#I'D ALWAYS DROWN IN THAT FUCKING PIT

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Finding out that your ex-best friend might have smelt you in the Amortentia feels as surreal as you smelling him.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: harassment, non-consensual touching (non-sexual), insecurities

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When you hear the door to the classroom swing open, slam into the wall, and as if on cue a chorus of laughs resound around the room, you know it's James and his imbecile friends.

Your lips thin into a tight-lipped smile as you send Marlene an exhausted look.

"Gentlemen," Slughorn drones on as he turns to look at the boys, who comedically trip over themselves to find their spots in the crowd of students, "You're late." 

"Evidently, Professor." Sirius Black quips and nudges his shoulder into James. The latter smirks.

James has somehow found his way next to you. He hasn't done it on purpose but when he turns his head and sees you beside him, his smirk turns into a wide smile.

A smile that never fails to make your knees shake and your heart feel like it could explode.

"Y/n," James whispers. 

"Hi Potter," you roll your eyes, hiding a smile behind faux frustration.

You and James aren't friends. Well, unless you counted the years from ages four to eleven, when you had been inseparable. You'd grown apart these last years and while you'd cried over your lost friendship in first year, you had decided it was for the best to distance yourself from him anyway. 

Having a crush on your best friend is incredibly cliché.

Still, although you weren't friends in the same way as you had been, James has always been kind to you.

He says hello to you when he sees you in the hallway. You have had pleasant conversations in passing, and when his family occasionally has yours over – for old times sake – you both sit on the balcony outside his window and talk as if nothing has changed. 

You shift away from James a little, feeling too close to him, and cross your arms. You turn your attention to Slughorn as he clears his throat and lifts the lid from the pot, "Very well then,"

His sentence is drowned out by the soft, delicate smell that fills the room. You pin-point the scent of broom-polish immediately. Rosemary, vanilla, bergamot and cedar. Your expression falls. Bergamot and cedar. Your head spins and you wonder if James put on too much cologne this morning or if — 

Your mind suddenly goes completely blank when you feel James's breath against your ear, uttering exactly what you had been wondering, but this time about you, "Hey, did you put on more perfume than usual? I can smell it from here," his voice is teasing and you feel just a little fainter than you already had been. 

"Amortentia," Slughorn interrupts, "The most powerful love potion to exist. It smells differently to everyone, depending on what attracts them — or sometimes who attracts them," He continues on, explaining the dangers of the potion, but you aren't listening anymore. 

You look up. James has gone quiet and he's staring at the bubbling liquid, a vacant look in his eyes. Your heart clenches and you turn your head, inclining it down. You must have heard him wrong. James must have been confused.

A pit forms in your stomach when James moves away from you, leaving your side feeling empty. You hear him laugh with Remus and your hand squeezes around your arms. 

You hadn't worn any perfume this morning.

"Hey, Y/n/n," You're pulled from your thoughts when William, another Gryffindor, comes up from behind you and shoves into your shoulder so he's standing next to you.

"I knew I'd smell someone as hot as you in there," He teases, leaning in close. "Just like fucking vanilla," Williams brings his hand into your hair, twirling some strands in his fingers as he presses his nose close to your temple and inhales. 

"Hey," You move your head away, feeling disgusted. William just barks out a laugh and his arm extends to grab yours. Suddenly, you're almost pushed to the side when James stands in front of you and shoves William away. The boy bumps into the cauldron and the Amortentia spills all over the floor. 

"All three of you," Slughorn suddenly booms, his cheeks flushed crimson, "McGonagall. Now."

So you find yourself standing in the middle of James and William in McGonagall's office. The older woman is sitting at her desk, her arms crossed as she stares at you all from behind her small glasses. She looks at William first considering his shirt is drenched in the thick liquid from the Amortentia, "What happened?"

"Potter shoved me," Williams states quickly, glaring at James.

"And I'd do it again," James snarls, crossing his arms. 

McGonagall looks utterly exhausted at their bickering and turns her attention to you. "What about you, Miss Y/l/n, care to explain what happened?"

William sends you a dark look, but when you look at James his expression is soft. "William made me uncomfortable in class and when James saw, he accidentally shoved him into the Amortentia and it spilled all over."

"It wasn't an accident! He did it on purpose!" William argues like a child and James sends him a knowing smirk.

"Oh yeah, the shove was intentional," he grins wolfishly, "Although, I didn't mean to knock the potion over, Minnie," James looks over at McGonagall and this time he looks a little sheepish. McGonagall just stares at him as if he has gone insane and then she looks at you.

"You can leave, Miss Y/l/n," she says and looks back at the boys and hums, "You two may not."

You glance at James a little nervously but he sends you a reassuring smile. So, you ignore William's loud complaining and thank McGonagall as you walk out of her classroom.

* * *

A few hours later, when you're walking out of the Great Hall after dinner, you and your friends run into James again. He's also with his friends, leaning against the wall, and they're laughing obnoxiously loud.

However, when James sees you his smile widens. "Ladies," he says, crossing his arms cheekily.

"Gentlemen," your lips curl into a smirk as you nod at Sirius, Remus, and Peter. James tilts his head at his friends, his expression quirking almost as if he's annoyed that you mentioned them and not him. 

"You feeling okay?" James asks. 

You stare at him, trying to understand exactly what he means.

Does he really care or is he only asking because he's in trouble because of you. Is it mocking?

You start to overthink and James can sense it. So, he moves a little closer to you and you can smell his cologne. It sends heat creeping up your neck.

He asks again. "After what happened with William," he whispers, "when he made you uncomfortable. Are you okay?" James looks genuine and you see his hand hesitating to touch your arm.

You look up at him, staring into his eyes, "O-Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I was just - I didn't think anyone would have smelt me in that potion," you laugh, rambling because that's what you do when you're nervous. You can see James's expression shift into a small smile.

"You'd be surprised," he says, rubbing his nape, "Hey, can we talk in private? I wanted to ask you something?"

Once you say yes, you find yourself in a small, empty, classroom with James. You lean against a desk, hand gripping the edge as you stare at him. "What's up?" you ask. James has never asked you to talk like this.

"My mum is having one of her family dinners for Christmas," James starts, "I wanted to invite you, personally," he adds, as if he's been rehearsing. 

Usually, his mother will invite yours and then by proxy you'll show up. But, this is different. "You want me to come?" your eyebrow raises in confusion, "Personally?"

"Yeah," he sounds unsure, "I mean we're friends, right?"

Is that what we are, you want to ask him but you don't. "I didn't think we were friends anymore," You say honestly and James's expression falls.

He fiddles with his hands nervously but walks closer until he's directly in front of you. You lean away from him and into the desk, chin tilted up to look at him. 

"I'm an idiot," he whispers, looking at you intensely, "I shouldn't have let you slip out of my hands like that. I, well, miss you, a lot."

You listen to him with harsh breaths, trying to understand where this all comes from and why now.

James's hand reaches out and hovers over your cheeks until he holds you and brings you closer to his face. Your eyes round. You're so sure he'll kiss you with how close you are and by the way he's looking at you. You don't have time to make up your mind if you'd want to kiss him or not, because instead, he guides your cheek to his chest and his arms wrap around you. 

He crushes you into a hug. 

Your breath escapes you in a sigh, "James?"

"Y/n," he says your name smoothly and soothes a hand down your hair, "You smell like vanilla and cinnamon. With just a hint of freshly-mowed grass, probably because whenever I see you after a Quidditch match you always have some grass in your hair, right here," James says in a whisper and his finger traces behind your ear.

"Usually from a small tumble," he adds, "You're so clumsy sometimes."  

You pull away only to have him hold you closer. 

"I can't keep pretending I don't think about you," he admits and that sends all emotions crashing over you. You stare at him, lips parted and eyebrows creased, as you try and understand the meaning behind the words. "I smelt you in the Amortentia," James admits.

"You smelt me? You're joking."

James suddenly frowns and he watches as you practically try and sink into the desk behind you. He can take a hint and he moves away. "What? No?" 

You feel your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. "You aren't joking?"

James's face softens and he smiles. "Of course I'm not – I smelt you and also your perfume which," his smile turns into a smirk, "I can tell you aren't wearing right now." James chuckles happily, his eyes crinkling in the corners and your heart flutters. "Merlin I gave myself away in that classroom, didn't I, love?" 

Your insides become mush at the nickname and you find yourself nodding. 

James looks at you fondly even when he says, "I understand if you don't feel the same. If I'm not the boy you like or a boy you want. I have been a foolish ass for the majority of our time here at school. I've ignored you and worse than that, I let myself forget how lucky I was to have you as my friend and I'm so sorry."

As you hear his words, you can feel tears brim in your eyes. James's fond smile disappears and he starts to panic. "Hey, hey, hey!" his hands cup around your cheeks without even thinking. "I don't want to make you cry, love. Y-you're okay," he promises frantically. 

James is so close. His cologne has invaded your senses until you can't think clearly. All you can do is lean in closer until your nose brushes his. James is surprised but when he looks into your eyes, his body relaxes as he understands what you want. You like to think it's all the years you were friends that makes it so easy for James to understand.

"You want me to kiss you?" he whispers, his voice husky and low.

You feel warm all over as his arm slides behind you and he holds your lower back, waiting for a yes so he can pull you closer. You nod, smiling. You wonder if I have to tell him he's the one you smelled in the potion or if he'll understand by the way you kiss him. 

James's lips press onto yours. He's testing the waters, making sure he's not moving too quickly or too slowly. You let your hand find his hair as you pull him closer. James's hand wraps around you and in the passion, he hoists you up onto the desk behind you and you pull him in.

You kiss him like you've never kissed anyone and it takes your hand on his chest to snap James back into reality. He gently disconnects your lips and leans his forehead on yours.

His eyes are still closed when he says, "Shh, we have all the time in the world. I don't plan on letting you slip away from me again, Y/n," he says it like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Finally, you speak, "James. I missed you," you admit in a whisper. 

James holds you closer. "I missed you more. You don't know how much you mean to me." 

You laugh, feeling how close he is and how badly he doesn't want to drop your hand. "I think I can guess," you say teasingly.

James shakes his head. "My love goes beyond any words I could possibly muster." 

You stare at him with a raised eyebrow. "Since when is James Potter such a hopeless romantic?" 

James grins, his hand sliding down to your thigh as he draws soothing circles on your skin, "He's always been a romantic, darling. He just hasn't had the chance to show you," he whispers and quickly kisses the tip of your nose. 

"Well, he can start now," you smile.

James nuzzles his nose into your shoulder. "So, does this mean that we're friends again?"

You pull away and send him a playful look. "Can this mean we're more than friends now?"

James looks into your eyes and deep in his brown ones, you can see his sincerity, "We'll be whatever you want, love," he says. He hugs you close and your face is buried in his neck. You sniff, your smile widening.

You whisper into his neck, "Bergamot and cedar."

James chuckles, still holding you, "What was that, love?"

"Nothing," you smile, simply content with holding him. 

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (12) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

masterlist

7.9k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme mental health issues, suicidal ideations, gore/violence/death, self-hate, allusions to trafficking, use of explicit language, more angst, mentions of vomiting, dissociation, terms of endearment, unedited, no use of y/n, a codependent couple with a shared savior complex, paranoia

When you'd realized the monkey mutts had stopped where the beach began you wanted to collapse into the sand in relief. All you could do was stare on as Peeta tried to comfort the Morphling woman who'd sacrificed herself for him before her body was raised from the waters. Even if Plutarch was supposedly in on the plan, it seemed like the arena couldn't wait to kill you all off as soon as possible. The conversation switched to finding food, another thing your brain couldn't care less about. You supposed you should be from all the running, fighting, and sweating, but you just had a huge pit in your stomach as you thought about how Finnick could have died not long ago.

It had always been a possibility that you were very consciously aware of, but the imminent threat wasn't really present. You had no qualms that he would be able to protect himself, yet he hadn't been able to when the fog came rolling in. Well, he would have been able too if hadn't come to Peeta's rescue, but to get out, that was a requirement. Adrenaline has kept you going after that, when the monkeys attacked, but the dread filling you now was like lead.

“Hey," One of Finnick's warm, calloused hands cupped your face, “What's going on, sweet girl?" His face had that endearing always somewhat cocky smirk on it that was a permanent source of comfort in your life. But you just stared at him, at those ocean eyes you would drown in if given the chance. The look in his eyes shifted to one of higher concern, “Are you hurt?" He looked up and down your figure, looking for sounds, tilting your head to see the back, looking for signs of infection and grew more concerned when he found nothing to send off alarms. “Angel, you gotta tell me what's wrong." He urged.

You tried to blink yourself out of your stupor, "Nothing just wanna be with you.”

"You are with me.”

"Yeah I know.” He looked at you suspiciously, but knew better than to push. You grabbed this hand and he squeezed it, pulling you along as he went on his search for oysters. When he was sure he found a spot and began his digging you sat down in the water. Letting the soft waves ripple across your legs, if you closed your eyes you could pretend to be home again, this was so similar.

“I'd never leave you alone, you know?" Finnick's voice brought you back from the fantasy and you looked at him quizzically. He was still digging through different areas, of course the oysters were in such unnatural places, that was a reminder of how fake the fantasy was. "I'd always come back to you. You don't have to worry about me leaving you behind, or making you feel abandoned.” You looked away, staring at the glistening waters once again. There was no words you could think of to say, you wondered if you were still in shock, it felt nothing like how it had been described, but maybe this was all some weird, fucked up trauma response the universe had left you with as further punishment. Your mind was blank of anything other than how he, your amazing, smug, caring, generous, loving Finnick could actually be taken from this world and it would keep on spinning without him. Then his hand grabbed yours once again and he effortlessly pulled you from the water to walk with him back to Katniss and Peeta.

You laid your head on Finnick's shoulder as everyone began to eat. He opened one of the oysters up and offered it to you, but you just shook your head. There was no room for hunger, no room for anything except trepidation.

He shook his head back at you, “You need to eat." Finnick offered it back to you, he was so bossy and it made you love him even more.

“I'm not hungry, Finn." You knew you were exposing yourself with the nickname, which you only used when you felt most vulnerable, but it slid off your tongue so easily in the moment.

“You're gonna talk to me now?" He asked playfully, trying to lighten the load. You scowled at him, lightheartedly elbowing him in his side and he laughed.

“You're so mean to me." You burrowed your head back into his shoulder.

He scoffed, “I just put all my effort into a monologue of my devotion to you and then you decided staring at the waters which are in front of us all the time was more interesting.”

He was right of course even if it was all in jest, but you weren't going to let him win regardless of that fact. “It was hardly a monologue-" He turned to you abruptly, you frowned when your head lost contact with your shoulder but he grabbed your hands in his.

“I don't understand why you have cared about and loved me so deeply, except in the way that I know that's how I feel about you. You being here is the bane of my existence because I know that there isn't a day I could live without seeing your smile or sweet domesticity. You don't understand why I want to protect you so badly, but it's the same way you want to protect me. There isn't a universe where I could leave you when I know you need me, I married you as a promise that I would always return to you, protect you even if you're stubborn and here anyways. Death couldn't part me from a world that you were still in.” His sea green eyes were so serious and it did reverberate within your heart, but you still let yourself laugh.

"You are such a sweet-talker.” You announced with an eye roll, knowing he was right about how you felt. Except maybe selfishly if death parted the two of you, the only assumption you had made was he'd find someone else, some other smarter, braver, prettier partner who only couldn't compare to you in their adoration of him, but maybe that was a stretch as well.

“And you are impossible to please." He quickly packed your lips which left your yearning for his honey-dripping lips for seconds longer, if you suffocated with them on your own it would be the happiest you'd ever be. “Now eat, my love." You could melt into the sand thinking about how this man would pour out a heartfelt monologue just for you to leave your head long enough to eat, he was perfect, there would never be anyone else like him, and there never had been. He was it for you.

Screams interrupted your thoughts and you instantly stood up, “That's new." Peeta said as he rose as well, you all stood, staring across the beach where water seemed to be overflowing a portion of the jungle. Flooding that rushed from the trees and was so tall it was as high as the Cornucopia that bounced against, leaving large waves to rush up your feet. A drone came to pick up a body and it solidified in your brain that regardless of what Plutarch had planned these were never meant to be long Games, nor particularly violent with all the events occuring.

“Someone's here." Katniss said sharply, quickly pulling out an arrow, ready to shoot. You looked at the figures approaching from the jungle, not too far away. The aggressive motions of one of the figures nearly instantly told you who it was.

“Johanna." You whispered out and then Finnick was running forward.

“Johanna!" He shouted, catching her attention. You followed after him as she yelled back at him. Beetee and Wiress instantly run into the water when you realize Johanna’s figure was so obscured because she was covered head to toe in blood.

“Oh my god, what got you?" You asked, there was no way that much was hers or even someone else's. It was clotted in her hair, her skin, each piece of fabric.

“We were all the way, deep into the jungle where I thought it was going to be safe. That's when the rain started, I thought it was water, it turns out to be blood. Hot, thick blood, coming down. It was choking us! We were stumbling around, gagging on it blind.” Johanna signs through her explanation, ignoring Wiress’ mutters of tick, tock, tick, tock. Which you push away as well as just Wiress being Wiress. “That's when Blight hit the forcefield, he wasn't much, but he was from home.”

"What's wrong with her?” Katniss asks about Wiress, still muttering.

“She's in shock." Beetee is washing the blood of his glasses in the sea water. “Dehydration isn't helping, do you have fresh water?"

“We can get some."

Wiress is clinging to Johanna, desperately repeating her mantra. Who's trying to shove the older woman off, for most of you this is just the dynamic that's been accepted. You've each accepted a role to maintain relationships with one another, Wiress the crazy one, and Johanna the aggressive one. Katniss is put off and runs to Johanna, ready to fight.

“Hey what're you doing?" Johanna yells, Finnick trying to pull her away as you try to get between her and Katniss. “I got them out for you!” They're finally ripped apart when Peeta has his arms around a visibly confused Katniss. "Let go of me, Finnick!”

"Let's just go get you cleaned off.” You tilt your head walking with her and Finnick into the water. "I'm sorry about Blight.”

"Yeah.” She says gruffly as she dunked her head into the water, blood instantly beginning to spread into the once clear waters.

"And I didn't really get to thank you for saving me earlier, so thank you, Johanna.”

"Well I'm sure he would've killed me himself if I hadn't.” She nodded her head at Finnick. “Better go make a better impression with the Girl on Fire over there." She rolled her eyes, stalking over in that direction.

“Deep down she appreciates a thank you." Finnick's wrapped his arms around you from behind and you sway in the water. You hummed in agreement, just enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. What you would give for this to be the two of you in your kitchen back home is immeasurable as well as the things you would do to get that back.

“Were you serious though?" You blurt out, forcing yourself to acknowledge your feelings with him. There's a beat which you figure must be confusion as he tries to figure out what you're referring too. Before you have a chance to add on, he'd seemingly figured it out though.

“Of course I was serious. You don't have to worry because you're not gonna get rid of me that easily, angel." He chuckles, his lips pressed to the side of your head. You nod slowly,

“Thank you." You mumbled out, embarrassed that you'd even let the anxiety take over, but also not completely convinced. It felt shameful that no amount of words or actions was seemingly able to convince the deepest parts of your soul of anything but the worst.

“It's a clock!" Katniss yelled out catching everyone's attention, she helped Wiress out of the water where they've been sitting and began walking towards the Cornucopia . “This entire arena seems to be laid out like a clock, with a new threat every hour, but they stay only within their wedge.” Katniss explains and you all follow her, "It all starts with the lightning, then the blood rain, fog, monkeys, that's the first four hours. At 10 that big wave points from over there.” She points forward, Wiress stops walking. As if she's cautious of something.

“Wiress, you're a genius." Finnick smiles as you all keep trekking forward.

“The tail points at 12." Peeta observes when you reach the shining Cornucopia.

“That's where the lighting strikes at noon and midnight.” Katniss further explains.

“Strikes where?" Beetee asks, holding his coil of wire close.

“That big tree." She points once more and Beetee seems pleased, Wiress sits down on the edge of the rocks murmuring a nursery rhyme to herself.

"Great job, Wiress. We'll try and listen more next time.” You patted her shoulder before following the rest of the group to where a circle is being drawn out in the sand. Dividing it up in the clock like sectors of the arena. Trying to find out what comes next in each portion of the arena.

“It doesn't matter as long as we steer clear of whichever sect is active, we'll be safe, yeah?”

" Relatively speaking.” Finnick nods along and then Wiress' ambience of nursery rhymes is quiet and she gasps. Your head shoots towards where she would be and there's Gloss, knife in Wiress' chest. Before you'd even had a chance to react Katniss’ arrow had pierced through his chest, you'd no clue where she'd come from, but you could hear a sound of outrage from Cashmere. You followed the sound and saw her lunging forward, blindly trying to avenge her brother. Without a second thought you'd shoved Katniss out of the way and a knife was flying out of your hand into Cashmere's heart. Her head hit the ground and that dreadful buildup of guilt was returning. She'd always been kind to you, there were amicable jokes and small complaints to one another at parties. An understanding that you'd struggled through the same, ever present issues and now you were once again the person cutting that life short after allowing a bond to be created. But you had to keep Katniss safe, to get her out of the arena, regardless of the consequences.

The Career pack had seemingly crept up on all of you, Finnick and Peeta were fighting off the attacks of Brutus and Enobaria. Your next knife barely missed Enobaria as she fled to the other side of the Cornucopia, Katniss’ arrow doing similarly with Brutus. Peeta tried to run after them, even if people talked about him like he was the weaker one, you'd seen from the way he trained with Brutus that it was anything, but true. Finnick knew that regardless of Peeta's strength he needed to be protected, kept alive, so he blocked him from the chase. Katniss; however, did try to follow after them, make sure the two were gone, Johanna followed behind. Under no circumstances could you let the Mockingjay get hurt, Peeta was because of that, but she was the one you'd been instructed to get out.

You looked over at Finnick, trying to communicate with him that you'd be following and he gave a curt nod. Only a few steps in though you were completely thrown off your balance, your brain started buzzing. You weren't sure what was going on except that your hands were desperately searching for crevices in the rocks to hold onto. The force of the wind whipped at your skin so hard it genuinely hurt and your fingers tried not to slip on the wet rocks. It was spinning, the Cornucopia was spinning around at full force, trying to throw you off, you tried to calm down. Focus on seeing if you could spot Finnick through the water sprays and the way it hit your face in harsh droplets. It wasn't that different from being on a boat, crabbing when the weather got difficult, being tossed around. Maybe if you shut your eyes that's what you could imagine this was, but then your hands were slipping and you were trying to force your body to stay still. Fingers blindly searching for another crevice, rocks scratching at them as you tried to dig your fingers into the rock. Body sliding down, it didn't matter that you could swim, if the impact was too harsh you could go unconscious on impact and no amount of experience in the water could save you from that.

Finnick would be okay though, if anyone was fine it would surely be him. He'd know exactly where to place his grip, he'd be strong enough to hold on, he could probably hold onto someone else too. Those thoughts are quickly cut short when you hear yourself screaming as something, something sharp, has lodged itself into your back. Breathe, you tell yourself digging your fingers into the rock deeper. Something is tearing into your back, the pressure of the wind definitely isn't helping, and you're barely able to focus on keeping hold of the slick rocks. Through the wind you can hear more screams, shouts, too obscure to make out who the belong to, but it reminds you that you need to survive long enough to rescue Katniss, you need to keep holding on.

Finally, the movement is slowing down, at least you think it is, maybe your perception of speed has just changed. By the time the Cornucopia comes to a stop you still feel dizzy, like a phantom of the spinning. When your brain stops buzzing the pain in your back is worse than you expected. It's torturous to try and stand, but you bite your lip, trying not to groan as you stand. Your legs are wobbly at first and then you hear Finnick call your name.

“Finnick there's something in my back." He's running towards you, eyes full of concern. Your taking deep breaths to try and move through the pain, “I need you to take it out."

Soon he's behind you and before you can say anything more his hand grabs yours from behind, "This is gonna hurt a lot-”

"Don't tell me, just rip it out, like a bandaid.”

"Angel, I can't do that. I'll do it as fast as I can, but I can't just tear it out without causing more damage." His fingers are rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You're crying a little and even though it causes more pain you laugh a little, “It's one of those stupid scalpel chains isn't it?"

“Yeah, sweet girl, squeeze my hand as hard as you need too." You're nodding, putting the free arm to your mouth to try and muffle yourself if you scream at all. Trying not to bite when you realize this is just as excruciating as the fog had been, fingernails digging into Finnick's hand as he pulls out each piece of the chain. “I've got you, angel, it's okay." By the time all the pressure from the chain has left your back you feel faint. “There we go, all done, you did such a good job." There's no chance to acknowledge him when you're letting yourself run to the edge so you can hurl into the water.

You force yourself to keep standing, “How bad is it?"

“Just deep enough to stick, but you're gonna be okay.” Finnick helps you steady yourself, avoiding the tender wounds on your back.

"Let's just get what we need and get off this bloody island." Johanna says and everyone complies.

“I can carry you, if you want." Finnick offers, already helping you across the rocks.

“I can walk, Finnick, I'm sure soon enough we'll be hit with something else that gives me enough adrenaline that I won't even feel it." You shrug, trying to force yourself to have good spirits. “And I still think hypothermia was worse so-"

He lets himself laugh, shaking his head, “You say that about everything."

“Because it's true! I was so cold that I felt like I was on fire and I was seeing things, I'm sure my back can take a few hits."

"Okay, angel, whatever you say.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don't know how long had passed since they stripped you of your wet, muddied, bloodied clothes, or since they injected you with something that made you pass out until you woke with seemingly no injuries to remind you of the past except the stitches in your side. You do know that now they've allowed you rest, before you're thrust back into the Capitol to be seen, to be crowned. The blankets felt like the softest thing to ever grace your skin and the mattress itself is a blessing, but you can't appreciate it when your eyes bore into the wall, guilt infesting your bloodstream.

Light floods into the room and you fear that you've been lost in your head for so long it's already time for them to play dress up with your lifeless body. But his scent is something you've always known instantly, saltwater, sand, the smell of home. You don't even look at him, there's no point, you need the darkness to engulf you and let you have a redo.

“I wish you let me die in that arena." You don't recognize your own voice, so hoarse, so numb.

He took a cautious step into the room, “I know." Finnick sounds like he's already resigned himself to this, to whatever this is. You finally tear your eyes from the walls, briefly having let them pass over his figure, but doing nothing more than scooting over. You hope he got the message you silently urged for and of course he does, he gets you so well. When his body heat is by yours once again, you resent that you're able to have it, that you fought to have it.

‘You don't deserve to cry,’ is what you had begun to tell yourself the moment they grabbed you from that arena. The tears of a murderer do little to those whose blood they've shed. Yet when his hand is cupping your cheek, you feel the tears returning. The longer the silence persists, the better you'll be able to hold back from crying, but eventually you succumb to the uprising of tears and you've probably stained whatever Finnick is wearing.

“He's my best friend Finnick." Was. He was your best friend. Before you dug your talons in, chewed up the parts you needed, and kept the blood on your hands. That bright, beautiful boy that by all means you were supposed to end up with. You'd resisted that ending so much the universe had seemingly decided to make it a tragedy instead. “My best friend." His home was yours, his family was one with you, but you had to be selfish and greedy, so karma took its place.

Finnick's hands cradled your head, and you let yourself push away just to melt right back into them. “And he tried to kill you."

It made you seethe, how dare he be right, "Because I used him, I did that to him. He should have killed me, I'm not meant for this, Finnick.”

"Angel, the Capitol is eating out of your hand, you go out there, you smile and laugh, they love it. And then you walk straight off that stage to me.” You've sat up, trying to stop the hyperventilation that's taken control of your body. You can feel his hands on yours, trying to guide your breathing, but your brain felt too loud to even attempt to follow.

“Why'd you let me do it? You should've told me it was stupid, you should've let him win. He has a family who cares about him, oh my god his family!" Maybe it's not fair to blame Finnick, it had been your idea after all, but it helps because you felt like the insurmountable grief would eat you alive.

He pressed his forehead to yours, “I know, I know, angel, I'm sorry." Later you'll feel more remorse for what you said, but now you could barely breathe.

"You'd said you wanted to keep me safe and now I've screwed it all up because the world is punishing me."

Finnick had gone back to trying to steady your face, for his hands to calm you, which only works to remind you every one in a while to breathe. “Nothing is punishing you, this isn't your fault."

“No, it is, it's all my fault, Finnick! I couldn't just be satisfied with how my life was supposed to be. I wanted you so bad and pushed away my fate and so now the universe has to punish me"

“Stop it." His voice is grounded, caring but stern like the way he's been holding your face. “Don't do that, sweet girl, no one is getting retribution against you for anything.”

"What are the odds? Who does that happen to, Finnick? I just happened to get pulled in the same year as my best friend who everyone knows I'm supposed to end up with and then suddenly you want me again?”

"The odds are never in anyone's favor. And I wanted you anyways.”

You've begun scratching at your chest, which you've never done before, but the newfound anxieties seem to have taken over. But Finnick instantly is pulling your hands away. "I'm not meant for this, I'm just supposed to be the person who gets married and lives in some small house on the beach, who goes to the markets, not this.”

“And you put on a show for them, angel, and then we get to go back home and live that life as much as possible. You only have to keep the act up for them." You didn't have it in you to keep explaining otherwise, you were exhausted, although part of you told yourself you'd be better off without sleep, that you didn't deserve rest. Finnick could of course sense it all and pulled you into his chest. The warmth you'd so missed finally fully surrounding you, protecting you from everything, even your own thoughts for a little while. It was a heat you so desperately craved and the idea you'd never feel it again had haunted you when you'd almost died in the cold. So you nuzzled yourself deeper into his chest, "Get some rest, sweet girl.” His lips pressed to the top of your head.

Your brain refused to rest peacefully, but if you so much as mumbled in your sleep Finnick was there to soothe you until it passed and eventually he was waking you. For a moment, when your eyes had just fluttered open, it was easy to imagine that it was just you and Finnick back home, that none of that had occurred had ever happened. Maybe if you convince yourself of that delusion for long enough it would be an easy enough fantasy to slip into whenever you needed to give the Capitol a facade of joy. You were a victor after all.

“They're just going to do the same process that happened before the parade before your stylist gets whatever she had planned ready. I'll be there when you're done."

"Finnick, I'm sorry.”

"You don't have to apologize to me.” He understood what you'd gone through, he'd been there too and even though you knew that it still felt cruel to have blamed him for anything related to your actions.

"I-” He interrupted you with a kiss, you'd almost forgot what his mouth was like, the taste of honey on his lips.

"I’ll meet you after, angel.” He parted ways with you at the sleek, silver door to a scarily, clinical room. Soon enough you were being surrounded by a flock of your designing team to get your primped to the nines.

“You literally had me on the edge of my seat, it was divine." One of them squawked, making sure your body was completely devoid of any hair they hadn't specially planned to be there. You simply smiled as gratefully as you could, nodding along with each remark they made.

“We need more games like you, I mean they're all interesting, but you brought such a kick to it. One of the most entertaining by far!" One squealed, trimming your nails. Making a small look of disgust when he pulled out the dried mud and blood lodged underneath your fingernails.

“Oh, you'll be a must have at my big birthday gala next month. You will come won't you?” The woman with bright green hair who was powdering something onto your face asked eagerly.

“Of course, you've all done so much for me!" Your face hurt from the forced smiles as you gushed, and they oohh’d and aahh’d at your performance.

“You are the sweetest little thing, I could just burst!" The green haired woman waved her hands around expressively, the others nodding along with her.

“Anyone who doesn't already love you, will have to now!" The man announced, putting down your hand.

“Well we've done the makeup Cambrie requested, so we’ll let her know you're ready for the dress. It's simply divine. You'll wait right in there." You were ushered into a much more comfortable looking room and the smell of food instantly made you salivate. You'd forgotten how long it had been since you'd last eaten, especially something more than small fish, rabbits, berries, and nuts. Instantly you dove into each dish you could, eager to finally fill your stomach that has longed for food for over a week now.

You'd nearly eaten your fill when Cambrie’s bright voice filled the room. “I knew it would be you, I told everyone I could how much of a sweetheart you were! And now everyone wants one of my looks. You are such a blessing!” She kissed both of your cheeks,"You know what they're calling you?” You shook your head, not sure if you really wanted to know. "A Princess!” She squealed, obviously filled with glee."That's amazing to work with."

You smiled as big as you could to match hers, “Oh I'm flattered, but why that?"

“I mean look at you, the sweet, little girl from District 4 with two men pining to have her. Not a slob like some of the victors from past years, perfectly kind and refined." If it was considered kind and refined to manipulate and kill other children, then you guessed you would fit the bill. “So your dress reflects that, the princess style as one would say. I would've loved to incorporate a tiara, but since you'll be crowned at the end of the night we had to forego that."

The dress shimmered like the ocean in sunlight,"It's beautiful.” You said starting at the gown, it felt wrong to dressed in the Capitol's finest as Conway was being shipped in a wooden coffin back home.

“Just like you!" Cambrie clapped her hands together before leading you out of the room to where you'd wait to be presented back in front of Panem. Finnick immediately caught your eye and you resisted running straight to him.

“You look beautiful." He had a twinkle in his eye, that made you want to slip back into the fantasy that all of this wasn't because you'd won the Hunger Games, that it was just a regular day.

“You're not too bad yourself.” You shrugged with a playful smile. Then faster than anticipated it was time to go, Finnick squeezed your hand encouragingly. You let your smile fall for a fraction of a second to take a deep breath before plastering it back on.

“You've got this.” He whispered, kissing your hand before releasing it as you walked towards the steps of the stage.

“You know her, you love her, our very own Capitol Princess and victor of the 69th Annual Hunger Games!" He shouted your name into the microphone to a resounding applause as you walked onto the stage. Making sure to wave to everyone you could each of whom flailed their arms in excitement. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we're very excited to have you back." People cheered in agreement as you let out an airy laugh in response.

“Well Ceaser, I'm glad to be back, everyone is so kind!" You were smiling so hard your nose scrunched up, in hopes that they found it adorable.

“I would ask you what you're most excited for now that you're back, but I think we know the answer to that one." He quirked his eyebrows and the audience murmured in agreement.

You felt your face getting hot and looked down shyly, “Oh Ceaser-" You tried to make yourself seem as much like a hopeful romantic, innocent girl as you could. Maybe it could reverse the effects that manipulating Conway may have had on how you were perceived.

“Am I right? Have you been able to rekindle flames with a certain Capitol Darling?" You hid your face in your hands for a second, kicking your legs, the audience laughed, and you were certain there must be cameras somewhere planted on Finnick to try and capture a reaction. "I think we know what that means.” Caesar shot his blinding smile at the crowd who cheered.

“All I can say is there are many things I'm excited to return to, and people." You'd accepted since your interview that if you did win then your romantic life would be of great interest to the Capitol, so you didn't shy away from playing into it, giving a small, longing look off the side of the stage that the cameras would be sure to pick up.

“And I suppose for now you'll make us settle for that as an answer?"

“For now, Caesar, a woman has to have her secrets." You repeated, alluding back to your original interview, and the audience gave a playful groan.

"Well then, for now, that's an answer we'll have to be happy with. But I know we're all burning to go over these highlights with you.” The highlights, your moment to try and keep up the persona while rewatching the moments already ingrained into your mind. Everyone watching seemed eager with anticipation of the cheers were any indicator.

“I wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting then." Your gaze was purposely wide and as doe-eyed as you could make it be. The Bloodbath was first, your kills, the alliance and you were able to maintain the facade as he pestered you about your abilities with the knife. You distracted your brain with how cold the auditorium seemed to be, how thin the fabric of the dress was which left you trying not to shiver. Then it was conversations with Conway and you tried even harder to play into the act while trying to detach yourself from reality.

“I know some people were definitely rooting for you and Conway in the tragedy of it all, but I have to ask, and I want you to be honest. Did you love him?"

“He was my closest friend in the world, of course I loved him." Not like how he wanted you too, or how you knew logically you should have loved him, but it was love. Your voice was soft, sweet, and trembled with the fear of tears. Which you decided could actually be helpful at some point to keep painting yourself in this light.

You could have sworn you saw audience members crying, not because they cared about you, or him, but because to them this was a tale of tragedy that added a kick to their entertainment. Caesar hummed, “But you loved someone else more?" His voice was softer in the microphone as well.

You looked at him, “Only one of us was going to come out of the arena, it wasn't a matter of who I loved more." What a lie, if it was Finnick you were certain you'd give it all up for him in a split second. Sounds of sobs filled your ears and you pushed down the anger you felt at these people for how they'd ripped your life, Conway's life apart , just to cry over it now. Next was the highlight where you'd almost died and that was much easier to talk about, besides the fact that you could currently feel how cold your nose was getting which made your body want to curl up, you took every muscle to resist that impulse though.

“What were you thinking when that parachute was flying down from the sky?"

“Honestly, Caesar, it's fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating." You forced a nervous laugh which the audience returned in full force and so did Ceased. You turned your body to face them, “However since then all I've wanted to say is thank you, to all of you who sponsored me during the games." The tears about Conway you let spill in full force about this instead, silently hoping it would win even more people over. “I'm just so grateful for all the generosity you've shown me and I will forever be." The crowd gave out noises of approval.

When the coverage of the battle between your allies and the Careers began and all the way up to those you cared about most in those Games, you let your soul float into the clouds. Allowing a smiley, teary eyed autopilot to take over your brain. You don't remember leaving autopilot until you were seated in some sort of throne-like chair, President Snow giving a speech to the citizens of Panem. He turned to you and you rose as he approached you with a crown, a crown that represented how you backstabbed your way to the top.

You bowed your head slightly as he placed the cold metal on your head, “Wonderful job, my dear." He said gruffly with a smile and although you could feel your body shaking, you forced one back.

“Thank you, Mr. President."

Yet he reiterated his statement in a way that gave you chills that you couldn't understand, “A wonderful job, you've really proven what these games are about."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Did we leave the spile in one of the trees?” You ask, dehydration certainly isn't helping how lightheaded you felt.

Peeta nods, “Yeah, impossible to know which one though."

"I'll go find it then.” You volunteered.

"I need to give the beach a good walk around, as well, let my brain finish thinking something up.” Beetee stood up, coil of wire in hand.

“You're not going alone." Finnick objected, ready to go with you.

“I'm not going alone, I have Beetee. We'll be fine, Finnick, it's a circle you'll be able to see us the whole way around." He looked reluctant, but knew there wasn't much he could do unless he followed you around, but he couldn't leave Johanna to take care of both Katniss and Peeta.

He sighed, “Be safe." His tone was even, straight-laced, “Beetee make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."

You scoffed, “I'm looking for a spile!" But Beetee nodded to Finnick. “I’ll be fine! If I need you I'll scream." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I'll send out a search party if you're not back in 20 minutes."

You looked around the arena slowly before looking back at him, “I'm sure there's no way of telling, but I'll be back. I promise." You smiled and he's still frowning, but he kisses your forehead and lets you walk off with Beetee.

“20 minutes!" He shouts after you as you begin walking around the perimeter of the beach, looking around the trees.

“So what's your plan with that?" You nod towards the coil Beetee is fiddling with.

“We've got water, lighting, a conductor, everything we need to electrocute." Beetee responds, you're ducking in and out of the trees. Searching for where the spile could be nestled in. You're far enough that you can't really see the group through all the trees, but that doesn't bother you until you hear a scream. It's far enough away that it's faint, screams of a young girl and then Katniss. You and Beetee are looking around, listening to the noise that's carried only by the breeze, when another voice enters the cacophony. It's familiar to you, but your brain struggles to process the sound. “That's you." Beetee says slowly.

Your brain does; however, instantly register the next scream, calling your name, Finnick. Instantly you'd ran out of the treeline back into the sand, back to where you'd left the group. “Finnick!" You screamed back, heart racing in panic. “Johanna, where's Finnick?" Both him and Katniss are gone, you can hear their shouts on top of the other noises.

“He followed her in." Johanna tilted her head towards the jungle and your legs instantly started moving, to find him, to show him the screams aren't really you. “It's already closed off, you can't go in."

"What do you mean, closed off?” You get your answer instantly when your hands touch the shield surrounding the woods the screams are coming from. You see Katniss running forward screaming and Peeta comes up by you, telling her it's just the birds. What birds? She's being hounded by them as she falls to the ground and you realize the screams are coming from them.

“Jabberjays." Beetee says, coming up behind you. You let your hands trace along the wall as you keep walking.

“What're you doing?" Johanna asks, exasperated.

“I have to find him, if he can at least see me-" Her scoff interrupts you but you keep darting your eyes through the trees in this clear cage, following it.

“He knows by now that it's not really you.”

"I know that!” You don't mean to snap at her, it frustrates you that you even pulled your eyes away from the jungle. "I know him, Johanna, and if he can see me then he'll know for certain that I'm okay." You're about to turn in the jungle as you follow the wall but Johanna grabs your arm, you start to shove her off. “Let go of me!”

"You go in there and it could be the next hour, the moment those stupid mutts are done, whatever is in there you'll be stuck with.”

"I don't care!”

She grabs you again, "But he does!” The frustration makes you want to cry all over again. She's right and that infuriates you, looking back inside the bubble when you catch a glimpse of him. Sitting, knees to his chest, covering his ears as he whispers something to himself, eyes clenched shut as birds flutter around him.

You don't care if he can't hear you when you hit the wall, “Finnick! Finnick!" Johanna mumbles something, but you don't listen. Too busy trying to beg him to look your way, but he doesn't. All you can do is watch him as he talks to himself, the way his fingers dig into the side of his head, how hurt he looks. You hate yourself, for disregarding him to go search for the stupid spike, for letting him be there for you and now not being there for him. "There's gotta be a way to break it.” Your voice cracks.

"I helped design the technology, it's unbreakable." Beetee’s voice is quiet in the clamor going on in your head. You hate him too right now for giving them this, something to stop you from getting to him. Forehead pressed to the wall as you let yourself cry, let the shame take over your body. You've forced yourself to keep your eyes on him, to suffer more, a just punishment for allowing this to happen. If you'd stayed out then the screams wouldn't have ever lured him in deeper. At some point he removed his hands from his ears and began to stare forward numbly. Allowing the birds to screech in his ears with your stolen voice, you resent yourself more for not trying harder, for letting him slip into such a state even if there was nothing more to do. Centuries seem to pass when suddenly there's a silence and your head falls forward, the wall is gone, the birds are lying on the jungle floor.

Instantly you're running forward, you want to scream out in relief that it's finally over, but you're terrified to startle him. You kneel down in front of him, there are streaks on his face from what must have been tears, but now he's just blank. “Finn?" It's whispered, so as not to put him on alert.

Slowly his eyes moved to your face, at first it's somewhat untrusting, like he doesn't believe it's really you. The worry on your face must prove to him otherwise because that look is soon gone.

“Are you okay?" You know the answer is no, but you don't know what else to say, too guilt ridden to think of a way to help.

“Yeah, I'm fine." He mutters and you nod just kneeling by him.

Your stomach is churning, it felt like your blood was full of pure, unfiltered anxiety, so you force your foot not to tap, but you can feel your toes twitching. “I'm sorry.” You croaked out and he shook his head again, "No, I am, I'm sorry Finnick. I should've stayed with you, I should've-"

“Are you hurt?" His hoarse voice asks, it's numb like the way his eyes are.

“No, Finnick, I was fine, I am fine!"

“Then it doesn't matter." He shrugs.

“It matters to me." Finnick looks at you, like your words are finally sinking into him. Cautiously you bring your hands up to his, “Do you wanna go to the beach? We can, we can go there." Besides the fact he always wanted to be at the beach back home, that was especially true when the episodes of not being able to ignore the burden on his shoulders happened. Your own uncertainness made you angry with yourself, he was always putting on a facade to be strong when you needed him too and now when it was your turn, you couldn't even stop your voice from shaking. His head moved ever so slightly, “Yeah? Come on." Slowly you began to rise, keeping your hands on his as he stood as well. As carefully as you could you guided him back to the sands of the beach, to the waters.

He instantly submerged himself in the water as he sat down, letting waves rise on him. You followed suit, wrapping your arms around him and he leaned back into you. “Don't leave me either." Finnick eventually spoke, the setting sun highlighting his face.

You shook your head furiously, “I won't." Maybe you didn't understand what about you he found grounded or endeared him, but you did know you never wanted to see or even think of him the way you just had, again. You also accepted there would never be a day where you didn't think about it, what you did, how he looked, how he acted, how scared he seemed. It would haunt you and you would let it, if only to make sure it never happened again. Part of you wished the seawater would consume the both of you here, forever immortalize you with it and make sure there was never a moment you could be parted from each other's arms. Yet a larger piece of you was more determined than ever to execute the plan the best you could so you could be free of the control and mind games of the Capitol, so you could just live the rest of your life out with Finnick the way you'd both intended. To end it all, no matter what it took, so nobody else would have to live the life of the so-called ‘Victor.’

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

I cannot thank you all enough for reading, this was a longer one and I'm sorry it took so long to get out. feedback, likes, comments, reblogs, are all super appreciated and my ask box is open, I'm slowly getting through requests as well! you're all so amazing and sweet, it's really kept my passion for this series alive and I have so many ideas. again thank you all so much for reading 💋

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[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 9: I'd Love to Drown in This Spell

Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens

Bearblr Promptober Day 9: Impact Play

Summary: In which Carmen and his girlfriend talk about impact play, and he gets a little spark of confidence in the bedroom.

Warnings: Swearing, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described) in mind, she/her pronouns, talking about impact play, fluff.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

09 Oct 2024

Personally, I wish people asked more questions of me instead of operating on their assumptions.

She doesn’t try to read my mind or assume because of some tangential situation in the past. I don’t try to be a chaotic disaster of a human being, but I am painted with those colors. And try as I might to reign in those entropic tendencies—whether by stalling my breath or gritting my teeth or setting alarms for when to wake up, when to get to The Bear, when to call my girlfriend, to close down, to leave my office, to come home, make dinner, write my thoughts down, go to bed—my emotional state perpetually ticks to discordant metronomes. I can try to act any sort of consistent, but the tiniest things throw me off. I can try to have consistent opinions, but they will vary wildly anyway. Like even the act of physical intimacy, of cuddling or sex or letting her play with my hair or trace invisible patterns on my chest. Love it, but it depends on so many factors prior to getting lost in kisses and her soft, warm skin that she just finds it better to ask.

Like the time she asked me about impact play.

“Can I ask you a question?” She always started that way. It’s a little thing—a check in to see if I have the mental square footage to entertain one.

We were cozied up in bed under the new comforter she bought at the turn of Fall. Her hands and forearms were killing her because she did 9 days straight in house or on call (either working at the hospital or waiting to be called in, in case I forget), got called in each day, and spent more hours fiddling with little surgical tools than not. So, I worked on them, rubbed out the knots close to her elbows, squeezed her pretty hands to soothe the ache. It’d become engrained in my routine by now, to massage her arms or her legs or her shoulders—whatever ached. Gave me something to do with my hands while also being with her.

I nodded. “Shoot.”

“How do you feel about impact play?”

I froze rubbing out a tense spot in her forearm. “About what?”

Mercifully, she didn’t burst out into giggles. Just held a straight face and explained, “Spanking, riding crop, flogger. Hitting, but sensual.” I must’ve had an uncomfortable look on my face, because she ran her fingers through my hair and stroked my cheek with her thumb. “Some people like some pain with their pleasure.”

“How, uh…” Shit, my face started getting warm. “How would you know if-if…”

I was bright red, wasn’t I? Fucking hell, it was embarrassing to get so flustered so easily. I would’ve thought a few months of dating a girl and all the practice we got dealing with intense topics would’ve inoculated me against my shyness by then.

“If you like pain with your pleasure?” She offered.

I closed my eyes. Nodded. Mumbled, “Sorry, um… I-I don’t know why I keep getting…”

She scooted closer, rested her forehead against mine. Her lips were a millimeter away from mine—part of me wanted to capture them, to taste her and that strawberry lip balm that invariably became tangled up with the idea of her in my mind, but it was also nice to just. Be close. Stirred molten pleasure deep in the pit of my stomach. She wriggled her arm out of my grasp to rest a hand on my sternum.

“It’s probably because you haven’t had the chance to speak freely pretty much ever.” She feathered her hand down over my shoulder, down my arm, to the inside of my wrist, setting off an explosion of goosebumps wherever she trailed. “It’ll take time and practice. To answer your question: I suppose you just try it. Incrementally. Safely, you always want to be safe about it.”—Her hand left my wrist and reappeared on my face. Thumb brushed my lip, and I entertained the thought of sucking it into my mouth—“See if it feels good.”

The heat in my face started subsiding, replaced with a gentle sort of buzzing accompanying the heat in my core. “Do you like impact play?”

She placed the lightest kiss just under my bottom lip, spoke into my skin. “A little bit. I can do both the striking and the receiving, but I prefer to receive.”

Fucking hell, it was so hard to think with her like this, with her this close. But it was… nice? It was nice finding it hard to focus—never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d find myself in that position, slowly succumbing to the honeylike tone and touches of my lover and enjoying the process of my mind’s gears grinding to a halt. I was enthralled by her, entranced by the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin.

Should the world show me an ounce of mercy, I’d love to drown in this spell.

“What kind of impact play, my love?” I asked.

My hand moved without my input and curled around the back of her knee. Thinking back on it now, it was natural. Like I’d done it a thousand times. I wasn’t afraid or nervous.

She trailed a hand down my chest and around my side. Her voice had the smallest hint of a waver in it. For once, I was fucking her up. “I’m not terribly picky. I think a flogger might be my favorite. It’s more of a temporary sting that doesn’t bother me too much at work. Though, it has to be used kinda lightly for that.”

I couldn’t resist the urge to hook her leg over my hip and pull her closer. She was warm—the inside of her thigh on my hip, especially—and the weight soothed some dull aching low in my spine, almost at my tailbone, that I didn’t know was present until then. She squeaked in surprise, and I took the opportunity to kiss her. She froze for a moment (only a moment, just long enough for my newfound confidence to think about shaking) but then she tightened her leg around my side and wove her hand in my hair. My head spun. I was too warm, but not the same kind of boiling that accompanied my panic attacks; this warmth was different, broad, shallow rather than deep, encompassing rather than consuming. It frazzled me all the same. Maybe she sensed it, because she tipped her head back and pulled me in so I could draw in a lungful of air and kiss her throat.

“What does it feel like?” I murmured into her pulse.

She didn’t answer immediately. “Ever get whacked by a jump rope? Not, like, super hard, but like a sting on your ankle or something?”

I nodded. Pushed the comforter down to my waist. Settled back on the pillow so I could meet her gaze. She was blinking slowly.

“A bit like that,” she said. “Lighter. Your ass takes it better than your ankle though, you got some padding there.”

I grinned. “Well, that just makes sense.”

The heat in the pit of my stomach started fading. I needed to think about menu prepping for next month.

“Doesn’t it?” She traced my cheekbone. “Your dark circles are worse, baby. Long day?”

Long life.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“You might like it on your back,” she said. It took me a second to figure out what she was talking about. “Flogger. You might like it on your back. More so than your pretty ass.”

“My ass is pretty now?”

She giggled, kissed my forehead. “All of you is pretty, Carm.”

“Why my back?”

“Less vulnerable.”

I tucked her hair behind her ear, swept over her cheek with my bent knuckles. She’s soft. All of her is soft, but not in some fragile, delicate way—not in a way that feels easy to damage. But like she’s made of fine materials, with fine craftsmanship. Like someone—I would say God, but he’s a deadbeat because why else would my life be a hellscape—really took their time and tuned and balanced every little thing about her. There’s this fine porcelain bowl that I came across in a secondhand shop in Copenhagen—handmade in Japan, based on what I could find from the maker’s mark on the bottom, out of some of the finest Kaolin clay on Earth. I had to flip it over to see if the foot ring of the bowl was unglazed because the fired clay itself was so fine, smooth, polished that the edge where glaze broke over bare clay was nearly indiscernible to touch. I felt like I had no right holding a thing so fine, made with such care, without gloves on or something to protect it from the oils in my skin. That’s what it feels like to touch her. Like I had no right to be doing so. That I was in the wrong state—that I was grimy or dirty or that I needed to be polished or refined.

It's funny what love teaches you if you let it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered, drawing my attention back to her. She worked her fingers through my hair. “Where’d you go off to in that gorgeous head of yours?”

“I’d like to try it,” I said.

In retrospect, I’m relieved and perplexed that it didn’t come out sounding like a question.

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I trust you. I want to try it.”

I didn’t need to explain further. She just nodded.

[theredcuyo]

Hmm, so today i worked with a bit of horror and this came to me

What if we make the Batman into a cryptid but the cooler kind, the leyend to scare young kids type

Before you write or send a comment, i'm mexican, born and raised, still live there. Thank You.

This came from me thinking about La llorona, a leyend (scary one) here in México and some other parts of latam it seems(?) and it's in short, about a woman whose kids die and she dies from sadness over it, with her eyes drying up from so much crying, becoming a spirit that haunts the world while calling for her children in desperate screams

The reason behind the kids' death changes depending on who you ask, either she killed them or it was an accident, but they die by drowing in all versions, and, as a result of the above, any kid she comes across gets taken away because she mistakes them for her own, they end up dying by her hands too tho (because she thinks they're hers and drowns them, or because she realizes they aren't)

She's also a single mother (the story goes back to the 1500 btw)

And I think Bruce fits this. So. Fucking. Well.

Like, Jason and Dick die, and he becomes this, and then Tim was trying to help him pass from the world but he couldn't and instead became his child too, and the rest followed along, by accident, by choice or not

Can he be a hero here? I don't think so, but, maybe he does care for the children somehow, the ones that he realizes aren't his, that they have parents to go to are the ones he protects

He cares for the people, who are not at fault for his loss, so he protects the city he also haunts

He cares for the nice old man who's never been afraid of him, who gives him a sad smile and who he feels like he knows but all the memories of his life are buried down and forgotten behind his children dying

He might not even want the children he takes to die, it's like the pit rage in canon, it takes over him and they world gets too blurry to think right

And he cares for those kids, he really does, it's not their fault, but there's one he can never remember the name of (Dick) no matter how many times he repeats it

Dick forgave his dad (whatever the reason for their deaths might be) and wanders around him in a nice way, doing his best so all of them can finally pass away

Jason hasn't. He haunts Bruce, most of the episodes where he snatches more kids away are Jason's fault, as he appears and dissapears in front of him, making him believe any kid is his boy, Jason doesn't notice and actually tries to protect other kids.

Steph's 'your not my dad!' call hits harder in this au-

Cass was wandering around town alone, she didn't stand a chance because she couldn't even scream for help. She's like a second shadow to Bruce, always near, always watching, and some who have scaped them swear her eyes never stop looking at you. She might be the only kid who's not mad at him for taking her away

Duke is similar enough, he didn't like the dark, but when there's no other choice is the worst thing that happens.

Damian's tale as a child of his that Bruce originally thought to have died gets worse when he gets taken, reunited but only by death, one that is his dad's fault.

One where Bruce got another one of his kids killed.

||||

Hoenstly, i'd like to work on this au? If that's like fine?

I'll try to make some designs and maybe like some draws, if i get to, a series of one-shots

Oh, and if you non-latam people want to know more about la llorona, well, there's a kids animated movie :D is called "La leyenda de la llorona" pretty sure you can find it with subtitles (always better than dub tbh) it's part of a saga on mexican leyends too, can watch the others if it calls your attention, they're fun

[makethatelevenrings]

Hello, hello! I really like your writing so I'll take this chance and for Valentine's Day I'd love if you write some healthy relationships headcanons with Jason Todd. I know this might be super weird, but I just want reader to validate him, to make him feel safe and good enough, strong enough, the poor boy deserves that, his head is a mess so I just want him to rest in reader's arms and be in a healthy space, please 😭 reader can be another vigilante if you don't mind!

Thank you!!

sweet baby boy. physical tank of a man. baby. tank. baby girl.

he doesn't understand why you stay. why you love him. why you care. no amount of words seems to get through his thick skull

so you start doing little things around the apartment

making sure his coffee is ready the way he likes it in the morning, hot and steaming and in his favorite mug

making sure he's set before patrol. you check and double check his equipment and even clean his helmet before the moon rises.

it started as a joke. you always told him a pun or a joke before he left, purposefully leaving off the ending so that he would have to come back and hear it. you crook your finger and he leans down, his helmet pressing against your forehead. you cup the cool metal where his cheek should be and murmur out your joke before kissing the line in the mask where his lips were hidden.

when he comes crawling back in the early hours of the morning, you roll over in bed and greet him with a gentle kiss and the punchline to the joke

he struggles to communicate his feelings sometimes but you never push. you just sit next to him, your fingers tangled in the short hair at the base of his neck as you wait for him to finally speak. his voice cracks as he whispers aloud the nightmare that tore him from sleep last night. "and he was just standing there...Bruce was standing there watching him fucking hit me again and again and-"

you pull him closer, your forehead resting against his temple. tears are building in your eyes because your heart aches when he's in pain. you pepper his cheeks with kisses and pull his head to rest on your chest, whispering assurances that he's no longer in that warehouse.

whenever he's standing in front of you in some form of undress, you're totally complimenting the hell out of him

he's bright red as you wolf whistle

hell, you're fawning over him when he's in full suit as well

you're his best friend. his main supporter. his lover. his confidante. and you know that he is yours. when the memories become too much and he's back in the Pit, drowning against the rage and grief, he looks up and sees your hand extending down to him.

he always clasps it and lets you pull him out.

[barrenclan]

ok ONE more music ask bc i think this is the third one i’ve submitted for the new issue so far:

so i went back & read issue 37 while listening to “drunk walk home” by mitski (both the original and the live at palisades version), timing my reading with the listening so that certain panels & passages would line up with the right points in the song, and dear. fucking. LORD. i wanna make a rainhaze pmv with this so badly. the only question is which version of the song to use

so the best way i can explain it:

*drumbeat intro* - the title page

“i will retire to the salton sea/at the age of 23” - that comic panel at the beginning showing how much he changed

“for i’ve started to learn i may never be free/but though I may never be free/fuck you and your money/i’m tired of your money” - idk exactly how it’d line up with the issue but something something him being influenced by defiance & ranger, something something “you can love someone and still hate/hurt them”

*guitar picks up* - the canine realization and/or slug’s reaction to the murder reveal. some combination of the two.

“and i sit on the curb ‘cause it’s the prettiest night/with no one else in sight/don’t you know i wore this dress for you/these killer heels for you” - rain gets all defensive & tries to justify the murder with the sleep thing & the hypocrisy

“see the dark, it moves/with every breath of the breeze” (+ the buildup before the guitar solo) - “convince them…okay”

*guitar solo* - slug attacks him, big fight scene

and of course the screaming at the end correlates to him screaming as he’s gutted like a baked potato

Nice!! I always love how much thought you put into song choices.

As a Johnny Cash enjoyer I must say I do prefer his cover but of course I love Nine Inch Nails too. More dark and gritty does fit Rainhaze better.

I've never actually listened to or seen Repo, but it does seem like something that would be up my alley. It does fit him too, driving in what he's done and forcing him to remember killing Asphodelpaw.

I remember every dying whisper Every desperate murmur I remember when I gaze upon her She looks just like you I remember, I remember

I like this from Rainhaze's perspective, like he's constantly trying to guess what Ranger wants from him, how much he has to hurt himself to please Ranger.

The waves suck you in then you drown If like, you'd just stay down with me I'll swim down with you Is that what you want?

You hang the anchors over my neck (Saw your end) I liked it at first but the more you laughed The crazier I became

Haha aww, Pinepaw.

I lost some weight from anxious pacing talking on the telephone If I look cool I'm fooling you At any point you can assume My mind's computing every path that screws up what I wanna do

The things that I can't shoulder well I pass onto my older self And hope I learn to cope so I don't end up broke or overwhelmed 'Cause vocally, I'm not the best

Poinsettia is an interesting pull, but I can see it. I hate to say Rainhaze once again but yknow... kinda Rainhaze...

The feelings of regret And now I'm running to forget But know, the consequence of imagination's fear I met a man downtown the other day With ruby eyes that took my life away

Thе antidote we look so hard to find To purge yourself of fear, relax your mind But heaven only knows Where my mind leads, the feeling grows

Someone has actually recently made an incredible animatic set to Ptolemaea, actually! You can see it here.

That's alright, I usually do all the lyric quoting!

Pick up another cigarette Smoke it now and soon you'll forget If only your silver lining had better timing 'Cause there's no crown for one on the way down

Your dull blade and your dusty attire Can bring back all those burning desires So go back to the pit or roll over

I'd love to see the animation if you ever make it! It does have big synergy with "The Death of BarrenClan" event.

Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover Flee the fire that devours But the sight held me fixed like a bayonet against my throat

It was a pale white horse With a crooked smile And I knew it was my time

Not a song in the world that doesn't make me think of Rainhaze... anyways, I always like a good Hoosiers song.

Everything you love turns to dust, You'd make more of it but you felt rushed By all that's periphery, You held tight, but on the contrary

Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it, Don't look your life passed you by, 'Cause you're too attached to it

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[ourlordapollo]

Just realized I never posted my Narumitsu playlist so let's goooo

It's in rough chronological order by the OG trilogy and stops after T&T

Tracklist

Break My Stride - Matthew Wilder

You're on the road and now you pray it lasts

The road behind was rocky, but now you're feeling cocky

You look at me and you see your past

Is that the reason why you're running so fast?

Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac

Loving you isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things that I feel?

If I could, maybe I'd give you my world

How can I when you won't take it from me?

Before I Got There - The Mountain Goats

And in a pit behind the altar,

The bodies of the fallen

Heavy tracks up to the lip

Just to prove that they were crawling

Faces turned toward the sky

That they would never see again

Victims of the fallout

I have failed you, sweet young men

Yesterday - The Beatles

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be

There's a shadow hanging over me

Oh, yesterday came suddenly

Fix You - Canyon City

When the tears come streaming down your face

And you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone and it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Stars - fun.

And I've been saying that you,

You're always holding onto stars

I think they're better from afar

'Cause no one here is gonna save us

—

You Run Away - Barenaked Ladies

You run away

You could turn and stay

But you run away from me

I tried to be your brother

You cried and ran for cover

Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons

And it was not your fault but mine

And it was your heart on the line

I really fucked it up this time

Didn't I, my dear?

At Least It Was Here - The 88

But I love you more than words can say

I can’t count the reasons I should stay

One by one they all just fade away

But I love you more than words can say

Europe's Skies - Alexander Rybak

I don't know you, but I need more time

Promise me you'll be mine

Birds are flying over Europe's skies

Tell me please, why can't I?

Wrecking Ball - Miley Cyrus

I never meant to start a war

I just wanted you to let me in

How to Save a Life - The Fray

He will do one of two things

He will admit to everything

Or he'll say he's just not the same

And you'll begin to wonder why you came

No Children - The Mountain Goats

I am drowning

There is no sign of land

You are coming down with me

Hand in unlovable hand

Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day

I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me and I walk alone

—

Love You Madly - CAKE

I don't want to wonder if this is a blunder

I don't want to worry whether we're going to stay together 'til we die

I don't want to jump in unless this music's thumpin'

All the dishes rattle in the cupboards when the elephants arrive

Cellophane - Sia

Patience is your virtue, saint of mine

I'd have fallen through the cracks without your love tonight

Iowa (Traveling, Pt. 3) - Dar Williams

How I long to fall just a little bit

To dance out of the lines and stray from the light

But I fear that to fall in love with you

Is to fall from a great and gruesome height

Hey Jude - The Beatles

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

Lean On Me - Keb' Mo'

Lean on me

When you're not strong

And I'll be your friend

I'll help you carry on

Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

Pompeii - Bastille

But if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

And if you close your eyes

Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

Here Comes the Sun - The Beatles

Little darling

I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling

It seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun

[columboscreens]

i was asked recently about my top three and top ten columbo murderers who i think most deserved their fate. after wrangling with the tumblr post editor undoing my text changes and fucking up my photo placement, i finally finished the post. everything looked good in the drafts, in the queue, and in the blog preview.

then for some ungodly reason tumblr published the rough draft version of the post i'd written weeks ago anyway. i got so frustrated i yelled expletives and nuked it. so i'm starting anew. without further ado,

here are the top ten piece of shit columbo murderers who absolutely deserved it:

justin rowe & cooper redman, columbo goes to college: truly, i hate these two scum-sucking motherfuckers the most. they're brats, yes, but look at the absolute dogshit stakes at hand. all the other murderers in this show are killing for true love, power, multimillion dollar fortunes, careers of great prestige--usually for that upon which they've staked their entire lives. these two tar pits blow their professor's brains out because they Got Bad Grades, which was their fault to begin with! they bully columbo mercilessly. i can't even look at them without wanting to throttle them

dr. barry mayfield, a stitch in crime: though his reasoning for murder starts out with at least some comprehensible amount of dignity, he quickly devolves into one of the most evil murderers of the series, not only by trying to off his research lead, but for causing so much collateral damage. he kills his nurse for knowing too much, sure, but killing her poor vietnam vet ex who's trying to shake his perc addiction while working at the petting zoo is…almost comically evil. it's no wonder columbo gets visibly fed up with his shit.

commissioner mark halperin, a friend in deed: god this guy is such a huge piece of shit. he's a spectacularly corrupt cop, covering for his friend's manslaughter and then using it as an excuse to drown his own wife for her money--to make it worse, his wife is somehow an absolute sweetheart angel darling who spends all her time working with underpriviliged children and people of color. then he's dumb enough to let columbo, the star detective with a 200% solve rate, work on the case, while also openly disparaging and discouraging him. utterly contemptible.

nelson hayward, candidate for crime: in typical politician style, so plastic and two-faced that he's not even a real human being. cheats on his adorable wife with a 20-year-old floozy and then gets mad at his clearly fantastic campaign advisor for wanting him to get a grip and fix his fucking marriage. then he shoots him about it. then he tries to make everyone think he's in danger--and he's such a rutting, lying pig that his own wife clearly believes columbo more than she believes him.

sean brantley, columbo cries wolf: i'm not sure if there exists a more smug columbo villain than sean brantley. uniquely repugnant in that he uses and abuses columbo to generate a media frenzy, then mocks and embarrasses him on international television. uniquely moronic in that when he actually DOES do a murder he hides his partner's body in…his own wall? with her smart watch still attached to her wrist. actual dirt man

dale kingston, suitable for framing: total piece of shit who always thinks he's the cleverest person in the room. says the absolute dumbest shit about art all the time; as in, literally everything that comes out of his mouth makes you want to curbstomp him. the girl who loves him gets kind of scared about being an accessory to murder, so instead of being reassuring in any capacity, he brains her with a big rock. this man deserved impalement

paul galesko, negative reaction: starts off the episode SO sympathetic when we see how bitchy and abusive his wife is, then immediately vanquishes all sympathy by being the most annoying, insufferable fuckhead at all times. fucked around with yet another 20-year-old floozy, killed an ex-con who was trying to rebuild his life, and planned everything poorly. is terribly mean to columbo…

milo janus, exercise in fatality: a complete fucking slimeball with vanishingly few redeeming qualities. kills a guy with his bare hands for even suggesting cooked books and then taunts his estranged widow about it by...asking her to fuck? (in all fairness--he has to maintain Quality. when he grows? you grow). it's no wonder that columbo loses his shit and yells at him

emmett clayton, the most dangerous match: seldom talked about in these conversations but he is so smug and killed one of the least deserving columbo victims because…he's a massive fucking coward who is incapable of losing. pathetic! get over yourself! plus this guy was like Ooo i am so Extremeley Jeanius but when columbo diverted his attention for like five seconds he lost to a fucking fool's mate. literally the quickest way you can lose a game of chess. real bobby fischer swag you big goofy ass bitch. grow up moron

harold van wick, playback: just the most abrasive fucking asshole the entire episode. insufferable proto-tech bro who is mean to beautiful radiant sweetheart gena rowlands and not even in the smug columbo murderer way, just an old school ableist/misogynist who openly says shit like why should i allow my dumb disabled wife to Make Decisions. doesn't even pretend to be nice to columbo at any point and not in the charming robert culp way. loathsome garbage heap of a man.

honorable mentchies go to jack cassidy nazi magician, evil french chef, pedophile johnny cash, weird italian polycule artist, and both william shatners. fuck you

[lilithsterrarium]

If you don’t like your current job, i can always force you to work for meeee~

Intent on walking into your workplace with the specific intent to find you and stuff you somewhere on my body. Asking your coworkers isn’t any help since no one gives enough of a shit to track you Micros. Finally spotting my dirty little incon on the floor—where she belongs—and bounding over to you. Not caring as I flatten another few Mites under my shoes. Cooing and teasing your shivering wreck of a body as I tightly wrap my fist around you.

Your body tensing instinctively as I forcefully kiss every inch of you, obviously leading to you slipping into my mouth. Rolled about in my humid maw while I suckle; the dark world around you vibrating as I moan at the taste of your leaking pre-cum and the scum you’ve accumulated as a dirty little nobody. An overly friendly tongue bath, essentially.

Curiously peeking around the corner, before pulling my waistband open, my mouth opening to let you slowly drip off of my tongue—spitting you inside. You’re sufficiently lubed enough to wriggle your way into my labia, and I huff with amusement as your pleads muffle against my undoubtedly sweltering cunt. Finding out just why you got so quiet, when I feel your desperate, battered body twitch futilely in my pussy. Outwardly laughing when I let the elastic snap back shut.

Barely unable to control myself on the subway ride home—a horny beargirl, sat alone in the carriage—wanting to finger myself with your puny body. Not wanting the reputation of Subway Freak, but nearly caving when I squeeze my thighs and you explode into motion. The knowledge that you’re choking on the musk of my drooling sex driving me batshit insane, to the point where I’m physically shaking on the short walk home.

Absolutely crushing you between my wet cunt and a pillow almost immediately after getting home; rutting hard and fast as slurred moans rip from my chest, degrading you, begging you, demanding you squirm for me. Fucking the pillow until I spray you, and it, with my hot cum. The bliss of climax furthered by your mashed up presence under my clit, twitching and writhing and whining.

Only getting up a little while later to get some water, and not giving a shit when my cum practically adheres you to my pussy; absentmindedly touching myself when I finally realise you’re there. Tucking you back in as I mention how you’re my new ‘personal assistant’. Not a paid position, of course, but you get to huff all the beargirl musk you want, worship my asshole and my pussy for as long as I want, and maybe lick the sweat from my paws and pits if you’re really good.

(Get in my pants you fucking Mite. <3)— 🐻

DBFXNNCCNCNCNC GGOSH OH WWOW >.>

Letting out a desperate squeak when I see you... awkwardly trying to hide, maybe putting myself more in the open- either way, I'd give ANYTHING to be promoted to your personal assistant...

Blushing with every little smooch, tensing up and so so nervous as I come closer and closer into your maw... eventually dropped in, soaked in saliva, the scent of your breath sticking to me as I shudder... MMMMPH <3

Squirming against your cunt in a confused frenzy, squirming even harder as I realize where I am- trying to get my footing, only pushing and squirming against your inner walls more... the heat and scent so overwhelming, the MUSK enough to drown in....

The rest of my life spent as your little plaything, a silly thing to squirm wherever you shove me... I LOVE the idea of being conditioned to adore my mew life, of adoring and worshipping you, excited to please... begging for the honor of lapping at your soles or pits if I do a particularly good job...

shfnfnndhjjdd PLEASE <333333333

[celestialmazer]

Foo Fighters

Hampden Park, Glasgow 17.06.24

Certainly and expectedly the most emotional concert I've ever been to for so many reasons (crying/welling up well into the double digits throughout 😂)

Got spooky for me too the times Josh sounded like Taylor but was blocked by the crowd and my mind's eye was just filling in the blanks with memory 🫠🙃

Important notes:

(woke up with a really sore lower back for no reason the day before which hadn't eased, but tbh - standing for hours on end aside - my subdued movements matched the expected overall vibe of tentatively sombre initially meets let's go fucking mental when the mood takes us! Lots of first timers in the crowd too so a bubbling sense of the unknown pervaded ✨ surrounded by almost entirely good sorts including a wildcard wee lady who appeared out of nowhere when the music started, ready to thrash so hard her hair got my eyeball and mouth at one point 😂 the most polite vibe tall guy I've ever come across at a gig and the most hilariously polite off-their-nuts group excusing themselves to go to and from mosh pit area, one had a comedy large backpack which I reckon he needed as a travelling apothecary)

• Rami aced his intro again by playing Flower of Scotland - it's an easy win that is always going to work 😂 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

• At this performance Josh's t-shirt read

"God gave rock and roll to you Satan wants it back"

• And couldn't quite get a pic that captures it properly but Rami had a lil guy with a hat labelled executive potato I think 🤷😂🥔💗 (Very last image)

ICYMI - didn't notice this detail during the concert, found out after, but for a brief moment during My Hero the headlight of the big red delicious turned to projecting a hawk 🥲 - had one accidental photo of it which I've made more obvious. Proper video link from Foo Fighters live below

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C8frGS0SCIy/?

Treated to a walkway performance of Skin and Bones (written in Scotland during a T in the Park turns out!), Under You (Dave still didn't quite manage through this time but keeps trying! 🥲) and Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners!! (and he shared he only later discovered the trapped miners requested an iPod of Foo Fighters not cos they were big fans but cos they wanted something to drown out the drilling 🤣) (and we found the German man at the front of the queue got to! 😂🙌 Like a Euros exchange programme)

Violet Grohl came out for her tour debut to sing Show Me How, such a pretty voice 💜

Aurora dedicated to Taylor 🥹😭

Dave swigging some Buckfast - had no concept of what it was when a photo went viral a while back so became an accidental, begrudging spokesmodel - thinks it's actually not that bad 😂

The Teacher visuals were beautiful, emotional, psychedelic and felt like they crossed realms which... was a lot 🙃

Have literally never seen Nate look so buzzing as coming up for this bow 👏 🙌 the chill had set in so Pat got a hoodie on and was milking his exit 💗 thrown sticks and picks landed nearby, quickly snatched up but not by us

Sooo, we realised we practically filmed the whole concert between us - a great distraction attempt from crying 😂 so have put a playlist up for posterity... swithering about going through the digital camera archives and filing in the gaps in my upload history, but that's so far down the current to do list it's unreal (would've been unstoppable if I'd got a smartphone years ago at concerts, lol)

Supported by Honey Blood and Courtney Barnett

Tour: Everything or Nothing at All

Setlist

1. All My Life

2. No Son of Mine

(with snippets of "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath and "Enter Sandman" by Metallica)

3. Rescued

4. The Pretender

5. Walk

6. Times Like These

(Dave and Rami only into full band)

7. White Limo

8. La Dee Da

9. This Is a Call

10. Guitar Solo / Sabotage / Keyboard Solo / Flower of Scotland / Blitzkrieg Bop / Whip It / March of the Pigs

11. My Hero

(acoustic into full band)

12. The Sky Is a Neighborhood

13. Learn to Fly

14. Arlandria

15. These Days

16. Skin and Bones

(tour debut; acoustic with Rami on accordion)

17. Under You

(Dave solo acoustic)

18. Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners

(acoustic into full band)

19. Nothing at All

(with a snippet of "Blackbird" by The Beatles)

20. Unconditional

21. Monkey Wrench

(with added audience “Here We Fucking Go” and “No Scotland No Party")

22. Show Me How

(with Violet Grohl) (tour debut)

23. Aurora

(dedicated to Taylor Hawkins)

24. Best of You

Encore:

25. The Teacher

26. Everlong

Oh and we got our pic in the paper as we were there and getting merch so early on the photographer asked us (his first fans of the day) and we were like ...😐 Why not 😂 (cue wind and sun)

https://www.glasgowtimes.co.uk/news/scottish-news/24393473.crowds-foo-fighters-fans-arriving-glasgows-hampden/

[fox-bright]

Right after Easter, twenty years ago this month, my mentor sent me a one-way ticket to Pittsburgh, PA, and saved my life.

I'd been more or less disowned a year and a half before--my mother threw me out on the ninth of September, 2001--and I was drowning in sand. I am not a creature of the desert, even if I was raised there, and my hometown was not a loving place for almost anyone to be. And while multiple friends and coworkers had by that point felt it necessary to stop me when I was idly talking about my week and say you know, you don't have to accept this treatment. You know, I believe she loves you, or thinks she does, but that's not GOOD ENOUGH when she treats you like she does, I hadn't yet really come to accept that my mother is who she is. I was miserable, and lonely, and not even allowed to visit  my siblings unless Mom was there, because "I don't know what you'd talk to them about, and I don't think you're righteous."

(I might, it's true, have talked to them about how I was queer. I was more likely to have talked to them about Final Fantasy or something, but I guess we'll never know.)

Mom threw me out when I was nearly nineteen. At twenty, Diane sent me a plane ticket. Her voice down the phone--I'd never heard it before, in the years that I'd been part of the young writer's forum she moderated, the internet back then was mostly text--was warm and gentle and peaceable. I found a room for you, she said. I have friends who can help you get a job. She sent me a Greyhound ticket to Phoenix (along with thirteen dollars in cash, because you could pay extra and give the recipient up to half the value of the ticket) and a plane ticket from Sky Harbor to PIT. I was scared and unsure, but I was so, so tired of being hungry. So tired of not knowing for sure where I was going to sleep next week. And sick at heart from my mother's behavior ("Did you sleep with him?" she asked me, about my fiance; when I quietly but unashamedly said I had, she pulled me forty feet by my braid, her acrylic fingernails digging bleeding grooves into my scalp that ached for months, scars I probably still have). I'd been so comprehensively heartbroken already that I didn't know how I'd survive it, and the trick to surviving suicidality is, do anything else. Even if it means you leave your whole life behind.

And I knew I'd miss my siblings, but fuck, I missed them already, so what the hell.

I got on the bus. I got on the plane. I touched down in the aftermath of a late snowstorm, and I didn't have a coat, and the air felt sharp and tasted like clouds. And Diane was there, smiling, and she started talking and didn't stop until she'd deposited me in my new home.

And then, having gotten me to Pittsburgh, she gave me everything. Took me to this meetup and that interesting park, introduced me to everyone she knew, constantly finagled and jostled and gently prodded me through anxiety and discomfort and into growth and learning and maturity. She took me to doctors and the dentist, which my mother had neglected or denied me when I begged (I was twenty the first time I ever went to a dentist; that's four or five solid years after I started telling my mother that I really needed to see one). She took me shopping for work clothes, and made suggestions about styling and my hair that would help child-sized, baby-faced me look a little more formidable. She didn't, ever, overstep; she always seemed magically to know when it was time to let go and watch me baby-stumble for a while until my feet were steady under me. I was such a very young twenty, half-feral, poorly-socialized and just about absolutely ignorant of how people should behave, and she never once made me feel ashamed of myself.

I've been thinking about this a lot this week. Twenty years. Half my life, just about precisely. All the things I've gotten to do since then--travel; take up a martial art and train and train until I competed on the national level; become an artist's model in paintings all over the world; perform lion dance for a ballet with the love of my life literally supporting me, throwing me into the air; learn to garden and to preserve my own food and to quilt and crochet and put up drywall and take down ancient varnish and unfreeze a pipe and make sourdough bread from starter and so, so many other things--I've gotten to do because of her. Because if she hadn't gotten me out of Cottonwood, within six months I would have been dead.

I love my life. I've had a lot of grief, in twenty years; lost a baby, lost friends to illness or just bad luck, lived with a boyfriend who was the very definition of psychotic and who burned my life down around my ears, chose other partners who weren't what I deserved, until I learned to require the right things. But I worked in my garden today under an unseasonably hot sun, moving wood-chip mulch with a wagon--

--okay, so the garden, right, and the mulch. I wanted this house because of its garden; I spend a lot of time in it, through much of the year. I grow a lot of food and a lot of flowers, and the air is full of birds all day and fireflies all night. Last year the next-door-neighbor on our left had tree people in to take down a couple of trees, and I looked at the deep dumptruckful of fresh tree chips and I wanted it. I knew that a lot of the time tree services have to pay to dump their wood chips somewhere else, and that they find it tedious. And I thought, Diane would just walk on over there, and say hi-ii  the way that she does, and ask for it. Diane would just smile, and--

I raised my chin, and I walked over, and I gave my winningest smile, and I said Hi-ii, I'm Gen, I live right there in the house with the blue roof, and I was wondering, do you guys want a place to dump all that? and fifteen minutes later I had a couple of tons of premium hardwood chip mulch behind my house. I've been transporting it to various places in the garden since, scoop by scoop with a shovel and my little black wagon, and have thickly covered a couple of hundred feet worth of beds so far. I put twenty wagon-loads up front of the house today, making twenty or thirty feet of new garden bed for native pollinator plants to go into in three weeks, and the whole time I was literally singing with how good my life is, how lucky I am, to have my husband, to have my home, to have a place that has kept me safe, to have learned so many things, to live somewhere that I get to experiment and watch things grow and produce baskets and baskets of food from a handful of seeds. Because of work and lessons and effort and continuing to put one foot ahead of the other, yes, I've worked hard to get here. But ultimately--because of Diane.

I don't really know what good parents are like. Dad is a word that means "hurts you and hurts you and hurts you and then disappears," and Mom is a word that means "will eat your heart from the inside and complain the whole time about the taste." But because of Diane...because of her, I do understand, a little.

[depressivecomforts]

i wonder if i was ever truly loved. at any point. by them. how can you raise your hand against your child and still say you love them? how can you neglect me and still smile as if it never happened?

i've pondered the meaning of life for so many years, and still cannot come up with a good enough answer. is there one at the end of the day?

"you can't love others if you don't love yourself."

does that mean i cannot love my friends and lover despite how i feel during bad days? does a hatred born from circumstance really invalidate my ability to feel? i know i love them all. i love my aunt. my friends. all past lovers and current one i have, i love with such a burning passion that almost feels overwhelming. because it is so much easier to love them than myself. it's so much easier to wrap them around my arms, kiss them and protect them, than myself.

how do you want me to love myself if i was never taught? just like they wanted me to complete math problems when i couldn't understand them. not being taught.

i used to feel like an adult in a child's body.

now i'm a child in an adult's body.

i can't do this anymore.

it hurts.

it hurts to the point i want to wail and rip out my throat and heart to make it stop, but i can't.

the lump in my throat is something that never lessens, a familiar feeling across the years that always returns with the same tightness as the first time.

when was the first time?

when will be the last time?

i know it gets easier and better with time.

i made a choice to keep going with this hope in mind.

i was proven right.

but the process is so, oh so slow, sometimes it feels like i go back in time.

it's funny. it's ironic.

how funny it is that we the depressive ones are the loneliest. so much awareness, so many that could understand us, and yet they never fully do. do we even understand ourselves? emotions are so complicated, but i'm still not fully sure if numbness is better. sometimes a welcome respite, other times a prison.

i don't want to fuck anything up. he already went through his own bullshit. he deserves the world. fuck, the universe even. and yet i keep bleeding, the scab never fully closed. always reopening when the band-aid is ripped off. i don't wish to bleed all over him.

oh to crave, and yet not want to be a burden.

is it selfish or selfless?

loving others while i weep inside, knuckles closed accompanying a tight-lipped smile. i crave and crave like a bottomless pit. will i swallow others whole? leave them empty shells while i try to quell my hunger and thirst?

an apology i deserve but will never get.

that's what keeps hurting, keeps making me sob internally ever since she first told me that.

because it's true.

i deserve that apology. i deserve their apologies. will i ever get them? no.

and i must heal with that in mind. must fix what they damaged. myself.

broken, having to make my fingers bleed as i painstakingly put the pieces together, burning my skin with the hot glue gun.

i keep thinking of this japanese habit of fixing broken things with liquid gold. it's gorgeous. i wish that could apply to me. but no amount of gold will make an ugly, broken vase any prettier.

i know i never deserved it. that was another painful lesson. the amount of years i believed it was somehow my fault. but if it wasn't, why? why was i unloved?

an artist i am, yet no amount of words or canvases will ever convey this pain. there are no amount of words that will ever truly send the message through, and yet it's a pain i wouldn't wish on anyone. it drowns you. it swallows you.

it chokes you.

to laugh is to cry. to cry is to laugh. because taking that last step and going over the edge will make others cry for you. i'd rather not hurt anyone, because i know what it feels like to be hurt.

i've been called strong and brave for not doing it. for not following in my mother's footsteps. having so many chances and reasons, and yet waking up each day. taking another inhale. another exhale.

i used to call myself a coward for that.

afraid of death while craving it like a long lost lover. an embrace.

deep breaths. in and out. 4, 6, 8. repeat.

i must become responsible and maintain control despite wanting to drop the reins and let the cart fall over the edge of the hill. never had the chance to be a kid, it was ripped out. now that i have a choice, it's not an option.

it's unfair and cruel. yet i must suck it up and deal with it.

i want to scream.

scream and wail and sob.

i can't.

i'd bother others.

so keeping quiet is all i can do. hide the tears and say "i'm fine." because if i reveal it all, it'd be too much for others to bare. it's not even their burden to bare, but mine and mine alone. a bag that i must empty step by step, so heavy no matter how my back becomes straighter with every papercut healed. because the deep gaping wound is still bleeding and not healing. will it ever fully heal? or will it just be covered by a scab that will keep reopening when prodded?

i'm so tired. i'm so sorry.

i've been exhausted for so long.

holding this luggage for so long.

it doesn't fully get easier, despite how each breath fills the lungs a bit more with each intake.

this desire i have of falling into another's arms, be embraced and heard. to be understood and reassured as my tears fall and fall. it's something i've desired for far too long. but if i do that, i'd hurt them. i could hurt him.

the broken ones stay together. licking each other's wounds and letting them weep on our shoulders in a show of mutual understanding. a shared pain.

if only sharing my pain wouldn't bring consequences. i'd drop it without a second thought. without hesitation. but doing so would weight others down. i cannot allow that. i can't bring myself respite at the cost of others.

i know it's selfless. i know i'm allowed to be selfish. i can't bring myself to be.

my pain could push others away. perhaps it already has in the past. i don't wish to end up all alone.

more than i already am.

it's lonely here.

surrounded by others yet not quite accompanied.

i crave. yet i forbid myself to take.

what is it like to take?

what is it like to claim?

no consequences, no exchanges, no nothing. just be able to take what has been denied for so long. will it heal me or break me? would it make a difference? would it matter at the end of the day?

this life is far too cruel.

why must it be so?

if we deserve to be loved and cared for, then why were we denied such things in the first place? why were we hurt by those that were supposed to hold our hands and protect us?

forced to learn to protect ourselves with what little choice we had. the lack of control that we now suddenly have seems to drive so many crazy. i crave it too. but i've seen what they can do.

is this why i've lasted so long?

seen the consequences of their actions and chose to not follow the same path, this is the only reason i'm still alive.

i've come to learn and despise how their pain doesn't excuse ours and yet it somehows seems to do so. gives a reason no matter how unfair it is. and we're supposed to accept it for what it is?

pain shifts to anger.

anger shifts to sadness.

sadness to grief.

it's a cycle well known.

a painful comfort that keeps destroying from within its familiarity.

our start a painful bumpy road, now we must rewrite our fate before we take the last fall.

a river of blood that we must tear to shreds and refill. cleanse and clean by ourselves.

stone by stone.

drop by drop.

lest we succumb.

would succumbing mean an end to it all? would it be like the salve that heals the burn? i crave to know. i crave to feel that relief. but i know that there would be no going back. a door that would permanently close.

for some reason that i yet fail to understand, i must keep walking. i must keep going. i'm told it's called hope. i fail to see it as such. maybe it's because walking forward is all i've ever been able to do, all i've ever done. can that be considered brave when every step has my chest heaving with each breath i take?

saying "i'm tired" is an understatement of this entire thing.

yet it somehow covers it all.

because that's what it is at the end of the day. tiring. exhausting.

and i shall create a circle out of this.

anger.

sadness.

grief.

pain.

repeat.

i know i don't deserve such a fate. but the unknown is scarier than it might seem.

this painful familiar feeling has been with me forever. and if i could, i'd let it be my companion until i reach my grave.

heal.

why?

why should i heal?

because i deserve to live?

why was i born then?

questions that might never get answered.

once again, another morning i wake.

once again, another breath i take.

[beforeiforgetyou]

For your eyes only. (kinda)

What are you doing right now? Where have you been? Even when we don't speak, I'm thinking of you. Always. Last night, you visited my dreams. The way you smell. The way you laugh. The way you cry. The way you taste. How will we ever be just friends when you're forever in my mind? Even when I sleep.

Do you ever think about it? What if things were different? What if we were different?

What if we had met earlier? That middle school love. The weird boy who writes poems, and eats peanut butter crackers behind the gymnasium. The tall girl, who always has her headphones in and could be a track star, but spends her time at the Science Club instead. I'd slip love letters in your locker between classes.

Or later? Maybe we're in our 40s now. Successful and independent on our own. We'd meet at some lame business conference, bored of everyone else, but find one another intriguing. Talk all night and drink too much at the hotel bar. I'd take you back to my room with me. Or maybe we couldn't even make it that far, and I'd fuck you in the bathroom during a presentation we weren't interested in anyways.

Is it the timing? No. That's not it. We were never meant for that. In any life, at any time, in any scenario. You and I. We're something different. My favorite girl. My secret slut. My hardest lesson. My best friend.

Oh, you are mine! A part of you always will be. An invisible mark. A stain. A lingering memory that we'll always have. The day will come, yes. Tied down by spouses and partners who we love differently. But they would never understand, and so our memories remain secrets. Ours to keep. That day will come. Bound by obligation and families, separated by time and distance. It will come but I will keep a part of you forever.

Hardly a year. I've known you for hardly a year. And yet the way my heart swoons and swells when you walk by, you'd think it's been a lifetime. Too fast, too strong, too strange. We're bad for one another, you know. Toxic. The ups and downs. The highs and lows. I'm addicted to them. Addicted to you.

It's the eyes. Deep, dark pits; windows into your soul. Can he see it too? You live there. Sometimes I can't look at you directly. I feel myself drowning, getting lost again in that somber, brilliant gaze. Those eyes. They bare into my own soul and probe for the secrets that no one else has ever known.

Life is funny sometimes. The Universe. Or God. Whatever you choose to call it. Fate that saw it fit to offer me a soulmate, a lesson, a gift. But not one that I could keep. One to love, one to lose. A tragedy and a romance all at once. Vixen, temptress, gentle girl. Reaching inside and pulling out all the feelings and words a man can muster.

I miss the days of you and me. The rest of the world fell away in those moments. I wish I'd known back then that I was on borrowed time. I would have held on tighter. Made you stay. Frozen time, just for a while, where nothing else mattered but the uncomplicated moments of pure understanding and happiness. I miss you so deeply, pretty girl.

Two different gardens,

Two different vines;

But for a while a least,

Our roots intertwined.

[sirpsychosexi]

For your eyes only.

What are you doing right now? Where have you been? Even when we don't speak, I'm thinking of you. Always. Last night, you visited my dreams. The way you smell. The way you laugh. The way you cry. The way you taste. How will we ever be just friends when you're forever in my mind? Even when I sleep.

Do you ever think about it? What if things were different? What if we were different?

What if we had met earlier? That middle school love. The weird boy who writes poems, and eats peanut butter crackers behind the gymnasium. The tall girl, who always has her headphones in and could be a track star, but spends her time at the Science Club instead. I'd slip love letters in your locker between classes.

Or later? Maybe we're in our 40s now. Successful and independent on our own. We'd meet at some lame business conference, bored of everyone else, but find one another intriguing. Talk all night and drink too much at the hotel bar. I'd take you back to my room with me. Or maybe we couldn't even make it that far, and I'd fuck you in the bathroom during a presentation we weren't interested in anyways.

Is it the timing? No. That's not it. We were never meant for that. In any life, at any time, in any scenario. You and I. We're something different. My favorite girl. My secret slut. My hardest lesson. My best friend.

Oh, you are mine! A part of you always will be. An invisible mark. A stain. A lingering memory that we'll always have. The day will come, yes. Tied down by spouses and partners who we love differently. But they would never understand, and so our memories remain secrets. Ours to keep. That day will come. Bound by obligation and families, separated by time and distance. It will come but I will keep a part of you forever.

Hardly a year. I've known you for hardly a year. And yet the way my heart swoons and swells when you walk by, you'd think it's been a lifetime. Too fast, too strong, too strange. We're bad for one another, you know. Toxic. The ups and downs. The highs and lows. I'm addicted to them. Addicted to you.

It's the eyes. Deep, dark pits; windows into your soul. Can he see it too? You live there. Sometimes I can't look at you directly. I feel myself drowning, getting lost again in that somber, brilliant gaze. Those eyes. They bare into my own soul and probe for the secrets that no one else has ever known.

Life is funny sometimes. The Universe. Or God. Whatever you choose to call it. Fate that saw it fit to offer me a soulmate, a lesson, a gift. But not one that I could keep. One to love, one to lose. A tragedy and a romance all at once. Vixen, temptress, gentle girl. Reaching inside and pulling out all the feelings and words a man can muster.

I miss the days of you and me. The rest of the world fell away in those moments. I wish I'd known back then that I was on borrowed time. I would have held on tighter. Made you stay. Frozen time, just for a while, where nothing else mattered but the uncomplicated moments of pure understanding and happiness. I miss you so deeply, pretty girl.

Two different gardens,

Two different vines;

But for a while a least,

Our roots intertwined.

[delopsia]

Hello and welcome to Del's Outer Range S1 E6 thoughts and wonderings! I am officially at a point where I wonder how I've sat through this series so many damn times. What's going on? Nobody knows!

Did I...miss something?

Girl just "🧍‍♂️"

Is she not freezing? Consider its, what, November in WYOMING?

The shaking camera is really setting off my motion sickness, Christ

What? Was Royal's plan when he was driving with Autumn on his four-wheeler? Drive her far enough away so she starves to death?

How can they even afford a four-wheeler anyway? Where did it come from? Horseback not fun anymore?

Maybe this is what happened to Rebecca...just a theory.

Autumn's presence forces Royal to acknowledge the mineral on his land, and that really fucking freaks him out. Like he's ACTIVELY trying to drown her voice out when she's telling him her theories about it.

"Stay away from my family," Royal unknowingly says to his granddaughter.

When Autumn says, "I'm going to do wonderous things." I wonder if she's repeating something that's been told to her. She's so confident about it, "I'm going to help people, Royal!"

How...far did Royal take Autumn from her camp?

Everytime I see Royal burn Autumn's camp, I expect him to accidentally start a wildfire

I already forgot who this guy is

Joy wants to arrest Perry and Rhett? I'm—

YES. YES, SHE ADMITS TREVOR'S BROTHERS SAW HIM. THEY SAW HIM EAT A BURGER AT THE PITBAR ON TUESDAY NIGHT, SO HOW THE FUCK WAS HE LAST SEEN SUNDAY!

AAAAAAAA

Sorry

According to Joy, Amy found Trevor four days after the fight at The Pit Bar. So why do we keep saying he was last seen eight days ago? When his brothers literally say they saw him that night eating a goddamn burger THAT THEY FOUND IN HIS STOMACH AT THE AUTOPSY

Again with the being gaslit lmao

Joy is so close to the truth, yet so far off...

And yet, Trevor was only dead for eight hours when Amy found

... Joy, I wouldn't call that a "thing that doesn't totally fit" I'd call that a "huge fucking problem."

Apparently, this dude's name is Kirkland? But his reaction to Joy saying the coroner is wrong 😭

"Are you fucking kidding me?" "No." GIRLLLL YOU'RE ARGUING WITH THE CORONER? HE RAN IT THREE TIMES!

Noooo look at him :(

You can't tell me he's not a cuddly sleeper >:(

Was he pretending to still be asleep, or did the door closing wake him up?

The bear in Joy's house, lmao

Royal sleeping on the couch. I hope you got a terrible night of sleep, you fuck.

Amy can so easily tell when everyone is lying to her and I feel like that's affecting Autumn's perception of the Abbott's

"Not knowing hurts, too." :(

The church scene sends me back to the days when I lived in Alabama and had to sit with a bunch of adults while the preacher screamed at the top of his lungs

"Give your neighbor a sign of peace,"

Perry:

Royal actually sitting with his family and not in the back?

The BOLDNESS of these dudes, my GOD. "The sacrament of marriage is a union between a man and a woman." REALLY??

AND JOY NOT LETTING HER WIFE LEAVE?

UGH

Joy could have gone alone; she must have known this would upset her wife??

Cecelia was really afraid of that plain wafer

Communion was always my favorite as a kid, for no reason other than grape juice and wafers with a funny texture.

Oh hello

I always forget bears exist. Idk why

Is the bear talking, or is Autumn hearing things?

"Show him" show him what?

Intense music, gets you right on the edge of your seat, and then boom

Cowboy :D

I've already identified this jacket before once, but here's a refresher because I think it's nifty!

The jacket in this scene is from a Rough Stock rodeo in White Sulphur Springs, Montana. It's hard to tell, but it's either dated 2016 or 2018.

Presumably, the jacket is from this specific event.

Has Maria ignored Rhett's calls before, or is he truly just nervous that she wouldn't pick up?

These flowers never looked real to me for some reason

"Rhett, you told me when you were seventeen you were gonna leave that ranch. You're not gonna leave now."

SEVENTEEN!

Why are we holding a twenty-four-year-old man to something he said when he was seventeen 😭 does ANY seventeen-year-old follow through with every single thing they say they're gonna do? Do they all have the LUXURY of doing that?

When I was seventeen, I was determined to go to film school...here I am, not in film school. I am instead studying to become a web developer.

There goes my integrity 🙄

This is just me, but I'd never trust someone who comes into my life and tells me I need to walk away from my family to be with them...especially in like the first week of being in contact with them?? 😭

What IS Maria's point? Rhett asks, and she jumps to, "Then are you covering for Perry?" WHAT WAS YOUR POINT?

Rhett looks like he got a little misty-eyed, but maybe that's just the lighting

Rhett's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't, lmao.

He says no, and she says that she doesn't know who he is (rightfully true; y'all have been back in contact for a week after not seeing each other for five years...you don't know each other)

Hypothetically, if he said yes, then she'd probably say she can't trust him or doesn't feel comfortable being with someone covering up for a murder. All valid points, but there is no chance of Rhett really winning here.

Rhett's angry little hat flick, omg

OH, I JUST NOTICED THIS

OH MY GOD

HE HITS HIS STEERING WHEEL WHEN HES IN THE TRUCK

It's VERY hard to notice, but you can hear the thumps and his little pained grunt.

Foaming at the mouth over here

Luke is decent enough to tell his lawyer he's on speaker and that his mom is in the room.

EVERYTHING goes to Billy? 😭 Damn, does Wayne even like Luke and Trevor? He wasn't even concerned about Trevor when he went missing 😭

Martha is so sick of Joy, and this case, and she has every right to be. She just went to a church and had a pastor tell her that her marriage is invalid, IN FRONT OF THEIR DAUGHTER, THE ENTIRE CHURCH, and Joy doesn't hear her.

Meanwhile, Patricia and her boys

Billy v. CGI Elk

Idk who won, but that elk sounded pissed

Is Autumn in a daze? High? Manic? All of the above? Because she speaks very oddly here.

This show would have gone a lot differently if Billy accidentally shot her 😭

Autumn was having trouble walking earlier, but now she's limping along just fine.

Don't do drugs, kids, and don't talk to strange women in forests.

I'm not gonna lie; Billy's outfit looks sick in this color scheme. Like I would buy this jacket

Autumn repeats this story:

"Once upon a time, long ago, there was a young astrologer. He'd walk the land, gazing up at the sky, marveling at the movement of the heavens. His eyes were always fixed on what was above him, so much so that, often...he would stumble when he walked. One day, the stumbling astrologer tripped and he fell into a well. And soon, his mother, who was a wise old woman, she found him at the bottom of the well. And she said to him... "how do you expect to know what's in the heavens if you can't see what's at your feet?""

I wonder if Royal is the stumbling astrologer, so consumed with what's above him (God. Maybe too busy questioning him?) that he doesn't take the time to understand what's at his feet (the massive fucking hole in the west pasture)

The "well" the astrologer tripped and fell into is the hole.

I again wonder if Royal's mother will come back into play somehow...

We are now back with Karl

I've seen a few people point this out, and I thought it was nifty. Karl is driving and passes these two signs with a group of trees on the right side of the road.

Notice that the sign on the left has a little diamond-shaped sign; we're just seeing the silver back of it here.

The sign on the right is partially blocked by the tree

BUT THEN. He reaches for a can of grape soda on the floorboard, a few seconds pass, and we look at the road again

We are now on the other side of the road! The trees are now on Karl's left; we can see the other side of that diamond sign, and the sign partially blocked by the tree limbs is now visible!

Also, hello bison, goodbye Karl

Hope you find Fritos in the afterlife, buddy

How the hell did we change sides of the road?

Okay, Cecelia, girl, what are you doing?

Did she...make the bear bite her so she could say she killed it in self-defense...?

Royal's recollection about getting them lost on a road trip and Cecelia finding the right way feels like him indirectly asking for help. He's gotten the family lost, and he needs Cecelia to find the right way for them.

Did Royal not notice the big hole Cecelia dug? At all? Why are they both playing in their own private holes in the ground?

Interesting, this shot gives us two moons and what looks like a sun (bottom left corner) layered onto the shot

"You have one job, and that's to send me money when I need it," so Autumn has people (or at least someone) on standby to give her money when she requests it.

yarGH I hate this GOdaMN cARVING SCENE

GIRL QUIT THAT

IM BEGGING YOU TO JUST GET A TATTOO. IT'S EASIER

Autumn makes an interesting point. When Royal snapped, she described him as having a feral look in his eye. The same damn look that Perry got when he was snapped with Trevor.

She's SO close, too; she says, "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if this is exactly what happened to Trevor. Poor guy probably did something, said something, triggered some weird thing, and your father just snapped."

Replace "your father" with "Perry," and you'll have a summary of what happened to Trev.

I'm starting to think Autumn doesn't even know she's Amy. That or her memory is incredibly warped.

I'm also beginning to wonder if she's suffering a manic episode.

She takes Lamotrigine, which can be used to treat bipolar I disorder, but because Royal burned her camp, she had no medicine, and the pharmacy only had the generic. It seemed her episode started before she even got her medicine, so it's hard to tell if the generic is causing this or if it's something else.

But what's a symptom of bipolar I disorder? Manic episodes.

Again, I'm not a doctor, so I'm working with internet resources here, but Psychiatry.org describes one symptom as "Uncontrollable racing thoughts or quickly changing ideas or topics when speaking," which we see occurring when she has coffee with Perry.

Also, increased or faster speech...which we also see. Idk just a theory I'm throwing out there. Please don't take this as me diagnosing Autumn lmao.

...but I did just have an extra thought. Say Autumn does have Bipolar I Disorder. What if it runs in the family? Stemming from Royal to Perry and then down to Autumn/Amy?

PERRY PERRY DONT DO IT

PERRYYYY

Did Autumn... invite Billy into her hotel, or did he just show up for a casual bath? Multi-million dollar bathroom too much for him?

Autumn speaks like she thinks she's some kind of chosen one

Sweet boy Rhett putting the cups and bowls out <3 I wonder what they were gonna eat before Perry spoiled dinner

The fear in Rhett's eyes

Thank you to the captions for telling me that Rhett said, "fuck you," when he stood up and hit the table

The pacing 🤤

"Maybe our parents are protected! But the sheriff knows that we left that bar together! You have no idea what I have given up to protect you! Don't say you're fucking sorry to me. It's no wonder Rebecca left you, you selfish piece of shit, you're the reason Amy doesn't have a fucking mom!"

Writing Rhett's rant down made it make more sense, and I don't necessarily think he's exaggerating out of anger. A common theme we see here is Perry's selfishness, especially when it comes to Rebecca.

He married and had a child with a woman he knew wanted to move back to California, but he refused to move for her, and that's why they argued a lot.

It does make me wonder if Rhett knows more about Rebecca, he speaks about this like he knows the exact reason she left.

But hey, that's just a theory

Perry snaps and goes after Rhett, who...what, yelled at him a little bit? Punches him in the face, is GROWLING when he's dragged off, and then goes into this "go ahead, come on, push the knife in me" spiral. Classic Perry. I wonder if he's like this in every argument...

Poor Amy :( she didn't need to see all of that

She runs off to be by herself, and there are the cops coming down the driveway to take her dad away :/

Off we go to episode 7! I have no funny ending line for this one, only a big ol', "the Abbotts need a lot of fucking therapy!"

Rewatching Outer Range for the umpteenth time. Will slowly reblog with random thoughts and theories.