shut up, give Andre space to grieve. 

Lucky for Coco, their jail-keepers arrived at the table before Em could follow out her threat. Venable’s cane sounded like the tik of a clock with each step she took, reminding the brunette of a horror story her friends and herself would tell around Halloween. 

“Nobody is coming for anyone,” Mead told them as they both rounded the table to their respective seats at the head of the table, “unless you break the rules.”

She looked to Em, “which includes murder.”

Em paused as she took a sip of water, raising a brow at Coco, “I never said anything about murder.”

The older woman looked into her lap and shook her head, trying to hide the amused smile threatening to show on her face. Coco scoffed.

“This is harassment!”

“This is a difficult time for everyone,” Venable spoke, failing to address Coco’s claims, “as a small consolation, we have a special treat.”

Em could smell the food before she could see it, the salt and the meat, she could taste it in her mouth without even touching it. She felt like a dog, smelling things with such detail she had never been able to notice before. It was incredible what desperation could do to the body. The whole table buzzed with excitement, grins brightening faces and hands going to silverware before the food could be set on the table.

Emily was unable to hide her shock, “no cubes tonight?”

Venable’s lips curled into a smile, the expression doing nothing to ease the woman’s continuously angry expression, “enjoy the bonne bouche.”

Bowls clinked together, the Greys hurrying to place food on the table. 

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Yes,” Emily sighed beside her, looking over to Em with an expression of relieved joy. 

The brunette didn’t care. If she was being honest, she hadn’t exactly paid much attention to the woman’s words after she saw the soup on the food trolley. It was much like a cat seeing a bird at the window, green eyes widening and pupils dilating as if Em had found her true love. While her companions were much more graceful, at least attempting some decorum, Em quickly dug into the meal.

Her mother used to chide her for this as a child, sitting next to her brother at the dinner table and seeing who could finish first. She couldn't explain to the woman that she had to eat fast or else her brother would steal her dessert. Such things didn’t make sense to an adult, but a child’s reasoning was elaborate and honest. For a life so short, every little detail mattered.

Usually, she wasn’t a fan of stew. Something about the floating meat and murky broth didn’t sit right with her. Now she wondered why she didn’t enjoy the delicacy more often. The meat fell apart like well-buttered bread in her mouth, the broth warmed her from the inside out. She could feel it burning down her throat like a shot of Bourbon, somewhat painful but none the less satisfying. 

“You think bribing us with a hot meal’s just gonna’ to make everything okay?” Andre asked, voice sore with grief. A white handkerchief flourished with the wave of his hand. It had been somewhere on his person since Stu was pronounced dead. Em was too caught up in her hunger to realize the weight of his words or the sudden stillness of the girl beside her, an unspoken conversation between herself and Timothy. She would take the bribe happily if it meant being spared from the tasteless cube she had become accustomed to. It wouldn’t win her over, but only a fool refused something readily given with no strings attached.

By the time Emily swatted at Em’s arm the brunette had already finished most of the stew, the bottom of her bowl visible through the broth. She sent Emily an irritated glare, gesturing with her hands as she swallowed her last bite.

“What?” she hissed.

Emily only rose her brows and sent a pointed glance towards Timothy. Turning towards him she was meant with an equally suspicious gaze and a shake of the head. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair, looking between the two and waiting for an explanation. 

“I think my mouth just had an orgasm,” Coco moaned with a full mouth, quickly shoving more food into her mouth in fear it would turn out to be a cruel mirage. Em looked at her and embarrassment made her flush a pale pink. Is that what she had looked like?

“Andre,” Venable sighed, settling in her seat and arranging her silverware before she took a single bite, “We’re not trying to bribe anyone, but there is something we all need to understand.”

With a thud of her cane on the floor, the residents turned to her like raccoons being caught in a garbage can. Em prepared herself for a show of saintly-hood the uptight woman so adored.

“There is no ‘us’ and ‘them,’ We are in this together,” Venable proclaimed, “No individual is greater than the group. We did what we had to do. This is, quite simply, a tragedy.”

Em held her tongue for once. While Stu and herself hadn’t been close, she respected him more than she respected most of her fellow purples. The old world may have died, but the power games still presided — a strongman was still a strongman even when draped in fine clothes and laced in a corset. 

It wasn’t as if any of them were paying her any mind, too enthralled in the smell of salt and meat like Hansel and Gretal in the witch’s house. Dinah sighed as she took another bite.

“Where have you been hiding the meat?” 

Venable’s pause waved over Em like a bucket of cold water, the slight twitch of her lip as she looked down at her plate louder and more illuminating than any sermon she had given them. “We have resources… for special occasions.”

Em could only stare at her as she ate, trying to work at the puzzle which was Miss Venable. There were moments where she swore the woman showed regret or perhaps anxiety, but they were small and fleeting. Everyone had a tell, even the most stoic of society. Em just couldn’t figure it out and it drove her up a wall. It felt like she was staring at a brick wall, waiting for it to crumble.

Gallant pulled something out from his mouth, cringing as his teeth dig into something hard. It was white and square, but he couldn’t tell what it was? Gristle? Bone? 

“I’ve never tasted anything like it.” He murmured, examining the object further as he twisted it in the light.

“It’s chicken,” Mead told him a bit too insistently. 

“That’s not a chicken bone,” Timothy spoke, looking from his untouched bowl to the object the hairdresser was holding. His lips pressed into a thin line. Venable took a spoonful to her lips, then another, and then another.

Andre spoke from the other end of the table, voice wavering as he stared at yet another hard piece which had made his teeth hurt, “tell me this doesn’t look like a finger.”

Em looked to her plate, stomach twisting as she poked at the remains of her meal. A piece of white glimmered to the surface. Damning polite behavior, she reached in with her hand and pulled it out. Her mind went blank as she stared at it, rectangular with two prongs reaching outward from the body. It was a tooth. There was no doubt. Chicken didn’t have teeth. A frog gathered at the back of her throat, threatening to leap from her mouth.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Andre sputtered out, breath coming out in wheezing gasps as he flew back from the table shrieking, “The stew is Stu!”

The table erupted in panic. Gallant spit out whatever was in his mouth, leaving a dripping dark stain on the tablecloth. Andre wailed and Coco shrieked to a Grey named Mallory to make her throw up. Em could only stare at the near-empty bowl in front of her, the reality not quite sitting with her. Morbid questions filled her mind. It had tasted like… she didn’t know what it tasted like other than meat. Salty, maybe? Sweet? 

A firm hand squeezed her own, Emily once again there to pull her from a spiral. 

“You didn’t know.”

Amongst the screaming, the gagging, and the retching Venable sat, unmoved by the fires of fear rising around her. She didn’t smile, didn’t frown, didn’t show any reaction at all.

“For heaven’s sake,” she spoke with the same amount of annoyance she always addressed them with, a touch of boredom in her tone “Don’t be ridiculous. There are lines which can never be crossed.”

Something was glinting in Venable’s eyes, something that Em had seen many times before but could never properly place. The woman looked to Mead, “not eating people is off the first rank.”

Em’s voice sounded hollow as it left her, “Yet it is always the first taboo to be broken among the desperate.”

The thought of cannibalism wasn’t what alarmed Em. Cannibalism was deeply ingrained in human history — from burial rituals to a final stand against starvation. No. What frightened her was realizing she would do it again in an instant if it meant her survival. A fire burned in her as she looked to Venable, sitting there with a smug glow of victory. She had hated Venable before, but this made her blood boil at the sight of her. A revelation she did not want had been forced upon her and Venable’s eyes glinted as they met her own. 

Her message was clear: Don’t rebel or you’ll be next.

[quinn-firethief]

Quinn Firethief

Hello everyone! It’s currently four am but I’ll do my best here. Quinn Firethief is one of my oldest wizards. I made him two years ago after I downloaded the game for the first time in like, years, to play with some friends. The graphics update had me shook, y’all. My friends and I loved roleplaying as our characters (both in-game via voice chat and in our texting apps cause we’re weebs) so Quinn is pretty fleshed out. The problem is is that I’m poor so I’m currently stuck right before Marleybone. Hopefully, I’ll be able to change that once I graduate. But for right now, I’ll give you guys the rundown of his character up until this point. Quinn Firethief is a Prince. His parents are the King and Queen of Dragonspyre. Yeah, big surprise, amirite? When I made his backstory, I made it without knowing the whole story of the world. Bad on my part, I know, but I’m really attached to the idea now. So, how that works is that while most of Dragonspyre is unhabitable, there is still a very small part that is. That's where the royal family and a lot of inhabitants that were too loyal to leave ran to. It’s a very small place, they have a very small military, it’s very much a former shell of the great glory it once was. Because of this though, Quinn is well known among their people because there’s probably, at least, a hundred or two left there. He cares very much about them, he’s a great public speaker, very charismatic, and he just really cares about people and really loves helping them in general. It's such a small place that it's really not that big of a deal that Quinn is a prince, a few people might be like “wow what's it like???” but a lot of questions don’t really apply to him because he did live a comfortable life, just not a lavished one thanks to their current situation. But his family does have very good background to their name. Firethieves were the royal family after all. There’s a big legend that they got their last name-Firethief of course-by stealing fire from the Dragons themselves so that they could harness the power and learn how to control it. Depending on whether or not you believe that, you could say a lot of people have Quinn’s ancestors from many many generations ago to thank for fire magic. Others might say that the downfall of the world is probably the family’s karma catching back up on them if that is true.

Before I go into the next part. I no longer talk to the friend that played the next character that I’m going to be talking about. We didn’t end on good terms. But their character is very vital to Quinn’s story. I can’t just write them out. So I’ve decided to just not put their name. Maybe I will later, maybe I’ll completely change it; we’ll just have to see.

Quinn had a best friend who was basically like a brother to him. He was always at the castle, and people even called him a Prince too. When they were of age to go to Ravenwood and start practicing magic (which, in my opinion, is probably eighteen, maybe as young as sixteen if you’re super good) they went together. Like I said, Quinn’s family has a long history in fire magic, being the royal family of Dragonspyre after all, so Quinn immediately dabbled in fire magic. His best friend went into myth. When they started questing, they ended up meeting a life wizard named Sarai (her last name escapes me rn I’ll get back to y’all on that) who was in the same year as them. (She was played by my girlfriend, if she ever makes a Tumblr for her I’ll definitely link it here) They needed a healer, she needed some harder hitters, so they all started questing together. They became the best of friends. They were well on their way to being able to take down Malistaire. The journey didn’t come without difficulties of course. Sarai got sick with the Krok Plague during one of the dungeons, and the boys had to rush through the last few to get the cure for her. Quinn’s best friend ended up dropping Myth because he was doing so horrible. He did, however, become very interested in Balance thanks to Kroktopia and found he did very well in that. While Sarai was sick Quinn realized that he had definitely fallen in love with the sweet and gentle Life wizard, and while he came very close to confessing his feelings, he didn’t.

Krok ended well. They were able to get the cure to Sarai in time and they finished it all out together, with Sarai cured of the plague and coherent. They all crashed in Sarai’s house afterward and chatted about how far they had come, and how they heard that Marleybone was needing help next.

Now, this is when my friends and I stopped playing. Summer of 2018 had drawn to a close and I was going into my Junior year. We all got very busy, my family ran into some bad financial problems so I obviously couldn’t unlock the Marleybone zones, and then by the end of my Junior year, I was no longer talking to the friend that played Quinn’s best friend. I’m in my Senior year and I’m feeling nostalgic, and like most Wizard101 players I’m getting sucked back into this game(help me). But this is where I take some liberty with the story. The three of them do end up going to Marleybone, but after a good few weeks, they end up running into Morganthe who, at this point, is just starting to plan on getting a little public about her villainess. Obviously, at this point, I’m messing with canon a little bit, but not that bad. She ended up casting a spell that took ahold of Quinn’s best friend's mind and completely turned him against Quinn and Sarai. They tried to free him from the spell but it became very clear very fast that it wasn’t possible. They ended up having to kill him. Quinn dealt the final blow with his bow and arrow (I got it from a pack, such a good drop sorry now isn’t the best time-) and the place they were fighting in exploded. Sarai and Quinn were knocked out and then dragged to safety by some other wizards that heard the explosion. While the friend’s body was never found, it was plainly obvious that he was dead. Quinn and his best friend, who was basically his brother, had known each other since they were kids. Like, I’m talking six years old. they had known Sarai for at least two years at this point since Krok and Wizard City had definitely (in my mind) taken some time to get through and fix. They were a very close, tightknit group. They were well known around Ravenwood and it was rare when you saw one of them walking around alone. So, as you can imagine, having to kill their own friend was very, very hard on them. Especially Quinn. He and Sarai can’t even be around each other anymore because it hurts too much, the wound is too raw. Quinn ends up telling Sarai that he needs some time alone, some time to think. So they stop talking, they stop hanging out, and they both just stop questing in general. It’s not the same without their friend’s lute playing to cheer them on.

Quinn gets very depressed and turns to alcohol. At this point, he’s twenty-one, so it is legal. A favorite of his is Fireball. If he’s not sleeping or studying or practicing, he’s drinking. He has nightmares (and rarely dreams, those tend to hurt more) of his friend constantly. He has to move out of the dorm because they always hung out there and it just hurts too much, there are too many memories. He can’t even visit Dragonspyre because of all of the memories they have there, he’d probably drop dead the moment he walked in because of how hard it’d hit him. So he moves into the Fire House (the classic burning tower with all that lava) and to try and cope, he makes a grave for his best friend even though they never found a body. Yep, you’re right, that’s exactly what my header is. Depressing, right? I had a leftover present from some winter event, so I decided to put that there to make it even sadder. This is currently where I’m picking up with Quinn, where he’s at his lowest and he’s pushing everyone away and he feels completely alone. It really resonates with me because of how I’ve been feeling lately (for like NO reason might I add). I’m super excited to write about it, it’s definitely going to be fun. I hope you guys enjoyed that! I’m sorry this was such a long read lmao this took me like twenty minutes to type up. Mainly because I had to keep fact-checking and I’m so tired. It’s now five am and I need to sleep. If you guys have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. If you wanna be friends, shoot me a text! I need more Wizard101 buddies so badly right now. I might open one-shot requests if enough people show interest in Quinn and my writings enough, but we’ll just have to see :)

Have a good day everyone!

[rek88k]

ugh

smattering of thoughts its 11pm i am tired and have so much work to do and I can’t really word vommit on anyone i know irl or online in person cause like, that’d be rude but also everyone i know has so much shit going on and i’d be barely able to coherently articulate it anyway so :p

here some words, bunch of disoriented ramblings yo

----

god i am

so fucking tired

like i keep digging myself into holes deeper and deeper

i can blame it on being ‘burned out’ from school or senioritus etc

but it’s all just me at the end of the day, stuck in my own head isolating myself from soultions yet a fucking gain

(god i love how english does that, lets you stick a fucking in abso fucking lutely anyword you please. gets across emtion reaaaal well)

I’m just so terrifed of looking like a fool? Like last time i went to therepy? last year i think, i said i don’t really care how random people think about me, and I don’t but god do i care about people i know, even loosly, do and usually im good at ignoring, repressing it, or dealing with it but with all the fucking stress from pre graduation jitters yeah no not rn

----

I think on top of this I haven’t written a poem since freshman year. I mean i’ve written poem, dozens and dozen a lot im proud of and some i even really like, but like. specifcally i haven’t written a poem for me about my anxiety or my fucking anooying as shit bones that was sucsessfull since dead lead burns away and thats so frustrating. I came close with one a few weeks ago but my fucking computer died and word lost the entire thing and i was so proud of the thing it felt like solid progress, a piece of me being put to rest agressively, or at least a way to deal with hwo i speak and shit but nooooooOOOOooooo my computer had to be a little shit

---

I am so tired of bitterness like

Be it the politics everywhere and overwheliming (and im political, have a thick skin for this shit), or (rightfull and neeeded - it’s just a lot. I mean i wanna hear it all so i’m not going to or want to close off that valve) discussion of shitty/problamatic (god i ahte that word so much) people irl or my fucking roomate its just so bitter and mean and i can’t just talk about idk

a video game or new song or shit becuase my interests run to disparete to alot of my friends irl, and you can only take about gay shit so much when all you want to talk about is music and music 

---

It’s funny i think harboring anger at your self. It’s not violent or aynthing it’s just there and frustrating and it makes my bones stand out so much and i hate it

--

last one then back to work god i hope noone read these

nah fuck it can’t write anymore  fucking blocked lol rpi

bye

talk later nerds

got english hw to do fuck me

[cutearose]

all the sunflower asks bc SUNFLOWERS 🌻

FAGFHAGHJS THATS CHEATING

I love you tho(I’m gonna put this under a read more)

pacino: if you could be any age, what age would you be?uh? I dont know really? tbh I’m probably at my most content rn so like, I’ll stay w 22 thanks

ms. mars: what kind of flower or plant are you?I am a lambs ear I am soft n fluffy n I dont like being cold n wet

goldie: do u wake up early to catch sunrises?well I would if I could but also I dont exist as a human before like 9am at the earliest

maximilian: who is/are your current sunshine/s?SASHI YOU ARE!!!! YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE!!!also Jack my angeland my peach friends light up my life every single day

vanilla ice: are you a plant or an animal person?plants count as animalsidk I love both???? dont make me choose between my children

pastiche: what is your favorite color (include the perfect shade)?GREEN and uh oh gosh like a muted grass green maybe??? also yellow. dodie yellow!!!

red sun: answered

autumn beauty: who is the sun to your sunflower (a person that you look up to)?ummmmmmmmmmidk really?I’m inspired by a lot of people but I dont know if I really ~look up to them~ idk???

moonwalker: do you consider yourself an idealist or a realist? why?fsdghfash I swing wildly between both oh man my head is in the clouds and yet if something is not logical or going to work out then I will just Stop idk I’m a bit everywhere l m a o

valentine: make a playlist (with at least five songs) that reminds you of home?of home? oh manwell I mean home is where I feel safe and so home includes in the arms of my friendshowever I am really bad at playlists and that sort of thingbut uh lets try

Gold Star for Me - dodie and Carrie Hope FletcherNot Alone - Darren CrissWe Are Golden - MikaShine - Vanessa AmorosiCalm - AlchemyLoved and Alive - Jim and the PovolosQuiet - MatildaPretty Girl - Hayley KiyokoDear Happy - dodie and Thomas Sanders

I am aware that this is a weird mix of songs and I probably should listen to them as a playlist before posting this but SHHH

velvet ocean: answered

sungold: are you alright? really?fsfsgad I’m never alrightalthough actually I’m in a weirdly okay place right now? like I’m still a Hot Mess™ but I’m a more put together n content hot mess than I’ve ever been in my life, and I am loved and I am safe and so tbh? I think I’m alright?

teddy bear: what’s the best present that you have ever received?OOOHHH yikes I’ve been given some really really lovely gifts through my life? like I dont know if I could pick one??? but my favourite gifts are the thoughtful ones, like even just the little ones, the ones where you know someone saw it and went “THATS SO YOU” sort of thing, yknow? like you’ve given me things like that heart bath confetti n happy tea infusers n a stimmy wand, and Jack has given me plants and tea, and Maddie gave me a butterfly pillow so I always had a butterfly from her even when she couldnt draw one, and idk I just? I am blessed by people who love me and give me things they know I’ll treasure

sunspot: what’s been bothering you for a while?everything is bothering me alwaysmy lack of income and my shitty internet are both bugging me tho

florenza: post a sunny selfie !!!um I cant figure out how to add a picture omgthis one is the sunniest recent one I can find on my computer tho

goldy double: what is/are the name/s of your pet/s?MAGNUS my little shit of a catalso my strawb plant is call Nellie and my lambs ear is called Soft

sunrich limoncello summer: would u rather live in the ocean or the forest?forest!!!!!!!

mammoth russian: what’s your height? and dream height?I am 165cm or 5′5 and idk I’d be happy with another inch but also I’m not fussed? I like my height I am a good height for cuddling people

little becka: what’s your favorite seed?this is a weird questionof the seeds I’ve planted in my yard my faves were probably the sunflower ones cos they looked really cool

lemon queen: can u bake? what are the pastries that you could bake?I can bake cakes and a few breads and things? but I cant bake pastry? though my friend and I made our own puff pastry once and made chocolatey things. it was a wild ride.

jerusalem artichoke: what do you normally do before sleeping?I HAVE A LONG AND STRUCTURED ROUTINEbut basicallymake tea (chamomile and spiced apple, though I’ve RUN OUT at the moment and coles doesnt sell it and I cant get to a safeway that sells it!!)while that brews, brush teeth, wash face, shake out doonarinse water bottle and fillmake sure window and curtain are opentake tea and pill and climb into bedcall magnusfuck around on phone while drinking teapost goodnight on peachswitch on alarm/sleep tracker appgo hunt down magnusbecome a snuggly buggly bean

willowleaf: what’s your favorite autumn outfit?idk its not autumn yet

rosinweed: who are your favorite people?YOUJack and Maddie and Steph and Michaelamy peach friends

purpledisk: are you living ur dream life? if not, why do u think so?no but I think I’m starting to head in the right direction and honestly if I had enough money I would be able to start it but I DONT

serpentine: what’s your most favorite birthday memory?I think the night of my 21st is one of my favourites like playing cards against humanity with all these people I love from all these different parts of my life? it was a good timebut alsothe time dad crashed the minibus into the westfield carpark height barrier was pretty funny

lakeside: what’s something that you like to do but you cant do it often?anything involving money or leaving the house l m a oidk I love love love going to the beach? but I cant get there v oftenalso rollerblading? I have nowhere to skate

prairie: what are the most beautiful things about your pet/s?THE SOFTEST TUM AND THE CUTEST MEOW

sawtooth: answered

downy/ashy: describe your dream significant other!fghafjs I do not knowtbh I would ideally love to be in a poly triad I feel like that would be so so good for me and for my partnersbut someone snuggly

I am v tired so these weren’t as coherent as I would like but its okay bc I love you