#Ignore how bad I drew this on the bus

[sillycatxz]

you know that moment where your deputy brings a warden to your town

[lunchinamerica]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 - 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤﹒

୨୧﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. ۫ · ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒ your bully, derrick, defends you ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: lowercase intended, slurs

taking the one-thirteen bus to work was always your least favorite part of the day because it also happened to be the time your least favorite people needed to go to track practice.

brandon and derrick.

every day you would take this bus, and every day they'd be there waiting for you to enter and once you did you were smothered with inappropriate questions. they were never violent with you; they were just insulting. you weren't too sure why they chose you to pick on when there were multiple other people to choose from.

today was no exception.

"hey fuckpie, you here to be double stuffed?" brandon, a tall boy with black hair spoke, derrick's laughter soon followed.

you never entertained their words and usually just stared out the window and let them go on with their antics. the things they said never got to you in any way, it was more annoying than hurtful and you found it was easier to ignore them than stand up for yourself as they commonly got bored after a few minutes of no reaction.

"say, d, if she was an animal what animal would she be?" brandon asked derrick as he leaned on the yellow standing pole next to your seat. derrick was standing on your left side, looking directly down at you.

"a horse," you heard someone say, it didn't sound like derrick or brandon. the voice drew the attention of the boys and you. you hadn't expected someone else to join in on the targeting, nor did they.

only one of the boys laughed at the stranger's jokes, which was brandon, derrick on the other hand was simply staring at the stranger in the other row opposite your seat.

"what'd you say, faggot?" derrick said, stepping closer to the stranger. brandon's laughter had died down after hearing derrick's reaction, seemingly confused on why he was so mad; you were just as confused.

"i just called her a horse, pal," the stranger said, standing up out of his seat and getting close to derrick, "got a problem?"

"yeah, i do," derrick's hand swiftly pulled the stop string as a robotic voice filled the bus.

'a stop has been requested'

the bus pulled off to the side of the road, looking out the window you noticed the bus came to a stop in front of a park.

derrick wasn't sure what had come over him, but hearing someone other than he or his friend speak to you filled him with rage, a rage he couldn't understand at that moment but he knew he had to do something.

"d, we're gonna be late for practice," brandon spoke up as derrick grabbed the stranger by the collar of his shirt and dragged him off the bus and onto the sidewalk.

you quickly followed the three guys outside to see how the situation would go, your mind kept replaying the situation, unsure of what could've ticked derrick off so much. the only other time you've seen him this mad was when someone insulted their tracksuits. it seemed to be a very sensitive topic. but this stranger hadn't insulted derrick or his tracksuit, he insulted you.

"hold him down brando" derrick demanded.

brandon promptly held the stranger's arms behind his back as he thrashed around in brandons grip.

brandon was sure derrick had his reasons for beating this random person up, he just was not sure what they were. he almost felt bad for the stranger.

with one swift motion derricks fist met the random person's face, knocking him half unconscious, letting brandon know he could let go of him as his limp body fell to the sidewalk with a thud.

everyone was quiet as you stared at derrick.

"don't speak to her again, faggot," he spoke up, spitting on the person laying half unconscious.

derricks eyes met yours as he turned away back towards the bus, people staring through the windows in shock.

he had always thought you were beautiful like you were bathed in sunlight, and while yes he could've gone a different route to talk to you instead of insulting you every chance he got, he knows he doesn't mean it, and he doesn't want anyone other than him, or sometimes brandon, telling you shit.

"got something to say, tard?" he spoke out to you as brandon brushed past him and onto the bus stairs.

"thank you," you replied meekly, still in shock of what had just occurred.

derrick hadn't expected a reply from you let alone a thank you, he felt heat rise to his cheeks, why was he acting this way? why do you have such an affect on him?

"come on d, were gonna be late!" brandon yelled, leaning against the doors.

derrick didn't reply to you, he would've, and he should've but he knew he couldn't be late to practice anymore.

୨୧﹒. ۫ · 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒ part two soon!

[bubblegum-glitch]

I Was Gaslighted to Believe My Mental Health Disorders Were Fake

TW: Suicide, alcoholism, mental health, childhood trauma

This post is a bit off topic with the theme of my blog, but it's something I really want to address.

I was about 10 years old when I first started noticing something was wrong with me. This was revealed to me quite recently when I was looking through my mom's collection of my old saved homework assignments. I had written a "biography" and in it I detailed how I was unlovable, and outlined clear indications of depression within it.

No one ever thought to address this with me. No one asked why I felt this way. No one drew any attention to the fact that something was clearly going on inside my head.

Before I continue I would like to preface this blog entry with a reminder that I did not have a bad childhood. Yes there was some emotional trauma that I recognize now that I'm older, but my parents did the best they could with what they knew and are not the villains of this story.

The suffering I did mentally in my teenage years was boiled down to teen angst and hormones, and once again ignored, even when I began self harming. This would, however, result in my first hospital trip regarding my mental health, but only because I had called the police on my drunk father and had to threaten to hurt myself in order to get them to send someone out to help me.

I don't remember what happened at that hospital visit. I've suppressed most of that memory too deep and would prefer not to dig it up for a blog post. I do remember people being disappointed in me and embarrassed that I would dare call the police on a family member. The focus ended up being on the resulting depression my dad was suffering instead of the scars I was now left with.

You see, I wasn't allowed to have emotions that weren't happy. Most importantly, I was absolutely not allowed to be angry about anything. If I felt rage, if I felt sadness, I was expected to put on a happy face and bury all that deep down in the depths of my soul until it all melted away.

It doesn't melt away though. It builds, and builds, and builds, and builds, and builds, until you just can't contain it any longer.

I struggled with suicidal thoughts and tendencies, self harm, depression, and anxiety quietly for many years. Eventually I told my mom about the intense urges that would coax me to hurt myself and the conversation was once again dismissed and forgotten by the following day. I was lead to believe that these thoughts weren't real, that I should push them all down and bury them, and I would feel better by exercising and going out with people more often while pretending nothing was wrong. Spoiler alert, this was not the correct solution.

I had my first total breakdown a few years later around 2014/2015. I was on my way to my new job when I was hit with this wave of absolute despair and hopelessness. It got so bad that I had to crawl into a public washroom at the bus terminal and call my mom to come get me because I couldn't even walk anymore on my own. Despite her insistence that going to the hospital wasn't going to help because all they would do is prescribe me medication (a BIG no-no in my house), she did eventually cave and took me to get some help.

That emergency visit was absolutely useless, however. I was told to read a book on being happy, told to exercise more, and sent home.

So once again it was confirmed to me that there was nothing wrong and I was just being a lazy drama queen.

This would lead to the first time I seriously considered suicide and it was just dumb luck that an interruption stopped me from going ahead with it.

Unfortunately the mess my head was in only began to decline from here. I never wanted to leave the house, I was constantly paranoid that my friends hated me, believed myself to be worthless and a waste of breath, and figured no one would listen to me cries for help because I just wasn't worth saving. My poor mental health was my fault and I was only making it worse by wallowing in a pit of despair that I had dug for myself. If I would just exercise and be more positive I would be all better.

My second suicide attempt occurred after I had moved out of my parents place to live with my partner. That despair had worsened to a point where I couldn't stand it anymore and I walked out into traffic to try and make it stop. Fortunately I was not hit and, upon realizing what I had done, I called a friend to take me to emergency.

This time the doctors listened and got me help. I spent a year in therapy, got a loose diagnosis of PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder) from my doctor, and with the encouragement of my partner finally gave in and went on medication to treat my anxiety and depression. I had been resistant of this previously because my mom had led me to believe that long-term medication was poison and only hurt more than it helped.

I'm sorry mom, but fuck you for making me believe that.

After a couple of weeks adjusting to the meds and feeling like nothing was real, the suicidal thoughts went away, the urge to self harm diminished, the weight on my chest lightened, I could think clearly for the first time in my life, I could see the beauty in living...

After 20 years I finally understood what it meant to feel normal.

But the story doesn't end here.

Over the last few months I've noticed my medication has been significantly less effective. It happens, and originally I was just going to ask my doctor to strengthen my prescription, but then my mom said something that sent an intense rage through my soul.

"I've always known you had ADHD but I didn't take you to see a doctor because all they would do is medicate you."

Excuse me?

This epiphany sent me down a rabbit hole of exploring the disorder and when it became obvious to me that she was probably right I began the steps to getting myself a diagnosis, partially for confirmation, but mostly out of spite.

Last weekend the NP diagnosing me stated that while she believes I do probably have ADHD, it's also very clear to her that I have Borderline Personality Disorder, with signs of possible Bipolar. I've now got an appointment with my doctor to get a referral to a psychiatrist to have this officially diagnosed, but dear lord does it all make so much sense now.

Years of blaming myself for never being good enough, for feeling awful that I never made anything of myself, for failing again, and again, and again and being told it was because I was too lazy...

I'm mad. I'm really. Fucking. Mad.

My family and the health system failed me. They made me believe I was making it all up, that I was a drama queen. They invalidated my feelings over and over and over...

But 10 year old me was right. Something was wrong. Something has been wrong for a very long time and I'm finally now, at 35 years old, getting the help I have been begging for my entire life.

When I discussed this discovery with my friends the first thing they asked was if I was okay, because hearing all that was a lot to take in. My mom, on the other hand, scoffed and told me the NP is lying and isn't an expert. She just wants to sell me a medication that will poison my system. Mom completed her "diagnosis" by telling me my real problem is that I don't exercise and I spend too much time on the computer. If I'd give up the screen time and go for a walk I will be all better.

I'm really. Fucking. Mad.

[veryhorribleart]

Here's how twink Mr. Bonzo can still win

(I drew this one on the bus in like 10 minutes ignore everything bad about it)

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (6/44)

***This chapter contains some gore, and some soft vore***

Chapter 6: The Next Day

Patty had nightmares about being violently eaten, having her limbs ripped off, one by one, by huge white teeth, her blood spurting like a fountain from the severed stumps. Giant fingers squeezed her body with unbearable pressure, crushing her ribcage and causing her organs to pop out. She saw a Giant laughing, red rivers running down his lips and chin, before he went in for the kill, shattering her vertebrae with a hard crunch between his incisors. She awoke with a start to thunderous banging on the ceiling. 

“Rise and shine, my little bipedal sausages! It’s time for the breakfast shift!” Bucky’s voice rumbled overhead. Patty groaned with despair as her memories from yesterday came flooding back to her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be safe at home. She hauled herself out of bed, with the knowledge that Bucky probably wouldn’t be too keen on having stragglers. She prepared for the day as best she could, shoveling in more leftovers for breakfast. As she ate, Little Debbie nudged her to get her attention and handed her a new nametag. 

“Put this on,” she whispered. “You don’t want Bucky to see you without one.” She motioned to a stack of nametags, so Patty would know where to get a new one in the future. 

“Thanks,” Patty mumbled back, sticking the tag to her chest. She thought to herself what a sweet and thoughtful person Little Debbie was, to care about others as she did. Patty didn’t know if she could be capable of the same generosity herself, especially considering that her survival might be better served throwing someone else under the bus rather than cooperating as a team. She realized, with how frantic she had been yesterday, she had stuck out like a sore thumb. The others, excluding Little Debbie and Slim Jim, had purposely refused to help her because she was an easy target, and if she was selected to be eaten their chances of not being picked themselves increased. These thoughts filled her with disquiet, but she couldn’t really blame them for looking out for themselves. She doubted any of them had much control over their fate as it were.  

She recalled Little Debbie’s missing fingers and cringed internally. She didn’t deserve such cruel treatment. Patty discreetly glanced around and noticed some of the other humans were missing fingers and toes as well, forms of mutilation subtle enough that restaurant patrons wouldn’t notice the blemishes, with how small the humans were. She comprehended, with a creeping tightness in her chest, that those were merely the punishments for disobedience that she could physically see. Bucky probably did other things, just as bad, that didn’t leave physical scars. Patty knew she needed to stay on Bucky’s good side. 

The ceiling lifted, and Patty experienced a surge of frightened electricity in her gut at the sight of Bucky looming over all the humans. “Line up for inspection!” he commanded, and the humans scrambled into rows. Patty caught on quickly and fell into line. Bucky leaned forward and studied each human carefully, occasionally lifting someone up in his hand and turning them over to get a closer look. Patty drew in a sharp breath when his huge sapphire eyes scanned her, but after a moment of scrutiny he passed over her without incident. Even so, she didn’t feel like she could breathe easily even after. 

“Graham!” Bucky bellowed, snatching up the tiny man in his fist. “I told you before, you can’t wear your glasses in the dining room! They’re not digestible!”  

Graham Cracker squirmed uselessly against Bucky’s tight grip. “S-sorry! I’ll go put them away! I just can’t see without them!” he gasped, clearly straining just to breathe with the pressure on his chest. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. 

“I’ll give you one more chance,” he growled. “No more excuses. Next time this happens, I’m smashing those glasses.” He set Graham down and he sprinted away in terror. Bucky ignored him and looked over the rest of the group, gruffly telling two of the ladies to restyle their hair and reminding another to put on a nametag. Once he was satisfied, he released the group and nudged the tiny humans into the tunnel that led to the tank in the dining area. There was a shuttle that resembled a big capsule that shot along a cable, that had to be operated by a Giant on the outside. Patty observed these details warily as she thought about ways to escape.  

The humans were brought to their transparent prison, where they reluctantly filtered in. So far, Patty had not seen any way out. She considered her options if she was chosen to be eaten in a meal. She seriously doubted she would have a good chance of escaping from the Giant cooks, especially if she were high up on the countertop with no way to get down. Last time she was brought to the table, her arms and legs were constricted, so she couldn’t run, but she might have an opportunity to jump out of the dish under different circumstances. She remembered seeing Little Debbie sitting on a pile of chicken wings covered in sauce, but unrestricted. Even so, the woman hadn’t bothered to run, and Patty could see why. Even if she scampered off the plate she’d be trapped high up on the table, with no way to get down that didn’t involve breaking bones or dying. She couldn’t exactly jump into the lap of a Giant eager to devour her and climb down. 

Patty looked down at her wrist, with the tracker firmly clasped on. She tugged and clawed at the thick band of metal, but couldn’t get it to release. If she miraculously managed to get away from the restaurant, Bucky would still be able to find her, no matter where she ran. She couldn’t outrun a Giant. And where would she go? She was a criminal on the human side. Living like a rat in the streets of a Giant city sounded like a frightening and awful existence, particularly if she were caught and eaten without a pill to prevent digestion. Patty couldn’t see any way out of her predicament. Despair and dismay crawled into her chest, constricting and suffocating her. 

Slim Jim, watching her tug on her bracelet, shook his head despondently. “Trust me, there’s no point,” he mumbled. “We have no chance of escaping.” He leaned against the glass, lost in thought, and folded his arms. Patty recalled what he had mentioned earlier, about stealing to feed his family, and wondered if he was thinking about his kids. She sighed. She wasn’t ready to give up so easily. Even if there was no hope, she couldn’t stop her brain from scheming. She knew she at least had to try. 

Bucky’s wasn’t as busy for breakfast, but some of Patty’s human compatriots were still selected for food. Patty observed with trepidation as one man was served wrapped up in bacon, and promptly swallowed whole without a second thought. Another woman was toyed with as a Giant hooked her by the bra with his fork and dragged her across his plate, covering her in maple syrup and butter left over from his pancakes. The Giant lifted her up and licked her body off with pleasure, then dumped her back on the plate and dragged her around again until she had soaked up all the syrup on the plate. The poor woman looked sticky and miserable as her messy hair clung to her face. He sucked her into his mouth and slurped her around in his cheeks for an agonizingly long time before finally gulping her down. Patty hated to watch, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the morbid, revolting spectacle. 

One saving grace that Bucky granted was frequent breaks to his human prisoners. Every two hours or so, he would allow them a brief rest where they could grab a drink of water, use the bathroom, or freshen up. Patty figured Bucky didn’t want his human entrees appearing unsanitary or disheveled. He wanted customers to see them as fresh and appetizing. Patty considered making herself look dirty or unappealing, but she was scared to anger Bucky. She would prefer to keep all her fingers and toes. 

Bucky was conscientious to keep his humans well fed, pressuring them to eat the never-ending supply of leftovers at every opportunity, in order to fatten them up for eating. Patty noticed customers seemed to prefer humans who were plumper or more muscular, with additional flesh on their bones. She was grateful in this instance to be thinner, but she didn’t know how long that would last. She considered refusing food, but she was certain Bucky would notice if she lost too much weight and punish her, or even force feed her, a prospect she didn’t find appealing to say the least. 

Over time, the number of humans in the tank dwindled as they were eaten. A couple hours after ingestion, the Giants would extract their humans, still alive, from their bellies, and the waitresses would carry each human in a bowl out of sight. The humans were allowed to shower and given time to recover before being thrown back into the tank. Patty recognized, with some consternation, that a human could end up being eaten several times in one day if they happened to be a popular choice. 

The day continued in this same manner for a while. There was a bit of a lunch rush, but then the restaurant quieted down before more patrons started coming in for dinner. Patty grew bored and restless in the tank, with nothing to occupy her mind except gloomy dread and anxiety. She understood now why most of the humans seemed just as weary and indifferent as afraid. The waiting, the constant tension, the Giant eyes roving over the group to find their next meal, was almost as bad as actually being chosen. She had to remind herself not to pace, yet she frequently found her legs moving of their own accord. She found it difficult to sit still. 

As Patty was observing one of her fellow humans getting chomped up in a sandwich, the mood in the tank abruptly changed. Several cries of fear arose and people began bouncing around and trying to hide behind each other, despite having no cover or place to go. 

“What’s going on?” Patty asked, following their gazes to the front entrance of the restaurant. Nobody bothered to answer Patty, as they were all stricken with terror. A couple had just strolled in, a Giant and Giantess, but they didn’t appear to be the typical Bucky patrons. They were very nicely dressed, for starters. The man wore an expensive dark gray suit with a matching tie. He had a chunky gold watch on his wrist that was probably worth thousands of Big Bucks. He was perfectly groomed, with immaculate teeth, unblemished skin, and short brown hair, not a strand out of place. The woman on his arm was gorgeous enough to be a supermodel, with a shimmering, elegant satin gown and silky blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore fine gold jewelry encrusted with gems that appeared very pricey. The wealthy couple looked conspicuously out of place with the more plebeian style of the restaurant and the other customers, mere commoners by comparison. They didn’t seem to care, however, and even seemed pleased to be there. They went straight to the tank of humans and bent down slightly to peer inside. Sensing these customers would tip well, a waitress materialized next to them to take their order. 

Patty’s instincts were screaming at her to run, but her legs felt as heavy as lead and rooted themselves to the floor like anchors. She stared up at those vast, spotless faces, and her mind stopped functioning properly. The Giant man rubbed his blocky whiskered chin with an enormous hand, surveying the crowd of tiny people voraciously. He licked his lips and pointed towards Patty with a tree-sized finger. “That one. She’s got some meat on her.” 

Patty’s heart stopped, until she realized he was pointing at a woman behind her. She cranked her head around just enough to see the unlucky individual was one of the women she met yesterday, Apple, staring with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. 

“Which one would you like to eat, darling?” he asked the Giantess, pecking her cheek tenderly and brushing his hand through her luscious hair. She pursed her coral lips and looked over the scared humans with shiny eyes, blinking her long lashes. 

“Hmmmm… that human right there looks delicious,” she purred, tapping the glass with a manicured nail. A wave of humans parted away from the condemned man, Chuck Roast, who looked stunned, like he had just been slapped in the face. 

“Perfect,” the waitress acknowledged. She wrote down their orders on her notepad, opened the lid to the tank, and snagged the two humans, despite their desperate attempts to scurry away, clutching them together in her fist. 

“Oh, and don’t bother giving those two any pills,” the Giant mentioned with his rich, deep voice. “We’re choosing the option for fatal ingestion.” 

Chapter 7

Chapter 1

[amonsteronmaplestreet]

32

Well, Seann, you did it. You made to 32 years old. Isn’t that something?

Your life isn’t really what you thought it would be, is it? Remember back in high school, when you thought that you’d have a house and be making six figures by now? Ah, the optimism of youth. Instead here you are, renting one-fourth of a two-bedroom apartment, barely keeping above the poverty line. You probably should have seen that one coming, if I’m being honest.

That’s not to say your life is awful, of course! You’re in love after all. You live with a woman you love dearly, who loves you back, and it was just five years ago that you would have scoffed at the idea of that ever happening. So much has improved in just the last half-decade.

Five years ago, you worked at a retail outlet where the phones never stopped ringing no matter how much you prayed they would, and you despised everything about your own life. That was the only period of time in which you ever self-harmed. Remember that? Do you remember taking the sharp metal tools meant for phone repair and scratching up and down your arms until you drew blood? Do you remember the sting, the feeling of release? Do you recall your conviction that everything painful in your life was some kind of deserved punishment, and that if you hurt yourself enough then maybe—just maybe—you’d balance out the cosmic scales and everything else wouldn’t be so bad?

How very Catholic. I guess thirteen years of parochial schooling will leave its mark on a person, no matter what.

But that’s all the past now. Now you have a job you love. Sure, you need to buy new insoles because your feet are always in pain, and sure your car broke down so now you need to take the bus to work and it eats up hours of your day, but when you walk though the doors of that doggie daycare, dozens of wagging tails and furry faces are excited to greet you. That counts for something.

What do you think the dogs think that place is? Who do they think you are? Every day their parents take them to a place full of friends, where they can run wild and play. Would that we all could live a life like that.

Then at the end of the day, you get to go home to your girlfriend. You see her smile, you kiss her, and the two of you rest your heads on one another. No matter how tiring the day may have been, you have that. You’re secure, you’re happy, and you’re content. Life is good.

But not everything is sunshine and roses. There’s still that whole “living just above the poverty line” business. A single accident or the mildest streak of bad luck is all it would take for this life of yours to come crashing down. It’s hard to enjoy the good things when you have that knowledge there, always looming over you from the back of your mind.

And speaking of your mind…

There’s two parts of you that you’ve never been able to kill, no matter how hard you’ve tried. The first is an ugly thing. It’s selfish and envious and always raging. It’s that bitter part of you that thinks you deserve to live off just your writing, that seethes with jealousy whenever you see another writer succeeding, that curses and hates everyone who scrolls on past a post about your books or your Ko-Fi or your Patreon without ever clicking through and buying something. It’s the part of you that hates the world for not showering you with money and praise at every opportunity.

It’s a childish thing, and it should have died with childhood. But still it lives, and even though you try your damnedest to stamp it out and starve it, to bury those feelings and smother it with your shame at experiencing them, it continues to thrive. You have failed to kill that part of you at every turn, and now all you can do is try to ignore it. Let it shout and seethe by itself, without your voice to focus it.

The other part of you that you can’t kill is a beautiful thing, but that just makes it worse, doesn’t it? It’s hope. It’s the part of you that thinks you could make a living off your writing, the part of you that, whenever you finish or start a project, thinks “Yes, this is the one. This is going to be my big break. It will be a success, and it will make me a success, and everything will be alright.” And no matter how many times that doesn’t happen, still that hopeful part of you refuses to die.

These two parts, seemingly so different, are tightly connected. They feed on each other, in a way. The ugliness grows with the beauty, and the beauty in turn grows with the ugliness. Hope rekindles itself in the face of defeat, but so too does resentment fester. You fear—no, you know—that so long as one lives, so too will the other.

It’s your birthday, and you’re doing the same thing you’ve done the past few years. You’re running a promotion, trying to entice people to join your Patreon or your Ko-Fi; it doesn’t matter to you which. That hopeful part of you thinks that you can make a lot of money off this—after all, surely the offer of free books will entice people!—but you know that even getting one new subscriber would be a minor miracle, and two would be more than you should dare to dream of. You’d be thankful and grateful if this led to any subscriptions at all, and you’d never know quite how to express that gratitude. You’d just let it fill you, and drown that awful envious part of you that rages that it’s still not enough.

You live in Capitalism. Nothing can ever be enough. That’s the whole damn point of the system.

And sometimes these two seemingly unkillable parts of you come together in mourning. In the face of failure, they wonder if maybe you don’t deserve success after all, if maybe you can’t achieve it because you aren’t good enough. It stands to reason, right? If your writing was better, you’d be more successful. That’s what you’ve been taught your whole life.

Maybe you deserve poverty. Maybe you deserve worse than that. After all, look at all this bitterness you’ve allowed to fester within you. Does that not make you a bad person? Does that not make you undeserving?

Yet even in this darkness, that hopeful part of you still refuses to die. It drags you out of the pit and it makes you try again, and again, and again still. You force yourself to keep going, and when you go to work and the dogs look at you with such uncomplicated joy, and you go home and she looks at you with such love, you can’t help but wonder what they’re seeing. Whatever it is, you wish you could see it as well.

So you trudge on, guided by your hope, and if feeding that ugly, selfish envy is the price you must pay to hold onto it, then maybe that’s a fair bargain after all.

A whole new year is stretched out before you. There’s so much you want to do with it, so much you want to accomplish. The truth is that you’ll probably fail on most of the goals you set for yourself. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few successes, small though they may be. In a world like this one, every success is something worth celebrating.

Happy birthday, Seann. Welcome to Thirty Two.

[witchywriterlythings]

Something This Way Comes

Chapter Two: Old Ladies Threaten My Life and My Best Friend Picks Out My Funeral Arrangements

When I stepped back outside, Nancy immediately named the new teacher the mist had come up with to replace Mrs. Dodds, giving me all I needed to pretend Mr. Brunner needn’t worry about me. It was a one off. I know nothing. 

Grover was quick to walk over to me, his crutches even catching one of Nancy’s friends in the leg when she tried to trip him. I had to cover a smile with my hand because I was sure he didn’t notice and would have felt bad if he realized. "Perrr-cy. Are you okay?" He seemed to be looking me over for injuries and his lack of subtly was refreshing after finding out that Mr. Brunner wasn’t what I thought he was. 

"Yeah, thanks man. Ms. Kerr—" I ignored his eyes widening"—just wanted me to buy her a new t-shirt in the gift shop, but she let me off when she realized I didn’t have any money on me." I let my shoulders shrug as Mr. Brunner rolled back into his spot by the stairs, with no one the wiser that he had ever left. 

Grover still didn't see me to believe me, but he let it go in favor of tossing me the last of the beef jerky for my lunch. "Never make me touch meat or plastic again dude, so gross." 

My brain connected some dots while we walked back towards the group and onto the bus and my mouth spewed it out before I could change my mind. "Do you hate meat because of capitalism or because you think it's gross?" 

"You know what capitalism is?" Grover teased, though he straightened in his seat and turned to look at me as best he could within the confines of the arm rests. "Sort of both, I guess. I could never eat meat cause I empathize with the animals, you know? But a major part of that is also how awful big meat industries are and the erasure of small farms. While I don't approve of them tearing down forests to make room for pastures and all the chemicals they use, not all of them are too bad." 

"You gotta admit though that the only thing going through chicken heads is TV static." They had always looked so stupid when one would appear on TV, though maybe they were like pigeons and held deeper depths. Pigeons could be evil. 

Grover laughed. "Nah, man, chickens are like…toddlers, for sure. I went to school in Vermont this one time and let me tell you, the farm animals there totally get into all kinds of weird stuff. I found one in my backpack once! And I lived in what counts as a city over there." 

I snorted at the image of poor Grover opening his backpack to find a chicken chirping at him, and even funnier if what I remembered about satytrs was true and he could understand the thing.  "You have been to so many weird places."

The rest of the bus ride was made up of joking back and forth, with me finally relaxing. With one problem out of the way in the form of Mrs. Dodds (was there a Mr. Dodds in the underworld somewhere waiting for her?) being turned to dust, I could handle Mr. Brunner not being who I thought he was. It was terrifying to think he had been hidden all of this time, not even his scent tipping me off, which must mean that he was covered by something powerful. But Grover didn’t protect me from him, so either Grover knew who he was and had decided he was safe, or even someone with as powerful a nose as he did couldn’t tell. It was a mystery, one I didn’t want. 

The weather steadily got worse and worse after Christmas, with pouring rain and hurricane winds. For some reason, my dad was pissed off and possibly, so was the king, which wasn’t that different to the norm if the bits of mythology I had been able to gather from my mom were anything to go by. She didn't like telling me too much because knowledge drew attention, but she also didn't want me going in blind to a world that wanted to kill me and my father being who he is would draw attention anyway. 

The worst part of it all was that I hate how easily my father's moods could affect mine, as if my emotions weren't my own and were as subject to his whims as the tides were to my half-brothers. I already had an authority problem, at least according to my permanent record, and being surrounded by people who didn't believe the letters danced around the page or that sitting still for so long literally hurt sometimes, as if my muscles had to hold me back and were as exhausted as if I had run a hundred miles. They just called me lazy and sent me out of class and I wanted to scream at them and rip something apart and I hated how angry I was because being angry meant losing control and that always scared people and I didn't….

Grover was probably the only reason I didn't lose it completely. The first time I growled at him, he flinched back but then just hugged me and asked if I needed help studying. I desperately wanted him to be my friend, a real friend, and not just someone sent to retrieve me for camp. Even if he was, I knew I would protect him with my life no matter how much it hurt to know. 

It got to the point where I started calling the teachers on their shit, using words I had seen in the library or on one of the school computers when I was allowed to use them. Old sot was still my favorite because Grover told me it meant drunk after looking it up in the dictionary and we both knew it was true. This far into the school year? Even the new teachers gave up the pretense that they liked us. 

Except Mr. Brunner, but that is most likely a "he isn't human thing" than anything else. And maybe it was also his fault that despite the fact that I was expelled from Yancy after a particularly spectacular incident, I was allowed to finish the school year. Or maybe someone else was looking out for me, as that was always the way things had been. One incident too many, but don’t worry! You can finish the grade. Don’t come back though. 

It was this meddling that really caught my attention when Grover hadn’t returned to the dorms half an hour to curfew. While other might try to cut it close, Grover had too much anxiety not to be in the dorm at least an hour before curfew unless he was with me. And seeing as how I was glaring down at my Latin text book, he very clearly was not. 

If someone has hurt him, I growled to myself, refusing to finish the threat even in my own mind. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone caught him in the halls and decided to lock him in a closet of some kind because they thought it would be funny. So I left the dorm and tried to follow his scent, though it was muddled for some reason. By the time I made it to the hall with the teacher’s offices, I knew where he was. I almost didn’t want to know what he was doing there. 

But what else could I do?

"—rried about Percy, sir. There was a Kindly One in the school and you still haven’t told me how  it is she was killed, and Percy is clearly affected by the mist more than we thought because he doesn’t even remember Mrs. Dodds." So Grover was working with Mr. Brunner after all. I couldn’t breathe. 

Mr. Brunner sighed like an old man. "Grover, as I told you before, I’m not sure where she went. I arrived to assist Mr. Jackson and she was simply gone. Whatever occurred, he is now safe and none the wiser while she is in the Underworld where she belongs." There was the sound of shuffling on the carpet, before he continued. "We must keep him safe, the summer solstice deadline is rapidly approaching. This will resolve itself without him."

"Will it? Please, sir, I can’t fail again and I won’t lose him."  

I stuttered through a break and took a step back to leave, only to catch my heel on one of the doorstops which caused a boinging noise to ringout through the hall. I immediately took off at a sprint, rounding the corner just as the door opened. Mr. Brunner’s shadow was far larger than I expected, and was that a bow? I tensed even as he paused.

"I could have sworn…perhaps I just haven’t been the same since the winter solstice." 

 "None of us have."

I stayed where I was until sure they had walked away, making my way back to the dorms. I paused in the doorway when I saw how Grover was situated on his bed with his books out as if he hadn’t left. I pushed past it though and started to get ready for bed, something heavy in my chest as I breathed through the emotions I could feel welling up. If Grover could read my expression, he’d know I had heard something or at the very least that I was upset. 

"You get any studying done while you were gone?"  Grover was trying to be nonchalant but it was clear he was poking a bit. 

"Latin." 

The rest of finals passed by in a blur of words I couldn’t read and numbers I didn’t understand. The only exam I figured I hadn’t failed was Mr. Brunners, but that might be a bit of my heritage slipping through. Latin didn’t get as mixed up as english did, though I couldn’t understand it as instinctively as the greek my mother sometimes sung in. A lullaby she had learned before I was born. She never told me where she got it from and I never dared to ask. 

I wasn’t surprised when Grover packed up his things by himself, no one had dropped him off either, but I was a bit startled when he said he was taking the greyhound with me. I was sure  that if he worked for camp, they’d want me to leave right away. Maybe they wanted to talk to my mom first? At the very least it gave me the chance to finally confront Grover about what happened two weeks ago with Mr. Brunner. 

"Looking for Kindly Ones?" I asked, flinching when he startled so badly and his scent turned sour with fear. "Sorry, man, but you really shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs. Especially your supposed friends." 

"I am your friend," Grover defended himself and honestly looked a little insulted I would say otherwise. "Which is why I went to Mr. Brunner, to try and…" he paused as I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to use my best Sally Jackson ‘don’t you lie to me’ face. "How much do you know?" 

I leaned backwards and started fiddling with the cuffs of my sweatshirt. "You don’t know what happened to Mrs. Dodds, there is some sort of deadline and you want me to be safe. Does that sum it up?" I grinned cheekily at his dumbfounded expression, nudging his leg with my foot. "I can tell you what I did if you really want to know, but she ended up as dust all the same." 

Grover narrowed his eyes at me. "You’re really calm about all of this. And if you know what happened to Mrs. Dodds, why did you lie to me? You say friends don’t talk to each other behind their backs, but friends don’t lie to each other either." 

"I’m sorry, you’re right. I lied because I figured no one would believe me and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but since you clearly know something…" I shrugged as I hoped he would be able to forgive me for half truths over full lies. "What’s the deadline Mr. Brunner mentioned? Who even is he?" 

"I was sent to protect you, Percy, from monsters like Mrs. Dodds. I was supposed to keep my distance, but you are really hard not to be friends with when you decide you want to hang out with someone." Grover rolled his eyes but grinned at me and I knew we would be okay. "Mr. Brunner was…my backup, I guess. To make sure I didn’t mess up." 

I frowned as a memory of Grover pleading, "please sir, I can’t fail again. I can’t lose him" came back up.  "How…?" I was cut off by the engine of the bus letting off a mighty choking noise and what sounded like pop-rocks in a metal tube while the driver tried to pull us over. The smell wafting into the bus as it steadily grew hotter honestly reminded me of Gabe. As if I was locked in my room without air conditioning, I would feel right at home. 

We choked and gagged our way off the bus until we were situated with the other tourists on the opposite side of the highway from one of those popup stands. Despite the sweltering heat from the pavement, no one seemed to even glance at the icey lemonade and cider they were selling, nor the shade their tent  provided. Inside the tent were three old ladies helping each other knit, but I wasn’t fooled by their outward appearances. 

Grover yelped as I shoved him behind me and started growling, but his hands soon found my wrists and started to pull me backwards. "I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but we have to get back on the bus, okay? Perce, just get back on the bus with me." 

I didn’t move. Not when one of them pulled out bronze scissors, not when they snipped the string. I waited until they were gone to turn back to a shaking Grover who had his eyes covered, helping him back onto the suddenly okay bus. "Grover, what were they?"

 "Never make it past sixth grade, never make it past sixth grade. I can’t do this again." He was shaking like a leaf, so despite how warm and nauseous I was, I reached over and hugged him. "You aren’t allowed to die on me." 

Whatever they were, they had scared my best friend and potentially threatened me. I watched my reflection in the window as my teeth grew longer and my eyes turned black. "I won’t."

<Prev Master Post Next>

[casspurrjoybell-30]

Bonding with the Enemy - Chapter 12

*Warning Adult Content*

A New Development

"Do not leave my sight," Sophie ordered as they got out of the car.

Darren shrugged half heartedly.

"Pretty sure we agreed that that would be a bad idea at this point."

After breakfast, Darren had to wander around town with Sophie, similar to how he had to do so with Jasper.

This was the downside to being a rogue.

Pack rules required that any visiting rogues be constantly monitored by a trusted pack member to make sure they didn't cause any trouble.

It made sense, to a degree. 

As if running around shopping wasn't bad enough though, he was also forced to do all the carrying, then was immediately dragged over to the park where three of the missing kids were last seen.

The park itself was a flat field of grass with a soccer goal, a swing set, a jungle gym and a small rock climbing wall.

There were a few picnic tables under the nearby trees and a jogging trail that ran through the woods.

If Darren had to guess, whoever took the kids had probably hidden out in the trees away from those paths so they wouldn't be spotted.

A sudden squeal followed by crying drew Darren's eye to a toddler who had just fallen off the swings.

The boy's mother quickly scooped him up and started inspecting his head, though it didn't look like it was too serious of an injury.

The swing wasn't very high off the ground after all.

"Well?" Sophie asked, looking around the park.

Instead of replying, Darren started wandering closer to the trees in case there were any spirits lurking out of sight.

Sophie followed close behind as she continued to scan their surroundings.

At first, Darren wondered if she was still trying to spot ghosts herself but then figured she was more likely searching for overlooked evidence that the police may have missed.

After a brief search, he determined there were none in the woods.

"Nothing. I've only spotted two ghosts in this entire town. What the heck happened to them all?" Darren thought out loud as he returned to the playground.

Sophie tilted her head.

"What do you mean? Were there more before?"

"Yeah. At least, it felt like there were," Darren said, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

He had been pestered by spirits every month when he was younger.

He had grown accustomed to one particular spirit, a man in an old fedora, who used to stand around the bus stop quietly.

He never looked up or said a word.

The spirit had creeped Darren out at first but after a while he became like a permanent fixture that never moved from that one spot.

The rogue briefly wondered if the man's spirit was still lingering there.

"Is that Jasper?"

Sophie froze in her tracks, as did Darren when he heard that name slip from her lips.

Instantly he scanned the park for confirmation.

After last night, he wanted to distance himself as much as possible from the Alpha.

So far he was able to stave off his heat by focusing on the investigation but there was no telling how long that would be enough.

Luckily the bastard stopped trying to call out to him through the bond.

Darren's eyes eventually found their target.

Jasper was currently standing by his Nissan in the parking lot.

The man looked... well, he looked normal to say the least.

The rogue had hoped the Alpha would be out of it for at least a week.

Guess shock didn't last that long when it was caused by supernatural forces.

Huffing, Darren decidedly ignored Jaspers sudden appearance and started heading for Sophie's car.

He figured the man was here on Alpha business anyways.

"I weft it ovew hewe," came the voice of a young child.

The adorable accent had the rogue turning his head to find a chubby little girl by the swing set.

She was possibly only five or six and digging through the wood chips.

A man then walked up behind her and began doing likewise.

"Sweetheart, I think someone may have walked off with it by now," he cooed to the little girl.

The child pouted and tossed a handful of woodchips at the nearby swing.

"Nuh uh," she argued on the verge of a fit.

That was when Darren finally found his ghost.

She was an elderly woman in a hospital gown, standing near the rock climbing wall and pointing at the ground.

Her transparent figure hovered a few feet away as she stared the child down, hoping to be seen somehow.

Veering from his original course, Darren approached the spirit and looked where she was pointing.

There, half buried in the wood chips, was a silver heart shaped pendant.

Without a word, he picked it up and called over to the two.

"Hey. Is this yours?"

The father looked up and saw the chain hanging from the rogues hand.

Relief washed over his face as the little girl squealed.

Before the man could stop her, she ran over to Darren, arms outstretched.

Her adorable efforts to reach the piece of jewelry drew a giggle from Darren as he handed the necklace over.

She clutched it in her chubby little hands and smiled up at him.

Her adorable efforts to reach the piece of jewelry drew a giggle from Darren as he handed the necklace over.

She clutched it in her chubby little hands and smiled up at him.

"Thank you," the father said as he caught up.

"That was her grandmother's pendant. I didn't know she snuck it out of the house. I'm so glad it wasn't lost."

"No problem," Darren noticed that the old woman was smiling fondly down at the little girl.

Out of nowhere, the rogue was caught off guard by the child's sudden display of affection as she wrapped her arms around his knees.

Darren's eyes shot up to the father and he held his hands up harmlessly.

As a rogue, it was not appropriate for him to address a pack members child in any way.

The father smiled in understanding.

"Come on Darla. We gotta get back home before mommy wonders where we are," he said, patting his daughter's head.

"Say thank you to the nice man."

"Thank yew," she said, waving goodbye and leaving the park.

Darren waited till they were out of earshot before turning to the ghost.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Do you know anything about the kids that have been going missing around town?"

The old lady stared at him, trying to register what was happening.

"Are you speaking to me?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm trying to help find the kids and thought that since no one living knows what's happening, maybe you would? I mean, if someone is taking them then I'd assume they wouldn't know how to sneak around ghosts."

She smiled sadly.

"No young man. I haven't seen anything. I only stay by my granddaughter's side."

That sounded about right.

If a ghost is haunting a person, then the person they were haunting would have to have been near a victim when they were abducted for the ghost to have seen anything themselves.

"Right. Okay. Well, if you do see anything, can you let me know?"

"I can do that," she agreed, then her form started to vanish as the man and daughter pulled out of the parking lot.

"Thank you young man."

Once she was gone, Darren turned to find not Sophie but Jasper standing directly behind him.

He yelped in surprise and put a hand over his racing heart.

"DO NOT DO THAT. Do you know how unpleasant it is to be startled by a face like yours?"

Jasper didn't say anything and instead kept looking down at the rogue, observing him.

Darren waited a few seconds before waving his hands in the man's face.

"Hello? Earth to Asshole? What's your problem?"

The Alpha seemed to snap out of it quite suddenly and proceeded like everything was normal. 

"I need to talk to you."

"I'd rather not," Darren snorted and began trudging towards Sophie's car.

Sophie hurriedly caught up with him.

"Darren," she called.

"Wait. It might be about the kids."

The rogue stopped and glared back at Jasper questioningly.

"Is it?"

"Yes and no. I need to talk to you alone."

Darren wanted to snap at him again but if he was going to get anywhere with the missing kids, he knew he'd have to suck it up.

So, he nodded towards Sophie who stepped back and let the two have some space.

"Okay, now what?"

Jasper sighed, unhappy with Darren's less than respectable tone but not quite irritated.

"We got the results of your background check this morning," he began.

"You have a tendency to get in trouble a lot, you know that? You've reportedly found several other bodies before. You also helped uncover a pedophile three years back, caught two murderers, saved an assault victim last year and... well the list goes on but your record says you're just a construction worker with a GED."

"You do realize that dealing with the dead tends to involve a lot of dead people, right?" Darren all but rolled his eyes.

"Or just bad people. After all, ghosts who died peacefully don't usually have unfinished business."

Jasper seemed to look at Darren in a new light.

Somewhat appreciatively and that was when the rogue realized it wasn't himself he was appreciating but his ability, which was what he feared when he first revealed his powers.

Subconsciously he rubbed the collar around his neck and backed away.

"Was that all you wanted to say?"

"No. I also wanted to talk about yesterday."

"I'm not apologizing," Darren immediately snapped.

"I don't want you to, because I'm pretty sure it's true," Jasper admitted.

The rogue couldn't help the dumb look on his face as he stared at his old abuser.

Jasper noticed his expression and shook his head.

"Look, I know I was an ass in school. You know that better than I do apparently. I didn't think what I was doing was that bad..."

"Seriously?" Darren interrupted.

"What makes you believe it wasn't serious? We just dealt with a case of abuse through emotional manipulation and you're telling me that making classmates act like your literal slave in exchange for friends is not the same?"

Another look of shock crossed the Alpha's face but this time it was only brief as he turned away.

He seemed lost for words at first but once he collected himself he turned back around with determination.

"This is why I need your help."

That wasn't the response that Darren was expecting at all.

"Excuse me?" 

"I need your help," Jasper repeated, looking Darren square in the eye. "After you mentioned that I might have...."

His expression went manic for a second but he shook his head to clear his thoughts and continued.

"After what you said, I realized it might be true but no one else was willing to talk about it. All they said was that you were wrong but... but I don't think you are."

"You're just now figuring that out?"

Jasper sucked in a breath.

"She's blocking me on purpose. It's not because she's shy. She's angry. I can sense it. And what you said was the only explanation that makes sense. Actually, a lot of what you say makes sense. No one else is willing to tell me things the way you do. And after seeing your background, I don't think you're the kind of person I pegged you for at first, so I'm sorry I treated you like shit earlier."

Darren shook his head.

"Just for earlier? What about the hell you put me through in high school?"

"I'm sorry for that too," Jasper breathed out slowly, maintaining eye contact.

The asshole actually looked somewhat sincere.

"I think... I could learn a thing or two if we worked together."

"Fat chance," Darren snorted.

He had no interest in accepting anything the guy was saying.

It was too sudden and he had a feeling the guy was only doing it to impress his mystery mate, not knowing it was actually Darren.

If that was the case, the guy couldn't possibly be sincere.

"Since I'm cleared of your suspicions, I'd rather investigate independently."

"About that," Jasper said, shaking his head.

"We also got the autopsy back on the body we found in the woods."

"Hunting accident?" Darren more stated than asked.

That was his initial suspicion.

The guys body had probably been dragged into the shrubs by an animal trying to store it for later.

The Alpha shook his head.

"That's what the coroner believes but the pack doctor did their own examination. Based on his injuries and the animal hairs on the body, he says it looks like a werewolf attack."

[andrewrader]

Today is Jan 14th , 2023. What a WILD day. I went down 10km of river rapids with just a boogie board! This experience followed the bunjee jumping that I had just done the day before .

The tour guide was so funny and awesome , and the group as well. It was such a unique experience as you just don’t get to do these things commercially in the states easily due to a lack of those suitable rivers as well as liability . It had me thinking how I even got around to sign up for such a crazy activity , and I noticed how involved these adventure activities were In queens town. We signed up through one of the tourist shops that offered a variety of activity listings you could signup for . There were many many many of these around the town , store fronts with adventures written all over them. The process was really easy to signup as well , pay and just receive a meeting address where they come pick you up in a bus . Throughout my experience in queens town from the zip lining , bunjee jumping , and of course the boogie board white water rafting, I noticed everywhere people referenced queens town as the adventure capital of the world . Even at the boogie board place they had a big board of other activities to do after or before you do boogie Boarding. I think this is so heavily commercialized as it is truly the greatest strength of New Zealand . They don’t have the biggest cities or best skylines . They don’t have the best cars or urban life attractions . But what they do have , especially Queenstown, is some the greatest natural wonders in the world. Soaring mountains, lounge tracks, water adventures , and beautiful weather and animals. All together this brings out more money from people focusing on the outdoors than the city life , as no where else in the world can you experience the things I did here. Plus I think naturally , you almost feel bad about yourself if yo is Tay inside in New Zealand for long as the weather is beautiful and can’t be ignored. Even when I had to do work on my laptop I always made sure to go outside and do it on s park bench table or in a shady spot to feel the breeze .

I also want to highlight why I even chose the activities I did to begin with, bunjee jumping and boogie board white water rafting. With bunjee jumping, it’s not everyday you can find a place with heights such as in the New Zealand mountains , especially with beautiful weather, it was a must to make my first time jumping here in New Zealand . After that adrenaline rush of an activity , my brother and I were invited to go white water rafting on big rafts the next day. But when we saw the option of boogie boarding we had to select that. Something about being tossed around in a river , and being more immersed in the river really drew our attention. If we were going to be out in the wilderness why not make it more “dangerous “ and involved rather than sit on a sturdy raft that rarely ever flips . It also was going to be more refreshing being in that water with the bright sun out ! I don’t regret picking the boogie board as I loved being involved with nature from hiking to being in the rivers. I can’t explain it but it was more fun being at the mercy of the River than a comfortable raft haha.

Overall I think Queenstown definitely deserved the nick name it had received as the adventure capital of the world . From the easy access to the events and the sheer number of activities they offer from the boogie boarding to jumping off big cliffs, I think they are going down the right path. The natural beauties they have their make sit as if Mother Nature is peer pressuring you to go outside , as when I was inside I just felt way worse! The mountains and hikes also add to the same effect. I’d definitely go back to queens town and they can have more of my money next time as well!!!

[laur-talks]

i should respond with my own tierlist we can have a heated discussion over this /silly @textbook-dinner

1. Kire

oogaa booga i like woman. hoobie boobie pretty lady aughh. did you SERIOUSLY think I'd have a good reasoning for this.

In all seriousness: I like this design for its uniqueness and also for the very strong and unmistakeable aesthetic it presents. you won't find many other vocal synths that are decked out in such elegant formal wear like this. Kire's design also has some elements of old ball gowns which I like. Ritsu's main designs in general have a lot of historical influence which we're going to see with the next one as well. part of the reason I ranked kire higher is not only because she's pretty but also because ritsu kire has had a lot of cultural influence (thanks kyaami), and I think that's really special

2. Normal/DeepVocal

It's the same design. I will swear on this. You will not take the deepvocal artwork from my cold bony hands. The deepvocal artwork has a few different texture choices from the one that CAFFEIN drew, but I don't think either one is better or worse than the other. Shiny is fun, and so is the more modest matte approach.

Ritsu's normal design has a wonderful color palette and gives him such a unique silhouette that you could recognize him a mile away. Of course that's mostly thanks to the skirt. I really enjoy how the dress is purple, his eyes are green, and his hair is orange. It makes a nice triad. I love putting Ritsu in purple garments for this reason.

I like how the outfit seems to draw from lolita fashion, even if very loosely. Those shoes are so vintage too what the hell. Slay queen. The layered-cake shape of the skirt is extremely unique and I've been enamored with it ever since I first saw it. Funnily enough though, the skirt is also what drags this design down. It's very hard to imagine how it interacts with things around it. How it looks from different angles. Hell, every single 3D model of this idiot with that skirt looks SO FUCKING GOOFY. I just can't take it seriously. As iconic as this design is, its biggest strength is simultaneously its downfall, putting it just below kire (they're very close though)

2.5. Voicevox(?) (bonus)

have you ever seen this image. its from one of Ritsu's official artists. i think that top is the cutest thing. I cant believe ritsu got a degree im so proud of her (artwork by kiku no ji)

3. Strong

He's cute. Nothing remarkable, but sometimes you just need a simple design. I don't have anything in particular to say about this one. I like the departure from the very elegant style of the first design (normal) to something more preppy, whilst still feeling like the same guy. I like CAFFEIN's designs more than what's to come in the future...

4. Uruha

Okay I'm actually wholly biased when it comes to the placement of this one. Once again there's nothing remarkable about him. He's a little ugly. But i have very silly headcanons for him so I unfortunately have gotten a little attached. I really like the short hair for some reason. He's like gachapoid to me. next entry

5. Mabayu

little shit

6. Eve

Really nothing special. Everything from this point forward stops feeling like Ritsu altogether (ignoring that I just put the little rats higher than eve. don't get it twisted, they're not Ritsu to me either). CAFFEIN captured such a unique fashion sense for this character and they just threw it out. They lost it like the poodle stuffie I left on the bus when I was 4 (still not over it). This doesn't seem like something Ritsu would wear. This feels like Ritsu's weird aunt she never knew existed until she started getting strange emails claiming that her family is looking for her. She's forgettable. But at least the outfit isn't generic.... yet.

7. Ace

Not Ritsu. What is this. I know my wife when I see her.

This design, in a vacuum, is nothing bad. But my god they missed the mark entirely. This is just a whole different character. I can't explain to you how. You really just have to see it yourself.

8. That blue dwarf Kanon put on her website recently

As interested as I am to see what these sprites are going to be used for, this design is just so embarrassing. It shares a few similarities with Ruko fem, who pulled off the look a lot better. That gray muddied blue and mustard-yellow combo makes me cry. It doesn't suit him at all. The whole outfit feels extremely generic, like I could put it on any character and it would still work. Ace may have felt like a whole different character, but this feels like the same character but stripped of all their charm. One of the first things I said about this design is that they made him look like... a normal girl. They took his autism. They took his gender. They took his bisexuality. He's a shell of who he once was. God save him.

ranking ritsu's vb designs /lh

1. Normal

The only ritsu design, everyone else can leave. ok kire you can stay but youre on thin ice

2. Kire

I keep forgetting where his body ends and his veil begins, and so from a distance he just looks like a inky blob

3. Ace

This is like if a iced bicuit were nonbinary. No seriously, i can taste this image

4. Mabayu

The only reason i voted this higher than eve is because he has one of the only variations in hairstyle apart from uruha :sob:

5. The VVV Live Design (bonus entry)

It's giving teto synthv from wish, but it's still better than some of the other designs on this list 

6. Eve

The colours are so garish that the only reason i remember this design exists is because my school has a poster with the periodic table of the elements as manga characters, and the girl from iridum looks like eve

6. Strong

I'm 99% sure that caffein made this design so that he could have an excuse to draw ritsu boobs, but his body up from the waist is built like a lego figure and i just can't get past that. (ritsu's, not caffein's) 

7.Uruha

This is the only ritsu design i could realistically cosplay, since dresses are the bane of my existence, but then again, i don't want to look like a gothic leprechaun if i can help it

8. Deepvocal

Maybe it's because its the png always used on those stupid ass memes, but i genuinely have beef with this design. he looks like he would describe himself as being an "alpha sigma rizzler with the level 5 gyatt and the baby gronk mewing aura". and that's not even starting on his abs..... 

9. Eve 2 or whatever this design is supposed to be 

What. what is this. i genuinely thought that this design was a relic of the past from the eve design competition in 2014, and i kind of wish it still was. this flopped so hard omfg. blue does not suit him at all😭 

i disagree with most of your opinions but oH MY G OD IM SO GLAD PEOPLE HATE THE BLUE ONE AS MUCH AS I DO LMAOAOAOAO

in THEORY the blue should work because it's a contrasting color to orange which is a major color in his design. but for some reason it just. doesn't. i can't see him wearing anything in that color

[random-imagines-blog]

Unlock It {Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 3827 Summary: Bucky has his kind of therapy. You have yours. Only - yours tends to be a little bit more eclectic than his.

Bucky Barnes was in therapy. It took him a while to admit that to you, that he had been forced into going after everything that happened with The Avengers saving the world against a big bad Titan. Actually, it was easier for him to talk about the big battle and losing Steve than it was to tell you about Dr. Raynor. You didn’t judge him for that. How could you? In this world where it seems like men would do literally anything to avoid therapy, even go on the run rather than open up. You thought it was a good thing, even though he told you that he hated her, hated it and didn’t really talk about anything. So in an act of showing him how good it can feel, how it can really free the soul, you started going to therapy too. Not Dr. Raynor. That would have been too weird. No, you found another therapist. More of a hippy type, truth be told. But you liked her vibes. And she had liked yours.

The office was furnished with macrame and wicker. Even the coasters on which you could rest your water-bottle or the mug of herbal tea that she liked to supply were macrame feathers. Home made from the looks of it. And old. A little frayed. But still very loved. You had liked that about it all - it wasn’t clean and sterile. It was comfortable. It felt like you were visiting an eclectic aunt who just wanted to give you some advice and guidance rather than someone that you were paying to listen to you. It wasn’t for everyone - but it did the trick for you.

You opened up to your Doctor - who refused to let you call her Doctor. “My name is Vicky. That’s who I want to be with you. Doctor is too clinical. Too cold. I want to be your friend, I want to be someone that you feel like you can turn to, that you can talk to.”

That had been exactly what drew you to her - which was weird because it was the same kind of pull that you had towards Bucky when you first met him. Two years ago today. You were walking out of the grocery store, carrying the couple of bags that you got towards the sidewalk so you could catch the bus home. It was New York after all. Driving was just an insane idea. It would have taken you three times as long to get home. Just as you stepped off the asphalt onto pavement, one of your bags ripped. That’s what you get for using plastic bags, forgetting your reusable ones at home. Apples, oranges, they went sprawling down the street. A couple into traffic. A truck ran over one. A cabbie yelled at you over one of the apples. Like you had meant for this to happen.

You gave the cabbie the finger and he went off with another honk. You tried to gather together what you could off of the sidewalk, but it began to make your other bags feel overloaded. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your bus was going to be at the stop soon. If you missed it, you were going to have to wait another half an hour and the heat was sweltering.

The cackles of some teenagers reached your ears. Just what you needed. A group of dumbasses haha and heehaw’ing at you dropping your vitamin C. And not doing a damn thing to help you.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so funny,” You called out to them, annoyed. “Laugh it up. What would you do if I was your mother or your sister huh? Would you just stand there and laugh?”

“Thing is -” One of the teenagers spoke up. Sports jacket. Probably some big shot on a football team somewhere or something. “- they wouldn’t use those cheap ass bags.”

You sighed. Fair play. How were you even supposed to argue with that? You managed to get what was around you and was chasing after a rogue orange when it hit somebody’s shoe. A black sneaker. A gloved hand picked it up. You followed the line of the dark jeans, up over the broad chest of the long sleeved-shirt with sweat marks around the collar, up to the handsome face above. “Ignore them,” The man said, slipping the orange inside of your bags. “Boys don’t know what to do when there’s someone good looking around other than to laugh and fuck it up immediately.”

“Thanks,” You said,  “I thought I was going to have to chase that thing up to Manhattan or something. Rogue orange.” He chuckled at your comment, showing off a set of near-perfect teeth behind those pink lips. Whoa. “I’d - better get going,” You said, reluctantly. As much as you wanted to stand there and stare at this handsome man, it might get a little odd.

“Your bag looks like it’s going to break,” He said. He reached into his back pocket - men tend to have those pretty deep, lucky lads - and pulled out a folded up cloth bag. “Here. You can borrow this.”

You weren’t going to argue. These cheap bags - especially with the added load of the other bagful of things. “Thanks again,” You said, gratefully, putting what you had on the ground and started to transfer some of the things over. You were able to fit about two bags worth of stuff in there, thankfully. That made it so much easier. “I have a couple at home, I’m just always forgetting them,” You explained, not wanting to seem like you were entirely stupid.

“Happens all the time,” He nodded, handing you the things to put into the bag until you were able to lift it. Not too heavy. A real convenience.

“Oh, well - I’m that way so...” You said, pointing over your shoulder in the direction that you had been heading before the big split.

“I said you can borrow the bag, not that you can have it,” The man said with a gruff-looking smile, the corners of his blue eyes getting crinkles. “I’ll walk with you, make sure you don’t have anything else spill on you.”

“I don’t usually bring home men I don’t know the name of," You quipped. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you his name. But he looked at the bag and sighed, finally admitting to it.

“Bucky Barnes,” He told you.

You looked over his face, and then, “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you Bucky.”

That’s how it started. A rogue orange. Some jeering teenagers. You never forgot the reusable bags again. Bucky kept them near the coat closet for you, ready at a moment’s notice. He was always taking care of little things like that while you took care of him on the days and nights he had trouble sometimes. You told your therapist all about him. You wondered, sometimes, if he told his therapist about you. Things weren’t perfect, nothing in life ever is. You sometimes had little spats where he’d grab his coat and go out for a walk because he couldn’t handle the stress of seeing you upset. Sometimes you would leave, and come back to see him fixing something that he had broken. Even after so long, he wasn’t used to the metal arm. He’d grown accustomed to not having it in Wakanda - which he had opened up to you about a little. Sometimes he thought about just taking it off - and you told him to do what made him feel good, not what might make him appear normal to the outside world.

You were bringing up the recent argument to your therapist. “I know he’s holding back and I know he thinks it’s for good reason, all of that control but - I’m terrified of losing him. I just sometimes get the feeling that ... I’ve lost him before.” You didn’t know how to fully explain it but there was this fear, every time that he walked out the door.

“Have you given any thought to what we talked about last time?" The therapist asked. You played with the fringes on one of the pillows, running it between your fingers and nodded, slowly. “Would you like to give it a try?”

“Past-life hypnotherapy,” You muttered aloud. That’s what the therapist thought the reason for your anxieties were. There was nothing in your own life that might have made you feel that way. You’ve been lucky enough not to have feelings of abandonment. You were close with your family. Your former relationships, though they had fallen through for reasons, didn’t end with them ‘leaving you’ so to speak. So this was the outlandish theory of your therapist. To unlock your past life and find out the trauma and move on, somehow. It did sound insane. It sounded absolutely crazy. But in this world with people like Dr Strange, with aliens, with immortal Norse God, super soldiers, did reincarnation really sound so silly? “Okay. Let’s try it.”

“Excellent. Now, I want you to lay out on the couch. Don’t mind the shoes, love, you can keep them on if you’re more comfortable like that, I’ll be vacuuming later anyway.” You did bring your feet up, in whichever way you felt the most comfortable, and laid your head down on the pillow. Your arms were at your sides. You closed your eyes.

She started to talk. The words slipped in and out of your head. Like you were half asleep. You started to feel heavy. You tried to concentrate on the individual words but they slipped right out of your head.

The way that you had slipped -

There were so many people around. It was a wonder that you hadn’t been bumped more than once. But it was this one time that really got you. Two giggly women holding onto one another had knocked you clear over and kept on going without looking back. You had stumbled into someone who had helped you get back up onto your feet. “You alright there, doll?”

The voice was smooth, jovial, but concerned. He didn’t seem to be laughing at you. The lady he was with did, though. You saw her face before you saw hers, thanks to the height difference. A pretty little brunette in an embroidered dress. She let out a high pitch laugh and then tried to tug the man along. But he let go of her arm, unhooked, just to put both of his hands on your upper arms and made sure that you were stable.

“I’m fine,” You said, attempting not to glare at the woman who had laughed at you. You straightened up your back and then finally looked at who it was that was touching you. The dark green of the military was the color of all of his clothes, from his trousers to his shirt, jacket, tie and hat. A military man. How very kind of him. His date, however, seemed not to be the kind sort. She kept on walking. She looked over her shoulder expectantly, like she was waiting for him to follow. But he didn’t, he kept looking over you. “Like I said,” You repeated slowly, “I’m fine. There’s no need to leave your date waiting.”

“I tried to find the girls that knocked you over but-” Another friendly voice. A skinny little blonde boy. He had a nice smile though. But you had the oddest feeling of deja-vu ... but for something that hasn’t happened yet. “Are they okay, Buck?”

“Looks like they’re alright,” ‘Buck’ said, speaking for you.

“Really, I’m fine,” You assured the both of them, but found yourself looking back up at Buck. He was a handsome man - but leaving, and apparently taken. “There was no need for you to go chasing them down. I know not to expect an apology. Thank you though. I think you’d best be chasing after your own girls now.”

Buck looked over your head and then shrugged. “Our dates are malcontents,” He said with a shrug. “They’re just here to try to get a look at Howard Stark, I’d wager.”

“His technology is really advanced, I’ve heard,” Buck’s friend said.

“And I’m here for the fun,” Bucky finished. “What are you here for, doll?” He called you the name again. It didn’t go over your head the way that his eyes did.

“The fun,” You admitted. “But I was thinking about leaving. My sister was supposed to meet me here and she’s just not to be found. Probably found herself a handsome man like you two fellas to keep her company,” You laughed. “It was a pleasure, Buck and - Buck’s friend.”

“This is Steve,” Buck said, immediately, bringing his friend forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The size difference was astronomical. “And he’s the only one who ever calls me Buck. It’s Bucky. Well, James Buchanan but I prefer Bucky.”

“Well hi there Bucky and Steve, names for both faces. It was nice to meet ya. Maybe I’ll see you around,” You gave a wave and turned to walk off. It was hard to take your eyes off of Buck’s face. Everyone else around seemed so bland in comparison. But before you took two steps, a hand clasped yours and you spun around back into him.

“You never gave me your name,” Bucky said, smiling charmingly.

“I-” You barely got a word out before you suddenly found yourself waking up. You were holding the fringed pillow up against your chest, squeezing it tightly.

“Y/N, Y/N,” A soft voice kept repeating. As you were coming out of your dream state, you began to notice the colors on the walls, the macrame. It was all so bright and so vivid. So colorful.

“Where am I?” You asked, feeling like you were coming out of a daze.

“You’re in my office, y/n,” The voice said. “Vicky. Let’s sit up now, and get you a glass of water.”

She explained to you that you had gone into a trance easily enough. You were not explaining what had happened but you were saying some things out loud. Buck. Buck’s friends. It all came back to you. Not just the trance, because for a moment or two there, you really did feel like you were back there. Back in the nineteen forties. Where you had a sister and you attended The World’s Fair where Howard Stark was presenting some of his inventions or something. Tony Stark’s father. What a world. What a life you must have lived then. But then an ache hit your heart, hit your stomach. Bucky had left you then. He would have gone off to the war. He would have been deemed missing, fallen from the train during the fight against The Red Skull, fell down and down and down when he was taken by the Russians and turned into The Winter Soldier.

You had cried for a while on that couch. And Vicky had broken her protocol and sat next to you and rubbed at your back until you felt well enough to go home. You made another appointment. You felt like you were going to need it. Because you had promised Bucky that you’d make dinner tonight and you were going to tell him all about this.

-

He came home late. Late and grumpy. As he peeled off the gloves that he used to make himself more normal and took off his coat, the smells of spices from the tacos that you had made seemed to make him not slouch as much as usual. “That smells good,” He seemed to say reluctantly.

“Tastes even better,” You hummed from where you set out the different ingredients. “I couldn’t wait. I was dipping into the salsa. Come on, Buck, take a load off.”

“Okay doll, okay,” He said, giving in. The use of that word. That name. It sent a shiver up your spine. Because it was the first time that he had said it to you today - but it was also the third time that you had heard it from you today. He must have noticed your reaction. Damn those sharp eyes of his. “Everything alright?” He asked, looking around the apartment. Looking for anything off, or any sort of threat.

“No one is here,” You assured him. “Everything’s fine. Just - something very odd happened at therapy today.”

“Your therapist is just odd in general,” He said. He picked up a spoon and started to put the filling in his taco shell. “What was it this time? Were your chakras off? Were you not able to open your third eye wide enough?”

You cracked a smile at that. “Vicky means well,” You said, adding some of your favorite toppings onto your own shell. “But I have a uhh - a bit of a weird question.”

“Okay....” Bucky eyed you over the table. His hands were still moving but his face remained expressionless. No- not quite. There was a puppy-like curiosity in those beautiful eyes.

“Do you remember the World’s Fair that you and Steve went to - where Howard Stark was presenting some sort of flying car type thing?”

“I never got to see it,” Bucky said, a smile spreading as he remembered it. “It was right before I got sent out. Got a little err - distracted. Why?”

“You met someone that night. A couple of girls tripped them up and they nearly fell down -  you saw the whole thing. Your little date laughed at them, kept walking - did you, did you blow her off for this person?”

Bucky looked conflicted as you caught his eye. His hand was gripping so tightly, the taco shell broke apart in his hands, sending bits of cheese, sour cream and taco shell all over his metal hand. “How do you know that?” He asked, his brow furrowed. His eyes were narrowed. You went to get a napkin to help him clean up but he held you away with his flesh and blood hand. “HOW?” He yelled, making you flinch.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t go about it in the right way. With that accusing look, you realized your mistake. You waved the napkin in the air like it was a white flag of surrender.

“Past life hypnotherapy,” You said. “That’s what Vicky and I tried today.” He snorted. He still had trouble believing that you called her Vicky. He couldn’t ever imagine calling his therapist by her first name. Absolutely ridiculous. “Because we couldn’t figure out the source of this anxiety that I have about-” You froze up, realizing that you had never actually revealed that part to Bucky. You didn’t want to put pressure on him. He had enough of it as it was.

“Anxiety about what?” Bucky asked, his tone still harsh. “About what, y/n? About me? About being around me?”

“The opposite,” You said, knowing that you had dug yourself into a hole and the only thing you could fill it with was the truth. “Whenever you go off for more than a couple of hours, even going and seeing Sam, it makes me worry like crazy that you’re just not going to come back. That either you were going to leave, just decide not to come home or - or that something bad was going to happen to you.” He didn’t answer to this. He kept looking at you. He didn’t soften up in the slightest. “We hashed through everything. My family life, childhood, my exes, my friends, but nothing before you had ever given me this reason. So she had an idea and I went with it because what could it hurt right? And then I saw it all. Well, not all of it. Just some of that night. The falling. You helped me. You made sure that I was okay. You called the girls that you and Steve were with malcontents. Steve tried to find the girls that knocked me over but he couldn’t and I was going to leave but you took hold of my hand and - you called me doll. Steve called you Buck,” You said, going over it in your mind like you had the entire ride back home. “I swear, I’m telling you the truth. The reason why I get so afraid of you leaving is because - you did. You left for the war. And you never came home."

“But I did,” Bucky said. “Eventually. I’m home now.”

That was true. He was. He had come back both missing a part of himself and being overfilled - a broken teacup from Alice in Wonderland that is spilling over. “Yeah, you are, love. You’re home. It’s - it’s been a crazy day, if it stresses you out we don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay. Just - give me a minute.” He turned it over in his head as he went to the corner of the room, opened up the closet and brought out the broom. He swept up his mess into the dustbin, threw it out. Throughout all of this, you just watched him while trying not to show it, trying not to seem like you were staring. But you were waiting for another reaction, anything.

He washed his hands at the sink. Dried them on a paper towel. Crumpled it up, threw it into the garbage can. Perfect score. It went straight in. The man had aim. He picked up another taco shell. Started to fill it. You took a small bite of your own, the hardness of the shell cracking against your mouth. The zestiness of the salsa.

“So you’re clumsy in all your lives then?” Bucky finally said, nearly making you choke. You had hardly been expecting his comment. You swallowed it down and then started to laugh.

“That does seem like a common theme, doesn’t it?” You chuckled.

He finished making his own but before he ate it, he walked around to your side of the table and put his arm around your waist. “That’s two lives you fell for me in,” He said, confirming your earlier suspicions. He was just so damn charming, so easy to fall in love with. Even if he often denied that he was worth loving, he had to know what that smile and those eyes did to people. “How about we just live in this one as long as we can, and not worry about a third?”

“I like the sound of that,” You agreed, leaning in towards him. His lips grazed against your cheek, and then closer to your own. Closer - closer - closer - past?

His teeth closed around your food. “Oh no, oh no no no,” You said, pushing him away as he wiped crumbs from his mouth. He had that grin on his face. That sneaky one. “You keep that up and you’re going to your next life sooner rather than later, Buck.”

“Let’s see you try, doll.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 7

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon (not explicitly tagged for a surprise but nothing extreme).

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: We back at it again! Happy Tuesday.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

‘When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue...I saw the world divided into people who had slept with somebody and people who hadn’t, and this seemed the only really significant difference between one person and another. I thought a spectacular change would come over me the day I crossed the boundary line.’

You read and reread the paragraph. You couldn’t help it. The first time you read that book, you just didn’t get the cynicism. There were still parts you couldn’t quite relate to. But that passage sank into you like a pebble in water. You felt changed already and after something so little.

You hadn’t seen Lee since Saturday. He had your number now and called at night. A few times, there was noise in the background; people, cars, life. You realised he must’ve been at a payphone, taking a moment away from his patrol. That was another thing about him; he felt so established, so wise, and that made you feel even less.

When the phone began to ring that night, you ignored it. And when it stopped, you picked up the receiver and dialed the only number you knew. Your mom picked up and you heard the sink running in the background. She was always busy when you called.

“Mom,” you said, “it’s me.”

“Oh, hi, dear,” she replied in her creaky tone, “how are you? Oh, is something wrong?”

“Um… I’m okay, I just wanted to call, I…” you thought of telling her about Lee but you weren’t really sure how. You weren’t even sure why you called her, only that you felt alone. “I miss you and daddy.”

“We miss you, too,” you heard her steps and her grunt as she stretched the cord and twisted off the faucet. “He’s been working hard down at the steel yard and he’s so proud. All the other men tell him to hush up when he brags about you.”

“Yeah? I… I’m working hard. Got an A on my last paper,” you played with the coiled cord.

“That’s great, dear,” she chimed, “are you sure you’re okay? You sound tired.”

“I am tired,” you said, “that’s all. Studying and all that.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want you going out late to one of those parties,” she tittered, “Noreen’s son got arrested at one of those and spent a night in jail. They spent their mortgage to get him out.”

“No, no, I don’t, um, go to parties,” you assured, not adding that no one would even think to invite you to one.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’ll have to call back tomorrow,” she sighed as you heard the door clamour, “your father’s so intent on hurting himself these days.”

“Okay, um, it’s alright, I’ll talk later, love y--” the phone went dead and you listened to the dull tone.

You put the receiver back in the cradle and tapped your fingers on your lips. You picked up your book and sat back on your bed. You couldn’t focus on the words though as your mind lingered on the familiar sounds of home. You missed it terribly. You just wanted to take the bus and go hide in your old childhood bed.

The phone rang again. You knew it wasn’t your mother. You left it and when it silenced, there was only a second before it started again. You waited until the next lull and moved the receiver off the cradle and let the low hum rise from the speaker. You kept it off the hook and closed your book.

You didn’t want to deal with any of that today. Not Lee, not Plath, not the plague of woes that roiled your stomach. You flopped onto your bed and pulled your pillow over your head. You weren’t going to think again until your morning lecture.

📚

You sat near the front of the hall with your elbow on the small fold-out desk. You swirled your pen lazily in the air as you listened to the professor expound on the flaws of historical revisionism. He wasn’t the type to entertain questions or comments, he merely ranted and expected you to note those few words of value amidst the sea of thoughts.

You yawned, exhausted despite an early night. You felt empty and drained those last four days. Ever since…

You didn’t think about it. Tried not to even as it tugged at your mind. When the memory managed to poke through, you felt the same tingle between your legs and your cheeks burned in humiliation. 

How had you let it happen? How could you let yourself do that?

You were so confused by it all. How could it be wrong if Lee said it was right? He was older, he was a cop, and he knew much more than you. You never even kissed a boy before him and he was so confident in everything he did that he must be doing it all right. 

Besides, after everything, if you refused him, you’d have only been leading him on and using him for his kindness, even if you didn’t realise what you were doing. Because what you did know was that he was a man and you were a woman and that he was doing nice things for you. And you accepted them all. The least you could do was bide his affection. That was the age old exchange, was it not?

“Next week, we’ll review chapters five and six,” the professor’s tone piqued as his ramble subsided, “I expect a class discussion and you can expect ten percent of your mark to be evaluated from your contribution and I will know if you just ‘skimmed’ the introduction.’

The class grumbled as he dismissed you and you stood slowly, stretching the cramp from your leg. You packed up your bag and hauled it on your shoulder. You had a gap between that class and your afternoon publishing class. You trailed out behind the flow of chattering students but found many of them lowered their voices as they came out into the hall.

There voices fell to whispers as they entered the hall. The sight of a brown hat assured you of the reason. Sheriff Bodecker stood against the painted brick and watched the students pass by, each eyeing him nervously and some chuckling under their breaths nervously. You tried to hide behind a taller student but your name tripped you up.

Despite your efforts to maintain your invisibility, he’d spotted you and you knew you could run away. Several of your peers craned around to watch you, no doubt suspecting some trouble on your part. You dragged your feet and stepped out of the tide of fleeing co-eds to stand along the wall with Lee.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

“Young lady,” he said staunchly and kept his eyes on the other students, nodding at them darkly as they passed.

He waited until the hall was empty before he turned on you. You fidgeted and caught your bag as it slipped from your shoulder. Your thoughts wrinkled above your brow and you stared at his brown leather shoes.

“How did you… find me here?”

He was silent as he reached in his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and showed you a print-out of your schedule.

“Easy enough,” he tapped his badge nonchalantly, “I was worried. You didn’t answer last night.”

“I fell asleep early,” you said weakly, “morning lecture, you know?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “not that early.”

“I’m sorry, I was sleep--”

“You’re no good at lying and I don’t like you telling me fibs,” he growled, “you playin’ around with me, honey.”

“No, I…” you blinked as he folded the paper back into his pocket and pushed his jacket back to settle his hand on his pistol.

“Did you forget who I am? What I am?” he arched a brow darkly.

“N-No, sir, I… I got schoolwork and--”

“You can’t stop and talk to me for ten minutes?” he challenged, “you hurt me, honey. I’m out on patrol all night, in danger, and the only thing I got to look forward to is hearing your sweet voice.”

“I, um, I… er, I’m confused,” you eked out, “I don’t know… I…”

“Honey,” he leaned in and his hot breath glossed over you as he lowered his voice, “you know what this is, we both know what a bad girl you were on Saturday.”

“I didn’t…” you swallowed and choked on your voice, “I gotta go to the library--”

You tried to turn away but were pulled back by his tight grip on your arm. He forced you against the wall and knocked the wind from you as your bag tumbled from your arm. You gasped and stared up at him in fright. In that moment, he seemed bigger than ever; taller, thicker, and strong as hell. Stronger than you for sure.

“You don’t go nowhere ‘less I say you do,” his other hand shifted on his gun, “you got me?”

“What are you-- I didn’t… why are you being mean?”

“Me? Honey pie, you been avoiding me and I’m mean?” he snarled.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I’m just... busy,” you whimpered as he squeezed your arm so tight it throbbed, “you’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting me,” he hissed, “you think I got time to be comin’ down here on duty to find you?”

“You didn’t have to--”

“I did,” he barked, “I had to make sure you weren’t hussyin’ around with any other boys, like I found you last week.”

“I told you, that wasn’t--”

“Shhhhh,” his hand flew to your chin and forced your mouth shut, “I don’t got the time for this, honey. I’ll be around tonight and you’ll wear a pretty dress for me, won’t you?”

You clenched your jaw and nodded stiffly as his thumb toyed with your lip. He smiled and the tension left his grasp.

“Good girl,” he drew away and squared his shoulders, “you be ready at six and don’t keep me waitin’ again.”

“Yes, sir,” you croaked.

“Mmm,” he nodded with a smirk, “you know, I think I do prefer ‘sir’.” He bent and kissed your lips before you could turn away. You let him and he stood straight again and adjusted his belt, “six o’clock, honey pie.”

[pigeonworks]

Spellbound (We Are Entranced)

A Max Mayfield Character Study Throughout Season 4

Getting up in the morning was hard. It'd been that way for almost a year now. Max would wake up and wish she hadn't. She'd like to sleep forever. It was peaceful there; you know, if you don't count the nightmares.

Yet, her alarm clock still drew her out of bed. Every. Single. Morning.

Dressing in a dirty shirt she'd worn twice this week and a jacket on top, Max headed down the hallway into the living room. At least, that's the best word for it. A shitty trailer is more accurate.

Beer bottles littered the space, but she didn't pick them up. Not this morning; Max didn't have the energy.

Grabbing two Tylenol, she placed them in her mouth before swallowing them down with some water from the sink.

Her mother was nowhere in sight, and when Max checked the bedroom, she found it empty. Lord knows where she was at seven in the morning.

She was probably drunk. She'd been that way recently. Ever since Neil left, that is.

Grabbing her red bookbag, Max made her way out the door. She wasn't hungry enough for breakfast. She was never hungry.

Max watched as Eddie Munson sped away in his van, rock music blaring. Too bad she couldn't drive. Instead, Max had to take the bus. At least she had her Walkman and Kate Bush to keep her sane.

Hopping off the crowded bus, Max rolled her eyes as someone called her name. She didn't want to have a conversation this early in the morning.

"Max! Max!" Taking off her headphones and turning around, she realized the voice was of Ms. Kelly. "Where were you yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I forgot it was Thursday," Max mumbled.

"Well, I'd like to see you today. Come straight after lunch, okay?"

Nodding, Max walked away, placing her headphones back on her ears.

The assembly was... painful. Not only cringey (specifically Jason's speech) but also very... personal.

Entering the gym, Max wandered toward Mike and Dustin. She instantly huffed as she overheard Dustin and Mike arguing about who has a better girlfriend. Of course they were.

"Look, I'm not saying that my girlfriend is better than yours." Yes, you are, Max thought. "It's just that Suzie's, like, a certified genius."

"You do realize El has saved the world twice, right?" Mike countered.

"And yet you still have a C in Spanish."

The music stopped, and over the microphone, someone screamed, "Let's hear it for our Tigers!"

The crowd cheered, but all Max could pay attention to was Lucas. He stared directly at her as he ran into the middle of the court, and she glanced away. It hurt too much to look at him, even when he waved at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Max saw him frown.

She hated it.

If Max was going to be honest, she totally zoned out. That was until Billy was brought up.

"Think of Jack. Think of Melissa. Think of Heather. Think of Billy ."

He did not just bring up Billy. Max caught Lucas's sympathetic eyes, and she turned away from his gaze. She couldn't do this.

Max decided to zone off once again. She needed to ignore everything. Before she got hurt again. She paid attention when Dustin and Mike somehow didn't know how a tournament works. How do they not know this basic information? They really are nerds.

After lunch, Max made her way to Ms. Kelly. In the hallway, she caught a glimpse of none other than head cheerleader Chrissy Cuningham heading out of her office. That's... weird. Why was she there? Not only that, but she looked... uncomfortable, upset.

Sitting in a chair across her desk, Max listened to her Walkman. It was the last thing keeping her grounded. Music did that for her.

Ms. Kelly's muffled voice came from outside the music. "Can you remove your headphones, please?"

Taking them off her head and clicking the button, Max responded with, "Sorry."

"A 'C in English and a 'C- in Spanish," she said, clearing her throat.

"Yeah."

"Well that's not normal for you," Ms. Kelly said sadly.

"If you say so...."

"How's your mom holding up?"

Max stared at the floor. "She's fine...." She paused. "I mean, she hates the new place, which is, like, yeah, it's terrible, but... she's fine."

Max wanted anything but to be here. She'd instead be forced to go to Hellfire than have to talk about her emotions. Nevertheless, here she was. She was sharing her feelings and talking about her family life. God, she would give anything in the world to leave.

"Is she still drinking?"

Max swallowed hard. "Like, yeah, a little, but... Well, she's working two jobs. So it's not easy."

"Must not be easy for you either with your stepdad gone."

"It's kind of better, honestly."

"Better how?"

"He was an asshole. So there's less... assholery."

"Are you sleeping better?" the woman asked gently.

"Yeah, fine," she lied.

"So no more headaches?"

Max shook her head.

"Nightmares?"

Max flashed back to the one she had last night; Billy being impaled by the mindflayer, its tentacle deep inside his chest. She remembered her screams as she called his name.

"Nope."

Ms. Kelly looked at the floor. She knew. She knew Max was lying.

"Max. What you've been through, what you're still going through, it's a lot for anyone," she said as Max fumbled with her headphone cord. "And it's okay to not be okay. But I can only help you if you're truthful, if you open up to me."

"Yeah, I... I know. I'm- I'm being open."

Ms. Kelly sighed.

"I'm being open," Max repeated, though her face said otherwise. Jesus, why did she have to be such a bad liar?

She was so relieved when Ms. Kelly finally excused her.

Exiting the office, Max didn't even notice Lucas until he called her name.

"Max, hey."

Goddamnit. She wasn't in the mood to try and hold a conversation with him. "Are you stalking me or something?"

"Oh, no, I- I just wanted to give you this." He handed Max a piece of paper.

"What is this?"

"A ticket to the game."

Max turned her head towards him and rolled her eyes. Then, marching away, she became frustrated as he followed.

"Listen, I know you never want to go to my games, but this one is kind of a big deal," Lucas continued.

"A big deal?" Max scoffed. "Lucas, you really care about this?" she questioned, still walking.

"Yeah- I- I do. Maybe you should find something you care about too."

Max paused. What did he just say? She stopped, spun around, and glared.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Max saw his face turn to ' oh shit' and paused.

"You're just... It's- it's like you're not even here anymore," Lucas responded hesitantly. He looked so nervous. God, all she did was make things worse for other people. "It's... it's like you're a ghost or something."

Looking away, Max felt a wave of guilt and anger wash over her. "A ghost? Really?"

"Max, I know something's wrong," he said.

"...Yeah, right... Yeah, something must be wrong with me because I broke up with you."

Lucas shook his head. "No. That... that's not what I meant."

Max had heard enough. "Lucas, look, people just change, okay? That's it. I've changed. It's that simple." She was so annoyed. So sick of him trying to fix her or something.

Before she entered the bathroom door, Max handed Lucas the ticket back. "Good luck."

She didn't wait to see Lucas's face. As Max hurried in, she quickly pulled out her bottle of Tylenol. She desperately needed them—needed something to calm her.

Max popped down two of them. Suddenly she heard the awful sound of vomit from a stall behind her. Turning around, Max saw a cheerleader's skirt.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah- yes... I'm... I'm fine." Chrissy? Chrissy Cunningham?

"Okay, um... you're sure?"

"Please, just go away." The girl sounded awful. Still, there wasn't anything Max could do for the cheerleader. She wasn't about to snitch on her.

Sighing, Max left the dull restroom, hoping Chrissy was okay.

Max was so glad to leave school. So relieved it was Spring Break.

Earlier that day, Dustin had tried to convince her to play D'n'D with him. Hell no.

As Max climbed onto the bus, she clicked on her Walkman, and Running Up That Hill blasted through it. She found it almost therapeutic—an escape.

It blocked out the obnoxious teens who screamed and yelled in the back, which always seemed to leave her deaf.

Her mom still wasn't back once Max entered her trailer, giving her more time to herself.

Walking into her room, she plopped onto the bed and sighed. Everything seemed so bleak. The single window in Max's room offered little sunlight, leaving her in darkness. It was fitting, though. It's kind of what her world felt like at the moment. cold. Empty.

How was she going to make it through this year? Max didn't think she would. Surely something would prevent her at some point. Things weren't looking up for her. They never were.

If Max could take some more pills, she would. But she'd overdosed at school once. Max couldn't walk in a straight line, and her words slurred together. She wasn't sure how she managed not to pass out that day. No one found out about it. Thank god.

Max must've stayed on her bed for hours because the next thing she knew, it was night. Checking her clock, she realized it was eight. Lucas should be done playing his basketball game right now.

Max really didn't want to, but it felt wrong not to listen to the radio and hear the outcome. So she sat up and tuned in. Instantly, she listened to the announcer.

" After a tragic year for our town, the Tigers have brought home the conference title for the first time in twenty-two years. " Another man continued, saying, " And what a great game it was, Allen, ending with a dramatic buzzer-beater from benchwarmer Lucas Sinclair! "

Lucas?

Max couldn't listen to the rest. She wasn't about to listen to people talking about him. Turning it off, she sighed, hanging her head.

Outside, a dog started barking. The owners never fed it, so Max had decided to take on that responsibility.

"Alright, alright, I hear you."

Standing up, Max made her way out of her bedroom.

Her mom was passed out on the couch, and Max wondered when she'd arrived. How'd she not notice the sound of the front door opening? Not only that, but how didn't she hear the TV? Whatever.

Cleaning up the empty beer bottles and fetching some chicken, Max strode out the door to the dog.

A second later, Eddie's van sped into the trailer park and halted in front of his house.

He drives like he's being chased or something.

Suddenly, Max spotted none other than Chrissy Cunningham hop out the door and follow Eddie into his trailer.

It took Max a second to fully realize why she was with him, but it all made sense once she did. First, the vomiting went to Ms. Kelly, and now to his house. Chrissy was going through something, so she probably resorted to drugs.

The dog barked once more, so Max continued to feed it. Chrissy and Eddie were none of her business.

When Max finally ran out of chicken, she walked back into her trailer.

That's when something... weird happened.

The lights and TV started to go crazy, and even though she knew it was most likely a coincidence, she couldn't help but wonder... No, it couldn't be. Max didn't want to believe it.

Max heard a scream. Eddie's scream. Sprinting towards the window, she saw him slam open the front door and book it into his van.

She knew he always sped, but this was different. He looked terrified. His driving was more erratic than it usually was too.

Deep down, Max knew something was wrong. She just knew it. Still, it was none of her business. After all, she tended to overthink stuff.

As she slept, nightmares plagued her mind. It'd been nonstop for the past few days. Not only that, but these were different than the usual ones she'd been gifted with after Billy died. These were so realistic, downright terrifying.

Max knew something was wrong.

[matoitech]

other trans ppl r not going to stop drawing trans characters that look like us just bcuz you wish that we would dedicate our time and energy to making exclusively what you personally believe trans characters/art should look like. i dont throw a fit abt how much trans art i see that doesnt look like me and i dont find relatable, thats just how MOST stuff works in the world, i just draw the shit that i DO want to see. grow up and find the ppl making what u want to see bcuz they ARE out there, or make it yourself, or ask for it in a less fucking insanely transphobic way, stop trying to repackage transphobia and pretend its progressive to say certain trans ppl dont exist or r bad to represent and hook me up with all the 'masculine muscular trans man art' everyones always complaining about that apparently just OVERFLOWS out of the internet, id LOVE to see this very real 'problem'.

it always been very hard to find trans characters or art that feels like it represents me, my presentation, my experience, if im not making it myself, but it was never something for me to blame on like specific trans ppl who dont look/present like me bcuz thatd be fucking insane. my solution was to make what i wanted myself. the problem isnt that the art and characters are Too Much XYZ its that we dont have enough of it from ALL experiences and genders and presentations IN GENERAL. we desperately need more of everything and you can ask for that without like throwing other ppl under the bus or showing how stupid you view gender and other trans ppl. fundamentally the way youre looking at this shit is massively flawed and OBVIOUS in how transphobic it is. this isnt even new transphobia its basic 101 shit. can you just shut the fuck up for like 1 minute about how mad it makes you that someone drew a trans man without curves and now its the end of the trans community as we know it and Real Transsexual Art while ignoring that the man who drew it is trans and just doesnt have curves. are you capable of wrapping your mind around that bcuz if youre not i have news for what your real Issue is

every so often i have to complain abt the 'theres too much art where trans ppl look basically cis' thing bcuz its so like completely not based in reality at all it makes me feel insane. ppl arent ever even complaining about stuff thats legitimate to want represented like gnc trans art, fat trans art, no op trans art, etc, theyre just like. pretending theres a 'problem' that neither exists nor would even be an actual problem if it was happening bcuz trans ppl can look all sorts of ways and ever trying to say that we should or only can look xyz Is Transphobia. 'it makes me so mad to see CIS PEOPLE with TOP SCARS, thats not REAL TRANS ART' shut the fuck up! you are such a deeply unpleasant person on top of being stupid and transphobic. humans arent that sexually dimorphic anyway we dont live in a fucking disney universe how does anyone even need to explain this to other trans ADULTS. what the hell are you even talking about! what does any of this even mean! if youre not an artist yourself can you just explain out specifically what youd like to see represented more in a way that isnt being a total jackass or is that too hard for ppl online

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

[tom-holland-parker]

Drafted

Summary: Bucky has to tell you that he leaves tomorrow but not without leaving you with plans for when he gets back

Pairing: 40s!bucky x reader

Word count: 1344

Notes: Broke my heart while writing this because we all knows what happens after he leaves and Jesus Christ it just hurts to think about how y/n is gonna feel when she realizes he not coming back...ughhhh

Masterlist

Bucky had made a lot of choices in his life, but deciding to keep this a secret was the hardest one. The letter remained in his sock drawer for weeks as he contemplated ways to tell you, his guilt eating him alive as the days drew closer

“I got drafted”

He’d practiced those words over and over again trying to find any way to make them sound different. Trying to make them sound better. Maybe a larger part of him was hoping it would all go away if he avoided it but he knew it wouldn’t, not with the way the war was going.

So now here he was with 1 day left to tell you the truth

Bucky took a deep breath as he knocked on your door, smiling when your mother opened it, “Good Evening Ma’am”

“Hello James, Y/N is just getting her shoes on, please come in” She said as she opened the door wider. Bucky stepped in, enjoying the familiar smell of your mother's apple pie coming from the kitchen, “So where will you two be going tonight?”

“We’re going to the Stark expo tonight” You replied as you came down the stairs. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you, wearing the pink dress he loved on you and the necklace he gave you for your birthday last year. “Well look at you all dolled up for me” He said as he kissed your cheek. 

“Not too bad yourself handsome” You chuckled, “We should get going, Mom I’ll be home by curfew love ya”

///

The night was amazing, filled with fun as you and Bucky looked at all the new inventions. As the night went on Bucky glanced at his watch nervously, “Doll we gotta go” You chuckled grabbing his hand, “My curfew isn’t for another two hours”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders as you both quickly jumped into the car he borrowed from a friend, “We’re actually making a quick stop before I drop you off” He said as he began to drive. Your brows furrowed, “Where exactly are you taking me Mr. Barnes?”

He chuckled, “if I tell you it’d ruin the surprise”

You jokingly huffed in disappointment as you looked out the window, watching as the apartment building quickly turned into houses, you were definitely far from home, “Bucky where are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry you’ll like it.” He stopped driving after a few more minutes, parking outside of a small white house with a match white picket fence boarding the lawn. You glanced at him, your face filled with confusion, “A house?”

He chuckled pointing towards the house, “One day I’m gonna buy you that house” You smiled, moving closer to rest your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you. “And we’ll have two kids,” he continued, “and a dog”

“And fireworks every fourth of July” You chimed in, picturing your picture perfect life with Bucky. He’d come home after a long day of work, greeting you with a kiss. You guys would throw a huge barbeque every fourth of July, ending the night with fireworks and s’mores. You watch from the back door as Bucky plays catch with your son while you cradle the sleeping baby girl in your arms.

So many scenarios played out in your head as you rested in his arms, it wasn’t until he placed a small kiss on your temple that you were pulled out of your imagination. You looked up at him, his lips meeting your for a quick kissed before he pulled away from you, “I have to tell you something”

“What's wrong?” You questioned, noticing the look of nervousness and worry on his face. He took a deep breath, here goes nothing, he thought to himself, “I got drafted. I leave tomorrow”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks, you see the countless of boys being drafted and every night you prayed that Bucky would never be added to that list of boys, but as luck would have it here you were. You stood silent, utterly speechless as your eyes filled with tears. Trying but failing to blink them away as you shook your head in disbelief, “No you’re lying. That’s not something to joke about”

Bucky’s heart broke as he watched you process the words he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you”

“How could you keep this from me?” You wiped your tears, it was useless though, the tears just kept falling. Bucky sighed pulling you into a hug before gently holding your face with his large hands, “I’m sorry, If I could change it I would but don’t worry I’m going to come back to you no matter what it takes”

You swallowed the lump growing in your throat, “Promise?” 

He smiled, kissing your forehead, “I promise”

///

The next day you got up extra early, catching Bucky at the bus stop surrounded by the other drafted men who were saying goodbye to the people they loved, “what are you doing here?” he said as he pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you around before letting you go.

You chuckled, “Did you really think I’d let you leave without saying goodbye?”

“No, I figured you’d find some way to see me before I left.” He said with a smile, “So what do you think” he took a step back so you could see him fully. It hurt to see him in his uniform but you couldn’t ignore how good he looked. 

“Well aren’t you a dreamboat” You joked, “I need a picture before you leave”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but smiled for the camera as you took the picture, you smiled as the polaroid printed, “Gotta show our future kids just how handsome you are” 

“Well it’s only fair that they get to see what a catch their mother is” he grabbed the camera, pulling you closer to him as he took a picture of the both of you. “Keep it” you chuckled, putting it in his pocket, “that way all the pretty nurses will know your mine”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “You know I only have eyes for you doll”

“Alright boys, on the bus” the tall man shouted. You watched as everyone said their final goodbyes. You looked at him, not having the guts to say goodbye, “two kids and a dog” You said quietly as tears slowly trailed down your face. It was an unusual way to say goodbye but it was good enough for you.

Bucky nodded, kissing your forehead before pulling you in for a final hug, “and fireworks every fourth of July”

Present day

It took a long time for Bucky to gain the courage to actually go to the museum, every time he thought about going he would chicken out. Too nervous to think about that time in his life. It took Sam weeks to finally convince him to go and now here he was, staring at the exhibit dedicated to people that died in the war.

He rolled his eyes as he saw his face on the screen, “James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes, died during an ambush. His remains were not found, his only belonging found was a picture many say he kept in his pocket at all times. This picture can be found at the end of the exhibit on the photography wall” He heard the guide tell the group of people nearby. 

He sighed making his way to the end of the exhibit, searching the wall for the picture. It took a few minutes but there it was. There was obvious damage, wear and tear from years of being tossed around but he could still see you. He could still make out all the lines on your face, the shape of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He smiled, taking out his phone to take a picture of it. He took one last look at it before deciding he’d had enough for today. He’d come back another day to see you again