#I'm just angry that it seems like she's getting into new bullshit at least once a month and yet seems to be failing upwards

[luckylunatix]

I can't believe Vivziepop got to contribute to a Weird Al music video before being faced with any major consequences for her many, MANY awful actions over the years. Clearly there is no God.

[child-of-the-danube]

I'm still in my Lilia brain rot era and I keep thinking about her and Agatha, and their dynamic and parallels.

Like, Agatha is a dick to everyone from the start, even Teen, but she's extremely chill and even, for her being who she is, weirdly respectful towards Lilia. Maybe it's because of the age, maybe it's because Lilia was the only one to show she still had true power when they first met, maybe it's because they share experience and persecution the younger ones don't truly understand, maybe Agatha just has a soft spot for those who are very clearly outcasts and weirdos.

The only sting at Lilia I can recall is calling her "Dory" in the last trial lmao

She never once questions or mocks her gaps. Hell, she said "we came to the right place" AFTER she saw Lilia scream her head off in ep2 over, to them, nothing. "Hmm, this bitch a lil bonkers, but that's exactly what I like and need :)"

She told Lilia that she couldn't take her power unless she's blasted with it - something she was certainly aiming for if the door didn't open and that ended up saving them in ep2 when she was using her ye old technique of being a menace. She may have told it to her only to get her in, but that's a big minus to her plan B.

When everyone had their hallucinations, Agatha didn't mock Lilia when she was, once again, "being weird". She believed her and reassured her in a soft tone that it was ok.

One interaction I found really funny is in ep3 when Teen asks about a sous vide machine and Agatha turns to Lilia with that "What the fuck is that? That wasn't around in our time" look

Usually when one of them starts spewing wisdom, someone will give a snarky remark, usually Agatha, but when they were talking about summoning a new green witch, Agatha let Lilia speak and was the only one who, at least somewhat, listened to her advice (50/50 but still haha). It was Lilia after all who was the first one to, tho reluctantly, agree to Agatha's idea of summoning a back up green witch.

Also the way Agatha looks at Lilia when she calls Jen out for giving Sharon only one dose of antidote when she had two glasses of wine. It's just so "mmm 😈 I like this one"

Agatha's first choice for "who could possibly play piano" wasn't Alice. Ya know the daughter of a rock goddess who would be the most logical choice. It was Lilia and I find that sweet and a lil funny too.

Lilia didn't tell Agatha's Salem story with judgement, even if she said "when Agatha killed her original coven". It was delivered as mere fact to explain the story.

Then when Evanora showed up and Lilia looks angry and almost disgusted at what she's hearing her say to Agatha. Even after Alice's death, she didn't jump on Agatha's back and accuse her. She let her be cause she was clearly distraught.

Agatha "I'm not drinking the poison. You can suffer but I won't!" Harkness jumped on Lilia and covered her with her own body in the latest episode when the sword was about to impale her. And then she let her do her magic even if it didn't seem to work as the ceiling was still falling and even if she thought tarot was bullshit. She trusted she knew what she was doing.

And the look they give eachother when Lilia reveals Rio is Death. Lilia's face reads as terrified, but more than terrified, she seems to have a moment of compassion. It's the look of "How deeply fucked must your life have been that the only one that ever showed you love and kindness is the one who everyone else sees as the bringer of pain?". Death broke Lilia's heart many a time, but in that moment she understood, she broke Agatha's heart too in even worse ways.

AGATHA LIKED HER! SHE LIKED HER FROM THE START AND RESPECTED HER! AND LILIA LIKED HER TOO, DESPITE THE INITIAL SUSPICIONS!!!

I need to know what her reaction to finding out Lilia sacrificed herself to kill the threat that was specifically after her will be. Will she brush it off and pretend she doesn't care to keep appearing stern and emotionless or will this be the thing that finally makes her realise people care for her? Cause Agatha has never had anyone, except literal Death, show her kindness, much less sacrifice themselves so she could keep living. And I find it beautifully poetic that the one other person Death has known well for centuries, who Death has acknowledged by name in that coven, was the one to do that.

Again, I'm aware that this is just my brain rot speaking, but Lilia was truly the MVP. She's the one with wisdom, the biggest experience, the one with seemingly most patience, the hype man ("Jennifer, look what you did", "It was all for you", "Don't worry, baby. We're cool"). Her trial is the only one where the rest was in fact not needed and was of no help. Actually, all they did was make it worse. The first three trials depended on teamwork. Lilia's was truly solvable ONLY by Lilia.

Anyways, Lilia mentally adopted Agatha and realised she truly was part of her coven and therefore worth dying for and I will never fucking recover 💔💔😭😭

[manic-pixie-aquarius]

So I'm doing a season 3 rewatch and I've noticed some things (some ramblings about 3x01)

1. Hopper goes to Joyce and makes her write the heart-to-heart to Mike and El, nothing super significant about that alone (and of course Hopper actually ends up writing his own letter). I just think it's interesting how later on Will is the one to create a heart-to-heart "from El" to Mike... The Byers are always solving everyone else's problems lol, I love them but babe you needa focus on yourself and your happiness too😭

2. Also, when the party + El and Max are going up the hill to use Cerebro to talk to Suzie, Dustin mentions that Suzie is Mormon. He explains that: "her parents would never approve. It's all a bit Shakespearean. Like Romeo and Juliet. Star crossed lovers". I thought this was interesting because you could say the same about Mike and Will being gay in the 80's in a small town where being in a gay relationship does seem forbidden. And when Dustin says, "her parents would never approve" El is cut off from the frame... Idk the fact that she's the only one out of frame is interesting to me, especially since she's clinging right onto Mike's arm the whole scene. Instead, the two people in the back of the group who aren't engaging in the conversation are Mike and Will. Then she comes back into frame when Dustin mentions Romeo and Juliet. Now the thing about Romeo and Juliet is that it's regarded as a romantic tale, but I disagree with that perspective honestly... R + J love for each other is so intense and passion filled that they ignore everything else, even important things like family and other responsibilities. Their love is destructive, kind of like Mike and El's love. In Hopper's letter he mentions that he misses when he and El would spend time together and is feeling her distance because of her new relationship. Similar to how Will, Lucas, and Dustin recount that Mike is being super distant and annoying because he is neglecting the group to makeout with El all the time. Max opposes them by stating "It's romantic". Max is also the person who's been in the group the shortest amount of time, the boys who have known Mike since childhood state, "It's gross" and "it's bullshit". Mike is severely neglecting his friendships in the name of love, El is doing the same to her paternal figure.

3. Another thing I love about this season is how Lucas is quick to call out Mike on his bs. When Mike makes the excuse of "I was spending romantic time with my girlfriend" Lucas says "Yeah well I'm spending romantic time with MY girlfriend" (whilst still spending time with his friends) But it's also funny because Lucas is insinuating that this theater going experience is romantic, like everyone has pointed out by now, this was essentially a Byler + Lumax double date (like this scene didn't HAVE to happen, they could've waited until Dustin got back to see a movie together, and once Dustin does return we already see how neglectful Mike is being towards everyone. So, what was the point of this whole mall movie theater scene...well to establish the mall setting and the new characters, thats first and foremost, but it was also to show that Mike is still trying to at least put in some effort into his relationship to Will. It shows that he still cares and is at least kindaa keeping his promises from the previous season (making sure his best friend is feeling safe).

4. The hand grab Joyce does to Hopper to reassure him... Byler heart-to-heart vibes...

Question: Why aren't there more Nancy and Mike scenes when they share the same passion of writing???

Anyways this episode is just so funny honestly, I love how angry Hopper gets at Mike. All their scenes together in every season are so good. We missed out on those in season 4, I hope we get some more in s5

[bau-drabbles]

Hotch loosing the reader because he's too stubborn and when she goes he breaks down? Sorry this is my time asking i hope it made sense 😅😅

it made perfect sense! i did slightly adjust it though. pretend for the sake of the plot him and his brother don't get along :)

also rushed cause its more of a drabble than a fic and its very mild angst. i hope you enjoy 🤍

too many nights

"you don't trust me like i trust you" you both walked in to his home, after what was supposed to be a nice day out. it was just the two of you, jack was at his aunts for the weekend. and you thought you would be able to finally have some relaxing time and get together with him, just to finally be able to be a real couple.

you forget, however, that sometimes not everything plans out the way you wished.

"can you blame me?? everytime i let you out of my sight you run to sean! who knows what bullshit he's been filling your head with!" aaron takes his jacket off, throwing it to the side of the couch. it was like his blood was boiling in the inside just at the mere thought of him being with you, making him laugh like he does. touching you with the hands that have caressed every woman in san antonio. he could've physically throw hands at his brother, that was how much he was absolutely consumed by his rage.

more specifically though, it was his insecurities that clouded his mind, unable to allow him to see a clear judgement. and you were so tired of it, every week there seemed to be a new trouble arising.

deep down, he didn't fully allow you in his heart and it stung everytime he would believe the other person over you. it stung that while he occupied your soul, you were merely a thought floating in his head when he remembered.

"you would know if you would just ask! god, it's like you've already formed a narrative of who i am. and everytime i do something that challenges that narrative, you chalk it up to a lapse in judgement-" he interrupts you, a sneer on his lips. you've never seen him so angry at you before.

"please y/n 'challenging the narrative' is just a fancy way of saying you act like a complete dumbass" his tone is cold, his words hitting you like bullets. you remain silent for a second, stunned at what he uttered to you. this was the same man you adored with every part of your heart, the same man who swore to you he'd never let your heart see another bad day, the same man who said he would ease your troubles and worries.

and now he was doing the very opposite of what he promised

"so that's what you think of me" your voice is notably shaky, quieter this time. his face splits into pain for a slight second before he fixed into a stoic mask. like the ones he uses on other people, not on you his supposed lover. though standing here, opposite him it seems that maybe you've overestimated how much you meant to him.

"you know, i've made mistakes but at least i've owned up to them. yeah i fucked up by not explaining to you that i have never once, ever sought sean out-" he shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you.

"i'm not the bad guy here" he curls his hand into fists, his glare immovable as he stares you down. his tone was warning, not wanting to delve into the matter tonight. but if not now, when? when would be the final straw?

"neither am i!" you try to calm your racing heart but the longer you both keep at this, you feel yourself beginning to break under his words.

"you keep telling yourself that. then the day you find out who the real enemy, it'll hurt that much more" he snarls, turning his back to you. he goes to his alcohol until he hears a scoff fall from your lips, feeling the familiar sting of tears watering in your eyes. was this how every fight between the two of you was going to be fixed everytime? him not listening to a word you say, instead going off on a rampage?

"do you know what my biggest fuck up has been? opening up to you. because everytime i do, i get this.... horrible version of you," you wipe away your tears with the back of your hand, leaning against the work surfaces. he's stopped in his tracks, his heart plummeting all the way to the floor. slowly he turns to face you but you're looking at your feet, recalling all the times you both shared together. every sweet moment melted your heart but was that enough? he could say horrible things, things he rarely meant and then apologise as if they held no weight. and it was a pattern you noticed and tried not to take to heart but it make hearing it any better.

the walls that you and hotch had so painstakingly chipped away were beginning to form again. no matter how many times you removed them, if he remained cold then they would inevitably form again.

perhaps that was what he wanted, always to keep you as an option. never allowing you too close, just something he could appreciate from afar.

you had always thought of aaron as a calm and collected person but until he had fully trusted you, these problems were only going to repeat themselves again and again. how much longer could you stand your own heart breaking before it was fully gone? realisation dawns upon your features, part of you realises that perhaps you never knew him as well as you thought you did. if this was the true aaron hotchner, you were left alone. this wasn't the man you desired.

and though it pained so very heavily, it was better than to hold onto something that wasn't there.

"i won't make that mistake again" his face has paled significantly, blinking as if to catch up with your words. you pick up your jacket, hugging it close to your body. taking one last look at him, you feel your eyes water. all the words he says is a cold reminder of how he feels, everytime he found a way to make you feel so indescribably sad. he reaches out but before he could touch you, you make your way to his door and leave.

there wasn't any mile long enough that could be placed between the two of you

"wait y/n.." he feels breathless, trying to hold you but you're gone. the smell of your perfume slaps him out of his trance and it all but breaks him into small pieces.

he falls to the floor, hands on his knees to try and collect his bearings. but the visions come and go, all he can hear and see is your beautiful face breaking in pain. pain that he caused you, pain he swore you'd never feel.

his heart was racing, unlike him because he usually had a good control over his emotions. but you turned his world upside down, made him realise that life was so much more than he could've ever known. and that was what scared him, his heart that was so used to being guarded was being broken down.

it was your laugh that punctured holes in his resolve, it was your smile that dissolved his perfectly created barriers, the small sounds you made when you were sleeping melted

his heart wasn't used to love, especially not after haley. he didn't know how to be in love, how to act. it was all a foreign concept and while he was still learning the foundation, he feared that now it was too late to repair any damage.

he knew the hurt he had caused you, all of it and yet he stayed glued to the floor. unable to move. the familiar feeling of dread settled deep within his bones, he couldn't control this situation. and that was what scared him the most.

he didn't even realise he was crying until they dripped to the floor, soaking his trousers. he absolutely despised how he treated you, how he let those tears fall and those words be said in a fit of rage.

maybe he just wasn't a good person. a good person wouldn't do this to someone they loved. he always helped people but he couldn't apply any of that to his personal life. he couldn't help you, he couldn't help himself. he couldn't treat you like you deserved to be treated. he couldn't for once, be happy for you instead of letting his emotions and insecurities come in the way.

with every poisoning thought, he felt himself slip further and further away from reality. he deserved it, the pain, the numbness, the anguish.

he deserved it all

[ghostfacelegacy]

@ofakillerwithin

[Anger issues. I scoffed at the thought. Was I perfect? No. Did I get myself into sticky situations, from time to time, sure. Did some of the people on the receiving end of these situations end up needing medical attention? Yeah, but in my defense, they brought it on themselves. A defense that my parents didn't seem to understand... Well, adopted parents, to clarify, since it turned out my whole life was a compilation of lies, secrets, and scandal. It wasn't until nearing the end of high school that I realized the people I had been deceived into believing were my parents, were actually my biological aunt and uncle. If learning all of that wasn't enough to give a guy "anger issues," then I didn't know what was. Of course my aunt and uncle didn't see it that way. A fact that they unknowingly made known to me one night when I overheard one of their conversations. Okay, okay, so I roughed a guy up at school, but given all the shit he had been putting me through, he got what he deserved. To my aunt and uncle though, they overlooked the fact that the asshole had been bullying me and giving me shit for weeks, so when he came at me one night at a game, and I fought back, suddenly I'm the bad guy for breaking his arm, nose, and a few of his ribs too. Exhaling loudly at the memory. It was that same night that I learned my "parents" were actually my aunt and uncle, after overhearing my aunt ask my uncle if he thought I was turning into my father... My father? What the hell were they talking about? Of course I busted into the living room immediately to confront them that night, which was met with more lies and cover up attempts from them. Why the hell wouldn't they tell me the truth about who I really am? I had a right to know where I really came from! Their refusal to tell me the truth, and to add insult to injury, to feed me more bullshit, just made me even angrier with them for keeping all of this from me, for so long. Over time, and following a slightly physical altercation with the man I had learned was actually my uncle, my aunt confessed that my "cousin" Sidney, who visited the mountains here a few times a year, was actually my birth mother. Apparently she had me young, my father was no longer in the picture... Supposedly after learning she was pregnant with me, he bolted and left her on her own, so in order to give me the best shot at life, she turned me over to my aunt and uncle to adopt me. I confronted Sidney, and just like my adopted parents, Sidney also lied to me about my father; claiming he was just a one night stand, and she never heard from him again. Considering all of the bullshit my family had fed me over the years, I knew better than to believe this story either, which prompted me to do some research of my own on my birth father. This being the point where I made my first trip to Woodsboro to get some answers. I met Richie soon after arriving in Woodsboro, which was refreshing since he was the one who told me the truth about my life. Turns out my father wasn't some dead beat who slept with my biological mother, then bolted when he found out she was pregnant, like my adopted parents fed me. He also wasn't a one night stand like my biological mother told me. No, he was actually her long-time boyfriend, who allegedly turned out to be a mass murderer in the town of Woodsboro. Of course he never had the chance to defend the accusations made against him, since Sidney killed him first; costing me any chance to ever know my father. I was angry, to say the least, which prompted me to leave my adopted parents' home, and live on my own for awhile. Not long after high school ended, I learned my friend Richie had been murdered by some bitch named, Sam. Figures, the one person in my life I could trust was taken from me too. I had nobody now. Nobody! This fury and thirst for revenge bringing me to New York, where Sam and her group had moved to for college. I didn't know what I'd do or say once I finally came face to face with that bitch, but I did know, I'd make her pay for murdering my only real friend, Richie]

[thessalian]

Thess vs A Lack of Consideration

So there is literally no end to the absolute bloody cheek of my colleagues.

I spent most of the day looking at the typing queue and going, "The number of items typed hasn't gone up that much but the time stamps on the earliest items in the queue haven't changed; what the fuck is going on?"

I found out what the fuck was going on when I got to a certain point in the dictation and found out that everything from about 2pm to 6pm yesterday was typed, and the only things left besides today's typing were the earlier things - and every single one of them was either very long, dictated by someone with significant issues with the dictation, or both.

And then Milady came along and took the shortest and most reasonable of those, instead of taking them in order, which would have had her doing a long-ass monstrosity by a junior doctor who repeats herself an awful lot but instead left said monstrosity to me.

I mean, the unending nerve of these people. The rules are simple - you take the damn things in the order in which they were dictated when transcribing them, unless they're urgents and/or someone has asked specifically for them.

You know the worst part about this? It's that I would be a lot less angry and frustrated if someone came up to me and just said, "You're better at this than anyone in the department and we need you on these". I mean, I'd still be annoyed, because my colleagues are supposed to be fucking professionals and you learn to do this shit, you know? But at least I'd understand it - doctors expect a certain standard, even if they don't reach it themselves, and I'm probably the only one in the department who takes the word salad that comes out of the faces of the doctors and converts it into rational sentences. So yeah, I'd be annoyed that no one else was stepping up but at least I'd understand the necessity. Thing is, thre's no necessity here. It's not even a matter of lack of ability; it's simple laziness. It's saying, "These are awful. I don't like them. I don't want to do them. I'll make [Thess] do them instead, even if [Thess] struggles with them because of disability. I don't care if [she] suffers."

I'm tired of being the only one who steps up when we're swamped. I'm tired of being the only one Scruffman asks to do fiddly shit with sending reports to patients who referred cases to us (because somehow none of our new systems seem to send those reports directly to the people who asked for them in the first place, so we get emails from these people once a month, so ... what the fuck?). I'm tired of being left with the long and complicated bullshit to the point where they'll take a four-plus hour wodge of typing from the afternoon just so they don't have to touch the long complicated stuff that's normally done in the morning. I am tired of doing every single piece of shit work in the department. And I am really tired of knowing that Scruffman will not do anything about any of it because he's conflict-avoidant, I'm not there to physically get into his face, and he doesn't care so long as the work gets done and he doesn't look like he's in over his head in a managerial role that he's not actually qualified for.

I'm just tired. I was going to go out to pick up a few things but now everything feels like way, way too much work. It's not anything I actively need, but I thought "really nice but low-effort dinner plus glorious snackies and the assault of Moonrise Towers" would be a great way to spend a Friday night. I do have an alternative option but somehow "tuna broccoli lemon pasta" isn't as motivating as, like, "bacon mozzarella burger with hash browns and salad, maybe with actual decent tomatoes".

I miss being able to just order a burger. I mean, I can, but the options are "no bun at all; just whole thing wrapped in lettuce" or "kind of crappy bun", and both are expensive as fuck. Besides, I could make a better burger in my sleep. Even deprived of A1 sauce as I am.

...That reminds me; need to make up that list to send with Mum when she goes to North America in a few weeks. She's being kind enough to bring me maple syrup, expensive as that's become, but I want A1 sauce ... and, because Baking Yesteryear, I also require Jello and Jello pudding. I've checked and they are gluten-free.

Also flu vaccine before MCM Comic Con, if it can be arranged.

[daringtobehuman]

i just need a space to vent

I have a friend. Let's call her Lily.

For months, I have been Lily's tried-and-true. I have stuck up for her in public and in private, and got myself ostracized as a direct result of it. And I don't regret that - she was being bullied, and it was bullshit, and she deserved to be defended.

But I have been struggling to crawl my way out of the spiral of drama and bullshit ever since then. And Lily has been... begrudgingly-supportive-borderline-discouraging ever since.

After the drama, I wanted a fresh start. Some breathing room. But I didn't want to abandon the fandom I was interested in. So, I decided I would start fresh with friends unrelated to the bullshit. New server. New account. New events. etc,.

And the whole time, Lily has been screaming from her soapbox about how injured she was. How she can't stand to even read the pair anymore. How she doesn't want to be associated with anything to do with it anymore. And she doesn't understand why I do.

And beyond just not participating in anything I try to arrange (with one exception, which wasn't done for me but conveniently overlapped with something she was already doing), she's been flat out negative about everything I try to do.

She abruptly left the group chat we were in with a few other writers because we were all writing for the pair that she "can't stand to read anymore" because she associates it with bad memories or whatever.

But the next day she worked on her own fic for the pair and posted it with no issue, and has since continued to engage with it.

And now she's moved on to another fandom, she's writing new pairings, making new friends.

Which is great. Genuinely, I'm happy she seems to finally be moving on from the bullshit.

But she's also now doing all the things for this other fandom - participating in exchanges, events, etc,. - that she strongly discouraged me from arranging and more than once told me how stupid she found my ideas.

And tonight she invited me to join.

And I was so, so angry.

Months. Months. MONTHS of being discouraged, of being told my ideas were stupid, of how uninterested she was in them, of how much she hated things like fandom events or writing challenges, and she invites me out of the blue and I just---

Like I know it was coming from a good place. She knows I enjoys those things and she wanted to invite me.

But for fucks sake. Seriously?

I never said anything about how her discouragement hurt. Because she was hurting, and I wasn't trying to make her hurt about me in any way. But it fucking hurt. I supported her from beginning to end during the drama, every single meltdown, every single depressive spiral. And I never pushed her to participate. It would have been nice to have been offered some fucking encouragement but I didn't even ask for that.

No, now that she's not hurting anymore, she's 10 different kinds of excited about all these things that are cool to her now and acting like they're brand fucking new.

And when she invited me, I don't blow up. All I said was "I'm glad you're making new friends <3 but no thanks". For all the reasons above + some more that aren't worth venting about (not the least of which is that I'm insanely busy and don't have time for my regular fandom activities which she fucking knows).

And she gets mad at me because she felt my response was curt and hurt her feelings and I could have offered further explanation.

Now, on top of being hurt, I'm angry. I'm angry that she's angry. She doesn't even having a fucking reason to be angry.

And I don't owe her a goddamn explanation. Even if I wanted to give her one tonight, it would be written in anger. And I specifically didn't want to do that, which is why I kept it short.

The worst part is, even if I tried to explain - to say, "Hey, as glad as I am that you've found joy in fandom again and are making new friends and having fun, it really hurts to be invited to the same kind of events you actively discouraged me from arranging at a time when I really could have used your support, even if you didn't participate." - it will get flipped back on to me.

I'm just... so tired.

I have been walking on eggshells around Lily for months and it's just getting to be too much. Friendships are supposed to be mutual, and this is starting to feel parasitic.

This isn't how I wanted my New Year to start. Not at all.

[elijahkelly]

3/23/2023

You know when everything seems to be going wrong at exactly the same time? That's my world right now.

As I've said before, I am not taking my Zoloft. I don't like the way it makes me feel, so I'm going to talk to my psychiatrist and get new medication. But for now, my withdrawal symptoms have me feeling like I'm on the verge of passing out at any moment.

My roommates are fighting so tension in my apartment is high right now. One of them said something that came off as incredibly offensive (which I'm sure wasn't her intent) but it caused both of them to spiral and now the energy in my apartment is not very soothing right now.

Also, my cat Champagne and my roommate's cat Luna got into a fight last night, ending with fur all over the floor. It was very scary and it makes me worry that they're never going to get along. Since Luna has been at the apartment much longer than Champagne, I already told my roommates that if they don't get along, their cats take precedence. But I'm too attached to Champagne to get rid of him. So I'm not too sure what to do.

And as if the drama with my apartment isn't bad enough, I got an email this morning that they are going through with the eviction process soon. I sent them a check covering my rent from February of this year all the way until May of 2024 (covering my rent until I graduate). This check was sent in the middle of January and they still don't have it. So on their end, it looks like I'm simply neglecting my rent. But on my end, I'm missing several thousand dollars and that check is just floating around the postal system somewhere. That doesn't make me feel good at all. And if it doesn't get fixed soon, I'll be homeless. That's cool.

This next thing isn't as big of a deal, but it's being blown out of proportion because of everything else going on. I have a very difficult lab due today in my experimental psychology class, and I have absolutely no idea how to do it. Needless to say, I'm incredibly stressed.

If you don't know, I do drag. I've done it for about a year now, and I have always kept the policy that I don't particularly care about a booking fee as long as I am making tip money. Back in February, my own drag mom told the coordinator of Pride here in my town not to book me for Pride. Her reason? She told the coordinator that I don't want to do a gig unless I get a booking fee of at least $175. That is complete and utter bullshit. Never once have I asked for a booking fee. I've accepted one if it was offered, but not once have I expected one. I know that being a new drag queen means I'm not guaranteed a huge booking fee, and I'm at peace with that. So the fact that she decided to go behind my back and lie about me like that? Especially when that lie cost me a gig? I'm incredibly angry about that.

The last thing that's going on in my life right now kinda requires some backstory. You remember my friend Ozzy, right? Well Ozzy has been talking (flirting) with this guy (we'll call him X) who goes to school with us. Good for them. But I found out that my boyfriend has X on his Snapchat. I asked him where they met, and my boyfriend told me that X added him on Snapchat after my boyfriend's birthday party last month (February). So I figured someone probably posted him on their story for his birthday, X saw it, and added him. Whatever. Well last night, Ozzy told me that X told him that my boyfriend added X on Snapchat LAST SEMESTER, but X didn't add him back until his birthday. So, me not being on my medication AND already being a jealous and self-conscious person, I couldn't help but wonder why my boyfriend added X back then in the first place. Not only that, but he lied to me and said that X added him first. That hurts, and I've yet to talk to him about it because I'm scared of the truth.

So yeah, I'm currently juggling Zoloft withdrawals, roommate fighting, cats fighting, eviction, a difficult lab, people spreading lies about me behind my back, and potential infidelity. Going through it.

Anyways, that's all for now.

[reyhansolmaz]

The way Wyatt carried himself was exactly how Reyhan aimed to carry herself. She could still hear her mother's voice telling her to walk into a room with the confidence of an old, white man, and while Wyatt was not old, from the little she had been able to see throughout their casual meetings and interesting conversations, he was a confident white man. It sparked something inside her... some form of desire, of craving, that burned inside her chest when he said he wasn't about to correct whoever said he was trying to make her feel special. That same burning flame streamed straight between her thighs as the blonde made a B line towards the man Reyhan had just mentioned to him.

So... this was happening, huh? She was really going to be introduced to one Walter Harrison. Well, suck on that Colin!

With her drink in hand, Reyhan followed Wyatt. Of course he knew Walter. Was there anyone the blonde didn't know? Somehow she doubted that, but, in hindsight, it would be hard to be involved with politics like he was and not know a lot of people.

Reyhan observed carefully as the duo joked around. Wally sported a friendly smile upon seeing Wyatt, his body language seemed relaxed, so she didn't think any of them were bothering him. When given the room, Rey smiled while looking from Wyatt to Walter and offering the latter a hand. "Not everyone knows how to appreciate a good narrative, I suppose." She chuckled in response to Wyatt's words, joining in on the casualty of things as she shook Walter's hand. "Reyhan Solmaz, it's a pleasure." Yes, she knew that her companion had done the honors, but it didn't hurt to repeat her name. It showed interest.

And just like that, the meek Reyhan was replaced by the professionally confident one. Most days, Rey wished she wore this confidence at all times. She mentioned one of Walter's books... one that had done poorly in sales and praised it, despite not being her favorite. Actually, if she were to be honest, Mr. Harrison was mediocre to say the least, but people liked him. He had a touch of John Green meets Nicholas Sparks, which meant he could speak to both a younger audience and more mature women, but all in all, his writing lacked originality that Outlander had, or even, Phillipa Gregory's books. Alas, she wasn't there to judge. She was there to leave an impression and to get her agency on his radar.

After the opening Wyatt had given her, Reyhan was able to set up a pace of conversation easy to follow. Sometimes lingering on the professional side, others including Wyatt and spilling some bullshit about him, like meeting him last week or something. You know, minor things that wouldn't offer him a reason to be angry at Reyhan. "...But, if you're looking for a new publishing agency, we would love to come up with an offer for you, Mr. Harrison." Rey casually handed Wyatt her glass so she could fish her business card from inside her clutch and then offered it to Walter, quickly retrieving the untouched glass from the other's grasp. She then raised her glass to a random person, who wasn't even looking at her, before taking Wyatt's arm. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I would love to meet up and discuss your work, too." She said her goodbyes and waited for Wyatt to do the same.

Once they were at a safe distance, Reyhan exhaled a breath she'd been holding in and then looked up at the man standing next to her, letting go of his arm. "Thank you." She couldn't remember the last time she felt this excited about something. Electrified, even. "Seriously, thank you. I don't know how I'm going to repay you, but... just know, I owe you one." / @wyattxabhrams

It was a strategy that he kept him alive his whole life. It was what kept him from receiving pitiful looks from everyone when he walked into a room in this event. Because no one here knew of the Wyatt Abhrams of Covington. The poor little boy whose father lost the election and then fell off the wagon. The flighty son who returned to town only to discover that his father was nowhere to be found. The moment his father laid a hand on him was the day that Wyatt knew that his darkest secrets were never to be spilled to anyone. His family knew. Ryan knew. And that was it. Like hope, the secrets of Wyatt Abhrams would always remain caged away in the confines of the very box she analogized him with.

These thoughts no longer caused the stress lines on his forehead to deepen or for his otherwise polite smile to falter. Even when his mind wandered, his expression remained calm. Years of self-indoctrination that his past did not impact him and he had somehow managed to divide his body from his mind. The former obeyed him, even when the latter wandered away from his tight grasp. “Well, I’m in no rush to correct that someone.”

He nodded at the question, because Wyatt never made offers he did not intend to follow through on. He liked Reyhan, but at the same time, he could tell that she felt out of place in this setting. While he was not a typically altruistic man, he was feeling generous that night. His eyes followed hers, landing on Walter Harrison. Even before she introduced him, Wyatt knew exactly who he was. She knew him as a bestselling author of historical fiction. He knew him as the son of Reginald Harrison, the CEO of a company that he’d often promised infrastructure projects to in the Rust Belt.

As the bartender returned with their drinks, he offered her the glass. “Sure, I’ll make the intro.” Motioning for her to follow, he found his way beside Walter with the same confident and charming smile that he wore around everyone in this venue. “Wallie Harrison, it’s been a while. Last I saw you was when—New Years Eve, 2019? The Hamptons.” At his father’s place of course. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you on New York Times bestsellers in a while. Waiting for inspiration or have you run out of history to butcher?” The typical masculine joshing that would be expected among a crowd of powerful ( and therefore egotistical ) men aside, Wyatt motioned towards the woman in his company. “By the way, my friend, Reyhan Solmaz, huge fan. I don’t get it, but she won’t hear a word of criticism.” And he gave her the in to introduce herself, falling back as he set her up with the opportunity to speak about her work. | @reyhansolmaz

[sometimesrosy]

Do you still post about The 100? I'm one who has read the books so watching the way they treated Bellamy as well as Bob pissed me off it also didn't make any sense reminded me of how Lincoln and the actor who played him was treated I don't know if I'm the only one who feels that way or not of course I shipped Bellarke and seeing how Jason also baited and trolled the fans I don't like it I think he even said in a interview once that they'll get there with their relationship obviously that was

a lie but seeing their relationship every season you can see how it was getting there only to be ripped away from us I thought at least by the end of season 6 something would happen between them but nope then maybe season 7? Sadly we got nothing and if that doesn't make it bad what's worse is Bellamy's death was basically excused like he deserved it even though later on he was right. Another thing though is the way he acted in the later half of season 7 is nothing like him.

+++

I do still post about The 100, but much more rarely. I'm not obsessed anymore and I'm still a bit pissed about how they ended it, how they treated Bellamy and how they treated Clarke.

I'm mad at JR. Long ago, when he screwed over Ricky, I didn't want to judge because, well, I didn't have enough information to judge. But as JR repeated his behavior with Bob, it turns out that the fans that hated him were correct. He was an asshole. I mean, he's a hollywood director so I assumed he was, as it's like a professional requirement or something, but he was an asshole in service of his ego instead of an asshole in service of his story. So they were absolutely right.

And he DID say Bellarke would get there eventually but it was a long journey. He also had Bob and Eliza act as if they were in love. And he wrote a story with that love at the center-- whether it was consummated or not.

It was NOT a lie. That was the story he was telling. But something kept him from declaring it within the narrative every time. We don't know what it was. Was he afraid of the Moonlighting curse? (where the two love interests lost their chemistry once they consummated? of course those actors HATED each other while Bellarke's actors married each other.) Was he waiting for the BEST moment, and then waited too long? Was he truly just screwing with the Bellarke fans? Did he RESENT the bellarke fans? (they were harassing him so my money is on this. it was revenge.) Did he get angry at Bob for betraying him and taking care of himself? IDK maybe. Seems like. Also I read something anon from people on set, and apparently JR essentially dropped The 100 in anticipation of his NEW series. He sold out his current show so that he could get picked up. And he had plenty of opportunities for Bellarke romance, and chose, each time, not to go there.

I hated how he erased Bellamy from the story and then whitewashed every character who loved him in order to erase his importance. It didn't just affect Bellamy, who was unrecognizable. It also affected Echo, who no longer had a purpose in the narrative, and Octavia, whose very identity was built on Bellamy's love for her, and of course Clarke, who was the head to his heart, and without that heart, she just became.... well, literally crazy.

So disrespectful to the main character. But then that is what happens when someone erases the second protagonist.

...

This is why I don't talk about The 100 anymore. Because every time I do, it devolves into me ranting about how season 7 betrayed the story and characters and became some other kind of show in which the evil cultist is the hero and the rebels who are trying to make a better world are not worthy of heaven. Which is exactly the OPPOSITE of the first 6 years and instead, plays into trumpism and fascism and all the current political bullshit, and that's just too damn coincidental for me. JR sold out and it's all his fault. I will never watch that new show. He betrayed the story and his audience, and lost our trust. And that isn't about bellarke being denied, it's about story for me. Bellarke WAS a love story whether it was consummated or not. All those near misses means that was the story. But he didn't even give us the TRAGIC love story he could have, because he was a dick.

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (8/12)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Okay, so that cliffhanger, huh? I thought our mystery guests were obvious, but then again, I'm writing the story. But We'll answer all those questions here!

AO3: Beginning | Current Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

-/-

Killian’s side of the bed is cold when Emma’s alarm goes off. She expects him to still be there either sleeping or on his phone – he seems to do most of his work in the mornings when he doesn’t want to get out of bed – but he’s not there.

She hates herself a little bit for even noticing the cool feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips.

Emma groans and stretches her legs out, wondering how much time she has to go back to sleep before she absolutely has to go into work. She squints at her phone. She’s got two hours before she has to be at work. She could definitely sleep for another hour and a half and then look like shit at work. That might be nice, actually.

But then she smells something cooking downstairs, and almost on cue, her stomach growls.

Slowly, she gets out of bed, and the floor is cold against her bare feet. She should really go take a shower before she goes downstairs, and despite the good smell, she goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, leaving her hair dry. It’s curly and a bit frizzy from leaving it wet after her shower at the Nolans’ last night, but that’s a problem for another time…tomorrow. She’ll make it look better tomorrow. Emma grabs a pair of shorts and a button-down, putting them both on, and she pulls out a pair of sandals from her closet for later. She’s not as presentable as she should be, but maybe she can stay in her office and away from customers.

Besides, this is better than what it could have been had she not at least rinsed off the remaining sunscreen and sweat from her skin.

Emma smooths down her shirt and fluffs her hair. There’s the slightest bit of red on her chest from Killian’s beard, so she buttons up one more button before heading downstairs. From the smell of it, Killian is either cooking pancakes or waffles, and she’ll take either.

As far as her seasonal friends with benefits go, Killian is definitely the winner.

For the breakfast, the sex, and maybe the conversation. She thought about that for too long yesterday, and it’s too damn early for her to be thinking about any of this today. All she wants is food and coffee, so that’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all she can.

“Damn, Jones,” Emma shouts from the top of the stairs, “something smells delicious.”

She’s at the bottom of the stairs when she hears other voices. For one brief second, she thinks Killian is on the phone, but she’d know those voices anywhere. One haunts her nightmares, the other is the voice of her dreams, and neither was supposed to be here for three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

Shit.

Holy shit.

What the hell has Neal done that he has to show up like this without even giving her any kind of heads up?

And how does she fix this? Killian was never supposed to know about Henry. He was the one question she’d never answer. He would have been her veto had it ever come up. When he got home from spending the summer with his dad in New York City, Emma was going to start phasing Killian out. They’d only ever spend time at his place, she’d never spend the night unless Henry was sleeping over at his friends. Usually, she doesn’t have this problem because the guy leaves way before this. He doesn’t have the chance to ever know about Henry, and Emma likes it that way.

The last guy that met Henry was Walsh, and that was only on accident. Or at least that’s what Walsh said, but Emma’s always thought Walsh showed up at the Blue Dog at that time on purpose because he knew Henry would be there with Emma. The guy never understood why Emma didn’t let him meet her son, but when you’ve never been able to trust a man besides David and possibly Graham with him, you have reservations.

His dad’s a full-blown asshole who has upended her life more than once, and she’s already so done with whatever bullshit excuse he’s got for bringing Henry home early.

Emma jumps in place, trying to breathe without really inhaling, and then she turns the corner into the kitchen.

The sight is as bad as she expected. The first person she sees is Killian, and if it were any other morning, this would be a good view to wake up to. His joggers hang low on his hips, he’s standing by the stove shirtless, and his hair is sticking in several directions from where her hands tugged on it last night. Then she sees Neal, who is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, frown on his face. He looks older since she saw him at the beginning of June. His beard is filled with more gray, his hair unruly in a purposeful way. He looks pissed, and Emma already knows this is about to be hell.

And then she sees Henry, and the tenseness fades from her shoulders when she sees his smile and the giant backpack he’s wearing. He’s got to empty that damn thing out.

God, she’s missed him so much.

“Mom!” he squeals, running toward her.

Emma opens her arms and embraces him, holding onto the back of his head and breathing him in. As much as Emma sometimes likes the freedom her summer affords her, she does miss her son. A lot. Him being gone is the entire reason she picks up shifts at The Oaks. She needs the distraction, not so much the money, until the summer is over and Henry comes back home for school.

“Hey, kid,” Emma laughs as she keeps hugging him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Can I have the waffles?”

“What?”

He pulls back and grins. “The waffles Killian made. Can I have them?”

“Killian,” Emma slowly repeats. She looks over Henry’s head toward Killian who is furiously scratching behind his ear, and she realizes just how much he has a deer in the headlights look going on. As confused as she is right now, she knows he’s just had a few bombs dropped on him. “Uh, yeah, why don’t you and my friend Killian eat. I’m going to talk to your dad in the backyard for a minute. Neal.”

“What? I don’t get a hi?” Neal asks.

“Backyard. Now.”

He smiles, and once upon a time, she would have found that charming. Right now, she wants to slap it right off his face. Whatever he has to say, she knows it won’t be good. Emma closes the back door behind them and moves far enough across the deck to keep Henry from hearing.

“What the hell, Neal?”

The smile falls, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest. She has to put up a barrier with him. “Why are you so angry? Are you not excited to see Henry? He has been gone all summer, you know.”

“Of course I’m excited to see my kid. But I wasn’t supposed to see him three weeks from now. And with a head’s up. We have a schedule, Neal. Like, a court-mandated schedule that you made us get, and you’re not sticking to it.”

“That I made us get?” he scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I recall, you’re the one who kept my son from me for seven years and then didn’t want to give me custody.”

How is he such an ass? Seriously. How does he still not get it?

Emma steps closer and straightens her back. She doesn’t need to make herself taller, not for him, but she does anyway. “I got pregnant with Henry when I was sixteen. You were twenty-four. Do the math on how that’s wrong in about eighty-two different ways. And if I recall, and trust me I have a pretty good memory of this day, when I told you I had something important to tell you, you disappeared off the face of the planet. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who deserves to know about his kid.”

“Oh, come on, Ems. You can’t still be mad about that, can you?”

Is it still considered assault if Emma punches someone who deserves to be punched? There must be a law making that okay.

“Why are you here early, Neal?”

She doesn’t want to get into this with him. He’s never going to understand how much he fucked up Emma’s life. There’s no need for her to try to get him to understand now when all she wants is to know why he just showed up early.

“Who’s that guy in there?” he asks, evading her question.

“A friend.”

His mouth crinkles when he laughs, and she hates it. “A shirtless friend who fixes you breakfast? I hope you don’t make a habit of this when Henry’s home.”

“You don’t get a say on my dating life. Or my parenting skills. Now answer my question.”

He blows out air, and rolls his eyes, like she’s the one inconveniencing him. “Look, Tamara wants to go on vacation before summer ends, and she didn’t want to bring Henry with us. So I thought I’d bring him back to you and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure you can keep him entertained until he goes back to school.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Neal, are you serious? You are breaking the rules of our custody agreement because you want to go on vacation with your girlfriend? How is it possible that you’re so selfish? I mean, God, seriously.”

Emma groans and buries her face in her hands before screaming. Or at least screaming as loud as she can without Henry knowing.

“Henry is a good fucking kid,” Emma continues, slowly breathing to calm herself down, “and he loves you. He doesn’t see all the shit I do because I’ve hidden that from him, but you can’t just do this, Neal. You can’t decide you’re done playing dad and give him back to me when you nearly made me go broke fighting to keep custody of the kid I’d raised since he was born. That’s not how being a parent works.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who has used her time away from her kid to fuck British tourists and is upset her kid is back early because her vacation has to end.”

Emma looks up into the eyes of the man she once loved, the man who gave her son his eyes, and she says, “Go say goodbye to Henry and get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you next June, if you still decide to show up then.”

It’s a dismissal, and Neal never takes those. Not sitting down at least. She’s sure there will be arguments and petty jabs for the next few months. He’ll make her life hell while playing as the good guy. He has this act where he says things like “he’s a good person now, can’t she just move on from the past?”

There’s a difference between forgiveness and moving on that not a lot of people get. They say you have to forgive to move on, but that’s not true. You can move on without forgiveness because some people don’t deserve it. At all. Sometimes all you can do is stop letting them live in your head rent free, and you have to forgive yourself for ever falling for the lies.

Emma’s chosen that route. She’s forgiven herself, has moved on with her life even with Neal constantly trying to pull her back down, and she’s not about to stand here and let him criticize her personal life when he has no business in it.

Through the window, Emma watches Neal hug Henry goodbye. It takes less than a minute before he’s gone and Henry is back to eating his breakfast. Emma would laugh, she wants to at how ridiculous this all is, but she’s not finding anything about today funny. Because while Neal will go back to New York and will be happy, she’s stuck here cleaning up the mess he just made because she has to do everything in her power to make sure her kid never knows the version of his dad she knows.

A phone call would have been nice. At least then she could have gotten Killian out of the house. She still would have been pissed, but at the very least, she would have been able to make things a little better than they are now.

“Shit,” Emma breathes out, looking toward the sky. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Emma inhales and exhales several times before forcing a smile and walking inside where Henry is eating the breakfast that was meant for her and talking to Killian about soccer of all things.

Well, not of all things. Most of the time, Emma forgets that Killian plays professionally. Hell, they talked about it yesterday, and it still isn’t at the forefront of her mind. That part of his life has nothing to do with hers…except for right now when Killian is talking to her son about it.

He still doesn’t have on a damn shirt.

“Mom, did you know Killian used to play soccer? Like, as a job. That’s so cool! Do you think he could coach my team?”

“I did know that, kid.” Emma kisses his forehead, and he squirms away. It’ll take him a week or two to get used to her kind of affection versus Neal’s, so she’s not too offended. “How do you know that?”

“I recognize him.”

“Since when do you watch a lot of British soccer? Or football as Killian calls it.” She mimics Killian’s accent, but she also knows she did a terrible job with it.

Henry shrugs and stuffs a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “Dad doesn’t have anything to watch on TV but sports channels. All I did during the day was watch old soccer matches.”

“Wait. Where was your dad?”

Henry shrugs again. “I don’t know. At work I guess.”

Neal works from home most days of the week. What an ass. Emma bets he didn’t even get someone to watch Henry. He just used old sports reruns to keep him entertained.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, finally looking to Killian, “can you stay in here and eat breakfast while I talk to Killian in the other room?”

“Sure.”

Emma flashes a tight smile and then nods her head toward the stairs. Killian gets the message and walks upstairs without being asked, immediately heading toward the bedroom. He stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, and Emma watches his jaw tick, the smile he had on for Henry a moment ago, gone.

Softly, Emma closes the door behind her.

“I have my personal question of the day, Swan. You have a son?”

Okay, great, so this is how it’s going to be. Emma opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt for Killian. He catches it after she tosses it and tugs it on. It doesn’t help as much as she’d like it to.

“Okay, look,” Emma begins, “you were never supposed to meet Henry. He wasn’t…his dad was supposed to have him for three more weeks.”

“The contract on my rental house has more time on it than that.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I would have figured it out. Only go to your place, spend less time together. I mean, it’s only natural, right? Because you’re going to leave, and it would make sense for things to die down between us.”

Killian laughs, but Emma gets the sense he doesn’t find any of this funny. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense. This was only about sex, right?”

“Killian.”

“No, no.” He holds his hand up. “It’s fine, Swan. I get it. It’s my fault for thinking we might be mates on top of that.”

“I mean, we are – kind of, maybe. I don’t know.” Emma sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She doesn’t know what to do. Even more, she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely doesn’t know how to feel. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m usually better at not blurring the lines. I don’t know what happened with us that made me drop my guard.”

“I knew you found me charming.”

Emma laughs and falls back on the mattress. “I have a kid, Killian, and he’s back. I can’t be like I was. We can’t just fuck whenever we want or stay out late or eat pizza at three in the morning. I’ve got to make sure Henry has a place to stay and Mary Margaret is across the country visiting her parents so that’s out for awhile. And I’m still working two jobs because I thought I had time to do that. I don’t, God, I don’t know what to do about anything in my life. Plus, you know, I want to spend time with Henry, and I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I could watch him, love. He’s a bit older than what I’m used to with my nieces, but I’m sure I can find ways to entertain him.”

Emma sits up. Her heart is beating way too fast, and suddenly, the true reality of this situation hits her.

The man she’s been sleeping with has met her son.

And he’s offering to babysit.

What the actual hell?

She needs time to think. And scream. She definitely has to scream into her pillow for at least an hour because she literally cannot think of another thing to do. This is all too much, and she needs Killian to leave. He makes this all too complicated. She needs to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Henry. That she can do. That’s not complicated. That’s something she’s done every day for ten years, even if it’s usually Pop Tarts or a bowl of cereal, not homemade waffles and eggs.

“Can you, uh,” Emma starts, biting her lip, “can you go home? I need to spend time with Henry. He won’t show it, but I know he knows why his dad brought him home early. I’ve got some crap to deal with, but I’ll text you later.”

His eyes narrow, and Emma knows that look by now. He knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t expect him to call her out on her lie.

And he doesn’t because as quickly as his eyes narrow, they widen and a slight smile creeps onto his lips. “I’ll see you later, Swan. I’ll get my clothes out of the machine downstairs and go.”

“Thanks.”

Killian doesn’t move, and Emma has a hard time looking at him until she does. His eyes are so damn blue. It’s ridiculous.

But then he moves. Leaves, actually, just like she asked him to, and she hears every single step as he leaves the house and gets into his car. Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, maybe a little confusion, and then she grabs her phone of her bedside table.

Not a single warning text or call from Neal, just like she thought. Ass.

ES: SOS. My house. 10 minutes.

RL: Are you dead?

ES: Yes, I’m texting you from beyond.

RL: I am hungover. Give me 30.

Emma tosses her phone on her bed and heads downstairs. The life she was living is over. Henry’s home, and she is his mom. That’s what she has to do, and right now, that means putting her anger at Neal and confusion with Killian behind her to go eat breakfast with her kid.

She can only partially ignore that Killian was making this breakfast for her.

For them.

-/-

“King Harold,” Ruby says when she walks through the door in her pajamas and immediately sees Henry, “welcome back to your seaside palace. Come give me a hug.”

“Only if you never call me Harold again.”

“I can’t agree to that, Harold.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he hugs Ruby anyway. “My name is Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby kisses the top of his head. “You smell like waffles.”

“Killian made waffles for breakfast.”

“Killian did?” she asks, looking over Henry’s head toward Emma. Emma shrugs and cocks her head.

“Kid, why don’t you go unpack? When you’re finished, we’ll go to the beach before I have work.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Emma hums and nods at the stairs. “I told them I’d be late today. Get your bags and go.”

Henry quickly grabs his suitcases. They’re nearly bigger than him, but he manages to drag them up the stairs. Emma waits until she hears his bedroom door close, and then she moves to the kitchen and collapses on a barstool. Ruby fixes herself a plate of leftover food and starts eating. “I have eight thousand questions.”

Without lifting her head from the counter, Emma tries to answer at least half those questions. “Killian slept over and was making breakfast when Neal and Henry walked in, so they both met him, which went over as well as you’d expect. Neal didn’t tell me he was bringing Henry back early, but apparently his girlfriend got tired of having him around and wanted to go on vacation. Neal thought ambushing me was the best way to go about the situation, and then he got pissed about me having a guy over.”

Emma peaks up to see Ruby blinking. Slowly. Did she not process anything or is she just so hungover that it’s taking her a long time to figure out what to say?

“Was Neal charming or something when you guys were together?’

Emma laughs. “I was sixteen, and he paid attention to me. He might as well have been Prince Charming.”

“He’s the worst.” Ruby scrunches up her nose. “And you’re not a Prince Charming type of girl. I get more of a rebel vibe from you.”

“Yeah, because mom and restaurant manager means rebel.”

Rub leans over and pokes Emma’s nose. “I don’t think you know how badass you are, Emma Swan. Give me a minute to get some coffee and make more food because I definitely need to dissect everything that’s going on with you. Baby daddy and new boyfriend not included.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. Just sex friend because you totally invite sex friends to parties at Marg’s place. That seems normal.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “I invited you here to help with a crisis. Not create a new one.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby sighs, “Mr. Jones is a hell of a lot better than most of the guys you shack up with. Your unfortunate sperm donor included. I’d think about that if I were you. I mean, we both know you’re about to ghost him, but at least think about it, Emma.”

Yeah, maybe she will.

-/-

-/-

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[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | TWO

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,495

warnings: depression, anxiety, mental illness! angst, fluff if you squint really hard

18+!!! minors stay away

Peter Parker was relentless, insufferable, and extremely annoying. It all started the morning after what you'd decided to call The Encounter, and it had been unending ever since. Nearly a week had passed since that fateful night, and you'd yet to see a day at school where Peter didn't try his hardest to get under your skin.

On Monday he sat next to you in Calculus, and no matter how blatantly you ignored him for the entire class, he continued to whisper facts about himself and stupid little jokes to you. You wished you could say you hadn't listened, but ever since that morning you'd been unable to forget that his favorite color was red, his Aunt packed him a lunch every day that he threw away because she couldn't cook, and his middle name was Benjamin. Why he thought you needed or even wanted to know such things you weren't sure, but even more befuddling was the fact that you couldn't un-learn them.

When Tuesday rolled around he stepped it up a notch, much to your dismay. He sat with you during Calculus and insisted on jogging with you during gym class, feigning that he was out of breath despite your slow pace and the fact that you were certain he could run for miles without getting winded. He told you more jokes then, too. One of which you begrudgingly found yourself exhaling a little harder over whenever it popped into your head; what did one stranger say to the other? Nothing. They didn't know each other.

Wednesday was the worst, because Peter made a scene. You came into calculus late and the teacher scolded you in front of the class, at which point you got flustered and tripped over your untied shoe laces. Your books spilled to the floor and you tumbled to your knees in front of everyone, and the whole class laughed. But Peter? Peter just had to be the hero, and your blood boiled at his actions.

He'd dramatically swept all his books off of his desk, feigning surprise at the loud clatter as if he hadn't done it intentionally. When the teacher scolded him, too, he just apologized and made a show of picking up each of his things one by one. "Why did you do that?" you'd hissed as you sat down, scowling at the brown-eyed boy who just blinked at you innocently.

"Do what?"

He'd ran with you in gym class again, and he'd even followed you to your locker afterwards. In all the years you'd known of Peter, you had never known him to be much of a talker. In fact, he seemed like a rather shy boy who didn't like to branch out much. With you, though, that was far from the case. Silence was a pipe dream with him around.

On Thursday he sat next to you in Calculus, ran with you in gym, walked you to your locker, and went so far as to sit with you at lunch. You'd put your earbuds in and blasted music as loud as you could without hurting yourself too much, but every time you looked up you could see he was still talking. Part of you wondered why he was being so relentless, but you didn't want to ask. If you asked he would think you cared, and you didn't. You didn't care at all, and the sooner he figured that out, the sooner he would leave you alone.

Or, at least you hoped so. As you walked into school on Friday morning, you groaned at the sight of Peter waiting patiently beside your locker. "What do you want, Parker?" you gritted out, glaring at him as you twisted the dial to enter your combination.

He grinned in spite of your glare, "I'm walking you to Calculus today, obviously. How was your night, (Y/N)? Do anything fun?"

"What part of I don't need friends did you not understand?" you demanded, giving him a stale look as you swung the metal door open with a clang. Peter blinked at you, clearly not used to you actually speaking back to him, and further uncomfortable with your hostility. What did he expect? Did he expect for you to suddenly be happy? To not be completely fucked up anymore just because he started talking to you?

He replaced his lazy smile and shrugged, retorting, "You know my secret and I know yours. That makes us friends."

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shout, yell, stomp your feet, and throw a tantrum fit for a child. Friends were not something you wanted or needed, and you certainly didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. You didn't want to be friends with someone just because they were worried you'd spill their dirty little secret, or because they pitied the girl who wanted to die.

The black hole in your chest was worse than ever that day, and it sucked away all the fight you had in you. So, with a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your earbuds in your ears and tuned him out once more. Just like he had at lunch, Peter continued to ramble even though he knew you weren't listening, and you pretended you didn't see his lips moving at the speed of light.

For once, at the very least, he at least shut up in class. You were thankful for the break from his incessant chatter, the endless monologue you couldn't escape from when you were stuck in a desk while Mr. Tinley droned on and on. Calculus was far from interesting, but you found yourself beyond relieved to finally be able to pay any sort of attention to the lesson.

Friday was steadily continuing along the same path every other day had since The Encounter. Peter thankfully parted ways with you after Calculus, but quickly rejoined you two classes later in Gym. From Gym he was glued to your side through lunch until you escaped to your Spanish class, which you thankfully didn't share with him, but the solitude was short lived. Your last class of the day was one you also shared with Peter, and prior to that day he had remained seated with his friends.

That day, though, he plopped down in the seat beside you with a cheerful smile. "Ready for our new project?" he asked, skipping the greeting he knew you wouldn't return.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him in bewilderment. New project? Our? What was he talking about?

Peter beamed back at you, clearly pleased that you hadn't snapped at him for once. "Our new project! Didn't you see the list on the door? We're partners." he explained, and you stiffened.

It was too big of a coincidence to truly be happenstance. All week Peter had been pestering you, perpetually following you around and talking your ear off, and now he just happened to be assigned as your partner for the final Speech project? He did something. That was the only logical conclusion.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him with as much intensity as you could muster. "Peter, what did you do?" you growled.

Peter's eyes widened at your tone, and he shifted in his seat nervously with a sheepish smile. "What do you mean?" he questioned coyly, and you scowled at him fiercely. "I didn't do anything, (Y/N)."

"Bullshit." you snapped, "I find it hard to believe that we just happened to be assigned partners after how obsessively you've been harassing me all week."

He gaped at you, "Harassed? What?" he stammered, "(Y/N), let's calm down--I haven't... I haven't been harassing you. I just want you to know I really do want to be your friend."

You scoffed at his excuse, "Shut up, Peter. Just leave me alone! I don't want to be your friend, okay? My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone your secret, just leave me alone!"

With one finally glare, you lurched out of your seat and stomped to one far away from the still aghast boy. As you settled into your new seat, ignoring the strange looks from your classmates who witnessed your outburst, you wrinkled your nose and picked at your nails angrily. As much as you were angry with Peter, you were also angry with yourself.

You were angry that he'd stopped you, and you'd let him. You were angry at the world for letting your sister die. You were angry at your sister for saving you when she should have saved herself. Most of all, though, you were angry with yourself for how you were acting. Even though she wasn't there, you could almost hear your sister scolding you for how you'd treated Peter.

She always was the levelheaded, rational sister. The good sister. The better sister. She would have been ashamed of how you'd been ignoring Peter, ranting to you, "He's just trying to be there for you, idiot. Stop being such a jerk and let him help you. You need to stop being so stubborn..."

You listened eagerly to Ms. Lovell's lesson and instruction for the new project. It wasn't because you were genuinely interested, because you weren't, but it was something to distract you. It was something to drown out the voice of your sister that was echoing through your skull, rattling you to your core as you tried to keep your emotions at bay.

This was the hardest part of losing your sister. She'd been so close to you, so important to you, it was impossible to not think of her in every moment of every day. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have done, instead of what you had done. It was impossible not to think of what she'd have thought of your actions, what she'd have said to you, of what she'd have wanted you to do.

She had been your voice of reason, your confidant, your role model. She'd always been so much better than you, someone you aspired to be like, and now that she was gone the comparisons were so much heavier on your head. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her? She would never have had such a hard time like you were.

For instance, she wouldn't have been so bitter. She wouldn't have been so filled with rage, hatred, or despair. She wouldn't have blamed anyone, not even herself, and she wouldn't have hated the people who had killed you. She always did love a good superhero, and even if you'd have died at the hands of the Avengers like she had, she would have found a reason to still have faith in them. She would have forgiven them.

This project was going to be a tough one, and not just because you were going to have to work with Peter Parker. "This is going to be a persuasive speech, guys, so you're able to pick your stance freely so long as it pertains to the Avengers. For example, you could persuade us that they're bad, if that's how you feel." Ms. Lovell explained, "Just be prepared to face debate from the class. Each group has to face five full minutes of argument from the class and be able to firmly debate their stance."

A project in which you'd have to argue your stance pertaining to the superheroes that had killed your sister, and you were working with Peter-Spiderman-Parker. Great, you thought to yourself, this was going to be a nightmare. There was no way the two of you would agree on what stance to persuade; you hated superheroes, and he was one, for God's sake.

You glanced over at Peter, only to catch him already staring at you. The pair of you quickly looked away from each other, but you noticed the way his cheeks flared red in embarrassment. How long had he been watching you? Was he dreading the project now as much as you were?

He probably didn't know how you felt about the Avengers. Not many people really cared enough to read about what had happened to your sister, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to be out protesting the many shortcomings of the superheroes. You wondered, though, how he would react when he found out.

Lying was an option, but there was no way you'd be able to debate in favor of the Avengers without breaking. Could you debate against them without losing it either, though? You weren't entirely sure. It was a sore subject and you were certainly not looking forward to having to dedicate your time to speaking about them.

Peter lingered by his seat after class was dismissed, staring at you awkwardly as he told his friends he would catch up with them later. You could see the strange, weary looks they shot you, but you chose to ignore them. Everyone looked at you a little funny ever since the incident, and you'd long ago grown accustomed to it. This time, though, you couldn't help but think they were looking at you strangely for a reason other than your sister.

You had two options. You could suck it up and talk to Peter right then, or you could continue to ignore him until you were forced to do the project. Catching his warm brown eyes as he timidly watched you, you sighed. It was now or never; maybe if you were nicer he'd back off a little with the obsessive tendencies.

"So," you drawled, approaching him shyly, "how are we gonna do this?"

This was what she would have wanted you to do; that's what you chanted in your head as you forced yourself to at least seem somewhat approachable. "Uh, we could--we could meet up tomorrow? You could come to my apartment." he stuttered, scratching his neck awkwardly and fiddling with his backpack.

He radiated nervous energy, and the black hole inside of you consumed it greedily. You twiddled your thumbs just as nervously as you replied, "Do you, um, do you mind coming to my house instead? My parents are--they're a little weird about me going out because of... yeah."

God, his stutter was rubbing off on you, and you cringed at the way you stumbled over your words like a fool. It had been such a long time since you'd invited anyone to your house, let alone talked to anyone besides your parents and your therapist, and it was stressing you out. The exhaustion of the day was wearing you down rapidly, and having to socialize was making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!" he spluttered, "Uh, could I get your number? So I can, like, text you when I'm coming?"

You hoped he didn't notice how much your fingers were shaking as you took his phone, struggling to type in your number as you mistyped multiple times. Once you'd saved your contact into his phone, you sent yourself a text so that you'd have his number too. You didn't exactly answer unknown numbers anymore, though if you were honest, you often didn't answer people you knew either. That was what drove your friends away.

Peter shot you a shy smile as you handed his phone back, and he asked, "Do you want to get started tonight, maybe? I could call you."

Biting your cheek, you paled. Tonight? You were exhausted, and the thought of having to talk for any longer made you nauseous. "No offense, Peter, but I... I really just need a break. This week has been a lot." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes as you stared at your feet.

"Oh, yeah, totally." he acquiesced, "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't reply, only giving him a tight lipped smile that probably looked more like a grimace as you quickly walked away. Once you were out of his sight, your entire body drooped and the numbness steadily washed over you. It had been the longest day, and you were once again grateful for the escape from the overwhelming emotions.

Ever since she died, it was as if all your emotions were on overdrive. There were the many constant ones, like the guilt, shame, and anguish over her death. Along with those were more fleeting ones, like anger, disgust, and fear. Peter, though, he brought about a whole slew of new and equally as intense feelings that drained you.

He made you feel things like anxiety, apprehension, and hope. There was anxiety both due to his wild behavior in regards to you, but also because you feared he might tell people what he'd seen. The apprehension was due to your suspicion he was only so interested because you knew his secret, and was just as fearful that you would tell. But the hope, the stupid anticipation, was the worst.

It was the worst because a stupid part of you hoped he was genuine. You wanted him to really want to be your friend with no ulterior motives because, no matter how much you denied it, you really did need a friend. You wanted a friend. You wanted to let someone in.

You weren't buying it, though, because you were certain you couldn't handle the heartbreak of being wrong about his intentions and discovering he really did only care about his secret. You weren't going to let him hurt you, and if you had to shut yourself off from the world and hurt yourself to prevent it, then so be it. It was easier that way.

Peter Parker: hey i know you said you didn't want to start tonight but that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other

Peter Parker: so if you want, lets play 20 questions! i'll start. what's your favorite movie?

The typing cursor blinked at you tauntingly as you laid on your bed, huddled under the blankets with your thumbs hovering over the keys. That stupid part of you that wanted to make your sister proud begged you to go along with it, to let him be a friend, but you were terrified. You were terrified of the way you actually opened the text and went to reply without hesitation, something you hadn't done since before the incident. You were terrified of the way you wanted to reply, but the only thing that gave you pause was the fact that you didn't have an answer.

Movies weren't something you'd given much thought to in awhile. You knew all of your sister's favorite movies by heart, but your favorite movie? It was as if your brain opened an empty drawer. You didn't know what your favorite movie was.

You: i don't know

Peter Parker: what do you mean you don't know

Peter Parker: do you not like movies?!

You: i just don't know okay

You: i can't remember the last time i watched a movie.

That was a lie. You very well could remember the last time you'd watched a movie, and that was because it was with her. The weekend before she'd died, your sister had dragged you to the theater to watch some cheesy romance film she'd been gushing about for weeks. It was awful, but it was so utterly her that you'd weirdly enjoyed it. You enjoyed it because it made her happy.

Peter Parker: that's crazy wow

Peter Parker: no offense sorry

Peter Parker: it's your turn to ask

You: what's your favorite movie

Peter Parker: star wars but you can't ask the same question!! try again

You: fine

You: what's your favorite food?

Was talking to boys always this hard? You couldn't remember the last time you'd had to get to know someone, but you didn't think it had ever been so nerve wracking. Was something wrong with you? Was everything destined to be this hard now that she was gone?

Peter Parker: anything from Delmar's

Peter Parker: best sandwiches in Queens

Peter Parker: since you got a double and you technically didn't answer my first question, i'm asking you the same but also what's your happiest memory

Everything was always going to be hard. Reading his response, your lungs deflated in your chest and the numbness gave way to the all too familiar sensation of despair. She'd always loved Delmar's, insisting on getting the same sandwich from there every single Friday after school, and it had been your thing.

Would there ever be anything that didn't remind you of her? Remind you of the hole punched in your life where she used to be? It was hard enough dealing with the empty space in your room where her bed used to be, the empty chair at the dinner table where she'd used to sit, all the empty spaces she'd used to fill up. But the little things--the little memories of things she'd used to love--those hurt so much more.

You: i have to go

You: i forgot i'm busy tomorrow so we can't start the project

You: i'm sorry

SERIES TAG-LIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 14 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

The Truth Always Finds A Way

“It's absolutely beautiful. I love it.” Laura says as you walk with her back to the living room. You just showed her Liam's bedroom, which is finally ready.

It's your fault it took so long though because there were a lot of things you couldn't decide on. But now it's ready, right on time thankfully, because it's the beginning of week 39, and you and Keanu are on full alert because it can happen anytime.

“Thanks. We have everything in place.” Gesturing at the door, Laura easily spots the bag lying on the floor. “That's the bag with everything I'll need in case we have to run.”

“So Keanu convinced you on a natural labor then.”

“Google convinced me.” Slowly, you drop to the couch, sighing. “Sweetie, you're making mommy so heavy.” You whisper to the baby, putting your feet up on the coffee table.

“You're almost here, little one.” Laura lowers her head near your belly. “Aunt Laura will spoil you so bad your mom will hate me.” She fell into his aunt role, but you don't mind. Since you don't have any siblings, you're happy Liam will have an aunt on Laura. “We'll pair up to prank your parents, right?”

“God help me.” You dramatically moan, eyes rolling.

“Planning on having more kids?” She asks, a hand caressing your belly.

“Yes. We have spoken about it and we'll have at least one more.” Smiling, you play with the tips of your hair. “Maybe Sophie will come, but if it's another boy it'll be Ethan.”

“I like it.” She says. “Oh, I have to ask. What was it yesterday? Lucia came over?”

“Yes, she did.” Not even on the last days of your pregnancy that woman leaves you alone. “It was fine until Keanu kissed me. Then it became a fight again. She just can't accept Keanu and I are fine. I don't remember him, but I fell for him again. I don't get what's the big deal.” When you look up at Laura, she has a weird expression on her face. “What is it?”

“N-nothing. Nothing.” She stutters, clearing her throat. “That's odd.”

“It is...” Furrowing your eyebrows, you're just about to say something when her phone starts ringing. “That's my alarm. I'll have to go.” She gets up, offering you a hand to pull you up. “But I can call later if you want to talk.”

“Sure, thank you.” Hugging her the best you can, you walk her to the front door, locking it after she leaves.

There isn't much going on today, so you head upstairs to your bedroom, smiling to hear the shower on. Tiptoeing into the bathroom, you see Keanu inside the box, so you silently take your clothes off before sliding the glass open.

That's when he notices you, turning around and smiling. “Is Laura gone?”

“Yeah.” Holding onto his arm, you step inside, feeling the warm water on your skin. “Heard the shower and thought I could join you.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him, slow and passionately. In moments like this, the whole world disappears. New York is gone, the busy streets and its people... There's nobody else, no worries, just you and him.

“You know we can't...” He whispers, pulling away from a little.

“I know. I just wanna shower, I promise.” You didn't have any ideas, but now you do. But still, you have to stick with showering only. “Help me, Ke.”

“You're such a teaser.” But despite the dramatic eye roll, Keanu grabs the body wash and starts rubbing it through your body.

Much to your dismay, Keanu has become a master of self-control, and once you're done, you have no choice but to leave, dry, and dress yourself as you wait for him. Back in the bedroom, his phone starts beeping, as many messages come through.

“Ke, your phone is beeping like crazy.” You tell him, raising your voice a little as you finish brushing your hair.

“Can you check if it's Robert?”

“Sure.” Walking around the bed, you sit down as you take his phone, your eyes taking in the notifications.

But it isn't Robert, it's Lucia. Pinching your eyebrows together, you start getting angry. Whatever reasons she's texting Keanu, it's probably not good. Unlocking his phone, you quickly find the messages app, opening it, and reading the texts.

‘You can't possibly think this will go on after the birth.’

‘I will tell her myself.’

‘You're disgusting. Lying to her like that, while she's vulnerable.’

Your heart starts beating so fast it drums in your ears. Her words are a mystery, and you're struggling to bring sense into it.

‘(Y/N) has the right to know about Daniel.’

‘My son. My dead son, her true husband.’

The messages keep coming and you start crying, a hand on your mouth to cover the sobs.

This can't be right. What is she saying? There's a sudden, pounding pain on your head, as your eyes go through the new texts.

‘You can tell yourself whatever you want, but this is all on you.’

‘You're lucky I'm not the type of person to expose celebrities, or else I'm sure your career would be over.’

‘You can't just keep lying to (Y/N) like this, it's not fair to her.’

‘This child isn't yours, it will never be.’

‘You can say this is for her own good, but I don't believe this bullshit.’

Standing up to your feet, you throw the phone away, further into the bed, too far for you to reach. You can't read it anymore. Is she lying?

No. Lucia mentioned Daniel as if he meant something to you. Michael did the same. He didn't seem to understand how you were with Keanu, since you were with Daniel...

Too many things come flooding back. Keanu's first distance, some weird expressions you couldn't read when you made certain questions... But still, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Maybe Lucia just wants to ruin your marriage.

When you hear the bathroom door closing, you turn around, not even trying to hide your tears. Keanu gets worried the moment he looks at you.

“(Y/N)? What happened?”

“Why is Lucia saying Daniel was my true husband?” You burst out, both hands clenched into fists. “That this kid isn't yours, that you're lying to me.” Pointing at the phone, you wipe off some tears. “It was her, not Robert.”

Keanu's face drops, and his whole posture changes. That's how you know it. That's when you realize Lucia is telling the truth.

“No...” You mutter, heart breaking as you bring both hands to cover your face. This can't be real, but his silence, his inability to answer proves your otherwise. “Please, Keanu, say something!” You yell, bending over a little when a sharp pain spreads through your hips. With a hand on the bed, you sustain your weight, standing up straight again.

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I–”

“My God.” Cutting him off, you pace around, a lump in your throat. You can only feel, and watch, as your whole world comes crashing down. It feels like you're in a nightmare, under torture, with a knife being put through your heart. “How could you...” It comes out a whisper, so you repeat, yelling this time. “How could you do that?!”

“(Y/N), please listen–” He comes forward, making his way around the bed, but you step back, hands raised.

“I don't wanna listen!” You snap, eager to put some distance between you and him. “I don't wanna listen! We... We slept together!” The memory comes back like a wrecking ball, and you feel violated, betrayed. “I–... I gave myself to you because I thought you were my husband. I–” The wave of pain cuts you short again, and you gasp, using the wall to sustain your weight.

“(Y/N), what are you–”

“Stay away from me!” Shouting, you find the closet door, rushing inside and locking yourself inside.

You're moving even before you notice, grabbing the first baggage you find and searching for your clothes, messily shoving it inside the box. Keanu is saying something, knocking, pleading, but you don't want to hear.

He was everything, and now, you just want him to be nothing.

Your head feels like it could explode as you remember all the moments you shared since you first saw him, in the hospital room. Like an idiot, you felt secure back then to know there was someone to look after you, to guide you in a life you didn't know anything about. When he told you about the pregnancy, you thanked the heavens for having a husband by your side. You were scared, terrified, empty... Just as you are now.

Keanu is nothing to you. The happy, wonderful marriage is just a lie. Your life, the man you love... “Go away!” You shout at him, making a damn mess on his closet, but you don't care. You don't want to love him, not anymore.

With whatever is left of your strength and dignity, you close the baggage and leave, pushing Keanu out of your way, sight blurry with tears. “Siri, call me a cab.” You tell as you walk past Keanu's phone, the change of lighting on the screen showing you it got your command.

“(Y/N), please don't leave.”

“Do you really expect me to stay?” Struggling on the stairs with the baggage and your huge belly, you hold tightly on the railing until you're safe on the floor. “A-after you... Damn it! I don't even know why you did this!” You're yelling again, moving to the front door, hoping the cab will get here soon. “What kind of man are you? What kind of person does this?”

“Let me explain, please. I found you after you crashed the car and–”

“And you decided to take me?! Is that it? You thought I was pretty, and I was in the perfect position for you to take me and play couple?!” A horn makes you sigh, and part of you is relieved that you'll go away from the man, the part that's burning with anger.

But there's another side, probably your heart, that hurts, aches for him. This is what's making you cry, and it yells for you to stay. To listen.

But despite his begging, you leave, pulling the door open and running to the cab.

Keanu isn't the one to cry often. He does feel sad, but tears are something rare.

But today, they come rolling down, like a flood.

How could it be any different? After everything he has done, how could he expect this to have a different end? This is what he deserves.

Pacing around the house, lost, he finds himself in the kitchen. Looking at the table, he sees her there, in her pale blue sweater, beautiful, smiling, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. He can't even count how many meals they had here, instead of using the dining room, because (Y/N) felt it was more intimate. Averting his eyes, he stares at the fridge, and there she is again, in her pink lace gown pajamas, stretching out on her swollen belly, marking down the weeks.

(Y/N) will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Slamming his hands on the island, he takes the small flower pot and throws it across the room, giving vent to his anger. Anger at himself for doing this. He could've said no. He could've told her he truth, that he found her, and that he would stand by her side for as long as she needed him.

But he decided on the lie.

Making his way upstairs, his phone's screen is on. Taking it from the bed, he finds the app tracking where the cab is going. Where she is going... But he closes it, going to the gallery instead, where he starts skipping through the photos they took.

Keanu is heartbroken for the first time in his life. On every photo, it hurts more and more, until he can't take it anymore. The tears are blinding him, so he lies down on his back, eyes on the ceiling. The house feels empty already, cold... But that's good. Because it suits him perfectly, that's exactly how he feels.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[echthr0s]

every once in a while I think about the sheer wealth of courage (and, let's be real, in-person social support and stability) that it took for Heather Havrilesky to go, "actually, yes, I will write a book about marriage that puts the warts and ugliness of being a messy human who is emotionally and legally attached to another messy human long-term on full display, and also I will let the New York Times publish a particularly warty excerpt of it for all the rabid Twitter hounds to see" like to me that sounds utterly mad of her but I'm so glad she did it

we all talk a good game about existing as wholly ourselves, without apology, but the more we understand about what it means to be wholly ourselves the more daunting the task becomes. the depths are deep indeed, and there be monsters. I've definitely made a practice (born of spite, of course, which I seem to have more of a wellspring of than I'd originally thought) of trotting out those monsters as "fun and sexy of me" but that has to come with the caveat that no one else necessarily agrees. to the reader, I'm probably just a bundle of monsters. but that has to be okay, too. self-acceptance has to be weighed against people-pleasing, every hour of the day, every day of the year, and at some point one is always forced to choose

and if we choose radical self-acceptance, you'd think it'd make sense that we'd choose it for other people as well -- that we'd radically accept their radical self-acceptance. except, that isn't always how it works. we see someone else doing it and immediately think, "no, not like that". because we're people and to be a people is to be contradictory and hypocritical and judgemental -- it's unavoidable. either you suppress it and pretend to a standard of loftiness that just makes you look silly, or you learn to laugh about it and try to keep it on a leash. (or you vacillate between both of those at whim!) but it's so, so easy when someone's a public figure... so easy to pedestalise them without even realising that's what you're doing. so easy to go, "well, they should be better than the rest of us, and if they're not, they should at least learn to pretend to be, especially if they're going to write a book".

because what being radically honest and self-revealing in public (extreme public, in front of potentially millions of people) means is that many, many people will have to face the ways in which they are exactly like you, and if they aren't already practiced in facing that, they will get angry. and they will blame you for their anger. they will assume that you're a bad person in a bad marriage (which was only made bad because of your poisonous existence, of course) and you should probably live alone in a cave forever and never darken the doorstep of any of us perfect, infallible, pristine humans ever again.

but there's something so interesting about being a ~bad person~, an uncompromisingly ugly mess of a human being that is honestly just trying their best. sometimes someone else goes, "yeah, me too. wanna buy a house together?" and you have to spend your whole life figuring out why in the cinnamon toast fuck they'd ever want to do that. that's the wonder of it all. underneath all the mess, underneath the snippy thoughts and the petty arguments and the childlike petulance and all the other day-to-day bullshit is the wonder of it all -- that none of that day-to-day bullshit matters as much as whatever it is you're building together, even if you can't see what it is, even if it feels pointless, even if you sometimes think maybe you should have built something else instead. you're still here, doing this day-to-day bullshit, because... why? that's the wonder. I haven't read Havrilesky's book yet, but I bet that's in there somewhere. the sheer naked wonder of being ugly and messy and weird and loved.

I guess I can radically accept the rabid Twitter hounds (et al) who would not accept me or Havrilesky or anyone else that doesn't fit their woefully misguided idea of personhood. accept, but always keep a rolled-up newspaper at hand

[lihikainanea]

so it's summer and it's great but the heat is absolutely unforgiving. what if Tiger gets like, a reaction from the excessive sweat that this season brings and there's like a rash-like discoloration on the sides of her body, her back? I get these every summer and, it's hard to look at myself in the mirror when I put the cream on so they go away. I'm thinking Bill would help, but after Tiger lets him since she's a lil embarrassed and shy about them.

Ohhh bubs, I feel you. I have SUCH sensitive skin that I swear, I cry and then I have to spend like a week treating the eczema outbreak on my face that my own goddamn tears cause.

The heat and all that comes along with it can have some icky side effects and my girl tiger ain't spared. Heat rash? yep. Mild sun allergy that causes a rash? Yep. Hives because she's basically allergic to everything outside? Yep. Eczema outbreak because all the rashes are stressing her out? Yep.

Are we even going to talk about underboob and thigh chafe? Shit, yes we are because this is some real life BULLSHIT that most of us have to deal with.

And what if it's exactly that. Hear me out. She's been purposely avoiding getting nekkid with Bill for a few days--She's got this weird heat rash that's going down one side, itchy as all hell and red and bumpy. She manages to camouflage most of it with a loose fitting sundress, something of breathable material, but she just happens to need a strapless bra with it--and strapless bras are an Enemy of the Goddamn State, man. Maybe it's a nice cocktail hour at a schmancy new bar that opened so she's dressed cute, except one of her completely heat-resistant friends got them all a table outside because clearly this friend was born and raise din the fires of Hades, so a heatwave doesn't bother them. It's outside, and tiger is fucking dying. The sweat running down her side is making her itch even more and burning the sensitive, already-irritated skin there. She feels like she's fucking melting into a puddle under the blaze of the hot sun, which she's pretty sure is searing her make up off. She feels like a swamp monster.

And if that's not bad enough--the group decides to walk for ice cream after. They decide to walk QUITE a long ways for ice cream. And all that sweat that she has going underneath her dress is just making her bra dig into the fragile skin under her breasts, and the more her thighs rub together as she walks the more she can feel the chafe like, peeling off a layer of her fucking skin and she wants to die.

And Bill for his part is kind of walking a bit ahead with his boys, maybe it's been awhile since he's seen them so he's not keenly aware of the absolute hell that tiger is currently in. Until she snaps when, after ice cream, it's time to walk alllllllll the way back to the car.

"Fuck this," she mutters, "I'm out." And then a little louder. "Bill, I'm out."

He gives her a worried look, taking a few long strides until he's back with her.

"Okay kid," he says, "We can leave as soon as we get back to the car."

"Yep." She smiles, wide and scary--but doesn't move.

"It's...It's this way," he gestures somewhat helplessly to the direction everyone else continues walking in.

"Sure is."

She still doesn't move.

"....tiger?"

He jumps a mile when she lets out the loudest whistle he's ever heard, nearly giving him an uppercut as her hand shot up quickly. A cab came to a screeching halt, and she opened the door.

Confused but knowing better than to argue, Bill folded himself in half in the back seat as the cab drove them the 3 minute distance to the car.

"Are you....okay?" he asks cautiously as she buckles up her seatbelt in his car, and tiger just...man, tiger wants to go home. She's so uncomfortable, she's so itchy, everything burns, she's still overheated and she's just so over this night.

"I'm tired and too hot," she says instead, "Just take me home."

And like, look. Once they're home? Bill goes to unzip her dress because she always needs help with it, but tiger kind of smacks his hands away and huffs. He doesn't think much of it, she's just fussy and in a bad mood and she doesn't always want to be touched when she's feeling that way. And tiger, in the meantime, is just trying to locate either some calamine lotion or some cortisone cream or hell just a million ice packs that she can place on her side, between her thighs, under her breasts--everywhere that just seems on fire at the moment.

She heads to the bathroom, closing the door so she can rummage the cupboards in peace. She finally takes the dress off and flings her bra across the room and she winces at what she sees in the mirror. Her entire side is red and bumpy, an angry, itchy rash scaling up her torso. Tenderly, she rubs the skin under her breasts and bites her lip in pain--the skin there is raised, bright red, irritated and stinging. A quick check on her inner thighs reveals the same thing. She sighs, running the tap so that Bill won't hear her.

But listen, Bill? Bill just thinks she's washing her face, and he wanders in with a little whisky digestif and to see if he can entice her into taking a bubble bath with him. He opens the door and tiger shrieks, grabbing at a towel to cover herself--but not before he got a good view of what seems like half her body, bright red and irritated.

"Tiger," he gasps softly, "Kid what happened?"

"Bill get out," she squeaks, wrapping the towel around herself.

"No," he says. He yanks at her towel but she smacks his hand away.

"Bill," she says, a tad more angry now, "Leave me alone."

"No," he says again, "Tiger, show me."

"No."

"Tiger," it's his turn to be stern now, "We have rules. And so help me, if you don't drop that fucking towel then there will be another part of you that is bright fucking red. Now show me."

"It's okay," she sighs defeatedly, "It's just... a bit irritated."

She opens the towel a tad, showing him her side. Bill puts the whiskey glasses down and hold the towel open, leaning to get a closer look.

"What happened?" he asks softly, "Are you allergic to something?"

"No," she mumbles--god this is embarassing--"It's just...the heat. It gave me a bit of a rash that won't go away."

He nods, his eyebrows knitting together, and he tugs gently to undo the knot on her towel. When she protests he gives her a stern look and she sighs, letting him undo her covering. Gently, he runs his fingers along the side of her breasts and trail them down her rib cage.

"And here?"

"Strapless bra, sweat, and rubbing," she winces when he hits a sensitive spot and he apologizes, "Recipe for disaster."

He nods, his eyes sweeping over her looking for more markings.

"Anywhere else?" he asks after a beat. Tiger bites her lip, and he gently tugs it free with his thumb. She sighs, giving up, and rests her foot on the toilet so he can see her inner thigh.

"Dump truck thigh chafe," she says, "It's a killer."

He leans, kissing the marking softly.

"Oatmeal," he says as he stands and turns for the door, "A lukewarm oatmeal bath, and some calamine lotion."

"Bill, I'm handling it. It's not--"

But he spins back around.

"We. Have. Rules." every word is short, curt, and accentuated with a step as he backs her up to the tub and looms tall over her, "Don't we sweet girl?"

"Yes."

"And do you think that hiding this from me--spending the evening in discomfort and pain and not telling me anything--is that following the rules?" he asks. God he's authoritative when he's like this.

"Probably not?" she tries. A quick, challenging quirk of his brow and suddenly she's not so brave. "No, it's not following the rules."

"And trying to stop me from taking care of it when I do find out, is that following the rules?"

"No," she says meekly, "It's not."

"That's right, it's not," he says and he kisses her softly, "So you're going to let me take care of these markings, and then you're going to get some brand new ones."

And listen, Bill is more just pissed that tiger was in pain, clearly for at least a few days, and she didn't tell him. He's even more pissed that she sat there so uncomfortable that night, and also didn't tell him. But he puts his anger aside to care for her first--and an oatmeal bath it is, he gets in there with her and soaks while they sip their whiskey. And when they get out, he carefully dabs calamine lotion all over her--giving it a second to dry before pulling his big shirt over her head.

"Bedroom," he says, "Now."

Tiger slinks away--but also, man, what if our girl just ain't feeling it tonight? Yes, she was bad. Yes, she broke the rules. She's a little small about it but she's dealing okay, and truth be told she just...ugh, the thought of another patch of her skin being red and irritated and sore from a spanking is just kind of too much for her. It's a discomfort and a pain that she just doesn't feel up to dealing with tonight, after already spending so much time uncomfortable. SO maybe she's kneeling on his side of the bed when he comes in to find her, and as he approaches she just kind of thunks her head on his thigh, fiddles with the waistband of his boxers.

"Bill," she says softly, "Can I...can you punish me tomorrow for this? I've had enough discomfort for today. I don't want it."

Bill's heart could explode. He smiles at her--big and wide and totally dopey, hooks his hand around her arms and sets her on her feet gently.

"Good girl," he purrs, kissing her deeply, "My good girl."

She coos a little at that, and he tucks her into his chest for a tight hug.

"You tell me when you're ready to be punished kid, and we'll do it then," he tells her. She nods, and when he lays out in bed tiger just lies flat on his chest, sticks his thumb in her mouth, and starts snoring a few seconds later. Bill just lovingly tends to her for the next day or two--lukewarm baths, lots of calamine, lots of unscented soothing lotions--and then eventually after a few days when he's sitting on the couch playing a video game, tiger just walks in, shimmies out of her panties and lies across his lap.

"Let's have it bud," she tells him, "Make it hurt."

[tinyboxxtink]

“Return To Sender” *Part 5*

What what whaaaat? TWO chapters in one day?! Well, I had the day off and literally went nowhere, so I sat here and wrote. ALL day. Yup. So enjoy!

Also-- did anyone else catch the Pretty Woman rule? 😉

---

Tag List

@dumauier

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@word-scribbless

@wanniiieeee

@objection-argumentative

[Am I missing anyone?? Or does anyone wanna be added?]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

Barba slammed you on the couch, wasting no time in getting to work. Your now ruined shirt was quickly coming off, the both of you grunting and moaning as he explored your body with his mouth.

Then his fingers found your thigh, and your mind went blank as they skated up, up, up. You shivered as he nipped your earlobe, your neck, his breath hot on your skin, you had to bite your lip to keep quiet.

One hand dipped to the small of your back, pulling your body flush against his as he nibbled on your ear. You surrendered a moan once his wandering hand found your underwear,  your fingers dug into his shoulders as he traced the dampened center seam. 

His lips trailed lower, lower, until your neck tilted back to the ceiling and gravity ceased to exist beyond his arms. Then you were flat on her back, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your panties, and you would have been angry if his hands weren’t slowly sliding them off and tossing them to the floor, all while tugging the cups of your bra down—Until he paused, his breath ghosting over your nipples. 

“Now say it,” he growled into your ear.

“Say what?” You moved your neck up a bit, to meet his eyes.

“Say I’m better at this,” He smirked.

“You haven’t even started, counselor,” you snorted. “Sex with my gay boyfriend was more exciting than this,” You did your best to keep a straight face as his breathy laugh against your nipples caused you to shiver.

“Gay boyfriend? Ay dios..THAT’S the only time you’ve had sex?” He laughed more, now playfully twisting your nipples.

“Carino...you might want to brace yourself,” He grinned devilishly, ripping off your bra and tossing it over the couch. He engulfed one of your breasts in his mouth as he shoved two fingers into your opening, making sure it was nice and wet for him. It was, of course. Hell it probably had been wet the moment he picked you up. 

“I love it when you’re wet for me,” He growled again, unbuckling his belt, releasing his erection. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” His green eyes looked into yours with a devious stare.

“God could you be any more cocky…” you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, you mean cocky like THIS?” He thrusted into you roughly, causing you to gasp very audibly. 

“Do we need the pillows again, sweetheart?” He whispered, causing you to flash with rage and ecstasy at the same time. 

“No I think I can keep it down, honey,” You tried your best to be flippant but his dick against your walls was making it very difficult.

“We’ll see about that,” He began thrusting harder and harder, until you had to finally concede and grabbed a pillow, screaming into it wildly. 

“Ah, see? Good girl,” He panted against your ear, now moving his mouth down your neck. The pain of his teeth and the pressure of his hips was giving you sensations you never thought possible. 

"God you are so tight, it's like you're brand new Cariño," he purred into your ear, thrusting harder and massaging your breasts. 

"Ah... Barba…" You muttered.

"Rafa baby, I think you've earned the right to call me by my first name. Especially if you're screaming it," He chuckled.

"R-Rafa…" 

"Yes, Cariño?" You could hear the lust in his voice. 

"I'm….gonna…" you couldn't form words, there was no blood left in your brain. It was everywhere else. 

"You gonna come for me, detective?" He whispered, to which you nodded a huge YES. 

"Me too, you're so beautifully tight, we're going to come together, yeah?" 

You bit your lip and nodded another vigorous yes, as you let go. Your hips vibrated erratically against his, and you felt him twitching wildly. He pulled out quickly and unloaded on your stomach with a satisfied moan.

After a moment of enjoying the warm glow inside you, you were painfully aware of the cold liquid all over your stomach. You let out a disgusted groan. 

"Seriously?!" You hissed, but he was lost in his own orgasm. 

"You love it," he chuckled, not opening his eyes. That gave you an evil idea. 

"Really? Do you love this?" You swiped your fingers across your stomach and moved them towards him. He opened his eyes right before your fingers were on his face, he grabbed your hand and twisted it back towards your own face. 

"Ah ah ah, naughty girl. Now swallow," He commanded you, forcing your fingers into your mouth. You swallowed reluctantly, then got up and began to put your clothes back on. 

"And how was that, sweetie? Better than a gay boyfriend?" 

"Well at least he never ruined my clothes!" You griped, turning around as you held your broken shirt. 

"And how exactly do you expect me to walk out of here, papi?" you asked rather sassy, and hearing you speak spanish got him weirdly excited. 

"Mmmm…. that is a problem," he walked towards you, running his hands up and down your exposed stomach. He then seemed to have an idea-- he walked over to a closet next to his desk and opened it to reveal jackets, dress shirts, and ties. 

He pulled out a white dress shirt and motioned for you to turn around. You obeyed, and he put it on you. You turned back around and he helped you button it up, fixing the collar and rolling the sleeves up. 

"Mucho mejor," he gave you a half smile. When he spoke spanish it drove you wild-- but there's no way you'd let him know that. 

"You don't think me walking out of here in your shirt isn't gonna raise red flags?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Just walk out of here quickly, and don't ruin my shirt," he smiled again, pulling you closer--- and closer? 

His lips ALMOST touched yours, before he realized what he was doing and IMMEDIATELY pushed you back. 

"Ahem," he cleared his throat loudly. 

"That will be all, Ms. Y/N" 

Was he kidding with this bullshit?

"... Unbelievable." You said under your breath. 

"Yeah, alright counselor," you scoffed with a bitter laugh and walked out the door. 

What a dick!!!

------

“UGH! The NERVE of that…” You slammed your front door, causing Hunter to pop his head out of his room. 

“...Where’s your shirt?” 

“Oh, he gave me one to wear. AFTER HE RUINED MINE,” You huffed, sniffing the shirt unconsciously. It smelled like him, that made you miss him, and that pissed you off even more.

“He ruined it? Oh god did he…?” Hunter made a grossed out face.

“Oh no, he did that all over my stomach,” you rolled his eyes.

“So it wasn’t good then,” he leaned against the living room doorway.

“Oh...it was AMAZING,” You huffed, throwing down your things.

“Then why are you so pissed off?”

“BECAUSE IT WAS AMAZING!!!!” You were now pacing the apartment angrily.

“Did I miss something--”

“And And And AND THEN,” You laughed sarcastically. “And then he ALMOST kissed me on the mouth,” You scoffed. “AND THEN HAD THE AUDACITY TO GET MAD AT ME!!!” 

“Wait wait wait back up….” Hunter put up a hand.

“You two have had your mouths in each other’s business, but not in each other’s mouths?” 

“No, he has this stupid ‘no kissing on the mouth’ rule,” you rolled your eyes.

“Wha...Like Pretty Woman?” His question made you stop in your tracks.

“What do you mean, like Pretty Woman?” Your eyes narrowed.

“You’ve never seen Pretty Woman?”

“You’ve known me my ENTIRE life, Hunter! When have I ever had time to watch rom coms?”

“You have a point,” he chuckled. 

“Okay so Pretty Woman: Julia Roberts is a hooker who falls in love with Richard Gere after he hires her for a week,” he explained, and your blood began to boil. 

“And she has a rule: No kissing on the mouth, because it’s--”

“Too intimate,” you finished for him, and it was his turn to look shocked. 

“Did he actually say those words to you, boo?” 

“YES,” You threw your hands up and started pacing the apartment again.

“So I’m a hooker,” You growled. “I’m his fucking HOOKER?”

“I mean, technically he’s the hook--” he started.

“This isn’t funny!” you interrupted him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry babe but-- there is a bright side,” 

“HOW is there a bright side?” You gave him an angry confused look.

“Well, you said he almost kissed you on the mouth, right?” 

“Yeah and then he FREAKED out about it and acted like I was the problem!”

“Well of COURSE he did, idiot. He’s falling for you and he doesn’t like it!!” He flicked your head.

“Oh please,” you rolled your eyes.

“LOOK,” he took you by your shoulders. “In the movie, when Julia Roberts starts falling in love with Richard Gere, they finally kiss on the mouth!”

“...I’m sorry, I can’t get past the ‘I’m a hooker’ thing,” you scoffed.

“Look you need to talk to him about this,” 

“And how do you expect me to do that, Hunter? You think he’s gonna call me back to his office NOW?” You threw up your hands.

“...He will if he wants his shirt back,” He smirked, gesturing to the shirt you still had on.

“And what am I supposed to say-- ‘Hey so I figured out your crazy rule is from a movie, and I think you’re falling in love with me’?” 

“I mean, not in those exact words,” 

“I can’t…” You started off towards your room.

“Where are you going?!”

“Somewhere NOT to think about this!” You called back, slamming your bedroom door.

“Jesus...it’s not like I came all over her stomach,” He rolled his eyes and went back to his room. 

---

You ripped off the shirt and tossed it across your room, falling back onto your bed and putting your hands over your face. Your eyes were stinging again, and this time you felt why. Hot, big tears were dripping down your face for the first time since-- you really couldn’t remember when. You REALLY didn’t do emotions.

But that bastard got under your skin. 

He made you cry.

HE MADE YOU CRY.

And he was gonna pay for it.