#I want to say hi to myself in January and say hey. It feels all consuming and you love when it feels all consuming

[swiftadrift]

Ohhh my god I've rewatched Amphibia (not entirely; I was just rewatching True Colours 'cause I felt kind of bad and Amphibia was the fandom I chose to watch while I process those feelings which devolved into Reunion which devolved into The Beginning of the End and All In and The Hardest Thing)

AND. MY GOD.

I forgot why I called this my favourite show but I REMEMBER NOW.

I managed to forget the whole moral of Amphibia, my most beloved show

I need to stop closing myself off !!! I can do it I can stop overtly committing !!!

I was worried about my connections with my friend that I would've forwent everything to pursue them but that is how things go!!! I must not forget myself and I must not forget everyone else in the process !!!

I'm so motivated right now and this may not last til the next day but I'm gonna write this message to myself and everyone else!

I am okay !!! I am feeling okay !!! I will adapt and change with the world and the world will adapt and change with me and it'll all be okay!!!

[ghostbustting]

Hey, I was wondering if you could write something about the fact that the reader has been James's partner for 5 years, and while they are at their friend's birthday party they argue over silly things but they both take it to heart, so the reader decides to make James jealous with x man (nothing too far-fetched) then James gets really upset and takes the reader to his house and they have rough sex (where James takes out his annoyance on the reader) And by the way, let it end with some good ending.

I imagined this scenario with James 1998, when he becomes beefier 🤭.

thank u anon, I shall say the word "beefier" on a daily basis now.

╰┈➤“𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾

𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑬 .ᐣ„ ๋࣭⭑

‘98!James Hetfield x Reader

Contains smut.

Hand in hand, James and I carefully step into the bar that we were told to go to by his bandmate Kirk and his wife Lani, finding all of our friends and some faces we haven’t recognized yet all gathered around the bar to celebrate the guitarist’s wife’s 27th birthday.

Smiles are on everyone’s face while I release James’ hand in order to pull Lani into a warm embrace, “Happy birthday!” I congratulate her, pecking her cheek and stepping back, watching as James congratulate her as well.

Kirk stood by her side with an even wider smile than I usually see on him daily, it warms my heart to see how many love he have as his eyes stays on Lani, seemingly mesmerized by her.

James and I stood back with the others as someone brings in Lani’s birthday cake, I feel his arm around me as he kiss my head, making me lean against him as we watch her make a wish and blow the candles.

Then, Kirk wrap his arms around her and kiss her passionately before exclaiming to the crowd, “Happy birthday to this amazing wife of mine!!” His cheeky smile spreads to Lani’s own face as everyone cheer.

I watch the look they share with each other, my eyes slowly falling to the wedding rings on their fingers.. then to my own empty finger.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot of how Kirk and Lani had only been dating each other for one year only, yet they have already gotten married not long ago in January.

I can’t help but compare the both of them and their marriage to my five year relationship with James.

We’ve been together for so long, yet only ever keeping things as boyfriend and girlfriend. Sure, maybe it means he’s extremely loyal. But is it wrong if I just want to make things even more serious with him? I only ever wanted to be tied to him by an unbreakable vow and strengthen our love.

James and I sit down with the rest, drinking. My eyes slowly gaze upon him, the smile on his face as someone make a crappy joke. I feel the need to try to talk about it to him, finding the couple in front of us as a perfect topic starter.

I wait patiently for the perfect moment, clearing my throat as he drink. “Hey, James?” I slowly call out to him. His blue eyes look over at me and he grin, “Yea, baby?” He place the glass of drink back down on the table.

Taking deep breaths, I slowly speak. “So.. Kirk and Lani make a pretty couple, right..? Can’t believe they’re already 11 months into marriage.”

“Yeah, but eh that’s love.” He answer casually.

I look down and sigh, “I um.. Well, what about us..?” I start again, he look at me with a raised eyebrow, a small hint of confusion on his face. “We’ve been dating for five years now, so I’m wondering—”

“God..” He mutter and sigh, taking another sip of his glass.

I cut myself off when I hear this, a bit surprised by his attitude. “Excuse me?” I lean back in my seat and furrow my eyebrows, “What’s with the sigh?” I ask, sounding a bit offended.

He drowned his drink and sigh as he swallow the liquid, setting the glass down. He slowly turn his gaze towards me, shrugging. “Look, I love you and you love me. Isn’t that enough luck for you?”

“Luck? That’s what you call our love? Not fate?”

He groaned and run a hand through his blond hair, “I don’t mean it like that! I’m just saying, we don’t need to concern about marriage as long as we love each other.” He rambled out, rolling his eyes.

Though his words are partially correct, it’s his attitude that bugs me. “But don’t you think we should start a family? It’s been five years, James. Five goddamn years—” But then he cut me off yet again.

“Yea you said that already. Besides, you’re already a family to me like I probably am to you.”

“But—”

“Can you just stop thinking about it? It’s a fucking birthday party, not a couple counseling.”

Feeling sick of his attitude, I sigh and stand up from my chair. “Where do you think you’re going?” James ask me, a hint of surprise in his voice. Instead, I simply shrug him off and take my glass with me as I walk away to another side of the bar.

I didn’t know why, but knowing he reject the very thought of creating an actual family, tying an ever tighter bond between us, making our love even more true, breaks my heart. I know he’s probably not ready yet. I know I’m supposed to accept his choice.

But I can’t stand the fact all of my friends had to shove their wedding rings in front of my face.

Sliding into a stool, I sigh and place my glass on the bar counter. I rest my elbow on the counter as I bury my face in my hands, rethinking the situation in my head. I find his harsh responses to be terribly unnecessary, he could’ve just responded with a softer response and try patiently to make me understand.

That’s when I hear someone slipping into the stool that was placed next to the one I’m currently sitting on. My eyes slowly peek through my fingers to see the mystery person, finding a guy I have never seen before. To be fair, I don’t know most faces here.

“Hey there.” He greeted me, a charming smile on his face, his arms resting on the counter as he tilt his head and look at me with those chocolate eyes.

“Hello..” I answer hesitantly.

Eventually, I discover that he was a close friend of Lani back then. He’s actually quite a nice and charismatic man, his style is a huge contrast to James’, yet no less intriguing. His brown eyes always looking serious whenever I speak, appreciating every letter that enters his ears. But of course.. there wasn’t any real special interest I have for him.

As he speak, I glance around the bar a little, a smile on my face now as he have lifted up my mood again. It didn’t took long before I notice the cold jealous eyes from across the bar that belongs to none other than my one and only boyfriend, James Hetfield.

Usually, it was a danger to play with fire when the James you’re dealing with is this type of James. But seeing the way his eyes sends daggers into the guy in front of me, the way his fingers grip his glass tightly to the point it seems like it’s about to shatter, the look of jealousy in his face..

I can’t help but grin to myself before I turn to the guy again.

Leaning slightly closer to the guy, I start talking more with him, making sure to laugh at a shitty joke he slip in that I’d probably actually call cringe if only I wasn’t testing James.

I put on my most stupid smile an twirl a piece of hair around my index finger as I listen to this guy ramble about something I surely and never will partake any interest in. He was definitely not James. He doesn’t share the same interest as the ones that James and I would talk about nonstop almost everyday of every year.

Bored, I take my glass of drink and take a sip of it. That’s when.. I feel a hand harshly grip my arm and tug on it.

When I turn my head, I was met by a stern looking James. It’s hard to tell what emotion was exactly built up inside those icy cold blue eyes of his, whether it’s jealousy, anger, annoyance, or everything in once. Nevertheless, the way his eyes immediately stare right into my soul gave my heart a quick pang of shock.

“Wha—”

“We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“No.”

Before I can say another word, he just drag me by my arm out of my seat and out of that bar, simply yelling to his friends; “See you, man!”

I was forced to stay silent as he bring us over to our car and push me into the passenger seat before jogging to the other side of the car and get into the driver seat. I look at him cautiously as I slowly relax into the seat.

The ride to his house was filled with tension, he didn’t even spoke a word or glance a bit at me, yet he kept his hand on my thigh, gripping it tightly and even massaging the flesh every now and then, especially when he got pissed off by the other drivers on the road.

Sure, I planned for him to fully unleash his jealousy. But I never really expected him to be this.. intense.

My heart was practically jumping in and out of my chest by the time we arrive on the driveway of his house, I try to speak. “James—” Then again, my words fail to come out as he immediately exit the car and go around to my side.

He opens my passenger seat door and suddenly grab me without another word, throwing me over his shoulder while he close the door with his other hand. I gasp and squirm on his shoulder as he carry me all the way into his house.

“James- put me down..” I practically whined and grab onto his shirt, scared of falling and possibly hitting my head hard on the floor. I let out another gasp when he take his hand and land a harsh smack to my ass. I stop squirming and wince.

I could’ve sworn I heard him mutter something under his breath that I couldn’t really hear clearly while I watch as he close the front door and lock it, still holding me on his shoulder as he start to walk us upstairs.

I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He was quiet. Way too quiet. All I could hear and feel is my own loud heartbeat while holding tightly onto his shoulder, I can smell the stinging but nice scent of his cologne filling my nostrils.

Even without being able to see his face, I can sense how he surely isn’t playing anymore.

Then before I know it, we were in his room and he kick the door shut before storming his way to the bed and technically throwing me onto it, causing a small grunt from me.

His bed has always been comfortable, the sheets has been a witness of all the love we shared in his room and on his bed. Innocently, and.. not so innocently.

His large hand slammed down on the spot next to my head, his face leaning down close to mine, just a few inches apart. “You fucking slut.” He spat, his voice deeper than I remember and his eyes colder than I ever saw. “You did that on purpose didn’t you?”

“Did what..?” I try to play dumb, though my eyes were slightly widened, intimidated by the proximity and how much tension he’s putting on tonight. I can’t help but press my thighs together, feeling an oh so familiar soaking spot on my panties.

“You know damn well what.” All of a sudden, he flip me over and push my dress over my ass, my eyes widening and I try to squirm out of my position of which is underneath him.

Denying my effort, he pull me back and keep me in place as he lift my hips up a little, pushing my head into the sheets as his hand lands harshly on my ass, leaving a red mark in the shape of his very own large hand, a loud gasp and a wince coming out of me. “Trying to make me jealous? That jerk didn’t even look half good as me.”

I can’t help but let out a small scoff at his statement, only earning another harsh spank to my ass. I wince and try to pull down my dress back, failing when his hand slapped mine away and hit again, even harsher this time.

He was mean. Always has been when he’s not in a good mood.

The worse part is I love it.

“Did you really think I’d let you go home with a dick that small? Don’t you know you’re mine?” He chuckle and pull down my panties slowly, I just knew he was smirking wide and cocky when he saw the sinful pool on my panties. “Dirty girl..” He mutter as he throw the panties away.

An even louder gasp leaves me when I feel his tongue on my cunt, his hands holding my hips tightly in his grasp. “James—” I was cut off by another spank to my ass along with a harsh suckle on my clit, I moan and whimper, hips wiggling uncontrollably as he work his tongue’s magic on me.

I can feel him spitting onto my pussy before diving back in, his groan muffled. He sucked and licked and bite and technically made out with every part of me he found down there. Every single one of those action never failed to pull out the loudest moan from me.

My visions turns blurry, the pleasure always way too much to handle every single time. I will never underestimate the power this musician holds on me. He knows way too much about my weakness. Perhaps, that’s because he’s the only man I’ll ever let discover the dirties part of me.

The moment his tongue slips through my folds, I lost it.

I was a moaning mess, gripping every part of the sheets that I could reach while he ate me out like a starving man. Yet his cock haven’t even made it out of his boxers.

“James please.. ahn.. more..”

I whined when he delivered even more rough spanks onto my ass, feeling the mark he left stinging and will surely make sitting a difficult task for me to do later on. Each time his palm meets my skin, more tears build up in my eyes.

A tight knot is felt in my stomach and the moment he gave a harsh suck on my pussy, I start to release on his tongue, moaning loudly to the point I’m sure these walls around us might betray us and spill my pleads for him to our neighbors.

I can feel him lick me clean one last time before pulling back, his hand immediately going to his belt and unbuckling it. “Who said you can cum? Hm?” He sounds breathless yet annoyed at the same time.

Hips back down on the bed, I was still recovering from my strong release, tears spilling from my eyes to the sheets underneath me, soaking it. That’s when I feel him tap his cock on my ass. “Hips. Up.”

What else can I do other than obey him and lift my hips up, though my weak state only allowed me to do lift it a little, which then James force with his hands to be up high in the air on display for him to completely ruin.

“I’ll show you what that fucking dickhead can’t give you.” He hold onto my ass before guiding his cock in with his other hand, immediately thrusting in a harsh pressure, meeting that one special spot in me right away.

I gasp and grip onto sheets, “Oh fuck!” I cry as he grab ahold of my hips and hold it still, his hips ramming back and forth into mine, his well-sized cock stretching me out and hitting all the right spots in me I’m sure he knows all too well.

His grunts along with the sounds of his balls slapping against my pussy fills my ears, yet they were no competition to my loud moans, they just keep pouring out of my mouth and might make me lose my voice later on. But I could care less. If this man stuffed inside me felt the need to take out his annoyance to me and show me who I belong to, I’m ready all night for him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He murmured and deliver another hit to the already numb skin of my ass.

“I’m yours!” I moaned, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours!!”

“So you do know your place, huh?”

That’s when I feel his fingers in my hair, fisting it into a ball. I wince when he tugged on it and hold onto it as his hips move in a surreal speed, thrusting in and out of me in a speed of light. My lips were parted as I pant and whimper at the feeling, almost like a dog. It was humiliating. But at the same time arousing for him.

My eyes rolls to the back of my head, tears rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably, my hips try to move to his rhythm as well, adding to the pleasure. I slowly turn my head back towards James, finding him smirking smugly, still groaning with every thrusts. “Yea? You like that?”

He pulled me up by my hair and my back meets his chest, his arms wrap around me as he continue to thrust into me, my hands grip onto his arms as I lean my head on his shoulder. “C’mon.. answer me, baby.” He pull down the top of my dress now to pull out both of my breasts, cupping them in his hands.

“I love it!” I moaned out.

He chuckle and took ahold of my face, his lips finding mine in an instant, starting a sloppy and desperate kiss, our tongues meeting and rubbing against one another lazily. I whimper and look down when we pull away, “James.. wanna cum..” I mumble, breathless.

He bury his face in my neck and start kissing and biting there, a mark was made right below my ear. “Do it with me, baby. C’mon.”

With one last weak yet desperate thrust, we held onto each other and let out the most sinful noises ever as we release our load together. His cum shooting into me while mine came gushing out and mixing with his while he pull out his cock.

Too weak, I fall onto the bed and whine as I feel our mixed cum slowly dripping out of my swollen and used cunt.

He let out a heavy sigh as he fell onto my back, kissing from my shoulder, to my back, to the back of my neck, and to my other shoulder. I just hum tiredly, appreciating his caring gesture in a small soft smile as I turn to him.

I lift his arm up and slip right into it, “I’m sorry for—”

“No, I am.”

I look up at him with raised eyebrows, a bit taken aback by his sudden apology and refusal of my own apology.

He shook his head and look down, his hand reaching up to play with my hair, a habit he does every aftercare. “I shouldn’t have said it like that to you.. I was being a complete unreasonable jerk. I should’ve told you I’m not ready..” He sigh and kept his head low with his eyes away, as if he’s embarrassed of himself.

“James..” I sigh and reach up to cup his cheek, “Don’t be sorry, please..” I whisper and kiss his nose, smiling softly. “What happened earlier is just a silly misunderstanding, okay..? I love you and you love me, as long as we have love and each other, the world doesn’t matter.” I spoke, using his own words yet with a better arrangement. My voice gentle as I paint his face with kisses, pulling out his own smile as his blue eyes met mine again.

“God bless your mom and dad for creating you.” He mumble as he tuck a couple hair behind my ear. I laugh softly and close my eyes as I rest my head on his chest.

[stargazedwinchester]

Stanford ♡ Sam

Summary: You meet your new roommate, Sam Winchester.

Word Count: 1,320

Pairing: Student!Sam, Student!FemReader

My new upload schedule has changed! There will be a new post every Wednesday and Saturday 12:30 GMT (Excluding this one). Part 2 to this will be up Christmas Day meaning there won't be another imagine until the 1st of January. I'm posting this one today because part 2 will be Christmas themed and I don't want to post it late as it'll lose the feel of the story if that makes sense? Anyway, enjoy!

The intricate designs on the walls of Stanford University were unreal. The building’s age exceeds a century; its continued beauty is astonishing. You make your way through the vast arches, looking down at the map of the University provided by senior students standing by the front gate.

‘Dorm 143,’ you hum to yourself, the signs on the walls guiding you in the right direction. You guide your way up the stairs and take a right turn, walking down a lively corridor. You find your room and unlock it with your key, then you’re greeted with a stuffy odour and a plain dorm. Observing the empty space, you plant your bags on the left side of the room. The walls are a boring white and the curtains are bland. There’s no character to this place and you can’t wait to waste your student loan on decorating, so it feels like home.

You open up a window to allow fresh air to flow through, when the door bursts open and the bustle from outside echoes throughout the dorm. A 6 foot something guy balances 2 boxes on top of each other, tossing them on the floor. He doesn’t even notice you before looking up.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he exclaims, fixing his fringe, smiling at you cordially. He’s wearing a light, muted blue Nike sweatshirt and a suede jacket on top with dark denim jeans and Nike trainers. He’s a very cute guy and you’re unsure whether he’s got the right room.

“Sorry, I’m Sam. Winchester.” He pauses, holding out a hand for you to shake. You take it. You smile back at him. “I’m Y/N. Are you sure you have the right room?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” He asks and you shrug. “I dunno. You don’t seem the type to study law.” He snickers at your comment, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just don’t look the type, that’s all.” You look down at the floor, somewhat embarrassed at what you’ve just said to him. Sam chortles. “Right… Okay.” He says, he turns around and places the boxes he brought in on the right side of the room. You feel very awkward at this point, so you take yourself toward the door to go outside and pick up the rest of your stuff. “Where’re you going?” Sam asks curiously, and you glance at him quickly. “I need to go pick up the rest of my stuff from my car,” you say, “it’s okay. I can get it myself.” You insist and Sam walks toward you. “Let me help you.” He towers over you as he holds the door open. You feel bad if you reject his offer, so you allow him to follow you down to your car, anyway. It could help having an extra pair of hands to bring your things up.

You lead Sam to the pickup truck that you borrowed from your parents, multiple boxes filling the passenger side and even more in the back. Unlocking your car, Sam immediately jumps in and picks up two boxes at a time. You attempt to take two as well, but fail miserably. He chuckles at you. “Here, give it to me,” Sam says, and you carefully place a box on top of the ones he’s already holding.

“So… What’re you doing for the rest of the day?” He asks, trying to break the silence.

“Well, it’s probably gonna take me a while to unpack my things,” you pause in thought, oblivious to what he’s attempting to ask you. “How come?” You question and he shakes his head lightly. “No reason.” He smiles at you. You reach your door and you let yourselves in. Sam places your boxes on the floor carefully, then leaving the room once more. He tells you he’s going to pick up the remaining boxes and for you to stay there. You turn around and look at Sam’s side. There’s a noticeable difference between yours and Sam’s boxes. He had only brought two whilst you have five overstuffed boxes sitting along your bed frame. You almost feel guilty for him. The minimal amount of stuff he’s brought makes you ponder what his life was like before this, before Stanford became reality.

You pick up his coat that was sprawled out on his bed, his wallet barely hanging out from his pocket. A small, frayed polaroid photo peeks out from inside the wallet, a photo of Sam and another guy with short, brown hair and a dark brown leather jacket. He’s wearing an amulet, it’s a brushed bronze colour on a black chord. They seem happy. You notice some lights in the dim background and a quaint Christmas tree; you assume the photo was taken last year. A gentle smile graces your face at the thought of him sharing Christmas with someone. Disregarding the amount of things he’s brought with him, at least he has family to lean back on and that’s where the best memories are kept.

Sam suddenly strolls in, his eye’s taking a second glance at his polaroid quickly being thrown on the bed. He sets the boxes down and places his hands on his hips. “Were you going through my things?” He scoffs, his eyebrow flicks up in disbelief. “I was tidying your things and a polaroid fell out…” You tell a white lie, nothing that would hurt him. Sam laughs lightly, his deep dimples complimenting his face. “It’s okay. It’s my brother and I,” he starts, picking up the picture and examining it himself. “He’s called Dean. Before last Christmas I hadn’t seen him for 2 years. Our father travels a lot and we never get a chance to get together as a family.” Sam looks at you, some regret lingering in his eyes. Your gaze drops to the floor. You just know that there’s something more going on that he’s not telling you, for obvious reasons. Sam notices the change in topic. “Dean’s an asshole, but he’s my brother. He’s a good guy.” Sam places the polaroid in his wallet and hangs his coat up on the rack at the end of his bed.

A few hours had gone by, and at this point you have given up on putting things away and tidying up. Sam sits on his bed, scribbling something on a notepad. He has been quiet since your interaction earlier. Sam had helped you put your things away, but then gave up when it came to your clothes. You relax on your bed, letting out a deep sigh.

“God, I need to get out.” You complain, Sam not moving an inch. He doesn’t even look at you. You sit up on the bed, looking directly at Sam. “I want to go out.” You repeat, and a smile creeps up on his face. “Then go out,” he starts, “no one’s stopping you.” He then goes back to whatever he was writing on his notepad.

“Come out with me.” You suggest, and he huffs.

“Now, why would I want to do that?”

“Because we’re roommates, Sam. We have to get to know each other.” You explain, hoping that he will give in. He sets his notebook down and stands up. He walks over to grab his coat and passes you yours. “Fine. On one condition.” Sam has a cheeky look on his face that proves he’s about to test the waters.

“Go on,”

“You agree that this will be our first date?” He asks, and your cheeks flush red. “I can’t pass up an opportunity to take a pretty girl out.” He adds, making your heart skip a beat. “Sure, it’s a date. But on one condition,” you copy and he lets out a chuckle. “Yeah?” He moves closer to you, his height clearly showing the difference between you both. “Only if you drive.” You prod at his chest, causing him to recoil playfully.

[st4rgzer]

MATT BUT ITS THE AUDIO I SENT U

UNREQUITED PT. 2 matt sturniolo

summary: pt 2 of unrequited love, you make some plans that take a turn for the worse

genre: PURE angst

cw: mentions of self deprecation, flirty jokes

a/n: for my lobe, @iha8you , hope you enjoy it, sorry for what happened again, fuck him!

Its been 2 months since i started distancing myself from the triplets and anything involving them, more precisely, matt.

Of course they noticed, i have more than 11 missed called from nick, not trusting my messages saying “im fine, just busy, ttyl” Im never like that, not with them at least. Today I’ve made up my mind, im going to put my silly feelings aside and hang out with my friends, its was i need, it’ll do me good, i know it will. They pick me up from my house, the drive to theirs being the most awkward thing in the world, worse than telling a server at a restaurant “you too!” In response to “enjoy your food”, yeah. No one said a word, that was the worst, its everyone expected someone to say something but no one dared to break the silence. I think I could see matt smirk in the rear view mirror, I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion, did he find this amusing? We arrived home a few minutes after, which felt like an eternity. I undid my seatbelt and we all went to the front door, waiting for nick to get the keys, he fiddled with them, trying to open the door

“Whenever you want nick” Chris said sarcastically, annoyance visible in his voice, as he always did when he bickered with his brother. Eventually, he got the door open and we all got set up inside, I sat on the couch with nick next to matt and chris.

“Do y’all wanna watch a movie or…?” Nick said looking around, everyone nodded, including me, I would rather just watch a movie then have to talk. I cleared my throat and crossed my legs, getting comfortable. Nick got up after putting on a scary movie and went to get some drinks and snacks

“I’ll come help you!” Chris exclaimed, he probably just wanted to make sure no one got his pepsi, but whatever. I come to the realization me and matt are alone on the sofa, the movie is paused, we glance at eachother awkwardly, even if we never argued or said anything about how i felt, we both knew something was up, he was the first one to break the silence.

“Hey you can talk to me you know, you act like you love me or something” he laughed off, my stomach dropped, did he know? No, that’s impossible. I laughed along.

“No I’ve just, just been really busy and-“ i get cut off. “C’mon don’t tell me that bullshit, I know you haven’t been THAT busy to hang out with your favorite friends” he said rolling his eyes, he hit my shoulder playfully. He touched my shoulder. I looked down, trying to find a better excuse, or hoping that he’d just let it slide.

“Well, I’m just reall-” saved by the bell. “LOVEBIRDSSS got the popcorn, drinks, and ready for another hour of edward scissorhands” Nick said placing the popcorn onto the table, crossing his legs over the couch, and grabbing the remote. I let out a sigh of relief, matt looked over at me and huffed, im sure he’ll forget. Chris put his feet over matt’s lap and sipped his soda.

After the movie ended, it was fenomenal as always by the way, we got to talking, great.

“So y/n, what have you been up to? We really haven’t seen you at all these months” Chris spoke between handfuls of popcorn. Nick nodded along

“Well i-“ I glanced over at matt, he was looking at me, of course he would, im speaking, what am i even saying? “I’ve had a heavy month of recording and editing videos, im in the middle of looking for a new editor, AND im getting my drivers license, so yeah, pretty bus- occupied…” I explained to them, half of that was true, i WAS looking for a new editor, just not actively doing so, and i AM getting my license, just not till January…but they bought it, which is the important part.

“Well we’ve all missed you around here” nick scooched next to me. I smiled in return.

“Yeah especially matt” Chris said suggestively, prolonging the word matt in a singsongy voice. Im sure he didn’t mean it that way, was he mocking me?. Matt just rolled his eyes.

“Sure, well im not the one who’s in love with me” he smirked at me, I scoffed, again? Really? Its like everyone is in on a big inside joke but me, and i hate it.

Nick notices my discomfort and diverts the attention from me.

“Hey how about we call Alanha and Madi and we go to Mcdonalds or something” he suggested. “Yeah that sounds great!” I responded, the other two agreed in unison, and we left the previous subject alone, thank god.

As we pulled up to Alanha’s house, Madi and her went out of the door and got into the backseat next to me and Nick, we squeezed in all we could, we laughed about it a bit, it was a relief to see them really, Madi was the only one, along with some other gfs, that knew about it.

“Y/n! Its so good to see you, its been forever” Alanha side hugged me, with difficulty in the cramped car.

“Yeah i know, its good to see you guys too” I smiled at both of them, the car ride to the Mcdonalds drive thru was short, thankfully. Matt lowered the music as the speaker took our order, everyone whispering theirs to him, he remembered my order. We pulled into the parking lot, sorting out all the food.

We decided to eat out in the car park, it was dark so there was no one there, so it was quiet and peacful, we were eating our food and making jokes, Matt kept on slipping little flirty remarks but I ignored them, after all, he was just making fun of me.

“Fuck arent you guys cold?” Madi shivered, rubbing her hands together, it was chilly but we all had at least a hoodie on.

“Here, im warm from all the food” Matt took off his hoodie. He handed it over to her. She put it on. “oh” i thought.

All the sounds around me kind of tuned down, furrowing my eyebrows and snapping myself out of my state, my breathing got a little heavier, i shook my head. Why was a being so dramatic? For the love of god, he just gave her his hoodie, its not like he declared his undying love for her or something, either was it still hurt a little, im lying, it hurt a lot. Madi put her hands in the pocket of Matt’s black ransom hoodie, she smiled and the conversation carried on, but I wasn’t paying attention

“Y/n? Y/n are you theree?” Nick waved a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry I just zoned out there for a sec” I laughed somehow, I didn’t know if it was really visible in my face how upset I was.

“Oh im sorry did you want my hoodie” Matt joked, everyone else laughed along, it was an innocent little joke for them, i get it. I bit the inside of my cheek, he took my feelings as a hilarious thing, as if I was the kings jester. I breathed in, trying not to let the stinging feeling of tears in my eyes win over, I didn’t wanna be the one to say they wanted to go home, so i just waited, not participating in the conversation, but laughing and nodding along at the right times to not raise any suspicions, eventually, Alanha said she had to be up early in the morning, if we could go home, so we did.

“Guys just drop me off here” I sighed, getting out of the car, waving little goodbyes to all of them. Another successful night, drained, the only comfort being my bed and being enveloped by my fluffy sheets. Another night wondering if there’s something wrong with me, and another night realizing once again that hope is, indeed, a dangerous thing for someone like me to have.

a/n: everyone say “fuck you danny!” 🙂🙂 @iha8you

should i do a taglist or something?😭 tell me if u dont wanna be on this

@dwntwn-strnlo @oneirophobic @20nugs @mettsturniolo @iha8you @lvrsparadise @gabbylovesreading

[judesmoonbeauty]

New Year Blog Goals

Hey, hey!

In short, this is a thanks to you all for your support this year, JMB blog overhaul updates, and blog goals for 2025!

And in case you all don't read it (and that's cool): I wish you all heaps of happiness and warmth for the upcoming year!

So, I just wanted to take the time to sit down and thank you all so much for your support of my blog this past year!!

It was a bit crazy with my blog being reported and having a handful of my translations deleted by Tumblr (still traumatized by that), to personal irl things that happened with the weather and such. Anyways......

I started this blog just over a year ago solely to lurk for IkePri and IkeVil JP spoilers, but because I am impatient beyond words I decided to start playing JP servers myself.

One thing snowballed into another, and then I started translating and writing fanfics (which I thought I'd NEVER do)....and here we are.

Looking back to my very first translation (IkePri's New Year Event for 2024), I shudder....a lot. And then there is my first ever IkeVil translation (Ellis' Past Records), and I shudder even more......they are nightmares of a translation.

Still, looking back to then and comparing them to what I can accomplish now, I think I've come a long way and I hope to continue to progress.

And you all are to thank for that!

Truly, if it weren't for your feedback, kind words of support, your totally going feral with me, and so on, then I don't think I would've kept going!

Now then, this past January I had the most feeble and basic blog goal: Learn how to create master lists. LMAO.

Tumblr was so confusing to me when I first started, and it's still a pain in the ass to deal with tbh, but I think I can safely say that I accomplished that goal. I feel like I make master lists left and right now....

What's Next For JMB Blog?

Well, I am going to be making some changes to JMB overall:

Going forward, JMB will solely be my Ikevil translations blog. All creative content (dissections, fics, drabbles, OC content, IkeVil recipes, etc), will be moved to my other blog @.adreaminthesea.

Master lists will be reorganized so you can locate translations more easily.

IkePri translations: I've been wanting to return to this, but I feel like this will not happen in the future. Hence, past translations and summaries will be discarded now they've released on EN.

Finish Jude's Main Story prior to his release. I actually have a goal to finish this much sooner than late next year (but I'll keep that date to myself.)

Translate for more IkeVil suitors. Currently, I translate primarily for Jude, Ellis and Nica. While I do translate for the other suitors as well, I'd like to do it more - when time and energy permits.

Another IkeVil Main Story translation - However, this will potentially be a collaborative effort. Anyone up for a Vogel route???

More of a personal enrichment goal, but this will hopefully increase the quality of my translations: Dedicate more time to learning Japanese. I learn as I go and that's not the way to do it.

Writing: I used to write a lot more than what I do, and my wips list is longggg, so I'm hoping to get back into this and post my content on my ADS blog.

Have fun and engage with you all more! This means taking time to actually enjoy the events I play, reading others translations more (I am SO behind), and interacting with you all more.

I think that's a good list to keep me busy all year. Of course, adjustments are going to be made along the way, and I already know that I won't be able to accomplish it all fully. Still, let's see what we can do.

[cyanocophrenic]

Obsession

I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.

I'm so boring.

I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.

I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.

No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.

I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.

You know... the movie?

You know the movie.

Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.

You can't blame me.

Well... you certainly can't, anyway.

If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?

Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.

I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.

In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.

Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.

It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.

That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.

I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.

A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.

It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.

"Oh-" she says.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"

And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!

"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.

She steps all the way into the room.

"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"

"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.

"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."

I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.

"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.

What.

"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.

"What?" I ask, reflexively.

She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.

"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."

I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.

"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."

The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.

I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.

The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.

I have to do something they won't see coming.

I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.

"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"

God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.

I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.

I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.

"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.

It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.

That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.

I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.

I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.

The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"

"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."

I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.

All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.

The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.

"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"

I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.

Instead, I break down.

"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."

"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.

"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"

"-but-"

"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"

"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.

We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.

Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.

I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.

Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.

Finally.

I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.

"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"

[chaifootsteps]

Hey Chai,

This is a long one, so I’m gonna start out by first thanking you for this blog you’ve created as a safe place to share your thoughts and those of others, including when they disagree with you! You are both admirably unabashed and pleasantly down to earth in how you carry yourself on here! Now to get into the meat of it, I felt like sending in my thoughts on the idea of “wasted potential” as applied specifically to Lucifer from Haz_bin Ho_tel, and to ask you for your thoughts on that concept and Lucifer as a specific example (if you wanted to share them, of course)! I want to clarify that I’ve never personally liked referring to characters, story beats, or theme explorations in a piece of fictional media as “wasted potential” because some part of me feels that I don’t get to make that judgement call when I wasn’t the one writing. This isn’t me claiming that I am better or more mature than people who discuss wasted potential within media analysis - I am well aware that I am entitled to dislike the direction a character or story is heading as much as any human - this is just me saying that I personally never try and act like I could speak on knowing what was better for someone else’s creative vision, so I just tend to keep my thoughts to myself. Until I witnessed what Vi_v did to Lucifer. Memes are funniest when quoted ironically, but it was after episode six that I sincerely said out loud to myself “look how they massacred my boy!”

In the days of the pilot and promotional character art, Lucifer was my favorite character. Viewers barely knew anything about him, but the little we did know was OVERFLOWING WITH POTENTIAL. He was my favorite character design in the entire show, and a near hyperfixation in my mind. The limited information and visuals we were given were those of a well dressed, unwaveringly confident, and - seemingly - unapologetically aware player in a story about the slaughter of sinners and the near-lost cause of Charlie’s efforts towards their redemption. He was the King of Hell, husband to the first woman in existence, instigator of human sin, and REBEL AGAINST GOD. Even juicier, assuming we never got to see him as his own character, there was at least the mystique of the domino affect he had on the characters of the show including Charlie, Alastor, and even Vaggie as Charlie’s girlfriend and a fallen angel, herself. The second-hand accounts we heard of him through Charlie - specifically “I think dad was right about me-“ and “- you don’t take shit from other demons!” - depicted a character who had little sympathy for Charlie’s goal or the sinners while still showing his care for her in his own, twisted way. All of this oozed with POTENTIAL for the enormity of this character and his weight on the story as the embodiment of pride and as the King of Hell.

And we, the audience of the final product, got NONE OF THAT. The final character - the canon depiction thrown at our faces following over four years of anticipation - was a self-pitying, judgmental, immature, wishy-washy, absentee father who remained WILLFULLY unaware of the life and ambitions of the singular child he claimed he wanted a better relationship with and took ZERO accountability in running the very people and kingdom he had been stuck with for 10,000 years! He didn’t even know his daughter, the princess of Hell and his most treasured family, had a girlfriend of multiple years. In a lot of ways, he was a well-dressed man-child constantly shouting some version of “I DON’T WANNA!”. 

And GOD did that hurt to see. How it hurt to see his wasted potential. 

There were so many things he could have been starting in late 2019, so many things that seemed perfect for both a character and story beat as would have explored the greater themes of the show itself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t any of them on that particular day in late January of 2024. The CLOSEST he ever gets to embodying that potential was when he was protecting his daughter while beating the holy light out of Adam in the finale, but even his statement of “You’re in my house, bitch!” doesn’t depict the imposing and unmeasurably egotistical being of pride he seemed to be in 2019, it just sounds like something any person would say in a cocky manner punching down on someone who broke into their house. For me, it took the wind out of my sails to see how far my once adored character had fallen from the character he COULD have been. How he had been denied all the potential that he once had. Potential that, through writing choices by the creative team, was decidedly "wasted".

So those are my feelings as applies to both the concept of “wasted potential” in writing and to the character of Lucifer in Haz_bin Ho_tel. I apologize again for how long this whole rant has been, but if you have any of your own thoughts or want to comment on my whole spiel around how we describe wasted potential as viewers and Lucifer as a possible example, I would be excited to hear them!

Thank you again for this space you have created and keep fighting the good fight, even if that’s just for the freedom to our own opinions on popular media!

No apologies, Anon, and thank you for the kind words! Everyone should feel like they have a safe, fun place to bitch about how much they dislike popular media...whether HH runs for one more season or 10, I'll do my best to keep this little pocket available!

Thank you for your heartfelt Lucifer thoughts. I know back in the day, when I still loved and had high hopes for this show and actually hoped Viv could get Weird Al to voice Lucifer, this was the thing that made me really fall in love with him. If I'd known back then that he'd turn into a crude, idiotic frat boy, I wouldn't have bothered.

I think the longer these shows run, the more it gets to be that people are mourning their favorite characters and the potential they could have had. It's pretty painful to love a character so deeply, to be so excited to see what they become, and to be rewarded with the worst possible version of them you could imagine. Happened with Stolas for me, with Lucifer for you...it's a story you hear time and time again.

It sucks.

[fanfictiongirlie]

Twilight: The Human and the Wolf Chapter Three

Click here for masterlist

Parings: Paul Lahote x OC (First person, no use of Y/N)

Description: Bella Swan's twin moved to Forks with her sister. Whilst Bella falls for a vampire, her twin falls for a wolf. The story runs parallel to Bella's story in Twilight. But following her twin and her life with the wolves.

Rating: Eventually explicit.

Warnings: Nothing in this chapter.

Chapter Three - Wait, didn't you ask Bella to the prom yesterday?

Saturday morning came quick, I woke up early in the morning and drove myself to La Push. The journey was peaceful, I always enjoyed driving through the nature of La Push. The sun was slowly beginning to peak the horizon as I drove onto Billy Black's land. 

I left my car and walked into the house, I could see both Billy and Jacob were in the kitchen, they beamed happily when they saw me. 

"Just in time for breakfast" Billy spoke first. I had timed it right, I loved Billy's cooking more than anything. I joined Jacob at the table and we all ate Billy's amazing breakfast. It was a good idea we packed in as many calories as possible for the day Jacob and I had planned.

"You ready for our hike?" Jacob asked as he shoveled the food into his mouth

"Think I was more ready for Billy's cooking" I answered as I ate my own food, less messy than Jacob. Billy chuckles heartilly at my comment. 

Once all the food had been eaten and I helped Billy wash up Jacob and I left the house. 

"Let's hit the trail! It's gonna be a great day!" Jacob grinned, he had his long hair in a loose ponytail so it wouldn't get in his way. I walked behind him on the trail, letting him lead us through the woods. About an hour into our hike we were up high, I could see the sun shining through the trees, though it was still cold. The January air was crisp but it went along with the hike perfectly, getting overhot on a hike was the worst. 

I hadn't spoken in a few minutes, letting Jacob take lead of the conversation, though I had stopped paying attention a little while ago my mind trailing elsewhere. 

"Something on your mind?" 

Jacob asks me, I shake myself from my thoughts and smile to him as we slow down our walk, now walking besides each other. 

"Do you know Paul Lahote?" I blurt out. Feeling myself blush as I did. Jacob pauses slightly, probably confused as to how I knew Paul, and why I was asking about him. He nods slowly, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. 

"Paul Lahote? Yeah, I know him. Why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing, I met him the other day, that's all" I answer truthfully, though I wouldn't tell Jacob about my tiny silly crush on him. 

Jacob quirks an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He studies me for a moment, as if he was trying to understand why I would ask about Paul. 

"How'd that happen? I mean, he's not really the friendliest guy around" 

"Oh.." I say quietly "He was pretty nice to me, I bumped into him...literally"

"Paul was nice to you? Seriously? That's unexpected. He can be a bit of an arse at school" Jacob explained. 

"Oh..weird" I say as I step over a log as we continue the trail. Jacob follows close behind me. We hiked until it started getting a little darker. 

Once it did get darker we hiked back down to Jacob's house, Billy smiled widely when he saw us. I think he really liked it when Charlie Swan's daughters hung around Jacob, I think he secretly wanted one of us to get with Jacob..The thought made me giggle, but Jacob only had eyes for Bella. Too bad she didn't feel the same. 

"Hey, you two. Have a good hike?"

"Really good! I better get going, dad doesn't like when I'm out past dark" I explain a little sad, I had a really good day, I didn't want it to end. Jacob nods, a hint of disappointment in his eyes, obviously feeling the same as I was. 

"No worries, be safe driving back, alright?" Jacob answers. 

"Bye!" I say hugging them both and leaving. I hop into my car and begin driving home. The drive was peaceful, just like my drive here this morning, except this time I had the night sky and stars beaming down as I drove. A perfect end to a brilliant day. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Edward Cullen came back from his disappearing act on Monday. And then Bella had Biology with him, and after that she couldn't stop talking about him. 

I rolled my eyes again as she told me another thing about him as we walked through the halls to our next class. I nodded and hummed occasionally so it looked like I was listening. We finally parted in the halls and I walked to the Chemistry lesson, I took my seat next to Alice Cullen. She smiled warmly at me, but it made me feel uneasy. We had only shared this class twice so far, and each time she tried to chat to me, I was polite back, but overall she made me feel on edge. I couldn't put my finger on why. 

"Hi!" She chimed cheerfully "How's it going?"

"Good, thanks Alice" I smiled and started taking my books out of my bag. As the class went on, my mind trailed, thinking back to Paul. I was starting to get annoyed at my brain, I had met the boy for five minutes, I should be over it by now, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. He was so cute... 

Once class was over I walked through the halls, Jessica, Mike and Eric caught up with me and we walked out into the car park now that class was over. 

"Have a good weekend?" Mike asked me.

"I did, I went on a hike with my friend Jake" I answered, a happy smile on my lips thinking back to my weekend. 

Suddenly I heard tires screeching across the icy road, I looked to see where it was coming, feeling fear course through me. I could see Tyler's van speen into the car park, heading towards...Bella. My heart froze as I begin weaving through people to get closer, there were too many people, I heard a loud bang it made me feel numb. 

I pushed through people faster until I finally got to Bella's truck, scared that I'd see my sister lying on the floor dead, covered in blood, the thoughts made me feel sick. But when I got to her and I could see her, she was leaning against her truck, a small gap between her and Tyler's van. She was unharmed. 

"Bella!" I called climbing over the hood of Tyler's van to get to her, I wrapped my arms around her. 

"I'm okay" She says to me quickly "I'm fine, Edward saved me" 

I cocked my head a little confused, but then saw Edward walking away from the scene. Weird, if he had saved Bella, wouldn't he stay with her? I rode with Bella to the hospital, refusing to leave her side. I was stood by her as she was examined by a nurse. 

And then our dad walked into the room, he rushed to us calling both our names. 

"What the hell happened?" He asked, a panicked look over his face. 

"A truck came towards Bella, nothing happened to me, I wasn't anywhere near her" I answered, feeling a little bit more relaxed when my dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He yelled at Tyler a little and squeezed my shoulder, he was definitely keeping calm when he really wanted to yell more. 

Dr Cullen comes into the room and checks Bella over, he smiles at me and I feel the same unease I feel for all the Cullens I had met thus far. Once he was done with Bella to turned to me. 

"And how are you feeling Miss Swan?" 

"Oh, I wasn't in the accident" I answer quietly. 

"Yes, but it must of been quite the shock for you" 

"I guess so..." 

"It's natural to feel shaken after witnessing something like that, even second-hand anxiety can be quite intense" He explains. 

"I feel fine" I answer, probably a little too bluntly. 

Once we were allowed to leave I followed my dad as he needed to fill paperwork out, whilst Bella went to talk to Edward. I rolled my eyes a little. 

"Bella really does attract accidents" I say to my dad when we were out of ear shot to Bella. He lets out a gruff laugh, his worry obviously slightly lifted by my joke.

"That's for sure. She's a magnet for trouble. It's like she's got a secret curse or something"

"Glad I don't have it" I smirk. He chuckles, giving me a sideway glance as we walk. 

"Yeah, lucky you. You seem to have escaped your sister's tendency for chaos"

I smiled at that. The next few days were pretty normal, thankfully. Bella was annoyed at Edward for some reason, she wouldn't tell me why. I didn't care enough to push on it, I was mostly happy she wasn't talking to him at the moment. And time went on, Bella didn't talk about Edward for over a month. It was bliss. I felt bad, because I knew she liked him, but something was off with him. 

I walk into my history class and sit by Mike, giving him a friendly smile as I do so. 

"Hey, how's it going?" 

"Hey Mike" I smiled and we chatted a little whilst class started. 

"Hey, so do you have a date to prom?" He asks, I swear internally, I did not want to go to prom with Mike. I didn't know if I wanted to go with anyone...Well maybe...No...I hadn't seen Paul since that day. And I definitely didn't drive around La Push on many seperate days, because that would definitely be weird. 

"Prom? I hadn't even thought about it" I answer truthfully. 

"No prom date yet? That's surprising, I thought you would've had someone lined up by now, proms only round the corner!" He answers. 

"Not really, it's only March...Prom's in May" I answered a little snippy. 

"Yeah..well I was thinking we could go together?" He asks. 

"Oh...Mike, I'm sorry, but I think Jess really likes you...I couldn't do that to her" I answer, I felt really happy Bella had told me that Jess probably likes Mike, for this exact moment. 

"That's sweet of you I guess, not wanting to hurt her feelings"

"Yeah...wait, didn't you ask Bella to the prom yesterday?" I ask loud enough to make our teacher look at us a little annoyed, I muttered a small sorry. Mike's face falls, completely embarrassed. 

Taglist:

@jaybbygrl

[red-pill-to-swallow]

Doing your part in a relationship

Hey babes,

it’s Monday – a new, fresh week and the ultimate opportunity to make some changes.

I don’t know why it feels so much better to start a new routine on a Monday than it does on a random Wednesday.

I took some time after I posted my last two posts and really thought about the relationship dynamic between my man and me.

I thought about changes that I would like to make and what could help us to become a better couple.

Honestly, I was pretty shocked after all my thinking because it turns out that my man is the rock in this relationship and I am not sure why he is still sticking around when he could probably do so much better.

But let me explain:

I gave up working in my full-time job around January 2023 and have been home ever since then.

My man was aware that I was totally burned out from my job and offered me that I could stay at home and take care of the household chores.

Previously we used to split the chores around the house roughly 50/50. It was very fair and in some weeks he did more than me and some weeks I did more than him, like it’s in every relationship.

I would say that I am fairly good at housekeeping. I know how to cook, how to clean and how to do laundry.

However – I never before was responsible for everything. From going grocery shopping and planning meals to cleaning the bathrooms every week – suddenly all of this was on me.

I struggle really bad with organizing myself, this was one of the reasons why I was so burned out from my previous job, and I started slacking.

I would do the laundry one day and take three days before I started folding it. My man literally had no underwear one time and flipped out because that’s obviously disgusting and instead of improving – I started to get mad at him.

It wasn’t only the laundry, it also began affecting my cooking – which I loved doing before – and I would start making only frozen meals or just serving cold meat cuts with bread.

We started fighting a lot more because my man was sad, that instead of relaxing at home he would need to help me with my chores – after a full workday.

I had my epiphany a few weeks ago (when I made this blog) and realized that my man has every right to be mad at me. He does his job. I am not.

So, let’s see – my man works really though hours. He leaves the house early in the morning and comes home in the early evening. He’s usually stressed because his job is very demanding and he is responsible for a lot of people.

Imagine coming home to your girlfriend, who’s staying at home, and almost nothing is done. The fridge isn’t restocked, the floor is dirty and there is no food. After your shower you realize that you have no fresh underwear because your girlfriend didn’t wash any.

I would flip out too.

My behavior was/is borderline disrespectful and I am honestly ashamed because of it. I would have broken up with me if I was him.

But here we are – still together and I don’t plan on dodging this second chance.

I think many girls that want the lifestyle of a spoiled girlfriend or a stay at home girlfriend don’t realize how hard it is to organize a whole household on your own.

Yes, there might be some men out there that are so rich that they don’t mind employing staff to help around the house, but I don’t think that this is achievable for a woman in her twenties without having various high value connections in the right circles. At least I don’t have those connections.

I am responsible for keeping the house clean, making food and going grocery shopping. That takes maybe 5 hours of my day and the rest of the time I can do whatever I want.

My man only wants to come home to a clean, organized house with a stocked fridge and possibly a hot meal on the stove.

Honestly – he is the one that is working his ass off every day, not me.

The worst is, that I even started to neglect my appearance. I used to shave every second day and that slowly progressed to only once a week. I used to color my hair religiously and worked out at least three times a week.

Now I haven’t touched up my hair in over three months, my roots are disgusting and I am very ashamed because of it. I mean, even though my man pays for my beauty appointments – I couldn’t get my ass up.

However, I cleaned our whole house today. From the bottom to the top. It’s spotless. I did laundry and went grocery shopping and I made a plan on how to maintain all of those things.

I won’t share the plan just yet because I want to make sure that I can actually follow it before I share it with you.

What should you take with you after reading this rant?

Be careful that you’re always a responsible partner. Don’t be like me. If you’re telling your partner that you plan on doing something – actually follow through and do it. Don’t disappoint them all the time.

Make sure that you acknowledge what they do for you and thank them for it every once in a while.

It is unattractive to be lazy and not being able to keep up with your standards. It’s unfair to your partner to let yourself go and they have every right to be upset about it.

Think before you speak and start an argument. Are you really right? Is it worth to start an argument about something that is your responsibility?

I mean, my man made it clear in the beginning: If I want to stay at home and live a cozy life – I have to take care of the house while he works and provides for us both.

He does his part of the agreement. Every single day.

I’ve only done my part of the agreement when I felt like it and that is not okay. But I am changing and I know that he has already forgiven me for all the hassle.

See you soon

[girls-are-weird]

YR fanfic pet peeves (and corrections): latin america edition

so. i was originally going to post this in january as a kind of "new year, new opportunity to learn about simon's hispanic heritage" kind of a thing, but life got busy, and then my computer died and i lost my original list, so i've had to reconstruct this from memory as best as i could. there may be some stuff missing, so perhaps i'll just keep adding to this post as missing/new points come to mind.

disclaimer 1: if you've included any of the points made here on any fanfic of yours, please don't take this as a call-out. this isn't intended to shame anyone, but rather as an educational opportunity. it's very rare that a latin american nationality that is not mexican or colombian or puerto rican is showcased in an international show, especially outside of the US, and it's given me such joy to have all of you lovely folks make the effort to be open to and research and understand the idiosyncrasies of simon's (and omar's) heritage because the rest of latin america tends to go overlooked in most other fandoms. so i don't intend to scold anyone with this. we can't all know everything about every other culture-- lord knows i don't know everything about sweden, but i want to be respectful to the country and its people and that is why i heavily research anything i don't know and ask people who do know when my research doesn't quite cover it and am open to corrections when even that falls short. i expect most of you come to write about simon's family background in good faith and also want to be respectful to his family's culture, and so i thought i might make things a bit easier for you all by putting the most common errors/misunderstandings i've seen in one handy post. but once again, it's not a call-out, i don't get offended by these things, and i'm in no way implying, if you've done any of these things in fic or in life, that you are a bad person. i understand people make mistakes when they don't know things.

disclaimer 2: i am not venezuelan myself. i was born and raised in the same general region of latin america, though, and i have venezuelan friends and have worked with venezuelan people and have visited venezuela. generally speaking, i feel their culture is very similar to mine (though our spanish is much closer to spanglish than theirs is, haha xD) and feel a deep kinship with them. but of course, i'm no native, and if you're venezuelan and catch anything here that you feel is incorrect, feel free to point it out and i'll add a correction in your name.

warning: this is very long. christ almighty. DX if you can't make it to the end, tl;dr-- feel free to ask if you have any questions or if anything isn't clear. my ask box/messages are always open.

1- "mijo." this is the only one that legit has caused me to click out of several fics/chapters, at least in the beginning, but i've learned to grin and bear it by now. it's not so much that it's wrong, per se, but rather it's more of a location issue. "mijo" is, to my ears, very much a mexican (or, if you stretch it, northern triangle) slang. it IS used sparingly in other countries, but rarely used unironically. instead, if you hear the term used in the caribbean region of latin america (which my country is part of, as is a large part of venezuela), it's almost always used… let's say sarcastically. for example, if your grown-ass adult friend is being a dumbass and doing something reckless, you might call out "oiga, mijo, se va a romper el cuello" ("hey, mijo, you're going to break your neck"). basically, it's a way of calling someone immature like a child. it doesn't have to be ENTIRELY unaffectionate (kinda like the way someone might call their significant other "idiot" or "dummy" but mean it endearingly. in fact, in colombia it's way more common for spouses to call each other "mijo/a" than it is for them to call their children that), but you can also use it with complete strangers-- like if someone cuts sharply into your lane while you're driving, you might yell at them "oiga, mijo, a donde le enseñaron a manejar, en un potrero?!" ("hey, mijo, where did you learn how to drive, in a horse paddock?!"). but even in these sarcastic/neggy cases, it's rare. and EVEN RARER to hear a mother call her children "mijo" or "mija" in this region. it's just not a thing. so when i read it in fanfic, it immediately takes me out of the story because it's so weird to me that linda would sound mexican-- it's a very distinctive accent, which carmen gloria 1000000% does not have. (plus, "mijo" in spanish is a type of birdseed. so it gave me a chuckle the first few times i read it in a fic because i always have that brief second of confusion where i go "why is linda calling simon birdseed?" before it clicks. xD i'm a dork.) it's much more likely that linda would just say "hijo" or "mi hijo," instead.

1b- the way you decide on whether to use "hijo" or "mi hijo" is important because "mi hijo" can sound overly formal in the modern context especially, much like it would in english. in fact, you can use the english version of it, "son" vs "my son" to guide you on which of the two to use. like for example, if linda were to say directly to simon "i love you, my son," she would sound oddly old-timey and anachronistic, so you would just use "son" ("hijo") in that case. whereas if she's talking about simon with someone else, for example saying "i told my son to be here on time," you'd be perfectly okay to use "mi hijo" in that sentence in spanish. it's very transferable in that case.

2- speaking of non-transferable, though, you can't use "cariño" in all instances you would use "sweetheart" or "sweetie." it really depends on the grammatical construction, and it can be tricky to get it right, but it depends on whether you're using it as a direct address or as an object. for example, if you're using it in place of someone's name-- say, a mother telling her child "te quiero, cariño" ("i love you, sweetheart/sweetie") is perfectly fine, because in that case, she could also say "te quiero, hijo" ("i love you, son") or "te quiero, simon" ("i love you, simon"). but if, say, simon says to wille "you're my sweetheart," you would not use "cariño" there; you'd go instead with some syrupy way to say "boyfriend," like "eres mi novio" or "eres mi enamorado" or even "eres mi amor," and if sara tells felice "you're a sweetheart," that would also not involve "cariño" at all. in addition, "cariño" is also very rarely used in plural; if linda is using a term of endearment for both her kids, or for a group of teens her kids' age, she would use a different term of endearment altogether: "hola, mis amores" ("hi, my loves"), "hola, bebés" ("hi, babies") or "hola, mis tesoros" ("hi, my treasures") among some examples. one exception is when you say "cariños míos" ("my sweethearts"), but very rarely the plural by itself. in fact, "cariño" is often slang for gift or present, especially in the diminutive-- for example, if you go to someone's celebratory party for some occassion (birthdays, graduations, baby showers, heck even christmas), you might hand them a small gift and go "te traje un cariñito" ("i brought you a small present"), and if it's more than one gift, or you're bringing gifts for several people, then you'd say "unos cariños" or "unos cariñitos" in the plural.

3- simon's skin is tan, not tanned. this… doesn't personally bug me as much because it's more of an english grammar issue, but i know people who might actually feel very offended if you get this one wrong with respect to them. "tan" is a color; a light shade of brown. "tanned" implies the original color of your skin has darkened with the sun. now, i'm sure simon can tan (lucky goat, says she whose skin burns even while indoors), but about 95% of the time "tanned" is used in YR fanfiction, it's used as a descriptor of the color of simon's skin as we see it on the show. that would imply his skin used to be lighter at some indeterminate before-time and has been darkened by the sun. this is incorrect; that is the natural color of simon's skin. so stick to "tan skin" instead (not tan PERSON, mind you. his SKIN is tan, he is not). and i would gently suggest that if you take away any single thing from this post, make it ESPECIALLY this point, as someone more sensitive than me might interpret this error as some kind of retroactive whitewashing. and i don't want anyone here to get in trouble for simply not knowing.

4- pabellón criollo is one dish, yes, but it's four different FOODS. it's not something a newbie would be able to make off of a recipe (i don't know how to make it and i've been eating it all my life), and it's not something that's likely to be taught in just one day. also, if you're bringing it to a dinner or a potluck, you're bringing four separate food containers, not just one.

4b- also, venezuelan food, for the most part, is not particularly spicy. you CAN make it spicy if you want, but traditionally, it is not. it's flavorful, maybe even saucy depending on the dish, but rarely spicy. i know the joke of white people being unable to handle spice is funny, but there's also plenty of us hispanic people who are equally terrible at it, because there's different levels of spice in the food from different regions of latin america. besides, as a friend of mine perfectly put: we are living in the 21st century now. if you can eat mild mexican food, you should be able to handle traditional venezuelan food just fine. and i'm pretty sure there's mexican food in sweden. plus, wille would probably be more used to international food-- not only does he have the means, but having traditional meals in foreign countries is kind of part of the job.

5- while i'm at it: simon is definitely half venezuelan. this is canon as of S2. there is no other place in the world where that dish is called pabellón. please keep that in mind when you're writing and researching.

5b- this, along with several of the points above, is important because it's a bit of diaspora trauma that whenever we venture outside of latin america and people learn we're latino, they immediately assume we're mexican, or that our culture and traditions are the same as those of mexican people. it happens often, and it's incredibly annoying. not that there's anything wrong with mexico or mexican people-- they're lovely, and their traditions and culture and food are fantastic-- but we are not them, and treating us like we are is reductive. the rest of latin america can be very different and incredibly diverse, and it can be dispiriting when people treat us like we're all the same. so that is why it is important when writing about simon, his family or his venezuelan roots, that you take care to actually research things as they are in venezuela, and not just pick the low-hanging fruit of latino facts you might've learned through pop cultural osmosis, which eight times out of ten will be mexican-only because most hispanic people in the US are mexican and the US exports its media all over the world. i've learned to just roll my eyes at it by now, but some people might actually feel offended or hurt, and i'm sure nobody here intends for that to happen.

6- although simon speaks spanish, neither he nor sara nor his mother nor any aspect of his mother's culture is spanish. "spanish" is what people from spain call themselves. people from spanish-speaking latin american countries are not spanish; we are hispanic, or latino/a/e. "latinx" is… let's call it controversial, at least outside of the US. most people born and raised in latin america don't like it; i personally don't get offended if people use it, but i don't use the term myself. also, you can say "latin food" or "latin music," but we usually don't refer to PEOPLE as latin, but rather latino/a/e. if in doubt, just use latin american or hispanic. they're also conveniently gender neutral.

EDIT: @andthatisnotfake also brought up a very important point: "if you spell it latinx, it makes it harder for screen readers to read (or so I've been told) and some people depend on those, so there's another reason to avoid it." (the unpronounceability of that term is at least part of the reason why hispanic people who live in latin america don't like it.)

6b- never use "the latino/a" on its own to refer to people. "latino/a/e" is an adjective, not a noun, so you would say "the latino boy" or "the latino man" but never just "the latino." kinda like it would be weird to point out the one japanese man in a room as "the japanese." there are some nationality/ethnic terms that just don't work as nouns in english.

7- spanish is not simon's one native language-- or at least not any more than swedish is. he grew up in a mixed-race household, speaking two different languages. it's pointless to call spanish his native language when comparing it to swedish. both are his native languages. also, while we're at this, wille is probably at least bilingual (i'm assuming he can speak at least english), although he only has one native language. it's hardly a competition between the two boys as to who's more of a polyglot.

7b- simon wouldn't take classes on the spanish language-- like to learn how to SPEAK the language-- since spanish is one of his native languages. he wouldn't take them at hillerska, nor in university, nor elsewhere. he wouldn't be allowed. you're literally not allowed to take classes on your native language, nor get credit for said classes. trust me, those would've been an easy extra 24 credits for me in college if that was a thing.

EDIT: have been made aware (thanks, @rightsogetthis and @plantbasedfish!) that at least in sweden and in finland one IS allowed to take classes of your non-swedish/finnish native language, in certain circumstances. i have to say, i'd be pissed if i were taking my french classes alongside a french native speaker, but hey, the system's the system, i guess. ;) so i've struck this one out.

8- dear god please don't use google translate for your spanish translations. listen, i'm not judging-- i do it with other languages, too, when i'm in a pinch. but google translate is literally The Worst (tm) so i always try to either check with someone, or stick to the stuff i already know is correct. seriously, you don't want to know the kinds of crazy stuff GT can spit out that people actually put out in the real world; some of them are quite hilarious. if you're unsure, my ask box/messages are always open and i looooove helping people with this kind of thing, hispanic language and cultural stuff. i know it seems like i'm hardly around, but i do check my messages. don't be shy, even if it's something really small.

PS: while i'm talking pet peeves, malin is wille's bodyguard, not his butler. she's nice enough to attend to him at hillerska because there's no other palace staff around and she's literally stationed outside his door, but she wouldn't do that in the actual palace. there's other staff for that. she wouldn't even guard him at the palace, i don't think, because the royal palaces in sweden are guarded by the royal guard, not SÄPO. if anything, malin might spend the time while wille is in the palace grounds at a gatehouse (like in YR 2x03 and onwards) or at some kind of security office in the palace, and then get called whenever wille needs to go anywhere. she wouldn't be giving wille messages from the queen or walking guests to wille's room or anything like that. that's not her job. (sorry, i had to get that off my chest, lol.)

[blackangelism]

Born to Die

hey, so, basically, i was writing this fanfiction called born to die based upon kurt cobain and an original character called nirvana lacey anhedönia and, well, i never finished it and i think i’ve lost the inspiration to. but, i still want it to see the light of day because i think it’s beautiful (sort of). so, here we are.

Gibson Girl.

1480 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ You wanna… ]

Lovelace.

That’s what I’m fucking carving into my arm. With that oh-so-American size of the knife, the cut was deep and my handwriting as unhinged as it could be, probably and possibly worse than the cruel (upon me!) variety of forms it takes; like it was in my journal (I’ve always adored the copulation of the words probably and possibly as it tends so well to my seeming lack of sincerity and existential confusion), but worse, worse. Tingling all over I was in not an aroused, sexual way—but in the way it tingles when the high becomes scary, when the swirly faces start to scratch at you and when your belly feels scarily pregnant (everyone whom I know wants children; I wonder, am I sociopathic or a prophetess? Probably both, they’re primarily synonymous anyway). I knew so damnéd well I was addicted to this shit, the little, translucent, hallucinatory blotters (I prefer ’em trippy on both the outside and in, and pink; but I’m an addict! I’ll take whatever anyways) I get by shaking my ass to the guy whose name I do not wish to have my married brain clouded with. He still cut into my head like the knife that was working with all it’s effort and my inputs carving that v on my plump, ripe forearm. I was addicted as fuck; and I fucking loved it. At the very fucking least, I was pumping out poems like a heroine of the fifties. It’s what it was: the fifties had Sylvia Plath and the eighties had me. Downright iconic. The blood by now—I felt like a lamb, but I knew I was the dragon—was flooding my lap on which that forearm of mine was settled. I apologise if my writing, grammer, thoughts, anything else is fucked up in this or don’t make sense—I’m drugged up into Cloud Nineteen (ten blotters, two packs of Marlboro Reds over this evening).

I know I sound fucking insane and I probably am, and I treat myself to pain Virgin Mary couldn’t have dreamt off—but, I promise I’m not mean. Just a hard, excessive exterior and a tight, eager posterior in this dollhood of mine. Does that even make sense…? I don’t fucking know shit… “Ah, fuck…” I whispered with the most disappointing one I could muster when I fucked up the second l of Lovelace.

Lovelace, Lovelace… Great, I have to recall him.

The fucker who got me into this.

Norwegian trucker in India who was friends with my greaser pa, Norman Anhedönia, called Gibson Lovelace. The chap had forty years worth of oxygen wasted in his shallow breathing (he always breathed shallow, even when he came; I had noticed), a nine-incher monster of a dick, pedophilia, a drunkard wife and an obsession with me. I’d always been what Nabokovian terms would term nymphet, and I do say I’m split on it. I’m a shit daughter and a demon child, or am I? Maybe I’m just depressed and suicidal, or I’m fucking divine and the reincarnation of Eve meant to meet her Adam through a senseless act of violence upon myself (I didn’t know at the time, but I was fucking foreshadowing; go me.). Every girl needs a senseless act of violence properly upon herself but rarely upon the other to discover her one and only cult leader.

Anywho, Gibson led me into his truck away from my father who was too busy cleaning his shades listening to Elvis on the records: January of ’77, I was seven going to turn eight in the November of that year. He fucked me raw, smashed my head so hard into the steering wheel that I bled (I was questioning too much), kissed my cuts and made me promise I wouldn’t pick up a knife again but didn’t do shit about what I actually felt; he told me to stick my tongue out and placed this thin translucent sheet of pink from a little booklet he kept in his glovebox. And I decided that I loved it. I’m at fault, I’m at fault… Fuck Waheguru.

I’m finished. I squeezed my arm as hard as I could, the blood spraying over the marble floor (I had tucked the rug away; I can’t let Mumma see). My incisors with the utmost force to keep my vocal chords at bay dug into my chapped bottom lip and drew blood there too. It trickled down to my chin and came to nirvana at my lap resting amongst the other red molecules; it left a ferric taste on the tip of my tongue, slightly bitter and quite sweet. Bittersweet. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood… Blood, everywhere. Gibson would’ve rubbed it all over my nipples and told me to lick it up like it was his sperm all over my asscheeks or, well, just cheeks. I did have quite big tits for an almost twelve-year-old, I must admit… I’ve always had more estrogen and my estrogen was also more sensitive: susceptible. Susceptible to manipulation, fuckery, religion, what not… Finally, I could fucking feel something except for the stimuli of my g-spot and the irritation in my nostrils that still blossomed when I chainsmoked indoors or that itching feeling in me when I go too much time without my LSD. I have this delusion that I only pump men good or pump out good stuff when I’m pumped on those little squares: He said that LSD would be good for me when I told him that I write; I’ve been pumpin’ poetry for my baby ever since. I hate children, and I sincerely wish that all babies die alongside their parents and the doctors and the nurses and the medical’s parents and me…

My disorders kicked in (Borderline Personality Disorder, majorly untreated) and I fucking panicked. After so much shit, I fucking panicked. Panicked. Jumping up almost to slam my head to the sink I was cutting up like ham under, I had to hold onto the sink to make myself stand actually. I slowly experienced my hand creep up to switch on the faucet (like Gibby did to the faucet in my eyes everytime he crossed my neurocircuitry) and my other arm (I’m right-handed) creep to wash the blood from Lovelace off. Thankfully, I had a few bottles of peroxide, a pack of Reds, a babydoll dress all set up, razor and men’s shaving cream, my skincare, makeup—all of that set up, and the shower prepped as well. Today, I was to die.

The same year as Gibson’s arrival to me, I spiralled and ended up flinging my curvy body down the roof of some pretentious hotel in Seattle. I didn’t die, unfortunately. Then, well, I was transferred to a crazy people place for four years until I got out in March of ’81 (this year!) equally, if not more, fucked up. I had glowed so much surrounded by my little hellspawns, my creatures... My paradise is dying in the arms of nobody. But, I couldn’t care when the blotters kicked in and helped my cerebrum in distorting so fucking shittily my face into some eldritch horror that passed the likes of werewolves mid-transformation and golems. I giggled manically at the twistings of my eyes into the hair and my ears into halo, my mouth stretched through the giggle was transmuted to the petrified image of a dog and a lady and what fucking not. Oh, I need my pen… Pen, pen, pen, pen,... pen!

The lad

I tried to write into the journal page I had kept open on the small settee of my bathroom that I had also made sure to drip some of my essence onto (not like that, pervs; the blood, I’m saying) but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate with my cerebellum or my cerebrum. The giggles just wouldn’t stop and they just got more and more distorted like guitars fitted into amps and amps and shredding. I fell back on the ground, it cushioned by my ass, and held my head in my arms, shaking my head as if to curate outside of my all the fogginess and to shake out of my trip. I wanted to write, write! Not whatever the fuck this was. My eyes were squeezed so hard, I was crying. And, I couldn’t fucking stop laughing like a shitshow.

“Oh, God, stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop…!” Hadn’t even realised I was sobbing but in that moment that epiphany hit me like a freight train (whatever the fuck a freight train is; I just picked up on the writing tool from whatever I read using this). My arm was still bleeding, smearing blood over my cheeks; my lip was still cut from my teeth, bleeding the smaller bits too; I was shaking like a fucking banyan leaf in the rainstorms of Wash.

• • •

Strangers.

5010 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love ]

Even the isolation, deprave, and mesophilia of our fucked-up, Lacey, crazies hospital was better than this drenched, little town. What was better than any of those two fucking disasters, though, was my stance on the railway tracks. Sittin’ there like teke-teke, waitin’ for my gorgeous guts to be smashed over, destroyed, violated, clawed out by the grinders of the train. I’d never seen starry nights—the ladies at Lacey would never have enough testicles to let me watch a shooting star and hope that it crash into me, the fuckin’ meteorite. My years at Cawnpore already were quite less in number, and it eternally was too polluted for us to see something more than the dhruv star and a few other killers; I’d never seen starry nights. According to this astronomical magazine I picked up while the nurses took us out to the local stores of Lacey for us teenage girls to detoxify our battlefields for minds, today was a meteor shower and I was thoroughly intrigued by blazing space rocks in the skies, so I bluffed and fucked my way out of the hospital. My egg and sperm donors did not believe for a major nanosecond that I was cured. At two years of pained age, I was standing in the middle of the gray-like-me roads, conscious of the act; at four, I burnt my pierced earlobe on purpose, using the steam-fuelled iron to; at six, any blade I pranced upon would find it’s metallic way to scent the room in the aroma of my equally metally blood, I only wished for one to kiss those marks and draw about them, to be what the lyre was to Apollo; at eight, this curvy brain of mine finally snapped into her hemispheres and told me to fling my curvy body down the highest story of our hotel. At eight, my suppliers abandoned their Catholic mistake of a dolly into a mental hospital in my Americana birthplace, Lacey.

There, I morphed myself like the blesséd Phoenix, curse, profanity I am into The Mother. Mother Lace, Mother Nirvana, Messiah of thee, and the literary combo of Three. One of the only times I shall ever cherish are my years with those six girls… My girls: my loves, only ones who would ever succeed in enveloping me with so much heat that the outward exterior, the exoskeleton of middle fingers and catty hisses, melts into a puddle of rot beneath me and the inner delicacy of my wretched fragility and mortality is on display for all those mental fuckers to eat.

Needless to say…, I missed my bundle of little women, my packets of compressed, oppressed joy. So, I lay there longing with my arms stretched onward craving hiraeth in the Heavens—now that I look back, it never was hiraeth. I knew exactly what my home was: the browned mental hospital where I spent four formative years of my Jim Morrison's life in. I longed for the hug of my collected daughters, their soft digits brushing my hair as they softly inquired escape from the hellhole I promised to save them from. My girls... I loved them, like the mother they never received. I had promised, I had promised… I was a betrayer. What mother to those girls…

On instinct I experienced my hands reach to the crown of my head, relief coursing through my blood the moment a thorn stung me. Their entity had crafted for me a crown of thorns to relish me as their Lady and Saviour. I did feel blood seep from the pinch, but I stuck my finger between my lips and thrashed my tongue around, gazing at the dying glows of the starry night.

I pretended to be Jesus.

I am Judas, or am I?

I don’t even know what I’m writing. You’re hallucinating while interpreting strange symbols written left-to-right in lead and antimony compounds upon thin, delicate tablet-like structures made of tree sap, so I guess we two are never too far apart in our crazy.

Well, to them (my girls: Laine Jean Ray, Bonita Ana Dios, Aurora May-Belle Long, Theresa Midge Check, Verbena de Baïa Voisin, Margaret Sarah Check), I still remain Yeshua. Yet, I feel a wolf in lamb’s skin as myself; a panther in the throes of the night sky that I stare emptily, tearily, upon. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake (translation: you people are fucking dumb).

In my convulsing tubule of thoughts birthed by my cerebral quality, I failed in my life to notice movement, possibly a metre from me. I was laid over the railway track like a corpse, eyes empty yet body warm for no reason at all. It truly seems bizarre how the movement noticed me neither—maybe dissolved so much in the grief were they that they were as heady as me, as crazy as I! Trapped inside the fever dream of their own thoughts, vowed to never spit it out, bit tongues and summertimes spent in clawing bedsheets and clamping hands over the own lips so as to refrain from the awareness that might spread. That might say…: I am iron. I am usable, extremely so. Exploit me, as if you have not already. Though, I might have not warneth thou… I rot as vigorously as I am used, keep me out in the world and I will break down and become ash of myself. In the velvet night, a puff of air as a sigh crawled out of me, liquid dripping down the corneas of I, ruining not the night (this was to be, I planned to die today for fuck’s sake) but my precious mascara and eyeliner. Oh, how I worked on that lining to accentuate my inherited, unwanted, auto-appreciated felinity. I’d be the prettiest girl in the morgue.

Someday you will ache like I ache.

Anyhow, the shower from the atmosphere had concluded a few minutes prior. And, well, finally, the train I was waiting for to scramble and crumble my guts into nothing but wasted potential, like I already was, had arrived… Only, it arrived wrong. It ran over the steel beside me, beside us (counting in the movement I am). A severe monsoon bummer filled my chest, the void in my heart had been concealed tightly and packed with Lyssa, Eris, what not. I craved to screech at the tyrant Father for his sin, for his fucking disruptive mercy on me—I did not want mercy! I needed death to fuck me like his personal, unpaid, loyal servant-girl; I needed it violent! So, as soon as all registered in my voluminous cerebrum, I recoiled in my pose, resorting to the protection of a foetal position as I screamed out my sobs and muffled them by staining my shaved thighs with my lipstick and drool smelling of minty chew-gum that I chewed last minute, tears of brown-black from my mascara and liner, hitting my head against my knees and punching the bloody rails that I was once moonbathing over until I experienced my knuckles burn and bruise, actual slivers of blood peek through the skin. I continued then too, but was too passionate in my quiet wailing to keep up the aggression.

And, thence, I swiped my tears with my bleeding knuckles, unrealising in my little girl’s misery of the fact, and smeared blood over my eyes and mascara over my blood. By some distance, I could hear some twigs crunching, maybe it was the movement I hadn’t noticed beforehand. When I did notice in that current moment, fear struck my gut like Cupid’s arrow when I had seen Priscilla Presley for the first time in forever. Naturally, a response occurred within the fatty mass of electric muscle in my head and I recoiled within myself, burying my face in my knees that I had pulled to my tits, only my eyes blinking up like a defensing cat—if I had been a cat, my pupils would have shrunken to that reptilian, creepy glare. I saw that the thing was lighting a cigarette, my cravings relit alongside (the appearance of the thing was half-revealed in the dim spark).

Stupidly as I ever could be, I murmured from my coil, “Do you have a light?” However softly I did speak, the boy did hear because it was the death of the night in wherever we were, the railroad was as quiet as could be with the crickets around chirping and inaudible bats may or may not be sauntering about. Dim moonlight that I somedays worshipped (as a witch, I did) proved herself, and I saw him. The first predicament was that he’s cute: blond, ice eyes, hopeless swagger, shaky legs. He paused himself in his trek, and slowly but mildly clumsily, turned to see my form. Perhaps cold moonlight proved her importance to hallucinatory pages of dead sap’s inkéd words of feel-good love. Wow, fuck, I went overboard on there. So, he scrutinised me for a moment, squinting to gaze at me carefully.

I’ll never forget what came out of my future husband’s mouth the first time he spoke a single thing to me…: You look very pretty when you’re crying; tears suit you. I don’t think that I can emphasise the moan that was nearly to escape me at that very moment, it was a shockwave of whatever down my spine to my ladyness. My knees dropped to become flat, just legs, and I did acknowledge the gashes in my doll heart bleeding so vigorously, it matched my swallowed drool.

“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.”

His honeyed voice, sort of scratchy as I observed he was pubescent and hormonal in his blue jeans, white striped shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn!—and black-y jacket he kept open, pushed me to experience the yayo-type, giggly joy of his chuckle, he shook his head in amuséd denial of his drunkenness. He was poetic, he had a slur, he had his thin lips wrapped around a cigarette—shit, I needed them wrapped around mine… And, I loved it. Why the fuck was I enamoured? “You’re a hypocrite,” He paused for a moment, maintaining that smile. Two distinct holes, punctures in muscle, were noticed by thee truly, myself, at that very moment; I felt my ribcaged heart palpitate. “You’re bawling your eyes out here like Virgin Mary.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful.” The moan that was slowly and gradually, steadily and irresistibly, mountaineering up my throat finally escaped in the form of this: *Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful*. Which, I did mean—how could I not mean *this*? I’m not Lisa Rowe, you buzz (although I wish to be—have you not read the sheer charisma produced from the description Kaysen emits of her? She was definitely the prettiest girl in the morgue!).

Hands of his extended to mine, both, and I took them, shakingly wobbling from my psych-out. I felt drunk. As terror-inducin’ it seems, drugs had exhilarated me, no cock of a man who had money this nymphet had onlooked had been left out, I was such a La Lolita for my crazy desires—but I had never had a swig before. Smelling the booze off my falling, twisted guy as he pulled me up from my literal and mental death—I only knew that my heart was hitting at my sinews, she felt a depraved wanderlust. Some wanderlust it was to, like a man in a Prime Minister pose, mark that free, angel Earth mine with maybe a flag (a tattoo) or a hole (a lovebite), something, somewhat. I held onto his shoulders for both metaphorical and literal support, he held onto the curve of the lower back I possessed, though the fabric of his jackie didn’t benefit friction and he kept slipping his arm off accidentally because, one, he adorned too much weight on; two, the fabircs intermingled like our forms, the cheap satin and whatever the fuck his jacket was made of. “Why am I a hypocrite, though?” I finally asked this little blond dude what had been pestering me (I am not to blame for this worthy-of-disdain obsessiveness, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I am Cool Girl: I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive) for how millennium long. His ocean eyes matched mine for a moment, and he seemed to think through for a momento before he permitted the giggle of a hyena break out of him: Because you’re pretty when you cry, and I’m not.

“Yes, you are.” No hesitation was laced through me, none of that unaware uncertainty that I usually experienced leaking through my tune when I comforted one of my girls—my girls...—and instead was there an ignorant stubbornness. I was always stubborn, but what the fuck? I, having registered in my still plush cerebrum that my crown of thorns (gifted to me by Laine specifically, although all the girls worked on it) had fallen like my Lucifer when I had risen, thence I bent to grab my status, injuring my already injured hand thus further as the thorns pierced and pricked into my skin. And, I didn’t even cry…

He recoiled almost physically at my olden compliment (remember the first dialogue of the previous paragraphed rambling?) and I was due a breakdown of my psyche in that very singular fraction of a minute when my man suddenly perked up, “I only have this cig,”, changing the subject. Yahweh, my knuckles burnt. I ohed a tiny bit, and chuckled, extending one of my quivering, weak limbs and bending to wrap my lipstickéd lips on the ass of that cigarette, same one he took a drag from not fifteen seconds ago. His Atlantic eyes widened for a twiddling momentous, and, possibly and probably in drunken stupor and marijuana heights of his death wish, he giggled—I physically felt my pupils dilate, what the fuck? Maybe it was the nicotine, maybe it was the aftershocks of my tiny-teeny mental breakdown on the rail, maybe it was hisself… Damn, I think I understood Grant so well in that miniscule moment: Heaven is a place on Earth with you.

The world was built for two.

Delusional, I was convinced that it was us two the moment he grabbed the cigarette from me for his chance, and he examined the matte, messy mark of my lip stamped on it.

With the dumbest smile he could muster in my damnéd opinion, this little, blond, territorial, underdeveloped man adjusted his lips on the exact place I had left my shine, suckling it like it was some part of me. He knew what he was doing, I could pluck it from the glitter in his pretty orbs that told me shit he’d never be able to spit out in our tragic, magic relationship of some thirteen years. We kissed in death like we kissed in that moment, he blew smoke into my mouth and I giggled, almost extracting the alcohol of his from the roof of his mouth as my tongue felt her way around. We parted for perhaps, well, a second (I don’t remember the details, I’m writing this after our wedding sex, 1988. We’re in our flight back to Olympia from Honolulu, and he’s sleeping on my tits), and rejoint as I adjusted the angle to kiss-fuck this virginal Cherub better. “Darling, is this your first?”, he nodded, responsive—to be frank, that was adorable...! I’m pretty sure I squeaked out of sheer kiddy excitement, squeezing the sides of his face (cheeks). My grip migrated to around his neck, form bent for he was teenier than I. I didn’t even know his name and we were kissing in the blue dark…

Parting, I only gazed into his oceanic gaze and breathlessly giggled, “Oh, wow, fuck,... That was…, yeah.” A grand total of seven partners (three females, four males) I had engaged in before this merman, and I had never felt myself stolen of breathe ever in my existence after a mere kiss. Possibly was it the intoxication, the nicotine fucking over my senses so that my taste buds tickled with the enriching experience of his glazed cavern, but was it not thrilling, oh Mary! I had enchanted outward the sweetest giggle, and he in his still stupor snuggled his head inside the curve of my shoulder and chest; he was only that much tall. I was not lanky in any aspect, neither I am still—on the flipside, truth is that my mother repeatedly insisted upon me to not drown in my head and force her to onlook, rather to go outside, soak some tan (I am racially brown, thence I don’t require a tan) and run some. I decline profusely, tangling in blankets again and writing what, if discovered, would have positively filed me into the South Sound Behavioral Hospital yet again for a term not of four years now but of God-knows-how-long.

Eventually, I figured: some other day, this nymph may or may not have only prolonged my life now, and I told myself it. By the railway roads were grasses uncared for (like most daughters were; the human was their mother and the stain’d, tall grasses were the lost), we decided unconsciously to sit by those and talk the dimlight of the night off the clouds, to dawn we conversed. As unbelievable as it may sound considering the turbulence not even Athena might have dreamt of that had plagued the twisty courses of my lifetime, I had not sipped upon the liver eater yet: alcohol! With my newfound darling, that was precisely what I did.

We were dwelling inside uncanny synchronisation with our acts: we looked around at the same time, fixated on the same piece of cement, reached to gasp one another’s hands the same moment. I didn’t flinch, neither did the blond darling. Which..., was quite, well, it was especially choking as I... Usually froze at contact of the physique from someone whom I loved. Around this time, with my drink-induced lover, it felt good.

We curled up by grass, against a gray boulder-like structure, perhaps a part of a rotten or demolished building of some sort, debris. There, I suckled upon the lengthy cancerstick and inquired like an owl: “Why were you here, anyway?” In a casual tone I did, as if it was something so normal that I was nonchalant. “Oh, y’know, to kill myself.” The answer delivered by this sweetness would dwelling in me a day or so afterward (take that very literally) was just as nonchalant, confirming the suspicion conjured by my despaired subconscious that he was just as heady as me, as crazy as me, someone who would rot along me like iron all the while fearing the rot, hiding from something murmuring within thyself and teetering about; aura as a nymphic call and melancholia as the default ring of the mood. GOD is a teenaged girl of grunge and glitter, and I am a doll (soulless, empty, pretty with no matter on the inside yet pretty from the back—it matched!).

“No, no, like, why?” I repeated with an accentuated tone and my regular gestures of hand and eye, “The reason you wanted to kill yourself. I don’t judge, promise.” I shrugged, chuckling a bit as I passed the miniature cancer to him for a drag. “Clearly.” He chuckled too, widening his eyes momentarily to allude to my appearance; as I remember it, that elicited out from me a little giggle. I mean, it was the factual; darling, not lying. A girl; a girl dressed in a pearly babydoll dress with lacy tights (opaque white-like, frilled, a bow on top of each, knee-high) and no footwear with mascara smeared down her face from a clear breakdown of her battlefield for mind, manic brown eyes with a grape-coloured lipstick on pouty heart-shaped lips, blood and dirt also staining her optic area due to her bleeding knuckles from which she punched the steel of the rails because the train did not run over her? Paired alongside the fresh wounds on display littered across that fatty arm of hers? Oh, she was a crazy chick—and I could tell that this little guy loved it. He loved my mania, he loved my blood, he loved my crazy, he loved everything that I loved about myself. Maybe it was his alcohol that urged him this way, but I loved him for he loved what he saw.

But is she pretty on the inside?

“Well,” I spaced back in with the thrill of his voice curling the air around us; I wish we were plunged into steel. Sound travels best in something like steel… What would his voice be in steel? The thought messaged down my spine a shiver. “’s mostly everything about my life. Wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but all I do these days is mope and get high, or drink. I’ve been this since last month. Last year, I saw this… This dead boy who hung himself in the woods. That really affected me, I think; I’ve got suicide genes.” He paused a bit, sighing as he was passed the smokestick again. I puckered up a bit and drew closer to his pretty face, rounding my lips out and pushing out a ring of cigarette smoke. On impulse, he stuck nose through the centre of the dissipating smoke ring which drew from me another giggle—he was just like me! I did that too! I’d never thought someone else would…? What the fuck is going on?

Taking a drag, he then resuméd: “My parents are divorced… I’m really embarrassed of that.” He added a bit hesitantly, I could gauge that he still felt the shame of it all; which perplexed me. A divorce is shameful? How so? It’s a fucking life decision… But, that’s okay because this little one was clearly less mature and emotionally developed than I, although that amount still was remarkable considering his physique and my presumé of his age (which I thought to be elder to me, but still not too much so). “Why?”

“I want my real family back. My dad promised me he wouldn’t remarry, and he fucking did; to a bitch nonetheless. I hate her and her children are so… Phoney…!” Humming at his hurt words, I was analysing him: eyes gliding over the pasty, smooth contours of his vanilla face; staring into the trench of his pupils surrounded by his ocean eyes as he passed back the almost dead cigarette to me. The guard he wore over his exterior again was forming as he read that I was reading him without contempt (he thought I was feeling that, but I was simply analysing him emotionlessly—as if he was a labrat and I was dissecting him to figure out the following: what the fuck is this little shit?). But, I got him before he leaned away or apologised: Don’t worry, go on. Say it. I hate my cousins too. He relaxed yet again, I could see his shoulders come down and he leaned into me again,. Our heads were almost leaning against each other’s, breathes intermixing with each intake and out. “Go on.” I repeated, tapping his knee to accentuate my point.

He snapped out of whatever daze (he was reading me too, perhaps; mentally dissecting my Barbie body too, perhaps) and his hand came to clasp mine. I bit back a giggle and a smile at the contact, he did notice the corner of my lips tilt upward so he took that as a positive for further lacing of his fingers with mine. I, now a bit assured in myself, squeezed his hand and nudged him again: go on.

“Right,” He chuckled, “So, well, I just feel… Alien. You know, when I was little, I used to look at the stars,” He pointed briefly to the stars that were shining above the both of us, “And imagine my real family because I just felt like I wasn’t from here, like I was from another planet. I think I like that feeling, I was homesick for a place that didn’t even exist. And, to be honest, you’re the only other alien I’ve met.” That made me giggle after I muttered hiraeth at the sentence spoken second to the last. I found in my nicotined mindscape that this… Theory, was almost verbatim of a theory I myself had gardened in my meadow for mind. “Y’know…! I felt like that too, still do actually. I just used different terms for it. I called whatever the fuck our species are Earth Angels, angels on Earth. I read somewhere once that a person with scars of cuts on their arms was called an angel by a kid, and I think I really internalised… That.”

He chuckled, “Your mind is divine, Pretty. Yeah, I think my family is also a reason in why… I want to kill myself, y’know?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love them so much so I do what they want and they hate me for every speck of originality; I don’t know if it’s my mental disorders or it’s my hormones, but every small inconvenience makes me wanna kill myself. I’m also a hater! I hate everything and I do nothing to change it which, admittedly, makes me an arsehole—but, fuck it.” We both had laughter crawling up our throats and I could tell it wasn’t actual laughter. Oh, no. It was mania, laughing not because it threatened to spill; laughing because you had nothing else to do. Like crazy people (I do think that I am insane, in some way, shape or form. But, I also think that I’m supersane. Who fucking knows? I think a lot, don’t I?).

The cigarette had gone out by now, I think I had stubbed it out by pressing to the moist ground after he had truly started opening the shells of himself, not wishing to be distracted by drugs when I had the most addictive and healthy sedative offering his lifestory to a little shit like me. “Well, what’s it for you? I haven’t ever seen… You around…” He slurred out as we jumped down from our maniacal, little, episodic bursts of sacrilege or insanity… Well, are they not synonyms?

“Ah, so, I just moved here about a… Maybe a few days ago? I think a week or so. I moved from Lacey, though I’m actually Indian. Well… It’s a fucked-up fairytale, really. My whole ancestry and family is the following: sexist, racist, extremist to Sikhism, religious, doomed, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, very, very Indian. It’s only my grandmother who acknowledges the sexism floating between our family; she dreamt high and was ambition incarnate but her marriage to this horrible fucking man led her to be so oppressed she couldn't speak a word of English without being thoroughly taunted for it.” His face clearly contorted into a gnarly grimace, and I felt my nose start to itch and burn again remembering all this up… Never had I ever trauma-puked this well or been so comfortable vomiting it out to someone I did not know.

“’s just… Fuckin’ Hell. I can’t translate it into words, I can only feel.” Shaking my head in a paternal sort of disappointment (no matter how much I despise the fact, I am my father’s daughter; his copy of carbon) at my inability, I felt myself pulled in again… How? How was he doing this shit? Being so fucking kind? It made me anxious, admittedly. Why was he so kind? What did the fucker want?

I’m being too cynical. I wanted to cry; instead I accepted his tentative comfort and shoved my face into the nook of his neck, breathing down it like a vampire in the night. I had the purely feminine, feline urge to wrap myself around him like Sarin and never let go to slowly dissolve into him even if maggots eat us out. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why…? For a few minutes I think, we stayed in that exact position, in a sort of silence that neutered my turmoil. His arms were gel onto my wounds, and I, terrified, readily crept in like the Dutch beetle on the elm.

“Don’t.” I eventually muttered out into the tender, pale, untouched flesh of temptation on his neck; I don’t know why I did it, don’t decipher or discover the root at all. What is a girl to do when offered love on a silver spoon when she only possesses a forked tongue of venom caused from licking slivers of love off a parental knife? I was a black, not racially but spiritually. I was corrupt, disgust, free-use trash for swollen cocks with zero semblance of any soul and only a pretty body. It’s my pretty power which is my ugly. I am disgusting… I sometimes feel the scorching need to cleanse myself, to face redemption, to hurry to salvation; and other days I revel in the hellfire of lust that would surround me once I am liberated of this uséd body.

[sevikaswifefr]

i’m not everyone else

request linked here

pairing: max fox x female reader

warnings: illusion of SH

a/n: happy halloween 🎃

27th of January

“Hi Sam.” I smile, waving at the older woman who peeks her head around the corner of the kitchen. “Oh hi honey, Max is just upstairs, she hasn’t been down in a bit so good luck with that.” Sam chuckles before heading back to check on her noodles.

I frown slightly at Sam’s statement.

Max hasn’t been down in a bit.

Heading up the stairs I walk into Maxs room to find her back facing me as she sits on her bed, shoulders shaking lightly. “Hey Max.” I whisper trying not to startle the curly haired girl. “Oh shit. Um. Hi. I didn’t think you were coming over till later, I just-“ She turns around and wipes her rushes to wipe eyes, sniffing slightly as she avoids my gaze.

“Are you ok?” Her eyes are blotchy and red leaving me with the assumption she was just crying.

“Yeah I’m fine just allergies.” She puts on a smile and moves closer to me on her bed. “Mm.” I hum in reply not fully believing the girl beside me. “You can talk to me if your not ok.” I whisper sending her a small smile in hopes to comfort her.

“Yeah, yeah I know. But I’m fine, I’m always fine.” She replies allowing her gaze to drift towards her window.

Not knowing what to say I simply hum in agreement, ignoring that achy feeling in my heart at allowing the person I adore most to keep hurting.

13th of February

“Pass me the bong.” Paisley groans splaying herself out over Max’s bed as the three of us lounge around Maxs room. “One second I haven’t finished my cone, damn woman.” I reply, quickly placing my mouth over the opening. Paisley groans and buries her face into the covers.

“Max you doing alright?” I ask the girl who sits on the floor leaning against the side of her bed. Max looks up at me and nods, a small smile adorning her face. “Always alright.” She drawls with a shrug of her shoulders before glancing back at the floor.

Passing Paisley the bong I drag myself to the floor beside Max, allowing my head to rest on Maxs shoulder.

“It’s ok to not be ok, you know that right?” I whisper quiet enough so that Paisley can’t hear it over the bubbling of the bong. Max frowns and I can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she thinks of an response.

“I already said I’m alright.” She almost snaps causing my eyes to widen before Max moves up onto the bed letting my head fall from her shoulder.

“Ok.” I whisper to no one but myself as I slowly come to a realisation.

Max Fox is not alright.

19th of February

Max hasn’t talked to me since the last time I was at her house which was almost a week ago.

No messages, no calls, not even a tik tok sent my way.

Her ghosting confirmed my suspicions completely. She wasn’t ok.

Grabbing my phone off my bed I click Maxs contact, my thumbs dancing over the keyboard as I try to scramble together the right words to say.

Hey Maxie, I miss you. Wanna hang out soon?

About an hour drags on by as I wait for a beep from my phone.

Giving up in waiting I grab my phone and go to send a second message when I see that my message has the word read underneath it.

“Oh.” I sigh realising the one person I love most is ignoring me.

Swiping out of the app I click on instagram not expecting to see Max had posted.

A selfie of her in her bedroom lights up my feed and I automatically smile admiring her dimples and finding joy in seeing her grin. Only after gazing at her for at least five minutes (not stalkerish at all) do I see the blade in the background of her picture sitting innocently on her bedside table.

Worry washes through me. I know what the blade means, I’ve been there. Turning off my phone I pocket it and grab my car keys heading to my car determined to be there for her whether she wants me to be or not.

19th of February

Knocking on the Fox’s front door, my mind wanders to whether or not Max will be angry when I inevitably barge into her room.

“Hi Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you.” Sam smiles opening the door wider and ushering me inside. “I think Max is just upstairs.” She gestures to the stairs and I nod my thanks heading up with my heart beating 1000 times a second.

I stand outside her bedroom door for a second, debating just walking away when the door swings open and Maxs wide eyed face stares at me.

“What are you doing here?” She sighs walking backwards as I walk forwards into the room. “I didn’t reply for a reason.” Her voice is cold, distant as she sits on the edge of her bed eyes following my movements.

“Max. I care about you and I am here for you for whatever your going throu-” I begin only to be cut off as Max stands up. “No. Don’t even finish that sentence.” Tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head furiously. “Max.” I trail off unsure of how to confront her as she scrunches up her face trying to ward off her tears.

“Please. Just leave. Go home.” She whispers pointing to the bedroom door. Standing up I head towards the door. “No.” I pause in my actions turning on my heel and marching back to her side.

“No, I’m not leaving you alone like everyone else does. I’m not everybody else Max. I’m someone who wants to help you. Who will sit and listen to you for hours if that’s what you need. Who will be a shoulder to cry on. I need you to be ok Max.” I almost shout at her, my hands gesturing incoherently around the room as I try to convey my point.

Max’s jaw clenches and unclenches as if trying to decide whether to say something or not. “You would do that for me?” She finally manages to squeeze out.

Her words break my heart. Sitting next to her on the mattress, our thighs touching I grab her hand softly admiring the pale skin. “I would do anything for you Max, do you not get that yet?” I crack a smile and tilt my head innocently trying to get Max to look at me.

Max’s shoulders heave slightly before the dam breaks and tears come flooding down her cheeks. “It’s ok, let it out.” I pull her into my body, her hands scrunching up my hoodie as she clings to me tightly as if afraid I was going to disappear.

“I’m here.” I whisper pressing my lips to her head, hands running through her curls.

“I’m here.”

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

why’d you only call me when you’re high

🤍 100 follower event 🤍

hey I’m bella!! if you’re new my intro post is here

I genuinely cannot believe I’m at 100 followers, it’s literally mental!! like sorry, how on earth did that happen?? anyways I want to thank each and every one of you for following me, for all the support and comments and likes, just basically for everything. so many people have just been so so sweet, making my days for a while now!! I didn’t even expect to have 10 followers when I started this blog, let alone 100 so THANK YOU 🤍🤍

if you have requested a fic, it will probably be put on hold or take longer due to this event!! sorry for the inconvenience but I will get around to writing them all I promise

followers:

potion approaching // oh, but if we're gonna escape though, we really ought to think it through

I’ll write a short one-shot of your request (nothing weird and be specific please)

teddy picker // let’s have a game on the teddy picker, not quick enough can I have it quicker, already thick and you're getting thicker

I’ll give you an arctic monkeys song based on your blog

do I wanna know? // do I wanna know, if this feeling flows both ways

ask me something and I’ll answer (nothing too invasive please)

I bet that you look good on the dance floor // I don't know if you're looking for romance or, I don't know what you're looking for

I’ll give you a fantasy-like ballgown based on your blog

fake tales of san francisco // yeah, but his bird said it's amazing though, so all that's left, is the proof that love's not only blind, but deaf

I will try, notice how I said try and give you a good book recommendation based on things you love (please be specific with genre or mention a title that you want to find something like)

fluorescent adolescent // like her gentleman not to be gentle, is it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil

I’ll ship you with a fictional character I think you’re most compatible with (please tell me your type, personality, sexuality and any other facts you want me to know, if you’re comfortable with that)

pretty visitors // all the pretty visitors came and waved their arms, and cast the shadow of a snake pit on the wall

I’ll write down the first word that comes to mind when looking at your blog aesthetic

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moots only:

this house is a circus // this house is a circus berserk as f*ck, we tend to see that as a perk

a moodboard and headcannons of what we’d do if we met up in real life

knee socks // well, you cured my January blues, yeah you made it all alright, I've got a feelin' I might have lit the very fuse, that you were tryin' not to light

I’ll tell you my favourite thing about you

old yellow bricks // she said, "I want to sleep in the city that never wakes up and revel in nostalgia"

I will write a one shot for you about whatever you want and specify with your name (if you want that)

D is for dangerous // you should know you're his favourite worst nightmare

I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me

R U mine? // I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be, and satisfaction feels like a distant memory, and I can't help myself, all I wanna ever say is, "are you mine?"

a paragraph describing you how much I love you

rules:

one request or ask per day

only followers and moots please

I might not be able to get loads and loads done in one day so please be patient with me

ends on 3rd of september

if you send an ask/request that is rude or weird or I feel uncomfortable with, it will be ignored

tagging:

@wish-i-were-heather

@heartwithsimplenotes

@never-enough-novels

@tornqdowarnings

@maybxlle

@inmyheaddd

@arias-archive

@nqds

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@whatsamongus

@emelia07

@jkriordanverse

I know I don’t know some of my moots that well but hopefully I can’t get to know you more through this 🤭🤭

[mamaestapa]

Joeys Got a Plan

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/N Y/L/N moved to Cincinnati, Ohio for a new start. Move in day arrives and she discovers something terrible...the apartment complex gave her the wrong lease. Instead of living with who she originally was supposed to, she's now living with the hottest quarterback in the NFL, Joe Burrow. Y/N is stuck living in the same apartment with him for a year...which the two are not thrilled about. However, as time goes on, they realize that maybe this wasn't the worst thing that could happen to them. Will Y/N and Joe stay enemies, or will they find themselves falling in love?

•chapter summary: Joe comes up with a plan to get Jake away from you…but does it work?

•word count: 4.4k

•warnings: language, fluff, angst, jealous Joe, um a very hot Joe after the gym, i think that’s all?

series masterlist

——————————————————

January 13-14, 2023

"Here let me help you," you chuckled, standing from the couch and helping Emma up from her seated position. She cradled her bump as she stood, letting out a sigh of relief as you helped her stand.

"Thank you Y/n," she smiled gratefully, "I can't get off the couch by myself these days."

You and Macee smiled at her as she said that. You were having the girls over to the apartment today for one last get together before Emma gives birth to baby girl Hubbard.

Not much has happened since Christmas. Joe went to Athens for a few days while you stayed in Cincinnati. The regular season has come to an end and the Bengals are in the playoffs. They're playing the Baltimore Ravens in the wild card round, so that should be a good game. Oh and, you’re talking to someone.

Crazy right!? After your fling with Evan, you didn't think you’d talk to anyone for a while. You wanted to get settled in and live in Cincinnati for a while before you looked for a relationship.

But Jake came into your life and changed your mind.

You met Jake the day Joe left Cincinnati for a couple days to celebrate Christmas with his family. You were at work with Macee, the two of you leaving to take your lunch break when you ran into Jake at the sandwich shop across the street. The two of you started talking and one thing led to another, so you exchanged numbers and went out on a date the next day. He's a very nice guy and he's extremely attractive. You’ve only known Jake for a couple weeks and you can already tell if you guys can make it work, you’ll be a great couple. That is, if you become a couple. There's an issue.

The issue being...Jake has asked you to be his girlfriend. You wanted to say yes, but deep down you knew you couldn't. Something inside of you told you to wait just a little longer and see how you feel. While you do like Jake, you also have these feelings about someone else that you just can't seem to shake. But you’ll get into that another day.

You and the girls were in the kitchen getting drinks, mocktails of course since Emma can't drink, when the door to the apartment opened. In walked Joe and Logan, the two of them coming back from morning meetings.

"Hey babe." Macee grinned, walking over to Logan and greeting him at the door with a hug and a peck to the cheek.

"Hi gorgeous," he smiled sweetly, wrapping his arms around her body and giving her butt a quick pat.

"Logan!" Macee laughed, "not here."

Logan just snickered and planted a kiss on on Macee's cheek.

"Fine, I guess I can save it for later."

"Good." She said with a wink. Macee walked back into the kitchen and held up the pitcher to the guys, "you two want a mock tail?"

"Sure." Logan said as he took his shoes off, Joe doing the same thing.

"Joe?" Macee asked.

He shrugged, "Yeah I'll take one."

Logan leaned against the counter, watching as Macee poured him a glass. Joe walked into the kitchen and greeted the three of you. He sees you on a daily basis, but he doesn't see the girls very often. He hugged Macee first, and then attempted to hug Emma. Emma is almost nine months pregnant, so it's pretty hard to hug her nowadays. Joe just gave her a quick side hug, chuckling as he pulled away from her.

"It's tough with baby girl in the way."

Emma smiled, "Yeah well, she'll be here soon."

"I cant wait to meet her," Macee gushed, pushing her bottom lip out.

"Me too," you nodded, "I love babies."

Emma chuckled, as she walked further into the kitchen. You all watched in amusement as her walk was more like a waddle.

She sighed, "It sounds like you two have some bad baby fever right now."

"Maybe a little bit." Macee shrugged, a small smile making its way onto her face as she looked at Logan, who was shaking his head.

The two of them would be the best parents.

Joe chuckled as he watched Emma come to stand next to you by the dishwasher.

"What?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

"Emma. She kind of looks like a penguin when she walks."

Logan laughed, a smile on his face as he said, "She does, doesn't she? We have to tell Sam."

You smiled, "Well you're a cute penguin, Em."

"I agree," Macee replied, nodding in agreement. Emma smiled and shook her head at your comments. You can only imagine what it's like to carry around that precious cargo for the last nine months. Getting around isn't easy, especially when it comes to walking.

"You know," Emma said, "you're laughing now, but this is what your future wife will look like some day when she's carrying your baby, Joe. So just remember that." She finished with a chuckle. Joe smiled softly at her words. You swore you saw his eyes glance down to your belly before he quickly brought his gaze back up to Emma. You didn't think much of it, assuming it was just an involuntary gesture.

Because you’re sure there's no way Joe Burrow would ever think that way about you…right?

You decided to shrug it off and change the subject.

"How'd your meeting go?"

"Same old, same old." Joe said with a shrug, "just preparing for the first playoff game of the season."

"I know you guys will do great." Macee said with a smile as she took a sip from her glass. You nodded in agreement, giving Joe a small smile.

The Ravens are a tough team to play, especially when they're healthy. However, Lamar Jackson is expected to be out again this week so hopefully that's an advantage for the Bengals.

For about the next twenty minutes, the five of you drank your mock tails and made conversation, all of you enjoying eachothers company. You and Joe didn't have your friends over to the apartment often, but when you did it was always a good time. Macee and Logan left together, the two of them leaving so they could get ready for their date tonight after Logan got out of practice. Emma left shortly after they did, saying that her and Sam needed to do some last minute work on the nursery since her due date was quickly approaching. So that just left you and Joe. You haven't told him that you’re having Jake over later, so you figure you should probably do that...

Joe's pov:

Y/n cleared her throat, causing me to give all of my attention to her. She smiled softly as she looked into my eyes and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I'm having Jake over later," a slight blush rose to her cheeks as she said, "so maybe you can..."

I nodded, "Yeah, yeah. I'll stay out of your hair."

She raised and eyebrow, "Promise?"

I gave her a tight lipped smile as I nodded, "Promise."

"Thanks Joe." She left the kitchen and went off to her room. I assumed she was going to get herself ready for her night with Jake.

Jake.

Jake that Y/n has been talking to since Christmas. Jake that Y/n is so infatuated with. Jake that is only with Y/n for one thing and one thing only. Jake that tall, stupid, pretty boy douchebag with not a single thought behind his eyes. Jake the guy that I've never met...but loathe so much.

I want nothing more than for Y/n to be happy. She deserves the best, and I know that Jake isn't the best for her. Evan and Sam told me they met him a couple days ago, and they didn't have many good things to say about the guy. He seems to be putting on a fake persona when He's around Y/n. If that's the case, I would hate to see her get her heart broken by him. She deserves to be happy and loved by someone that sees her as if she was the only girl in the world.

Not someone like Jake

I know have to do something about this. I have to get Jake away from Y/n.

I let out a sigh as I tossed alright ideas of what I could do to get them away from each other. I know I promised her I would stay out of her hair tonight, but I need to make sure Jake stays away from Y/n. As I was thinking of ideas, a smirk rose to my face as I figured out the best way to get him away from her. I hope she can understand and forgive me for what I am about to do...

Joey's got a plan ladies and gentlemen. I just hope it's the right one...

~time skip~

You were fixing you hair in the bathroom when you heard a knock at the front door. Jake was finally here and you couldn't wait to see him. You shut the light to the bathroom off and walked to the front door, opening the door and greeting Jake with a sweet smile.

"Hi beautiful," he grinned, holding his arms out for you to put yourself in to. Your smile widened as you walked into his embrace, your arms wrapping around Jakes tall frame. His muscular arms wrapped around your body, squeezing you gently. He pulled away, a grin still on his face.

"What does my girl have planned for us today?"

Your smile faltered slightly as you felt your heart drop. My girl. You really like Jake, but something almost didn't feel right. You should feel giddy about Jake calling you his girl. But you don't.

"Y/n?"

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and smiled up at him, "Sorry," you laughed, "I just, I was just thinking about what I have planned."

Jake smiled kindly and rubbed your bicep, his thumb slowly brushing against your soft skin. You glanced down at your arm and watched his fingertips move against your skin.

"So what do you have planned?" You looked back up at Jake, who was looking down at you expectedly. 

"Movies?"

Jake smiled and walked further into the apartment, closing the door behind him, "Sounds perfect to me."

He grabbed your hand and brought the two of you over to the couch. He sat down in Joe's usual spot while you sat down right next to him. It felt weird seeing someone else sit in Joe's spot. You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and handed it to Jake.

He raised an eyebrow, "Oh, I get to pick?"

You nodded, "Anything you want."

He smiled and opened Paramount Plus, turning on Top Gun: Maverick.

"Good choice." you said, smiling up at Jake.

He chuckled and leaned back against the cushion, draping an arm around the back of the couch, his hand resting on your shoulder as the two of you began to watch the movie.

"Thanks sweets."

Sweets. That's what Joe calls you. It's sort of weird to hear someone else call you that...it is just a "pet name" though. I guess anybody can use it, not just Joe, you think to yourself.

You got to the part of the movie where Maverick is discussing the mission with the other pilots when you looked up at Jake and hummed. He looked down at you, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, "What?"

"You kind of look like Hangman."

He chuckled, "I do not."

You sat up and turned your body towards him, cocking your head to the side slightly as you looked at his features.

"Hmm," you glanced at the screen and then back at him, "you actually look like you could be his twin." A playful smile appearing on your face as you leaned back against the couch. Jake just chuckled and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side. The two of you brought your attention back to the movie, until the sound of the door unlocking made both of you sit up.

I thought Joe said he'd stay out of my hair for the day?! You thought. Maybe it's Macee? She does have a key to the apartment...

The door opened and in walked Joe. His dark blonde hair was damp with sweat and his white compression shirt clung to his sweaty body. The dampness of the shirt allowing just a faint outline of his abdomen muscles to be seen. And the muscles of his biceps and forearms were extremely prominent from the compression of the short sleeves. You couldn't help but notice the veins in his hands and arms bulging, especially the one running all the way up his arm, from the strenuous exercise he had just finished.

Your lips were parted and you couldn't seem to take your eyes off of him. Joe set his shaker bottle down on the counter and looked at you, a smirk growing on his face as he saw you watching him. He winked at you, which shook you out of your thoughts. A blush rose to your cheeks as you averted your gaze away from him. You looked over at Jake and saw his jaw dropped open as he looked at Joe. He was speechless. Joe walked into the living room and stood in front of you and Jake. Jake turned to you and shook his head, still in shock from seeing Joe Burrow walk into your apartment.

"Why is Joe Burrow in your apartment?" He asked, pointing at Joe.

"Oh he's just," you looked up Joe and bit your lip, trying to think of what to say, "he's my roommates boyfriend."

Joe nodded, "I'm going to shower real quick," he said, as he walked into the bathroom. He leaned against the doorway as he said, "then I'll be out of your hair, Y/n." he shut the door and the sound of the lock clicking was heard.

You felt bad for acting like Joe wasn't your roommate or your friend, but Jake doesn't need to know that you live with him. Not yet at least.

Jake nodded and laid back against the couch, "Well, that's pretty cool."

"Yeah..." you said quietly, a hesitant tone to your voice as you spoke. You sat back against the couch and turned your attention back to the movie.

You couldn't figure out why Joe was back at the apartment. He knew you were having Jake over and he promised he wouldn't be here when Jake was here. Maybe he just forgot your conversation from earlier? Unless, maybe he's trying to get Jake to leave...but in all seriousness, you highly doubt Joe would pull something like that.

About twenty minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened up. Jake turned his head to look, seeing steam come out of the door and something, or more like someone else.

"Oh." He said, eyebrows raised in shock. You looked up at Jake and furrowed your brows in confusion, "What?" you asked, sitting up and turning your body to see what he was looking at. Your eyes widened as you saw what Jake was staring at.

Joe was standing in the hallway with a towel wrapped around his waist, hanging just low enough so you could see the outline of the top of his v line, along with the slight, blonde happy trail that started at his belly button and made its way down his lower belly.

Your eyes widened. Is it getting hot in here? because I'm feeling a little flushed...Oh my go-. Your thoughts were cut off by Joe speaking.

"Babe, do you know where my gray jeans are?"

WHAT!? Babe?! Your eyes widened even more.

Joe looked into the bathroom and came back out holding them up, "Found 'em. Sorry sweets."

You glanced over at Jake to see how he was reacting to this. His jaw clenched as he stood up from the couch. You sucked in a breath as you watched him start to walk. You thought for sure he was going to walk over to the bathroom and deck Joe. However, he didn't walk to the bathroom. He walked to the front door instead. You frowned and got up from the couch, watching Jake grab his brown leather jacket and put it on.

"Jake-."

He cut you off, "Y/n," he sighed, "you're a sweet girl, but I don't think this is going to work. You've clearly got some sort of connection with Joe and I won't want to mess that up."

You shook your head, "I don't-."

Jake reached out and squeezed your hand, "Quit denying it, you do. This, us, it's not going to work because of that."

You searched his green eyes for a better answer, but you got nothing. Maybe Jake is right...

He let go of your hand and gave you a small smile before he walked out the door without another word. You just stood by the door with so many thoughts running through your head.

What am I denying?

Why did Joe do that to me?

What am I even feeling at this point?

Is Jake right about Joe and I?

So many thoughts. So many emotions. So many questions—and not a single one you had an answer to.

You turned around and looked at Joe, frowning as you made eye contact with him.

"Why would you do that?" youbasked quietly.

Joe frowned, "Y/n, you have to understand-."

You shook your head in disbelief. You didn't even want to hear what he had to say right now. Too many emotions were taking over at the moment.

"I don't want to understand, Joe."

You started to walk away from the living room. You felt your heart break as Joe desperately tried to explain himself to you as he followed you to your room.

"Y/n, please," he said shakily, "just let me explain myself."

"No." you said sternly, struggling to hold back tears as you closed the door in his face and locked it so he couldn't come in. You let out a shaky sigh as you sat down on your bed. You heard a heavy sigh come from outside your door before you heard his footsteps, signaling that Joe left. You looked at your door and frowned. Maybe you were too harsh with Joe, but you just can't believe he would do something like that. Jake really did make you happy, even if he had his moments where he wasn't the greatest...

You thought Joe would be happy that you found someone. You know you would be happy for him if he found someone. Well, maybe you’d be a little jealous, but that's only because you’ve been living with him for so long. Yeah, that's definitely it. Maybe that's how he felt with Jake? You got up from your bed and let out a sigh. You walked over to your door, sliding down against the door before sitting down on the carpet. You leaned against the wooden door and closed your eyes, letting your thoughts run wild once again.

Little did you know, Joe was doing the exact same thing on the other side of your door.

~the next day~

You got out of bed and rubbed your tired eyes. I you didn't sleep well at all last night. Your mind kept you awake most of the night. You thought you’d be thinking about Jake, but instead the only person on my mind was Joe.

You need to talk to him about yesterday.

You opened your bedroom door, eyes widening as you were suddenly looking right into the center of Joes chest. You were definitely not expecting to see him standing there. He was holding a tray with french toast, fruit, coffee and orange juice in one hand, while his free hand was out in front of him to knock on your bedroom door. He brought his hand down and smiled softly at you, "I was going to bring this to you as a surprise, but I guess that's ruined."

You felt your heart swell as you looked up into Joes beautiful blue eyes. His gaze was soft and his smile was comforting. You gave him a small smile before looking down at the tray in his hands.

"You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did, Y/n."

You just looked into his eyes once again, your lips forming a straight line. Joe's lips formed a slight frown as he looked down at the tray and back at you.

He cleared his throat before saying, "Can we talk?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I'd like that."

Joe just nodded and you both walked down the hallway to the dining and living room. He set the tray down on the table and pulled the chair out, motioning for you to sit down. You thanked him quietly before sitting down. You pushed the chair in as Joe sat down across from you. You picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. A small smile pulled at your lips as you tasted the hot liquid. It was prepared just how you liked it.

"Is it OK?" Joe asked, looking at you hesitantly.

You nodded, "Perfect."

"Good," he said, softly.

You sat in silence for a moment before youbdecided to speak up and break the silence.

"Why did you do that? With Jake?"

Joe let out a sigh and frowned as he listened to what you had to say.

"I only knew him for a couple weeks, but he made me happy. I thought you would be happy that I found someone like that, and it just," you sighed, "it just seemed like you were trying to get him away from me. Why?"

Joe rubbed his palms against his shorts and took a deep breath. You waited anxiously to hear what he had to say.

"I wish I could tell you," he frowned, "but I don't want to ruin things any more than I already have."

You shook your head, "You haven't ruined anything." you said softly as you reached out to touch his hand that was laying on the table, "Joe, please tell me." you pleaded, just wanting to hear the truth from him.

"I-." he shook his head, stopping himself from continuing. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"I heard from Evan and Sam that Jake isn't a good guy. They met him and said he acts completely different around you, almost like he puts up a front around you."

You sighed and nodded your head slowly. It was true, although you thought Jake was sweet and you really did like him, you knew he had two different sides to him. You cant say the real reason you stayed with Jake. You know everyone would think you’re crazy for thinking Jake would make someone jealous...

Joe continued, "So I knew I had to do something. I couldn't just talk to him, so I scared him off. Made him think I was in love with you or something."

You smiled softly and let out a faint laugh at his words. Your reaction made Joe chuckle.

"I'm a little hurt," You said. Joe nodded in response as you continued talking, "but I see why you did it. You were just looking out for me, and I really appreciate that."

Joe smiled, "Anything for you Y/n. I want the best for you, really."

You felt your face flush and your heart sink to your stomach—in a good way. In a butterflies in your tummy kind of way. Something you’ve always felt around Joe, but decided to ignore.

You smiled appreciatively, your voice soft, "Thank you Joe."

Joe nodded and stood up from his chair, slowly walking over to your side of the table. You stood from your chair and met him halfway, wrapping your arms around him. He squeezed you gently before pulling away and looking down at you with a soft gaze.

"Are we good?" He asked, genuinely.

You nodded, "Yeah, we're good."

He smiled, "Good. I'm glad."

Joe stepped away from you and went into his bedroom momentarily, coming back out and holding his gym bag and keys.

"I'm going to head to practice. You," he pointed to the table, "enjoy your breakfast. I made it just for you." He winked, a playful smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You chuckled softly, "I will."

He smiled and walked over to the entryway, getting ready to open the door and leave when he stopped himself.

"Oh and Y/n?"

You turned around, "Yeah?"

"Our game is home tomorrow. I've got a couple tickets, and I'd love it if you were there." He smiled softly at you before he turned back around and left, locking the door behind him.

There were those butterflies again. You couldn't help the blush that rose to your cheeks and the smile that appeared on your face as he said those words. You don't know what exactly it is that you’re feeling...but you do know that you’re feeling something you haven't felt in a while. More specifically, Joe makes you feel something you haven't felt in a while. You never really got butterflies with Jake, at least, not the way that you do with Joe.

You don't know what to do about your feelings quite yet, but you do know one thing. You have to go to this Bengals game tomorrow.

Hopefully something good will come out of it. There has to, right?

hey loves!!

i am SO sorry this took me forever to update! i appreciate your patience with me though🫶

my last week of college classes was this week and i take my apush test TOMORROW, so i've been cramming everything  in these last two weeks to make sure i get my grades where i want them. i also have prom on saturday, so i've been busy preparing myself for that as well. i've just been extremely busy is what i'm trying to say, so that's why i haven't been writing as much lol

that also explains why this chapter is kind of bad and very rushed lol. i just needed to get it up for all of you!

we're also getting EXTREMELY close to the moments you have all been waiting for👀

i hope everyone is doing well! thank you for your continued love and support. it means so much to me🤍

that's all i have for now :)

lots of love

tags: @jackharloww @ilovejoeburroww @dandelionwrites8 @ijustcrypretty @sinners-98-world @a-moment-captured @stainednailpolishremover @spookystoner @xoxokiaraaxoxo

if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! i’ll gladly add you<3

[tgmsunmontue]

It's all academic darlin' PART 2/10

12k+ Hangster AU. Updating 2-3 parts per week and will be finished by 31st January 2024. (Each part is ~1500 words).

Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.

(Note for later parts/chapters - Ice uses sign to communicate at home, I’m typing it like sign is English despite the fact that I know it isn’t (while NZSL is my third language, I have no working knowledge on the grammar useage in ASL).)

PART TWO

                The next morning he wakes up slowly. There’s music again, although quieter, and he can smell coffee. He’d gone to bed early last night, using the excuse of the long drive, because saying he was developing a pressing headache wasn’t something he wanted to mention. He showers and inspects his bruises in the mirror, presses gently on the cuts where the stitches were removed only two days ago. Nothing feels inflamed or more tender than what should be expected.

                He grabs a black Henley from his bag and pulls it on, only feeling very mild discomfit as he moves now. It’s looser and darker colored than what he usually wears, however his usual form fitting things were dragging across the stitches, catching on them. So, he’d succumbed to Phoenix buying him some shirts that didn’t show blood every time he reached too far when playing pool or rubbed his stitches. Not that it’s a problem now that they’re gone, but the shirt reminds him that someone cared enough to help him feel comfortable. Walking toward the kitchen he finds Bradley standing at the stove, poking at the contents of a pan. Whatever it is smells good, and he hopes that there’s the intent to share.

                “Mornin’,” he greets, his voice sounding rough.

                “Hey, morning. Help yourself to coffee, or there’s tea and stuff. I’ve made some breakfast. Sorry it’s a bit, uh, mixed. I’m just trying to get through the perishables so no one has to deal with the repercussions next time we visit.”

                Jake has a closer look at the pan and sees fried potatoes with some ham and egg thrown in along with some spinach and tomatoes, small sprinkling of cheese and it smells a perfect combination of crispy-salt-fat and his mouth is watering.

                “Smells good. Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

                “Seriously man, you turning up means I won’t have to gorge myself too much today to get through everything. I don’t want to have to come back to this place and find liquified vegetables in the fridge.”

                “Learnt that lesson the hard way huh?”

                “Unfortunately,” Bradley laughs and shakes his head ruefully.

                Jake takes a breath, a shaky smile making its way onto his face in response to the wide smile and crinkling eyes. Bradley smiles so easily, like it’s natural to just be smiley and friendly and simply… good natured. Jake would bet money he doesn’t get called an asshole on the regular. Unlike him. Considering he’s Mav’s son though he might just be hiding his more asshole-ish tendencies much like Jake is ensuring he doesn’t stray from the societal norms of being the most polite and accommodating of guests.

                Bradley is making him think though, maybe finding someone who is more mild mannered and edges on too polite would balance him out. It’s not what Jake usually finds attractive, but with the year at work he’s had maybe quiet, safe, and friendly… could make a nice change. Not that he’s in a hurry for any type of relationship, but he might table it for consideration for the future, because maybe coming back to the same place, the same person, has started to have some… appeal.

                “Did you sleep okay?”

                “Yeah, better than I expected,” Jake replies, and he’s assuming the combination of drive and headache had made his brain unable to formulate its semi-regular nightmare fodder. That’s what disrupts his sleep these days, not the location.

                “That’s good. Here,” Bradley says, passing him a plate piled high with food and moving towards the dining table with his own. “You won’t get this again sorry. I’m leaving early tomorrow, so I’ll probably be gone before you get up.”

                “It’s fine. I lived plenty long enough looking after myself, I’m sure I’ll survive a couple of weeks on my own here. I didn’t expect any cooked meals when I decided to come stay. Are you driving back?”

                “No. Well, partly I guess. I’ve got a plane at Fallon, so I’ll drive there and then fly back to San Diego. Perk of the job,” Bradley says, and he grins. Jake assumes it’s a reference to Mav’s connections, that he can store a plane at Fallon and use the runway and airspace for personal use. That’s one hell of a perk. The food tastes as good as it smells and Jake lets himself savor it, enjoys the novelty of food being cooked for him.

                “Actually, I have a favor to ask. Nothing major, just… can I use you phone later? I need to make a couple of calls. First one needs to be to Mav.”

                Jake agrees easily, it’s no issue for him. They do the washing up and Bradley continues to sing along to the music playing from a portable speaker. The man doesn’t seem to care that Jake is virtually a stranger, no embarrassment at all as he belts out the words to the song being played and tries to encourage Jake to sing along as well. Jake guesses he’s someone who is truly confident, which with a new Hawaiian shirt today, easy smile, clearly happy with whatever lot he has in his life… well, Jake guesses Bradley probably is.

                He’d probably be just as happy right now with or without Jake there, singing along to himself. He clearly doesn’t feel like he needs to impress Jake, and for once Jake feels a little unsettled. Unsure about how he should act with no crowd to play up his own abilities, someone he doesn’t need to harmlessly flirt with, it leaves him without a guide book of basic social interaction and he feels unmoored. He excuses himself to go and grab his phone from his room and thumbs through to Mav’s contact and puts the call through.

                “Hello. Pete Mitchell.”

                “Hey Mav, It’s Hangman.”

                “Hangman. Good to hear from you. Did you find the place alright?”

                “Yeah. Although Bradley wasn’t expecting me. He wants to talk to you actually.”

                “He wasn’t expecting you and he can’t call me himself,” Mav says flatly. “Let me guess. He lost another phone.”

Jake barks out a laugh, because hearing Mav’s disappointed tone and not have it aimed in any way toward him makes him feel like he’s in on a private joke. And maybe he can go with a teasing thing rather than a flirting thing if this is a thing. He walks back to find Bradley lounging on the sofa, looking at something on a tablet.

                “Yeah, fell in the lake,” Jake provides and Bradley’s eyes shoot up to meet his, narrowing as he realizes that he must already be talking to Mav.

                “Jesus. That kid. I swear he goes through a phone a year. Falling in the lake is probably one of the least exciting ways it’s happened. There’s been the top of a car, wing of a plane, compressor which was a stupid prank when he was an undergraduate… Can you put him on?”

                “Yeah, of course.”

                “Hi Dad…”

                Jake moves out onto the porch, trying to be polite and give Bradley some privacy, but the other man just follows, clearly not seeming to want or need privacy as he listens to his father talking. “Yeah, I know.” “Yes. Another one.” “Please stop keeping count.” “I’m good. How’s everyone at home?” “Okay. I’m glad to hear that. Tell him I fixed the smoker.” “Yeah.” “Ugh, I know.” “You’d think so wouldn’t you?” “What? Uh, good I guess?” “Got a whole bunch of stuff done.” “Yes Mav, all the important shit.” “Jesus Mav, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, you can grill me then.” “Well, it’s not like my fridge is going to be overflowing with food, I thought the least you could do was feed me dinner.” “I knew you’d want to see me…”

                Jake listens to the one-sided conversation, can almost imagine Mav’s side. Not that he knows who else Mav might have at home, but the easy laughter and conversation makes part of him ache for what he doesn’t have with his own father. It’s a small passing ache now; he’d like to think he’s managed to work through the worst of it and accepted that the rest is something he can’t change; more importantly accepted it isn’t his responsibility to change. He listens again and the conversation has shifted to confirming times at the airstrip for take-off and he briefly wonders where the plane is stored in San Diego, because from the sounds of it Mav is picking Bradley up and Jake knows Mav has his own plane. Actually, maybe that’s the one Bradley flew here. Or they store their planes together.

                “Yeah, love you too. See you tomorrow. Did you want to talk to Jake again?”

                “Here…” Bradley says, and he passes Jake’s phone back to him before walking away back inside, leaving Jake with his privacy and he appreciates it.

                “Uh, hey Mav…”

                “Hey kid, I hope Bradley isn’t too much… you’re meant to be taking it easy and I know you didn’t break that drive up over two days like you were meant to.”

                “I’m good.”

                “You are good kid, and I want you to stay that way. It’s why we follow the orders of our doctors.”

                Jake snorts because he’s pretty sure Mav ignored half of the orders he heard prior to his retirement.

                “I’m here now, and I will do nothing but rest. Once Bradley leaves with his blisteringly bright shirts and music it’ll be the perfect place to rest and recover.”

                “He’ll get rid of both if you ask –”

                “Nah Mav, it’s kind of nice having someone not walkin’ around like I’m about to collapse any minute. He even cooked me breakfast this morning, he’s a good host.”

                Mav makes a weird choking sound and there’s mumbling he can’t make out before he clears his throat.

                “Well, I’m glad. I’m going to call you in a couple of days and check in with you, okay son?”

                “Yeah Mav, that’s fine.”

                Ending the call Jake slides his phone into his pocket, although he should really go and see if Bradley wants to use it to make the remainder of his necessary calls. He wonders what he’d have done if Jake hadn’t turned up. He should probably call home and check in with Javy and his siblings. He flicks off a couple of messages and lets them all know he’s okay. He stares out at the sparse scrubby forest, can see the shimmer of water off in the distance, looks at the lean-to stacked high with firewood and wonders what it would be like to have a place like this of his own. Somewhere he chose to be for longer than the length of a deployment, somewhere to return to. Not to one of his siblings. Not Javy. His and his alone.

                The bang of the screen door startles him and he turns to see Bradley, changed into running shorts and a loose tank.

                “I’m just going to go for a run before it gets too hot. Did you want to come with me?”

                Jake pulls a face, because normally he’d love to, but the jarring nature of running would not be great for his head. Today needs to be a rest day.

                “I’m meant to be taking it easy. Running probably isn’t the best idea.”

                The look that that new information gets him makes him wish he’d kept his mouth shut, but he’s feeling okay right now, needs to allow his body to recover after the drive yesterday if he wants to get back to flying as soon as he can. Bradley just nods his head though, accepting it without asking further questions.

                “Okay. I’ll show you the best place for swimming later, and the docking spot if you want to take a kayak or paddle board out.”

                “Sounds good,” Jake replies, failing to mention that he definitely won’t be kayaking or paddle boarding, although normally he’d love to do either of those things. Swimming sounds good though. He’s been aching to exercise in some form and swimming is something that he can gently start with. Maybe work up to the others.

                “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Make yourself at home.”

                He watches Bradley head off to what may or may not be a regularly run track before heading inside. He’s not going to snoop around, but he figures he can definitely go through the kitchen and maybe figure out what he could make for lunch. There’s an odd assortment of things, but he thinks he could cobble together some type of sandwich, but there’s no bread. Okay. This gives him something to do. He likes his bread too much not to have some on hand for a quick snack so he quickly searches for a recipe. No yeast that he can find, but there is beer, so he sets to work.

PART THREE

[owatazumi]

Hey can you do an idol Ni-ki x black fanreader and can it be like a series (even short or small) if you can where they get close and become friends and then fall in love or what ever

Also they make out ( sometime or like in the story)

SORRY IF THIS IS WEIRD

featuring nishimura riki & black!fan!female!reader genre school au strangers2friends fluff twoshot warnings swearing and cussing lmk if i missed anything. a/n thanks for the request and don’t worry about it, everything’s cool !! i hope you’re okay with a twoshot and do tell if you want me to add anything to the storyline !!

pt.2

have fun ~

january 6th.

the beginning of a new year in school is always hard, isn’t it? not exactly. i used to go to an all girls school in simsbury, connecticut where i was usually one of the top ranked students. i never had a problem with getting used to new environments since i love trying new things and getting to know people. after my mom and dad got divorced my dad found a new lover when i was around six or seven. we moved to south korea together with his new wife and my half-sister zoey. im already seventeen, in the middle of puppetry yet my grades seem to never fail which is why im supposed to help some classmates every day after school. i had no idea who i was supposed to meet since my teacher said nothing but “meet him in the library.” which didn’t give me much information about the boy i’m supposed to be teaching something.

until…

“excuse me? you’re y/n, right?”

i feel a tap on my shoulder as soon as i sat down on one of the armchairs in the large library. “yeah, who’s ask—“ my eyes widen when i find out about who the yet unknown person is…

“niki?! y-you go to school here?!” my eyes widen in shock as i notice who i actually have in front of me… relax y/n, it’s just— ni-ki

“ i do but i also don’t. it’s complicated…” he scratches the back of his head with a soft yet clearly visible grin on his lips. he lets his tongue glide over his lips before speaking up again with a slightly shaky voice, seemingly a little nervous now that he knows that you seem to know him.

“so uhm… you’re good at english and stuff?” that makes you chuckle. “i guess i am, yeah” a soft smile is glued to your face as you notice him nervously looking off to the side.

“would you mind helping me? i-i’m kinda behind everyone else in our grade and i’d like to change that now…” his eyes avoid yours while he fiddles with a pen in his left hand nervously. you smile up at him in a kind way before pointing over at the armchair beside you, motioning him to sit down with you.

“i can teach you some stuff but i’m sure you’re already very good at english!” you beam him a smile before getting a notebook from out of your schoolbag that sits beside your chair. “write down five sentences about yourself. i’ll correct the things that are wrong.”

and that’s how our friendship started.

september 24th.

“ayo!” a loud voice shouts from behind me as i make my way to school, schoolbag on my shoulders. “you got them goddess braids that i recommended you to get…!” ni-kis face appears beside my own as his arm swings around my shoulder. “you know… i love the way they look on you…”

he seems to be very excited to see that i actually did what he recommended. “had nothing else in mind” i roll my eyes playfully and the corners of my lips pull up into a smirk. obviously he notices that i’m not saying the truth and pokes my side “yeah yeah of course” a soft chuckle escapes his lips and i start laughing with him, cheeks flushed slightly from happiness…

october 6th.

“wanna put these clips in your hair… they’re so pretty” ni-ki came over right after school ended. he decided to sleep over for the weekend because they’re going on a tour in a few weeks.

“go ahead then” i beam him a smile, making myself more comfortable on the floor while he sits on my bed, his feet reaching the floor beside my hips. he started to carefully put some cute clips in my hair around my braids right when i gave him permission to do so and i could just feel the happy and excited smile lingering on his lips.

“when are you guys gonna leave?” i ask with a soft tone as my eyes are glued to the tv where we put on a show we both like watching together. after some time of decorating my braids he gives my head a a few pats before answering me. “two weeks. on thursday.” my eyes widen as i turn around in surprise, a scoff of disbelief escaping my lips.

“so in the middle of a school week once again? you do know you should be going to school right?” i roll my eyes and lean my head back, laying it on his lap with a slightly annoyed expression on my face while i stare to the side. he noticed my disappointment and lets out a chuckle before placing his hands on my shoulder giving me a soft massage.

“do i now?” he asks with a teasing tone. “yeah… with me.” i couldn’t help but let out a sigh before turning around and now sitting in front of him face to face and looking up into his eyes.

“what’s my reason to go to school now, huh? fuck the good grades, i don’t care about them…” my voice softens and he could definitely tell the difference between my usual happy and energetic personality and now. im more than disappointed and sad about him leaving once again but i guess he already knows that…

“so you don’t care about the several praises that the teachers give you? the good grades and the head pats your dad gives you? you don’t give a fuck about that, hm?” he slowly leans down to my face with that usual smug grin as his hands rest on both sides of my face. “you don’t give a fuck about that?” my head nods almost automatically. “i want you… and i need you…” i was basically begging god to make him kiss me already. kiss me kiss me kiss me!

“mhm? oh yeah?” he leans even closer now, his lips right beside my ear, whispering all his words in such a delicate tone… it could make me melt right here right now.

“kiss me…” he whispers in that same tone and i react immediately, pulling him in by his collar making our lips connect. it was hectic but it was full of affection and love…

and that’s just the beginning…

@j-wyoung @lacieeeeee00

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