#amber heard deserves better

[originalleftist]

When I see celebrities engaging in political/social activism, I can't help but think of one person we're not seeing. One we'll probably never see.

For a few years, Amber Heard was a rising activist and philanthropist actively working on various humanitarian causes, appearing at protests, being an ambassador for the ACLU and UN. And yes, her much-vilified donations, which she did not keep for herself as was portrayed, but was donating in multiple payments over time as planned until Depp's litigation placed her in financial jeopardy (organizations often prefer and ask for regularly recurring donations over one lump payment, as it helps with longterm planning).

Though I like her performances, her work in this regard was arguably more significant than anything she did as an actor. This wasn't just something she did for the PR or tax breaks either, because she has reportedly volunteered to help those less fortunate since she was some no-name middle-class high school kid.

But you never see a whisper from her about any social issue or cause now. I don't know if that's because the relentless harassment and destruction of her career and reputation she received for trying to stand up for abuse survivors crushed that part of her, and I wouldn't blame her if it did- or if she stays quiet because she knows her reputation has been so tarnished that her public support would likely be a liability for any cause she believed in.

And either possibility is heart-breaking

[fancylala4]

Fuck James Wan. That excuse for amber barely being in aquaman 2 was complete bullshit. I hope this movie flops.

[postmodern-neon-marxist]

johnny depp, a serial abuser whose violent outbursts have gotten him in legal trouble multiple times, who was preying on 17-year-old winona ryder when he was 26 and amber heard was a toddler, and who is besties with a wide variety of other abusers (marilyn manson, harvey weinstein, roman polanski, etc), perpetrated a wide variety of abuser tactics and violence against amber heard, including demanding that her nurse (who was on his payroll) drug her into submission

heard initiated divorce proceedings in 2016, got a restraining order against depp (she had a bruise on her face during the hearing for it), it was finalized in early 2017 with both of them signing an n.d.a.

in 2018 the sun, a british tabloid, published an article calling jk rowling a hypocrite for supporting johnny depp, whom they initially called a "wife-beater" before editing out that specific wording. depp filed a defamation lawsuit in the u.k. with his putinist oligarch lawyer, which he lost spectacularly despite u.k. libel laws being heavily favorable for complainants. notably the sun's defense was purely a "these allegations are true" one, not a "you can't prove these allegations aren't true" one or a "this doesn't technically count as defamation" one or whatever; the judge found

later in 2018, depp arranged articles in rolling stone and gq that were supposed to burnish his image and attack heard's but arguably did the opposite. another few months after that, heard had an editorial published in the washington post saying, without mentioning depp by name, that she was a "public figure representing domestic abuse" and had seen "how institutions protect men accused of abuse".

depp then sued her for defamation over this editorial, resulting in the trial you're probably talking about. the lawsuit was so obviously frivolous and venue-shopped from the beginning that virginia passed anti-slapp legislation in response.

there were massive amounts of inauthentic social media activity targeting and spreading lies about heard (many of which, like "she pooped on the bed!!1!!" or "she cut off his finger!!!1", fall apart the instant you look at them), from which the u.s. jurors were not sequestered. jurors also kept falling asleep during testimony. a juror also said the jury "essentially dismissed all witnesses on both sides who were employees, paid experts, friends or family from either side." the same juror also said the relationship was mutually abusive, which you would think contradicts the verdict that implying depp is abusive is defamatory.

domestic violence experts btw have been lopsidedly in favor of amber heard the whole time.

at any rate, the absurd u.s. verdict (unlike the u.k. verdict which still stands, having held up on appeal twice) was superseded by depp and heard's out-of-court settlement, which cut the amount of money heard would have had to pay depp by almost 90% and did not impinge on heard's right to talk about depp's abuse of her, which to me suggests that depp was afraid that heard's appeal would see even more success than that.

I purposefully avoided as much of the Johnny Depp/Amber Heard trial as I could, would anyone be willing to sum up what exactly happened

.

[carnalcrows]

ME 'N THE DEVIL - THE SALESMAN

pairing: salesman x bottom male reader

synopsis: A story of obsession and longing, where one man's desperate need for love traps another in a web of fear, desire, and the haunting promise of safety that feels anything but safe.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, kidnapping, drugging, blood, reader's boyfriend is an abusive bitch, death, dubcon, forced submission, breading, cream pie, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 4.1k

A/N: requested by 🥀 anon (link). i don't think i did enough justice to this amazing prompt sksksjsj

The bar was nearly empty that night—just how you preferred it. The soft hum of the jukebox played a tired old rock ballad, the kind that felt heavy with nostalgia, though you couldn’t place why. The faint clink of glassware punctuated the quiet, as the bartender cleaned glasses with the same rhythmic monotony they’d perfected over years.

You sat hunched over the counter, fingers curling loosely around your glass of whiskey. The amber liquid reflected the dim, golden glow of the bar lights, casting distorted shadows against the wood.

“And then he…” You trailed off, swallowing against the lump rising in your throat. You stared into the glass, as though the answer to your pain might be hiding somewhere in the depths of the drink. “He called me a waste of space.”

The words hung in the air, raw and shameful. Your voice wavered, and you fought the urge to cry.

“Like I don’t already feel like one most days,” you mumbled, your lips pressing into a bitter line.

The bartender paused their wiping to nod, their expression one of quiet sympathy. But the gesture felt empty, rehearsed even. They probably heard stories like yours a hundred times a week—drunken tales of bad lovers, broken hearts, and bruised egos. Still, you pressed on.

“He doesn’t just yell,” you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Sometimes… he hits me. But he always says he’s sorry after, and I…” A hollow, bitter laugh escaped you, cutting through the thick air. “I keep forgiving him. Like a goddamn idiot.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you and the bartender. Their eyes flicked to the clock, their discomfort palpable. You couldn’t blame them. Who wanted to hear a stranger’s misery, especially one they couldn’t fix?

“Sounds like he doesn’t deserve you.”

The voice startled you—smooth, confident, and close enough to make you stiffen. It came from your left.

You turned your head, blinking at the man who had somehow slipped onto the stool beside you without you noticing. He was striking, his sharp features framed by slicked-back hair that glinted faintly under the dim bar lights. His suit was tailored to perfection, charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes that hinted at wealth and precision. But it was his eyes that caught you most. They were piercing, their intensity almost predatory, like they saw right through you.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your surprise laced with suspicion.

The man smiled, and it was the kind of smile that could melt the edges of even the hardest heart. It was warm, practiced, and just shy of charming.

“You deserve better,” he said, his tone soft but sure. “That much is obvious.”

You frowned, instinctively pulling back a little. The comment was unexpected, and you didn’t know how to take it. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet.” He leaned back slightly, casual and self-assured, like he belonged in every space he entered. “But I couldn’t help overhearing. You deserve better than what you’re settling for.”

The directness of his words left you flustered. You hesitated, unsure whether to be defensive or grateful.

“You don’t even know me,” you muttered, a hint of challenge in your tone.

He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “Don’t need to. Some things are obvious.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, searching for some sign of an ulterior motive. But his face betrayed nothing except an odd mix of calm and curiosity. Finally, you turned back to your drink, muttering under your breath, “Bold of you to assume you know my life.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m wrong,” he countered smoothly.

The corners of your mouth twitched despite yourself.

The next time you saw him, you were back at the bar, nursing yet another drink after another brutal argument with your boyfriend. The whiskey burned less this time, your tolerance rising in step with your misery.

You’d been thinking about the man from the other night more than you cared to admit—his sharp wit, his confidence, the way his presence had made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and unnerving.

When he appeared again, sliding onto the stool beside you like he belonged there, your heart skipped a beat.

“Rough day?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting, as if you were old friends.

“Something like that,” you muttered, your head low. You didn’t want to spill your heart out again—not tonight.

But he had a way of drawing you out. His questions were easy, his comments sharp but never cutting. Before you knew it, you were talking again—about nothing and everything. About the little annoyances of your day and the bigger cracks threatening to break you apart.

He listened, really listened, and offered thoughts that were insightful without being overbearing. He even made you laugh—a genuine laugh, something you hadn��t done in weeks.

By the time you realized how much time had passed, the bar was closing, and the two of you were walking out together.

The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint smell of rain. He walked you to your car, his presence steady and reassuring beside you.

“You know,” he said as you reached your door, his voice lower now, almost intimate, “you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You looked at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unrelenting, and for a moment, you felt like he was seeing parts of you you’d tried to hide even from yourself.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, unsure how else to respond.

As you climbed into your car, you caught the way he looked at you through the window—like you were something precious, something he couldn’t quite have but desperately wanted.

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. And for a fleeting moment, you wondered what it might be like to let him have you.

The man couldn’t get you out of his head. You consumed him, haunted his thoughts, and stirred something primal in him. But there was one obstacle standing in his way: your sorry excuse of a boyfriend.

He watched from the shadows, studying the man who dared to hurt you. The bruises you tried to hide, the way your voice cracked when you spoke of him—it was enough to fuel The man’s resolve.

The next time he saw you at the bar, he smiled warmly and ordered you another drink. You didn’t notice the way his hand lingered over your glass for just a moment too long, or how the edges of your vision began to blur shortly after you finished it.

When you woke, you were in a dark room. The smell of dust and old wood filled your nostrils, and the faint sound of classical music played from a record player in the corner.

Your wrists were tied to the arms of a chair, the rope biting into your skin. Across from you, your boyfriend sat in a similar chair, thrashing and screaming into the gag that muffled his words.

“What the hell—?” you began, your voice trembling.

“Good evening.”

The man stepped into view, his sharp grin cutting through the dim light. He was impeccably dressed, as always, his hands clasped behind his back.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, panic rising in your chest.

“It’s simple,” he said, his tone calm. “You’re going to play a game.”

On the table between you and your boyfriend sat a revolver, its gleaming barrel a stark contrast to the grimy room.

“Russian roulette,” The man explained, picking up the gun and spinning the cylinder with practiced ease. “One of you walks out of here. The other… doesn’t.”

Your boyfriend screamed behind his gag, his eyes wild with terror. You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No! I won’t do it!”

“Oh, but you will,” The man said, his smile never wavering. “Because you want to live. And deep down, a part of you wants him to pay for what he’s done to you.”

The man placed the revolver on the table, spinning the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. The ominous cl-click of the mechanism echoed in the room, setting your teeth on edge. He looked between you and your boyfriend, his grin widening as if he relished your fear.

“Let’s begin,” he said, picking up the gun. His movements were deliberate, almost casual, as if this were no more than a game of cards.

“You’re not rolling the barrel?” you questioned in shock, staring into his eyes, which seemed devoid of any emotion.

“What’s the fun in that?” he merely grinned, while adjusting his cufflinks.

He pointed the revolver at you first.

Click.

The sound was deafening, despite the empty chamber. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs as you stared down the barrel of the gun.

The man chuckled softly, as if entertained by the way your shoulders heaved with each shaky breath. “Nerve-wracking, isn’t it?”

He turned the gun toward your boyfriend.

Click.

Your boyfriend thrashed in his chair, muffled cries spilling through the gag as he shook his head violently. You could feel his terror radiating across the small room, mingling with your own.

“I’d almost feel bad for him if he wasn’t such a waste,” The man mused, spinning the cylinder again with deliberate slowness. The sound of the metal grinding against itself sent a chill through your entire body.

The gun swung back to you.

Click.

You flinched, tears spilling down your cheeks as your vision blurred. Your mind screamed at you to move, to do something, but you were frozen, your body paralyzed by fear.

The man hummed a classical tune softly under his breath, tapping the side of the gun like he was debating his next move. His eyes flicked between you and your boyfriend, finally landing on the latter.

“Let’s see if he’s feeling lucky.”

He raised the gun again, pointing it between your boyfriend’s wide, bloodshot eyes.

Click.

Your boyfriend screamed into the gag, thrashing so violently that the chair scraped against the floor. Sweat dripped down his face as his muffled cries turned into guttural, animalistic wails of desperation.

The man sighed, feigning disappointment. “Oh, the suspense is killing me,” he said, the grin on his face making it clear that he was enjoying every second.

The revolver spun again, slower this time. You heard every metallic grind as it came to a stop, and your stomach lurched.

This time, the barrel swung back to you. The man pressed the gun against your cheek, the cold metal biting into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re terrified,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate, like a lover’s confession.

Click.

You gasped audibly, your eyes darting to his. He stared back at you with a manic glint, his grin splitting wider as though your anguish was his favorite song.

Without warning, he turned the gun back to your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend screamed, shaking his head violently, tears streaming down his face. He made a muffled plea through the gag, words you couldn’t make out but understood well enough: he was begging.

The man tilted his head, feigning consideration. “I wonder what your last thought is right now. Regret? Fear? Or maybe it’s anger… at yourself for being such a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

He pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The sound of the gunshot ripped through the room, leaving your ears ringing. Blood sprayed across the table and onto your face in hot, sticky droplets. Your boyfriend’s head snapped back violently before slumping forward, the rope keeping his body upright as blood poured from the jagged hole in his forehead. His body twitched once, then fell still.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, burning into your nostrils. Your stomach churned as you stared at the lifeless shell of the man who had once called you his.

You should’ve felt horror, revulsion, or even guilt. But somewhere deep down, a small, twisted part of you felt… relief. Relief that it was finally over, that he couldn’t hurt you anymore.

The man stepped closer, crouching in front of you and gently brushing a blood-spattered lock of hair from your face. His touch was uncomfortably tender, a stark contrast to the carnage around you.

“You’re free now,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You stared at him in shock, your mind a haze of terror and conflicting emotions.

Before you could process what had happened, darkness crept in once more.

When you woke, it was to the dim light of dawn filtering through your curtains, casting soft, golden rays across your room. Everything felt disjointed—your body ached in places you couldn’t explain, and your mind was swimming in a haze of fragmented memories. For a few blissful seconds, you thought it was just a nightmare, a grotesque figment of your imagination brought on by too much alcohol and too little sleep.

But then you noticed the faint metallic scent still lingering in the air.

Sitting up, you looked down at yourself. Your clothes were rumpled and clung uncomfortably to your skin, but it was the faint smudge of red near your collar that made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to believe it. You stumbled to your feet, each step heavy with dread as you made your way to the laundry hamper.

And there it was—a bloodstained shirt.

The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath hitching as the reality of it all came crashing down. It wasn’t a nightmare. It had happened. The screaming, the gunshots, the blood—it was all real.

You threw the shirt into the deepest corner of the hamper and slammed the lid shut, as though that could contain the memories clawing their way to the surface.

For days, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t function. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw flashes of it: his twisted grin, the spray of blood, your boyfriend’s lifeless body slumping forward. Guilt and relief warred within you, an impossible combination that left you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, you realized you had to do something. You couldn’t keep drowning in your own mind. So, you decided to rebuild.

You poured what little savings you had into opening a small bakery, a cozy place tucked into a quiet corner of town. It became your sanctuary, a space where you could channel your pain into something productive. Kneading dough, shaping pastries, and watching loaves rise in the oven—it was simple, grounding work that gave you a sense of control when everything else felt so chaotic.

The bakery quickly became a modest success. Locals loved the fresh bread and the warm, inviting atmosphere you worked so hard to create. For a while, you almost believed you could have a normal life again.

But then he walked in.

It was an ordinary afternoon. The scent of freshly baked sourdough filled the air, and sunlight streamed through the shop’s front windows, casting a warm glow across the wooden countertops. You were arranging a tray of croissants when the bell above the door jingled.

Looking up, your heart stopped.

There he was, standing in the doorway as if he belonged there, his sharp features and piercing eyes unmistakable. He was dressed as impeccably as ever, his suit perfectly tailored and his smile disarmingly casual.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, approaching the counter with an air of ease that made your skin crawl.

Your hands trembled as you wiped them on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “What… what are you doing here?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away, instead glancing around the shop with an almost appreciative expression. “Just passing through,” he said finally, as if that explained anything. He slid a few bills across the counter. “A few loaves of sourdough.”

Your fingers fumbled as you grabbed some fresh loaves and wrapped them in parchment paper, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it. You avoided his gaze, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move.

When you handed him the loaf, your hands brushed for the briefest moment, and you pulled back like you’d been burned. His smile widened, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable.

“Thanks,” he said, his tone light and polite, as though this were just a normal interaction.

He turned and walked out without another word, the bell jingling softly in his wake.

As you closed shop for the evening, flipping the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED," a deep sigh escaped your lips, the weight of the day melting off your shoulders. It had been one of those relentlessly busy days where time blurred—an endless parade of smiling customers asking for pastries, loaves, and the occasional custom order that had you juggling more than your two hands should allow. The familiar ache in your back and flour dusting your sleeves were reminders of how hard you’d worked. But as the quiet settled in, so did a sense of peace.

For once, your mind wasn’t completely consumed by thoughts of him. It was a rare reprieve, the memories and fears receding like the tide, leaving you with something close to calm. You held onto that feeling tightly, as though letting it slip away might invite the darkness back.

After locking the door and slipping the keys into your pocket, you stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at the fading sunlight painting the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink. The thought of going straight home to your empty apartment felt suffocating—too quiet, too lonely, too much room for your thoughts to spiral.

A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the faint scent of grass and distant flowers, and an idea bloomed in your mind. The park. It had been weeks since you’d allowed yourself the luxury of just… being. You needed the fresh air, the open space, the sounds of the world moving on around you. Maybe, just for a little while, you could convince yourself that everything was normal.

And then you saw him.

He stood on the sidewalk, holding the bread that he had bought from you for a moment before deliberately letting them fall to the ground. Then, with calculated cruelty, he ground it under his heel, the parchment paper tearing and the loaves crumbling into pieces. A group of homeless people nearby looked on, their gazes hungry and desperate, but he didn’t so much as glance at them.

Instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours.

That grin spread across his face again, wide and manic, his teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun. It wasn’t a smile of kindness or humor—it was a promise. A reminder.

Your stomach twisted, and you stumbled back, your breathing ragged. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the message was clear: you weren’t free of him.

Not yet.

That night, you awoke with a start, your senses assaulted by the soft, flickering glow of candlelight. Shadows danced along the walls, their movements hypnotic and eerie, the faint scent of wax and smoke filling the air. Your heart pounded as you realized you weren’t in your bed. The room was unfamiliar—opulent, in a hauntingly old-fashioned way. The furniture was dark wood, the drapes heavy and velvet, the atmosphere suffocatingly intimate.

And then you saw him.

He was standing over you, his silhouette bathed in the golden light of the candles. His suit was pristine as always, his tie slightly loosened, and his sharp features softened just enough to be disarming. But it was his eyes that held you captive, their intensity pinning you in place like prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and velvety, carrying a dangerous edge of satisfaction. He crouched beside the bed, his movements deliberate and smooth, his presence overwhelming. “Good. I was starting to think you’d sleep through the best part.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came up to your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt utterly at odds with the situation. His touch was cold, yet it left a trail of fire in its wake, and you couldn’t help but flinch.

“You can’t run from me,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with an unyielding certainty. “I’ve been patient. I’ve given you space. But you belong to me, and it’s time you understood that.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back. You hated how vulnerable you felt, how powerless you were under his gaze. His thumb brushed a tear away, his touch almost reverent, and he smiled—a soft, bittersweet smile that only made you feel more trapped.

“I adore you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Every moment, every thought, it’s all been for you. Don’t you see? I’ve done everything for you. And now, you’re mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, and all-consuming, like he was trying to claim every part of you at once. His hands cradled your face, his grip firm but not painful, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

You hated yourself for it, but you kissed him back. Your body betrayed you, a spark igniting deep within you that you couldn’t extinguish. His passion was intoxicating, pulling you under like a riptide, and for a moment, you forgot everything else—your fear, your anger, your confusion.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was hot against your skin, his forehead resting against yours. “You’ll be safe with me,” he murmured, his voice heavy with conviction. “Forever.”

His words sent a chill through you, not because you doubted him, but because you believed him. There was no escaping him—not his obsession, not his control, not the twisted connection that bound you to him.

Deep down, in the parts of yourself you didn’t want to acknowledge, you knew he was right.

His hands slowly trailed down to the hem of your pants, tugging them off. The cool breeze hit your thighs, forming goosebumps along the soft skin– making you shiver with a mix of delight and fear.

He pressed forehead, slowly inching down to your lips, pulling you in once more, as he lifted you in his arms completely.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he cooed whilst sliding your boxers down, revealing your throbbing erection.

You whimpered at the praise as he brought his hand to your chin to make you face him. His eyes– which previously felt devoid of having any human emotion, were now different. You couldn’t place exactly what it was.

As he pulled you into another searing kiss, one of his fingers prodded at your exposed hole, wet with lube. You yelped at the sudden intrusion, only to be silenced with another kiss.

He slowly pushed his finger in, followed by another, and then another. Three digits were slowly pumping in and out of you, as you held on to the man’s already crumpled shirt for some sense of balance.

When he deemed that you had been prepped enough, he slowly removed his fingers, and replaced them with his hardened length (you hadn't noticed him taking his pants off–oh well).

He pushed the tip in, making you throw your head back, and an almost pornographic moan leaving your lips.

The man let out a low groan,you were so tight that it seemed like your hole was sucking him in. When he bottomed out, you took few deeps breaths, but before you could say anything, he pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in.

Your eyes went to the back of your head, jaw going slack. His hands were holding your legs up in such an angle that he was hitting your prostate with every single thrust.

Your hole clenched around his length, almost making it hard for him to move– but he seemed to manage. He fucked into with reckless abandon, marvelling at your pretty sounds– they were angelic to his ears.

Soon, you felt your orgasm consuming you like a raging waterfall; but the man wasn’t finished. He rammed into you even harder than before, the overstimulation making your brain go fuzzy.

Eventually, his thrusts stuttered, and he spilled his load into you– painting your insides a pearlescent white.

You huffed, feeling filled to the brim as he slowly placed you back onto the bed. The exhaustion made sleep consume you once more.

“You’re mine now, little dove– and I’m never letting you go.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[levisjinchuriki]

truly, madly, deeply - toji fushiguro

summary: since you left him, toji has been indulging in nothing but bad habits. he makes an impulsive decision stumbling home from the bar one night

warning: post-breakup angst, mentions of heavy drinking, depression, being numb, a whole lot of angst

it’s late—too late for toji to still be out. the bar is nearly empty, quiet except for the scraping sound of chairs as the staff begins their nightly routine of wiping tables and stacking stools. the bartender shoots toji an unimpressed glance as he sets down another glass of whiskey in front of him, grumbling about closing tabs soon. toji doesn’t argue, just wraps his calloused fingers around the glass and lets the amber liquid burn as it slides down his throat. it’s painful, but the familiar sting is something he’s come to crave recently. as much as it hurts, he tries to savor the taste before throwing some cash on the table and heading out.

it’s the kind of quiet that makes the weight in his chest feel unbearable, pressing harder against ribs that have long since forgotten what it’s like to feel light. 

he stumbles out of the bar, unsteady on his feet, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbles for his phone in his coat pocket. outside, the cold bites at his skin, the damp air clinging to him as the rain had never truly stopped. 

the screen glows dimly, the battery dangerously low, but it’s enough to illuminate the list of names he hasn’t touched in weeks. his thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling sluggishly past contacts that don’t matter. then he sees your name. and time stands still. 

for a long moment, all he can do is stare. his thumb trembles, hesitating, like his drunk mind is at war with itself. there’s a part of him that knows better, that knows he should put the phone back in his pocket and walk away. but the other part—the louder, more desperate part—wins. his thumb moves, and the call begins to ring.

once. twice. three times.

toji squeezes his eyes shut, already regretting his actions. he’s not your problem anymore. he lost the right to call you, to hear your voice, to ask for comfort. and yet, here he is, a fool hoping for a miracle at a time when no one should be awake.

“toji?”

he freezes. he hasn’t heard your voice in… how long has it been? the days have blurred together into a haze of alcohol and sleepless nights since you left. he grips the phone tighter, his throat suddenly dry.

“hey” he drawls. there’s a pause on your end. he cringes when he hears a muffled yawn from you. 

“it’s late. are you okay?”. your voice is soft, groggy from the sleep he undoubtedly pulled you from. his heart breaks at the sound of it. 

“yeah. -m fine. jus’….” he slurs. 

“toji… are you drunk?” your voice, laced with concern, strikes a nerve. you sound just as worried as it always did when it came to him, a tone he doesn’t think he deserves anymore. you’ve seen these parts of him before—the ones he hides from the world but somehow always let slip in front of you. 

“nah” he lies. “just a little… tipsy”. his feet shuffle clumsily against the wet pavement as he stumbles down the block. he feels everything and nothing all at once—silly, hopeless, in love, and heartbroken. 

“toji–” your voice is soft but unmistakably disappointed. it’s a tone he’s heard before, one that digs under his ski. he knows that sound. it’s the same one you used to have when he broke promises, when he let you down, when he let himself down.

there are countless reasons why you and toji aren’t together anymore—reasons that keep replaying in his mind whenever he has too much to drink. but none of those reasons stop you from caring about him, even now. and that makes it worse somehow.

“listen…” his voice drops lower, thick with the slur of alcohol. “i know it’s late. s’probably real stupid to call, huh?”. he laughs, but it’s half-hearted, a dry, almost painful sound.

your silence is heavy and suffocating. toji knows you’re probably shaking your head right now, caught between concern and frustration. he can picture it so clearly—how you’re probably biting your lip, wanting to say something but holding back. it almost makes him smile.

as the silence stretches, the sound of heavy rainfall in the background fills the space, a constant, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of his tired, aching heart.

“where are you?” you ask, your voice barely audible above the rain.

he blinks, his mind swimming in a fog that doesn’t seem to clear. he’s disoriented for a second, now realizing that he’s walked in the wrong direction. “why?” he mumbles, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“because i’m coming to get you” you reply, your tone gentle but firm. “you shouldn’t be out alone”. toji closes his eyes for a moment, your words sinking in, a warmth creeping through his chest despite the alcohol and the cold rain. he hears the shuffle of movement on your end of the line, and he can almost see it—the way you’re probably slipping into those ridiculous bunny slippers he always teased you about. 

a small, tired smile threatens to break through as leans back against a lamppost. “don’t bother” he mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “i’m fine”. another lie, but he doesn’t expect you to believe it.

“tell me where you are” you demand. he’ll take your tone over no contact with you any day. 

“always so good. so… responsible” he mutters, the words slurring as his mind drifts. “you don’t gotta save me, y’know? i’m fine. always fine” he drags out.

“toji, tell me where you are” your voice is stern. it’s the same tone you used when he was in trouble, the same one you’d use when he messed up, the same one you used when you finally told him you were done.

he slumps against the cold, damp wall of the nearest building, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. he mutters the name of the street, barely audible, his words jumbled and ragged.

“i’m on my way” you tell him. there’s a brief pause before you add, “stay there”. for once, he listens. toji just stands there– drunk, stupid, soaked and numb to the rain as it continues to hit him. 

he doesn’t know how long it takes before your car finally pulls up. the headlights shine bright, momentarily blinding him. he blinks a few times and there you are—stepping out of the car, pulling a coat around yourself and wondering how he’s been out here this long. you look at him, and for a split second, toji sees everything he’s been trying to drown out. disappointment flickers behind your eyes, sharp and painful. but there’s something else there too—worry. 

“toji…” you sigh, a sound filled with exhaustion. he feels it in his chest like a punch. he’s happy to see you, but upset that you’re out here in the storm, chasing after him like this.

“you didn’t have to come” he mutters, but even as he says it, he stands up straighter—forcing himself to make the effort, even if it’s not convincing. his legs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, but he tries to pull himself together. he doesn’t want you to see how much he’s been drowning.

your gaze doesn’t miss anything. he’s drenched, soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to him, but worse than that—he’s drunk. and sad. more sad than he’s let on, even to himself. he knows it. you know it. it’s clear to you both that he hasn’t been taking care of himself—not in the way you always hoped he would.

“get in the car” you say, the command simple but firm. your voice is steady, unaffected by the storm, and it somehow cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

he doesn’t argue. not with you. not when you’re looking at him like that, not when he knows you’re right, and you’ve always been right about him.

---

the drive is quiet at first. the only sound is the soft hum of the heat, keeping toji from succumbing to hypothermia, and the rain as it taps steadily against the windshield. toji sits slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes half-lidded as he stares out the window. his gaze is distant, unfocused—lost in the mess of his own thoughts.

“you shouldn’t drink like this,” you say, breaking the silence. your voice is soft but firm. “it’s dangerous.”

toji doesn’t respond immediately. you can see the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffen just slightly. he’s a big guy, tough, but even toji has his limits. he might not show it, but you know how close he is to the edge. and tonight, it’s clear that he’s just a few drinks away from being completely inebriated.

“don’t start with me” he mutters, his voice rough with frustration. you’ve heard that tone before—the one he gets when he’s pushed, when he knows he’s in the wrong but doesn’t want to hear it.

you sigh quietly to yourself, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. you’d always had a habit of acting like his mother, trying to take care of him, trying to get him to listen to reason. it’s inevitable, really—toji always acted like a child in so many ways, and you, stubborn as you are, always fell into the role of the one who tried to save him.

“how many times have i—” you begin, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“i know!” he snaps, his voice sharper than he means it to be. “i know, alright?”

the words hang in the air between you, heavy with the tension that always lingers when the two of you argue. you’re quiet for a moment, the only sound now the swish of the windshield wipers fighting against the rain.

you grip the steering wheel a little tighter, steadying yourself. the urge to push, to argue further, is strong, but you know better than to start that fight now. the last thing he needs is more words thrown at him, more of your frustration tangled up in his guilt.

right now isn’t the time to argue.

"then why?" you ask quietly, your voice barely rising above the sound of rain hitting the car.

toji presses his head back against the seat and lets out a humorless laugh. “why not?” he replies, his words slurred but sharp enough to sting.

you furrow your brows. he’s being difficult, like always—pushing you away with his deflection, his refusal to take anything seriously. “that’s not an answer” you say, glancing at him briefly before returning your eyes to the road.

toji turns his head to look at you then, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car. the streetlights outside streak shadows across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, the weariness etched into his features. he looks tired—not just from tonight, but from everything.

“i don’t owe you an answer” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.

it’s true. he doesn’t owe you anything, not after everything. not after the way you left, after the way you shattered him. you feel a pang of guilt in your chest, sharp and unforgiving, but you push it down.

“i’d still like to know” you admit, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

he doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns his gaze back to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. the silence stretches between you again, heavy and unyielding, but you don’t press him further. you’ve learned by now that toji won’t be pushed into answers he’s not ready to give.

the road ahead blurs slightly through the rain, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to bridge the distance between the two of you.

he scoffs, turning his gaze back to the window. “what’s the point?”. it’s not a question meant for you—it’s one he’s been asking himself for a while now. you chew on your bottom lip, trying to think of what to say next, though you’re not sure anything will make a difference.

“you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself” you finally sigh.

toji snorts, a bitter sound that cuts through the tension. “yeah? and who’s gonna help me? you?”

the sharpness in his tone catches you off guard, and you flinch despite yourself. his words hit harder than they should, not because they’re unfair, but because they’re true. you left. you made the choice to walk away, and now you’re here, pretending you can fix something that might never be fixable.

he notices. if there’s one thing toji’s always been good at, it’s noticing things, even when he’s drunk and falling apart. he exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “sorry” he mutters, his voice quieter now. “i didn’t mean that”.

you know he didn’t. toji’s harsh words were never the ones that hurt the most—it’s the truth buried in them that stings.

“it’s fine” you reply quietly, your gaze fixed on the road ahead. but it’s not fine, and you both know it.

neither of you says anything for the rest of the drive. the rain continues to tap against the windshield as the distance between you grows wider.

---

toji doesn’t move after you park your car. he just sits there, staring blankly at the dashboard like it holds answers to questions he’ll never ask. his shoulders are slumped, his jaw tight. even with the alcohol dulling his senses, his thoughts refuse to let him rest.

“you wanna go inside?” you turn to look at him, suppressing the urge to reach over.

he blinks, the question pulling him back to the present. “yeah” he mutters, but his body remains rooted to the seat.

you don’t rush him. moments like these are rare—when toji lets you see him vulnerable. it’s heartbreaking, and it makes you ache in ways you thought you’d forgotten.

instead of pressing him, you wait. he’s always been a man who needs time to gather himself. and tonight, for whatever reason, he’s letting you stay long enough to witness it.

eventually, he exhales, a slow, shaky breath that seems to release some of the tension coiled in his chest.

finally, toji looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are glassy, the alcohol making them more vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time.

“you’re too good for this” he says, his voice heavy with sadness. it’s not just the words that hit you—it’s the way he says them, like he’s admitting something he’s been too scared to face. for the first time, toji acknowledges there’s something wrong with him. that something is his fault.

“for what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“for me” he says almost defeated. “i’m no good. i’m just… this” he gestures vaguely at himself, his hand falling back to his side as if the effort of even that small movement is too much.

it’s clear in the way he’s looking at you that he means it. that he’s thought about this, felt it deep in his bones. you’re not sure if he’d ever admit it sober, but tonight, it’s out there in the open.

you don’t know what to say to that. words feel inadequate, like they’ll only make things worse. 

“you should get some rest” you whisper instead. “it’s late”.

toji releases a breath, his gaze shifting to your apartment building. he’s been here countless times before. but it’s different now. where he used to feel at home, he suddenly feels like a stranger. 

“okay”. his footsteps echo softly behind you.

when he walks in, all the memories come rushing back. the faint scent of the candle you always light fills his nose. the throw blanket draped over the couch is in the same place it’s always been. even the little details—the spaces in your home where you’d made room for him—are still there. his boots still sit by the door, his favorite mug in the cabinet, the sweatshirt he thought he’d lost folded neatly.

you lead him to your room without a word, offering him a towel and setting a pair of dry clothes on the bed. they’re his– clothes he left behind when things fell apart. you didn’t have the heart to throw them out, and he didn’t have the heart to come back for them.

“you’ll get sick” you mutter, setting a black shirt and grey sweats on the bathroom sink before turning to leave. you always fussed over him like this—still do, even now. toji doesn’t know what to do with the tight ache in his chest. he wants to cry.

by the time he emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in warm clothes, he hears the hum of the dryer from the hallway. of course, you’d snuck in while he was washing up to scoop his sopping clothes off the floor.

in your room, you’re finishing fixing the bed, smoothing the sheets and adding extra pillows—just the way he likes. it doesn’t escape him, the way you still remember these small details.

“i can take the couch” he says, his voice low and reluctant.

you shake your head, dismissing the offer as you grab a pillow and blanket for yourself. “sleep” you say firmly, leaving no room for argument.

he hesitates for a moment, but the exhaustion weighing on him makes it hard to fight back. his body aches for rest, and though a part of him wants to address the unspoken words that hang heavy between you, he knows it’s not the time. 

“we’ll talk later” you whisper as you step toward the door, your hand brushing the light switch.

toji watches you for a moment, standing there in the dim glow of the hallway. his throat tightens, and he wants to say something—anything—but no words come out. instead, he nods silently as you turn off the light and leave him alone in the room.

“thanks” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the stillness of the room. but you hear it.

toji lies awake in the bed you once shared, staring at the ceiling. the familiarity of it all threatens to undo him—the soft sheets, the faint scent of you lingering on the pillow. it’s overwhelming. 

he wonders, not for the first time, how someone like you ever loved him. the thought twists in his chest, sharp with regret. he thinks about how things ended, how he pushed you away, and yet here you are—offering him kindness he doesn’t deserve.

the bed feels empty without you beside him, but as his heavy eyelids finally close, he clings to the comfort of your lingering presence. it’s enough, for now, to ease the ache as he drifts off to sleep.

---

to be continued... thank you for reading!!!

part 2

[freshllamapeace]

Till the sun burns out

Remmick x reader

I posted the snippet earlier this week this is the finished product!

Warning - Dead dove do not eat, Gore, Noncon/smut, this is a rough read so you have been warned, probably not my best written smut if I'm honest

Stupid, pathetic, maybe even… desperate. The words described you well enough, wouldn’t you say? A lonely girl with nothing better to do than throw her life away. You do this because you think you're special, you think you're destined for greatness, You think one day you're gonna wake up and be the main character but you aren't. I mean how could you when you’re not even the main character of your own story. You aren't special, you aren’t destined for greatness. The only thing you're truly destined for is to die in this forest. Body broken and mangled while he loomed over you. 

It was clear you were going to die here. No way you get out of this, worst yet you could see the white walls of the house where you grew up in, the soft porch light admitting a warm welcoming glow. If you could have run a few more feet you'd be home safe. But you were just shy of that and he revelled in that. Walking circles around you like a wolf who had just cornered his prey. You hadn't even known what you'd done wrong. What made you deserving of this treatment but it didn’t matter, not anymore. 

Your leg was broken, the bone splintered in half, a jagged end poking out through the skin where your knee was meant to be. Blood leaking down the wound onto the forest floor. Your left arm was gone, ripped apart. The only evidence of it ever being there being the blood and tendons that leaked out of your bicep. The pain was unbearable, indescribable it ached everywhere. You could do nothing but cry and scream. Even your stomach suffered some blows, a large laceration planted diagonally through your chest, your internal organs threatening to spill out. The palm of your right hand was degloved, a sea of red covering the skin that was once there, tendons and muscle clearly on display for you to see. If you’d looked long enough you’d even be able to see the muscles moving, slow and concise. 

Grabbing you by your hair you were lifted from the ground and pressed into the cruel bark of a tree. A screech moved past your lips as broken body parts started to move and bend. “I told you, didn't I? That we’d make sweet sweet music together.” He pressed his mouth against your ear, hot breath assaulting your skin. “I ain’t say how but you were so eager… I ain’t wanna spoil the surprise for ya.” Using his body to keep you stationed against the tree Remmick started to fiddle with his belt. Taking his time to remove it, his eyes stayed stationed on you. Red like an amber sea and teeth glistening in the moonlight, it had been ages since Remmick had played with his food to this degree. Kissing your neck, Remmick allowed his pants to fall to his ankles, his cock in hand. 

“Please, you don't have to do this.” You cried, the cherry colored fluids dripping from your lips onto his chest. Remmick smiled, a smile he often did. It was mocking, cruel and yet the smile looked almost kind… almost. “I know little dove. ” Remmick wasted no time lining himself with your cunt. Pressing his body further onto you, you heard the sound of something stabbing into fresh. It was your bone piercing into his stomach. “Fuck.” He moaned. “You get me all hot and bothered looking like this.” Your gored body turning him on. He was disgusting, a freak of nature. Slamming himself inside you, Remmick gave you no time to prepare before setting the tempo, thrusting at a rough and savage pace. Remmick paid no attention to the bone that pierced his flesh with every thrust. Blood leaking down the wound he had created. Moving his hand down your body Remmick started to play with your clit. The rough circular motions pressed into your skin. You were in pain, your body was aching, the wounds burned and yet your body still reacted to the orgasm forced onto you by him. Your nails digging into his shoulder as you held onto him . You were trembling beneath him, breathing heavy, eyes half lidded. The blood loss was going to catch up with you, soon rather than later. “Fuck.” He groaned, his breathing uneven and his thrust getting impossibly quicker. “Don’t die yet darlin’ I'm almost there.” He whispered in your ear. “There ain’t no God above but if there was he made you just for me.” Soon his thrust started to stutter and slow, his nails began to dig into your skin creating new wounds on your broken body. A groan leaves his lips as he releases all his love and affection into you, the white liquid carrying a red tint to it. Not quite ready to pull himself out of you Remmick thrusted a couple more times making sure that you were filled with every last drop of his cum. 

“I'm going to break you over and over again.” Far too tired and dying from the blood loss the words didn’t register in your mind as anything other than gibberish. But what did register was the sharp pain you felt in your neck and the way he licked at the wound lapping up the blood. When he was done he allowed your body to crumple in on itself, you dropped to the floor. The world went black.

[erindrinkstea]

Again and Again

Main! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader x Variants! Mark "Invincible" Grayson

TW: Violence, Blood, Death, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Angst.

Description, Part 1, Part 2

Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist

Note: It hasn't been long since I wrote this series but wow there's a lot of you already! Hope you enjoy!

What made Mark Grayson different from the others you've encountered?

What made this Invincible stand out compared to all the other variants you’ve met?

What made him so unlike the rest?

"Earth to Miss Genius. You’ve zoned out again."

You snapped back to reality, realizing you weren’t alone—sitting at the lunch table with your friends.

All eyes were on you, full of concern. The longer you sat there, staring off into space, the more it felt like you were slipping away from them.

"Are you okay?" Eve’s voice broke through the silence as she nudged you from beside you. You forced a smile, scolding yourself for zoning out.

"Sorry. Just... work." You shrugged, your voice almost too casual.

Immediately, both Eve and Mark exchanged a pointed look. "Work" was their code for one thing: Cecil.

While Eve and Mark worked for him as heroes, you worked for him as his secretary—the mind behind his operations. You fed him the intel and resources he needed, and in return, he gave you the power and money that kept your life afloat.

Cecil knew about your ability to traverse dimensions after death. In fact, he was helping you find a way to tap into that power without having to die each time. He believed that as long as the abnormal energy ran through your veins, you could shift between realities. You just had to unlock it.

"Your boss giving you too much trouble?" Amber asked, voice laced with concern. Eve and Mark leaned forward, both watching you intently.

"Just the usual. Nothing new." You assured them, though the look in their eyes told you they weren’t buying it. They didn’t push further, but it was clear they weren’t fully convinced.

"Soooo... is this a bad time to ask for some help with Physics?" Eve slapped Mark lightly on the back of his head.

"I could use some tutoring too!" William piped up, and Amber kicked his leg under the table.

"I swear—boys," Amber sighed, exchanging a tired look with Eve as the guys stared at you with pleading eyes.

"You two are ridiculous." You sighed, shaking your head. "Fine. I’ll tutor you both, but it’s not free anymore. You owe me." you warned.

Mark immediately brightened. "I’ll buy you all the pudding you want." he offered, while William winked and made a heart with his hands. "I offer you my undying friendship."

"I’ll take it in the form of something less... questionable." You raised an eyebrow at William, who gasped dramatically. "Okay, ouch."

"Mark, you better have your wallet ready." you said with a mischievous grin.

Sure, you could easily buy a lifetime’s worth of pudding with the money Cecil paid you, but it just felt better when it came from someone else’s wallet.

"Should I be scared?" Mark looked at Amber, who knew you better than anyone. Amber smirked and answered with a deadpan tone, "Yes."

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"How are you holding up, little Grayson?"

You’d heard about the Mauler Twins incident. Neither Debbie nor Mark were happy about it.

You weren’t exactly ecstatic either, but after 87 lifetimes with a murder-happy partner, you’d gotten numb to it.

This wasn’t your first time meeting Oliver. You’d crossed paths with him in other worlds as well, but this was the first time you saw him as a child.

"I just don’t get it! They’re not the good guys! Why should we just let them live?" Oliver crossed his arms, his frustration mirroring Mark’s stubbornness.

"You know, your brother’s no saint either. Does that mean Mark deserves to die?" You stepped into Oliver’s room and sat beside him on the bed.

"No! But these guys are bad. I’m doing the world a favor by taking them out. They hurt Mark!" Oliver’s voice rose, a mix of righteousness and anger. You ruffled his hair gently, trying to ease the tension.

"I hurt Mark too." you teased lightly, nudging Oliver’s side. "I hit him pretty good in the back of his head. Bet I left a nasty bruise."

Oliver pouted, clearly not amused. "That’s not the same, and you know it."

"Sometimes, yeah, killing is necessary—for the greater good. But it’s never the only option." You said it seriously, trying to drive the point home.

"That's what Mark wants you to understand. By sparing someone, we might be doing the world a bigger favor. We prove that there’s more to life than death."

In all the other worlds, you barely got a chance to talk to Oliver. Your focus was always on Mark, often ignoring those around you.

"If you ever need me, or your family, we’ll be downstairs." You said as you stood up to leave. You paused at the door, turning back to see Oliver watching you closely.

"You’re part of the family too." He said softly, and you smiled before heading downstairs.

"Hey." Mark’s voice greeted you as you descended. He made eye contact, his expression anxious. "How is he?"

Debbie was pacing, her worry clear. She stopped when you reached the bottom of the stairs. "Is he upset?" she asked, voice tight.

You paused for a moment, carefully choosing your words. "He’s fine. A little sulking, but he’s processing it."

"He was raised by good people." You reassured them, offering a comforting smile. "He’s going to be just fine."

Mark sighed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He leaned down, resting his chin on your head, his arms wrapping around you in a quiet embrace. "Thank you."

"What would I do without you?" He mumbled, his voice soft against your hair. You smiled up at him.

"You’d be fine, you big baby."

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

The world lay in ruins.

What was once an organized empire was now a burning apocalypse, its ashes swirling in the wind.

Amidst the chaos, two figures faced each other.

"I’m here to offer you a deal."

The other scoffed, unimpressed. "What could you possibly offer that I don’t already have?"

"Do you not want another chance to see her? You know who I'm talking about. I'm only offering once."

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"You better not be fucking joking."

[nothing0fnothing]

A lot of people don't understand that likeability is a massive decider in how we acsess the world, and how that disproportionately affects survivors of childhood abuse.

If we're likeable we get perks. We might get upgraded on our flight. We could get a little freebie here and there. Humans are social creatures. People like us, and in turn want to do nice things in hopes we will like them back. That's super cool. Win for humanity. Nice people deserve nice things. Everyone deserves a free latte or a slightly nicer hotel room as a treat.

But we don't just deal with this kind of social exchange for flights and lattes. Buying a car is a social interaction. Job interviews are social interactions. Doctors appointments are social interactions. Stop and searches or traffic stops are social interactions. If you're likeable, you will probably get a car for a fair price or a job you're qualified for. You will find it easier to get your doctor to listen to you or you might be able to charm your way out of a ticket. If you're not likeable, those things become harder for you.

So.. what? Karma. Good vibes. What goes around comes around. Be nice to people and they'll be nice to you, duh.

But likeability has very little to do with being nice. For most people, being likeable isn't in their control. If you're ugly or fat, if you're not white, if you're lower class, if you're disabled or neurodivergent, suddenly whether you're liked or not has very little to do with how you treat other people, it's about how they perceive you. It's painful when you just want people to like you, it's dangerous when you need them to.

This is why abusers attack their victims likeability.

Gaslighting. Smear campaigning. Public shaming. Isolating the victim till all their friends and family wonder why she suddenly thinks she's too good for them. It all puts a victim in a place where they fear they won't be believed not because they're not credible, but because they're no longer likeable. They're both social currencies, but when you need help and support, likeability always spends better.

Remember Depp v Heard? What was all that revenge porn and outright lying all about? It was about making Amber Heard; the young and beautiful, self educated multilingual, long time human rights champion and loving mother, unlikeable. It was all utter bullshit, but it worked. People were making memes out of her rape testimony. They swarmed her with hate outside the courthouse. They followed her home and posted feces through her letter box. His attorney joked publicly about all the ways she intentionally triggered Amber's PTSD moments before she was to face the world in the most public domestic abuse trial in history, and the public laughed with her. Depp, with the help of his high profile colleagues and incredibly expensive spin doc- I mean lawyers, made Amber unlikeable, and when people decided she was unlikeable they decided she must also be uncredible.

Abusive parents also have the power to make their victims unlikeable. They do this by consistently traumatising them into socially disparaged behaviour, while projecting to the world a picture of the perfect family dealing with a "problem child".

We have a picture in our heads of battered children as withdrawn, quiet little angels, sadly suffering in silence just waiting for someone to notice the pain in their eyes and save them. In real life, this is rarely the case. Most children who have experienced early life abuse are reactive and disruptive. They are defensive and quick to anger. They are loud or sarcastic and they don't respect authority. In short, they are mirrors of the environment that they deal with at home. Due to this, behavioural interventions outside of the home does very little to help, the root of the issue isn't being fixed. So they get reputations as difficult little shits.

These kids go out and interact with the world like the hurt and traumatised people that they are, and the people that are supposed to be their safety net by reporting any suspicions of abuse to CPS, simply don't. Why? Because we find the child less likable than their parents. So when the child says "help me, my home life is horrible", we compare our impression of them to our impression of their parents, and usually without even realising why, we don't take them seriously.

Paris Hilton is an adult survivor of childhood abuse and torture at the troubled teen wilderness programme. Now an adult she uses her platform to speak up, but on that platform she's also told some harrowing stories of how her reputation as a vapid, self serving mean girl/wild child once kept her silent. She wouldn't be believed and her pain would only be mocked or shamed if she spoke out sooner. It's only after years of rebuilding that reputation into one that better reflects who she is as an adult, people are ready to believe her now. Why? Because she wasn't likable then, but she is now.

The thing is, most of us don't grow up into beautiful, wealthy superstars who age like fine wine and are universally loved by every sane person on the planet. Some of us are traumatised as children, who grow into traumatised teens who grow into traumatised adults. Being a traumatised adult is better than being a traumatised teen in a lot of ways. Having the power to simply not speak to the people who abused us for all our formative years is a big one. Not needing the signature of those abusers to acsess things like shelter, sustenance, support and medical care is another. It's not all bad being an adult survivor. It's not easy either though.

Like, I'm only half joking when I say having a stable family you can rely on into your adulthood is a privilege. Most of us don't have that because the smear campaigns didn't just Thanos snap out of existence the moment we turned 18. Out extended families often still see us as the bratty, entitled, violent little shits our abusive parents have been telling them we are since we were walking. On top of that all those authority issues and behavioural issues and PTSD symptoms we had as kids are still there, because nobody believed us when we asked for help so we just never got it.

It has nothing to do with who we are as people, but we just give off "bad vibes." It makes us susceptible to revictimisation and it means when people see the resting bitch face or the anxious fidgeting or the deadpan tone of speaking, their natural human judgement meter decides they don't like us. So we don't get upgraded on the plane and we don't get free lattes and yeah we pay more for things like cars and services because the natural drive people have to give each other favors doesn't really work for us. So some of us don't get perks but that's okay, they're perks because not everyone gets them. It's not a big deal.

Accessing the world shouldn't be a perk of being untraumatised. But when we lose out on job opportunities because our interviewer finds a non traumatised person more likeable than us, it feels like it is. When we don't have a saftey net of familial support so it takes us longer to recover when we're down on our luck or just down in the dumps, it feels like it is. And when we are less likely to be believed when we are reporting either current or historic abuse, it feels like it is. And when we struggle to acsess medical care because our doctors associate typical behaviour of traumatised people with attention or drug seeking, it feels like it is.

[traumatizedjaguar]

abusers are mad bc they helped smear campaign an innocent fucking woman and now they're grasping at straws to try to justify their actions and further bully her.

[plumeria1]

Jinx new friend

Masterlist

Note : Jinx and Isha deserved more time together 😢 Hope you like it 😉

Warning : None

Content : Fluff and a bit of angst ? (I'm not sure)

Pairing : Jinx x Fem Reader, Isha x Fem Reader (platonic)

Summary : Jinx is not alone when you come home

You were walking through the streets of Zaun with your head down, a hood covering your hair, passing through the less frequented streets and making sure not to attract anyone's attention.

You held tightly to the bag you had brought, now filled to the brim; it was a bit heavy, but it was worth it.

You were coming back from Piltover, where a small festival was taking place, in the city and the opportunity was too good to miss.

Generally, you didn't go to Piltover often, but today you had a very specific reason: to find a gift for your girlfriend, Jinx.

With Jinx's face plastered on every wall in Zaun and Piltover, you had agreed that it was better for her to keep a low profile for a while.

Jinx didn't always stay in your hideout; she often wandered the streets of Zaun but she made sure not to be noticed.

Jinx hadn't been doing very well lately. Accidentally killing Silco had really affected her. She stayed in bed for a week without getting up. Every time you returned from a trip through the streets of Zaun, she would drag you to bed, lay her head on your chest, and stay there without moving for several hours, allowing you to run your fingers through her hair.

Sometimes her nightmares were so intense that her screams would wake you up. In those moments, you would take her in your arms and spend long minutes comforting her, and often she would end up falling asleep in your arms.

That's why you had taken advantage of this day to give her a gift: in your bag was an adorable all-white cat plushie, and you had immediately known that Jinx would love it.

She was surely going to cover it with all sorts of colors, and you didn't mind at all; you loved seeing her have fun drawing on everything and anything. It always made her happy, and seeing her like that made you happy too.

You descended the hidden staircase that led to your hideout, hearing Jinx long before you saw her.

-What am I going to do now? It's not like I could chase you away, you'd just end up alone. Who would take care of you ?

You thought she was still talking to her voices. It happened to her often lately, surely because of Silco's premature death. But the more you heard her, the more it seemed like she was talking to a real person.

You placed your bag at your feet and removed your sweatshirt, freeing your braid from the hood, and let the air refresh you before joining Jinx.

-Jinx, who are you talking to ?

She turned around abruptly and had a slight embarrassed look upon seeing you.

-Um. I need to tell you something.

Behind her, you saw a little girl timidly appear, who didn't seem older than 10 years old. She was brunette and wore a miner's helmet; her amber eyes never left you.

-Who is she ?

-Her name's Isha, she fell on me. Literally. I mean, I was walking down the street when she fell on me.

You looked at Isha more closely. She didn't seem mean or dangerous. Jinx didn't seem to be wary either, which meant there was nothing to fear.

Your voice softened.

-What is she doing here, did she follow you?

Jinx didn't let anyone else but you and Sevika come here; the only other person who could set foot here without being chased away by Jinx's gun was Silco, but now he would never come again.

-I brought her with me. I don't even know why. I couldn't leave her there all alone. I had to do something.

She really didn't seem to know why she had brought this little girl. But if Isha was alone, it surely meant her parents were dead, because in Zaun, no parent abandons their child.

That's when you understood. Just as Silco had done for her all those years ago, Jinx had now, in turn, saved an abandoned child deprived of her family.

Behind her, Isha continued to look at you shyly, her golden eyes seeming lost, shifting between you and Jinx without really knowing where to settle them.

You hadn't said anything, but Jinx knew you wouldn't chase this little girl away because you loved children and knew what it was like to be alone without parents.

You approached her and crouched down to her level. She backed away a bit when she saw you reach into your bag, but she calmed down when you offered her a candy with a smile.

-It looks like you've just found yourself a new home, sweetie.

Isha caught you by surprise when she threw herself into your arms, her head against your chest, and hugged you tightly. You smiled and stroked her hair.

Jinx looked at both of you, and for the first time in a long while, a small smile spread across her lips. She knew that everything would be better now.

[slut4sugu]

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄— alucard tepes x fem!blackreader

౨ৎ: including— black!fem reader, established relationship, mentions of previous intercourse, of reader being in a previous toxic forced marriage, alucard being a gentleman, mentions of previous verbal and physical abuse from previous relationships, fluff+ angst a bit, kinda long lol, ALUCARD NEEDS A LOVE INTEREST IN THE SHOWWW

valentines event . song recc: my love mine all mine; mitski

The carriage rattled softly, a gentle counterpoint to the symphony of crickets chirping in the warm night air. Inside, you sat nestled beside Alucard, the soft velvet of your new emerald green gown brushing against his dark coat. He’d surprised you with it earlier, a gift to celebrate your first anniversary. It was just one of many surprises that evening.

The day had been a whirlwind of romance. A private tour of the art museum, followed by a candlelit dinner in a secluded garden overflowing with fragrant jasmine. He'd even commissioned a portrait of you, capturing the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. He'd truly outdone himself.

You had never even allowed yourself to dream of such luxury or pure bliss, so much so you found yourself speechless at each breathtaking sight. The way Alucard would take your hand in his, leading you up grand stairs with such grace as he whispered to gently to you about how gorgeous you looked in ivory.

It felt dream like — heavenly even.

"Enjoying the ride, my dear?" Alucard's voice, a low rumble, broke through your reverie. His amber eyes, usually so intense, held a soft, almost tender light.

"Immensely," you breathed, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "It's all been…perfect." He took your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so powerful. "You deserve nothing less." The delicate tone of his words plucked all your heart strings. The feeling of his lips every so slightly kissing your knuckles made you swoon.

It truly was a the perfect night.

So why couldn’t you shake it — why couldn’t you shake him?

As the carriage rolled past the moonlit park, a flicker of memory, unwelcome and sharp, pierced the bubble of happiness surrounding you.

A whisper of a past life, years before you met Alucard, echoed in your mind. A different dress, cheap and ill-fitting. Cruel demeaning words shouted in your face, every single day. Scars on your body trophies of your temporary victories. Over fights turned physical, sure you got the occasional slap or scratch in. But he always got the upper hand.

Though after a while, the fights blurred, your will to struggle faded and you decided tending to your deep seated wounds was a better use of energy. The scars would heal, and you’d smile tomorrow. Happily? Never, for peace? Yes. However you never were truly happy, never truly unbounded by the suffocating societal preferences of happiness until you met him. Until he saw you, heard you. Freed you.

“You needn’t worry about him any more.”

Words you so longed to hear by anyone. Anyone who dared stand up to the man you were forcibly married to. Words spoken in confidence by Alucard.

A different man, his words of love and admiration, not of cruel possessiveness. A man who never let a frown grace your lips, not even for a millisecond. A man who healed you, and your deep rooted scars. You were and are eternally grateful for Alucard welcoming you into his home and protecting you. Yet it still plagued you, his actions still tainted your mind.

Even after all this time he still had some control over your thoughts and you hated it. You hated every fiber of his being. You hated that he made you question if you even deserved this type of love, if you were ever even good enough for anyone. If you were meant for dresses of this quality, if pearls weren’t meant to sit on such ugly skin. You hated the fact that his words permeated your mind. That they made you truly question, if you deserved it.

Even if alucard respected your space, and only hugged you when you cried in the middle of nights. Even if he sat by your bed side when you’d be under the weather. Even if he kissed your tears away and made love to you (properly) for the first time under the stars. You still felt like this love wasn’t yours, that it shouldn’t be yours.

The memory was fleeting, a phantom touch, but it was enough. Your smile faltered, the joy in your eyes dimming slightly. You tried to push it away, to focus on the present, on Alucard's warm hand in yours, but the seed of unease had been planted.

Alucard, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor. He tilted his head, his gaze searching your face. "Something troubles you, my love?" You shook your head, attempting a lighthearted tone. "Just thinking about how much has changed these past years."

He didn't press, but his grip on your hand tightened reassuringly. He knew you better than you thought. He knew the shadows that lurked in the corners of your mind, the echoes of past hurts. He understood the vulnerability you tried so hard to conceal.

As the carriage slowed, approaching the castle, a single tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, hoping he hadn't seen.

But he had.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could move, Alucard gently cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the lingering dampness on your freckled cheek. His eyes, now filled with a deep understanding, met your chestnut ones.

"Don't," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't ever feel you have to hide anything from me. Not your joy, and certainly not your pain."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I know there are demons in your past, my love. I know there are thoughts that still haunt you. You don't have to carry them alone. Let me share your burden. Let me be your shield against the darkness."

His words, spoken with such sincerity and tenderness, broke the dam you had so carefully constructed around your emotions. More tears welled up, but these were different. Tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

"Thank you darling" you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his strong arms offering a haven of comfort and security. He held you close, letting you cry until the storm of emotions subsided. He didn't need words. His presence, his silent understanding, was enough.

As you finally pulled away, your eyes red but your heart lighter, Alucard kissed your forehead, a soft, lingering touch. "I promise you, my love," he murmured, "I will spend the rest of my days making new memories with you. Memories that will eclipse the pain of your past."

And in that moment, you believed him. You knew that with Alucard by your side, the shadows would never again hold the same power. He was your anchor, your protector, your love. And together, you would face whatever the future held, hand in hand, heart to heart.

[chuusheartattck]

THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Chapter 30- It’s whatever ☕️

You were already there when you texted Xiao. You just needed extra time to mentally prepare yourself. Originally you had wanted to cut him off over text, but he didn’t deserve that. You knew it was wrong to do it over the phone.

You were sat on a bench scrolling through twitter. It was a chilly night and you should’ve brought a jacket. You felt anxiety coursing through your veins. With every passing minute your heart rate increased and you kept looking around anxiously for any sign of Xiao. You were so on edge and for what? You’re the one who called him out in the middle of the night out of the blue. He should be more nervous.

As you were scrolling through your phone, you heard footsteps approaching you. You didn’t want to look up, worried for who you were about to see. The footsteps stopped in front of you and you could only see a pair of converse in your peripheral vision. You looked up and met eye to eye with Xiao.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat down next to you.

You weren’t ok at all.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you want to meet up? You’re not breaking things off with me are you?” He was only half joking.

“About that,” You began. You needed to be stern about this and not beat around the bush, “You’re a really great guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone that’ll like you the way you want them to. However, that person isn’t me.”

Your voice got quieter after the last sentence. You were scared on how he was going to react. You’ve never done anything like this before and his intimidating aura didn’t make you feel any better.

He let out a small chuckle and looked away, “It’s Scaramouche isn’t it?”

Was it that obvious?

Your silence didn’t make it any better as you looked down to your hands. You didn’t know what to say. Only tension and awkwardness filled the air.

“Have you once considered how I felt?”

You looked up meeting his amber eyes. You raised an eyebrow.

“How do you think I felt every time you would talk about him? It felt like you never liked me.”

Are men always this idiotic?

It’s understandable that he feels rejected but you never told him you liked him back. You liked being his friend but he went too fast and didn’t ask you how you felt about anything.

Annoyed, you argued back with him, “You’re right, I never did. You can’t just guilt me into thinking that I never considered how you felt when you never thought about feelings. I never wanted to be more than friends with you. Yes I did find you attractive and there were times where I would flirt back, but that was it. I tried giving you a chance, I really did, but it was only after you tried convincing me to. It was never going to work out.”

He only stared back not saying a word. Probably speechless at your sudden outburst. You took this opportunity to chew him out even more, “You can’t force someone to like you if they’re infatuated with someone else. I’m sorry if you thought differently but I only wanted to be friends. You’re a fun person to talk to but nothing more.”

This time, he was the one who looked down at his hands. There was a moment of silence as he tried for find the best words to say. You felt bad for being so blunt, you did have a way with being brutally honest when you needed to.

Xiao finally spoke up, still looking down, “If that’s how you feel then so be it.” He sighed before continuing, “What’s so good about Scara anyways?”

“His impurities. The weak part of him, the goodness in him which is still a mess, but little by little, he changes, and I don’t want to miss out on those changes. I don’t get what makes him the good guy but I do know I don’t want him to disappear from my life.”

When did you turn so sappy?

“I expected it everyday since we decided to take things slow so I was nervous everyday that you were going to leave. It stings but I feel a bit relieved I don’t have to feel that way anymore.” Xiao admitted.

You’re started to feel bad for him. Did he like you that much or was he that desperate for a relationship? Either way you knew you weren’t the right person for him.

The only thing you could say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have pressured you into anything. It was my fault that things turned out this way.”

You gave Xiao a small smile, apologized again, and quickly hugged him goodbye. You didn’t want to say anything else, afraid it was going to cause a more intense riff between you guys.

Were you satisfied with how things ended? No, not really. However, do you have any regrets? Absolutely not.

You knew you were going to have to see him at award shows and pretend you two didn’t just have a falling out. It made you sad that you lost a good friend. Maybe one day you guys could reconcile.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: End of act 3!! Literally 10 more chapters till ttme finishes 😨😨 Hopefully act 4 will make up for all the pain and suffering you guys endured while reading this 🥰 I would also like to apologize to team xiao. Anyways!! Chapter 32 will have major scarayn so be prepared 😜

ALSOOO lmk if you guys want your users to be added to this au and i’ll make you a twitter user :)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

Taglist: @skyoverkill1 @quacking-simp @lolmeowing @astro-stars @kaitfae @sl-vega @scarawiki @yuminako @samyayaya @skyvella @kur0kki @practicoi @kukikoooo @scaraenthusiast1 @shutingstar @lloovvv @moonjellyfishie @miy-svz @xionri @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @kathiwis @state-of-grac3 @morgyyyyyyy @scaradooche @theyluvkatt @meigalaxy @noirechomps @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @vxcmx @ariesloves @cayl33n @animeobsessed56 @heartsforni-ki @feikyuu @ichcocat @strayharmony943 @chscklvr @kunikissr @jiminscarmex @sp1ng @bananasquash @aceakariii @thegalaxyisunfolding @ariilies @hisfuture @automaticpatroltragedy @sartrst @cheriswag @kokomiskiss @albedomestic-airline @lxkeeeee @sundays-prince @wvvyq @amurotoorudesu

[gingerbread-in-july]

Under the cut lies my personal ranking of all of Spencer Reid's love interests, both actual and potential, from best all the way down to worst, plus a whole lot of unfiltered sassy commentary that nobody asked for. Then again, nobody asked for any of this, but my brain was just on one of its neurodivergent tangents. There's 11 total. Some of this- probably a lot of this- will piss some people off and I am truly sorry. I hope there's at least some other people out there who share my strong ass opinions.

1. Dorian Loker- I will never forgive these bitch ass writers for never following up on that storyline. He asked her out in Russian, for Christ's sake! One of the only times in the entire series he actually initiates a date with somebody. He complimented her coffee! For him, that may as well be a pickup line. He was finally moving on from Maeve. That was a huge fucking step. He was shy and unsure of himself, but he was clearly into her, he was flirting the best he could, and he fucking asked her out. Don't even get me started on him being into her enough to set aside his germophobia and touch her hand by the end of the episode. Or his gutted little expression when he realized he spoiled the book she was reading. They were adorable and they could have been everything. Of all the one-episode love interests, she's the one I'm most pissed at them for never fucking following up on. 

2. Ethan- They were not just friends. I read somewhere that Spencer was initially supposed to be bisexual. They might have scrapped that, but bi Spence still found a way. They for sure hooked up. For. Sure. The chemistry was just there. And I am not one of those weirdo bitches who are overly fetishistic toward m/m pairings. I'm too fucking gay myself to get off on two men together. But those two men for sure were a thing- and good for them. 

3. Austin the bartender- She was hot. They had chemistry. More chemistry than he did with his actual girlfriends. End of. 

4. Ashley Seaver- I know y'all hate her and that she wasn't technically a love interest. However, I guarantee that she would have been if they'd kept her around. They were definitely setting it up to be that way. And, you know what? They'd have been a damn cute couple. I'd have loved to see it. And no, the "sorry for asking" moment was not grounds to disqualify it. Everyone else said as bad or worse to him at some point. If you can ship him with a psychopath who drugged him, framed him for murder, got him falsely imprisoned and nearly killed, kidnapped and tried to kill his mother, and lied about r*ping him and getting pregnant? You can ship him with Ashley fucking Seaver. If you can ship him with his fucking doctor who used her own loneliness as an excuse to violate all kinds of professional and ethical codes? You can ship him with Ashley fucking Seaver. If you can, perhaps worst of all, ship J*id? You can ship him with Ashley fucking Seaver.

5. Lila Archer- I think their worlds were ultimately too different for them to work long-term, but I do think they would have made a sweet couple for a while. They would each give the other things that their worlds were lacking. They wouldn't have been endgame, but they'd have stayed good friends. Also, "bUt aMbEr hEARD" isn't the dunk you think it is. Johnny Depp is a rich, 60-something year old white man who is problematic as fuck in his own right- and he's never going to fuck you. 

6. Cat Adams- Do I want them to actually be together? No. Does she deserve him? Hell no. Would the people further down this list technically be better for him than her? Probably. But......the chemistry, y'all. The chemistry was there. Matthew and Aubrey just play far too well off of each other. 

7. Maeve Donovan- I didn't hate her, but she was just a vehicle to give Spencer more trauma. I don't think she was "the one," "the love of his life," or any of that other stuff some say. I don't think they'd have lasted if she'd lived. They didn't really know each other. She lied to him about having a whole ass fiancé she never told him about. God only knows what else he didn't know. He started out as her fucking patient, for God's sake. The ethical violations were out the ass. I don't think she'd have crossed those lines if she weren't feeling so vulnerable and isolated from having to hide from her stalker. At least, not if she's as smart as everyone claims she is. Everyone- including Spencer- only puts her on a pedestal because of the tragedy of her death and not knowing what could have been. What would have been had she lived......probably wouldn't have been all that great in the long run. 

8. Linda Kimura- I'll be honest, I don't recall a single damn thing about this woman. I forgot she even existed until I saw her pictured on a potential love interest compilation. While I don't recall them having any chemistry whatsoever, I'll still include her for the sole purpose of ranking her higher than the rest of these shit bombs. And speaking of bombs, that brings us to......

9. Dylan Einstein- For the life of me, I just don't understand why people go so hard for this pairing. It's like she was generated in a Mary Sue factory to fit some stereotype of what AI might imagine Spencer's ideal woman to be. Her last name is Einstein, for fuck's sake. I'd probably respect it more if they did just name her Mary Sue. They were trying too hard to present her as Girl Spencer. The bitch even wore a purple scarf! She also just came across as annoying and overly eager and seemed like she didn't really understand when to fuck off. She butted in too much while Derek and Spencer were trying to work. Some poster here said that the actress who played her shipped the character with Spencer. That is more than obvious in the way she plays her. It's like she read a bunch of Wattpad fic and decided to use the character to try for her Y/N moment. Can't blame a girl for trying, but that is one "love interest" I am glad was a one-off. 

10. JJ- What could I say that hasn't already been said? The J*id plot was painfully forced. Spencer has more chemistry with a fucking paperweight than he does with JJ. Do I love their friendship? Yes. Do I love watching Spencer interact with her kids? God, yes. But, he's Uncle Spencer, not Stepdaddy Spencer. The only way Spencer and JJ are more than friends is that they're found family. Will is an absolute saint of a husband. Fuck them writers for doing him dirty like that. Even pre-Will, Spencer and JJ just didn't have the chemistry like that. I'm glad they scrapped that bullshit early crush storyline after just one episode. Also, am I the only one who remembers Spencer being totally unaffected and not even giving half a shit when JJ finally came out to the team about being with Will? He said something along the lines of "We all knew already." He was so unbothered. No way in hell has he been "waiting for JJ" this whole time or whatever these clowns pulled out of their asses toward the end. Such a waste of a plot. Literally any other pairing would have made more sense. 

11. Maxine bitch ass Brenner- Here we are. Last and least. Even J*id was better than this shit. What the fuck even was the goddamn point of this bitch besides having an excuse to have Rachael Leigh Cook guest star? Too bad this is who she had to play. She was just rude as hell with her snark, her bitchy little expressions and the way she mocked the kids- elementary school aged kids- she taught. As if it was beneath her grandiose idea of herself. How could they for one second think that somebody like Spencer- somebody who loves kids, loves to teach and to learn and values education as much as Spencer- could ever like somebody like her? They were already having to cram way too much into too little space that last season. It was already a shit show. What the fuck was the point of adding her only to never bring her back? I mean, good call there at least because she sucked. I can only assume Spence realized how much she sucked and ditched her ass. She was just a pointless waste of time and never should have been a thing. I'm glad Spence made out with Cat in front of her and I hope it chapped her ass that he never kissed her that way. Glad her family didn't die, but she and they can all fuck all the way off down the road.

Thanks for sticking this one out if you did.

[aliesbienish]

1 I neeed more parts to the study of wolves and 2 could I please request a Paul x reader where she’s trying to make him jealous by flirting with one the other pack members

Three strikes

God that man was annoying. Here you were itching for attention and Paul was paying you absolutely no mind, deep in conversation across the bonfire with Jared. The arse didn’t even save a seat beside him so now you were stuck listening to Sue and Billy discuss the merits of adding an eggs Benedict to the cafe menu versus replacing the omelets with it. Truly riveting dinner conversation.

This was either sheer ignorance or a cunning plan on his behalf. You were hoping it was the latter, getting back at you for teasing him and then leaving him high and dry the day prior. If it was just sheer ignorance your boyfriend clearly didn’t know you as well as he should.

That being said either way there was an easy solution. That solution came in the form of one Quil Ateara V. Polity excluding yourself from Sue and Billy’s conversation, which to be fair to them had gone up a notch when they moved onto preferred milkshake flavors, you made your way around the bonfire where Quil was sitting with Embry and Jake. Helpfully they were only a few people down from Paul, and easily in earshot with or without super wolf hearing.

“Hiya boys,” you greeted, plopping yourself down onto the sand in front of Quil. Standard greetings echoed from Embry and Jake.

“[Y/n], have I ever told you how beautiful you look lit by flames?” And there it was, thank you Quil you incorrigible flirt. Usually you’d brush it off, but not today.

“Thanks Quil. I’ve never noticed it before but the flames bring out the amber specks in your eyes. They’re gorgeous,”

Strike one. You heard a growl, but didn’t dare look at Paul instead focusing all your attention on Quil.

“I actually came over for nefarious reasons,”

“Did you now?”

“Oh absolutely. See I’ve heard you are the best at making smores out of everyone on the res. I want to learn your ways,”

An almost whine indicates you’ve thrown strike two. Your first date had included making smores in the small fire pit located in his backyard. Paul’s highly refined technique had been a point of arrogance, about time you got to use it against him.

“See the secret to a perfect s’mores is to always keep rotating the marshmallows to get it perfectly gooey. See?” Quil passed over a marshmallow for you.

“Genius,” you patted Quil’s arm, laying it on real thick. “I better test this out,” grabbing a piece of the marshmallow you made sure to get it over your fingers. Then eyeing Quil you placed your marshmallow covered fingers in your mouth and sucked.

“That’s it. We’re leaving,” Paul growled, stomping over and picking you up like you weighed nothing.

Strike three. He’s out.

Propped over his shoulder you couldn’t help smile and wave to the tribal members. Your plan worked, time to get the attention you deserve.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you enjoyed lovely Anon x

[tentacle-therapissed]

Real talk, I hope those of you who switched up on Amber Heard the moment Depp’s PR team stopped poisoning your brains with disrespectful slander against her feel genuinely ashamed for your utter lack of sympathy and complete unwillingness to listen to the people who TRIED to tell you what was really going on. The same people who argued with me that they ‘watched the entire trial’ when it was airing are now going ‘wait a minute, I thought I watched the whole trial but I don’t remember seeing any of this footage 🥺’ that’s because you never did, you watched the tiktok smear campaign version of events and thought you were better than everyone else for it. You claimed to be more informed than those of us defending Heard without ever actually bothering to get informed. I’m obviously not so spiteful as to shun people who now want to support Amber, because she deserves all of the support she can get, but you all seriously need to have more shame and humility for your past behavior simply because otherwise you WILL be tricked into falling for another hate campaign like this in the future. I’ve already seen it happen with Blake Lively— anyone with a brain could have predicted that Justin Baldoni was bad news even before the lawsuit against him dropped, but no one actually bothers to look into these things themselves anymore because it’s easier to just parrot whatever social media platforms are telling you, which are often carefully cultivated to make you form specific opinions because the people behind it all KNOW that you’re gullible enough to believe them. It’s hard for us as humans to admit when we’ve made mistakes but I’m just sick and tired of people saying shit like ‘we were ALL fooled by Johnny Depp’ or ‘we might’ve been too harsh on Amber’ or ‘now there’s been new information about the trial’ like no tf we were not all fooled, we were not all mocking a rape victim, the information coming out is not new, you need to accept that you’re simply late to the party and re-examine the bandwagon mentality that leads you to just match your opinion with whatever’s the trendy thing to believe at the time.