#Tricia writes

[ebongawk]

"Resting his throbbing hand against her neck, the other he gently tucked under her chin, guiding her gaze to his and letting his eyes rove over her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.  God, the way her expression suddenly crumbled made him want to go back to her house and beat the everliving fuck out of Jason Carver all over again...

“I’m just,” she breathed, her voice hitching.  Shaking her head, she brought her hands to rest on his chest, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a slow, deep breath.  “I just want to, um.  I just want to make it through today, Eddie.  I’m just… so tired.”"

every star in the sky (is taking aim) art by the absolutely amazing @itsdancingquen 🥹

[spicydirtymatcha]

“ 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. ”

一 a story following my oc, carina, as she navigates her life while working to make it to the MLB.

♡ = contains smut ☆ = multimedia chapter

chapter one

happy birthday carina!

chapter two

it’s carrie’s first rockets game! she is very Excited

chapter three

baseball and life over the years

chapter four ♡

time to say goodbye

chapter five ☆

just some ladies doing #justgirlythings aka kicking ass and taking names over the years

chapter six

carrie finds out some shit, a phone call is made, words are said, and true colours are revealed

chapter seven

carrie’s first trimester is kind of shit, honestly. luckily for her her dads are there to make her feel better. still in 2017.

chapter eight

headcanon type chapter discussing carrie’s pregnancy!

chapter nine

it's a...

chapter ten

a bittersweet summer turns into fall and a baby is born.

chapter eleven

merry chrimis and happy new year! the holidays are usually a time for joy and happiness but carrie’s not feeling the greatest.

chapter twelve ☆

guess who’s back, back again. carrie’s back. parker told her friend.

chapter 13

more life, more baseball.

find it on ao3!

story thoughts

carrie’s social media circa 2023

future carrie x beck

present day carrie

present day beck

[sapphosclown]

Cynthia’s coming out scene was so heart wrenching, and so beautiful.

First and foremost, I love that it was done non-verbally. As a neurodivergent viewer who sees how neurodivergent Cynthia is, it made the scene that much more impactful. That she was feeling so many things and thinking so many things that all there was to do was shut down. I felt every emotion with her and Ari did an absolutely incredible job portraying those feelings. Not even to mention how Nancy did not assume Cynthia was ignoring her or being rude for a second and completely understood what Cynthia wanted to say.

When Nancy asks what’s wrong, Cynthia says she doesn’t want to talk about it. Nancy, being Nancy, keeps pushing, and starts asking more specific questions. When Nancy mentions Cynthia’s mom, that’s the moment she truly shuts down— which leads to a whole other concept— but easily establishes that Nancy and Cynthia have a trust that has been built that we the audience, haven’t seen.

Nancy tells Cynthia “You can tell me anything” and we can immediately see Cynthia’s thoughts, “not this.” as she shakes her head with so much pain and fear. She wants to trust Nancy so badly, but she’s not allowed to. Nancy assumes “You don’t want to talk about it” and Cynthia shakes her head, but Nancy knows this isn’t a no, she knows “You can’t talk about it.” Which hurts Cynthia even more because Nancy knows her so well but she’s so afraid of admitting to this part of her.

And then Nancy suggests writing instead of talking. Once again, from a neurodivergent standpoint, this was so important to me. But watching as Cynthia slides the paper to Nancy, but not loosening her grip in a desperate attempt to cherish these moments before her best friend turns on her and she loses the last thing she has. But Nancy reads it. The silence is long, the pencil scratching on the paper is taunting Cynthia. And Nancy slides it back. Cynthia doesn’t hesitate in reaching for it and with one glance, it finally all hits her.

The fear, the anger, the despair, the pain, the relief.

It’s so much to bear and suddenly, she doesn’t have to bear it alone. Because Someone accepts her. Someone has proved there is no circumstance in which Cynthia will ever go unloved by them. And in that moment, they are safe to feel it all.

[sincerelynoir]

sleepwalking

Chapter One Thread

Part One

A crenny fanfic

Rated: T

Ever since Craig Tucker was a child, he’s been plagued with distorted dreams, he could never quite fathom it. Honestly, it was like being dead. Or what he grew to imagine death was like.

Deep inky black encompassed him, arms holding him like the wings of angel wrapped tightly around his frame.

There were a lot of things he didn’t know how to articulate.

The feeling was always the same. Comfort and simultaneous dread.

***

“Did you want pickles or onions?” Tricia asks with her back turned to Craig. She’s got a container of mayonnaise tucked under her arm and pressed into her abdomen as she makes way to construct her and her brother's lunch. Craig’s got a veggie chip in the grip of his fingertips and rotates it a bit, examining his food.

“No.” Is his simple response.

“These are always stale.” He lets out a sigh as if the cardboard taste of veggie chips was long suffering. He knows he’s being hyperbolic. Tricia lets a sort of halfhearted hum in response, the sound of cabinets opening closed is almost comforting to Craig.

“But I can’t stop eating them.” He shoves the snack back into its bag and pushes himself out of the chair, standing. Deciding to finally cut himself off.

Craig’s voice has been somewhat nasally and apathetic sounding. But Tricia has grown accustomed to his tone, she was always a bit more animated. Craig is slightly lax and sluggish. A bit meaner, a bit more reserved. Sometimes people don’t know to read Craig, but she does.

“They’re a little bit better for you.” She retorts calmy. Craig shrugs his shoulders.

“At the cost of taste?” He pries as he grabs his keys off the holder. Attention focused on getting out the door. He’s to organize the books in the realm of quantum physics. Some entire asshole decided to clumsily put things back, the entire section was in disarray. Mrs. Lonelle , the elderly woman who respected Craig’s privacy and desire for peace had left a very professional email to him about the situation.

Bless her heart.

“They’re not that bad.” She hands him the wrapped sandwich. He shakes his head, though in retaliation.

“If you like salted cardboard.” He laughs out in a nasally huff.

Tricia flicks him the middle finger, not even bothering to look at him.

Life without their parents has been hard,

But at least they have each other, no matter how grievous and a pain in the ass they are to one another.

“Oh, and happy birthday, dude.”

Craig halts in his tracks, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“It’s my birthday?”

1/?

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Just hair

Unfair - masterlist

TW: lady whump, trans whumpee, self neglect, self harm, substance abuse, carewhumper, character death mention, whumper's pov

"Can you take a shower by yourself?" Wesley asked carefully in the morning. He'd made the bed for her in the guest bedroom. Her room for the foreseeable future, as much as something could be hers, now that Marci was under his ward. He had to figure this out quickly.

"I'll manage" she replied, and he handed her a towel.

"Take your time!" Wesley’s patient expression dropped as the door to the bathroom was closed shut behind her. He tried calling Tricia, again. The phone rang and rang endlessly, but she didn't pick up.

Wesley threw his phone across the room. Not strong enough to break it, or smash into the wall across, just tossed it and let it land wherever it did. Who gives a shit.

He heard the shower turn on, finally. There was a knock on the door, that made him jump a bit, before turning around and running to open it. The noise coming from the entrance wasn’t one of actual knocks, but dull thumps, as if someone was kicking it.

He opened the door to find Tricia, he was right, trying to kick the door in, with her hands full.

"Why the fuck didn't you pick up your goddamn phone?" he greeted her.

Tricia just looked down on the pile of stuff she was carrying and then back at Wesley with one brow raised, as if to say what do you think, genius?

"Okay, get inside" Tricia walked past him, knocking into his shoulder. He might not have left her a wide enough space to walk in, still, it was rude.

She poured the contents of her bag on the coffee table, much to the man's dismay. Before he could start telling her off she started speaking.

"I brought clothes, mostly stuff I don't need anymore," she said, sorting through the pile, making an even bigger mess if that was possible, "they might fit weird though, she's thin as a rail, and much taller than me.”

Wesley stepped closer, scrunching his face inspecting the mess, but looked through the garments. There were short sleeved T-shirts, shorts, and sweatpants, all clean and smelled of detergent. He sighed, releasing some of the tension.

"Okay and what else?" he gestured towards the other piles that she’d just brushed aside getting the clothes. Tricia rolled her eyes.

"Underwear, some makeup and hair stuff" she listed, annoyed, "Have you seen what her hair looks like?"

"It's messy, what about it? I'm sure she'll brush it out and it's fine" he waved his hand dismissively. Tricia shook her head, the hundreds of tiny braids flew around with the momentum, the beads and rings adorning them clinked together softly.

“It’s-” She was interrupted; they heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and they both looked in the direction of the hallway expectantly.

Marci emerged, she'd put the same clothes on, she had on the day before, a blouse with bright and colourful patterns and a pair of jeans.

Wesley took a better look at her hair, now that Tricia mentioned it, and she was right it looked a mess even more so now that it was dripping wet, though he'd never admit to the woman being right.

"Hi!” Tricia greeted softly, demeanor changed entirely from the way she talked to Wesley, her employer. He would have a few words with her later.

She sauntered over to Marci, taking her by the hand and leading her to the couch to sit down, "I brought you a bunch of clothes you can wear, until we figure out what's gonna happen now, okay?" She pushed the pile towards her on the table.

"... thanks, uhm, but why?" she looked up at them, no matter how much clearer she looked, even her eyes were focused on the other two, she didn’t look like she understood what was going on. They shared a look.

"Well, you can't wear that forever" Wesley rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. Yeah, let’s start with that, Tricia shook her head, and put a gentle hand on Marci's shoulder.

"Just try them on, okay?" She sighed and chose a couple of things in the pile for her to put on. "Here!"

Marci stood up and walked back into the bathroom, almost robotically, just following the instructions.

She was quick to put the new outfit on in front of the mirror. The shirt was way too short for her, it rode up above her waistline, showing off her stomach. It would have been considered fashionable around twenty years earlier, when she was just a kid.

Marci remembered watching the TV with Dallon, wishing she could grow up to wear these things. It was really nice of the young woman to give her these. She should have remembered her name, but it slipped her mind. It was fine. The shorts were a little loose, but soft and comfortable. The underwear was plain and white. None of the items were things she would have actually chosen for herself, though.

"It fits!" Tricia exclaimed with a relieved smile, when she left the bathroom again. Wesley looked her up and down, and gave a nod of approval.

"She looks like a doll," he noted. Marci blushed at that, she wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or something else. Her head was still fuzzy, and she had to remind herself over and over again what was happening to her so she didn't forget. She got new clothes. She had slept in the man’s house. He had brought her here. Cody was dead. She had seen him… The new clothes were really nice, the shorts were soft to the touch, she pinched the material between her thumb and forefinger.

"Okay, sit down, let us take a look at-" Tricia was interrupted by the alarm on her phone going off. "Shit," she took a glance at the notification, "I have to run. You'll find everything you might need there," she pointed to the table and grabbed her own bag in a hurry. "Call me if you need anything!" And she was gone.

Marci watched as she left, puzzled. She felt the breeze coming from outside on her face after the front door slammed shut. Tricia was there in one moment and then wasn't in the next one.

"Come here," Wesley asked with a strange tone, one might use to call a dog. Marci obeyed and sat back on the couch.

The man reached into the pile of things and handed her a brush.

"Can you do something with that on your head?" Marci took it shakily to her head and the bristles immediately got stuck in the messy tangles at the back.

"I can't," she admitted after a while of trying and failing to comb through even one strand.

"Give me that, I'll try," he took the brush with a load of unearned confidence and tried to run it through. She hissed and whimpered to stop, stop, stop the forceful tugging on her head.

"It hurts," Marci teared up and buried her face in her hands after he put the brush down.

"How did it even get this bad?" He didn't exactly stop hovering over her, pulling on and trying to detangle some strands with his hands.

"I don't know,” she sniffled. Cody was dead and Wesley was, well, doing something akin to taking care of her. But it hurt.

"I mean, you clearly can't fucking take care of yourself... What the fuck are you crying?" The answer came in the form of a fully formed sob.

"Stop that," Wesley ordered, clearly distraught, "you did this to yourself, what are you crying about?"

Her shoulders shook with each heaving breath she tried to take to calm herself. A near impossible task, too much for her to handle. Wesley's words stung, too, those words were the ones she had heard all her life. Look at your brother, you were raised the same, what could possibly be so wrong you’re crying again? It's your fault that you're like this, Marci.

"I'm probably gonna have to cut this," he muttered and that did put a stop to her outburst. The tears dried up instantly and she turned around the best she could to face the man standing behind the couch she was sitting on.

"No!" Her eyes grew wide with fear and she put her hands over the tangled mess on the back of her head, as if that would offer some sort of protection.

"You started crying, when I tried to brush it, I can't leave it like that, if I'm keeping you around" he explained with a condescending scoff. Marci flinched as he leaned down, but he only grabbed the brush again.

"No, just- but you can't- please don't cut it" She stood up, unsteady, legs shaking, he had half a mind to reach out to help her stay standing.

She hit the table with the back of her legs and stumbled a bit, as she started backing away muttering, please, don't over and over again.

"That's fucking ridiculous you know" Wesley strode closer, placing the brush back on the table. He didn’t want even a stray strand of hair on the cushions.

He walked around the couch, without any sense to approach her slowly or carefully like one would a scared deer.

Marci's eyes darted around wildly, as she still backed away, but as soon as she settled in the direction of the hallway, the only possible way out, he caught up to her.

They were the same height, and still she felt suffocatingly small. She felt her legs stuck in place and her entire body froze up. She could barely breathe.

Wesley was so close, she felt the heat of his body next to her, it was all the wrong kinds of warmth, not one she needed so she pressed her back into the wall behind her to avoid it.

He didn't notice or care about it, and lifted his hand. She watched in paralyzed horror as it got nearer her face.

There was a moment of relief she felt when it wasn't raised high enough to hit her face, but it evaporated in the blink of an eye as his hand wrapped around her throat and he squeezed.

His touch burnt. A fresh wave of tears found their way back in her eyes.

"I told you to stop," he hissed.

"-m sorry" she squeaked. She couldn't help but put her own hands over his in an attempt to pull him away, but the harder she tried the harder Wesley pushed.

Marci gave up quickly and went limp in his hold.

"I don't know why the fuck you're so worked up, but I guess we can figure something out, right?" She nodded. Anything but this. He finally let go, and Marci doubled over covering her neck with both hands.

"Sit back down," he pointed to the couch without waiting for her to gather herself. She did so, quickly.

The softness of the pillows reminded her of the day before. When Tricia gave her that little pill. And her thoughts were steered back to being high, a reprieve of the world she desperately needed.

He walked back behind her and resumed pulling on her strands.

"There's no fucking way this can be combed through," he stated. Marci nodded in agreement, utterly defeated.

"Why can't I just cut it then?" he asked with a sigh of clear annoyance.

"Because, uhm, 'cause I- I don't, I don't wanna look like a boy," she mumbled, bright red shame creeping up her neck and face.

"Oh-" was all Wesley could reply. At least that made some semblance of sense. Fuck.

"Tell you what," he cleared his throat, "I'll try to save as much of it as possible"

Marci didn't reply, so he continued, smoothing over the strands he'd previously pulled on, much more carefully this time. "Like maybe down to your shoulder?" It was a stretch, but not impossible.

Marci shrugged, the tears started flowing again.

"Can I get something while you do it?" Wesley could barely make out the ashamed mumble of a question. It gave him an idea.

"If you don't freak out and bother me while I'm trying to fix this, I'll give you something that will make you fly among the clouds,” he grinned.

"But I can't- please, I need something now," she started squirming in her seat, as if she was about to attempt another runner. He had a plan this time.

"If you don't stay put and shut the fuck up, I won't give you anything at all." She stilled and he smiled. Finally.

"Can I do it?... cut it?" She stammered, running a hand over her hair, her skin brushing against his.

"No, I don't trust you,” his expression soured. What came over him in that alley the day before that led to, well, this?

"Then, uhm, can I watch what it, uhm, looks like?" She tried again.

"Sure, whatever”

The scissors looked… wrong in Wesley's hand. Marci followed his every move, vigilantly. He held it wrong and it made her wince with every strand he snipped away.

She lost count of how many times she started and stopped crying by the time he finished.

The cut was blunt and sort of uneven. It barely reached her shoulders, but with the help of a comb it was manageable again.

"No thank you?" He asked, after he dropped the scissors in the sink unceremoniously and grabbed a broom from behind the door to start cleaning the hair off the floor.

"Please, give me something now,” she looked away from her reflection and turned to him.

"Whoa, it's only polite, you know, I could've buzzed it all off and been done with it," he held his hands up in a mockery of defense.

She held eye contact for as long as she could, with a face devoid of any emotions, but the spark of defiance was put out quickly and she muttered "Thank you" looking down. He nodded.

"Wait here then, I'll get you something to calm down,” he left the bathroom.

Marci crossed her arms in front of herself and stared ahead.

Just a couple of minutes and all of it would go away. She had no way of knowing how much time would actually pass, but it didn’t really matter, she wouldn't mind the short hair when she's high.

He returned, holding his hands behind his back.

"Left or right?" A strangely cold smile grew on his face.

"What?" Marci looked up, puzzled.

"Choose!” He rolled his eyes.

"Left" Wesley opened his hand for her, there was a single white pill on it. She took it without hesitation. Anything helped. She closed her eyes and knew it would take time to kick in, but still felt calmer already. "What was in your right?"

"You might find out tomorrow," he chuckled and led her to the guest bedroom by the arm, and sat her on the bed. "Have some rest and get yourself together"

Wesley shut the door behind himself and dialled Tricia.

"What did you run out on me for?" he asked when she picked up.

"Sorry" She offered no further explanation. It was a wise choice, considering how easily authorities can tap into calls.

"I need your help to deal with this next time" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What happened?" Tricia sounded worried. She would have known what happened, had she not left in such a hurry.

"She freaked the fuck out"

"Why, what did you do?" The assumption that it was his fault offended Wesley.

"Cut her hair, because it looked horrible,” he shrugged.

"And?" Tricia would be great if he ever needed to interrogate someone. Her tone was unbearable.

"I don't fucking know, it's just hair," he raised his voice.

"It's not just hair, oh my god, what are you doing to that poor woman?" Now it was Tricia, who was freaking out. Great, just what he needed.

"Oh, come on, something needed to be done, now she looks like a doll,” he defended himself with a whine. She really did look like a doll.

"I'm going there as soon as I can," Tricia ended the call.

[rotteneldritchhorror]

I've created too many overly detailed headcanons about Barry's life outside of Rafe

Like full family history-- he has a huge family but it's mostly dudes, his dad and brothers and uncles are all cunts and super bigoted, when he came out as bi they called him a sissy and shipped him to the military to "man the fuck up", the enviroment was so fucking toxically masculine- his mom was just trying her best, teaching him and his older sister (who he loves) to take care of themselves, teaching them spanish so she could speak to them in private, etc. Literally the only people in his family he still actively chooses to speak to out of care rather than obligation is his mom, his older sister, and a pair of aunts.

He doesnt have many close friends, but his best friend is a queer sex worker who he met on the job, likes to take care of her, gives her a place to stay when she needs it, gives her money when she asks for it, gives her her drugs for free when she needs to wind down. They talk shit, she's the only person he gets to sufficiantly ramble to about Rafe, she gives him advice- its very sweet. (Rafe is so violently jealous of this woman, he needs to be kept at a 15 foot distance and Barry has to explain 20 times over that theyve never slept together and that they're just friends and that shes ABSOLUTELY not a threat cause hes not even close to her type lol. Also the three of them trip together once and Rafe takes his first hallucinagen with this random lady and his boyfriend lol, but after it he finally accepts that shes not a threat)

He has like... a deep need to take care of people? Which mostly funnels into taking care of Rafe, but he'll take any oppurtunity to take care of people he thinks deserves it (mostly... women- this man has such a soft spot for women, especially older women, he'll do anything to help em out, take care of em, whatever they need- can you tell he was a mamas boy?)

When he was younger (like early 20s) he dated a woman in her 40s and tbh- mightve been one of his best relationships before Rafe. A little boring for him, but he keeps in contact with her to check in at times (don't tell Rafe.)

He keeps in contact with a couple of the guys he was stationed with in the military, but he's only really close with one, unsurprisingly a gay guy who *ahem* was a regular for him when they were stationed together, and he gives him free weed and shrooms for the shit being in the army left him with.

This man's tiny friend group is just radicalised queers and his sister lol

[every-viewaskew-board]

Every View Askew Board #16 - Tricia Jones (Mallrats)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

*gif 5 made by me!

[reverie-quotes]

There are different kinds of fathers. Those who love unconditionally, those who love on condition, and those who never love at all.

— Tricia Levenseller, Daughter of the Pirate King

[deafeninggalaxycandy]

♡ okay so I'm trying to write south park stuff but I need topics to work with. prompts yk. if anybody has some let me know so I can work with it. I do nsfw and sfw pretty much anything. I just have writers block ♡

[sandwrites]

Tricia

The Perfumer watched over the trembling body of the Misbegotten warrior. 

Their chest shook with each breath. Death’s rattle, leading them back to the roots of the Erdtree.

At least. That was how it should have been. 

Stuck. That was how they all were. Stuck in a limbo they didn’t ask for, a limbo they never chose. 

Forced to die unwelcomed by the Erdtree’s grace. Cursed to seep back into the ground, souls left rotted and hapless in the wake of decay. 

The warrior croaked once, dark eyes staring glancing frantically up at the Perfumer. Holding tightly onto the the proffered hand that the Perfumer had held out as consolation. Pitiful, useless consolation. 

Its grip tightened. Painful, desperate, a last effort to cling to reality. 

And then, nothing.

Tricia slowly pulled her hand, as limp and as broken as it now felt, from the vise grip of the fallen Misbegotten, solemnly closing its eyes with her free hand. 

She had come to feel the pain of the Misbegotten. The understanding that they were doomed from birth. There was no light of grace guiding them, but it did shine in the shackles that grated against their ankles. It glistened in the eyes of those who herded them towards the mines, cracking their whips against their backs. 

It even glistened in her eyes. And the eyes of the Perfumers that failed to cure them.

Tricia had realised, you see. She had realised that the Misbegotten plight could not be cured. It was no curse, no malaise that could be waved away with the administration of a tincture in a vial. 

Something she had refused to accept, something that had lead to her expulsion from Leyndell to the volcanic wastes of Mt. Gelmir. 

Her role wasn’t to heal. It was to see them off. To smile and promise a cure 

People like the Omenkiller Rollo were nothing but mud to her, those who abandoned the path of healer in order to cleanse the impurities of anything untouched by Grace. 

She looked down at her hands. These were healing hands, these hands were meant to be curing the sick and stitching together wounds! Not being an unwilling witness to a death she had no power to stop.

By the time she had rose and wrapped her hand in some bandages, she’d made up her mind.

Not a single one. Not a single one of the Misbegotten under her watch would be allowed to suffer death. Not by battle or by the wicked idea of ‘mercy’ that her compatriots held. 

Some of the Misbegotten lay about, some cooking what meagre food they had in fire pits they had managed to pull together via wooden shields and formic rock.

Subconsciously, she felt the spark aromatics at her belt, unused since her journey west towards Mt. Gelmir. The road was harsh, but her pouches were full, most of the resources within being used for medicines. 

Violence.

The rare chance she had to kill had been shattering. She wasn’t built for war, none of the perfumers were. Many lost their minds to the atrocities they committed during the shattering, becoming Depraved. 

Others began to imbibe too heavily of their medicines, becoming just as broken as those who were affected by their weapons. 

If it was violence that it took to protect the Misbegotten, preserve the little sanctuary they had, deep under the ground, in a Catacomb that was avoided like Rot?

Then she would gladly choose it. 

Her personal Elysium, over the war-torn chaos beyond.

[valiantarcher]

Some assorted and random thoughts on Deny by Tricia Mingerink.

Jamie had me worried throughout the story. Once Leith trusted him, I figured he wouldn't intentionally betray Leith, but I was concerned he'd accidentally give something away or be used as leverage against Leith. Happy that didn't happen, though, and that he even got to rescue a few of the trainees! Less happy that he was set up so quickly with Brandi, but Leith seeing him looking stunned as she dragged him into things was kind of amusing considering that Leith also got stunned (in a slightly different way) by her.

The faking of Renna's and Brandi's deaths was pretty impressive.

Jolene with buckskins and a bow! :D I can see why Shadrach likes her - I mean, I'm sure she has a lot of good qualities, but she's also taking her role as heir seriously and protecting her people, which would speak so much to Shad. Give the girl a gun! I know it would kill the aesthetic and seriously undercut the Blades' coolness and intimidation factors, but she really should have had a rifle to complete the picture.

I'm sad that the girls didn't make it to the hideout, not just because they got kidnapped and dragged off to Respen (though I didn't see that coming) but also because it was such a great faked-death scheme and it was a shame for it to be rendered useless that quickly.

I knew the knife was going to cause problems! Didn't predict the exact scenario, but knew it was going to come back to bite them.

I have some better ideas of who the Leader might be and while it would solve one particular and major problem, I'm not keen on how that person got where they are if they're who I think they are.

The backstory connecting Leith to Abel (and Abel and Mara to Respen - I think I see where that's going and it doesn't seem to make enough sense to really fit) seemed really shoehorned in and doesn't fit with what we knew about Leith's mother/history from Dare.

I appreciated Leith being hesitant about the possibility of courting Renna; not sure why everyone else was so set on it - it's only been a month or two since he became a Christian and joined the Resistance and he's deep undercover, and they're both really young and been through a lot already. :P

In connection, it's kinda sad how short Leith lasts as First Blade. I mean, it's obviously good he didn't have to be put in such a strenuous and conflicting position for too long, but given how important that decision was at the end of Dare, it seemed a bit underwhelming that he made it maybe two months.

The bit where Leith is listening to the kitchen maid gush about the Blade and he's thinking that he's right there and she's not giving him a second look is great.

So, I figured someone was going to die (after all, you can't save everyone), thought Shadrach was a likely candidate, and mentally prepared, so was actually slightly let down that the ""First Blade's" "death" was so easily faked.

The execution scene was something else. The hymn (I assume an extant one?) based on Psalm 27 didn't follow the Psalm as closely as I expected, which really threw me during the scene (which I suppose is the flip-side of having that Psalm memorised). I think a closer setting of Psalm 27 (or even another Psalm) would've flowed a bit better personally. There was something jarring in Respen's proclamations and Renna starting to put pieces together in the scene. Not sure why, but he seemed to be trying to make a point that didn't really fit, and Renna's speculation at the moment also didn't seem to quite fit in, from what I recall. On the other hand, there was something fitting that Abel was the last to die if he wasn't the first (something about leading the way for his flock vs. bringing up the rear as a shepherd and making sure not one of them was lost in a way). I feel like I'm just talking all around this scene and not actually about the scene itself. It was very emotional and important and I'm still trying to get my head around it.

I am concerned about how quickly all the older male mentors are dying or are expected to die.

I felt so bad for Brandi being torn away from Renna, even if it was to save her. She already had lost all the rest of her family and thought she would at least get to die alongside Renna.

Speaking of, good on Leith for looking at the situation clearly and practically and coming to the best conclusion alongside Renna. I hadn't expected that the person that couldn't be saved was Renna, but getting her out of there with that leg would've been a challenge even if everything had gone smoothly.

I was kind of amused by Renna clarifying that she/Brandi only turned one Blade away from Respen because it's true from her perspective, but Respen is also correct that it's two because Jamie is also a Blade now and he absconded as well, so...

So, I knew Leith would be found out and Martyn wasn't going to let their friendship override loyalty, but I didn't expect that Martyn would give Leith the benefit of the doubt for so long and urge him to watch himself/get back-in-line. He really was trying to protect his friend while he could. :( Also, after reading Dare, I thought that this book was going to end with Leith being captured and Martyn being in charge of his torture. (Which I thought would then have set Martyn up nicely as the protagonist of 3.5. Which is not what is happening and the synopsis I've now seen for 3.5 doesn't sound like an improvement.)

At any rate, I came out of this book with a desire to reread it instead of moving on to the third one. That was more than three weeks ago and I have done neither yet. (I'm not blaming my August reading slump on Deny because there were a lot of factors, but it was very hard to pick up a new book after reading it and it did take a week-and-a-half for me to start something else and try to get unstuck on this.)

[ebongawk]

probably not gonna have the next chapter of every star in the sky up this week considering it keeps punching me in the throat and making me bleed but here's a snippet in hopes that that tides us all over:

“Eddie.” “Hmm?” “Do you bowl?” Rolling his head against the back of the couch to look at her, he quirked a curious brow.  The question sorta caught him off guard, so he clarified, “You mean, like?” as he rolled his elbow out like he was skipping a bowling ball down a lane.  She nodded, and Eddie blew out a raspberry.  “I mean.  I’ve been known to knock down a pin or two in my day.” It wasn’t actually a lie.  In fact, Wayne had taken him bowling all the fucking time when he was younger.  It was basically the only thing a young, petulant Eddie would participate in when he hit the terrible, awful age of twelve and started puberty-ing the fucking trailer down. Always hated the stupid shoes, though. Also, he hadn’t been in, like, five years, since Wayne got promoted and worked longer hours, and Eddie started spending more time on the weekends with his friends. In retrospect, he wished he’d asked Wayne to hang out more. “You think you’d, um, wanna go bowling with me?” she asked after a minute.  Looking down at her lap, then at him, then at her lap again as she started talking about a mile a minute.  “Like, when all this is over and your hand is healed up, of course.  But…  Not that I’m asking you to commit or anything, obviously, I just thought it might be, like, a fun thing to do?  Unless you didn’t like to.  Then, um.  Then maybe we could catch a movie o-or, um, get ice cream, or––” “Chrissy Cunningham,” Eddie interrupted, sitting up and invading her personal space with a wide grin.  “Are you asking me on a date?”

[spicydirtymatcha]

dbl extras || carrie

summary: thought i'd give you guys a rundown on how i imagined present-day carrie to be! help with imagining the story a bit. hope you love her as much as i do. reference pics or ““reference”” pics included

- full name: carina christina panganiban-st. james

- dob: august 26, 1998

- height: 5’8

- zodiac sign: virgo

- love language: words of affirmation

- skin tone through the winter, spring/fall, summer:

- miss girl is 10000% filipino! so jot that down

- she looks darker when she wears a white tee and she’s tan; she loves it (happens to me in the summer and it’s my fave thing)

- in tagalog “brown-skinned” is “moreno/a”

- her mom’s side would make comments when she was a kid about how dark she would get and the amount of comments grew when baseball became more serious

- her dads tried their best to shield her from the comments but they couldn’t protect her from everything :(

- anyways back to the fun stuff

- extroverted with introverted tendencies but since having penelope she has become more introverted but it tends to go away around friends and family

- hair colour: naturally dark brown but she does like to dye it

- feeling like this is the move for present day carrie

- ily jed 🫶🏼

- hair length: usually likes to keep it long, gave herself a buzz cut (with the help of her dads and pen) during the pandemic bc she was bored; now it’s grown out nice and long once again

- piercings? yes definitely

- left ear: double lobe, helix, flat, double forward helix

- right ear: double lobe, industrial, conch

- and maybe a cute lil septum piercing 😌

- don’t ask me how she could afford all this lol

- gets her nails done whenever she can, they’re cute or whateva

- loves cooking, loves being in the kitchen

- her dads however hate her in the kitchen bc she’s a mess, she doesn’t clean as she goes 💀

- definitely can sing, girl’s got pipes

- have tattoos? yeah, she’s got ideas

- even wears makeup on game days! i’m not talking a full face beat but she has her eyebrows done, eyeliner, and mascara on; keeps lipgloss in one of the pockets of her pants (they’re on a rotation)

- her teammates think she’s funny for keeping a sunscreen stick at the back of the dugout when she spends all nine innings with a mask on but they don’t know the harm of the UV rays! they don’t!

- fiercely loyal and protective of those she loves and her teammates; she will cut a bitch if needed

- wears glasses, cannot be bothered with contacts (20/20 vision is overrated anyway)

- build: thicccc thighs save lives and she’s got a cute butt she’s not afraid to admit that. i’m imagining rectangle/inverted triangle body shape, toned arms, girl is Strong™

- her kind of style:

- yeah she’s pretty cool :)

[sparkle-heart-anon]

Beg For Me

Summary: Riden and Alosa find themselves in a standoff as to who can be more stubborn. And of course, there is only one way to solve that

Fandom: Daughter of the Pirate King 

Pairing: Alosa x Riden

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Fluffy Smut and Swearing

His smug face.

God damn, his smug face.

Part of me wanted to punch him in that annoying, insufferable, smug face.

But another part of me wanted to kiss him – needed to kiss him. Needed him.

“Tell me, Lass,” the nickname rolled off his tongue. He stood from his chair, and in a single, long stride stood in front of me. Leaning down, his lips were inches from my ear, his voice low and gravely. “Tell me what you want me to do.” I could hear the smile on his face – that insufferably smug smile. “Beg for me, Lass.”

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure, trying not to feed into his ego any more than I already had. Silently, I prayed he couldn’t see the deep flush of my face, but I knew if I could feel it, he could see it.

His fingers danced on my hip, tentatively rubbing his fingers in circles right over my hip bone. “Do you want this, Lass?”

Biting my lip, my brain searched for an answer. Fuck, I wanted this But I also couldn’t stand to feed his ego any more.

“Alosa, have you forgotten how to use your siren voice?” He removed his face from my ear, so his deep brown eyes bored into mine. Gold flecks glittered along his iris, shining brightly with his fucking smug face. Good God, that face.

“I know how to use it just fine,” my voice was harsher than it intended. Trying to backtrack, I wanted to look desirable for him. I wanted to be in control. Wanted to make him squirm like he always made me. “But do you? I want to hear you beg, Riden.”

His eyebrows raised for a moment – but that Goddamn smirk did not drop.

“Really, Lass? You think you can make me scream? Do you want me on my knees? Because last time I found myself there, I think you were the one begging.”

Before I could say anything, he swiftly sank to his knees, staring up at me from those impossibly thick eyelashes. Gently, his fingers rested on my bare knee, the hem of my skirt resting just above it.

“If you’re going to be this insufferable,” I said to him, trying to keep my composure, trying not to admit just how fucking much I wanted this – I needed this, “at least put your mouth to good use.”

“Oh don’t worry, Lass.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. Fuck. Slowly, his mouth inched up further, while his hand bunched up my skirt. “Be a good girl and hold this for me.” His lips were still pressed to the soft skin of my thighs, his voice rumbling through me and going straight to my aching center.

As he handed me the fabric of my skirt, he intertwined his fingers with mine. Pausing for a moment, he looked up at me, our eyes meeting. His smirk had dropped, his eyes looking at me with pure adoration. “I love you, Alosa. I don’t think I will ever stop loving you.”

I crouched down, capturing my lips with his. As insufferable as his smirks were, his kisses were sweeter than honey, delicate and gentle, as though he worried he would break me. And in a single kiss, I felt more endearing love than I had ever felt in my life before him.

With him, I could be soft. With him, moments could be tender. I no longer needed to spend every second of every day protecting myself.

With him, I could unravel.

We broke apart, the softness lingering in his voice. “Do you want me here? Or do we want to go to your bed?”

Oh right. I was supposed to be coming down to the empty brig to make sure we had enough supplies if we were to run into any unsavory characters as we searched for our next treasure. Riden had been tucked away in a corner, cleaning his swords, trying to get a moment of peace and quiet. And while we were currently secluded behind crates of food, there was no lock, and anyone could come down here, looking for either one of us.

Going back to my room would have been the smart choice. The safe choice. But honestly, I couldn’t wait another moment for Riden to touch me. And besides, no one was supposed to be coming down looking for me for a while.

So I had no choice but to beg. “Please, Riden, please touch me. I need you.”

“Your voice is so sweet, Lass.” His smirk returned, ever so pleased with himself. “It’s even sweeter when it’s begging for me.”

Handing me the rest of my skirts and petticoats, his fingers danced to my inner thigh before running over the crotch of my underwear.

“Green,” he whispered, his breath tickling my thighs. “My favorite color. Did you wear them just for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I laughed, but quickly found myself biting my lip as he ran his fingers over my sensitive nub. He moved his fingers in the repetitive circular motion, just the way I taught him, and I could feel a moan slip from my mouth.

“Really?” he asked. “Don’t flatter myself? Because you’re awfully wet for me, Lass. So I find myself quite flattered. In just a few minutes I can do this to you.” He moved his fingers through my folds, prompting me to let you a shaky breath.

He switched to a more serious voice. “Is this okay, though? Can I touch you?”

“Please,” my voice shook. “Please, Riden. I need you.” God, I wanted him so bad. And even though I said I wasn’t going to beg, I found myself back in this familiar position, begging for Riden. This, I thought, is why his ego is so damn big. But I couldn’t help but always find myself begging for him.

Slowly, he pushed one finger in, then another, curling them slightly. As he slowly pumped them in and out, he used his thumb to rub slow circles around my clit. Within moments, he found a perfect rhythm, and even better, that perfect spot.

A moan ripped from my lips, and I instantly brought my hand up to my mouth to quiet myself, dropping the fabric of my skirt.

I felt him pull away, prompting me to whimper from the loss. “Riden?” I looked down, and again that fucking smug face looked up at me.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, standing up to meet me, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t quiet yourself, Alosa. I want to hear you – hear your lovely siren cries.”

“Someone might hear us,” I worried. But without his hands on me, the desire I felt was mounting, starting not to care if someone heard me.

“Let them hear,” he whispered, before pressing his lips to my neck, lightly grasping my flesh with his teeth. “Let them hear how good I can make you feel, Alosa. Let them hear how much I can enchant my siren. My love.”

His fingers found their way back between my legs. Grasping the fabric of my underwear, he pushed it down, giving him full unfettered access. And he returned to that perfect rhythm. Each time I let out another cry, it seemed to encourage him even more, getting him to move faster, more precisely – as though I was a puzzle only he knew how to solve.

My moans got louder and louder in spite of myself, and I could feel that wonderful pressure building in the bottom of my stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Riden,” I pleaded.

“I’m right here, my love.” He quickened his pace, the way his fingers curled around me, sending me over the edge. Wave of pleasure rushed and crashed over me, my moans falling from my lips like raindrops from the sky.

With him, I unravelled.

Completely and totally, I unravelled.

My fingers dug into his bicep as I came, my voice shivering, my mind going absolutely blank as my body filled with nothing but pleasure. Well, pleasure and love.

My legs shook, refusing to support me any longer. But Riden and I had found ourselves in moments like these before, and he knew me – knew every inch of me. And he knew that after I came, my legs often shook so hard I could hardly stand. His arm wrapped around my waist, supporting me, as I buried my face in the crook of his neck, smelling the strong scent of his cologne as I tried to catch my breath.

“Fuck,” I groaned when I finally could breathe. “Holy fuck, Riden. How do you make me feel so good?”

Although my face was still buried in his neck, I could hear the smug look return to his face. But there was still softness and tenderness to his words, to the way he held me, so close as though he was worried I would break away. “You make it easy, Lass. When you beg for me, I know exactly what you want. You have the most beautiful voice.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head and just held me like that for a moment.

In moments like these, I felt so completely overwhelmed by the love that Riden showed me – that he had for me. Not only could he see me in soft, tender moments like this, but he actively sought them out. He was probably the only one in all the seas and on all the land that could bring out this side of me. And for him, I wanted to show it wholly.

He loved my voice – not as a tool for him to use and manipulate, but because through it, he could know if he was making me happy, if he was making me feel good. My voice was not something he could control, or even sought to. It was not something he wanted power from, or to use to hurt others. The wonderful noises he made me produce, he did so out of nothing but love for me.

And for that, I was able to unravel around him.

“I love you,” I whispered to him, before capturing his lips with mine, pulling him closer to me, if that was even possible.

“I love you more than you can ever know, Alosa.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Now why don’t we get you something to eat?”

“Oh crap,” I laughed. “I was supposed to be calculating our food stores for the brig. Mandy is going to be so mad at me for taking so long.”

“Let her be mad.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “We can just spend another moment together.”

In my heart, I knew. We would be spending many more moments together, just as tender and raw as this.

I loved him. Smug face and all.

[pricilla-omnia-et-nihil]

I f*cking love Tricia Levenseller

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Sharp objects

Unfair - masterlist

TW: lady whump, trans whumpee, substance abuse, needles, character death mention, Wesley... being himself (ew)

Wesley couldn't help, but enjoyed the situation more and more as the days passed. From the initial discomfort and outright fury towards having someone else invade in his living space, he quickly shifted to entertaining himself with ordering Marci around.

It was far too easy, and she only needed a little push here and there, a hand around her throat gently pressing down, a swift slap, or the mere mention of depriving her of her favourite drugs and she became docile as a lamb.

He had her kneel in the living room, a couple of feet away from the nearest couch and the coffee table, as if she was just another piece of furniture.

He sat down as comfortably as he could, while being painfully aware he wasn't in his office, put his laptop on a stand over his thighs and got to work.

It was blissful and quiet, still, he could hardly concentrate with his heart hammering in his ears with excitement. Marci sat there, slowly rocking herself back and forth, not daring to get up or move.

She only stopped when they heard a car pull up in the gravelly driveway.

Wesley stood up, closed his laptop with an annoyed sigh, and went to open the door after ordering Marci to stay with a dark grin.

"It's getting suspicious that you're here almost every day," he let the young woman inside. Her hair was out of her braids, in a jarringly light bleached afro. If Wesley understood anything about hair he would've started to wonder how it wasn't breaking off.

"I would be happy to pass the task over to anyone else," Tricia grumbled walking past him. "What the fuck?" She was stopped in her tracks, at the sight of Marci kneeling in the living room.

"Are you making her do that?" She rushed over to her, to pull her out of the visibly uncomfortable position.

"All by herself" Wesley shrugged carelessly. Way too nonchalant about it.

"And I'm assuming she hit herself as well," Tricia grabbed her face to turn it around, checking for injuries.

Her blood was boiling beneath the surface, as she looked into Marci's distant eyes. She looked like it took her multiple minutes to figure out who just knelt down next to her.

"Hi, Trish," she finally said, and her eyes seemed to find their focus as well. Tricia just shook her head. She wanted to ask her if Wesley hurt her, or if she needed help. Of course she did.

She briefly considered calling in an anonymous tip to the police.

"Are you okay, honey?" She swallowed her worries back and asked instead. She still couldn’t cover the shaking of her voice. Marci shook her head, her movements were twitchier than usual.

"No, uhm, I mean, yes," Marci furrowed her brows. “I really, really uhm, want to get high,” her voice quieted down to a whisper.

"Oh, come on, just say heroin, for fuck's sake" Wesley snapped at her. He had sat back on the couch and continued typing, as if the scene between the two women didn't intrigue him. He told himself he didn't care at least. "It's not a secret," he rolled his eyes.

Tricia turned back to glare at him, but his eyes were fixed on the screen. Or at least it looked like they were, the blue light reflection on his glasses pretty much covered up his irises.

"... heroin" Marci muttered and her cheeks took up a shade of red Tricia had never seen before, and didn't think was possible.

"It's okay," she tried soothing her, but she felt bile rise up her throat. This was so wrong. "I'll help okay? And I'll help you get clean too, okay?"

Marci blinked emptily, before a surge of panic flashed through her face.

"No, I don't want- That hurts- if I go too long without," she stammered. It was a miracle that Tricia could make the words out.

"Shit, no I'm not going to make you quit right now, that's so dangerous," she sat back on her heels, exasperated, when Marci started to push back away from her. She looked back and caught Wesley looking at them. Any help? she inquired with an expression.

"Marcelline," he called and somehow her frantic attempt to scoot back came to a halt. He smirked, proud. A beautiful sight to him, really. "Stop that, and let Trish do her thing," he commanded.

"Don't call me that," Tricia bit back before she could stop herself. Coming from Marci it was sweet, from Wesley it was worse than condescending. He shrugged again.

"You know what?” Tricia didn’t know, but sensed this would not end well. She got up to face the man, refusing to make herself small. “We don't need your help, Marci's clearly stressed because of you, so give me her fucking drugs and leave" He said it all with one breath, running out of it by the end. It came out harsher than intended, but he wasn't about to apologise for it. He held Tricia's gaze for a moment, until she looked back at Marci, who was staring at nothing in particular in front of her, still shaken, softly panting.

"For fuck’s sake, okay," she cursed. She opened her checkered fanny pack and sorted through it. When she found what she was looking for she dropped a bundle of small ziplock bags filled with the white powdery substance in front of the man on the coffee table and stormed out.

Marci snapped back to attention when the door closed behind her.

“You can stop whatever that is, she’s gone,” he sighed and picked one of the bags up, flicking it a few times.

“-m sorry,” Marci mumbled, still distraught, rocking back and forth.

“You really should stop making such a big deal out of everything,” he continued, while he walked to the kitchen to rummage through the utensil drawer for an expendable spoon.

“We had a deal,” he reminded her, casting a dark shadow over her form as he got back. There were multiple things in his hand now, that she didn’t notice him grabbing. A syringe and a lighter.

“I know,” she eyed the instruments warily. She didn’t remember the deal, but too much time had gone by and she didn’t want to ask. It had to do with Cody. That’s why Tricia was bringing her drugs and not him, because Cody was dead. She remembered the growing puddle of blood around him.

“Let’s do this the old fashioned way, your little girlfriend doesn’t bother bringing you pills anymore,” he crouched down next to the coffee table and started to bend the spoon into shape.

“You don’t pay her for it, and uhm I can’t, she brings what she can,” Marci explained. He stopped for a moment to look at her, then chuckled and emptied the contents of one of the little ziplocks on the spoon.

“You come to your senses at the worst moments,” he shook his head dismissively.

“I’m not as brainless as you think I am,” her voice was weak, but there was enough conviction behind it to make him pause again.

“And that’s why you can’t leave, doll,” he replied condescendingly, without missing a beat.

“I know,” she whispered. She wanted to forget so bad. She wanted to forget Cody and the gun the most.

“I mean, what dealer doesn’t know the nice little concoction she sells contains heroin,” he clicked the lighter on.

“The name you made up sounds a bit, uhm, confusing, Icarus should be a hallucinogen or something,” Marci replied after a moment of hesitation. Wesley raised his brows and took the protective cap off the syringe.

“I’ll ask your opinion next time,” he rolled his eyes, and gestured towards her arm. She lifted it slowly.

“Can I-?” She asked carefully.

“No,” he grabbed her arm and wrapped a band around her arm as a tourniquet. “Especially not now, that you’ve got a mouth on you”

“You don’t trust me with sharp objects,” Marci nodded, repeating the thing he had said a million times before.

“I don’t,” he nodded, and prepared the syringe.

“You’re not a doctor, why do I trust you with this?” Marci tried joking. Wesley sent her a sharp look, before pushing the needle in her arm.

“Good thing about that, doll, that I don’t need your trust” He pushed down on the plunger.