#Social gatherings can be a fucking nightmare for me now.

[jules-hoard-of-stuff]

As someone with sensory issues and autism, PLEASE DO NOT PLAY VIDEOS OUT LOUD IN PUBLIC. You have no idea how many times we prepare, ready to be fine with an acceptable amount of noise in an ALREADY noisy environment just to find the regular noise of a few people at the mall suddenly made into the noise of a fucking crowd. And not just that, but y'all playing FIGHT videos??? Or videos of couples arguing??? In fucking public??? I'm so sick of trying to go out and just do things like grocery shop or be with friends and then be interrupted by some jerk who wants to watch a marriage fall apart on tiktok.

It's rude, it's terrible, and while it's not outright ableist, it still sucks for people who have sensory issues and/or need their hearing over other senses. It sucks for people trying to have conversation. It sucks for literally everyone who isn't fucking you.

Wear. Headphones. Or I will take your kneecaps.

my unpopular opinion is that i hate tiktok because now people just publicly watch loud ass videos in public spaces with no regard for anyone else. 100% it was not this bad with youtube, it’s such a different thing with tiktok. put on headphones. you are grown.

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[honeyjars-sims]

2.15 Voices Carry

[As Chantal makes her way to Nico's office, she overhears him talking to Ambrose about Kayla Flemming. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she stops to listen]

Ambrose: This whole thing has just been an absolute nightmare. I knew that bitch would become a thorn in my side at some point.

Nico: Well you can’t expect classy behavior from low-class individuals like Kayla.

Ambrose: I don’t see how you dated her for so long. 

Nico: Me either. Well, she did pretty much anything I asked. Until she started getting mouthy with me. I lost interest really quick after that.

Ambrose: Well, you dodged a bullet. So, what the fuck do we do?

Nico: I don’t know, I’m kind of at a loss. How did she even find out?

Ambrose: That’s what I’d like to know. The way she was talking, she has to know something. 

Nico: Maybe she has someone on the inside.

Ambrose: I wouldn’t put it past her. I’m just worried this will escalate to an official inspection. We’re not prepared for that. We need to make sure no one finds out that the ingredients don’t match what’s on the label. I knew we should’ve stuck with the old seller. He was a bit pricier, but at least his shit didn’t cause reactions.

Nico: Well, I gathered all the documentation I could find for any purchases that could arouse suspicion. Unfortunately I'll have to wait until the paper shredder gets repaired before I can dispose of them, which won't be until next week. 

Ambrose: We should be ok until then. You have them secured, right?

Nico: They’re locked in my desk drawer. No one has a reason to go in there, so it should be fine.

Ambrose: Good. Well, if we’re shredding documents, they’ll need to be replaced with something. If an inspector comes, we need to have something to show them. 

Nico: Already on it. I have Chantal writing some receipts for me.

Ambrose: The social media girl? What did you tell her?

Nico: Oh, I just said the originals were damaged and I needed them rewritten for tax purposes. You know, she reminds me of how Kayla was when we first met. Believes anything I say and does whatever I ask. It’s been fun.

Ambrose: Ugh, you’re not fucking her, are you?

Nico: [laughs] You know me too well. Don’t worry though, I’ll be done with her soon. I’m already getting bored.

Ambrose:  I really wish you’d stop fucking around with these college students. I know we don’t keep them for long, but it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass one day.  We don’t need to worry about this one, do we?

Nico: She does ask a lot of questions, but I just have to give her the puppy dog eyes and flatter her a bit. Then she's eating right out of my hand.

Ambrose: Hmm, we could use her as a scapegoat. She’s already on everyone’s radar after that whole review business went down. It would be easy to deflect some of the blame onto her somehow.

Nico: I thought about that, but I do need her. Like I said, she does whatever I ask, and she is good at the job. I’ve had her doing work that’s way above her pay grade for a while now and she’s none the wiser. Saves us from hiring some graduate who expects a high salary.

Ambrose: I guess if you need her we’ll have to think of something else then. 

[We see Chantal heading towards the exit looking upset. She makes a text]

Chantal: [texting] Hey, it’s Chantal. I think I’m ready to meet with you now.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[itsthatpearl]

layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Hannibal x F!OC

His Amuse-Bouche

Chapter 1: "Run, Rabbit, Run"

AO3 LINK

Beth is a young woman struggling with her past. When her mysterious psychiatrist offers to help her, she finds herself in a situation no-one wishes to be in.

Word count: 2k

Thank you Ziggy and my partner Kris for beta reading <3

TW: THIS IS A HORROR FANFIC. MAJOR DEAD DOVE. SPECIFIC TRIGGERS ARE LISTED, BUT THEY CAN SPOIL THE STORY, SO IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE HORROR AS BEST AS YOU CAN, GO STRAIGHT TO THE STORY.

SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: Mental health issues (depression, ptsd, anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks and dissociating), distressing impulsive thoughts, sexual tension, sexual themes, horror, gore, cannibalism, bad parenting, rough language, violence, drugs, spiked drinks, alcohol, light emetophobia.

----

“Are you still with me?” he asked.

I came back from my own world and looked at him. He looked at me with the same face he always does. You couldn't decipher his thoughts. Maybe he was just a good psychiatrist. Maybe he was dangerous for it. His tone was calm but questioning, almost demanding me back to the present. “Yes, forgive me” I chuckled nervously. “Dr. Lecter, I think I need a moment” I muttered with tears starting to gather beneath my eyes. “What happened to you was truly traumatic. It is merely understandable for you to get lost in those memories when we talk about them. Like Ernest Hemingway said; “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places”. You just need to find what makes you stay strong” he said while staring deep into my eyes. I was too afraid to look back at him. It made me uneasy. There was this weird tension I felt every time our eyes met. I had told myself it was just something my mind created with almost every man I met. Anxiety from being alone with them. Fear of being used. Fear of actually feeling anything especially with men I couldn’t have. Fear of wanting them. Him going down and removing my clothes.

I nodded quickly, took a tissue from the side table and dried my eyes softly while shaking my head. I could still feel my body and mind being on a vacation, but I didn't want him to know I had started dissociating.

“Our time is up, Beth. How do you feel now?” he asked as he always did when our session was done. “I feel good” I said maybe too quickly as I looked at him unable to meet his eyes. “Very well. I’ll see you next week then” he nodded.

I grabbed my jacket and left home as fast as I could. As soon as I got inside my house, I collapsed on the floor. I stared at the wall trying to ground myself.

“THAT’S IT! I AM SICK OF YOU WHINING EVERY FUCKING TIME YOU COME HERE. I AM YOUR FUCKING FATHER, NOT HIM. A PUSSY CAN’T TAKE TWO COCKS AND I AM DAMN SURE IT MINE THAT CREATED YOU SO STOP CALLING HIM YOUR FATHER FROM NOW OR I SWEAR YOU WILL BE SORRY FOR IT.”

I looked at my hand and rubbed each finger slowly looking at the clock. Five hours. It took me five full hours to get through what had felt like a few minutes. I stood up and looked at the door which was still open. I closed it and walked into the kitchen. Fuck. I was actually starting to do it again. I drank a huge glass of water and leaned my back against the counter. My phone buzzed but I didn’t bother to check who had texted me. I opened the fridge to see it full of nothing. I sighed and decided to once again order pizza.

“Stop being a fucking coward. Just jump. It is not so fucking hard. Why do you always have to be such a fucking pussy. You are just like your mother.”

Another nightmare. The sofa was wet from sweat. I groaned and sat up grabbing my phone. I had slept for 20 minutes and it was three in the morning. Sighing I opened the text messages:

*I think I need help*

I turned on the TV and started binge watching The Real Housewives. After four episodes my phone finally buzzed:

*18.00, come to my house, we can have an emergency meeting there*

I stared at the message in silence. His house. Today. I had been Dr. Lecter’s patient for 3 months, and never had he told me he took patients at his house too. I didn’t give it much thought and placed my phone back down. I looked at the time. It was a little over six in the morning. I sighed and continued watching The Real Housewives.

I looked at the ground. The fall was definitely more than three meters. I was shivering. Images of my back and legs breaking flashed through my eyes. I looked back at him. “I don’t know…I don’t think I want to do it” I laughed nervously

I took my jacket and breathed deep. One last look at myself from the mirror. I looked like I hadn’t slept, which made sense. Now I thanked myself for showering yesterday morning, at least I looked like I hadn’t completely lost it. I tried to flash a smile at myself but it made me feel just more insane. I took my phone and keys and left my house.

His house was magnificent. It looked tidy and simple from the outside, just like Dr. Lecter himself too. I knocked at the door sharply at six. I knew he was a punctual person, so I felt it was only polite to be perfectly on time. The door opened revealing Dr. Lecter wearing a dark gray suit. He always looked like he was about to go to a business meeting or a fancy dinner, which made him appear professional. “Good evening, Beth. Please, come in” he smiled and invited me inside. I nodded walking inside as the door closed behind me. I took a coat hanger and hung my jacket politely on the rack. I could already feel the nervousness rising in my body. “Let us talk in the living room, would you like to have something to drink? Perhaps a cup of tea?” he asked. I once again nodded adding “a cup of tea sounds good, thank you”. I walked into the living room as the doctor vanished to the kitchen.

The living room was full of art, a few beautiful chairs and a grand fireplace in the middle of the back wall. It was gray and on the top of it there were photographs in beautiful little frames. Children. One boy and a girl. One had writing on the corner: “Hannibal ir Mischa, Motinos Diena”. There is also a date, but the picture has gone wet at some point from that corner, so I was unable to decipher what it said. “Your tea is ready” I heard behind me. I turned around quickly, blushing. “I am so sorry, I was being nosy” I shake my head and walk to sit down on a chair that is facing him. “It is alright, it is a normal human reaction to start wandering around a new place” he said nonchalantly and handed me a cup. I took it nodding slowly and raised the cup on my lips. It smelled like chamomile. I blew carefully into the cup and took a sip. It was a perfect temperature, which took me by surprise. I was used to burning my tongue with tea, then placing it down and forgetting it until it was cold. But not this time, it was simply ready to be consumed.

“Have you started to see the nightmares again?” he asked, leaning slightly back in his chair. I took a sip out of my cup and placed it down. Fucking hell. How did he know I was here because of that? “Yes. It is the same one. I wake up from the floor and see the door is wide open. Then I walk to the living room and…I see the blood” I stop and look at the fireplace. The fire is dancing gracefully on top of the three logs licking them up and down. I started to actually be consumed by the sight. The fire ate out the wood destroying everything and burning it down. What if he wants to lick me out just like that fire licks the wood- no no NO. Now was not the time for thoughts like this. I shaked my head and tried to get rid of the image I had painted. It was not easy, as my body had already responded with a need for something more than just talking. “And your parents are there, in the bedroom, as always?” I heard him ask. I looked at him and blinked a few times. “Yes. As always. As they were” I nodded. For a moment he looked at me almost like he was entertained, but it disappeared as quick as he opened his mouth. “I see. I think you should see me twice per week now if your condition is taking a worse turn. And I can give you a prescription for a good sleep medication. The same one you had last time” he says and looked at my hand holding the tea cup. I could see he noticed the small indurations my palms had started to form from squeezing my nails into them. I quickly drank down the cup and placed it down covering my palms with my sleeves. “Can I use the bathroom, please?” I asked while looking at the floor ashamed. “Yes, down the hall” he nodded as I stood up and quickly walked out of the living room.

I squeezed my nails into my palms once again and opened the first door I could see. It was dark inside, and I reached out for a light switch. As the light turned on, I could see that this room was not, in fact, a toilet. It was a cleaning closet. The shelves were stacked with bleach, hydrogen peroxide, stacks of single use gloves, and other cleaning supplies. If I knew better, I would’ve said this was a cleaning closet of a serial killer. I closed the door quietly and looked at the other doors. Then I noticed one of them was slightly ajar. I opened it fully to see the bathroom. I went inside and closed the door, locking it. I sat down on the toilet, buried my head into my hands and sighed. When did my head start to feel this heavy?

“If you don’t jump now, I will leave you here. I am sick and tired of you acting this way” he spitted out. I looked at him and shaked my head in silence. “Fine. You know what, I think you can get down by yourself then” he said before jumping down. He walked inside slamming the door behind him. It has started to become dark and there I was. Alone on the roof of the house. And it had just started to snow again.

After I was done I left the bathroom quietly. I walked back to the living room to see it was empty. Maybe Dr. Lecter had gone to the kitchen. I walked to the direction he had vanished earlier to make my tea. The kitchen was tidy, but it was still full. Everything was neatly placed, but I could see he had been in the middle of cooking when I came. Vegetables were cut, everything was ready to be cooked. There was a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Other one was half full, the other empty and untouched. Was he waiting for someone? And why did my head feel so heavy but light at the same time? Was the lack of sleep finally starting to affect me? I almost lost my balance and placed my hand on the counter to steady myself. I needed something with sugar, I hadn’t actually eaten anything the whole day. Maybe Dr. Lecter had juice or anything consumable in his fridge. I couldn’t even think straight anymore. I had to get something into my system. Fighting to keep my eyes closed I staggered closer to the fridge and opened it. I opened my eyes wide in horror. There was a hand wrapped in plastic foil next to the juice. “Viande découpée, I am curing it for tomorrow” a familiar voice purred behind me. “A-are you…do you…..?” I tried to say something but nothing came out of my mouth. The room started spinning and he placed his hand on my cheek and tutted “Shh. Calm down, zuiki. You will be alright”. I collapsed on the floor and fought to keep my eyes open. Last thing I could see was him hovering over me and closing my eyes with a pleased smile on his face. Then everything went black.

----

Next chapter

[stoppit-keepout]

untitled, unfinished, les mis~

the document is called “i'm not gonna write pregnancy fic but” so uh, let that be your guide. :) Relevant tags... modern AU, ciswoman!Grantaire, unplanned pregnancy, and if i end up speed-writing more then there’ll definitely be some nebulously-requited crushes

It seems like Grantaire notices that Enjolras is walking towards her before he himself realises what he's doing. Her eyes catch on him and dart back to Eponine; she's just finishing a sentence as he gets into earshot, stepping out onto the patio of the restaurant they'd gathered at post-meeting.

He nods to them both, then when neither says anything, does his best to continue where they left off. "What's a nightmare?" he asks.

Eponine, now that he can see her face, looks furious. "Might be none of your business," she says.

Grantaire shrugs. "I'm trying to make a decision about how something should go." She has a habit of fidgeting with garnish and straws from her highballs when she orders them; right now she's tying a little paper straw into a soggy knot.

"Anything I can help with?"

"No," Eponine answers for Grantaire.

"Well," Grantaire says. "Talking it through might help."

Some people have said that Enjolras is oblivious to social cues. He's aware that he can sometimes be unaware, but Eponine is not exactly being subtle: he's not precisely wanted here right now. However, for as long as Grantaire keeps propping the door open, he'll do his fucking best. "Is it a plot thing, for one of your comics?"

"Yeah." Grantaire nods slowly. "Just having trouble picking a direction."

"Sounds tough," Enjolras says. "But I'm all ears if you want to talk." Grantaire and Eponine trade an impenetrable look. "Or not, I can just head back inside."

"No, no, you know I love your opinions." When Grantaire smiles like that, sardonic, her one misaligned tooth just barely catches Enjolras's eye. The little bit of asymmetry is weirdly compelling.

"I'll head back to the table then." The words are declarative, but Eponine looks almost like she's asking permission, an impression that's reinforced when she waits for Grantaire's nod before eeling back in past where Enjolras had just emerged. "We'll talk later," quiet.

The lull that comes upon them when Eponine leaves would be enough to make Enjolras feel self-conscious, if he weren't so used to feeling on the back foot with Grantaire. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he says.

"We'd been talking ourselves in circles," Grantaire says. "It's good you're here."

The warmth in Enjolras's gut doesn't need to be examined. "What can you tell me?" he asks.

"Okay, so this one's about a fuckup," she starts. She picks up speed as she talks. "Kind of a self-insert, I guess, just some woman on the verge of thirty who doesn't have a solid life: insubstantial job, insubstantial relationships, insubstantial prospects."

The middle member of the list makes Enjolras squint, but he's loath to interrupt her this early in proceedings. 

"She wants something more solid at some point, but she hasn't made any moves towards creating that foundation." Grantaire's eyes fix back on her straw knot. "Probably a lot of exposition blocks for establishing some of this, I guess. Anyways, she makes bad some bad choices and has ill-advised sex with an ex, and in her drunken state falls back into old habits of contraception–"

"Oh no," Enjolras says. "Are you worried that's kind of cliche?"

That shocks a laugh out of Grantaire. "You know, I wasn't before, but now I am."

"Sorry," said with a wince. "That wasn't what you were asking for help with."

"It wasn't, but it's making me think that I can guess what you're going to say about the main question."

"'Does she keep it?'" Enjolras predicts.

A slow nod.

"Well yeah, I guess that is kind of cliche. But it also makes it," he searches for a word. "Relatable? Relevant?"

"Sure," Grantaire says.

Enjolras doesn't know if he's the right person for this conversation. He isn't creative in the same ways that his friends are, capable of spinning strange and endless yarns that follow some rules of narrative that he's learned but that don't come to him naturally. Jehan would probably give Grantaire better advice. "I'm too pragmatic for this kind of thing," he warns.

"Humour me," she says.

"Okay," he says, as he's been saying more and more to her lately. "I guess the first thing is that I need more information. What's her relationship with her ex like? Are they in the picture?"

"Not remotely."

"Is she going to tell them?"

"Oh," Grantaire says. "Right, I didn't say. It was one of those things where she was the other woman, and he has a whole family—wife, kids, whatever. She tells him, and he wants nothing to do with it."

"Asshole," Enjolras mutters, and Grantaire laughs.

She drags her thumbnail over a crease in her little straw knot, flattening it completely. The paper looks like it should be falling apart in her rough hands, but she's moving very carefully. "She knew what she was getting into."

A brick of ice drops into Enjolras.

Grantaire looks up and immediately away.

"Grantaire," he says. Glacier water in his guts.

She bites another grin at him. "Cliche, huh?"

"Oh my god," he whispers. Nobody's ever confided this kind of thing to him before. Grantaire's never confided anything to him before. He feels vaguely divorced from his body.

Who– there had been that old professor of hers, he thinks blankly. They'd had a thing after she'd graduated, and Enjolras had been horrified but she'd said that he should loosen up, and it wouldn't seem so creepy to him when he was as old and wise as her.

She'd stopped talking about him years ago. She'd had an exhibition last month. The pads of her fingers look white through the glass she's holding.

He frowns. "Is that…"

Grantaire follows his gaze to her empty glass. He hadn't realised how open her face had been until it slams shut.

It doesn't close in time to fully catch the hurt.

"Empty? Yeah," she says. "I should get a refill."

His brain catches up, too late. "That was misogynistic," he tells Grantaire's departing back. "I–"

She's already halfway to the bar, Eponine already falling into step beside her. She must've been waiting for them to finish talking.

"Fuck," Enjolras whispers. Cloying shame slows his thoughts.

Eponine's eyes burn into him. Her hand grabs at Grantaire's sleeve.

Knowing society works to indoctrinate people into stupid, sexist beliefs is one thing, but that first thought… Grantaire's her own fucking person who can made her own fucking choices.

(Something inside him whispers that Grantaire isn't known for moderation. He wouldn't trust her with a child, would he?) 

Eponine is gesturing at the bartender, getting a second one of whatever Grantaire's having.

He doesn't even know if she's keeping it. He doesn't even know how many people she's told. He doesn't know anything.

He shakes his head and finally gets his legs to answer him, carrying him through the doorway and between tables and up to Eponine—

Something splashes onto his face, an instinctive flinch too late to shield him from the fizzy liquid. He only succeeds in getting it on his sleeve too. An ice cube drips down his curls into the collar of his shirt. A gasp, a shock of cold.

Combeferre, Joly, and Musichetta were still at their table on the other side of the restaurant, but one of them must've noticed, because they're getting up and coming over.

Grantaire's at the bar. Her mouth is tight.

"This is her shit," Eponine advises in a whisper. "Don't make me lose any more respect for you."

"I didn't mean— I wasn't thinking," he says.

"Start now."

She turns on her heel and ushers Grantaire upstairs and out of sight. Combeferre's asking Enjolras what happened while Joly gets a bundle of bar napkins and starts cleaning up the floor. Enjolras accepts a couple and starts swabbing his face clean of (and he can't help noticing, he's not trying to know that it's) soda water.

"I said something stupid," Enjolras eventually manages. "Don't worry about it."

[grimm-rider]

Entry 1

My name is Calio Caecos, and I’m a Black Rider of Baba Yaga.

There, I got the important part out at the front.

I’m writing this for my own personal records. In case I forget these things again. Not for anyone else to read it. Hint hint. Turn back now or bear a terrible curse. Or something.

Anyways, it’s been a couple of weeks since my journey started and I’m not going to write detailed daily entries of every little thing we did every day leading up to today or I’ll never catch up to…well, today. So I’ll summarize until I reach our current moment in time.

After trying to travel to Irrisen from Ustalav, I woke up in a…compromised position…in the Taldor border town of Demgazi, on the opposite side of the continent from where I was meant to be. A year later than it was meant to be. And I’m not going into anymore detail than that since I suspect someone other than me might get nosy and start reading this.

Aenland. That means you. Stop reading my journal.

Regardless, after I woke up in unusual circumstances, I went to a cleric to get checked out, due to my…sickly complexion. This is how I discovered both my…unusual allergy to positive energy, and the fact that despite it I don’t detect as undead of any sort. The priest wanted to preform some other prayers and rituals or something on me, but I was tired of holy men, and wasn’t quite sure what he’d end up doing if none of his little rituals worked. So I slipped away.

It was not long afterwards that I discovered my new magic and ability to call on negative energy—and the knowledge of how to scribe the spells into scrolls. I remained in town for one day to make some scrolls, then began making my way north.

I didn’t get far. Heldren, specifically. About as far South in Taldor as you can get without being right on the border. There I was roped into helping save a forest from an unseasonable winter that had mysteriously occurred along with three others.

First was a fellow Irriseni named Edeya—a beautiful woman with a talent for witchcraft. Next was a literal bear wielding an axe named Nestian—yes, a literal furry grizzly bear, not a gay bear. I don’t know his particular preferences. He might not have any as far as I can tell, he doesn’t really seem to have a strong reaction to much of anything or anyone. Last and certainly least is Aenland, an absolute nightmare of an elf. Take all the features that make elves beautiful and exotic, exaggerate them until they’re uncanny, stretch him out for good measure, and you have Aenland. He has creepy bug eyes, his limbs are far too long and thin for his body, he’s always smiling that creepy smile, and his hair is infuriatingly perfect. He is a sleep paralysis demon given flesh. And he seems to have made it his goal to be as infuriating as he is creepy. I hate him. So much. Everything about him makes me unreasonably mad. He has no social graces. He’s patronizing and looks down on anyone who isn’t an elf. He charges headfirst into sensitive topics with the subtlety of a charging rhino. He doesn’t know when to shut up and keep private information to himself. And as far as I can tell he’s totally oblivious that he’s doing anything rude.

And Aenland, if you didn’t take my words to heart and quit reading my journal prior, I want you to know: I wholeheartedly mean every word I say. Also fuck off and quit reading my journal.

Oh there’s also Edeya’s familiar I suppose. Snezhinka, an arctic fox. When we first met Edeya, the fox was pretending to be a stole around her neck, but after we left town and I called out Edeya on her obvious Irriseni origins, she had Snezhinka stop the act and introduced us.

After we gathered some information, and learned of one missing Lady Argentina, we headed to the bubble of eternal winter covering the normally warm Taldan forest. Along the way, Aenland asked us obnoxious invasive questions. I had a…friendly wrestle…with Edeya, to try to decide who would be subjected to Aenland first. I won, but unfortunately Aenland decided I would be next regardless. His questions were as annoying and intrusive as I’d expected and I gave the most barbed pointed replies I could muster—which he seemed completely oblivious to.

Finally, we made it to the bubble of winter and were free from Aenland’s incessant talking. There we found an overturned carriage, and fought some zombies within. My first foray with the undead—a very fascinating experience. We found Lady Argentina’s signet ring within the carriage, and continued on our way.

In the forest we faced fey, ice elementals, another fey riding a giant elk pretending to be a forest spirit, and a handful of bandits. Nestian didn’t want to kill the bandits, so we knocked two unconscious and I spooked the other two into running back to their camp with their tails between their legs. We woke one of the unconscious ones, questioned him—spooked him a bit—and got some information on Lady Argentina’s whereabouts. We had him lead us to their fortress.

Despite the bandit we were leading attempting to use his own body to set off a trap, we made our way through the fortress and cleared it out easily.

Well, I say easily. At one-point Nestian was surrounded by enemies and bleeding out, and Aenland spent part of the fight frozen in place by the necromancer leader Rohkar’s Hold Person spell. And Edeya was bleeding out so badly she could hardly think straight at one point. So okay maybe this wasn’t that easy of a fight. Maybe I’m just that good at keeping myself alive. Mostly alive?

…Alive. I’m alive. Detect undead doesn’t work on me, so clearly I’m still alive. Despite anything Nestian has to say about me smelling like death.

Anyways, despite any setbacks, the end result was Aenland knocking out Rohkar, me convincing this girl Nestian really wanted to leave the fight to leave, Nestian killing a shitton of people and seeing some weird fey creature flee into the woods, and on the outskirts Edeya keeping everyone else alive with her healing and using Evil Eye to weaken enemies.

We found Lady Argentina in a basement, I gained her trust by returning her signet ring, and we let her out and told her we had some prisoners we intended to question. When she heard one was Rohkar she insisted she be there to question him herself. We agreed. She had a strong personality and I for one QUITE enjoyed it.

When we woke Rohkar, Lady Argentina started our questioning by immediately slapping him and demanding answers. Then before he could actually answer she slapped him again.

Did I mention I like this lady?

Rohkar told us that they plot to kidnap the Lady had been concocted by the fey, and was part of a greater Irriseni plot, although he didn’t know the details. All he knew was that the leaders of the fey in this area were an Ice Mephit named Izozai and a Moss Troll named Teb Nottin.

After the others asked their questions about his plans and the eternal winter around us—which we learned was caused by a portal straight to Irrisen—I asked my own questions. Namely about Rohkar’s necromancy and what a necromancer gained from following the god of murder, Norgorber.

He gave his answer, that if he killed someone and raised them in Norgorber’s name, and then they killed someone, and then he raised them and they killed someone, it was a growing wave of death all in the name of the god of murder. He also told me a bit about the actual workings of necromantic spells—the necessity of always having onyx gems on hand to use as a material component, because the spells to raise the dead consume an amount at a rate determined by the power of what you try to bring back. Although the scrolls I took off him won’t need those. Which meant I had one free big hitter I could make.

I looking back feel like I’ve used it wisely.

Anyways after that enlightening conversation, we went to bed. We had a little detour back to town to cure Edeya of a disease, get a reward from Lady Argentina, and meet Nestian’s family (literal bears. Not talking shapeshifting bears like Nestian. Literal four-legged cave bears.)

Then it was back on the road to the winter portal. We fought some of Rohkar’s scraps (some icy skeletons left behind), some (very flammable) living trees, and finally the Mephit and an ice elemental.

She wasn’t as threatening as we’d expected, honestly. The ice elemental took longer to kill.

Then came something that…left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m not going to just summarize this part because…well I’m just not. It feels like more should be said about it. That’s all.

We came upon a Haunt.

Aenland was the first to see it. A young boy ran across his path. He begged to be left alone, then vanished into the boulders ahead of us. Aenland went ahead of us and tried to talk to the boy. The child poked his head out of the rocks—but instead of talking to Aenland, he addressed a ‘Mrs. Vasillanova’.

That’s a name we’re going to hear a lot more going forward. It’s one I hate. And its owner is going to get what she deserves and oh so much more when I get my hands on her.

At this point I recognized the Haunt for what it was, and informed Aenland that what he was seeing was not a true ghost, but a memory of a child caused by something terrible and traumatic happening. We had seen a strange doll laid out within a cabin on the top of the icy cliff ahead of us, and I let the others know that it was likely the key to calming the Haunt. Until then we had to be on guard, because Haunts were usually extremely dangerous and malevolent things.

Aenland saw that our path was blocked by some sort of magic—likely something that would trigger the Haunt. Nestian decided to take a different approach, and began using his claws to climb the side of the ice cliff directly. Then he threw down a rope so the rest of us could follow.

As we moved through this area we continued to hear from this poor child. First, he was yelling in anger at Vasillanova, telling her he just wanted to go home, and he didn’t want anything to do with her ‘stupid doll’. Then there was a more quiet and tearful moment, in which he was talking to someone named Thora, and he said he didn’t think he would be coming back.

As Aenland crossed onto the plateau, the doll activated from his proximity. He was hit by a Ray of Frost from the doll—which was actually a Guardian Doll. A construct powered by a soul gem in its left eye—in this case a particular twisted creation considering it appeared Vasillanova had decided her souls of choice were children.

Nestian charged the doll. It locked him with its gaze and tried to cast a mind dominating effect on him as it said in the little boy’s voice “You want to help Dominik, don’t you?”, but Nestian was stronger than the doll and shrugged it off.

I hit the cursed thing with a Ray of Sickening—as despite being a construct this particular creature was susceptible to these types of attacks, perhaps due to its reliance on a soul. Edeya hit it with an Evil Eye.

Then Aenland decided to get fancy and try to get into flanking position instead of just going for what was closest or just shooting the damn thing. And so instead of getting to hit it at all, he got stabbed in the ribs by a freezing cold dagger and became paralyzed by cold. Again.

Fucking Aenland.

Anyways Nestian managed to keep him from getting his throat immediately slit by grabbing the doll and cutting straight through it in one final expect chop—soulgem and all.

We were all pretty quiet afterwards, and moved on quickly after Aenland and I confirmed that the Haunt was really gone.

I’m going to kill that bitch Vasillanova. And I’m going to make her into a bloody skeleton so her soul is trapped in service to me, for a long long time. I’m going to make sure she understands the same suffering every single child she murdered felt, tenfold.

…Anyways. After that we had an encounter with a giant white weasel, which Nestian calmed and helped us pass by without a fight. And from there we were almost at the heart of the forest—and the winter portal.

The snow storm had grown unbearable here, we could barely see an inch in front of our noses, and it was incredibly difficult to walk without snowshoes. Ah. Just like home.

Man I never quite realized just how much Irrisen sucked as a kid.

We ended up in a fight with a fey in these conditions, if you could really call it that. A bunch of blind swinging in the snow, on both sides. Our blind swinging was just better.

Then we reached the eye of the storm.

There was no snow where Teb Nottin awaited us. Trees surrounded a clearing, and the snow swirled around us, spat out of a portal in the center. The moss troll put up a fight—he did a number on Aenland when the elf got too close. But I set him on fire, and he panicked when that happened and looked like he was going to actually turn and run. But Nestian cut him down before he could.

I regretted not turning him into a bloody skeleton then and there, but it’s okay. I got one that’s just as good later. I…ended up distracted by other things a moment later.

See, this is when we met the Black Rider.

This is when we witnessed the Black Rider’s final moments of life, and each agreed to an oath—for our own differing reasons—to take on the mantle of the Black Rider, save Baba Yaga, and stop Queen Elvana. The Black Rider laid back into the snow, and the last life left his body after his power joined with us.

Aenland was seeking a weapon to kill a Demon Lord. I was seeking answers—and somehow the Black Rider knew me, even though I shouldn’t have been back to Irrisen before, so I knew the answers about my missing year were tangled up in all this. Nestian wanted to protect his family from Queen Elvana, who they’d already fled from once. And Edeya…Edeya was the most mysterious of the lot. Yeah even more than me. When Edeya hesitated to take the cloak, the Black Rider looked her in the eye and said “Edeya Karanasi take the cloak, it is your destiny”. Karanasi was the name of the former head of the Winter Witches, before she mysteriously died in the Vale of Tears twenty years ago. So at the time that gave me some suspicions that she was probably directly related to at least some of the Winter Witches. She has since confirmed that her parents were Winter Witches, and she was slated to join their ranks—but she decided she wanted to do something better with her life.

Good for her.

I’m curious what caused her change of heart. The Winter Witch position comes with a lot of perks and power. There must have been some sort of catalyst to push her into deciding to leave that all behind. But for now, I’m leaving that be. I like Edeya, so unlike Aenland, I know how to keep my nose to myself and respect other’s secrets when they aren’t immediately relevant to me.

Although if we ever find ourselves alone, and in a place where we can’t be easily overheard, I might just ask her…

Anyways, we gained the power of the Black Rider, the old Black Rider died, we’re Geassed to seek out Baba Yaga, and so we stepped through the winter portal and into Irrisen—some of us for the first time.

Not me. For me this was a long overdue homecoming.

At least it feels long overdue. From how the Black Rider was talking…it sounds like maybe I was in Whitethrone recently? In my own memory I’d never been to Whitethrone. But in my own memory I’d not returned to Irrisen since I was a child, so there we have it.

We walked for a while, before we ran into a giant mantis attacking a man and a woman. The man was injured, in its mouth, and clearly not a warrior. The woman was holding her own with a fiery handaxe and a pick. She saw us and called for help in Skald—the native tongue of Irrisen for those not in the know—and I answered in agreement. It’s not like we had anything better to do, and having locals on our side rather than against us would do wonders for our journey. Plus, I was sure Nestian and Aenland were probably a hair’s breath from helping whether she asked or not.

I told the others, and we jumped into action, helping to slay the giant insect and saving the man before he could be torn apart. The woman—Nadya—thanked us and asked some questions about where we’d come from and why we were here. Aenland was…incredibly too honest for where we were. But it worked out in our favor, as it turned out Nadya had reason to hate the Winter Witches, and was immediately willing to help us if we were working against them.

It turned out her daughter, Thora, had been kidnapped by one Nazhena Vasillanova. We remembered hearing both of those names during the Haunt we’d passed through, and informed Nadya of it. She said she knew Domonik’s father and would give him the grim news. As for Thora…fortunately Vasillanova was in Whitethrone at the moment and had left her lover Radosek Pavril in command of the Pale Tower. While he was still a vile man, he was far less likely to have killed Thora.

As we were getting ready to rest for the night, I spent some time alone. Just…thinking about some things. I had some words with the symbol of Norgorber I took from Rohkar. Before I really got anywhere though I got rudely interrupted by Aenland. There was a fey woman singing at the edge of camp and he wanted me to come with everyone else to check it out.

And thus, we met a fey named Miriam. She appeared to be a pleasant and sweet girl who just wanted friendly company to wait out the cold night with.

Looks can be deceiving.

We talked. We told her about ourselves. Aenland told her far more than necessary. Again. She asked many questions and seemed very interested, hanging on our every word. But it all seemed like a totally friendly chat at the time. The next day we parted ways as the people in camp were suspicious of her and she felt going into town would be dangerous. Supposedly.

We only learned days later just how deep her deceptive nature ran.

In town, Aenland and Edeya noticed that the people in town seemed to all look weirdly like the people in Heldren, and the buildings were identical. After come talk about how weird it was, Nestian came up with an intriguing theory (which turned out to be right). Heldren and this village were connected by a leyline, and that natural magic had in some way affected the way the people looked and the way the town was ultimately set up.

With that strange mystery solved, we first went to Nadya’s house to plan our assault on the Pale Tower (and to meet Nadya’s sons, their grandmother Katcha, and her home’s Domovoi, Hatch.) Afterwards we went to the local tavern, where we got a reception almost as icy as the weather outside. And the barkeep’s wife tried to drug us with tea that had a suggestion effect on it so that she could try to make us leave town—something Nadya after the fact realized they must have done to other travelers in the past, who had mysteriously packed up and left without warning for no clear reason after going to the tavern. We didn’t out them in the tavern in front of Nadya, but Aenland and I both caught onto what was going on. Aenland decided he was going to take all of the tea to go, and when the barkeep’s wife tried to argue, Aenland asked if I had anything I wanted to say about the tea. Getting the hint, she let us take the tea. Aenland rubbed it in further when he suggested some mead for the table.

…He can be okay sometimes. On very rare occasions.

We returned to Nadya’s house not long afterwards, and had our own drinking contest with Katcha. Things were a bit of a blur after that. That old lady can really hold her alcohol. And so can Nestian. I mean yeah, he’s a bear. Edeya even tried to help give me an edge by Evil Eyeing Nestian once. Or maybe she was just Evil Eyeing someone at random. I don’t know—she was doing it to prove she wasn’t a buzzkill because she was the only one not drinking and I was poking a little fun.

Aaaanyways all this to say, I was fucking wasted when the next thing happened.

This compact mirror we’d taken off Teb Nottin’s body began vibrating.

I took it out and began examining it. Finally, I opened it. The face that was in the mirror wasn’t my own. It was a man with greasy brown hair, bad facial hair, and a big forehead. The man wasn’t looking at me, and was talking as though he were talking to Teb Nottin. I laughed and gleefully informed him that Teb was dead.

The man froze and looked at me now. I was expecting a ‘who the hell are you?’ or a ‘what do you mean Teb is dead’ or maybe even a ‘you’ll pay for killing my troll!’. Instead he asked “Calio, is that you? Why are you back here?”

That threw me off balance—and I was already off balance from the alcohol. My response was something along the lines of “How do you know me, I don’t know you?”

The man immediately flew into a rage, ranting that I shouldn’t have come back, and that if he saw me he was going to kill me, before the compact turned back into an ordinary mirror.

I stared at my bewildered reflection for a long moment, wondering if I’d just imagined that entire thing in a drunken haze or if it had really happened (spoiler alert: it really happened). Then I went back to sleep.

Not for long because soon Hatch was pawing at me in a panic and saying we were under attack. So I helped wake Edeya up, and we all fought a bunch of Pale Tower guards who had come to arrest Nadya for…something? Maybe harboring us, but I’m not really clear. Honestly it doesn’t matter, since when did the White Witches need a legitimate reason to spirit people off?

Hatch directed us back to the tavern we’d nearly been drugged at before, where Nadya had gone to face the Pale Guards’ captain. We made our preparations and then made a beeline for the tavern.

At the tavern Aenland went around the side to peek in through a window, then motioned for the rest of us to make our move. Nestian burst in, taking down a Pale Guard along the way. Aenland shot the captain, and I saw an opening. I used a lovely little spell I’d gotten ahold of called Boneshaker and ripped the skeleton from the man’s body.

With a touch of the symbol hidden in my pocket, I raised the skeleton again and had it trip up one of the other guards.

The symbol felt warm in response.

Anyways we cut through the pale guards without any trouble. And those assholes, the tavernkeeper and his wife, decided to side with them.

Hilarious thing. Turns out his wife was channeling negative energy using a very familiar symbol.

She channeled negative energy and the look on her face when it didn’t affect me was just…priceless.

What was even more priceless was the look on her face when I turned it back on her with inflict moderate wounds, pulled her in close, and told her “you’re not the only one who kills in his name”, and let that be the last thing she ever heard.

That felt really good.

Aenland didn’t take kindly to me taking his kill (he’d wanted to kill the tavernkeeper’s wife, but after I saw her unholy symbol I knew I just had to be the one to do it), so he killed the tavernkeeper and was saying something to him about how I heal from negative energy as he did, which just seemed to confuse the man in his last moments.

Afterwards we found another of those little mirrors on the captain. That reminded me of what had happened the night prior, so I told everyone about what had happened. I described the man I’d seen, and Nadya identified him as Radosek Pavril. So apparently the person who is head of the Pale Tower currently and lover of Nazhena fucking Vasillanova knows me somehow.

Well, knew me. Past tense now.

I ended up explaining to the others about the hole in my memory, since I had no other explanation for where Pavril knew me from. Afterwards Edeya jumped in on the ‘revealing secret truths’ train and told us that her parents were Winter Witches, and she’d been slated to be one before she ran away.

Knew it. Totally called it.

Anyways, we got Nadya back home. She had a happy reunion with Hatch. The house spirit had promised if we got her back then he’d help us with the Pale Tower. He used to work there once upon a time, and he knew the passcodes for all the teleporters between floors. He also knew the dangers on the road between here and there.

And so we disguised ourselves using the clothes of the Pale Guards we’d killed and made our ways to the Pale Tower. We didn’t run into the monstrous crow guarding the road because of our disguises, and I talked our way inside by saying we were expected by Pavril and he wouldn’t want to be kept waiting.

Inside, the courtyard was being patrolled by an Ice Troll, and guarded by a frozen construct.

I set a second troll on fire. Wonderful trend to keep going.

You know what’s even better? I got to make up for my regret of not using my animate dead scroll to raise Teb Nottin. I raised this particular Ice Troll as a bloody skeleton, who we’ve taken to calling Reggie. Naming him was Aenland’s idea. He insists you have to be friends with the undead you make, and I fear if I didn’t play along he may well have broken my new toy.

Reggie helped Nestian and Nadya to finish off the ice construct.

We had Reggie break through the main doors while we went through the smaller side doors. We fought a water elemental, then a number of Pale Guards—including some that Reggie got the jump on while on their break, and a second captain who had the key to the teleporter.

We teleported up to the second floor, fought a shapeshifter that tried to pretend to be Lady Argentina, Reggie killed two fey who were completely ineffective against him, and then we entered a room with two ice statues.

I approached the largest doors to see where they went. When I did, the nearby mirror began reflecting Radosek Pavril. He questioned who dared to try to invade his tower. He seemed surprised to see me. He told us we should leave or be crushed. I told him to say hi to Reggie. He broke character for a moment to say that me making his minion into a bloody skeleton was really friggin awesome. Which it is. Anyways we told him we’re coming for him, he seemed to want to say something but like with the Black Rider he couldn’t seem to. Then he said come if we could make it to him. The mirror turned back to a mirror.

And I got hit by a lady with a sword.

Oh and this is the part I was foreshadowing when I said Miriam wasn’t all she appeared to be. Because she showed up here helping the lady with a dragon claw trying to gut me.

Turns out just because a fey can feel remorse doesn’t mean she’ll be any less likely to join a bunch of child murdering assholes. She was apparently originally tasked by Queen Elvana to kill the Black Rider before the queen killed him herself, so then when Aenland went and spilled the beans about the Black Rider and our new role, she decided that she was going to learn more about us and find a chance to kill us instead.

Bitch.

I managed to survive. Between Aenland, my own inflict wounds scroll, and Nestian finishing the clawed woman off, she didn’t manage to finish me off first. And as such I called up my last inflict moderate wounds and pumped it into Miriam—because I wanted her to die for stabbing us in the back.

Nestian and Reggie dealt with the ice statues, which had come to life after the mirror turned back into a mirror. Miriam took a stab at me with a flaming blade, then made a run for it. I stabbed her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her.

Aenland got this kill. He dashed after her as she made her escape, and took the final shot.

He was weirdly distraught afterwards. I can’t fathom why he’d mourn someone who betrayed us and just tried to kill us. She was never really our friend. She used his kindness and his naivety against him.

We found the key and some other items of interest, then took the teleporter up to the next floor—the aviary.

There we fought a sylph who seemed to somehow know Nestian—although Nestian didn’t know him back. Nestian didn’t seem to have any holes in his memories like me. So we have no idea what’s going on there.

We managed to get another key, and entered the final teleporter.

On the final floor we stood before an army of ice elementals.

Pavril whirled around and activated a huge mirror behind him. In the mirror was Queen Elvana herself, along with a bound Milani worshipper. She was annoyed with Pavril for ‘interrupting dinner’. When Pavril tried to tell her about us, she said she already knew about us. She spoke each of our names, and said she had been scrying on the Black Rider’s death. She already knew all about us. She said if he wanted to be the only one punished for this and not Vasillanova as well, then he should kill us now. Now leave her to dinner. And then she called two *fucking dragons* to rip the Milani worshipper apart, and the mirror turned back to a regular mirror.

Pavril turned back to us, and said ‘Well. You heard the woman.’

And so there were no more words. We fought. We killed the ice elementals. His familiar, some creepy goat that talked in abyssal and shot ice out of his mouth, fought back. I slipped through and got the first strike on Pavril himself with an inflict spell. He tried to curse me in return.

Bitch.

Reggie joined me in beating the crap out of Pavril. Pavril stepped away and in one final desperate bid he began throwing a cloud of snowballs at us—but they were not horribly effective. Then Aenland followed up with one final arrow that pierced him in the head—killing him.

A moment later Nestian slayed the familiar, and it vanished in a cloud of locusts and blood.

We found Nadya’s daughter and reunited them. Then—with Edeya’s help (And Aenland’s…attempted help…)—I closed the winter portal. We were officially stranded in Irrisen.

[ladydeubug]

The Tenth Love

but numbers are just numbers really, even though it feels like a blessing being able to count them:

begins

grows

solidifies

breaks

rebuilds

and breaks

re-rebuilds

and breaks

AND BREAKS

but keeps on rebuilding until there’s no more breaking

still, rationalizing their meanings to me is a waste of time. as if time isn't to be wasted and savored and hated and flavored of moments that take you back from craving death. and time is an enemy at the same time it's a friend, and making you love is its only debt.

The First Love

is to the ones who gifted love. It is to teach how to love and who to love. It is to make you need it or to make you fear it. It is made of your pillow and it sounds like a lullaby. It is to fight away nightmares and let dreams come by. It is ethereal, it is Agape, it’s far from perfect but it’s suave. You’ll never know when it leaves you, but many say you’ll be left with an ungrounding pain.

Until then.

The Second Love

is somewhat doubtful. Nobody actually yearns for closure with their cousins unless it’s for pleasure. In my case, for my parents’ pleasure of knowing their kid is socializing with their siblings’ kids.

And to me, the thin line between Love and Hate doesn't make them the opposite. That thin line may as well be the ends of one’s fingertips interlaced with the beginning of the other’s hand. So I do feel something for my grandparents after all, and this hatred comes back like a mirror when I realize how villainous it sounds. Meh.

But if they stop holding hands and part ways, the vacuum now created is named Indifference, and the gap is so big it’s enough for all my uncles and some aunts to fit.

This love is necessary to make you understand two things about being human: that everybody is flawed and constantly in hurt, and that nobody knows what they're doing with their life. This love is humbling, it's dumb, it teaches empathy, and maybe how to cook. You learn to make faces and to hold a grudge, and you finally understand the family you were born to.

The Third Love

gets deep within your guts. It is one that makes your stomach churn and turn, and you love it. It is one that blows your brain into pieces and you're left collecting it from the floor. It is one that teaches you how cruel flowers can be and how fucked humanity is. It teaches you to curse.

It is one that makes you see letters and numbers and symbols and images floating around your head and leaves you the choice to love them or hate them. This love respects this choice because it actually matters to them and they know your worth. It is a love that battles the world with you because they remember very well what it's like to be the only soldier in your platoon. And they've been to enough parties to know how lonely they can be. They've been drunk many times to remember how sour the taste can be. But they have gathered all their guts and their organs from the floor and they loved it. And they keep fighting to make you as sadistic and as miserable as they are. But in reality, all this love can be is deep and big, like the stars we see in space telescopes, not the ones we blindly look at in the sky.

The Fourth Love

is a star we blindly gaze at from a clear sky. It shines naively and makes you forget it is just a big mass of gas, really. This love is silly, and it feels like a new first (it isn't like The First Love, but rather a first love). It is silent, so you stay silent. It is undemanding, so you stay undemanding. It is innocently desirable, and you stay desirable. It is estranged, but you keep it that way to not make the ‘e’ go away. It makes Love and Hate stare at each other’s hands until Indifference leaves, but it never does, and you swear to yourself you don't care, that you're okay (and maybe you are). And though you never swore to keep it a secret, it remains unspoken as it doesn't want to make itself heard. And gets weird and weirder as you remember the scene that used to constantly run through your heart, and did you really think that was romance? And your heart doesn't know how to dance, but it stomps its feet to the beat. It used to be a cute love, and it used to hurt like a bitch, but Indifference wins over one more time, as you really don't care to come back and fight.

The Fifth Love,

and this is the one that moves me the most, is one that is so selfless it forgets to be jealous, so breathtaking it forgets likes air, so faithful it forgets religions, so infuriating it forgets to be angry, so loud it forgets to be quiet, so silent it forgets to scream. It can be so childish while being so mature and be so empty while tempting to be full. This love encapsulates you and gravitates around you because it knows you’d do the same, even if you never do. The meanings mean and what goes unsaid is known, while the avoided is forgiven and all bad undone. It is so happy that is sad because they would do anything to make you happy when it does or does not make them happy. It is so small it wouldn't fit in hate, but so big it would fix the entire planet. It is so sorry it forgets to be apologetic and so punk it forgets to be polite. It is so thankful that you forget what this word means when repeated tirelessly, but you are quickly reminded through their actions. It is so lovely that people forget that it is Love and so hated some forget to say I love you. Either way, what is known can go unsaid and it stays beautiful and painless as it ever was because it is as simple as it's supposed to be.

The Sixth Love

is romantic. When I think about it, I think of a boy who loved me. He did because I said I did. I did love our conversations, and I love waking up to his texts. I did love that he was a nerd and a metalhead. I loved that he found me interesting and that he was happy for me coming to terms with my gender. I loved that I could be friends with his friends and that he’d be my friends’ friend. I loved that my parents liked him and rooted for us. I loved that I felt like a normal teenager, until I didn't. Because out of a sudden, this love I thought I felt for him fell down the hill on a lake. And I saw the truth reflected there:

.miʜ ϱnivol bǝvol υoY

The Seventh Love

(I know this is too extent, sometimes you don't think there's much to say, but suddenly there is) is for thyself. (ok now im at loss for words. i still struggle to understand that one. cant expect me to be certain of what im writing. sorry for letting you down on this one. ill come back with something better once i figure it out.)

(im back. i must be a disappointment. still have nothing.)

Back Again. Forget all the apologizing, I'm not sorry, you should be. Reading into my thoughts and feelings that way, are you not ashamed? You got yourself relating a bit too much there, am I right? Shame on you. All this bullshit I wrote is MY shit, only MINE.

I AM SORRY FOR THE PREVIOUS PARAGRAPH THAT WAS MEAN AND I DON’T MEAN ALL THAT ONLY THE PART WHERE I SAY THESE THOUGHTS ARE MINE IS TRUE CAUSE I KNOW IT DOENS’T NECESSARILY APPLY TO EVERYONE THE SAME SO SORRY

(and i still don't have an answer on seventh love.)

The Eighth Love

is similar to the Sixth because there were also lakes and hard truths (at least this time there were no ‘I love you’s). This love is sensual. It is the want to kiss, cuddle, go out and have fun, stay in and watch TV, be in love, and stay in love. But this love isn't those things. This love is wanting when I can never have. This love is the fear of love.

The Ninth Love

is dedicated to the ones who couldn't read the signs. It is there for the ones who didn't know the unsaid, or for those that didn't want to mean. This love is a graveyard for those I couldn't name a love and those who refused to love back.

As you know, a graveyard is basically composed of tombstones, flowers, the weather, and an altar. The tombstones of each one I still love are ornamented in three different ways: Hatred, Indifference, and [redacted].

Hatred is for friends who hurt someone I love, something I care about. It's for the neighbor who has no mercy, who has no empathy. Hatred is for the greedy, for the unsatisfied who will step on others’ backs to achieve their peace of mind and make it everybody else’s problem, for those whose peace of mind is disgusting and dishonorable, it is for those who, deep down, I know don't deserve to live but still do because who am I to know it.

Indifference, as you may have guessed, is for my distant family, the ones that hurt while I'm still bound to their disgraceful blood (my disgraceful blood). It is also for those whose friendship and attention I craved, for those who had bigger goals than to rely on me, and those who shore too bright to let me rely on them.

[Redacted] isnt its actual name. Its real name is much too strong to be displayed (more than love, more than any english word). It is for those who I forgot I once loved, for those whose love was too grand for me. One Angel is buried there (hopefully im buried in their graveyard too).

The flowers vary in specimen and quantity. If the metaphor inst clear yet, ill tell you that they represent the amount of thought, energy, and love (or hate or indifference or [redacted]) I put into them, in hopes of it flourishing into something better next time.

The Sun is my happiness, the Rain is my tears. They change my perspective on love every day. It’s hard to say whether I love or hate them when they’re fighting non-stop, though I do wish this place was cloudy and nebulous more often, then I wouldn't have to visit it as much.

(The altar is mostly for decorative purposes and less for religious trauma.)

The Sixth Love

is the last because it is the one I'll have. Not much is known about it, only fantasized and imagined, but it is sworn to be the sweetest. I choose to believe the Tenth Muse’s poems are right in their descriptions, and that I shall love her, and keep loving her until I die because I can't afford to put her on my graveyard. And it will be blissful and truthful and lustful and sincere, once you become me and I become you, and we will be one, for love has won.

In the verge of my 19 i beg you to make yourself known, because time wont be enough to love you, even if time is forever.

But if i do already know you, I'll pray to Venus and I'll pray to Cupid and they shall give me your heart, for your heart is to be mine, not in possession, but in the presence (please make yourself present.)

P.S.: the seventh love is trusting yourself above others. and taking yourself on dates. and appreciating your individuality. and being the absurd. and loving thy neighbor as thyself amen.

— Debbie

[mxcat777]

Oooooooohhhh...

The implications...

Allow me to ramble as my thoughts go along, hopefully I'll be able to type quickly enough...

So Dream meets Hob again. And not a few weeks later unmakes the Corinthian. There would be a possibility for changes in series canon timeline, but one thing at a time, I'll get to it.

So, Corinthian unmade, I'm choosing to believe that Dream can pretty much completely reconstruct him, be it with an added in failsafe or some such.

After he has done so, the Corinthian might still be Annoyed(tm), and honestly, who wouldn't be after being unmade by the guy who broke your dad's heart and with that his promise to you. After Matthew learns of the full situation this may be forcefully pointed out to Dream if the bloke does not realize himself. Which is, in all honesty, quite likely.

So. Dream realizes, one way or another, that he may have fucked up (no 'may have' about it, champ, but whatever you need to not throw a tantrum so long as you do, in fact, apologize), and goes to the Corinthian like, hey, uhm, I've been told I have acted inconsiderately, may I attempt to make this right?

So Dream goes to Hob. A Hob who is quite surprised to see his Friend after a mere month instead of a whole century. Naturally, his first question is if the end of the world is nigh. It isn't. Well, at least as far as his Friend is concerned. No, his Friend seems to have grown a singular social skill (still not nearly enough to warrant the plural 'skills') and says something along the lines of 'I've been reliably informed that friends see each other more often than once a century'. Hob enthusiastically agrees. He also then gets a name! Multiple even! Wow! Can this day get any better?

So they chat some, and they chat some more, and Hob can't help but notice his friend - Morpheus, or Dream - is... Nervous? About something? So Hob carefully, very carefully, asks, 'is something bothering you, my friend? You seem a bit twitchy, is all'.

Dream, still not used to the idea that Hob can read him so easily, reverts to his primal instincts, and Deflects. Hob evidently does not buy it, but doesn't push, and continues to ramble on about something or other. Dream, also not used to having his boundaries respected by anyone outside his subjects, is thrown for another loop, before shaking himself and, quite rudely, upon reflection, interrupts Hob with 'there is something I wish to tell you'.

Hob knows this. He falls silent, replies 'ok, go ahead', and waits, patiently, while Dream scrapes together all the tact he possesses.

'This is something I should have told you long ago. I have been trying to do better, recently. This is part of that, and I hope you may forgive me in time for keeping this from you for so long.'

Hob's starting to get a little worried now. The guy kept quiet about his name for over 600 years, for pity's sake, he hasn't apologized for that, let along begged for forgiveness in advance!

'Dream is not only my name, but my function and the definition of my being as well. I am the lord and creator of all dreams. I have created many, and all of them unique. All except one are completely of the dreaming, of my realm. That one, however, I created around a soul who never took my sister's hand, who was roaming the earth restlessly.'

'Your sister?'

'Death. She was with me in 1389, she found you amusing, and encouraged me to approach you. The reason you do not die is because she refuses you her gift. If ever you change your mind, you must simply call for her, and she will come to you.'

'Right. Good to know. That wasn't what you wanted to tell me, right?'

'No. I-'

He stops. This is hard. Words have never been this hard. Gathering the courage to speak of certain things may be, but the specific words and phrasing have always come easily to the Prince of Stories.

'It's about that dream, right?'

'Nightmare. Yes. He is my best work. Recently, a lot occurred surrounding him. He rebelled against me. I had to unmake and later remake him. I now understand why it all happened. That is what I am trying to set to rights, but. It is hard. The words resist coming to me. But must tell you. It is only right.'

'Would it be easier to show me, or is it not something that can be shown?'

'It is. And it might be. Can I find you in your home this evening?'

'Uhh, yeah, yes, of course! This all seems very serious, should I prepare for bad news?'

'I hope you will not take it as such, though there is a chance. I will leave should you ask me to.'

'Oh shit. That bad, huh?'

'Possibly.'

[A.N. holy shit that got away from me, I'll revert back to outlining now, I don't actually have the time to write a whole ass one-shot on the fly]

Evening comes.

Dream arrives. With the Corinthian in tow.

The Corinthian is Nervous as fuck. You thought Dream was nervous about Hob's reaction, triple that and you're getting somewhere near the Corinthian.

He's about to meet his dad. With teeth for eyes. He's a little insecure alright!

Hob opens the door.

For a second, he doesn't recognize him, with the modern clothes and the sunglasses and the way he's turned away slightly because of the nerves.

But then. [Good lord, here we go again, dialogues must be written, I'm SORRY!]

'Robin?'

A sharp inhale and a twitch, nothing more.

'Robin, my boy, is it you? Is it truly you? Tell me, please speak to me, if it is indeed you, my s-'

Hob's voice breaks. The Corinthian is trembling. He hasn't had anyone call him that since he died. Since he tore himself out of Death's embrace to haunt that fucker who killed him.

He feels a hand on his cheek, under his chin. Lifting his face up and making him look directly into Hob's eyes. His father's eyes. Those exact same, brown, kind, warm eyes. Except that they are older, so much older than he knew them. And they're crying. He's crying too, he now notices. Hob wipes away the tears rolling down his cheek, his hand coming away bloodstained. He doesn't even look at it.

'My little bird. It really is you, is it not?'

A sob wracks its way through the Corinthian. He is so close to breaking. Or has he broken already? He doesn't know, doesn't care, because it doesn't matter. His dad is here, his papa, and it'll be okay, if he breaks, Dad will help him put all the pieces back together.

Another sob escapes him, and even more tears start flowing. Hob steps closer and, with trembling fingers, lifts the glasses away.

Immediately, the Corinthian turns hus face down, away, hide it, hide his hideousness, the part of him that used to be his mother's eyes, untill that son of a bitch slashed a knife through them. And now they're not even blind, ruined eyes. They're nothing like eyes. They're what makes him a monster, a nightmare.

But then, again, the gentle hands of his father, slowly turn his face back up. He expects to see, not disgust, exactly, he knows his father, he wouldn't be disgusted, that would maybe even be bearable, that's no different than what he himself feels. But he does expect to see anger, shock, fear, devastation, or something similar. Maybe pity.

There is some shock in Hob's eyes, though not nearly as much as he expected. More like surprise than shock. But other than that. The Corinthian doesn't see anything other than-

Stop. No. Wait.

He can't-

Why would he-

He's not supposed to- no- Dream made him like this, it makes sense that he is pleased with him this way. But not his- not him!

He isn't human anymore! He's a nightmare, a monster, a thing! A horrendous thing! Without his mother's eyes.

So why.

Why is there still so much of it.

It shouldn't be there.

But he is so. So thankful it is.

He isn't broken yet. He knows now. Because he can now feel his final piece of control tremble.

Another sob. More blood. Hob's hands are streaked with red now. He hardly notices.

'Robin...'

He smiles. His next words come out in nothing more than a whisper.

'My son.'

He breaks. He is not sobbing anymore, he's weeping. His knees buckle and strongwarmsafehomedad arms catch him and pull him close.

They're still standing in the hallway.

Five minutes later, Hob realizes this, and slowly pulls his son inside. Dream doesn't follow. Hob looks at him. He's standing awkwardly, and resignedly outside, looking ready to leave. Hob will not have it.

'Get inside.'

His voice is hoarse. Oh, yes, he's crying too.

Dream looks very uncertain, but he obeys. He closes the door with a soft *snick* that is still way too loud and flinches. He stands inside the door.

Hob guides his son to the couch, his child, who might not in the most accurate sense be alive, but he's here. With him. And fuck all the rest, what does it matter.

Dream follows through the hall and stands just inside the living room.

'Explain.'

Dream flinches again. Hob frowns.

'What are you- I'm not mad! Why the fuck would I be mad! Just. Please, explain this miracle to me!'

An agonized sound escapes from the bundle of limbs in Hob's arms.

'Robin?'

Another sound, and then,

'...how is this a miracle.'

Dream looks to be made of stone, agonizing, rather be anyone, anywhere, anywhen else, stone.

'How-? My Little Bird, you are here, in my arms! How can it not be!'

'I'm-'

'Don't you dare call yourself anything bad! Dream said you are his masterpiece and I'd say he should know! More importantly, you're my Robin! You're mine! And I love you!'

Hob feels the body in his arms shudder and shock against him as his shirt slowly gets soaked red.

He looks back up at Dream.

'Please.'

Dream explains. It's slow going, with more broken off sentences and hesitation than the Corinthian has ever experienced from him. But he tell the story on of the Corinthian.

Hob is silent for a long moment after. Dream almost makes to leave, when Hob speaks.

'Sit down.'

'Pardon?'

'You were about to leave because you thought I wanted you to. Sit down.'

Dream sits down.

Hob is quiet for a while longer.

'Thank you.'

Dream stares at him.

'Why...'

'You cared enough to take him in. You had no obligation to. Amd you reunited us.'

Dream stares again.

'After I kept him from you for over four centuries!'

'Yes.'

Dream doesn't understand. It must show on his face.

'It will take some time before I can forgive that, you're right. But that doesn't stop me from being eternally grateful that I got to see him again at all. And I don't see much point in kicking you out after you decided to make things right.'

Dream is silent after that. He takes a moment to fully realize and appreciate what he has in Hob.

Meanwhile, the Corinthian has regained his breath. He tries to say something. It takes him a few tries. His voice isn't working. Eventually, he manages a hoarse whisper.

'Dad.'

Hob, for the first time in over four hundred years, hears his son call for him.

'My Little Bird. I'm here.'

Robin, for the first time in over four hundred years, sinks into his dad's embrace and smiles.

What if AU... What if the Corinthian was Robin Gadling?

Dream, inspired and empathetic of Hob Gadlings plight following 1689, desires to watch over the young soul of Robin Gadling. Thus he seeks out his Sister, to request he be given into Dream's care as a raven. But Robin never took his sisters hand. He lingers on in the Waking world, an angry spectre. Vengeful, blind from where Thomas Shelply slashed his eyes. Desperately calling for his Father's aid and comfort.

So Dream salvages what he can. Uses that dark energy to fashion a nightmare. A dark mirror of the human that once was. Full of the Gadling lust for life, but violent, hedonistic... Constantly wanting.

The Corinthian serves Dream faithfully beacuse it is what his father would wish. Becomes the pinnacle of Dream's Nightmares because it is the Dream Lord and his Sister who prolong his father's life. Existing on the promise that one day he will be allowed to reunite with his father in the Waking. Until 1889.... When Dream cruelly severs himself from the one thing that keeps the Corinthian truly loyal to him...Hob Gadling.

From that moment on, his thoughts turn to vengeance for his father's heartbreak. Insuring his freedom to return to permanently to the Waking world, to watch over his Father

[nathansqueak]

it’s six in the morning. i can’t sleep. I’m thinking about how my dad spent more time chewing his nails than ever being an actual father to me, and about how he now holds my mothers scrapbooks, full of my childhood photos, hostage because he wants to give my sister first pick of them. of pictures of me.

I’m thinking about how when I came forward about the sexual abuse I was facing in middle school, my uncle, who had been filling the fatherly roll in my life, took my abusers side, called me a liar and a whore, and hasn’t spoken to me since I was 13

I’m thinking about all the toys my mom bought and sent with me to my grandmas, and how my grandma would claim she bought them, and keep them at her house, and how my cousins babies now play with stuffed animals that my mom intended for me, and I will never get to take them home

I’m thinking about how the same grandmother has rooms full of my aunts possessions and my fathers possessions, and how they let her keep it all, and how they never speak against her

I’m thinking about the time I, as a child, woke up in the middle of the night, in the top bunk of the bunk bed I shared with my teenage sister, to the wet sounds of her fucking her boyfriend in the bunk below me, and how family members having sex in front of or in the same room as you is a form of sexual assault

I’m thinking about how my mom kicked my sister out of the house as soon as she turned 18 because she was a nightmare and physical and verbally abusive toward everyone in the house, and how they were able to mend their relationship years later as my sister grew into adulthood

I’m thinking about how I left home at 17 because my parents were transphobic, and my mother died when I was 19 before we could mend our relationship, before my brain had finished forming, and when me and my siblings were all gathered together in shock the night she died, my sister screamed in my face that I was selfish for wanting my preferred name and pronouns in my moms obituary, followed by my dad telling me it was my fault, that my mom had died of a broken heart because of me

I’m thinking about how they put my dead name in her obituary

I’m thinking about how my sister is a YouTube fashion influencer with a lot of queer/trans followers, and how four years after she forced my dead name on our mothers obituary she tried to give me a half apology, and I let her because I was too tired to be angry

I’m thinking about how the uncle who called me a lying whore talked about himself at my mothers funeral. I’m thinking about how my moms brothers had priority seating at her funeral while her children sat in the back rows

I’m thinking about how my brother, the person I always found to be safest in my family, is still friends with our uncle on social media, the uncle who called me a lying whore for having been sexually abused

I’m thinking about how my grandma and aunt have no idea that I’ve been sexually abused and raped, that I’ve tried to kill myself twice, that if I told them they’d either shrug or shame me

I’m thinking about how I was, at one time, a child with so much potential that I was placed in a gifted program early, that I wrote my first short story when I was six years old, that I had an imagination so vivid I can still remember daydreams like memories, and my family fed on that energy and bled me dry

I’m thinking about how depressed I was even by late elementary school, about how all my hope and delight in the world had been syphoned out of me

I’m thinking none of them ever fucking deserved me

[beesmygod]

You need to design more AGS merch. We need tshirts, underwear, hats, socks!

the problem with AGS merch is that i approach it with 3 major thoughts:

would i, personally (bea "beesmygod'" smy god) wear or purchase this object without or with minimal shame?

if i buy this right now, will it embarrass me in 5 years?

does the object or shirts appearance invite discussion of the webcomic? does it cause people to come up and go "hey what does your shirt mean"? if so scrap it and start over. im trying to make you something nice and not give you a new horrible social problem. "oh but its good for your exposure" let me weave you a nightmare scenario: imagine you are waiting for a train wearing the newest ags swag looking sooooo shitty. a 50 year old man in a business suit turns and looks at your shirt for at least 7 seconds with a growing frown from concentration. "your shirt has a VERY interesting emblem," he says in an inflection that he thinks indicates that he is non-threatening yet authoritative but just makes him sound like a heterosexual tim gunn. "is that from 'star wars'?"

no, you say, it's for a character in a webcomic

"and what is a 'webcomic'?"

its a comic on the web. the internet, you correct yourself, realizing it came out snarkier than intended

"oh, i see", he says unimpressed. "what what does it do?"

the ambiguity in this question is almost cruel. what the fuck does he mean by that? what do webcomics do? like how do they work? monetarily? or like, how they upload them? or did he mean the symbol? is he asking about the symbol and just presenting it as a sphinx's riddle for some reason? where is the train?! sweat beads your forehead.

uhh well, they make money through this online service every time they make a new page. its about these two people who uhh, hunt ghosts. like ghostbusters.

"like what?" he peers down his glasses at you. holy shit. does he not know what ghostbusters is? you dont have time for this. you settle for saying that its "funny" and "updates regularly" when you struggle for positive descriptors. the man nods understandingly. "like 'doonesbury'." you cannot tell if this comparison is good or bad. it seems to be an entirely neutral observation. "now what is that" he says, gestering to your shirt.

you've just realized where this conversation has managed to lead you and start to feel panic gather in your guts. the train is coming at last but not fast enough. there is no way to drag this conversation out artificially in a natural way. this is the last thing you are ever going to say to this man in your life.

its a reference to the characters really big nose., you say with as much conviction and fortitude as you can manage. and ears.

[smileymoth]

okay fine you two @guyphantom @gh0stofyesterday

please nobody crucify me i am unfortunately embarrassed about speculating about real people who i have never met and never will meet. also i say allegedly a lot because i don't want people to take my words to 100% accuracy because i spread misinformation on accident a lot

i am putting this under read more because i got too enthusiastic help

nobody really knows what the fuck actually happened that they split ways, Deuce says he got jumped afterward, that he was pointed a gun at, HU say that that never happened and he was a problem to carry around because none of them agreed w what he was doing. Like did they really gang up on him. Did they all bully him. It makes me feel weird being such a big fan because what if they really did do him bad, but then there's the other end of him being a massive fuckwad and not showing up to shows and using the very little money they had to pay for his own things (allegedly, to have Yuma on tour w him if i understood correctly-), which would obviously piss off ANYONE who tries to do any sort of business. He just... seems to have been an awful bandmate. He claims he doesn't know why he was kicked. So either he was delusional or denying things. i will be honest i have forgotten most of the lore since again i was first got into this band when i was 12 and i'm 22 now (i am never leaving the labyrinth) but like. AAAHH

obvs i don't know what he thinks now per say, but if we go by nine lives/invincible/nightmare... he got kicked out in 2009 and then he went to do his own shit and released stuff in 2012/17/18, so about 3 to 9 years later, he was still writing songs about them and how they betrayed him and especially Jdog, he just straight up namedrops him in Nightmare, which is understandable because weren't they besties and didn't they start the band together (with shady jeff? allegedly? thats what he claims at least. who are you. you got pointed a gun at thats all i know),

Its okay to hold grudges but is it really productive to hold onto something 9 years later, to write a song about it... It's fine really, but it really just comes off as very desperate and miserable. like im sorry this is 900% about HU. and ofc the r word, classy, i think the dog reference was intentional

Me and my friend discussed this, and he brought up an interesting point, that it's probably because all of his life falling apart always connects back to being kicked out of the band. Addicted to drugs -> I didnt have money and needed something to cope with -> why-? -> hu -> jdog. My music career dunked -> why > hu > jdog . you know. Everything goes back to them. so he probably feels such wrath toward them that he never let go of, because he couldn't pick up after being kicked out. I do wonder why because he had a very loyal fanbase from what i can gather. Did producers just fuck him over because he had no money and signed some leases that were fucked? Might've also been that he didn't release new music for a while after 2012 like he promised. It didn't seem like he had any PR managers or social media training too when I remember browsing his FB page in like 2017...

Like the musical direction in Nine Lives already wasn't the best, or maybe it just wasn't for me... I think gravestone is one of the best songs out of it, but it's also probably referencing to Hollywood Undead. Do you people think that his grudge toward HU is what kept him from growing as a musician??? Because if you think about it for too long it does start to seem so... Maybe it's not that, but that he will always be seen as the "former vocalist of HU" instead of his own thing. Like even I see him more as that rather than HU but i guess it's because he didn't become a big artist like he promises in every song he writes. (Again I don't know much abt rap scenes but that's probably also one of the things they do, much like being aggressive toward other rappers and picking fights so to say. sth abt the culture maybe) But again he states in his spotify bio and everywhere that HE's the one from Hollywood Undead and HE made them and THEY left him. It's like he can't let go of that title to become his own thing. Am I running in circles rn. Unintentional song reference.

I am very intrigued by whatever happened with him and Johnny tho, because the only diss track they made abt him was Lights Out (Funny story w that one: my mom knew I was a HU fan so she also proxy listened to them, and she once asked who is singing. and im like. Oh its them. "interesting they sound nothing like that usually" and I had to agree I guess. haha. Like it is very... different? I guess?) and J3T was the only one who didn't partake in it I think. And I've also heard people say it's because he didn't want to be in a distrack about him. But then he also states that J3T was one of the people who beat him up. Like what's going on here.

this is a bit rough tho like imagine you make a band and you get kicked out and they're like HAHA you suck.

But if you take into consideration that Deuce allegedly claimed he wrote all of their lyrics (when? i dont know) and if you compare the styles of his own songs and later hu songs then it doesn't really... match up... like swan songs sounds more like american tragedy than it does nine lives. you know

it does Seem like Perhaps the masks were Deuces idea or it's just something that he wants to be his thing so bad because he has had soo many masks. and some do look really cool. I like the disco ball one it looks real clean, (the fact that he used it for 'lets get it crackin' kinda makes me sad tho. sorry I really don't like that song and the lyrics of it)

Now if we take Nightmare.. I remember being extremely hyped about this song because I heard like a nokia recorded sound clip of it from some concert in 2017 and I downloaded a ''cleaned up'' copy of it from some weird mp3 website and probably got like 10 viruses on my samsung galaxy a4 but whatever . Not The Point.

like look at this and tell me it isnt about HU or Jdog in general. oh wait he namedrops him

''Here comes the pain over and over again'' You Are In Love With The Dog Please Let Him Go It's Been 9 Years. your codependency is hurting you

and then now when he released the ''collateral damage" album last year... you know I just feel bad for him because you can clearly hear the decline in his music and lyric writing it hurts me I hope he can pick himself up again at one point ... like literally no ill will to him I'm just a hater sometimes

This has nothing to do with HU but the cover of this is so bad it makes me want to cry .

Or well maybe it does have Something to do with it because is there a reason you used the exact same mask as you had in HU, just like, on a metal board. You'd think if he wants to be his own musician he would try to get away from the Hollywood Undead Branding as much as possible. Or is he trying to get clicks based on the familiarity of fans recognizing him because he really has nothing left at this point.

And if I go through the album then I can't even tell if it's him or if its someone else and the lyrics are just sad. They're really sad to just look at I don't even want to report on them.

I do wonder if any of them are still friends with Jeffree Star... Another interesting thing is that in one Bryan Stars interview with Ronnie Radke they spoke abt the 'Nobody likes me' song collab that he did w Deuce and he said Fuck Hollywood Undead they fucked him over badly. But then like, years later, last year, Ronnie was headlining(?) or at least performing together with HU and they seemed to be very buddy buddy with each other. Ofc some people were upset because Ronnie is a little freak who needs to be put down like a sick dog but it makes me wonder if it was more of just the management making them work together... But I dont think they'd be buddy buddy w someone that much if they didn't get along? Like they and Papa Roach had a fantastic tour together last year. It just makes you wonder. You know. But again like Ronnie Radke is the most unreliable guy ever, so did he also abandon Deuce like they complained about everyone else doing, or was it just a press tour for him.

This is Ronnies verse on that song but it does make me think that it's about HU once again, and well, Escape the Fate too, because in the interview he did tell Bryan about how they made up lies about him.

The amount of times Deuce says faggot or homosexuals tho is ridiculous. The average homophobe spends 30% more time thinking about gay sex than the average homosexual or whatever that saying is.

another thing about him. i know he's like part russian but did he really have to get a hammer and cycle tattooed on his hand. whats that about. thats like getting the swastika tattooed on your arm but go off king ??? i blame it on him being american

Me psychoanalyzing the relationship between hu and deuce every few months when the hyperfix hits again

[whyyoualwayssoradical]

Male Socialization

I was born in 1990 and I grew up in rural NC in a town of about a few thousand and my mom forced me to attend a Pentecostal Holiness church down the road with her until I was 18. I basically grew up on a farm surrounded by trees and more farmland, we grew crops and raised some animals like steer, lamb, and chickens.

I have two older brothers and my parents have been married since they were 18 and are still together. Middle brother is probably 5-6 years older than me and oldest brother is probably 10 or more.

Every male peer, every single one:

Encouraged me to sexually assault girls and women

Encouraged me to see girls and women as something to acquire, not someone to befriend

The boys in school actively tried to force me to physically touch girls in inappropriate places, thankfully girls always knew it was other boys pushing my hands or body into them. I got in a lot of trouble for "fighting" these bullies off of me who kept touching me to try and make me touch others.

My brothers and dad all joked about how they would have to hire a prostitute for me one day to get laid, this made me extremely uncomfortable

Boys at school also joked about the same thing

I was often called the f slur or q slur in middle school. Middle school was a literal nightmare for me and it's a miracle I didn't commit suicide at this point in my life

Middle school was full of boys who were absurdly addicted to porn and masturbation and would not shut up about it.

At lunch, every fucking day I got asked if I had a "clit" or a "p*ssy" (their words). Why the fuck were middle schoolers asking this kind of shit? I had zero idea what any of this was. The only sex education I remember getting was boy + girl "sleeping" together = baby. I took this literally thinking that a boy and girl simply had to sleep in the same bed to create a baby. That plus a lot of "use a condom or get an STD/someone pregnant". I had no clue what intercourse actually was.

Middle school boys constantly tried to show me porn and all kinds of things. The way they talked about girls was so abhorrent.

I was in constant disbelief at the things these boys would do and talk about so confidently and proud like.

Family gatherings were something. All the girls and women would be cooking in the kitchen and the boys and men would be like outside deep frying/grilling/smoking/whatever. I hated having to spend time with male family members and would either try and help out in the kitchen or just be playing while the food was being prepared. The men would just talk about their wives and girlfriends and other women in such dehumanizing ways but they acted like it was so natural and that's just how it is.

I was always questioning why they were like this. They would even come into my room and be like hey can you pull up this sports illustrated thing or like whatever and me having no idea wtf it was I would oblige and pull it up. Then I'd be like like wtf? "you guys are married, (brother) you have a gf, why are you guys wanting to look at these women?" and I was just dismissed and told one day I would understand. The thing I now understand is men are wretched and evil and try to spread their wicked ways to anyone capable of continuing it.

All the shit I learned in church about women needing to be subservient to their husbands while hearing their husbands talk and have zero care or empathy for someone they supposedly "loved".

My dad would constantly say "WOMAN" in such a *way* towards my mom when she would say or something specific and I hated it. I hate hearing any man say it in that tone, it's so aggressive and possessive like UGH.

I developed an eating disorder (binge eating) from boys talking about how skinny I was so I always ate as much as I possibly could and I wore as baggy of clothes as I could to hide my body. I never changed in front of other people, and I still don't to this day unless they are an intimate partner. I wore shirts when I went to the pool or whatever. I wore shorts under my pants so I wouldn't have to "change" for PE class and just had to take a layer off. I wanted no one to perceive me.

Everyone thought I was weird obviously. I had constant anxiety issues. Constant stomach issues. Teachers didn't listen to me about bullying, parents didn't listen to me about bullying. No one took me being terrified of loud noises and other people seriously. No one took my anxiety seriously, after all according to my parents it's just "nerves".

I tried my hardest to never use the bathroom at school. I hated it. It was so gross and disgusting and boys CONSTANTLY harassed me. I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

OH AND CHRISTIAN MENS MISOGYNY AND SEXISM IS 1000x WORSE, it's SO gross, church men make me want to vomit.

Even when I got older and moved 3000 miles away, guess what? All the men I've met are still the god damn same. Just as gross, just as unempathetic, and ready and willing to actively encourage sexual assault and rape against women and girls.

Men are fucking evil and I hate them. It has taken years of constant effort to unlearn the bias all of this shit had on my brain and I'm still working to undo more. No one is immune to socialization, no one. Even with me actively desisting it still had major effects on me growing up.

I haven't met any other males like me before. I'm the only male I know of to stop completely using misogynistic slurs.

[maddiwrites]

Family Troubles

Pairing: JJ x Routledge!Reader, mostly John B x Routledge!Reader sibling dynamic 

Summary: (Requested) After the death of your brother, you move to the mainland with a nice foster family. Months later, you get the biggest shock of your life that leaves you questioning what you want.

Note: I’m so sorry this took so long. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Word Count: 4.6k

You peek your eyes open to another sunny autumn day as your alarm echos off the walls of your room through your phone. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t dread the day ahead of you. Because you feel like you’re finally living a life worth living. 

It’s been about three months since John B disappeared. The worst three months of your life. You never would have imagined living a life without your twin brother. It was lonely and heart wrenching. You didn’t think you would get through it. And living with the Cameron’s didn’t make your life any easier. Ward tried blocking you off from the rest of the world. He was afraid of what you could do to his reputation despite knowing most people wouldn’t believe you. You were just a Pogue with a criminal background.Your word means nothing to Kooks and cops alike. Nonetheless, Ward didn’t want to take any chances. 

It wasn’t until you finally got in touch with Cheryl, your social worker, that your life started to change for the better. You couldn’t believe the irony of running to your social worker for help when you’ve been running away from her all summer. Surprisingly, she did hear you. She listened to you. She believed you! Although there wasn’t much she could do about Ward, she could help you get out from under his neglectful guardianship. 

She placed you in a foster home with an eager Spanish American couple on the main land. Of course you weren’t ecstatic about it. Foster care was never something you wanted to be placed in. Especially without your brother. But at the time, anything was better than living with Ward Cameron. 

The worst part of the process was telling your best friends. Kie and Pope, although disappointed, were happy for you because they knew this was what was best for you. JJ, however, didn’t understand how you could be so cool calm and collected about moving. Losing you to Figure Eight was hard enough and now he was going to have open water separating you two? He didn’t cope well with the news. He barely talked to you as you gathered your stuff to leave, almost didn’t show up to say his final goodbye with Kie and Pope. But he came as you were about to get on the ferry with Cheryl. The two of you cried and told each other you were sorry. You kissed his cheek and slipped a small piece of paper with your new address into his pockets. JJ reluctantly let you go with a promise that he will visit you as soon as he could and you believed him. Because he was your best friend, your soul mate, and partner in crime.

JJ saves up every week to take the ferry to visit you. He usually comes every Sunday, respecting your foster parents’ wishes that he not stay the night. At first they were wary of him coming over - they know about your past from the social worker and the News and how JJ was a part of it. They wanted you to have a new beginning. A fresh start. They believed you when you said your brother wasn’t a murderer and that you and your friends did nothing wrong. They were just afraid that JJ would convince you to come back to the Outer Banks (which he’s tried), or make you regress to past trouble making behaviors. But you explained to Maria and Luis, your foster parents, how important JJ is to you and that he needed to be a part of you life no matter where you were living. So they allowed him weekend visits, always making sure to keep an eye on you when he was here. 

Someone lightly taps on your door until you say, “Come in.” 

Maria pokes her head in and smiles when she sees you’re awake. “Morning, honey. Your appointment is in thirty minutes. Will you be ready to leave soon?”

You offer her a smile and nod. “Yeah, I’ll be down in ten.”

Maria nods. “Okay.”

She closes the door gently, leaving you alone to get ready for your appointment with your therapist. You agreed with your new foster parents to go to therapy once a week. They thought it would help you move on and grow and get rid of the nightmares that sometimes terrorize you at night. You went because you felt like you owed it to them to make an effort. They weren’t like the other foster couples you hear horror stories about. If they were gonna be there for you, you were gonna be there for them too. 

The therapy sessions were working. You’re more open to talking about what you went through. The therapist never gave you any inclination that she was judging you or analyzing you. She just listened and asked you how you were feeling about everything. She helped you adjust to this new life on the mainland and taught you new coping strategies that didn’t involve getting into fights or arguing with the cops. She helped you through your anxiety about starting a new school and making new friends. She even prescribed you some anxiety meds that helped with your nightmares and panic attacks.

Both Maria and Luis drive you to your therapy appointment. You silently question why the both of them felt the need to accompany you to your appointment. You mentally list all the reasons as to why they both would want to come when usually it’s just one or the other. You’re too afraid to ask, thinking they’re about to drop a bomb on you and send you back to the island. You don’t want to hear it, procrastinating the inevitable for as long as possible. 

When Dr. Hildegard greets you in the waiting room, she waves not only you but your foster parents as well into her office. The three of you take a seat on the brown leather couch in front of her chair. You awkwardly glance between your therapist and your foster parents, trying to read the room. You dig your nails into the skin of your hand to keep yourself calm, focusing on the slight stinging pain it leaves you.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Dr. Hildegard says. She takes notice of your fidgeting hands and smiles. “I know you must be confused and anxious right now. But Maria and Luis have something they want to ask you and felt you would be more comfortable having this conversation with me present.”

“Okay...” You say wearily. 

Luis and Maria hold each other’s hands as they turn to look at you. You feel a little better when you see a smile on their face, making you think it isn’t going to be bad news. 

“Y/N, how would feel about officially being a part of our family?”

You glance between your therapist and your foster parents and tilt your head in confusion. “I don’t understand...”

“Y/N,” Dr. Hildegard says. “Maria and Luis would like to adopt you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Meanwhile, back at the Outer Banks, JJ is getting ready to leave his house to make the last ferry to the mainland. He had to pick up another shift to afford another boat ride and a date for tonight, which left him racing against the clock.

Someone knocks on his front door. “Shit,” He curses and looks at the clock. 3:04. He needed to leave twenty minutes ago. He doesn’t have time to talk to anyone right now. He figures it’s his dad’s probation officer or druggie looking for money. So he ignores it so he can find his wallet. 

But the knocking persists. 

“Fuck,” JJ grunts and storms to the front door. “He’s not here -”

JJ freezes as he rips the door open. He didn’t know who he was going to find, but he definitely wasn’t expecting his dead best friend to be standing on his door step. 

John B smirks up at his shocked reaction. “Hey, stud. Miss me?”

JJ’s brain is doing flips inside his skull, knocking around with so many questions and curses and phrases and shouts. But with that is the immense excitement and relief that takes over his entire body. 

JJ jumps on him and wraps his arms around his best friend’s shoulders. Tears inevitably prick his eyes and he physically holds onto John B. He’s in utter disbelief. He never thought he would get this opportunity again. To see and hold his best friend - the best friend that’s supposed to be dead. 

“Wow. Who knew JJ Maybank could get so emotional?” John B jokes, trying to hide his own tears through his laugh. 

JJ removes himself from John B and shoves him back by the shoulders lightly. He wipes his upper lips with the back of his hand and sniffles back the rest of his tears. “Shut up, bro.” JJ narrows his eyes at the dead man in front of him and asks, “What the fuck happened? Where’s Sarah? Is she -”

"Sarah’s fine. We’re trying to lay low right now. No one knows we’re back.”

“What -”

“Look, I know you’re confused and there’s so much I need to tell you guys, but first I need to see my sister.” John B says with a sweet grin on his lips at the mention of his sister. He was most excited to see her - his first best friend and partner in crime. “Is she here?” JJ’s face falls at the mention of Y/N because he doesn’t know how John B is going to take the news that she’s no longer on the island. John B notices JJ’s hesitation and immediately get’s worried. “Where’s Y/N, JJ?”

“She’s not here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You trail behind Maria and Luis as they unlock the front door to their house. The car ride home was awkwardly silent. You didn’t know what to say.

“Oh...” You said. You weren’t expecting that. You thought they’d be telling you the complete opposite. Yet, you didn’t know how to feel about their proposition. 

Maria and Luis looked at Dr. Hildegard for some insight or ice breaker since you froze up on the spot. You looked back down at your hand and pressed your nails even harder into your skin, leaving half crescent moons indented in your palm. 

Dr. Hildegard kept her calm smile and said softly, “Why don’t Y/N and I speak alone and I’ll grab you guys at the end?”

Maria and Luis, although a little disappointed by your reaction, agreed and stepped out of the room.

When the two of you were alone, Dr. Hildegard asked, “How are you feeling right now, Y/N?”

“I uh...” You stammered. “I don’t know. Shocked, I guess.”

“Usually when kids in foster care are offered adoption, they’re excited. Do you like living with Maria and Luis?”

“Yeah, they’re great. It’s just...” The last time someone offered to take you in as part of their family, it didn’t end well. It changed your life for the worst, you lost your only living family member left, and is the reason why you were here today. Although foster care isn’t that much different, you didn’t expect to stay with Maria and Luis past 18 years old. 

“Rebuilding a sense of trust can be difficult after past traumas. But taking those necessary steps, of letting new people in your life, can help you over those humps.”

“Why don’t you get ready for volleyball practice? I’ll take you there when you’re ready,” Luis says as the three of you walked inside. 

You nod silently and quickly hide in your room. You fall back on your bed that suddenly feels different than it did this morning. Like a reminder that it didn’t belong to you.

But maybe it could. 

You get changed for volleyball in a pair of spandex and a t shirt. When you close the drawer, something falls on your dresser, catching your attention. 

You pick up the fallen picture frame of you, John B, and the rest of the Pogues on Memorial Day Weekend. Kie had taken a selfie with all of you making silly faces at the camera in the middle of the marsh. That day always brings back amazing memories for you. Oh how you wished you could have another day like that. 

You stare a little longer at John B in that photo. What would he say if he was with you right now? Would he say yes to Maria and Luis like he did to Ward? Or would he encourage you to be more careful about who you trust with your life?

Maria knocks on your door and says, “You ready, sweetheart?” 

You place the frame back on the dresser and walk out into the hall to meet her. “Yes.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“So this couple....” John B says as he follows JJ off the ferry on the mainland. 

“Maria and Luis,” JJ says. On the way here, he told John B everything. About how horrendous your life was after John B “died.” How Ward treated you like a prisoner. How you practically begged Cheryl to help you. How you ended up on the mainland with a lovely married couple. 

“Are they...nice?”

JJ shrugs. “They seem like good people. You can tell they don’t like me around, but that might just be because they associate me with all the bad shit that happened to us because of Ward.”

“Does she like it here?” John B says as he takes in his new surroundings. As he and JJ walk towards your neighborhood, which isn’t too far from the ferry, he thinks about what your life could become here. Nice neighborhoods, friendly towns. It’s definitely better than the Cut. But it wasn’t home. 

“She’s learning to, I think,” JJ answers honestly. “She doesn’t like being so far away from the Pogues.”

“Yeah, I can understand the feeling,” John B says. Although it was nice to have Sarah around while they were gone, he couldn’t help but feel like a giant chunk of his heart was missing. And that was the Pogues. 

“This is it,” JJ says as they reach the end of a short driveway on the outskirts of town. A two story baby blue home with white shutters and a rose bush. Bigger than the houses on the Cut and smaller than the houses on Figure Eight. 

“This is where she’s been staying?” John B asks. Something swarms inside his brain. He doesn’t know if it’s betrayal or jealousy. 

“Yup,” JJ says, popping the ‘p’, “Her room is on the side.”

JJ knocks on the front door and looks down at his watch while he waits. Somehow, he managed to be about ten minutes early. Probably because of John B’s hustle to find his sister as soon as possible. 

Luis opens the door with a friendly grin that quickly falters when he sees who accompanies JJ. 

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Morales. Is Y/N, here?”

Luis looks between the boys and inhales a deep breath. He knows John B from the pictures on the News, the stories in the paper, and the cries of his name when Y/N was terrorized with nightmares in the beginning of her stay. 

Although the adoption process just started, he and his wife felt like they were finally forming a family-like bond with Y/N. Dr. Hildegard suggested starting over would be in Y/N’s best interest, encouraging new friendships, joining extracurricular activities at school, staying away from the Outer Banks for a while. Luis and Maria made an exception for JJ, seeing how happy he truly made Y/N. But they never expected to see John B. 

And he didn’t know what that meant for his family. 

John B notices Luis’s hesitation and politely holds out his hand. “I’m John Booker Routledge. Y/N’s brother.” 

Luis reluctantly shakes his hand, although apprehensive, never rude. He coughs awkwardly and looks back at JJ without saying a word to John B. “Tonight’s not a good night -”

“What do you mean? Sunday’s our day. She didn’t tell me she was busy -”

“I’m sorry, son. Maybe next week.” Luis shuts the door before JJ or John B could argue. 

John B knocks again and even rings the doorbell. “Mr. Morales! Hey! Come back!”

“Here,” JJ pulls John B by his arm. “Come here.”

JJ and John B round to the side of the house where your window sits right under the middle point of the roof. JJ find’s the nearest and smallest rock and tosses it up at the glass of your window. 

“What are you? Fucking, Romeo?” John B glares at his friend.

“You have a better idea?” JJ glares right back. “Trust me. I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Morales to call the cops if we kept banging on his door. They’re pretty protective of Y/N, which means they’ve never been truly fond of me.”

“Maybe she’s not here,” John B suggests. 

“She’s always -”

JJ freezes when he hears a car pull into the driveway. They both look at each other before walking back to the front of the house. JJ notices Maria first when she steps out of the car. She has a smilier reaction to John B as her husband which makes John B bounce on his toes nervously. 

You don’t see him at first, with your back turned to grab your bag. Then you spot him immediately. 

You stiffen when you see both JJ and....your dead brother standing on the lawn.  Suddenly your mouth feels dry and your heart is beating the crap out of your ribs. 

“Y/N...” Maria says wearily. 

“Hey, Dimples,” John B says with a smile, using the nickname he and your father use to call you when you were younger due to the deep pits in your cheeks when you smiled. 

Your eyes shift to JJ who looks at you with pinched eye brows. He was expecting a different reaction. One where you run into your brother’s arms and squeeze the shit out of him in a tight hug. 

But instead, you were feeling numb. You never expected to be face to face with your brother ever again. You convinced yourself he was really dead because holding onto hope that he was still alive was slowly killing you and even holding you back. You needed closure and that closure was accepting the truth that John B was dead and to never be found.

Yet, here he is. Standing and breathing and watching your reaction with a hurt expression. 

“Y/N...” Maria says again and lightly touches your shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” You finally speak, flinching at the way your throat feels scratchy. You swallow and turn to Maria and offer a polite grin. “I’ll be right in.”

“I don’t know...”

“Please, Maria,” You say, this time a tad more forceful but not rude. 

Maria hesitantly nods and blocks herself away with the front door. 

“I - I don’t - “ You huff. “How?”

“The Phantom...” John B licks his lips nervously. “Capsized...and Sarah and I...well...a shipment boat found us. Took us right to the Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas?” You repeat, taking two steps closer to him. 

“Yes. There’s so much I have to tell you -”

“Like the part where you couldn’t call?” You say accusingly. 

John B sighs. He should have expected it, but he didn’t prepare for it. He thought you’d be happy to see him, but now he’s realizing how hurt and confused he’s truly left you.

“It’s a long story -”

“Yeah, I’d expect the summary of your last few months to be a long one.” You look at JJ. “Did you know about this?”

JJ shakes his head. “He showed up on my way here.”

John B sighs. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to contact you, but we couldn’t! We didn’t want the cops realizing we were alive and we were looking for the gold -”

“The gold?” You laugh humorlessly and your hands run up your head to your scalp. Your fingers tug on the roots of your hair in frustration. “The gold’s gone!”

“It’s not! If you would just listen -”

“I don’t want to listen, John B! Because I don’t care about the gold. That gold took everything from me!” You yell as tears begin to build in your eyes, thinking back to what happened last summer. “I lost Dad, you, my home... I can only see my boyfriend once a week. And I was treated like a prisoner in the house of a murderer!”

“I know that it couldn’t have been easy for you but -”

“No. You have no idea what it was like for me when you were gone. Because you weren’t there!” You cry. “You left! You were living it up in the Bahamas, searching for gold, while the rest of us cried over your death and suffered the consequences!” Tears were now silently streaming down both John B’s cheeks and JJ’s as they watched you break down. “I couldn't sleep for weeks. I barely ate. Ward locked me in a room so I couldn’t tell anyone about what he did.”

“I’m sorry,” John B says. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Back home -”

“Home?” You scoff, shaking your head. “I have a home.”

“This isn’t your home,” John B says defensively. 

“It has been. For the past few months. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” You say with a glare. You look at the house behind him, noticing Maria and Luis snooping through the curtains of the window. You think back on what happened today and the options you had. At first it was a hard decision to make and now it’s damn right near impossible. “Maria and Luis offered to adopt me.” You say honestly.

John B inhales sharply and JJ furrows his brows. 

“What?” John B says.

“I didn’t give them an answer yet. But this is an opportunity to start over.”

John B glares at you. “Think about your family!”

“I am!” 

You suddenly feel exhausted and weak, like the day has lasted over twenty four hours. Your head begins to throb and your neck aches. 

You sigh, “Look, I’m happy you’re all right and safe and unharmed, from the looks of it. But...I just need some time. Okay?”

“Y/N...”

“Please, John B?” You’re practically begging. 

John B sighs and reluctantly nods his head at your request. At the end of the day, you owe him nothing and he owes you everything.

“Okay,” He agrees. 

You walk past him without giving him a hug or anything, afraid you’ll break down in sobs and follow his lead back to the Outer Banks. But you need to be strong and figure out what it is you need in life, tired of following the path that always leaves you broken and alone. 

You kiss JJ’s cheek as you walk by him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

JJ squeezes your hand before you disappear into your house. When the door shuts behind you, you slid down it onto the floor, finally letting your sobs wrack through your body. Maria and Luis run to comfort you to the best of their ability, but they don’t know how to truly help you. 

Later that night, over a cup of tea, you tell Maria and Luis everything. From start to finish. How your dad was obsessed with finding the Royal Merchant, to the compass, to Ward taking you in, finding out he murdered your father and covered up Sheriff Peterkin’s murder by using your own brother. 

Maria and Luis glance at each other nervously. They know how important family is, which is why they want you a part of theirs so badly. But they never want to take you away from one you already have and love. 

“I think you should think long and hard about what you want over the next couple of days,” Luis says. “And we’ll help you in any way we can.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, wiping away your tears with a napkin. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.”

“Honey,” Maria says, wiping another tear with her thumb. “We don’t want you to worry about that. This changes nothing for us, okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The next day at dinner, Maria and Luis sit you down and offer eager grins. Just like they did at your last therapy appointment. 

“Y/N...we have something we’d like to discuss with you,” Luis says.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

With the help of JJ, you meet John B at the Wreck with the others for a civilized conversation. Now that you’ve had a few days to think and calm down, you’re able to really appreciate how lucky you are to have John B back in your life. 

When you see him standing in the middle of the restaurant, you run to him and squeeze him around his waist as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You cry into his T shirt, telling him how sorry you are for your outburst. 

“It’s okay,” John B cries into your hair. “You don’t have to be sorry. I should be the one apologizing.” 

You pull away and wipe away your tears. “I think we’ve both been through hell and back and did what he had to do to survive. Neither of us should apologize.”

After giving the other Pogues a hug, the five of you sit down and recap each other’s last three months. John B tells you about his time in the Bahamas, how Sarah is laying low until she gets her shit figured out with her own family, and you describe life at a new town and a new school.

“It’s weird. There’s no division. No Kooks vs. Pogues. I don’t know if I like it or miss my enemies,” You say.

When the five of you are ready to say your goodbyes, you pull John b aside and say, “Actually, I think there’s a couple of people I’d like you to meet.” John B furrows his brows and follows you to a park where Maria and Luis are waiting at a picnic table.

When they see the two of you approaching, they stand and reach out to shake John B’s hand, officially introducing themselves and apologizing for being rude a week ago. 

“It’s okay. I understand,” John B says. “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

“Pleasure’s all ours,” Luis smiles. “We’re lucky to be able to meet you.”

“Y/N’s told us such great things,” Maria adds. 

You roll your eyes playfully and look at John B to read his face. He seems to be enjoying himself. 

“That’s a first,” He even jokes and looks your way.

“There’s actually something we wanted to ask you,” Luis says and takes his wife’s hand like he did at Dr. Hildegard’s. He looks at you to see if you want to explain. “Y/N...”

You take a deep breath and face your brother. “I have agreed to be adopted by Maria and Luis.”

“But -” 

“Let me finish,” You cut John B off. “We talked about it and the three of us are going to move back to the Outer Banks to be closer to you and the Pogues.”

“But...” Maria says like a song with an excited grin.

You mirror her smile and say, “But...Maria and Luis want to know if you would like to a be a part of their family too?”

John B’s brows jump up in surprise. “Seriously?”

“I know it’s a big decision,” Luis says.

“And if you need time, that’s fine,” You say. “But, I think this will be good for the both of us.”

John B looks between you and your foster parents, who he can tell care about you greatly. Of course he wants that too, but just like you were, he’s nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He says softly as to not offend the couple in front of him.

“Yes,” You nod. “I’m sure.”

John B inhales a deep breath and nods. “Okay. I’m in.”

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

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[thefanficmonster]

Corpse Infested

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of dysfunctional family, Family problems, Swearing

Genre: Humor, Comfort, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When your friend disappears for a long time, seemingly having lost interest in what fueled the most passionate fire in their life, you cannot not worry about them. Even if you wanna give them space, you will reach out, you will offer your help. You will tell them they always have you to rely on and talk to.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request, but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and if you do I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

For me, it’s never hard to find things to do. I’ve constantly got things on my mind and tasks to tend to, keeping me occupied and my mind focused at all times. I think that comes with living in a home as dysfunctional as this one. I honestly can’t recall a time when my parents got along nor can I think of a time where there was at least one second of peace while the two are both present in the house. It’s always a warzone up there. I’m saying up there because I tend to live out of the basement of their home. I know living in your parents’ basement is considered a peak loser point, or the bottom of the bottom, but you’d have to believe me when I say - I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I only recently came back to this hell-hole and boy do I regret it. I mean, it was a decision forced upon me by circumstances. Trust me, I tried every other option there was. When my dorm was to be closed down and demolished, we were given a notice to start planning our next move about a month early. You can bet I immediately started looking at places but my very tragic and miserable budget didn’t allow such a purchase. No rent was adequate for me and my near-empty wallet so my second option was moving in with my best friend who was also not in the greatest of situations but I thought I’d give that a shot too.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work out. She lived in a tiny apartment with her boyfriend and his best friend at the time, so four people in one apartment was a nightmare. Still a lesser nightmare than this one but a nightmare nonetheless. Some unwanted and downright traumatizing events chased me out of that place after barely managing to pack my stuff. Therefore, finding myself on the streets again, I had no other option other than the obvious and least liked one: moving back in with my parents.

Making money during my first year of college hasn’t been easy. Working two jobs at once and also streaming video games on the side was what my time was filled with all throughout the first semester but then this damn pandemic started and now ruined everything for me. I had things going for me, I was slowly getting my life together and now it has all fallen apart yet again. The places I worked at closed down due to quarantine and I haven’t been able to steam, not only cause I’d be the victim of my parents’ comments but also cause my terrible home life would be exposed to all my fans and viewers. It’s not like I could cancel out the commotion going on right above my head, it’s a livestream and this house’s walls are cardboard thin meaning all the arguing I hear almost 24/7 will serve as background noise for my streams.

I haven’t reached out to my friends or fans to inform them of this which I feel slightly guilty about but I’m really not looking forward to having to lie to them, just as much as I’m not looking forward to having to tell them the truth so instead I’ve picked silence which is probably either worrying them or driving them insane. Either way, I’ll make my comeback soon.

Well....not very soon by the looks of it...

I have to gather the money, then I have to find a place, then comes the packing, moving out of here, moving into the new place...oh God, there’s so much to it that I don’t even wanna think about. Just that thought that I’ll be inactive for that long makes my stomach turn. Streaming’s where I’ve been channeling all my negative emotions, turning them into something positive and entertaining with the help of my friends.

Speaking of my friends, I should probably put emphasis on how amazing they are. Basically the older siblings I’ve always wished I had. I’m the baby of the group, the eighteen year old freshman in college, powering through life the best they can cause they are constantly getting tripped up by inconvenient occurrences such as this one for example. I tend to have the gang poke fun at me quite frequently - all lighthearted and with good intentions obviously - but they are also the ones to get super defensive if anyone gets the balls to talk shit about me. They’d never allow me to be the victim of any smack talk or online rumors and ‘cancel culture’ or whatever the hell people will come up with to leave others restless and wondering if they did something shady a decade ago. Well, to be fair, I didn’t even know about the concept of social media a decade ago and I’ve never been one to post much but I still have a protection squad in case anyone decides to come after me.

Little do they know the people I need protecting from are the very people that are supposed to protect me - my parents. Luckily, they don’t venture into to basement very often if at all and I have my own exit to the outside world so I don’t have to run into them unless I absolutely have to. The only time I emerge to the surface of the house - aka the ground floor - I do so to leave my share of rent money on the dining table and I usually do it when they aren’t home or when they’re asleep - that happens often with how many bottles they each knock back on the daily.

*sigh*...at least I don’t have to talk to them, right?

Anyhow, remember how I mentioned I always have things to do? Well, right now I’ve tasked myself with rifling through the large boxes containing random stuff I found in one of the basements down here to see if there’s anything I could possibly sell online. For starters, I’d like to hope there aren’t any severed body parts in here because this was one shady-ass basement before I moved in and un-creeped it a bit so I wouldn’t have to become an insomniac due to the paranoia of there being a homeless person down here with me or some paranormal entity. Regardless, old basements tend to be, apart from haunted, also filled with junk no one would find valuable despite it actually being worth something after all. That’s basically what I’m hoping to find at the moment.

As I dig through the contents of the first box, the YouTube playlist I have put on on my phone cuts off causing me to furrow my brows in confusion for a second before my ringtone pierces the silence the lack of music created.

I quickly mute the ringing and take a look at the Caller ID to see a name I never thought would pop up on my screen as an incoming call - Corpse. I, as well as many of our friends, know that he’s not the biggest fan of talking to people on the phone so this is rather surprising. Still, I pick up the call in case it’s not a mistake and an odd chance that it’s somethin urgent cause Lord knows Corpse doesn’t call people willy-nilly. 

Thank God it’s quiet up there at the moment.

“Hello?“ I try my best to cover up the confusion in my voice but I can only assume I didn’t do the best job considering Corpse replies with a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?“ He asks, getting my cheeks to redden a bit, “You can’t blame a guy for calling after up and disappearing on him and on the whole internet. Where’ve you been?“

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the sound of glass breaking a shouted curse from upstairs.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Um...you know, places?“ I’m aware the answer isn’t only nonsensical but also sounds more like a question, but I can hardly focus on that right now. I’m too buys praying to an entity I don’t fully believe in for the situation above to not escalate.

“Uh, is everything ok over there? Where even are you right now?“ The teasing tone to his voice is all but gone at this point, replaced with deep concern, having obviously heard the commotion that did the exact opposite of what I prayed for - escalated.

“Y-yeah, it’s ok. It’s just another Thursday, you know.“ I attempt a small laugh but it’s blatantly miserable, “I moved back in with my parents when they announced the quarantine so that’s where I’m at now. They’re not the quietest of folks as you can tell so...“

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE“

Oh crap, here we go.

“...So I can’t really stream a lot...or at all.“ I mutter, cringing with all my might, “But it’s only temporary! I’ll get back in the saddle as soon as I find another place to stay.“ I don’t dare mention how long that’s gonna take me, it’ll be too disappointing and depressing for the both of us. “So yeah...um...thanks for showing concern but there’s really nothing to worry about. I’m ok, everything’s ok, things are just...a bit off the rails, but I’ll fix em no problem. Like I always do!“ I attempt to sound as cheerful as possible with little success due to the overwhelming anger I feel towards those people upstairs and the gut-wrenching nostalgia for the world of streaming I can no longer be a part of because of them. Actually, I put the blame first on the pandemic and second on my parents - if it wasn’t for Covid I’d probably still be in my dorm!

“Hey...um, I think I know an affordable place where you can take up residence. Only if you want to, of course.“ He sounds hesitant but I easily overlook that as excitement bursts throughout my entire being at the sound if an escape being offered to me just like that. Had I known I’d find the solution to my problem in the very people I spent time avoiding because I was afraid of their pity, sympathy and judgement.

“Oh please, it could be a rat and roach infested shoe box and I’d go running to it. How much is rent?“ I ask through a gasp of hurried laughter that’s a result of my inability to contain said excitement. Listen, I’ve been sitting here in Hellsburg for three months now and haven’t gotten a proper shuteye during that whole period, whatever Corpse is offering has to be better than this misery.

“Rent can be discussed once you move in...“ He trails off, “And it’s not rat nor roach infested but there’s a slight issue...“

“Which is?“ I’m honestly expecting the worst: in a bad neighborhood; faulty wiring with a high chance of being electrocuted; faulty piping with a high chance of flooding; people have died there; things get randomly moved around in the middle of the night etc. However, I don’t voice any of them to avoid getting laughed at for my wild imagination.

“Well, uh, it’s corpse infested.“ He says a little awkwardly, causing me to let out an inaudible sigh.

So my ‘people have died there’ guess was on point, huh?

“People have died there, huh? Well, I can turn a blind eye to that as long as I don’t find their bodies in the closet or meet their spirits at 3AM.“ I attempt to joke, now second-guessing my eagerness to accept the offer.

Corpse bursts out laughing his ass off at my statement, getting me to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and wonder what I said was so funny - it was a poor attempt at a joke, it in no way deserves that sort of reaction, barely a chuckle in my opinion.

“You’re golden, Y/N, I swear.“ He says once he forces the laughter to subside, “I meant corpse infested as in Corpse Husband infested.“ He breaks out in another fit as my brain slowly starts connecting the dots.

Oooohh he’s asking me to go live with him

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a sec. Are you aware of what you’re offering me? I mean, we’ve never met IRL, you barely know me and....and for all you know I could be the serial killer in this situation!“ I have no idea why I’m pushing my luck, don’t ask. I just don’t want him to make a decision he’ll later regret, I guess. “Like, I could kill you in your sleep!“

“Would you?“ He asks confidently, silently stating he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, “Of course not! But...” He cuts me off.

“Great, the offer stands on my end. I’m not a noisy nor nosey roommate so I suggest you start packing. If you choose to live in that hell-hole over living with me, I’m sorry but I’ll be hella offended, just so you know.“

Corpse sounds like he’s about to hang up on me, a decision already made, so I hurry to stop him. “Wait! What about rent?”

“Fuck the rent, pack your bags.“ And just like that, despite my efforts, he hangs up on me.

Well...this is a chance of a lifetime that I know refusing would lead me to not only remain stuck here but also put me in the hugest loser bin. There’s also the fear of being Corpse’s burden which I’ll try my best not to be - I mean, I’m a super independent person and Lord knows that if this offer came any other time or from any other person, I would’ve declined asap, no discussion.

But streaming

But sleeping properly

But having a normal life again

Yeah those are most certainly the reasons I get up and go into the closet in search on my emptied suitcase. Time to fill it up again, I guess. This time with a smile on my face and excitement fueling each and every movement of mine.

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[the-lesbianest-batman]

My tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

This song is very johnlock to me. I will explain why in this post.

this is sherlock's pov. post trf.

We gather here, we line up

this would be sherlocks funeral. sherlock inadvertently attending

Weepin' in a sunlit room, and

he sees john cry. so why doesn't the sky cry too? good weather at funerals always seems unfair.

If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too

he feels like he's burning alive from all the guilt, knowing that je inflicted this pain on john. he knows that this will burn john too. maybe it already has.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

this is sherlock not understanding why john got upset at him fir not doing menial houseworks. sure john was very patient to him but everytime he wasn't it really stuck out to sherlock.

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

that's why sherlock jumped. because he loves john. he has to keep him safe.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

tbh this is first off because the fall was do graceful???? and also because sherlock couldn't actually do it, not actually kill himself. he chose the hard way out.

And you're the hero flying around, saving face

johns reputation wasn't affected. and he was always saving face, covering up sherlocks mistakes in social situation, making sure no-one saw them as a couple etc. sherlock sees john as the better man out of the two of them.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

john called him a monster. but he still came to the funeral, he still loves him, he's still in pain.

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

"fuck sherlock, how could you do this to me?" john is standing at his grave, crying.

Look at how my tears ricochet

sherlock is hiding behind the tree. he's crying too.

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

they were fighting against moriarty but they were also in love with each other.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you

sherlock didn't want to die. he didnt want to haunt john. he had to.

But what a ghostly scene

yes this. this.

You wear the same jewels that I gave you

As you bury me

john still carries his love for sherlock with him. he's still affected by him. even when he buries him.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

he couldn't leave without seeing John one last time, at the funeral.

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

even when sherlock was at his worst, for example "i don't have friends!" "alone is what i have, alone protects me." john didn't leave. not entirely. never.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

he left him after the "alone protects me" but because he's ar the funeral sherlock knows he didn't fully leave.

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

this is so fucking sad

And I can go anywhere I want

sherlock is now travelling the world (to bring down the network)

Anywhere I want, just not home

but he can't go back to london. back to john.

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood

and when he returns, one day, he'll gladly let john take his revenge

But you would still miss me in your bones

knowing that he loved him too.

And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky)

and he misses john so much. sometimes he just carries on talking to him, other times it's more active.

And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

sherlock knows that john probably has nightmares about his suicide.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

sherlock couldn't just leave and turn his feelings off. sentiment is truly a defect.

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

but he's destroying the network.

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

john had to let sherlock go.

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

but he's still wishing on his one last miracle.

You turned into your worst fears

john is bitter and grieving and alcoholic like his father and sister. he never wanted that.

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain

sherlock knows john is probably descending into alcoholism because of the grief

Crossing out the good years

and that more and more john will forget all the good times they had together

And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed

and he knows that john still wishes he'd come back. that his miracle would come true.

Look at how my tears ricochet

"I heard you", sherlock is crying at the other end of the world. "I heard you and I'm trying."

so yeah i hope you all go and add this to your johnlock playlists now.