#and then it's fuckin bill whos like. yeah where i'm from there's just a lot of zombies

[solitarysurvival]

sometimes i think abt how it's like. the next survivor that was released after nea was , fuckin laurie, who brought micholas myers. the other survivors looking at laurie like "so u have been through this type of thing before or,"

[derrydyyke]

Letters.

tw; drug/alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation/attempt.

Monday, March 6th, 2017

Eddie,

I don't really know what to say here. My therapist (Ben & Bev finally got me to go. I don't really think it's working.) told me to try journaling, and I really did try but nothing came out. Imagine that, huh? Me, with absolutely nothing to say. So he told me to maybe try writing to a specific person. Like letters, I guess. That it might make it easier to come up with things to say. And I guess that part does make sense, I mean there are about a million things I wish I could say to you. Mostly just that I really fuckin miss you, man. He told me to write whenever I felt like drinking, or using. I told him that I don't think he understands that I'd be selling novels like Bill does if I wrote every single time I feel like that. So we agreed to at least try it on the extra hard nights. And today was six months since... Well, you know. I don't think I can say it yet. I feel sick when I try to talk about it. That's another thing we're working on. Um. Anyways, I guess I just wanna say that I miss you. I wish we had more time together. That fucking clown stole thirty years we all could've had with each other and then as soon as we found each other again it had to take you away from me for good. It's not fucking fair. Fuck this. Therapy and journaling is bullshit. It's not the same, It's not like I can actually talk to you. Now I'm just writing AND drinking. Shit. It's midnight already. At least that awful fucking day is over. Hey, Happy Birthday to me. Who thought I'd see 41? Not me, that's for sure. Especially after these past few months. Fuck Paul, dude, what am I even paying this guy for? I'm wrapping this up. There's a bottle of vikes and a bottle of Makers Mark calling my name. Goodnight, Eds. I can't fuckin' tell you enough how badly I wish you were here. You'd smack the shit out of me, maybe knock some sense into me. I know you would. You're the only one that could.

Thursday, March 23rd, 2017

Eds,

I read (some of) my last letter to you to Paul. Out loud. It was super uncomfortable and I hated it just like everything else about therapy. He said it was a good start (didn't know I was being graded???) but that I stopped and gave up as soon as I started to talk about what happened and like. My feelings and stuff. He wants me to "delve deeper" into some of that. I guess. I don't know. Who talks like that? I don't know how any of that is supposed to help. I spend 90% of my time trying not to feel those things and he just wants me to make casual small talk with my dead friend about it. Where do you think he got his degree? WebMD? Because I'm 100% sure that this letter alone will fuel my next bender. Let's see. I have.. a lot of feelings about everything that happened. And not a fucking clue on how to talk about a single one of them. I guess I'm still pretty angry at our friends, but if I say that then I'm somehow the asshole so I just don't. I'm sad, obviously. I mean you.. died. Jesus. I just realized I said it earlier too. That you're dead. That doesn't feel like progress, I think I'm gonna be fucking sick.

I'm back. Good thing I'm not really sending these to you. You'd be pretty upset about the vomit stains on the paper. You'd probably burn this. Anyways. Yeah, I guess you could say I'm a little fucked up over watching you get shish-kabobbed right on top of me. I only see it every time I close my eyes. And I always wake up half expecting to be right there again. Like. Like part of me never moved from that spot. I've walked around feeling kinda hollow my entire life. And when I saw you in the restaurant, it was the first time in so long that I felt whole again. And you were gone again so fuckin' fast. And now it's like. I have never felt more empty and alone in my entire life. Like it physically hurts somewhere in my chest when I think about you but at the same time I'm so afraid I'll forget you again. I don't want to forget you this time. No matter how badly it hurts to remember. I won't. Never again. I think I have to stop for now, I can't even see what I'm writing anymore. On the bright side, I'm so emotionally exhausted I don't even need to get high to go to sleep tonight. Goodnight, Eddie. I miss you. And I love you. Like really fucking love you. I've never told anyone that. But I guess that's for another letter. Night.

Wednesday, April 12th, 2017

Eddie,

I'm writing you from the hospital because our "friends" are a bunch of fucking assholes and so are these doctors. Ben found me asleep on my bathroom floor and called 911 (I know it sounds bad but I swear I just partied too hard, I would've been fuckin' fine with some water and a pop-tart.) The hospital wanted to admit me involuntarily, but apparently Bill called my parents and I mean how am I supposed to argue with my mom while she's crying because Ben opened his stupid mouth and said my lips were blue when he found me? It's all a bunch of dramatic bullshit and I just wanna go home and instead I'm stuck in here until the psychiatrist with the douchey haircut says I'm not a threat to myself. I haven't even spoken to my parents in the longest time. I didn't want them here. I don't want anyone here. The look on my mom's face when I told her I'd only stay if they left will probably stay with me forever. But hey, I'm not the one who dragged them all the way out here. Bill is such a dick.

Saturday, July 15th, 2017

Hey, Eds.

Sorry, I know it's been a while. I'm a little bit fucked up right now. Shit has been not so great. Rehab was fucking miserable, and a waste of time and money (as you can tell). A lot has happened these past few months. I completely bombed a couple of shows. I don't even remember the second one. But I saw the video. Pretty sure everyone has. It was pretty bad. That's okay though. I'm starting over. I fired my manager, Steve. He's a good guy, and when I fired him we'd been in the middle of an argument, but I guess he was trying to be helpful? I don't know. Everyone is on my ass about the drinking like I'm 16 or something. I'm an adult. That's not the point, it wasn't the reason I fired him. I fired him because I finally realized why I liked him so much. He reminds me of you. Like. So much, Eds, I can't believe I didn't notice sooner. I was searching for you even when I couldn't remember who you were anymore. I know I said it in my letter a few months ago, But I never really got to tell you so now all I can do is try. I love you, Eddie. I love you. I'm in love with you. And I don't know if you would've thought that's weird, or gross, or if you would've even ever spoke to me again if you'd known. But I still wish I told you. You deserved love that wasn't also manipulation or control or abuse. And I have so much love for you, always have and always will. And I was too much of a pussy to tell you. If I'm being honest, I still am. I don't think I'll ever come out. If you were alive, I probably wouldn't tell you even now. But I wish that I would. I wish I had. I don't think you ever would've looked at me that way but it's nice to imagine sometimes. The life we could've had. Maybe one of these nights I'll dream about that and not about what actually happened. Goodnight, Eddie, my love.

Wednesday, September 6th, 2017

Eddie,

It's been a year. Today marks one year since we lost you. This has easily been the worst year of my entire fucking life. I wish we would've just left. I wish we didn't listen when Bill and Mike came back and spewed all of that bullshit about a ritual that didn't fucking work anyways. You died anyways. And I'd give up the rest of my life for ten good years with you even with the "horrible death" that Bev saw. I don't care. I'd take it. I'd take anything over this. I'm so fucking lost, Eds. I don't know if I said this in my last letter, I stopped going to therapy. I fuckin' hated it. I hated therapy. And I'm still writing in this stupid little notebook to someone who will never even read it just because I am that lonely and pathetic. I'm all alone and I fucking miss you so god damn much. I miss you so much. I don't talk to any of our friends anymore. I think they're sick of me, and I don't blame them. Bev said she didn't want me around when the baby comes. Not like this. But I don't think there's another version of me in there anymore. I think this is all that's left.

My mom died. She died last week and the last time I spoke to her was in the hospital back in April, when her and my dad flew across the country to come be here for me and I told them to fucking leave or I would refuse treatment. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what to do. I wish you were here. All this time I've wished that I had more time to know you all grown up but now? Now I'm glad that at least you don't have to know me. I'm a horrible fucking person. All of our friends think so, and my mom died wondering where she went wrong. I hope you thought I was cool for those couple of days, even if you were wrong.

"Hello, This is Beverly Marsh. Thank you for calling. I sincerely apologize for missing your call..."

"Hello, you've reached Ben Hanscom at Hanscom Architecture. I'm unable to come to the phone right now..."

"Hi, you've reached Mike Hanlon. Leave a message..."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill, H-Hey, It's uh. It's Richie. Call me back, man."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill? It's Richie again. Call me back when you get this. Please. I know it's been a while and things have been.. Just call me."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Bill, It's Richie. I'm suh-sorry. I'm so sorry. Please pick up, man. Please call me back, I really need you."

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the moment, but if you leave your name, number, and message, I'll return your call."

"Come on, I'll do anything. I'll do anything, Bill, just please p-pick up the fuckin' phone. Please. One more chance. Please I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this anymore. I can't do it. I ruined everything, and I'm all alone and I'm fuckin' scared, man, Can you just--"

"Hey, this is Bill Denbrough. Thanks for reaching out. I'm busy at the--"

"Fuck!"

Friday, January 12th, 2018

Eddie,

You would be so fuckin' mad at me right now. Like for a lot of things but especially for this. I just want to say that I'm sorry. When you died, For a whole day before I left Derry I told myself that I wouldn't let you saving my life go to waste. That I would live my life to the fullest because you couldn't anymore. That I owed it to you. And at the time I really meant it. I really wanted to honor you. Like I said, that lasted about a day. Life without you in it when I couldn't remember you was pretty miserable. Life without you in it now that I remember, now that I know you existed and that you're gone now, it's fucking unbearable. I've become unbearable. I can't stand it here, I can't stand myself, none of the people I love can stand me anymore. I'm never going to move past this and I've fought everyone who tried to help me move past it tooth and nail. I'm not going to get better and that's on me. I just don't have it in me. And everyone who tries to help me just gets hurt because I'm a fucking prick. So.. I think I should probably just do the world a favor and wrap things up here. I think it would be best. I hate the world and the world hates me back (at least we have that in common.) Nobody really knows what comes next. But if there is a heaven and a hell, I'm afraid I might not see you. So I guess this is goodbye, again. I love you, Eddie. I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. I wanted to get it right. I don't think I ever stood a chance if I'm being totally honest. I've never really felt like I belonged here anyways. Not in a long time. I was scared earlier. Called Bill, and Bev, and Ben, and Mike a bunch of times. They don't answer anymore, and I guess I understand. I do. I do understand. I wouldn't want me around anymore either. But anyways, I'm not afraid anymore. I actually feel kind of relieved that it's over, or about to be. No more nightmares, or withdrawals, or making my friends or my parents cry. It'll finally all be over. And when I drift off, I'll think of you, Eds. I'm always thinking of you. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodnight.

"Bottoms up." Richie sighed. Not bothering with a glass this time as he tipped the bottle of bourbon back and practically chugged it, chasing a few Vicodin. He spent the next few minutes crushing the pills against the coffee table in the hotel room into dust and snorting them. Occasionally stopping for another swig from his bottle. Once he was all out of Vicodin, and half way done with the bourbon, He stood up.

"Woah..." He stumbled, Catching himself on the dresser. He felt everything coming back up, but he swallowed it again. Shaking his head stubbornly.

"No. No, It's time. I'm fucking-- I'm doing this. Don't fuck this up." He said to nobody in particular, voice slurring. Taking a few shaky breaths and stabilizing himself. He turned on some music to try and distract from the ringing in his ears, drinking some more. He drank until the room was spinning, and then he kept going. Hardly making it across the room to get to the balcony, knocking things over on his way. His hands were shaking so hard, lighting a cigarette took more than one try, but he managed. Staring at the midnight sky and rocking back and forth where he sat on the balcony, letting the numbness overtake him. Originally, when he'd stood back up, it was to try and head back inside. Maybe draw a bath, or curl up and drift off to an eternal sleep in the king size bed. Instead, He used the railing of the balcony to pull himself to his feet, stared at the sky for another minute, wiped his tears and climbed right over. And then he let go.

There was a loud, gut wrenching, sickening crack. And Richie awoke with a start, gasping. Jolting awake in the hammock across from Eddie, limbs flailing as he tried to catch himself before realizing he wasn't.. falling? Not only was he not falling, He wasn't in California and he was suddenly years younger than he'd been a moment ago. What. The fuck?

"Richie. Hey. Are you okay?" Richie's eyes went wide as he turned his head towards the voice that couldn't possibly belong to,

"Stanley.." He breathed, disbelief, breath starting to pick up. Eyes immediately shifting to the boy pressed snugly into the hammock with him.

"Eds.." His voice cracked, breathing faster, tears spilling over before he could even feel them coming. Hardly noticing the way every pair of eyes in the clubhouse was on him, full of concern.

"Woah, R-Richie, Hey. W-What's--"

"I'm sorry, guys. I'm so fucking sorry. God, I'm so sorry for everything, for all of it, I--" He cried so hard it was difficult to understand him.

"What are you t-talking about?" Bill asked, genuinely baffled and extremely worried.

"Yeah, Rich, What's going on?" Bev asked softly, hand going to rest on his shoulder. He jumped the second it made contact.

"Don't-- Don't touch me, please, don't touch me. I'm sorry. I'm-- Jesus fuck, I can't--"

"Richie, breathe.." Stan soothed.

"I'm not supposed to be here.."

"What?"

"I thought I was gonna die." Richie sobbed.

The others looked at each other in concern and what was slowly becoming panic. Not sure what prompted this or how to help. Seeing Richie cry was pretty rare. But this was.. It was more than his occasional sniffly, watery eyes, wobbly pouted lip and abrasive attempts to deflect. This was a breakdown like they'd never seen before, Especially not from him. He was crying so hard, he was literally gasping for air as Stan tried to soothe him and help him breathe. The other thing that didn't sit right with a single one of them was how the most physically affectionate of the group of them had suddenly reacted to physical contact like it'd burned him. Nobody knew what to do.

Least of all Richie. Was this some kind of sick joke?

Or was it a second chance?

[leiawritesstories]

Hi Leia! Happy new year! I want to submit

“Let’s take a moment to recognize that I had nothing to do with this.”

For a fic ask from the fluff prompts. Because we all know Aelin is always scheming and it would truly be a surprise if she had nothing to do with a plan gone wrong 😂

❤️ goddess-aelin

Happy new year @goddess-aelin ❤️ thank you for the prompt 😁

word count: 907

warnings: language, innuendo, idiocy

enjoy!!

send me new year's prompts!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thick cloud of bright green smoke was not what Rowan was expecting to encounter when he walked into his house that evening.

Granted, he wasn't paying full attention to the house, since he was finishing up yet another phone call with his demandingly picky boss, and he'd hung up just before losing his temper--again--mere seconds before his hand grabbed the front door's handle and opened it on instinct. "Bloody godsdamn Maeve," he grumbled, yanking the door open and stepping inside. "Love, I'm--urk!" His call of greeting cut into a coughing fit as the smoke enveloped him.

"Shit!" Aelin yelped, rushing to pull him through the smoke to clearer air, frantically waving the smoke out the now-open door.

"SHIT!" another voice--a male voice--screeched at the same time, followed by the distinct sound of windows opening and fans being rapidly turned on to direct the smoke out the windows.

Rowan yanked his suit jacket over his face and coughed into the fabric, letting his wife pat his back until the coughing had passed. He lowered the jacket just enough for his somewhat irritated, teary eyes to meet hers. "What the hell was that?" he croaked, the effort of speech sending him into another, shorter, bout of coughs.

Aelin's lips twisted. "Before I explain, let's take a moment to recognize that I had nothing to do with this."

He raised a pale brow. "Are you shitting me, love?"

"Not in the slightest, and whyever would you assume that?" She winked, knowing exactly why he'd assume that, and then her expression turned rueful. "Weeeelllllll......"

"Well?" he teased. "That sure sounds like not involved, Ae."

"Smartass," she huffed, poking his shoulder. "If you must know--"

"It was me!"

Both Aelin's and Rowan's heads turned towards the living room's entrance, where a very sheepish Fenrys Moonbeam stood with his hands behind his back and chalky green color splotches all over his shirt, jeans, and arms.

"I did it," Fen repeated, raising one green-stained hand.

"The fuck did you do, Moonbeam, try to burn down my house?" Rowan asked dryly, stifling the laughter that arise at the sight of Fen's rather green appearance.

"No, you dick," Fen snarked. "It was...well...uh...."

"Use real words, Moon Moon," Aelin crooned.

"Shut up," Fen grumbled. "Fine. If you must know, oh dear Mr. Homeowner, I was testing out the smoke machines for the New Year's party."

"Inside the godsdamn house?"

Aelin rolled her eyes. "I tried to warn him, but the child doesn't listen."

"I'm a grown ass man!" Fen protested.

"Uh huh," Aelin deadpanned, "sure you are. A grown ass man who refuses to read the godsdamn label or listen to someone who has experience using smoke machines and take the fuckin' thing outside."

"I read the label!" Fen all but yelped, blushing furiously as he lied through his teeth.

"You did not."

"Did too!" He cleared his throat. "I pushed the button it told me to push!"

"But did you set it up in the proper environment?"

Silence.

Rowan couldn't contain the smirk that spread across his face, even as his eyes watered from the smoke. "Checkmate, Fenny."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Fen howled, his face flaring even redder.

Aelin snickered. "It's okay, Fenny, you didn't do any serious damage." She glanced into the other room, where most of the smoke had now dispersed, leaving behind a few traces and a lot of odor. "Unless the bloody smell gets into the carpets, and if that happens, you'll be getting the bill."

"Didn't know it'd smell that bad," Fen reluctantly mumbled.

"Mm, yeah, I could have told you that the smoke machine has a horrific smell when you're close to it." Aelin smirked. "If you'd given me ten seconds to explain before just turning the damn thing on."

Fenrys pouted. "You're mean."

She blew him a fake kiss. "I was tech crew for years, boyo, or do you not remember our glory days of high school theater?"

"Oh, he remembers," Rowan hummed, wickedness dancing in his eyes. "How could anyone forget those lovely yellow tights?"

"Fuck off," Fen groaned, his head tipping back in dramatic pain. "Gods, those things were horrendous."

"That's not what the girls were saying," Aelin snickered. "Or the entire cast, let's be honest."

"Both of you are the worst," Fen grumbled, withdrawing back into the other room to unplug the smoke machine and take it out into the backyard, where it should have been the whole time.

Aelin snickered. "I did try to stop him, but..."

"Nobody stops Fenrys Moonbeam when he thinks he knows what he's doing," Rowan smirked. And then he coughed. Again.

"You'll be okay," Aelin promised, slipping into the kitchen to get him some water. "Just stay away from the smoke machines at the party, yeah?"

"For fuckin' sure," he agreed.

Her smirk deepened. "Though the smoke does provide some pretty good...cover..."

"We don't need that, love." His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Or have you already forgotten the club?"

Aelin's whole body shivered with the deliciously depraved memory of the club. Of that night where, lost in the sea of dancing bodies, her gorgeous, wicked husband had hidden his hand beneath her dress's tiny little skirt and made her see stars. "I could never forget the club, love."

"Good." He nipped at the side of her neck. "I'm the only one who gets to make you forget, love."

She couldn't say no to that.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[ruiningsalads]

While I am a Howe/Cousland fan, I have to know more about Vampire Trash. XD It pulls to me. For your Ask game! Of which I'm scouring my WIPs to participate too.

LMAO I figured this would be the first one I'd get an ask about!

I think I was in my cozy mystery phase when I worked on this. I wanted a story with a lighter tone, so I thought "what if the love interest is a vampire, but the MC doesn't believe it?"

Like, everyone else fully believes it, but she stubbornly denies it for the entire story. Aaaaand there was going to be lots of fuckin', hence the "trash" part of the name.

Alas, I never got very far, but here is a snippet (under the cut for length -- also I very obviously never got around to editing, so reader beware):

“Are you going back this year?” Liz’s back was still to her, so she couldn’t see the grimace Emily made.

“I don’t think so.”

“Not surprised. This place doesn’t pay me enough to afford it, either. Thankfully, my parents are helping me so I can graduate next year.”

“That’s nice of them,” Emily said, hoping she sounded genuine.

“Yeah, I guess. They won’t let me get an apartment on campus, though.” Liz huffed.

“Don’t they live like ten minutes away from campus?”

“Yeah, but I hate driving. It’s not like it’s that much more expensive to live on campus, but whatever.”

Emily bit her lip to hold back the string of insults she wanted to hurl at the other woman. What she wouldn’t give to have her family helping her with her college expenses, even if it meant living at home. She busied herself under the counter, organizing the shelves, and didn’t see who entered when the bell over the door tinkled. She heard a rush of sound, of rain and passing traffic, then Liz’s customer service voice as she chirped “Welcome to Morton’s Books! I’m Liz, let me know if I can help you find anything!” There was a low reply, followed by Liz’s fake, flirty laugh.

“Emily!” she heard Liz hiss from above. She emerged from under the desk to find Liz staring at her, wide eyed and grinning. “Look at the guy who just came in! He’s a babe!”

“Ah, I’ll see him when he checks out,” Emily said uncomfortably. Liz had a habit of trying to date the customers, and often the relationships didn’t last longer than a week. Emily had a feeling her next victim had just entered their lives.

Ten minutes later, Emily finally got a look at him as he placed two books on the front counter. He was tall and slim, dressed in dark clothes and a rain-splattered trench coat. His long hair was wet and slicked back out of his face. He was so pale that Emily thought he might be sick, and his gleaming eyes looked almost feverish. His smile was charming enough.

“Did you find anything alright?” She asked as she rang up his purchase. He was buying second-hand copies of Of Mice and Men and Brave New World.

“Yes, thank you.” He looked around the small store. “This is a lovely shop. You can’t find many small bookstores anymore.”

Emily smiled as she made change for him. “That’s true. This is the only one I know of in the whole city.” She placed the books in a plastic bag along with his receipt and handed it to him. “Hopefully we’ll see you again.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled. “I think you will.” And then he was gone, disappearing into the rain.

“Oh my god! He was flirting with you!” Liz squealed, bouncing up and down. “Did you see his teeth? I think he could be a vampire!”

A snort escaped Emily before she could stop it. “Sorry, but you know Twilight isn’t real, right?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “No, vampires don’t actually glitter, but how can they not be real? And he very clearly had fangs!”

Emily shook her head and moved to the back of the store, where a small coffee and tea station was set up. As she made herself a cup of Earl Grey, she mulled over Liz’s words. Emily herself had gone through a vampire phase where she read all the vampire books she could find. There was a time in her life where she would have wanted an Edward Cullen or a Bill Compton, but now, at the age of twenty-three, she felt silly even entertaining the idea. Even if there were such a thing, it would be incredibly irresponsible to involve herself with such a person.

[basilships]

AGH this is funny because Eric is my bitter beloathed and Faramir is my sweetest angel

under the cut, eric in this post + Faramir in the reblog

Eric is from True Blood, which is an adaptation of the southern vampire mystery or sookie stackhouse novels, both of which focus on Sookie's relationships with humanity and vampires (and more!) as a telepathic woman. who is blonde. the show is FAR better than the books, i know because i read the first two books, and that's a whole different issue that i won't touch right now, but they're okay. that's it. just okay. the show is VERY GOOD and i greatly enjoyed it despite it's issues. anyway

Eric Northman is a vampire who was turned as a viking a thousand years ago (and you're like what! you already have one thousand year old vampire f/o! yeah, i have a type, i don't know what to tell you) and he's... a lot. he's petty, he's sadistic, he's selfish, he's egotistical, he's an asshole, but he's very smart, and he's very clever, he's unbelievably strong and incredibly devoted to the things he is devoted to. in my defense, he was one of Sookie's love interests, so he's kind of made to be the mean bad boy type that's all about the darker side of vampirism, whereas her main love interest is the good side of it. it's a lot. anyway

he owns a vampire themed vampire bar in Louisiana, called Fangtasia. I love it and i hate it. he works with his bestie slash former lover slash progeny Pam, who fucking rules and serves cunt every day of the fuckin week. more about Pam later. he's the Sheriff of Area 5, which basically means he's in charge and all of the vampires in a certain area answer to him, and that's intimidating for a few seasons, and then you find out there's actually a fuck ton of people above him that make him a lot less intimidating, but he's like 6'4 and a THOUSAND years old and has plot armor so he's still really intimidating and sexy. he's kind of a boring white guy but you get to see his butt, so.

my self insert is named Matty and probably has a surname but i don't care right now. later on, you find out Sookie is a fairy (yeah, I don't... have a good explanation for that, it plays out pretty much how you expect, but yeah she's part fae) and that's where her telepathy comes from. so Matty is also part fae, meaning vampires are more attracted to his blood and he's got some magic in him, but he's not magical enough to read minds. i think i gave him vague intuition or something, he's still sort of magical and it gives me an excuse to make he and Sookie besties. he's an artist in Chicago working a string of shitty jobs even though, once he meets Eric, Eric keeps telling him he could pull string to get Matty into a better job. Matty hates that.

Matty kind of hates Eric until he loves him, and Eric kind of hates Matty until he loves him. they're toxic yaoi, i don't have excuse for it, they suck but they're endgame. like, both of you are assholes, don't ever get anyone else involved in whatever this is. they need each other. Matty is the one person who can stand up to Eric, and Eric is the one person who challenges Matty and can give him a sense of escape from his life. same thing Bill does for Sookie, but homoerotic and worse. they both push each other, they both help each other, they would die for each other but also not really, because they firmly believe they'd be able to prevent that. i don't have anything smart to say about them besides they're sexyyyy. i could post so much bullshit about them because i'm hilarious. not yet tho

[mmoodd-jobutupaki]

Shakespeare who? Only Katy is known here.

I've got classes tomorrow and was about to fall asleep but WHO NEEDS SLEEP WHEN A NEW BDAS CHAPTER IS OUT

Also I've got a ton of thoughts under the cut so be prepared

Reader has more patience than me, I woulda shot Mathias by now

You plan to add more OH PLEASE LET ME HELP

He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin. IDGAF Eugene go get me a gun

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene. LMFAO I shouldn't be laughing idk why I am

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. He talks like Adam from Hazbin Hotel, better go down like him too

“The Queen, it was all her.” not to be that person, but we totally called it

He'd be dead by sundown, So he's still alive?!🙃

Mann, we were so close

I never thought I'd be so happy to see Miguel and Lyla but here we are

"you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

HELL F***ING YEAH

“A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!” Lyla is a mood

“Where were you Lyla?” let's see, if I remember correctly, Katy forgot her

He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world. Ouch okay that kinda hurt

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity. HIRED

"Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.” Gotta maintain the fresh kicks

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal. Two words. Served. Cunt.

The weathered leather shoes THE BOOTS WE HAVE THE BOOTS

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you Your honor he's the captain of their ship

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” Garp and Luffy, but like, actually healthy

“It was your father's, 💔Welp

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ. 

OUT FOR LOOOOVE LOOOVE

‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.” Go back Say whaaaat

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.” AWWH HELL NO THEY SHOULDA KNOWN BETTER NOW THEY PAYING

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach. KATYY KATY WHAT WAS THAT?! NOW THEY PAYING DOUBLE

“Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.” Katy I'm sending you my therapy bills YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME AFTER ATSV BRUH😭😭

Let me show you how much I love you, Someone's cutting onions

grins at her husband's dead body. See..she bitch, but she kinda ate with this one

Mathias still lives Godf*ckingdammit

Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. oh OH💔

The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, This is their version of TASM Gwen's death

He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. Katy..as a lit student... THAT SHIT HURT

You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. Your honor their my Roman Empire

He's a knife meant to grieve. Takes a shot for the pain 🥃

Spotify play Born To Die by Lana Del Rey

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. Reminder that they're still only, like 19/20 (I think, I'm going by his ATSV age here)

“He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” went down like Adam from Hazbin Hotel

ANYWAY IMMA RUN A VICTORY LAP HAPPY ENDING AGAINST ALL ODDS

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts. LMAOO

You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’ I say it was Yuri

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home. *cries* it's happy tears y'all 🥺

^me asf rn

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

[dzpenumbra]

2/24/23

All of the progress I made yesterday. All of the momentum. All the insight and realization, the growth. The confidence I had. It has been crushed to a fine dust and tossed into the wind.

There was a big storm today. Something like 8 inches of snow.

I did yoga for the lower back today and it went okay. Humbling, but good.

I ate some food, I worked on another stone for a few hours. Quite a while, actually, now that I think about it, because I didn't get into the shower until probably... 5 or 6? Part of me was engrossed in the project, part of me was just... waiting for the expected call to coordinate about my car. To coordinate what the fuck I'm going to do for transportation because my car is broken down in a parking lot 100 miles away, unfixable (according to the people renting me the car I'm driving...). Just... waiting for the call. Which apparently... wasn't coming until... 6:30. On a snow day. The phone rang when I was in the shower, after I just gave up, assuming the call just wasn't coming.

After getting myself quickly clothed, I called back. It went dark quick. I mean, fuckin quick. She was trying to tell me that there were no cars that fit the bill in the state, essentially. And just... putting it out there like that... like... "welp, now what". I have no clue what the fuck she was expecting me to say or do. So, after a bit of info gathering on what the hell was going on... I opened up a Notepad document and, with her, started two columns regarding the car - My Parameters and Her Parameters. My parameters - electric preferred, if viable. Her parameters - Lease, New, few prior owners, manufactured within the past 2 years, there was another one but I deleted the document. How deluded would I have to be to think that I actually have agency in this situation? Let me be very direct here. The... empty space... that she was leaving when she said "oh my, it looks like there are no electric cars in the state!" Was directly to pressure me to resign the only agency I had in the choosing of my own vehicle, to pressure me to cave on that, to adjust my parameter. Without even looking at her other conditions, which she also didn't run by me.

Now... I grew up in this shit. This looked very normal my entire life. Like... "oh, well I'm just not going to pay for you to buy a car that's going to break in 6 months". Which is coming from someone who has only owned one used car one time in her life, when Carter was in fucking office. And, in her own story, the car broke because of her error of trying to run the windshield wipers without cleaning off the windshield first, and burning out the motor. You cannot fucking make this shit up.

I don't even want to get into the next 2 hours. It got bad. A bit of bringing out the old fan favorite "spoiled". That was fun. Yeah, nothing says spoiled like being scared shitless of telling your landlord that the washing machine and oven broke down because of PTSD from your fucked up family, so you just... I shit you not... live without an oven or washing machine for 4 months. I hand-washed my clothes in the bathtub for 4 months because the shame and guilt I felt. And I get called spoiled. I wonder where the complex came from.

I'm tired of censoring this. I'm tired of hiding this in order to protect the person who is hurting me very deeply. I want to say this out loud. At several points tonight, I made it very clear that I was being very deeply hurt, in ways that are hard to even put into words. Like... taking someone who is afraid of water and giving them a swirlie. Like taking someone who is afraid of spiders and dunking their head in a cardboard box full of spiders. And I explained very clearly, several times, that I wanted my notifications I was passing along during the conversation to be like a bottom third on a news channel, a ticker that is displaying a message: "Breaking News: this is extremely unhealthy, this is hurting your son in ways that you can't really comprehend, this is causing the damage which basically... refreshes the cooldown on his trauma symptoms, his avoidance, his hiding for safety from a dangerous world." I reminded her of it several times. It was as though I didn't even speak. In fact, most of the "conversation" was as though I didn't speak. I would ask direct, clear questions and just get silence. I would ask direct, clear questions and get responses that had nothing to do with the question. I would get complete topic changes out of the blue to just... dismantle everything I was saying. It was... I'm struggling to find the word. Unempowering? Like... Like in a nightmare when you are trying to speak and you can't speak. Only you can... but you might as well have not. Like... no shit this is my biggest recurring nightmare.

I used to stay in these conflicts out of a deep, primal fear of being abandoned. Being alone. But now I've been alone so long that I don't even care. This was because of my ability to have transportation, my own safety and security- which are clearly high priorities for me. And the transportation concerns are concerns that she talked me into. I was wrapping my head around the idea of being a bus rider from now on, trying to adjust to it. It's probably not the end of the world, I'd get used to it pretty quick. She insisted it was not safe, and insisted on leasing me a car. I said... if that is happening, I want it to be electric. Not for fashion or politics, because it seems more economic, and it seems like the tech shift is moving in that direction. And because of that... it should be easier to get replacement parts. Shit like that. It made sense to me. And, I mean... I'm going to drive it... so... I don't really know why it's anyone else's pick. If I pick something outside of a reasonable budget, don't fucking buy it. Duh. But if your only job is to finance this? Why the fuck are you deciding what car I'm getting too?

What I'm seeing as the theme under all of this? Fear.

I brought this up in the conflict, I've wanted to talk about it really bad but it just hasn't really come up fully. I want to really devote some of my work to it, like art pieces and shit. I feel like that's exactly where my carving and making sacred objects path is taking me. This idea of gods being the... personification of concepts. Death. Love. War. Fear. Stuff like that. And prayer to those gods? What is prayer? What is devotion to gods? Time? Thought? Intention? Like... what actually is devotion in practice. Like, I get the whole faith as a "loyalty" or "fealty" or something. Like "I align with this tribe" or whatever. Never really understood the point of that, but that makes sense with me being an exiled hermit. Hard to relate to the usefulness of that on a spiritual level, I just don't have the experience. But what interests me... is the practices of devotion. What we give to deities as representations of our faith. And in return for our devotions, our sacrifices, the things we give these deities... they give us blessings. Right? That's the whole thing? We earn their favor by giving them time, thought, energy, sacrifice, giving them a home in our lives. In our physical homes (through symbols, altars, totems, etc.), in our hearts (through sentiments, values), and in our minds (through consciously aligning our intentions with the deity's aspect, their qualities).

So... most of the people who do this kind of thing that I'm going to talk about are atheists... so a lot of them they get really upset when you talk about thinking this way... And it feels like this form of polytheism isn't... that common nowadays? (maybe that's part of the problem...) But what I'm seeing is this... driving force of repetition of the same emotions or concepts underlying. A motivational force. God, I'm being really vague and abstract, let me clarify. I see people sabotaging themselves like 10 times in one paragraph. "I made this art piece today. It's probably garbage, I hate it, but it's there. I don't know why I bother anymore. Oh well, hope you like it." Stuff like that. There's one example, like... clear-cut depression, right? Or, for my mom... Fear. I hint at leasing a car that's 3 years old and she immediately goes to "that car will break down and fall apart and it's going to be expensive and he's going to die." (not sure about the last part, she really didn't seem concerned about my safety or wellbeing at any point today...) So... the connection I'm kinda getting at here... Is that the artist in the first example... is essentially worshipping the God of Depression. Every sentence is either a tribute to the essential concept of Depression, saturated with the feelings of it, spoken through the lens of it, or immediately followed up with it in order to "ground" it. It's like a fucking summoning spell for depression. And the worst part? Being depressed makes you summon more depression. The same with Fear. The more afraid you are, the more afraid you are. And it snowballs super fucking quick.

That's why all the little gestures towards the "gods" - if you don't like the word, if it carries bad connotations, then... try "intentions" or "concepts" instead - all those gestures would probably bring much more function if you intentionally summoned "gods" that you actually do want in your life. Like... okay, let's say the artist above, who was an example inspired by at least a dozen people I've encountered in my life nearly verbatim, let's say their true value that they want to manifest in that expression... is being a cool, confident, respected storyteller. (Kinda projecting here... XD) So... why not summon that? Why not take some time and study how to summon that spirit, that... personality? How to be that character. Like... learning a role for a play, if you've ever done that before. Take a little time to really... learn how it feels to have those intentions present in a moment like the example above. And then, when it's time to present your next drawing? Tap into that. Tap into the spirit of what you want to be. Put your energy, your thought, your heart, your actions... intentionally, deliberately towards what you are seeking to achieve. What god you seek to summon. That is the value of mindfulness, of present awareness, of "noticing". It's subtle, but it's profoundly impactful. Not because of what it is, per se, but what it allows you to do.

So, basically... be mindful of what gods you are summoning. Because... you might just get what you ask for. If you devote all your time and energy to fixating on and... operating with the central tenet being... Fear or Sorrow. It should not be a surprise when you find that god appreciates your alignment, and gives you their blessing. More of the same.

I have no idea if any of that makes sense. It makes sense to me, but I've been immersed in the evolution of this concept for a very long time. This concept is one that I introduced into my life back in 2017. It was done through a D20 Modern campaign I was designing surrounding gods that functioned in this kind of way. Actual deities that existed in different dimensions than we can really understand or experience? But had influence on the world through... us. The one I was fixating on at the time was one I named Knorim, the god of illusion, grief and time. And his effects on the world were more... mind-altering... like almost psychedelic, hallucinatory, dream-like... I just watched Batman Begins last night, like that, like the whole Scarecrow/Ra's al Ghul thing. And the effects of his presence are summoned by... worshipping his aspects. Specifically by experiencing unresolved trauma, and dealing with trauma in unhealthy ways. Carrying accumulated trauma, fighting it, repressing it, projecting it... all basically like saying a prayer in a confessional, or an Eldritch cult member chanting before an altar, and the god bestowing their "blessing" in kind. And the effects grow not just within that person, but over time... they become a beacon for Knorim's influence. They start to radiate that hallucinatory effect to people nearby them, people close to them, then to people just... in physical proximity to them. And the infection spreads. And if things go bad? If these hallucinatory effects lead to breakups? Or fights? Or worse... The trauma multiplies exponentially.

Pretty fuckin messy, huh? And I came up with my own custom psychology and aura game mechanics for the D+D campaign to have this be an... unspoken part of the entire group dynamic. If one person deals with trauma in what was essentially... a ghost-hunting tourist trap gone wrong... like an Alan Wake kinda setting... if one person in the party doesn't sit down and deal with what they went through realistically, and really emotionally process it... like a real person going through a real trauma. It will grow and affect the team members. It will debilitate them, and the debilitating factors will make threats more dangerous, will make outcomes completely unpredictable, will eventually lead to them losing much of their faculties and functionality, and end up dependent on the people who they were hindering. And the more players get affected by this? The worse it gets. The deeper into the bad trip they go. So, basically, if they don't roleplay being actual people, they are going to be absolutely miserable and useless. If they treat their characters with loving kindness, like real people, and are gentle with them psychologically. Not recklessly jumping into traumatic situations. Caring for each other and helping each other recover. Bonding. Healing. If they play it like deep, immersive roleplay... they will have a once-in-a-lifetime experience. If they play it like a game, they will progressively lose their ability to participate. And riding that edge between the two? That's where the gold is.

I have told one person... maybe two... about this campaign in 5 years. I am typing this because I don't think I'll ever have friends to play it. Who knows. I kept silent because... I really can't spoil it for the players. If they know this element is present? They will try to min-max it. It will destroy itself. They need to feel it. They need to feel the effects. And, in an ideal world, they would get through the entire campaign having absolutely no idea that the influence of a god was even present. It was just some crazy shit that happened, and thank god we survived, and look at how close we became along the way. Like all good horror survival stories.

So yeah. I hope that kind of thing clarifies the theory I've been tossing around. This idea of like... live and act by the principles you are intentionally trying to bring into your own life, into the world. I am not even close to a good example of this, I have been working very hard on it, but I still have a long road ahead of me. But my heart is in the right place. And that's a big help.

Before I go...

I went skating tonight. Yeah. I mentioned that it was a snow day. There was a lot of snow out. I didn't go skating because I was waiting on this phone call. The end result of the phone call, by the way? The only plan I have here... with my balls gingerly placed in a Cuisinart... is to take the rental back down south and take the bus back up. The closest the bus comes to my apartment is about 3 miles away. The early bus gets in at 5:30 PM. I will 100% be walking back to my apartment alone, in a city, 3 miles, in the snow. So I better fucking stretch, and hope no one jacks my phone.

Okay, got that out of my system. I went skating. The sidewalks were completely covered. It was... like nothing I had ever done before. I skated the sidewalks. Just normal sidewalks. And did ollies and shuvits and manuals and shit. The hills were perfect for it. Just the right incline to carry speed. Though the snow was a bit slow... and I didn't get to tune my board first. I was too emotionally distraught. I just... put my contacts in, got water and fuckin went before I could talk myself out of it. Because it was like 10:30 when I went out. I went over to the other side of the park for the first time and I saw a 4 set. It was wider than the one in the park itself. I just hopped right up to the top and bombdropped it. Easy. Then I got settled in there and got ready to session this thing. After my second try... just getting a feel for the snow and the distance... I shit you not... a cop SUV pulled in to the rotary parking lot and just... posted up. Lights off, just chilling there like 30 feet away from me. I was just like... okay...

I tried 2 more attempts. The second one was a clean land. And I had a big shit-eating grin on my face. I was so fucking happy. It was such a good feeling. Like... I wasn't even planning on skating stairs today, and I can stick that 4th try. That's a hell of a feeling.

I went to cross the street and skate the park... when some chick was yelling at me from the sidewalk I had left. I paused my music, she was asking if I was snowboarding. I came back over and showed her my board and explained what it is. I offered it to her if she wanted to ride, she immediately got on and made her way down the entire hill. I was impressed. She picked it up really quickly. Frankie, I think she said her name was. I don't know. She was a college student, I'd wager. Which is... still a bit odd now that there's that much of an age gap. It looked like she was out with a friend getting drinks, as her friend came out and called her in because her... drink was ready? Weird thing to say... Welp... I introduced myself and went off and tried to skate the park itself. The park was completely unpacked powder that was like at least 6-7 inches. I did a few runs across the flat to pack the snow in, in case I want to go back and skate it tomorrow, but it was pretty unskateable how it was. So I went back over to the first sidewalk I skated. I liked it. It was a bit more gradual than the other one. And one run in, the cop posted up again. I spent the next like... 40 minutes? Practicing lines with the cop watching me. Ollie then shuvit. Manual shuv out. I tried half-cab, but I had trouble doing it at speed. Landed some really clean flat-ground kickflips, and started to get the heelflip back. Nothing crazy impressive, but really good solid fundamentals in a more... fluid environment. Snowskating is a lot more... set up in front of an obstacle and do something on it. You don't often get to do full runs. So to kinda cruise and do lines, and just throw tricks on random terrain, like skateboarding? It's pretty rare, at least for me. So, though I didn't land anything too impressive (other than the 4-set, that was clean as hell and I really want to pat myself on the back for it, I was right above the board the entire time), the style of skating I got to do tonight was a rarity. And I'm very glad I went out.

But here's what got me. The cop. Yep. It really fucked with me. I was literally being watched, being judged, by an authority figure that likely thought the worst of me and was just waiting for me to fuck up so they can punish me. The entire time. That's what my PTSD said. And I tried to just listen to my music and focus on my skating. I tried to tell myself, "the worst has already passed." But I did not feel safe. I just... did not feel safe. And I don't like that.

What I was thinking as I was just... speed-walking back to my apartment in a post-exercise daze... was "I really wish that cop would have just gotten out of their car and come up to me and said 'hey man, I'm gonna be parked over here keeping an eye out for shit, you know, just doing my job... I'm not like... waiting for you to fall and then kick you out because you're being too dangerous or anything... I might even watch you a little bit, if that's okay. Oh, and... how is your night, citizen? Are you well?' And I go, "Officer, I just had one of the worst nights of my life. And I just want to do something that makes me feel like life is worth living. And like I am talented and capable of doing something that brings good into the world. It might seem stupid, but it means a lot to me. I hope I'm not disturbing people with this", and they go "Wow blahblahblah holy shit I don't need your life story, what the fuck dude." Then they confiscate my board because it's "close enough" to a skateboard and send me home with a $300 ticket for vandalizing public snow.

I might have catastrophized that a bit at the end there. For real, I really wish the cop just said hi and let me know they weren't watching me. Because there was a moment when some dude just pulled off the rotary and parked right next to where I was skating for seemingly no reason... for like 5 whole minutes... and I was a bit sketched out. And it would've been much nicer for me to know whether the cop was watching my back, or watching me. You know? But with all the anti-cop sentiment lately, I don't blame them for keeping their distance and not extending that sentiment. I don't blame them at all. It just would've meant a lot to me to have an authority figure care about my night a bit, rather than lurk as an unseen force in the darkness waiting to pounce. It made relaxing and skating a lot harder.

Not a lot of good vibes to be found here. Just that young chick, who took the time out of her night to share her genuine excitement with me. And was probably hitting on me and I was probably completely oblivious and really not into it. Good lord, I don't have to sabotage the only good vibes here. I landed the 4 set. I introduced a new person to snowskating. I had an in-person social interaction that was very natural, very comfortable and I was actually very confident and encouraging. It showed me the other face of the world, the face that has been hidden from me for so long. The normal people interactions. That aren't fights. That aren't therapy sessions with legal boundaries. Just... friendly interactions in the wild.

Here's to building a healthy foundation to support more of those. And the courage and security to safely walk away from the toxic ones.

[heymacy]

18 & 84

(maybe this is super lame but... I'm a simple woman 🤷🏼‍♀️ also ily)

anna my love, i would do anything for you 💛 including writing smut when you didn’t explicitly ask for it 😏 that’s friendship, bitch!

18 [Roommates/Neighbors AU] + 84 [Eavesdropping/Overhearing]

The apartment has been empty for six months. Ian enjoys the peace and quiet, but life has grown a bit too mundane for his taste. Thankfully, the excitement Ian’s been craving shows up on his doorstep in the form of a hot, tattooed, seemingly apathetic new neighbor. Little does Ian know, his quiet little life is about to get a whole lot...louder.

NSFW below the cut 📬💰🎥💥

Ian unlocks his door and walks inside, grocery bags in hand. He nudges the door shut with his foot and drops the bags on the counter. Kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, he makes his way to the couch where he flops down, exhausted.

Work is overwhelming, but the pay is good, and it means he can afford a relatively decent apartment for the first time in his life.

But if Ian’s being honest, it isn’t work that’s got him so riled up.

Three days ago, the empty apartment next door became a lot less empty and a lot more intriguing. His new neighbor - just the one guy, from what Ian can gather - is hot, checking virtually every box Ian has. In fact, he’s checking boxes Ian didn’t even know he had in the first place, like knuckle tattoos and sharp blue eyes. He’d never cared about the color of someone’s eyes before, but the piercing blue ones that eyed him up and down as they crossed paths in the hall made him reconsider his stance. In fact, it made him stop and stare a little bit too long, long enough that the other man had given him an irritated look, and Ian had simply shuffled down the hall to avoid a confrontation.

He doesn’t know much about the guy, other than how ridiculously hot he is, but all of that was about to change.

Ian gets up from the couch after a few minutes and grabs the stack of mail he’d snatched on the way upstairs, rifling through them for a minute.

Bill, bill, junk mail, bill, letter from Fiona, postcard from Lip, bill, bill...

And then, at the bottom of the pile:

Mikhailo A. Milkovich

1409 Canary Ave, Apt. 407

Chicago, Illinois 60609

Mikhailo. Interesting.

407 was right next door, so this had to be the guy.

Ian thinks about it for a second - but only a for second, before making his way to the front door. He steps into the hall and walks one door down, the gold “407″ on the door twinkling beneath the lights.

He holds his fist in the air, poised to knock, until he hears a noise.

It sounds like change jingling, but in a fake, electronic way.

Then, a voice.

“Thanks for the 100 tokens, ShibariKing,” the voice says, low enough that nobody passing by could hear, but Ian’s ear somehow magnetizes itself to the door the second he heard Mikhailo - or whoever - speak.

Another electronic jingle, then another.

“Damn, ShibariKing’s gonna get us to 4000 real quick. Anyone else wanna pitch in?” A jingle. A laugh. “Shibari, AtomicTorch is comin’ for your crown.” Another laugh.

Fuck, that laugh.

Ian detaches his ear from the door, drops the letter on the doormat - a black one with a giant “FUCK OFF” across the middle in vinyl print - and darts back to 409. He has a sneaking suspicion about the layout of the two apartments, and hopes to God he’s right.

Sure enough, when he gets to his room, he can hear Mikhailo - or whoever - clear as day.

He doesn’t remember hearing the old neighbors this clearly, especially when they were just talking, but he wasn’t questioning it now. The fact that he could hear everything happening next door, even if he didn’t quite know what it was yet, was a gift horse he wasn’t about to look in the mouth.

“Alright, fuckers, we’re at 3680, who’s gonna get me there?” A beat. A jingle. “Fuckin’ Shibari,” he chuckles. “’Ey, Shibari, you’re about to get your money’s worth.”

Get your money’s worth. Okay, yeah, Ian knows exactly what’s going on now.

A song starts up, something with a low bass line, different from the low-fi beats that had been playing softly up to this point. Ian hears the sound of a bed creaking. Movement. The clicking of a keyboard. More movement, more creaking. The vibrations from the music against the wall shake the headboard, but Ian’s not complaining.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Ian feels his dick twitch in his jeans. In a matter of seconds, the well-worn denim is on the floor alongside his dark green boxers, and he settles up against the pillows, listening to the sounds and sighs emanating from the walls.

“Mmm,” the other man moans. “Feels so good,” he says, and it’s definitely a bit overdone. The performative aspect of jerking off online for money is undeniable and unavoidable, but it’s still got Ian rock hard in his bed, hand around his cock, stroking himself to the rhythm of the music.

“Wish I had someone here to fuck me good and hard,” his neighbor says, and Ian groans a bit, speeding up the pace of his hand, hips bucking and meeting himself halfway.

“Mmm, maybe I’ll get that new neighbor of mine to fuck me one day,” he says, and all the breath leaves Ian’s lungs.

Holy shit. Did he hear that right?

Mikhailo laughs.

“Don’t worry Shibari, you’re still my number one,” he says, and he’s sounding noticeably less composed. Ian feels a throbbing sensation shoot through his lower abdomen, this desperate ache consuming him bit by bit, traveling up and up until his breath hitches, head falling back against the pillow, hand speeding up, urged on by the moaning and “fuck, oh fuck, feels fucking amazing” coming through the walls.

Would Mikhailo - or whoever - let Ian fuck him one day? Would he let him give it to him good and hard like he said he wanted? Because he would. He’d fuck him ‘til he screamed, have him moaning Ian’s name, crying out, begging for more...

“Oh fuck, fuck, I’m so close.”

So was Ian.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Ian groans, voice climbing, unable to hold back the desperate, strangled sounds escaping from the back of his throat. As his voice climbs, so does the ache, the tightness, the impending climax, so close he can taste it.

“Oh god, fuck me,” Mikhailo whimpers before letting out a broken, gasping sound that sends Ian hurtling over the edge. His back arches off the bed as he comes hard, three pulses of pure heat and pleasure spilling over his hand as he listens to the other man’s comedown through the wall. His heavy breathing is still audible over the music, and Ian’s panting matches his in both pace and intensity.

“Fuck,” Ian hears the other man sigh, and he sounds exhausted. Ian knows if he had the chance to fuck his neighbor good and hard like he wanted it, he’d sound positively wrecked afterwards, and the very idea makes his softening cock twitch. He breathes slowly, steadying himself.

Maybe tomorrow he’d finally get up the courage to knock on his door. Maybe tomorrow Mikhailo would open the door, see Ian standing there, lustful eyes and bitten lips an open invitation for anything - anything he wanted.

Maybe.

We’ll see.

[yikesharringrove]

So, I had this idea, but I'm not really good with writing Harringrove, so I thought I could share it with u. A modern au where Steve nd Billy are streamers in L.A. Like, maybe Billys a gaming streamer nd Steve is a v chill streamer nd basically half of their live streams consist of Steve sitting in Billys lap nd the two of them cuddling while just talking nd one day they get a donation question like, "Are the two of u dating wtf" nd they just go "duh" also. femme/nonbinary steve

I love the idea of Steve being jenna marbles-esque, just like sweet and kinda weird and super loved.

And y’all know my love for nb Steve.

Based loosely on this post. Mainly just the gif.

Watch me make up twitter handles lol

This is v soft and includes many of my headcanons for these two living their lovely modern lives.

-

“Bill!”

Steve was yowling like a damn cat out in the kitchen, interrupting Billy’s stream. “Billy!”

“Stevie! I’m streamin’, Baby!” Hear could hear Steve’s feet plodding down the hall. The chat started going crazy as they appeared in the stream behind Billy, wearing a too-big sweater, thick wool socks on those perpetually cold little feet. Their hair was a fucking mess, and they were wearing their glasses, the big ones Billy loved.

They climbed on Billy’s lap, settling their face into his neck.

“What’s up?”

“Just wanted some lovin’.” Steve’s voice was soft, but they always put their face on the side Billy’s headset mic was on and the audience would go wild over the quiet things they said. Billy rubbed their back before going back to his game.

“Everyone welcome Stevie to the stream.”

He kept playing as usual, Steve a warm little puddle in his lap.

“Okay, Babes. I’m signing off for today, Steve is definitely asleep on me right now and I gotta put them to bed. Love you all, stay safe.” He had to awkwardly shuffle Steve around in his lap to turn off the stream, picking them up to take them to the room across the hall.

They had gotten a two bedroom when they were still friends, pretending they weren’t fucking in love with each other. They had moved into the bedroom formerly known as Steve’s, setting up Billy’s old room for streaming and video editing.

Steve snuffled as Billy took off their glasses, sliding into bed behind them.

-

Steve was sitting on the floor, laughing at the monitor.

They had been doing a series of Quarantine Madness videos, doing crafts and silly makeup tutorials.

They were currently trying temporary hairdye, had their hair sticking up in all directions.

“This is so fucking stupid, oh my god.” They had electric pink in their hair, Billy had gotten roped into it with dark blue.

“If you destroy my hair for YouTube hits, I’m gonna cry.” Steve had their thin fingers in his hair, rubbing the dye in.

“Oh, worse comes to worse you get ridda that fucking mullet.”

“You love this mullet. It’s my trademark.” Billy’s hair wasn’t supposed to be a mullet, was originally a shag that had grown in weird, but Billy had become known for it, and he had kinda grown to like it.

“The whole premise of this video is to get you to shave your head.” Billy laughed. “Okay, so we gotta wait like twenty minutes and then we gotta wash it out.” They looked at memes while they waited, figured Steve would edit all this waiting out of the video anyway.

They washed the dye out in the sink, scrubbing at one another’s heads before getting in the shower to clean off the patches on their skin.

They ended up getting a little distracted in the shower.

Steve had blow dried both their hair to see the color. The pink was subtle in Steve’s dark hair, the highlights they had gotten a few weeks before quarantine picking up more of the color.

Billy’s hair was bright fucking blue, and neither of them could stop laughing at it.

“I kinda, kinda love it on you, Bill.” Steve was brushing their fingers through Billy’s hair, making him lean into the touch like a damn cat.

The video ended up being wildly popular.

-

“So, you all tweeted us some questions, and we’re gonna answer them over live stream. We each picked a bunch to pose to one another, so yeah.” Steve shrugged. “Billy, @.DustinHendy wants to know why you’re such a little bitch.” Billy cackled, planting his face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Tell Dustin he’s a little garbage human.” Billy winked at the camera, making the comments along the side of the screen go crazy. “Um, I thought this question was interesting, @.llittlebug says: you two are so touchy. Are you together, or are you just close friends? We’re gal pals, actually.” Steve laughed, loud and bright.

“Two bros chillin’ in the hot tub, five feet apart ‘cause we’re not gay.” Steve sang, making them both crack up.

“Yeah, we’re very much in a relationship, have been for four years now.” Steve was giving him that soft smile Billy loved so much. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to that sweet little mouth. The chat was going insane, people sending comments along the lines of I knew it! and so happy for you both!

Steve’s cheeks were flushed.

“So, uh @.bigyikes asks, how did you two meet? Well actually, we went to high school together, and fucking hated each other when we first met, got in a big fight, worked our shit out became friends, moved in together, and fell in love like big dumb losers.”

“So bold of you to claim I ever hated you. I literally was fucking in love with them from the first time I ever saw them but I was, uh, going through a lot, and was kind of the worst back then.” Steve’s arm was on his shoulder, playing with the long hair by his neck.

“You’ve gotten so much better. And I’m proud of you.” Billy planted a kiss to their forehead.

“Next question before I fucking cry, @.imaloser wants to know our sexualities and gender expressions. I mean, you’ve been plenty open about all that.”

“Well, yeah. I’m pansexual and agender, which is under the nonbinary umbrella, but I like to typically present femme. And I use they pronouns, most of you know that, of course. I’m pretty open.” They turned big eyes on Billy.

“These days, I just identify as queer. I’ve always identified as a gay man, but I haven’t dated a guy in a long fuckin’ time.” Steve curled into his side.

“It’s been a learning process for both of us. I mean Billy’s the first person I dated seriously after I came out, and there was just a part of me that felt lowkey misgendered every time he said he was gay.”

“Oh, there was a lot of learning in those early days for sure. And I think we’re both still doing that. I hope I am.” Steve poked his stomach.

“You’re good to me, Bill.” There was a slew of sweet comments in the live stream.

“@.folks asks when did you get into makeup?” He turned to Steve.

“Growing up, most of my friends were girls, and I just always loved playing dress up, and getting make overs. When I was like, fourteen I think, I started playing with makeup myself, learning from YouTube tutorials, and just like, messing around with stuff. I always loved just feeling really pretty, so that’s why-” they gestured at themself, one of Billy’s shirts tucked into old worn out jeans, soft white cardigan. They had put on a full face of makeup for the stream.

“I think you’re the prettiest.” Steve laughed, headbutting Billy’s shoulder.

“Okay, so @.imstruggling wants to know who’s a better cook.” Steve turned dramatically to the camera. “Me, bitch!”

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it--IT AIN'T MINE

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 7

Kihyun

The next day, after two fittings with costumes, two phone interviews, a shoot for an ad, and a tv spot; I finally got back to the dorms, and back to that story.

Bryn PoV--

As if today wasn't bad enough, I walked into the house to find it completely empty. The kids wandered around and I tried to field a million questions about where they were gonna sleep and what we were gonna eat. That and the meltdowns every five minutes led me to try to call my little brother. I really just needed to talk to another grown-up. As soon as I had supper figured out, I called Joey.

"Hello," said a voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ummm. Hi?"

"Oh. Hello," The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Joey.

"Is Joey close?"

"Sorry. Who?"

"Sorry. Jooheon. Kids call him 'Uncle Joey'. Guess it stuck."

"Hmm. No. You just missed him."

"Dern. Can you pass on a message?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell him to call Bryn when he gets back?"

"Oh! I didn't recognize your voice, Bryn. How are you? It's Kihyun. Joey is in the shower. Can I help you with whatever you need," I asked, biting my lip and praying she would say yes. Just the sound of her voice was both soothing and somehow able to tie me up in knots.

"Actually, I was calling to vent. I've had a particularly terrible day today. Joey is my sobriety sponsor."

"He is? Wow," I said before Honey came charging at me, his hair still wet. "I would still LOVE to talk to YOU," I shouted.

"Gimmie my phone, Kihyun."

I handed him back the phone and heard him say

"What's up, Sis?"

Though I couldn't hear exactly what was said, I could tell by the look on his face, it wasn't good.

"Really?"

Then, Honey sighed. "Lemme see what I can do from here."

"Please, let me help."

If it were possible for him to get any more pissed off, he did. "HE WHAT," he yelled. Then, he pulled the phone from his ear and said, "I need a one way ticket to Peoria International!! I'm gonna kill him. I am gonna fuckin' kill him." Next, he put the phone back to his ear, "Lemme see what I can do here, Sis," he growled as he demanded numbers and wrote them down, and then hung up.

As he started digging on the internet to find the cheapest fare, HyunWoo said, "Hold it, Hot Shot. What happened?"

"That douchbag finally left. He took everything! Even the kids stuff. He left them with NOTHING! That is why Sis was calling. He cleaned out their account and took everything. Damn lucky he couldn't touch the shop accounts or he would have cleaned them out too. Literally everything. She needs a little cash to feed the kids til Friday."

"Thank God it is Wednesday," said CK. from the far side of the room. If anyone had bothered to look, the reflection on his glasses was an Amazon cart with 37 things in it. The only time ANYONE has that many things in an Amazon cart is when they are buying groceries. However, most of those were chips or snack cakes.

Honey, Min, and HyungWon all sat down to iron out how much and what they were gonna contribute.

Silently, I picked up my bank book and palmed the slip of paper with her info on it. Only HyunWoo saw me slip out the door. He stopped me as I waited for the elevator and handed me a few bills from his own wallet before turning back towards the room.

"What," was all I could get out before he interrupted, cutting me off mid-question.

"We look out for our own," He answered before he opened the door to the dorm.

After heading to the nearest Western Union, I called the number on the slip from Honey. When she picked up, I smiled.

"Hey, Bryn, it's Kihyun. I wired you some money. Should be about $100, if everything gets exchanged right."

"Kihyun, you guys didn't have to do that. My dad was already gonna feed the kids. I just needed to talk to someone. This has got me so shaken up, I want a drink really bad. Guess I wasn't too clear with Joey."

"Really? Then why was he," I stopped as a shadow fell over me. "Well, shit. Guess who is now standing right behind me."

"Tell him to calm down."

"Bryn says to calm down. She told me to sit on you if I have to."

"Kihyun! I did not."

"I paraphrased," I laughed. "Besides, Sweets, if looks could kill, I'd be dead right about now."

"Really," she chuckled.

"Oh yeah. He is probably gonna follow me all the way to the dorm. I guess I am not allowed out on my own," I laughed.

"Why," She asked.

"I tend to do dumb things, according to others. Though they may be a little impulsive, they always work out in the end. So don't look the horse in the mouth."

"I won't."

"Good girl," I laughed, "So why did you call him, anyway?"

"I needed someone I could yell at that would not take it personal."

"I am always here. Though, I may occasionally yell back."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Making me laugh. I needed that. "

"Damn. I was looking forward to the screaming match. C'mon, get it started, Angelface," I said as I stopped at the stoplight and waited for the crosswalk. "Do you want me to start," I asked, then pulled the phone away and yelled.

Bringing the phone back to my face, I asked as the crosswalk lit up and I crossed the street, "How was that," I grinned.

"A 10. A fuckin' 10. Have you thought of being a Rockstar," she laughed.

I could almost hear the smile on her face, which made me laugh. Even if my throat killed me in the morning it was worth it.

"Hey, hang on a second. I want to send you something," I said as I put my phone on speaker and started the camera.

"Oh dear God, what now," she asked.

I took a short video of me sending her a kiss and sent it off. "Nothing bad."

"Ok, if you say so. Just not cool with unsolicited dick pics from strange men."

"I would not send you unsolicited dick pics, nor am I a stranger. Now, if you asked for them...Like a good girl," I started and looked over at Honey, who was looking at me with the 'better never do that' face. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I'm getting side eye."

She laughed and said, "I know just the look. It screams, 'You'd better not be sending photos of ANY part of your anatomy to my sister'."

"Yes," I laughed. "So how are you feeling? Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. I'm here all week. Try the veal," I laughed. "Still want a drink," I asked.

"No. The laughs did it for me. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Darling. So did you get the video I sent?"

"I did. That was very sweet. Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Pretty Lady. Well, we are back at the dorms."

"I should probably go then," she sighed.

"Just remember I am also available for Mitzvahs," I chuckled, which made her laugh. "Seriously, Sweetie, anytime you need a sounding board or a laugh fest, a screaming match or some naughty-Ow, Mother fucker!-I got smacked on my arm for that last bit. I am always here,"

"Thanks again. Until next time."

I paused and came VERY close to telling her how I felt but said, instead, "Again, you are welcome."

"Bye, Kihyun."

"Bye, Bryn," I breathed, then hung up.

Honey looked at me as he crossed his arms over his chest, "It took everything you had to not tell her 'I love you' didn't it?"

All I could do was nod and hope that my dreams tonight would be better than they had been.

As we got into the elevator, He said, "It was good hearing that you made her laugh."

"I love the sound of her laughter. Once I got her started, I didn't want her to stop. I think that she is just as funny as she is sweet."

"You do know that she will do one of two things, right?"

"What two things?"

"Either immediately send the money right back, or hang on to it and physically give you back every bit. She hates asking for help...of any kind," he said as he opened the door to our dorm.

"Yeah? Wonder why."

He just laughed, "Her ex-fiancée, ex-husband, and her father."

"What happened," I asked as I made us a pot of coffee.

"They all held every penny over her head. Her dad decided he wanted her out the minute she turned 18 and to do it, he threw her out the boat, so to speak. Said if she floated, she never needed help anyway; and if she sank, well, it was her own fault."

"That's abuse. Financial abuse."

"Yep. He was the kind to tell her everything she had was his, that she owned nothing; not even the clothes on her back. He comes from the 'I Own You' school of parenting. Her ex-fiancée would demand she work, then make her late, so she would lose any job she got. Then, he'd take any money she got paid and use it for crap he wanted rather than the bills she had it ear-marked for."

"Oh, tell me he didn't."

"Oh he did. Spent it on girls at the local under 21."

"Shit. He screwed around on her, didn't he?"

"Yep. Which is why if you ever think about cheating, I will castrate you myself," he growled.

Somehow I knew he would do it, and I would let him. "Don't have to worry about that. Can you tell me about her ex-husband?"

"That asshole was a piece of work. Emotionally, Mentally, and Fiscally abusive. The entire time they were together, he would pinch a penny until it died if it was something she needed, but she was expected to turn over her things and cash to him. She worked second shift in a factory; out of the house from half 1 to almost 1 am. He was in semi driver school at the time, racked up a HUGE amount of debt; I'm talking almost 40K. Constantly accused her of cheating when he had a different lot lizard every night. It's a miracle he never gave her anything."

I was disgusted by this guys behavior. To have a woman like her waiting at home and trying his best to break her.

"And that isn't even the worst of his offenses. He screamed at her one night while he was over the road, on training. She was at work, and he called her on her lunch break. The entire time, he screamed at her for having a cold sore and yelled about her cheating loud enough for her co-workers to hear. Her boss to tell her to turn off her phone; that he was tired of hearing that jerk yell at her. The guy he was learning with, told him that 'If I were her, I would be calling the lawyer first thing in the morning, after that shit.' He 'apologized' pretty quickly after that."

"Icky. I hope she ended it there."

"No. That girl has a ton of stay and No show. He ended up deployed to Egypt and told his brother about the girls there. Never thought his brother would run and tell her. She still didn't leave. You left a blister on her cheek one night and he threw her out in the snow."

"Stay and no show? I'm not sure I understand."

"Horse terms," came a voice from the doorway. I had forgotten Hoseok was staying with us while his apartment was getting the pipes fixed. "When a filly is learning to ride, it's said she is full of Show and no Stay. Meaning she looks good, but is too skittish to stand still. Sis--Well Sis may not look like much, but she has tons of loyalty to those who show her the same. She has the patience to play a 30 year long game, and the courage to weather ANY storm. But she has a problem knowing when to leave, and so she gets hurt."

"Hold up! He threw her out in the snow?!"

As Hoseok filled his own mug, he answered, "Yeah, he threw her out of the apartment in the middle of a snowstorm. Lucky her parents were in town. So if you start this with her, and you ever want out; you are gonna have to straight up tell her to go. She won't understand otherwise. She doesn't play games and has a tough time with subtly. So always be direct and honest with her."

I nodded taking it in. There was something I thought I wanted, so I asked, "How is her aegyo"

"If you are looking for overt aegyo, don't. Hers is subtle but she has got it in spades, and she doesn't even know it. It's in the way she plays, either with her guy or her kids," he said as he leaned against the counter, "It's in the subtle blush when you say or do something for her without her asking. It's in a compliment and the smiling eyes that comes with it. She has never had some of the things other girls take for granted, like a stolen kiss or flowers on her birthday. Other things, like those romantic gestures, she has only had once or twice. If I remember right, the last guy to 'play' was an FWB years and years ago, and that guy only stole one kiss, once," Honey replied.

"Don't expect her to run with girls. Most girls find her too harsh, too rough. She doesn't appreciate girls and their whiney, gossipy ways. She never wears makeup, and I have never once seen her with her nails painted. She is a guys-girl, a tom-boy through and through; wasn't made delicate. She is stronger than most people will ever know. However, her heart is extremely delicate, it's been broken and bruised so bad, even I wonder how she is still alive. So, let me tell you, right now," Hoseok said as he sat down his mug and leaned over the counter in my direction, "She may not be blood, but she is my sister."

"Hmm," I nodded. "You really don't have to worry about that," I replied. "How are you related to her again," I asked.

"Distant cousin. Her auntie married my mothers little brother, for all of five minutes. I am only gonna tell you this once, if you hurt that filly in ANY way; you wont walk again."

"Got it," I replied, cringing.

"You know that she won't ask for what she wants or needs. You are gonna need to be damned good at reading between the lines, cause she is so afraid that if she tells you what she needs, what she wants, you will do the same thing every one else has done," Honey said after a minute.

"Run," I answered nodding.

"Yep. Most men can't handle her intensity so they either run or try to turn her down to levels that they can handle without realizing that her fire isn't meant to be dimmed, but fed. She is gonna need you to be just as emotional as her, to show her that it is ok to feel again. She is very touch oriented, very tactile. So a lot of her feelings are touch related."

"I understand, Joey."

"You had better. The only reason I didn't beat the shit out of the other assholes, is that I wasn't there. If I had been, I would have had no problems with a few months in the county lock-up. And if Clark had tried that shit while I was there..."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, the shit of it is, she fades into the background. She doesn't want all those things that other girls want. She isn't the kind to run or chase. She doesn't play games. She is also emotional. Ease into it. Don't try to love bomb her, she went through that shit with Clark and won't put up with it from you," Hoseok said, then turned to Joey, "Speaking of, did you hear what Lone Elm called him?"

Joey shook his head.

Hoseok grinned. "Elm called him a fuckin fishstick."

Joey started laughing, "Elm called him 'Fishstick'."

I looked back and forth between the two men who were holding themselves up on the counter while they laughed. "I don't get it. What-What's a fishstick?"

A hand landed on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Changkhyun standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Fishsticks are only available in the States. They are mashed-up fish paste, about an inch wide by around six inches long, which is then breaded. Then, they are to be baked in an oven. Either they turn out soggy or they are hard as a rock; inedible either way. Which is good, because they are fuckin' gross. Nasty little things."

"Are they like the fish at Mickey's?"

"No," CK stated. "The fish there is actually decent. Fishsticks are generally served in school hot lunches on Fridays due either to religious reasons, or because they are cheap and can be purchased by the gross. At any rate, they are still inedible."

"Icky. How in the hell can people do that to their kids?"

"Not a clue. That was why I always took my lunch on Friday. Every Friday, the hot lunch was always the same thing; rock hard fishsticks, soggy tater tots, dehydrated-rehydrated mixed vegetables, and golden glow salad with mayonnaise on the top. It was the grossest meal I have ever seen in my entire life."

I shuddered to think of those poor kids. Forced to eat that nasty stuff.

After reading that, I was glad her kids never had to eat that. She fixed boxes for them. School lunches in the States sounded gross.

'Some things were ok.'

'I thought you took your lunch, Mami?'

'I did. My dad said cold lunch was cheaper. But, there was one day, once or twice a month, that I would get school lunch. They called it pork pattie day, but it was a breaded pork tenderloin on a bun. It was pretty decent. It was pretty gross the rest of the time, but that day wasn't too bad.'

'Have I watched you fix those before?'

'Not sure.'

'Are those the sandwiches where you beat the pork chops to nothing and then bread and fry them?'

'Yes.'

'Those do look pretty tasty,' I said as I dug around for what to fix the next day, so I could write it on the board. 'Hmm. Help, please. Can't figure out supper.'

'Whatcha got?'

'Hmmm. Some sausages, some tiny shrimp, and a package of chicken,' I said as I dug around in the freezer.

"You can use the shrimp and chicken in Gumbo.'

'It has been quite a while since I've had Gumbo. I've never made it before though.'

'Look it up. There are a million Gumbo recipes out there.'

'I think I will do that. Thanks, Baby. Have I told you, today, how awesome you are??'

'Yes, but I can always stand to hear it again,' she laughed.

A/N)--The above abuses......actually happened. First hand experience.

[ironhusband]

ha ha...hey! long time no see! i meant to come earlier and with gifts but i had uh...well this super embarrassing as someone who really, really knows her alcohol (i'm even a mixologist for crying out loud,) but long story incredibly short i had a little bit of an accident and caught some real fuckin' bad alcohol poisoning. i forgot a lot of things (including you again, i'm so sorry,) and i'm still having trouble remembering things, some of them very important, i'm told, but most of it has been coming back slowly but surely. the doctors were a bit worried about brain damage for a few days because i had a lot of difficulty speaking verbally long after i was sober, but when that cleared up i was given a clean bill of health and sent on my way. my niece says i talk funny now though? i personally can't tell and nobody else has commented about anything, so that might just be her.

since then most of my time has been spent dealing with the emotional fallout of some of my family members, and that's fine; most of them are just really concerned and scared for me but they've mellowed out after more than a couple reassurances that i'm not gonna get alcohol poisoning again. my mama though? god, she's been miserable. i honestly think i might have traumatized her (my aunt told me she was the one who found me and that i was on the floor choking on my own vomit, which, that's still a lot to take in,) because every time she looks at me she looks like she wants to cry and it physically pains me to see that. i know that no amount of reassuring her is gonna make her feel any better like the rest of my family, but i've been very busy trying to be a constant presence in her life anyway, been hoping that being in her line of sight whenever i can will make her feel somewhat at ease. so, that's where i've been all this time!

i'm gonna send in those samrhodeytony fic bits, i just...well you see, i forgot where i put them? and i need to do some searching? i mean, they have to be on this phone because there are these folders with labels of fandoms in them and they have writing in them too, but i don't see anything resembling a marvel or mcu folder, so i think they may be somewhere else. i also know that those two things are horror but i completely forgot everything else about them. like okay they're horror but...what else? is it monster fic, or is it psychological torture, is there any gore involved? you know? so when i find them i'll read through them and see if there's anything i think would call for me to warn you about content before i send you anything. ~🍜

Hi 🍜 anon! I want you to know I broke into the biggest grin when I realized this was you! I missed you! 

Um. Ok wow. That’s... that’s a lot. Please never apologize for being hospitalized or forgetting about me or forgetting about anything for that matter! It's also not embarrassing, it seems that you really have an issue. You really have a good reason for all of it. Seriously, I just hope you’re doing better, all that sounds so scary and awful. I know we don’t know each other but the fact that you came this close to dying and I would have never known you did or heard from you again.... yeah, that’s pretty much terrifying. I’m really worried for you.

I don't mean to overstep my boundaries here, but if you’ve been hospitalized for alcohol poisoning (and you could have had brain damage...), I think you should maybe... stop drinking for awhile. I’ve been already worried since you’ve talked a lot about memory issues due to alcohol, but seriously, it seems like it's really starting to affect your life and the lives of the people around you. I hope you get better and don’t put yourself in that danger again!

It's very nice of you to take care of your mom that way, and it makes a lot of sense that you’d be busy doing that. That reassures me somewhat, knowing that you’re constantly with people who wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger. Take care of yourself too, though? I mean, I’m sure this experience has been at least a little scary for you too. 

I’m excited to see the fics you wrote for me! Take you time with sending them in, prioritize getting better first. I’ll be here, very eager to read them! And thank you for being considerate with content warning, I appreciate it! I would probably read anything but I would need a warning for gore, abuse or physiological torture. 

Hope you’re staying safe and getting better!

[el-dibidibidorado1]

Untamed Pt.4

A/n: long chapter! Enjoy

Five. Five days in a row that sleep didn't come. It was driving me insane. The same dream kept of repeating, it was the bite and the pain that lingered there afterwards. Sadly the mark is still fresh, once in a while I would pick at the scabs when I shower; which was about four times a day. My poor mother had to buy almost six new soaps. Six! That is a lot for one damn week, even a month! Now that she has been buying all the soaps on the fuckin planet and our little incident in the kitchen, she knows something is up.

Another thing is that i also can't stop thinking about Bucky. He saved me.  How was I going to say thank you to him? I have no clue! Bake him a cake? No i'm its going to make me look like a fat ass, I mean I already am so that is out. Take him out to dinner? But what if he laughs at me and say no, there is another thing out. Fuck me, I have no idea what to give him to thank him.

"Y/n?" I opened my door and looked at Ed standing there with my clean, uneven folded clothes. Did he fold them? He did, didn't he. I felt my heart turn into jelly as he placed him on my bed, but the shakiness of his hand caught my attention. Then my heart began to awith sadness and joy, he was off the drug, but i hope he stays sober. When anything unfortunate happens he has a relapse. Maybe this is good and over for once.

"Thank you" I sincerely say.

"You going to work today?"

"Yep. I just used all of my vacation days in one week" Jesus, I only got so little days for vacation.

"Man, that blows" He lit up a cigarette.

"Yeah it does" I mumbled as I put my scarf around my neck. I turn and look at him as he lets out smoke and offered me. I take it and put it out, and he gives me a weird stare.

"We gotta stop" he nods his head and grabs my stuff to go downstairs.

-----------------------------------

"Ed?"

"Hmmm?" he stops in front of the diner.

"Can you pick me up at 2?"

"Umm i might knock out. but i can try" i give him a small grin and get out.

"Careful. A bunch of weirdos are out there" Yep I found that out a week ago. Just wave and go inside, I turned and he literally waited until I went in.

"Y/N welcome back!" Tom grabbed my shoulder and i quickly jump away.

"Thanks Tom" I normally try to say and put my coat and Bucky's sweater on the coat hanger. My mom washed it thinking it was Ed's.

Anxiety washed over me as i thought of Bucky. How in the world do you say 'thank you' to the man who saved your life? I nervously walked to the back to get my apron and found him reading with his earbuds in, I could slightly hear music leave the ear piece. He looked so concentrated it was kinda cute, it took me a few minutes to rip my eyes away from him and to check the coffee maker, to make a new batch.

"Hey Y/n" I looked at our famous customers Bill and Bill.

"Remember those two jerks hitting your machine?" Bill H said.

"yeah why?" i quickly say. Where they looking for me? Did they come and threatened the Diner?

" Why don't you tell her Tom?"

"Ya know how my cousin had that thing with her neck?" i nod my head and began gripping the mug tightly.

"Well I went to the hospital and found them two all beat up and shit. One had some broken ribs and the other had a huge swollen back eye and a broken nose. Someone beat them ugly" that's when Bucky came out to do his job. He still had his ear buds in so calling him would not do.

"Excuse me" I say and walk over to him. I catch his attention and takes off his ear buds, but my mouth became dry that word's didn't come out. He begins to rub his hands nervously and uncomfortable.

"Follow me" I managed to get out and walk back to the dish washer.

" Thank you" I say quivering. Some how I ended up with my arms around his firm waist. Oh God he's not hugging me back, I should let go.  removing my arms around him I look up at his ocean eyes to find him already looking at me.

"I was late" he mumbles.

"It was better to be late than to never be there"

"I'm sorry"

"You have no reason to be. You saved me"

His left hand slowly took off my scarf making me flinch,  his eyes widen with the sight of the marks. Where they that bad? The sound of his arm distracted me. Now it is my turn, I take hold of his hand and take off the glove, he has a panic in his eyes but something tells me to continue. Taking hold of his metal fingers I enjoyed the cold smoothness of them. He removes his hand away from mine only to move my hair to the side, to feel the bruised bite on my neck. When his fingers crossed the mark I feel myself relieved of fear and shiver because of the coolness of them. Slowly he brings his hand to the back of my neck and brings me into a warm hug. Tears began pouring out as he hold me. I was still scared and I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't! Also I couldn't let go of him, his touch was warm that i knew if i let go I would whine from the loss.

"Bucky!"  I let him go and wipe away the tears.

"Duty calls" he said and gave me a small smile, I just nodded and he walked off. Duty does call, huh. Well got to get back to work.

12:53

"Hey come help me out" Caroline nudged my elbow. I look at what she is carrying and its a bunch of salt shakers. I guess bitch ass Rosie didn't refill them, always leaving the work for us.

"What is in your mind Y/n?"

"Nothing much" i grabbed a new container of salt and noticed Caroline looking at me with a suspicious look.

“What?" i lean back slowly grabbing the next salt shaker.

"You and Mr. Barnes got something going on or what?" her smile was big and bright.

"Me and Bucky are friends"

 "Sure about that?" i nod my head without knowing the smile on my face.

"Whatcha smiling about?" great the queen of sass has arrived.

"Nothing!" i put my hands up as if i did a crime.

"Lair!"

 "okay okay." I chuckle and glance at Bucky.

"what do you think about Bucky?"

"Bucky!"she whispered and looked at Caroline.

 "hmmm well" she began checking him out and i felt a bothering feeling in my chest

"He's a mute." Bitch please he has a impeccable voice.

"He's dumb" HOe  i just saw him read a book. When has she read a book? Never I bet.

"He's not dumb" thank you Caroline.

“Oh my God, look at his hair! It's all dirty and long. UH NO" His hair is more Fabulous than yours.

"I'll still fuck him. He has a fuckable body" i just raised my hand to shut her up.

"What?" she asked

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable, i'm just going to walk away and forget what you said." as i was about to leave she grabbed my arm, pulled me back, grabbed my face and made me look at him.

"No no no no. Y/n, babe, am i right? i mean look at him"  my eyes scan over his body and damn! Rosie is right. His muscular form is very meticulous and intimidating. I never took the time to actually look at him and now that I am, I want to punch myself. I didn't even realised that Rosie let go until I got teased by Caroline.

"Stop drooling" Caroline whispers in my ear.

"I'm not!"

2:14

I've been waiting for Ed but I guess he did fall asleep. Letting out a annoyed sigh I get my stuff and look out the window. What if they come back? I just wanna go home to my comfortable bed, with some hot coffee and some Christmas sweets.

"Bye babe I gotta go!" Caroline ran out of the kitchen and kisses my cheek. Maybe she can take me home, I quickly grab her hoodie and she stumbles.

"What's a matter?" She questioned.

"Can you tak-" a car outside honked and she hugs me while running out. Well there goes my ride home.

I give up and make my way to the front door, Tom is still here so I don't have to close. My breath is noticeable that I feel like if I am calling for help like the Native Americans (go Tiguas!) did with the bonfire. It's getting colder and colder each day that I am putting on many layers of clothes that make me look fatter. As I was getting ready to run to my house the door from the diner opened. My heart began to race like if I was a NASCAR.

"Hey" I heard the familiar deep voice. Bucky.

"Oh hey" I softly said. He began walking with me and now my heart was still racing because he's next to me. The warmth of his arms around me came to mind, I began wanting to feel the warmth again. Just one more time.

"Woah" he muttered. My thoughts where interrupted and I hummed at him.

"The sky is beautiful. I never noticed it" looking up I see the beautiful sparks of light.

"It is" I say. A cold breeze hits me and I began snuggle with the scarf that my grandma knit me.

"You cold?"

"A bit"

"Come" come? Come where?

"Where?"

"Just come" he chuckled. He lead me to a apartment building and lead me to the back to a door.

"Its small, but Its warm." He opened the door and it was like a small studio. He let me in and my big wondering eyes scanned the room.

"Would you like some chocolate milk?"

"Chocolate milk?" He nodded his head as he scratched the back of his head. He offered me some chocolate milk? I felt my face heat up, that is the most innocent thing someone has offered me. Others offer me some beer or a cigarette something other than chocolate milk!

"You can sit down" he said as he took out some cups.

I thanked him once more and I looked around again. The place was little and he had all the simple stuff that you need to live. A bed, table, couch, etc. It was a comfortable place to stay.

"Here" he hands me the cup and sits on his bed taking off his thin sweater. Wasn't he cold?

"Sorry about the cups. Childish."

"I don't mind"

"They where the cheapest ones when I first got here." I gave him a chuckle and took a sip. It brought a smile to my face, It was my chocolate milk favorite as a kid.

"What?"

"I actually drank this brand of chocolate milk as a child. Thank you." He hummed and took a sip of his drink. I sneeked a glance when his lips touched the childish cup and I wondered how his lips felt.

"Want more?" I nod my head and get up to put my cup in the sink to wash it.

"I got it" he stopped me.

"I should get home."

I grabbed my bag and walked to the front door. He put on his sweater again and follows me. He was walking me home. How sweet! I can't believe this is happening to me?!

We walked quietly until i noticed that he was still looking at my neck. I felt uncomfortable. I don't want to feel like this with him.

"Bucky." he hummed.

"Please don't look at it."

"Sorry" he mumbles.

"Its an eye catcher, but Its uncomfortable" he gives me an apologetic stare. He continued walking in silence until we reached home.

"Bucky. It's my day off tomorrow and Christmas is in a week, so I was wondering if you wanted to go Christmas shopping with me, 10?" He nodded and bid him goodbye and walked inside to get ready for bed.

Tags: @tnupsweetpie. Masterlist

[arodrwho]

adhd??????

constantly reading books instead of paying attention in class from elementary through hs

kept having to reread pages in my textbooks bc they wouldn't go in?

haven't read an actual book in uhhhh months

staying still is often actually properly physically difficult. like, i can, i am right now, but Oh Boy if i've already started wiggling and wanna stop sometimes i Just Can't Do It

hard to focus on audio stories unless i'm doing sth mindless?

......regularly went on tumblr during online video class bc was bored

had a Lot of trouble getting to sleep as a kid, and staying asleep (though that could just be autism)

socializing makes me......a lil wired if i'm not super anxious. like i get all. nonstop talky and bouncy and aaaAAAA and mayb that's related

have never been able to stick to my guns on anything, ever (except writing in hs). languages. dropped. stories. dropped. habits. dropped. resolutions. dropped.

almost always with the last-minute papers, but maybe that's the autism

forgetting to eat, though that also could be the autism

super messy as a kid. just super super messy (and fairly so as adult too), but again, related to exec dys from autism maybe?

have, uh, never been v good at taking criticism? like. it makes me super angry, and then super upset. especially if i feel like i'm being corrected or like someone thinks i'm wrong in any capacity, like holy shit

forget kids in timeout like, literally so much

used to lose my library books all the time

lose my phone constantly (so much so i got a blanket w/pockets to keep it in as a present a couple years back, explicitly for that reason)

easily frustrated, but that's an autism thing too so who the fuck knows

i do the thing when ur cleaning where u bounce from thing to thing to thing

yeah i'm gonna do that thing!!! [thing arrives] .............hghg effort. nvm

interrupt ppl

have in the past forgot. bills & needed reminders FUCK CASE IN POINT PG&E IS DUE SOON fuckin whoops

history of impulsive decisions a lil bit but not like a lot bc anxiety

spaced out as a kid like so much (dissociation though? or autism??)

god. never shut up as a kid, hyperverbal as fuck, and maybe that was partly not getting the social rules of when to be quiet, but also i mean like also. was hard. to hush

miss simple mistakes in work bc don't. proofread

have short special interests sometimes that're maybe closer to hyperfixations?

does forgetting words go here? or is that Only autistic trouble with making the words go?

forgot homework so much in elementary, like physically in my desk, and in later grades + college would forget it was assigned

writing works better when i have music in my ears? like, Enter The Focus Zone

in conclusion:

????????????????

[daislysxftie]

This is hella creative

1. Soldier, Poet, King/ Choke/ I'll Sleep When I'm Dead (no shit it's 12:53am)/ Helena/ Taking Care Of Things/ Somewhere In Neverland

2. Shit. Idk! I'd love to meet multiple people. I mean I love the whole of MCR, but that's like 5 people. I know I act like such a 15 year old girl but tbh I'd love to meet Dan and Phil... Would you call 11 years a phase?

3. "The X Files", "Gary tells me you have security clearance?"

4. How everything and everybody I love will die one day

5. "Roses are red, Your eyes are nice, He didn't have ice cubes so he put vanilla ice" I literally couldn't ask for a better poem

6. It doesn't have phobia in the title but I have misanthropy and it's an automatic strong dislike to people.

7. Wiccan

8. Dying inside or going home

9. It's not that complex, it's easily MCR.

10. "I'm not going to get up and go into a whole other room just because you forgot to check the toilet paper roll" that was in text form but it still works

11. Ehhh, not really. Idk. I hope it exists

12. Don't have one-

13. My greatest weakness is something I don't want to say anything more about except that I'm a little. My greatest strength is my great ability to mask myself and my feelings, for example, I'm autistic but you could never tell.

14. Who are we kidding? Nicki Minaj is hot

15. I cry and listen to Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough For The Both Of Us on repeat

16. You have no idea how much band merch I have

17. Sometimes I am. I know I could always be someone better, but I gotta learn to be comfortable with something I tried my hardest with: me.

18. Ok I have no sound I love except for rock/ punk/ emo music. I have misophonia meaning there's a specific sound that I hate, it can cause meltdowns and I have no control over myself. It's at a specific time, so if I'm feeling upset my misophonia kicks in and I absolutely HATE any human noise made. I do hate all human noises all the time but when I'm upset it's when I'll start shaking, crying, puking and pulling my hair out.

19. What if we could run away to neverland and have no worries

20. I'll just say I want to believe.

21. The air. I'm literally in my bed

22. Nothing, but whenever my ef comes into my room they can smell rice bubbles and apparently I smell like rice bubbles. My sibling says the exact same thing.

23. Ohio

24. Troye Sivan is so cute ahdbdhdvfj

25. Live your truth, food and sex. Tbh I am panromantic but I'm also lesbian meaning you know what

26. I don't drive because it was suggested I don't because of my height. It was just a guideline, like how 1% of people follow PG 13+

27. Fucking Star Wars. I've literally been forced. I've learnt the whole bee movie script in morse code.

28. I cracked my head open when a kid in 4th grade picked me up then dropped me after saying us shorties need to stick together. They were 6 inches taller than me.

29. Fuck there isn't one

30. Would you call a true rumour a rumour? If so then yes.

31. Nope. For example;

32. Cancer

33. It may or may have not been tea

34. uhh both?

35. Yes, I mentioned my ef before. (ef means enbyfriend)

36. I'm very guilty, I may have dated 32 people exactly..

37. I don't have one, I'm literally the least talented person

38. In Scotland

39. Writing in this

40. Kinda? I'm good at telling lies that I've told myself and I don't wanna put up with being able to tell every single lie they say

41. Call for anyone on the sidewalk to watch and make sure the dog is ok while I call a service and literally sprint when I see them coming.

42. A, no I would only tell my ef, Blayde, Taylor, Julie and Angel. I want everybody else to think of how they were too late to tell me they cared. B, I would spend them with my ef and siblings. C, No because I never expected to live later than 18 years old and I was never scared of death, my existential crises covered that.

43. Woah. Hold your fuckin horses mate. I'm literally listening to Runaway Train at the moment. I guess Sweater Weather?

44. Consent, love, listening and communication

45. Ya can't uneless you're Jakson

46. I actually did go insane once, I went to a mental hospital and it's not like the movies. It doesn't have padding and you don't have cellmates. I guess insanity did bring out creativity in me, I painted a lot and said that I can lie easily in words but I'd never lie in art and sign language.

47. Following Dan's guide to stalk your idol until they notice you.

48. "I wasn't wrong when I thought I was going to die before I'm 18." that may not be a very deep thought to you (I'm 18 at the moment) but it's true, because I'll never be the same person. I change as a person so often and one personality will never live to be older than 18.

49. An anatomical heart

50. Pastel purple, pastel pink, pastel blue and pitch black

51.

Don't look at me like that

52. Casey

53. "Do you have any life regrets?" is a question I'll never answer for anyone that knows me. Since nobody on here knows me, I regret life.

54. Selective invisibility

55. I would like to experience the first time I was told I matter. I wanna go back to 2011, I was 9 years old and I was told by a stranger on youtube that I mattered.

56. Well it would be the 14 years that my father never let me live in the house for

57. uH nO

58. I would go to Australia where it's safe

59. Uh yeah?

60. Nicki Minaj, Troye Sivan, tbh Dan pretty hot and so is Phil but they're not one person so just ignore that, ok I give up I'll admit Tom from svtfoe is hot and Bill (yes I know I find a triangular demon hot, your point?) Cipher from Gravity Falls is kinda hot 🥵

I feel like I know you better. You definitely know me better and if you've seen a glimpse of my instagram you'll feel like they're two completely different people.

[omglr]

dumb as bricks dude

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like feminism.

Stranger: hi

You: hi

Stranger: asl

You: 32 F

Stranger: m 22 canada

You: cool, i am also in canada

Stranger: Vancouver

You: Toronto

Stranger: cool

Stranger: Feminist?

You: yes

You: you?

Stranger: im a man so... DUH.. NO

You: kurt cobain was a feminist

Stranger: never knew that

Stranger: our retard PM is a feminist.

You: eh... is he though?

Stranger: claims to be but hes useless regardless

You: yeah

Stranger: so why are you a sexist?

You: lol

You: in what way?

Stranger: feminism is hatred of men

You: i like kurt cobain

Stranger: hes dead

You: yeah, he was good dude though

Stranger: yeah.. but feminist men are pathetic

You: mmmmeh

You: it kinda sounds like you're the one who is sexist?

Stranger: how so?

You: cause you think that feminism is about the hatred of men, and that men who are feminists aren't manly enough

Stranger: exactly

You: and that says something about how much you value women

Stranger: feminism is about female superiority and any man who supports it needs to grow a pair of balls and realize hes the superior one

Stranger: I dont value women.

You: yeah

You: so you are sexist

Stranger: and women dont value men so...

You: mmmm, that's also pretty obviously wrong

Stranger: sure

Stranger: lets say a woman has a boyfriend.

then she meets a better looking, stronger richer man whos showing interest in her, shes dumping the current BF for the new guy.

You: women rarely value sexist men, so maybe you just didn't recognize that your attitude was effecting how people treat you and creating a feedback loop

Stranger: LOL I avoid women now

You: yeah, maybe you need to get a hobby?

Stranger: I have hobbies

Stranger: I've had 3 girlfriends, and guess what

You: are you MTGOW now?

Stranger: yeah.

Stranger: its freedom

You: have you considered castration?

Stranger: why...

You: that's freedom from sexual needs

Stranger: I can jerk off

You: focus on playing the chello or whatever

Stranger: sure

Stranger: if women were not so shallow and heartless I wouldnt be MGTOW

You: i think that's the self fulfilling prophesy speaking

Stranger: well, im not good looking, im not 6'2 and I dont make $100K a year after taxes, im of no interest to a woman .

You: you're 22 though

Stranger: I know. and?

You: dudes still look like teenagers at that point

You: at like 35 you're probably gonna look pretty good

Stranger: not really, people have guess that im 30...

You: eh, i mean, it just seems like you are giving up too early and getting advice from other dudes who also gave up

Stranger: I gave up 3 years ago

You: you are gonna let a teenager tell you how to live?

Stranger: no

Stranger: I decide how I live

You: yeah but its never to late to change directions

Stranger: also, my dream job is bus driver, I cant say how it is at the TTC, but here, the pay is awesome, the benefits are great, the pension is fat, once im older and driving a bus women will probably want me, but not for me, for the perks that come from being with me, the fat pay checks, the family benefits etc

You: yeah that sounds good

You: go for it

Stranger: yeah, so, sorry girls, im not interested in you.

You: its ok not to be interested in girls

Stranger: im not gay

Stranger: im just not a betabux

You: it is a bit weird to think women are mostly interested in money though

Stranger: but its the truth

You: like, women are interested in feeling secure

Stranger: because god forbid she has to work to support herself

You: and couples who are financially insecure tend to have a hard time unless they work together

Stranger: ok

You: like most women have goals and shit they want to do with their lives, no body is really expecting to be a stay at home mom in this economy

Stranger: i know

Stranger: but they want a man to get the money to pay the bills while her money goes for fun stuff

You: i've never been in a relationship like that

Stranger: then you've never been married

You: i have been married

You: have you?

Stranger: FUCK NO

Stranger: why would I do that?

You: it just seems like you were speaking from some authority

Stranger: I know what a marriage is like

You: how?

Stranger: by listening to other men

Stranger: its bullshit, nothing but being controlled by a wife

You: lol, ok

You: those dudes probably shouldn't be married

Stranger: and she'll get bored and cheat sooner or later

You: did your parents get divorced?

Stranger: never married

You: where they partners?

You: were^

Stranger: they were dating.

Stranger: Anyway the 3 girlfriends i had were nothing but lying whores

You: and this was before you were 19?

Stranger: yeah

Stranger: your point?

You: teenagers are dipshits

Stranger: sure

You: and treat eachother terribly

Stranger: thats odd, I treated them fine, I guess im just smarter than they are

You: mmmm, maybe

Stranger: obviously

You: you sound pretty arrogant though

Stranger: oh well

Stranger: women need to learn how to respect men and how to treat a BF

You: ehhhhhh ok, what do men need to do?

Stranger: nothing, they are fine

You: how come their needs aren't being met then?

Stranger: because women dont value men

You: perhaps...

You: but maybe its because men need to learn how to communicate?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: woman -is mad-

man "are you ok"

woman- still mad- "im fine"

but men cant communicate... ok then

You: like the men who are married and being controlled by their wives and are expected to pay the bills and shit

Stranger: its either that or get divorced and pay alimony and child support

You: could have had conversations with their partners about responcibilities

Stranger: LOL a woman taking equal responsibility

You: eh, unpaid labour is often taken for granted by dudes

Stranger: aww, did she make dinner?

You: shrug, i don't know, I'm giving you a lot here

You: but its boring me,

Stranger: well women are boring

You: like, you can keep repeating sexist shit until you die alone and unloved

You: like, i don't care, really

Stranger: im not good looking, im not worth of love

You: dude your self esteem is bonkers

You: stop listening to men who tell you shit like that

Stranger: but they are right

You: stop listening to women who tell you shit like that

Stranger: but women know what women like

You: focus on your bus goal, read some fiction by diverse authors, take a fucking pottery class, stay off incel and mgtow message boards

Stranger: but MGTOW and Incel is the truth

Stranger: I am an incel

You: get your shit together, drop your shit attitude and stereotype nonsense, and change your stupid life

Stranger: nah

Stranger: I live the truth

You: next time i'm in vancouver I'm gonna slap the shit out of any busdrivers over 6 feet

Stranger: have fun judging their height when they are sitting, plus any new buses purchased after 2018 have a driver barrier

You: they all take smoke breaks

Stranger: no

You: ok, well, i'm not actually going to, i forgot what the point of that comment was

Stranger: lol

Stranger: I'll be too busy driving to have a relationship

You: maybe go see a dominatrix or something where the value exchange of sex for money is clear and you don't have to get all resentful about it

Stranger: nah, I like keeping my money

You: mmmm you ever go on rollercoasters?

Stranger: long ago

You: you ever go for a fancy dinner or a 3d movie?

Stranger: no and yes

You: back massage or dentist appointment?

Stranger: no

You: yeah, 22 and you haven't seen a dentist?

Stranger: well long ago

You: before you had to pay for it?

Stranger: yeah

You: you still got your wisdom teeth?

Stranger: nope

You: lol, lucky you have a mom to take care of your teeth

Stranger: yeah

Stranger: Anyway when im driving a bus I wont have time for dating

You: oh yeah?

Stranger: yah

Stranger: there is so much available OT to do so when will I have time to try (and fail) to get a girl

You: when you are walking your dog in the park

You: like a responsible adult

Stranger: I dont care for pets

You: ok, well, i've spent a lot of time here trying to problem solve your stupid shit, do you have any questions about feminism?

Stranger: why is feminism even needed?

You: to fight for the rights of the marginalized and prevent social regression

Stranger: sounds BS

You: meh

You: its pretty awesome honestly

Stranger: not its not

Stranger: women are not oppressed, they are just greedy and demanding

You: lol, but imagine their was a mgtow/incel support group for woman

Stranger: nope

You: except not shitty

Stranger: sure

Stranger: dating is shit

You: https://www.mmiwg-ffada.ca/

Stranger: what is that?

You: website for missing and murdered indigenous women and girls

Stranger: dont care

You: ok, so you don't care about the parts of society where women are oppressed

Stranger: nope

You: no wonder you didn'

You: t notice

Stranger: ever seen a homeless man?

You: yeah dude

Stranger: "oppressed" men

You: capitalism man and conservative pollitics man

Stranger: ok?

You: socialist feminism is about getting the needs of homeless men met

Stranger: nope

Stranger: socialism is bullshit

You: lol

You: but a workers union for bus drivers?

Stranger: yes

You: bs or no?

Stranger: nope

You: welcome to the labour movement

Stranger: socialism is bullshit.

You: its fuckin socialism

Stranger: "free" "free "free"

You: you dork

Stranger: "Socialism cause I dont want to work, I want it free, paid for by those who do work"

You: you don't actually know shit about it

Stranger: sure

Stranger: lets raise taxes for the rich so you dont have to pay for shit

You: mmmm, well that doesn't sound too bad

You: are you rich?

Stranger: nope

Stranger: you know why those people are rich?

You: exploiting the working class

Stranger: nope, working hard

You: no dude, they extract value from the work and pay them as little as possible

Stranger: well, get a new job, maybe a union job, they pay more

Stranger: stop being lazy

You: lol, dude, if you don't want your boss to exploit you and take 95% of the value created by you working your ass off, guess what helps with that?

You: fucking forming a union

You: fucking socialism

Stranger: yeah, but not socialist bullshit

Stranger: "boo hoo, I have to work hard boo hoo"

You: UNIONS ARE SOCIALIST

Stranger: nope

You: lol, ok

You: tell that to the guys when you are applying for your union job

Stranger: I will enjoy my union job

You: and you'll be an ignorant hipocrit

Stranger: I'll be richer than you simply by working.

You: lol,

You: jesus

Stranger: so stop being a crybaby and get a job

You: i have a job, and i'm in a union

You: but i know what i'm talking about

You: i'm not regurgitating capitalist bullshit

Stranger: no you dont, you seem to think those who work harder than you should pay for your stuff

You: lol dude

Stranger: what

You: i don't know where to start

You: you are just really thick

Stranger: nope, just smarter than you

You: ok, so remember how you had your mom pay for your dental care

Stranger: yeah

You: remember how your teeth are growing out of your skull

Stranger: yeah...

Stranger: get on with it idiot

You: and how if you had head trauma you could get free health care at a hospital

Stranger: GET ON WITH YOUR POINT IDIOT

You: but if you have a tooth problem you have you pay hundreds of dollars

Stranger: whats your fucking point moron

You: dentistry could be socialized like the rest of healthcare

You: and it would be better for society

Stranger: "boo hoo, I dont wanna pay when I have too, boo hoo

Stranger: "

Stranger: "make it free cause I dont wanna pay, wwwaaaaa"

You: and it wouldnt cost people much and it would imrpove the quality of life of lots of people

Stranger: sure

You: that's the kind of free shit socialists want

You: not Ipods

Stranger: sure

You: although, with the savings... you could buy an ipod

You: but then apple would also get taxed properly

Stranger: they want free college, higher taxes for those who work so social assistance rates can be raised for those who cant be bothered to work

You: and pay for dentistry....

Stranger: aww, did you have to pay a bill like an adult?

You: dude, you already said you have never paid a dentist bill in your life

Stranger: but did you

You: yeah I'm 32

Stranger: yeah but you act like a child

You: dude you don't even understand taxes

Stranger: i do

You: yeah, you are worried that your taxes which you pay for will be used for something usefull for society

Stranger: but I' be paying MORE taxes, I dont want that

You: and you are worried that people who make millions of dollars more than you are going to have to pay more

You: progressive taxation doesn't work like that

Stranger: well, they earned it why should they have to pay more?

You: because they have extracted that value from the world, and that's what taxes are, for taking care of the world

Stranger: sure

You: yeah

Stranger: im not intrested in your bs

You: lol

You: i mean, you're a piece of work buddy

Stranger: thanks

You: i mean, you've got a lot of growing up to do

Stranger: I could care less what a socialist loser thinks

Stranger: I worked for it, its fucking mine

You: lol

You: jesus, ok

You: lets start over

Stranger: you want it? work harder

You: "I worked for it, it's fucking mine"

Stranger: yeah

You: yeah

You: agreed

Stranger: so you want something? work harder and earn it, dont expect someone else to pay for it

You: you get hired for a job flipping burgers

Stranger: no thanks, I can do better than that

You: you work 9 hour shifts, and cook 300 burgers an hour

Stranger: is that your job?

You: you get paid, 12 dollars

You: no i'm an electrician

Stranger: then why do those shit jobs matter?

You: but this person gets paid 12 dollars for making 300 burgers sold for an average of $4 each

Stranger: your point is?

You: they process the food that made the company $1200

Stranger: ok and?

You: and got paid 1%

Stranger: your point is?

You: the $1200, I WORKED FOR IT, I PRODUCED IT, ITS FUCKING MINE

Stranger: nope

Stranger: you get paid $12 per hour worked, not per item cooked

You: yeah dude its the same shit, you are worried about the people who took 99% of the wealth from a shit job employee having to pay more taxes and give poor people dental care

Stranger: if they want to get paid more go get a higher skilled job than flipping burgers and salting fries

You: it can be a fucking hard job

You: like, seriously watch a fast food employee next time you are in one

You: they are always having to do shit

Stranger: I did, she was cute and bent over

You: yeah, you should have paid her for that

Stranger: nope

You: you stole a look

Stranger: paid her to pick up trash from the floor? I believe the company pays her for that

You: again, the wealthy will pay their employees as little as they legally can, and keep as much money as they can and pay as little taxes as they can

Stranger: oh

Stranger: well

Stranger: get a higher paying job?

You: and you think that these people are working harder

Stranger: there is no skill in burger flipping

You: when they are just working hard enough to exploit resources of other people and hoard wealth

Stranger: sure

You: so yeah, burger flipping is a job that is grueling and bullshit and annoying

Stranger: well, get a new one

You: but the metaphor is applicable to most jobs

Stranger: sure

You: you figure out how much the company is making off of you, and you realize it is a lot more than they are paying you and they should be respecting you a lot more for doing your job well

You: that's why unions are fucking awesome

You: because they can protect you from exploitation, get you better wages and services

You: and fight for you if you are wronged

Stranger: yeah, so those burger flippers can go get a new union job

You: the burger flippers can also start a union, but mcdonalds is pretty keen on union busting

Stranger: I've had to repeat my order to some of the morons working there and sometimes they still cant get it right, so why should they be paid more?

You: again, you don't have to focus on burgers,

You: like, shit man

Stranger: oh well

You: anyway, your bus job sounds cool and i hope it treats you well and you learn from your coworkers what the union is doing for you

Stranger: yeah

Stranger: because I have the high skill required to drive a bus, I will be paid more than a no skilled worker in a store or Mcdicks

You: i mean... some would try to say that driving a bus doesn't take much skill at all

Stranger: explain to me how to do a right turn while driving a bus,

You: like it's basically sitting on a couch

Stranger: sure.

You: i mean, what goes on a double mcRib, no L, ex P,

Stranger: dont know, dont care

You: yeah, dude people undervalue the labour of workers

Stranger: sure

Stranger: "duuurr I put cheese on a burger"

You: "I made 600 burgers today, and some shithead started screaming at me for getting onions when he asked for no ketchup"

Stranger: well, do your job right

You: lol, show some compassion and empathy in every aspect of your life

Stranger: nah

You: yeah, dude

Stranger: if they cant figure out what "no ketchup" is they are not too bright

You: i think you missed the part where the guy didn't ask for no onions

You: he only asked for no ketchup

Stranger: oh well I dont care

Stranger: get a better job

Stranger: I've seen quite a few downright useless fast food workers, so tell me why they are worth more than $12 an hour?

You: your anecdotal evidence is as flawed in observations of fast food employees as it is with women

Stranger: sure

You: you have no empathy and only think about yourself

You: you are short sighted, ignorant and arrogant

Stranger: I had to repeat my order of "2 double cheese burgers and 1 regular sized M&M Mcflurry " 3 times

Stranger: only to get slow service and an oreo Mcflurry

You: yeah dude, i had to repeat unions are socialism like 5 times and you still don't understand

Stranger: but unions are not socialism you fuckward

Stranger: if you want to get paid more EARN IT

You: fuckin' you want me to crack open wikipedia

Stranger: dont care

Stranger: I dont care what some socialist moron thinks

Stranger: burger flippers are skilless, so they get low paid

You: ok, but you understand the central theme though right?

Stranger: high skill= high pay

low skill = low pay

You: a burger flipper does a variety of tasks for 8 hours a day and gets paid 1% of the value they produce, or less

Stranger: burger flipper has no usefull skills

You: YOU EAT THE FOOD DIPSHIT

Stranger: and?

You: THEY MADE THE FOOD FOR YOU!

Stranger: making food isnt hard

You: YOU DIDN"T MAKE THE FOOD AND YOU GOT FOOD

Stranger: they are paid to make the food

Stranger: I bought the food

You: ok, so you paid a company 99% for them to exploit a worker tyo make you a burger

Stranger: yeah, so what

Stranger: why do you even care? its not your job

You: we move up, and look at the day shift managers, the night shift managers, they get paid quite a bit more than the employees but aren't working much harder

Stranger: managers are overpaid slackers

You: they might actually be working less hard

You: yeah, and above them, managers of the local franchises, and up ward and upward to a ceo who is perhaps having a meeting once a day? and getting paid how much more than their lowest employee

Stranger: oh well\

Stranger: I dont care about the useless burger flipper

You: again, its not burgers, its everthing

You: its you right now

You: you don't even have this kushy bus job

You: with union support

You: you are probably unemployed

Stranger: you realize their job is pretty much

cooking food

taking out trash

sweeping the floor,

stuff you do at home, its simple shit

Stranger: I have a union job

You: what is your job?

Stranger: loading trucks

You: and that takes how much skill?

Stranger: a fair amount

You: in what way?

Stranger: gotta load 4 trucks, sort it according to the load sort, keep up with the pace of freight coming to you

You: but anyone with muscles could do it?

Stranger: if your loading a company truck keep count of the number of stops, if its owner op dont count it

Stranger: muscles and a brain

You: ok

Stranger: harder work than burger flippers

You: i mean, I was gonna scrutinize it further to make the point that your job seems pretty simple but you have lots of insider knowledge about the challenges of the job to say otherwise

Stranger: exactly

You: it could be argued that it is an unskilled labour possition though

Stranger: harder job thus for higher pay

You: maybe, or a labour rights movement that had your back

Stranger: no the unskilled is unloading trailers, all it takes it watch your head, watch out for the guy your with and put the labels facing up onto the conveyor

Stranger: still not socialism you idiot

You: i mean, i don't need to argue that rain is wet

You: you can deny it if you want

Stranger: nah

You: you can even call me an idiot for saying the rain is wet

Stranger: your dumb enough to think the morons at fast food deserve higher pay so I cant take you seriously

You: but it only reflects on your arrogance

Stranger: sure

Stranger: "2 double cheese burgers and an M&M Mcflurry"

I had to repeat it 3 times and they still couldnt get the order right.

but you think they should be paid more?

You: i guess should have picked a better metaphor

You: you are really hung up on that eh?

Stranger: its an example to prove you wrong

Stranger: picking up an empty cup from the floor is so hard, oh poor girl

You: it proves nothing really

You: except that you hate poor people

Stranger: it proves they are not worth more than min wage

You: and that they deserve worse treatment than wealthy people

Stranger: no, they just need to work harder to get higher pay

Stranger: also whens the last time you were in any fast food place?

You: and that caring about the needs of the marginalized and downtrodden is outside of your wheelhouse, and that you should eat shit and die alone

You: simple as that

You: fuck off

You: and die

Stranger: lol guess what

You: mgtow to hell

Stranger: I used to be homeless

You: yeah, sounds made up

Stranger: well its not

Stranger: you see, I did what was needed to get off the street, finish school and get a job

You: and you have internalized all sorts of capitalist bullshit along the way

Stranger: so what

Stranger: hard work is all you need

Stranger: get a skill

You: lol

Stranger: why are bus drivers paid so much?

high skilled job

gotta deal with shitty people sometimes

You: you're still pretty thick

Stranger: also, since you dodged my question, most fast food workers are high schoolers anyway, so who cares if they make min wage, most of that money is just blown when they hang out with friends anyway

You: ok, but that's not actually true

You: most fast food employees are between 28 an 40

Stranger: odd. I was in Mcdonalds today, the oldest guy there looked 20

Stranger: hmm, then how come I've seen people from my old highschool working there? they were a grade or two below me as well...

You: cause of the neighborhood you live in doesn't represent the majority of fastfood service jobs?

Stranger: I've been to quite a few and its all highschool looking kids workin there

You: and so you know a lot of workers who are 18-20 but that doesn't actually mean that's the average

You: https://groundswell.org/fast-food-misconceptions/

Stranger: want higher pay? get hire skill

You: 40 percent of the workforce in the fast food industry is 25 or older, and the average fast-food worker is 29 years old.

Stranger: get a skill

Stranger: https://www.monster.com/career-advice/article/best-paid-job-skills

You: but also, tax the rich and give services to poor people

Stranger: so tax those who work hard and have skills to pay for things for people who are lazy and have no skill.

Stranger: https://www.marketwatch.com/story/these-10-skills-you-need-to-earn-higher-wages-may-surprise-you-2017-04-18

You: alright lazy brain, i gotta go to bed

You: got work in the morning

You: gotta put these skills to work

Stranger: get a skill to get higher pay

Stranger: dont want to flip burgers? get a skill

You: dude I'm an electrician

Stranger: exactly, so your paid more than a burger flipper cause your usefull

You: not everyone can do this work, we need a diversity of workers doing all sorts of shit

Stranger: there are plenty of skilled jobs

You: you're dumb as bricks but you are getting paid decent with your loading job

Stranger: yeah, because its skill

Stranger: and im not dumb as bricks.

You: i want a society that takes care of you even though personally I hope boxes crush your legs and a woman shits in your mouth

Stranger: lol

Stranger: see, your so bitter

Stranger: you cant accept that not everyone agrees with you and you freak out

You: yeah, its just cause you are 22, a bitter misogynist and unable to process new information

Stranger: I have processed it

Stranger: and its bullshit

Stranger: you dont get high pay for low skill

You: eh... your bs assessment skills are weeeeeek

Stranger: everyone knows that to get high pay you gotta work hard

Stranger: take from those who work to give to those who dont, your fucked in the head

You: aight duder

You: eat shitbricks

You have disconnected.

[yikesharringrove]

I'm thinking about Steve is forced to work for his father because he can't get in any college. So he's in the company as his secretary, and he is treated like shit. So he's going to submit some papers for his father's Boss Billy Hargrove and when he sees the Man he can only think about the words Power and Dominate

We’re gonna combine some schtuff.

Anonymous asked:

Hmm What about Steve meeting Billy who’s this rich business man because he wants to work for him. There’s a lot of sexual tension when they’re talking and then they end up fucking 👀👀👀 (++ Daddy Kink)

This is modern, but it’s not totally mentioned.

On ao3 too.

Porn

“Steven, I need you to take these up to the eighth floor.”

Mr. Harrington dropped a stack of files on the corner of his desk.

After Steve didn’t get into college, his father pretty much forced him to work at his office. He had, of course, downgraded the original offer, moved him from Company Representative to fourth-floor secretary.

He has to file things, take messages, and do everything for the entire floor.

By the time he looked up from the message he was taking, his father was already down the hall, halfway to his office.

“No problem, sir.” He huffed, picking up the stack of files, heading to the elevator.

The eighth floor was the executive floor, where the bosses of the bosses were.

It was clean, and quiet, the woman in the desk positioned the same way was smiling prettily at him.

“Can I help you?”

“I have these files from the fourth-floor form Mr. Harrington for, uh,” He looked at the post-it on top of the manila folder. “Mr. Hargrove?”

“Third door on your left.” Steve nodded, hefting the stack to the corner office, the big one. He had to shuffle awkwardly to knock on the door.

“Come in.” He pushed the door, nearly dropping the files in the process.

He had to shuffle with them to get them back in his arms before looking up.

His breath hitched when he saw the Mr. Hargrove.

He was in a bespoke suit, a dark sleet grey over a crisp white shirt, a dark red tie. His chest was broad, his arms thick. His hair was short, but curly and wild. But his eyes are what truly got Steve, a gorgeous bright blue.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Steve Harrington. I have, I have the files you requested from Mr. Harrington?”

Hargrove smiled at him, standing up and gesturing at the chair on the other side of his desk, relieving Steve of the stack of files.

“So, Steve Harrington, huh? That you’re father who works down on four?”

“Yes, sir. I’m the fourth-floor secretary.” Billy raised his eyebrows at him, nodding slowly as he settled on the edge of the desk, facing Steve.

Steve was staring at his thighs, so fucking thick in his slacks. Steve wanted them to crush his fucking head. Hargrove leaned forward over Steve, placing each hand on either armrest.

“See something you like?” Steve’s eyes went wide as he looked back at Billy’s face.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hargrove, sir-”

“Please, call me Billy.” He fucking purred it at him, made a chill run down Steve’s spine. He smirked, his tongue poking out between his teeth. “Why’d he put you at a desk? If he was gonna pull strings for his son, you’d think he’d make you a higher up.”

Steve looked down at the floor, he could feel his face getting hot.

“I was supposed to be a rep but I, I didn’t go to, to college so this was the best he could do.” Billy pulled back, frowning.

“You don’t need college to be a rep. You just need to be good at schmoozing. Kissing ass. You’re pretty enough to make it really work for you.” Steve glanced back up at him as he went around his desk, filling out a memo. “You’re under me now. I want you up on eight, you’re gonna start repping.” He pulled it off the pad with a flurry, heading out to give it to the floor eight secretary.

Steve had no idea what in the fuck had just happened.

“Your father should be getting that soon. Let me take you out to lunch. Celebrate your big promotion.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think I understand.”

“I just promoted you. You’ll report directly to me now, but you’re a representative, gonna be out making connections.” Steve just blinked.

“But, why?”

“I like you. I can see potential.”

Billy took him to some nice place a block down from their building, a place with a separate menu for all the fancy scotch they had. Billy tried two, Steve got a lemonade.

Lunch was nice. The food was excellent, and Billy was wonderful company, would tell Steve you’ve GOT to try this and feed him bites of his own food from his own fork. Steve was hot under the collar the entire meal.

As Steve transitioned to working under Billy, their lunches remained consistent, meeting up each day unless one of them had an important client they were meeting with.

Steve was okay at his job, could chit-chat well with potential clients, did a good job of getting them interested enough to meet with someone higher up to hammer out details. He made connections, but he had no passion for the work, wasn’t all that savvy at it, and straight-up wasn’t even totally sure what the company even did.

But he stuck it out, wanted to be able to see Billy every day, to tell him what he’d accomplished during the week, have Billy smile at him and tell him he was good.

Steve may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knew enough about himself to understand a few things: 1. When a hot, beefy guy tells him he’s good, that really fuckin’ does it for him. 2. He wants said hot, beefy guy to tell him he’s good while doing, other activities. 3. He has serious daddy issues.

He realized the third one when he woke up one night in his small apartment, from a dream in which Billy was just like, taking care of him, was holding him and telling him that’s he’s precious, sat him down and reminded him to eat, made sure he drank water. There was literally nothing sexual about it, but he still woke up sweaty and panting, the word daddy on his lips.

And then came the Christmas party.

It was for the whole company, to celebrate the holiday, and a booming fiscal year, a reward for a job well done, an incentive for a continued job well done.

Steve was drunk.

He had necked about five lemon drop shots early on, had topped it all off with a few beers and more cocktails.

He was in Billy’s office, trying to get his shit together enough to call someone to give him a ride home when he heard the door open.

“You okay in here?” Billy was smirking, leaned against the wall next to the closed door, smirking as Steve’s head lolled over on the back of the chair.

“Heyy, Bill!” Steve giggled to himself. “How's your Christmas party?”

“It’s not looking quite as fun as yours in here.” He dropped into the chair next to Steve’s. “You need a lift home?”

Steve’s eyes were big as he looked at him.

“Yeah. I would like that.”

Billy’s car was sleek, vintage, and gorgeous. Steve was sitting low in the passenger seat as Billy navigated the way to Steve’s little apartment.

“You wanna come in?” Billy had to help Steve walk to the door of his apartment, had to help him with the keys at each door. “I want you to come in.” Steve slapped at the wall a few times before finding the light switch.

Billy smiled at the cozy little studio, the soft bed in the corner, covered in pillows and blankets, the squashy couch against one wall, the fridge covered in pictures and letters.

Steve was struggling out of his nice clothes, wiggling his way awkwardly into pajamas, slamming into the bathroom to poke at his eyes until he got his contacts out. When he returned, in a too-big t-shirt, soft little shots, and these big amazing glasses, Billy was very nearly in love.

“You want a drink?” Steve opened the fridge. Billy peered inside over his shoulder, seeing a six-pack of beer, a bottle of mustard, one-half stick of butter and an avocado.

“What in the hell? Aren’t you like a grown-up? What is this fridge?” Steve just turned around, looking at him blankly.

“You do know I’m like, barely twenty, right?” Billy blinked.

“You said that you didn’t go to college.”

“I meant I didn’t get in to college. I really fucking stupid.” He grabbed a beer, settling himself on the couch, tugging a blanket onto his lap. It looked hand made.

“You’re not stupid at all. I work with you, I know how smart you are.” Steve just shrugged. Billy joined him on the sofa, taking the beer out of his hand and taking a drink. “But you’re seriously that young?”

“Yeah, turned twenty like, a week and a half ago.” Billy choked on his beer.

“I didn’t even know it was your birthday? Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Steve shrugged.

“Didn’t want to make a big deal outta the whole thing. My dad forgot about it, so why cause a stink.”

“Your dad sucks. I’ve worked with him for the past six years, and I can’t fucking stand him, can’t really imagine him as a parent.”

“That’s cause he wasn’t. He and my mom would leave me alone in the house most of the time. She would travel and he had an apartment out here by the office. The house was in a small town about two hours south. He would come home every few months, tell me I was stupid, and an embarrassment to him, and be on his merry way.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie. My old man was really awful too. Second I graduated high school, I was outta there. Left him a letter telling him that he’s an awful person, that I’m a big ol’ homo, and that I never want to see him ever again. It was fucking amazing.” Steve had inched closer to him on the couch, his knees pressed into Billy’s thigh under his blanket.

“I wish I could do that. Just tell him every way he’s been a horrible father, that I don’t want to work at his stupid company.”

“Then quit.” Steve gave him a Look. “I’m serious. If you don’t like it, then what’s the point?”

“I need money. Fucking look at this place. My dad cut me off when I didn’t get into college, said my salary was the only money he would be giving me anymore. I’m fucking broke.” Steve sniffed.

Billy reached up, stroking his jaw with one hand.

“I’m so sorry he treats you the way he does. You’re so precious, deserve the fucking world.” It sounded like Steve’s fucking dream, the one with Billy looking at him softly, taking sweet care of him.

Steve leaned forward, catching Billy’s lips with his own, keeping it slow and gentle.

“Stay. Stay the night with me.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Baby. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t wanna have sex yet, just wanna sleep with you. You look like you’d be a good cuddler.” Billy laughed lightly into the kiss.

“I’m an excellent cuddler, Pretty Boy.”

Steve slept so fucking peacefully wrapped up in Billy’s strong arms, the heat of his body pressed against his back.

He woke up to the smell of coffee, the sizzle of eggs and bacon. Billy was standing over the stove, wearing stolen clothes and cooking him breakfast. Steve plastered himself to his back, pressing a kiss to Billy’s neck.

“Where’d you get all this?”

“I went to the grocery store. Because I’m a grown-up.” Steve bit his neck lightly in retaliation.

“I’m kind of a grown-up.”

“Yeah, but you just need to be taken care of a little bit more.” Steve went red as he loaded up his plate, eating quickly. “I could do that. Take care of you.”

Steve looked up at him, mouth full of scrambled eggs, open just a little bit.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanna take care of you, Stevie.” Billy used one foot to move Steve’s chair, scooted it until Steve was facing him, leaning down into his space. “You ever thought about findin’ yourself a daddy?”

Steve’s face began going hot. Of course he had fuckin’ thought about it, ran his fingers over his cock while choking out Daddy to images of faceless, Billy-esque men in his fantasies.

He nodded.

Billy grinned, wide and sharp.

“Get undressed. Get on the bed.” Steve stood on shaky legs, feeling like a newborn deer, just learning to walk. He stripped slowly, never once breaking eye contact with Billy. He sat on the bed, legs spread a little, arms by his sides. “Do you want this, Steve?” Billy was moving slowly towards him, had turned off the stove as he left it behind. “You can say no at any time. Can tell me to fuck off and I won’t mind, won’t judge. Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Billy was standing in front of Steve, placed two fingers on his chest, pushing him back slowly.

“Pick a word. One you’ll only say if you want me to stop. Tell me your word.” Steve’s eyes darted around the apartment.

“Tangerine. Tangerine is my word, Daddy.” Billy leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Now let Daddy take care of you.” Steve was spread on the bed, his legs open to Billy. “Good boy.” Steve whimpered. Billy smiled at him. “You like that, Baby? Like being a good boy for Daddy?”

“Yes, Daddy. Wanna be good.” Billy smiled. He settled on his knees between Steve’s legs, leaning forward to lick up Steve’s cock. He flicked his tongue against the slit, making Steve’s breath hitch.

He cried out when Billy took him into his mouth. He sank down all the way to the root, Steve’s cock bumping against the back of his throat. He pulled off, leaning down to mouth at Steve’s balls, making his back arch.

Steve threaded one hand into Billy’s hair, just holding onto the soft curls, free of the usual product he used to tame them in the office.

Billy was looking at him through his long lashes, moved his attention back to his cock, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, curling his tongue along the underside of his cock.

His mouth was hot, was velvet soft around Steve. He pressed until his nose was in the hair on Steve’s pelvis, he didn’t even choke as his cock slid into his throat.

“Daddy, Daddy I’m gonna cum.” Steve tugged softly on his hair, whining and writhing and he drew closer and closer.

His back arched as he choked, cumming in Billy’s mouth, gripping his hair roughly.

“Fuck, Daddy. Made me feel so good.” Billy pulled off his cock, pet up Steve’s shaking thighs as he smiled up at him.