#but it means I’m not homeless and I’m not killing myself

[strawberryshortpace]

Anyone else kinda force themselves to go to college simply because it was the only way to not live w your parents and also not be homeless

Cause I fucking hate this

[fairuzfan]

But the other images I had was like a mass refugee camp. So basically at that point in time, two months ago, about 20,000 people had sought refuge both in the hospital and outside the hospital. And these weren’t tents. They’re still not tents. They’re makeshift shelters with bed sheets or plastic bag sheets. The ones outside sleep on the floor. They’re lucky [if] they get a carpet or a mat. There was one bathroom at the time for about 200 people that they have to share. And inside, the hallways of the hospital were also made into shelters. There was hardly any room to walk, and there’s children running around everywhere. It’s important to remember all these people were not homeless. They all had homes that were destroyed. They’re all displaced people that took shelter in the hospital.

So that’s the kind of mass chaos that I encountered initially, and then I was told that every time there’s a bomb, give it about 15 minutes and the mass casualties come. That was the other thing that at the time shocked me: What we’d been seeing livestreamed on Instagram, on social media or whatever, I actually saw myself and it was worse than I can imagine. I saw scenes that were horrific that I’d never witnessed before and I never want to see again. You have a mother walking in holding her 8, 9-year-old, skinny — because they’re all starving — boy who’s dead, he’s cold and dead and [the mother is] screaming, asking for someone to check his pulse and everybody’s busy in the mass chaos. So that was kind of my initial welcoming scene when I entered Khan Younis the first time.

{...}

What I saw — I’m an eye surgeon, an eye plastic surgeon, and so I saw the classic, what I penned “the Gaza shrapnel face,” because in an explosive scenario, you don’t know what’s coming. When there’s an explosion, you don’t go like this [cover your face], you kind of actually, in fact, open your eyes. And so shrapnel’s everywhere. It’s a well-known fact that the Israeli forces are experimenting [with] weapons in Gaza to boost their weapon manufacturing industry. Because if a weapon is battle-tested, it’s more valuable, isn’t it? It’s got a higher value. So basically they’re using these weapons, these missiles that purposely, intently create these large shrapnel fragments that go everywhere. And they cause amputations that are unusual.

Most amputations occur at the weak points, the elbow or the knee, and so they’re better tolerated. But these [shrapnel fragments] are causing mid-thigh, mid-arm amputations that are more difficult, more challenging, and also the rehabilitation afterward is also more challenging. Also these shrapnels [are] unlike a bullet wound. A bullet wound goes in and out; there’s an entry and exit point. Shrapnel stays there. So you gotta take it out. So the injuries I saw were — I mean, I saw people with their eyes blown apart. And when I was there, and this is my experience, I treated all children when I was there the first time. It was kids that [were aged] 2, 6, 9, 10, 13, 15, and 16, and 17 were the ones that I treated. And their eyes unfortunately had to be removed. They had shrapnel in their eye sockets that I had to remove and, of course, remove the eye. There’s many patients, many children who had shrapnel in both their eyes. And you can only do so much because right now, because of the aid blockade and because of the destruction of most of Gaza, there’s no equipment available to take shrapnel that’s in the eye out. And so we just leave them alone and they eventually go blind.

{...}

I was on the ground, I toured the refugee camps, I went around Rafah, I saw, and if there’s an Israeli invasion, I can’t emphasize enough how catastrophic it’s going to be. It’ll be mass killing, mass destruction, because all these figures come in, 50 dead, 100 wounded. But what people don’t realize is, being wounded is a death sentence. Being wounded in this environment with no health care system, completely collapsed, is a death sentence. And the wounded often will lose everybody, like all family members, so they have no supports, especially children, have nobody left to take care of them, not even aunts and uncles. It will be catastrophic. I don’t know what to say to the world to stop an impending invasion. You’ve got to rein this prime minister of Israel in. You got to do something to stop this stupid invasion that he still wants to do, because it’ll be catastrophic.

{...}

I had one young man, about 25 years old, he lost one eye that I took out myself. He spent about five, six, or seven years, basically spent thousands and thousands of dollars in IVF treatment because he got married young and they wanted to have a child and they couldn’t have one. So he spent years on IVF treatment and finally had a baby that was 3 months old. And there was a missile attack by Israel at his home. He lost his entire family, including his baby and his wife and his parents and family. He’s by himself, single guy. I took his one eye out, and he has nobody in this world. He just kind of walks around the tent structures, just kind of walking around with no home and trying to sleep wherever he can.

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

I miss the days, way back when before October 7, when I felt like I was part of leftist circles. I miss feeling energised by leftist slogans because I thought they included me, instead of targeted me.

I miss hearing “eat the rich” and not hearing it as a dog whistle for “kill the Jews.” I miss feeling inspired by phrases like “our struggles for liberation are all connected,” instead of hearing its real meaning, “the Jews are the evil puppet masters behind everything and the world must unite against them.” I miss believing that when leftists talked about punching up at their oppressors, it wasn’t just an excuse to punch down at more vulnerable minorities that they decided were their oppressors despite all evidence to the contrary.

I miss the days when the left poured into the streets to protest cops and corporations instead of protesting Jews. I miss updating myself on those protests so I could join them, instead of to know which areas to avoid because they’ll be Judenrein for the day.

I don’t wish my eyes hadn’t been opened. I’d much rather see the truth no matter how painful and disillusioning it is, because the alternative isn’t actually “bliss.” It’s having a perpetual nagging feeling that something’s off but I can’t put my finger on it, or if I can then I must be overreacting or imagining it’s worse than it is.

But that pain and disillusionment is very real. That loss is very real. It was a community I thought I belonged to, a community I put a lot of work and energy into for many years, and there is grief at the loss of it. Grief that it’s gone, grief that it never was what it claimed to be in the first place. I guess I’m grieving the loss of that part of my identity. And grieving the loss of how people I thought were my friends and allies perceive my identity. Grieving the illusion that they were ever my allies at all, that they ever would be my allies if I needed. Because I haven’t really changed, but the way my former circles look at me completely changed. People who thought I was a good person and a good ally on October 6 decided I was the devil incarnate very literally overnight.

The person who privately reached out to me a few years ago to thank me for a Facebook post I made defending sex workers, because as a former sex worker they appreciated it. Now they’ve been posting antisemitic blood libel, the kind of rhetoric that’s already gotten Jews killed, for six months straight. I tried to tell them how much pain it causes me as a Jew to see their posts, and they only doubled down. It truly is their loss. I was a good friend and a good ally, and they threw me away because I’m a Jew. But it’s totally not because I’m a Jew, it’s because I’m the evil kind of Jew, the kind that just so happens to be the profile of ninety percent of the Jewish population.

I’m grateful I have such a strong sense of Jewish identity, because otherwise the loss of identity in this other way would be far more destabilising. I get why so many people cling to their political identities no matter how much cognitive dissonance they have to wave away; why they insist their ideology is righteous no matter how much evidence to the contrary. Without any other solid identity they would feel too adrift. But that doesn’t excuse their behavior. It’s not ok to jump on a bandwagon to persecute and kill Jews because you want to belong to something that badly, because you can’t handle your sense of self evolving with all the growing pains that come with it.

So many progressive Jews like myself have described ourselves as “politically homeless.” (Specifically in the diaspora; I know the political framework in Israel is completely different.) We can let ourselves sit in that grief. Being homeless is painful and uncomfortable, but it’s better than staying in an abusive home.

[writella]

Working It Out

Synopsis: The group has been on the road for months— they’re starving, distraught, and frankly, getting sick and tired of each other. After an argument about how to proceed, Rick decides they should split up to take a break from one another. You and Daryl go off into the woods, but what was supposed to be a silent search for food turns into a loud breaking point.

Details: Daryl Dixon x reader, afab!reader, before Alexandria era, smut 18+, this takes place in the woods, tiny bit of oral fixation, handjob, fingering, tiny bit of pussy slapping, penetration, getting caught, possibly inexperienced (I wrote it as unconfirmed) or just horny, hasn’t had sex in who knows how long Daryl, reader talks about killing and dying, Daryl and the reader fight, but of course I added a little bit sweetness because how could I not?

A/N: This was not one of the two Daryl fics I’ve been talking about but the idea came to me and I decided to finish this one— hope you like it. ♡

The trees turn into flashing streaks of green and brown with spots of blue from the sky as you try to catch up to Daryl. He was only walking, but his pace had become relentless, it’s almost as if he was running. His brisk strides became larger and faster, not helping your weak and worn down body. Everything feels just a little dizzy and your stomach growls, even Daryl could hear it.

“I would’ve been able to fix that,” he growls back, “if you didn’t make so much fuckin’ noise.” He speaks from the side of his mouth, “That’s the first rabbit we’ve seen in weeks.”

“It wouldn’t have fed all of us anyway.”

“Nothin’s feeding us now.”

“I’m the one who found it!” You snap, “I’m sorry I tripped on a gun. I wasn’t the idiot who decided to leave it there so I could fall and we could all go hungry again for another day.”

“It’s cause you don’t pay attention.” He was talking about your tracking skills: “How long we been at this? Use the trees. Move slow. Walk light.” He speaks under his breath, spitting to the ground, “Bet even a walker knows that.”

Your voice is agitated and angry, “Why are you being so mean today?”

“Why are you acting like such a damn brat?”

“Maybe because we’re homeless!”

You shout louder than you should have, you hear rustlings now, it makes you both raise your weapons.

“Shut up,” Daryl says hushed and slowly. It’s rude, but you know he means it because of possible danger.

After deciding it was probably just another animal you lost out on, you continue, your voice somber, “Or maybe it’s because you don’t talk to me… You never talk to me.”

Your emotions wave from anger and sadness and back again as you sneer, “And I know it’s because you’re just unapologetically yourself, right? And we all just have to take it,” you scoff. “Stoic Daryl, never talks about his feelings so I always have to guess all the time.” You’re shaking your head now, you almost cry out, “You’re not easy to deal with… And I try so hard.”

Daryl’s face remains untouched by your words, but you know better, it’s the way his eyes don’t meet yours, but you still don’t feel like he understands. “You’re like talking to stone… or maybe a walker.” Your words become sharp and biting as you continue to use his reference against him, “Maybe then I can just shoot you in the head and you’d never hear my mouth again. Or maybe walkers really are that much smarter than me and I can just shoot myself, save us both the misery.” Your voice becomes bitter, “Bet you’d like that better.”

He grits his teeth now, his eyes dart venomously, but still they never met your own.

You could tell the last part had to do something to him more than before, his head shakes more hair in front of his face as he looks down, his features grim.

You started to feel bad, knowing that you probably went too hard. It wasn’t a joke to talk about dying, and most certainly not in this world.

You didn’t like when you were the reason to cause Daryl distress, but it also upset you how much of a pull he had on you— your emotions easily shifting with his.

Just as caring as he was, he could also pretend to be equally as unconcerned. It was so easy, yet so hard to love him.

It felt like the beginning of spring when he was warm; like gaining something new and special over and over; like when you said something sweet or silly enough to earn a smile. It felt like every time he used to say “you commin’,'' when getting on his bike at the prison, knowing that you wanted to, knowing that your eyes would linger as he rode to the gate, always waiting until the last second to ask if you could unless he asked first.

But when he was cold, it hurt; like winter in December, like losing something as fast as you got it. You were left guessing at what he was feeling even more than before and never understanding how much space or how much attention to give him to help. You knew it was hard for him to speak, you understood it personally, but it made it harder for you to be there for him when he never at least explained that.

Turning his back on you, Daryl walked forward, leaving you as he went deeper into the woods, and as much as you felt bad for becoming so spiteful, you weren’t done: you walked faster too, turning him around, you pushed his shoulders, you pleaded contentiously, “Say something!” Your grasp on the sides of his arms are firm now, you shake him once, “God, just say something,” one of your hands pounds on your chest, shouting, “just tell me what’s really going on or what happened for once in your life!”

No response. Of course not. Your arms drop defeatedly. His eyes are indignant as yours implore hopelessly.

Your voice starts to crack, “No one’s going to know how you feel or how to be around you if you don’t- just- talk.” Your last word is a final push to him on his shoulders.

Daryl twists your wrists away until they’re down by your sides, and you yank your hands from him.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice becomes more guttural the louder he gets, “That you’re fuckin’ annoying? Always gettin’ on my shit? On the back of my bike? Always right behind me?” His movements are erratic, “You ain’t easy either. You’re always everywhere when you don’t gotta be.”

Your eyes are crestfallen now, but the anger remains.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” Daryl barks. Pointing a hard finger in your chest as he finishes, “For once in your life!”

“You’ve never told me to not come-”

“I never asked for it neither,”

“-or at least meant it when you said it—you never say no— you even ask me- I- I thought it was okay,”

“Cause you just keep on!” His voice turns low and desolate after, “But I never asked for it. I ain’t never asked for you.”

Your eyes linger on his face for a moment, your glare becoming a sad gaze as you watch the strands of hair that cover it become more sweaty and frizzy from the heat, hiding him more.

“I didn’t ask for you either. You just came one day and… I’m sorry-“ a heat begins to rise in your throat, “I’m sorry that I came back with you. You didn’t have to take me to the prison,” your voice starts to choke up, “I’m sorry that afterwards I- I didn’t want to be away from you.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, but you turn away before the first ones roll, you start walking ahead.

He doesn’t stop you. After a moment he just follows a few feet behind, making it evident he’s still there by allowing his feet to crunch on the leaves.

Even though you’re leading he still doesn’t say no, doesn’t actually let you leave him alone. The fact makes you frustrated, your hands ball up and you can feel your nails digging into your palms. You try to breathe in deeply to stop your weeping, but the more you try the more angry you get. The feelings start to erupt again and every inhale becomes a sniffle as more tears fall.

Daryl stops walking again. More distance is placed in between you two until he says your name.

You end your trek without turning around, “What,” your voice is cross as you wait for a response, but Daryl is already there behind you.

As you face him you try to hold everything in. Barely breathing as you try to stop your crying, but you can’t help but allow another big tear fall as you look at his eyes, so blue and downcast; they look like rain. You forget that they are that color. He’s always squinting.

His thumb wipes the tear that falls on your face and now more starts their way down from your eyelids. When another tear melts as his fingers fall further down your cheek with it, they reach the tip of your lips. He stays there for a moment, the rest of his hand holding your chin.

You look up at him, your eyes so doleful and wide. Daryl’s thumb rubs into your skin only slightly, never moving too far in except to the corners of your lips until you move your head for him. His thumb is sliding against the bottom of your lip now.

You want this to be a pure moment where you kiss him, or truly, where he finally kisses you, and it’s sweet, and tender, and he tells you that he loves you and that he sees how deeply you care for him.

Of course you would simply love for that to be how your first intimate moment with him would go.

But you haven’t eaten, and even as teary eyed as you are, you are furious, he’s so frustrating. You need more. This is not that moment.

As your heart races and your final tears begin to spill and dry, the tip of his thumb continues to brush against your open mouth and you can’t help that your tongue feels compelled to taste it.

Your chin raises as you take his finger in your mouth, letting it slide inside all the way and then you start licking and sucking, feeling the pad of his thumb move from the top of your mouth to your taste buds. It tastes like dirt, you won’t lie, but it’s his.

Daryl says nothing, he only looks on attentively, entranced. He never even suspected you would do something like this. He switches to his pointer finger and uses his thumb to tilt your head up further as you suck on his longer finger. It’s thick, but it’s filthy, you both need a shower, but you don’t care.

You hum lightly on his finger until you release it from your mouth, letting it slide out.

You lick the drool of your lips and he licks his fingers. It’s messy and dirty and you can hear the smacking sounds as he pops the two in his mouth, his eyes looking directly into yours now as he does it. It was only your spit and he wanted to taste it.

You plead, “Daryl please, will you just kiss me-”

And he finally does it. His big hands wrap around your neck and jaw, tilting your face so far upwards as he places his lips to yours with his open mouth. His kisses are immediately chaotic but deep, his wet lips feeling against yours as his tongue works its way inside your mouth.

Your hands wrap around the back sides of his shoulders and you move farther into him. Nothing matters now. You are finally getting to feel him on your lips. This is the man who you have loved since you’ve met him and he’s finally showing you he wants you.

You don’t even care that your group or a walker or a guy with a gun could show up at any point, the thought is terrifying still, but his hands are on your hips now and you’re dying to see if he’ll go lower, you’d probably let him do anything.

You feel his thumbs playing along your lower hip, flicking the start of your jeans as he continues to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours.

You start to do the same to him, wondering if that will help. Looking up as your fingers linger over the button of his pants, you ask softly, “Is this okay?” He nods and you start to unbutton them, finding it hard to contain your excitement.

“But you don’t gotta-”

“I want to.” You interject. You’re a little embarrassed by how fast you say it, but you still go straight to unzipping his stare, making his jeans hang a bit lower on his hips.

You look up at him, as your hand slowly travels downward. Your hesitancy fades, you’re so desperate to finally touch him, to have this moment. You start palming him through his underwear. His hum is so sultry with its rasp you feel it in your cunt as it pulses. You almost moan when you hear his voice turn into a grunt as you continue and then into a whimper as you dip under the band and start to stroke him. You never thought Daryl would make a sound like that.

He feels so big, so nice and thick in your hand as you continue to pump him. Your thumb plays with the tip of his pre-cum, moving it up his long shaft. You wonder how he would feel inside— if he can even fit inside. The thought makes you pant as you continue to stroke him, continuing to look up at his face, watching his eyes close. You can’t believe you’re finally touching his cock and that you’re the one making him feel good, that he likes your hand around him.

His head rolls back only slightly and he allows you to keep going for a few more moments, and then it seems he’s finally ready. His movements are quick as he pushes you to the ground, kicking off his shoes and then taking off your own.

He takes off your shirt and your pants without thinking, and then he takes off his vest and starts to unbutton his own shirt. His moments slow when he reaches the bottom.

You see the tattoo on his chest peaking through, you know the ones that are on his back, you know what else is there as well. You’ve seen it once, he’s shown you. It was one of your first vulnerable moments together. He did it to make you feel less alone. You two always did that for each other.

“You don’t have to take it off,” you whispered him.

He kisses your lips slowly but shortly and takes it off anyway.

You remind yourself to be gentle if you put your hands on his back later, he looks slightly nervous, but then as he looks at you on the ground, eyes trailing over your body that is only in your underwear, his eyes grow darker as he asks:

“Can I do what I want?”

This makes everything stop. Your mouth is half open, your eyes are lustful, you nod slowly and it makes his dick twitch with how seductive it looks. You didn’t even mean for it to look that way, he’s just so fucking handsome and he just asked for permission to make you his, you can help but gaze at him in a trance. Of course you’d let him have it.

He starts rubbing your through your underwear, watching as your wetness seeps through instantly on the cloth when he touches you lower. He takes them off along with his pants and he leans himself against the nearest tree and pushes your back to his chest, moving one leg over his thigh. He spreads your legs wide and looks over your shoulder.

His hand trails over your pussy. His fingers are tentative as he starts slowly from the top until his finger finally slides over your hole at the bottom and then he pushes in a bit as he feels for the wetness.

Instantly you’re a mess and your wetness starts seeping out, making it easier for him to slide his fingers up and down.

It seems he can’t find where he wants to touch and his wet fingers go everywhere from your hole to the lips to your clit and back down.

“Higher,” you sigh, “please.”

He goes up a little bit starting to rub.

“Higher,” you whine, “mmm… mm- there!” He’s rubbing your clit now, pinching it. “Yes,”

After a little while, his hand travels lower again, now taking two of his fingers and pushing them inside your hole until he can’t anymore. He pushes them in and out of you harshly 5 times until he stops. Circling his fingers inside of you and using his other hand to push your legs further apart, exposing your cunt to the outside air, “If someone comes,” he says in your ear, “they’re going to see you coming first.”

His words turn both of you on even more, making you whine as you feel his hardened dick rub against the side of your ass.

He starts to pump his fingers in you more steadily. Your eyes trail your surroundings, wishing you had picked a more bushier part, you truly were exposed, but then his fingers start to curl as they dig inside you, finding a spongy sweet spot you didn’t even know you had, one Daryl didn’t even try to find, and it makes your eyes shut, your head resting itself back on one of his shoulders as your whine again.

Your hands come to the other side of his neck and chest and you hold on as he goes faster. Daryl allows your hand to make his head go forward so he can look at his fingers thrusting into yours, enjoying the sound of your sopping cunt. His voice is gruff as he groans at the sight, taking his fingers out of you to slap your pussy, twice, watching the wetness bounce, hearing you whimper before putting his fingers back in again.

You hear him make low unintelligible sounds in your ear as he continues to watch. He goes slower, intently looking at how his fingers disappear in you. He takes them out again, “Daryl-” you say sadly.

“Lay down.”

Your elbows are propped up now. He lines himself up with your entrance. His cock looks so fat as he stretches your tiny hole, making it bigger as he pushes in slowly.

The feeling of him going in inch by inch makes you gasp slowly, then it turns into a moan as he bottoms out. Your head falls back on the floor and your eyes close.

He stays there for a moment. Not doing anything, just looking at you, reeling in the sensation of your tight pussy around him.

Your eyes almost open as the wait becomes unbearable, “Are you going to- ah!”

He snaps into you, moving slightly out and back in, it’s a pounding motion. Your body shakes as he continues, going faster and faster. His hands go to the sides of your head as he grunts, looking at how your tits bounce as he continues to thrust.

He sees your head shake, your eyes scrunch, it’s all becoming too much. You’re wincing like it hurts.

He touches your face now, his movements becoming softer and your eyes relax as you look up at him. He comes down to you and kisses you deeply again, just like he did at the start. You allow his lips and tongue to take over completely and you just melt into him as he rocks his hips against yours, you feel so full.

“Would you kiss me like this when we find a new home?” You ask, letting go of his lips.

Daryl meets your eyes, if he could look into yours any deeper, he does. His tone is so low but his words are so sincere, “I’ll kiss you like this anywhere.”

You reach up to take his face in your hands, kissing him lightly, it’s something like clouds. “Would you kiss me like this too?”

He nods, “I’ll kiss you like that.” Looking down he adds, “any way you want.”

Daryl grinds into you again, rolling his hips. The pace slowly gets fast, but it feels more intimate this time. His forehead falls in yours and your back arches and you try to meet his movements.

Daryl started to pant, his sounds gruff until your cunt squeezed so tightly, quaking around one of his thrusts that it made him whimper and he says your name. His noises because inexpressible and your own follows afterwards, ultimately saying, “oh- Daryl- please-”

You’re almost there, you see the outlines of stars, the shine of them almost being filled in, you see the insides of your eyelids getting closer to reaching that glow of bright lights as your body is on the cusp of your climax until-

“Oh-” he laughs to himself quietly, putting his hands low on his hips as he turns only slightly. “Sorry,” Rick says. His smirk is so faint, his jaw even clenches to erase it, but you saw. Immediately when he spoke, your head shot in his direction.

Daryl quickly finds your shirt, putting it over your head and grabs your pants, helping you put them over your feet until you take over so he can put on his own shirt.

Through hooded eyes, Rick had to have seen Daryl’s dick swing as he got up, retrieving his pants and putting them back on as Daryl stared at him.

You look up at Daryl as you get up yourself. His eyes give no details of his surprise to Rick as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. Rick’s eyes are averted, you don’t know what he’s thinking about what he just saw except that he definitely saw it. Never more did you wish to have Daryl’s talent of impassivity, especially in such an exposing scene.

“Well,” Rick starts when you two are finally dressed, “Yeah, so Michonne, Carl, and Judith and I stayed on the roads, we kept walking until we found a car someone left near a tree. They were idiots for driving it in here, big branch fell on it, we got it off but it has a dent. Right when we got it to run we heard voices. Guessing it was their car. They were running from another group and then they started running faster to get us. Some of them took care of each other… we took care of the rest,” he pauses. “Anyway we drove back to rendezvous and found Carol. Carol’s looking for Glenn, Maggie, Rosita, Tara. Michonne and Carl are looking for the rest of the guys, and I- was looking for you two.”

“Hm,” Daryl’s voice is indifferent as he starts walking, “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Rick agrees, his voice has a hint of the humor he’s trying to suppress as he chuckles once.

The two men walk together and you walk a few paces behind, still absolutely wordless.

After a few minutes, Daryl slows his pace, creating distance from him and Rick.

He looks back at you now, “You good?” He asks only loud enough for you to hear as he comes a bit closer, he takes your hand lightly, though he still walks in front of you. You simply nod, but your face is still flushed. “Okay,” he says softly before letting go.

“Are you?”

He shrugs, it’s so small, just as small as the closed mouth smile that faintly curls on his face. His answer makes you laugh a little. You liked that he was honest. You start walking with him now.

Rick is still up ahead, putting his hands in his pockets, facing neither of you as he finally speaks again, “It was a pretty heated moment we all had back there,” your eyes widen as he continues, “Before. When we separated, I mean. It was dumb. It’s good we took a break, but the fighting, that was stupid. We find a way together or not at all.” His words are firm, but there is a heavy doubt in his voice when he adds, “But we can’t keep going like this, we need to figure something out,” he sighs, shaking his head, “And for everyone to get over their damn attitudes. At least for the night. It’s getting late and we need to find shelter.”

Rick turns his head slightly to look at Daryl through the corner of his eyes, making sure there is enough space from him and you as he turns forward, unashamedly grinning to himself now, “Glad you two found a way of working it out though.”

[catgirlforeskin]

i think if youre cyberbullying a single minimum wage worker who goes into length about how he tries to prevent people from getting into any kind of trouble by taking out-of-context screenshots of his posts and intentionally misrepresenting them on your popular blog to followers who you know wont do any fact checking and encouraging death threats against him, you dont actually care about people doing good in the world you just want an excuse to be cruel anonymously online. get help

I’m a little surprised that “if I was a cop I’d quit my job, kill myself, or at the very least not post my epic clapbacks to shoplifters online” is so controversial.

Babes I am a communist, our world is defined by class warfare and saying that class traitors should quit betraying the working class or die is standard fare and kinda banal by this point. Like I’m sorry you’re parasocial for an aspiring private investigator, but saying “umm actually he doesn’t even make that much money as a rent-a-cop and he tries to be a good boy within the system” doesn’t change that he is my class enemy! And just as great of a sin: super annoying online about it!

It is funny to both accuse me of being mean on my popular blog (which, thank you, but I’d be surprised if I had 1/10th the following mr rent-a-cop does) and being cruel anonymously (while sending an anon!). While I do like being mean online, rest assured that the cruelty of my “cyberbullying” pales in comparison to the cruelty of denying homeless people food and then going online to brag about how cool you sounded while doing it :)

[atlasscrumpit]

I don't know if someone has already requested this but here we go! I was thinking that Maybe Mando was a Yandere of Grogu, but grogu got out of his sight and is suddenly in the hands of the reader. He is about to kill the reader when he sees how caring she is to him and he also realizes that she is homeless. So he invites her on his ship and his obsession over her begins to grow. I hope that isn't to much! Have a lovely day and keep doing what you are doing!

New Attachment

He never had much in his life, mainly just pain and surviving.

But, when he’d found Grogu he found himself getting attached very quickly.

He knew he would never ever let him out of his sight, and never let anyone near him.

But, he’s two worst fears had just come true.

Grogu was missing and Din felt like he was going to go insane.

He ran around the strange planet they had landed on, it was covered in lush forests which made it even harder.

He eventually found Grogu, in the arms of someone causing his anger to grow even more.

He stepped out and readied his blaster, you heard the noise and looked up in fear.

“We mean no harm! Please, please don’t shoot. I’m not armed.” You muttered, still cradling Grogu in your arms.

Din noticed how happy he looked.

“What are you doing with him?” He growled as Grogu held onto you.

“I found him wandering around, so we started playing games. I’m sorry, I just didn’t want him to get hurt out here on his own.” You said, fear evident in your voice.

“And what are you doing out here on your own?” Din muttered, slowly coming forward.

“This is where I live, sir.” You relied as the Mandalorian studied you.

You definitely were harmless and unarmed.

He came close enough that he could take Grogu from you.

“You kept him safe, the least I can do is offer you some warmth and food.” He replied as you looked up at him with hope.

“A-And I wouldn’t have to do anything else?” You whispered, looking away from him.

He couldn't imagine what you’d been through.

“Nothing else, you have my word.”

—

Din had gotten you wrapped up in a blanket with some hot food in your hands.

You sat there happily eating as the Mandalorian watched you.

“How have you survived so long?” He asked as you looked up at him and swallowed your food.

“If anyone came through I was usually just climbed into the trees, there’s plenty of fresh water and a lot of foliage for me to eat.” You explained as he nodded a little.

“I don’t think Grogu is too keen on seeing you leave. I can offer you shelter and food.” He offered as you looked at him in shock.

“Why would you do that?” You whispered as he slowly came closer.

“Because I don’t think I could live with myself if I left you back out there. You wouldn’t need to offer me anything.” He explained as you nodded a little.

“I could clean your ship for you when you needed!” You suggested making him chuckle.

“That would be lovely.”

—

It had been a while since you’d been with the Mandalorian now, who you now knew as Din.

You’d explored so many places, you’d never even been off your planet before.

You noticed how attached he was to Grogu, and now you were realising how attached he was to you.

But, maybe you didn’t mind. You never had anyone even care about you, so having some obsess over you was somehow nice.

And maybe having someone around who could actually talk and obey him made Din happy as well.

He came back from a mission and climbed into the razor crest to see you in his seat with Grogu cuddled to your chest, you were both fast asleep.

He chuckled and slowly took off his helmet before kissing you on the forehead softly.

“Sleep well, little ones.”

[whyse7vn]

DOWN BAD -

[ ot7 x reader ]

JOON4PRESIDENT

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

y/n: hi

tae: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

y/n: ?

tae: holy fuck ur so fucking funny😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭

jimin: i BEG you let that man hit

at this point it’s embarrassing

tae: pls

jk: i think ur funny too

namjoon: shame is free

tae: idk what that’s supposed to mean

jk: it means shame is free i think

y/n: is that why you’ve been at my house for the last 2 weeks??

cuz you wanna hit??

yoongi: 2 weeks??

jin: down so fucking bad

jk: i thought tae was here cuz he missed us?

tae: I AM I SWAER

but if y/n let me hit in the time i was here i wouldn’t be mad

y/n: ur sick

hobi: why have you let tae stay in ur house for 2 weeks?

y/n: he FORCED his way in here

tae: not true jungkook willingly let me in

jin: jungkooks not even a real person so that doesn’t count

jk: i’m real

i think

jimin: i’m telling you he needed that 100k for rent

yoongi: taehyung homeless era

tae: I HAVE A HOME

y/n: ur not acting like it

tae: home is where the heart is

and my hearts with you bbg

y/n: leave

jk: am i real?

tae: are you a construction worker?

jk: no

tae: cuz ur a building

namjoon: what?

tae: 😉

@y/n

not you namjoon or jungkook

y/n: it’s hard

the life i live

hobi: hard like a criminal hard like the beat

tae: my rizz is out of this world it’s actually insane

jimin: do you know what rizz means?

bcs you can’t be fr

jk: isn’t rizz a type of cheese?

yoongi: this is my competition…

y/n: ur thinking of swiss cheese kook

jk: I AM

how did you know that??

y/n: can one of you guys come a get tae from us pls im begging you

jimin: i can’t read sorry

jin: i’m literally blind

hobi: 🫣

y/n: i fear his stupidness is rubbing off on jungkook

yoongi: i think he’s just naturally dumb as hell

jk: who

yoongi: see

y/n: plS my biggest fear in this life is waking up to furry jk

tae: ummm

that would have nothing to do with my influence

yoongi: call animal control maybe they’ll help you with tae?

tae: ??????

y/n: NAMJOON PLS UR MY ONLY HOPE PLS PLS PLS

namjoon: i’m not here

tae: CAN SOMONE DEFEND ME LIKE OMG???

jUNGKOOK TELL HER HER GREAT I AM

jk: he’s great

tae: UR NO HELP FUCK U

i’m gonna kill myself in front of you all in the most horrific way and change ur lives forever and NO amount of therapy will help you forget or move on

jk: ok i’m ready

tae: i’m leaving

y/n: god bless 🙏🏽

tae: ur obsessed with me get help

i hate you all

losers

gosh

fucking bitches the LOT of you

L

AWOOOOOOO

lone wolf era

jimin: what the fuck

namjoon: are you done?

tae: yeah :/

y/n: do you feel better now??

tae: as better as i can be in a situation like this :/

hobi: what situation?

tae: wdym?

jin: he has to be brain dead or something

tae: right hoseok stupid as hell

jk: i think jimin is talking about you bro

tae: jungkook ur young i wouldn’t expect you to understand

jk: ur right

y/n: they changed the korean age system isnt that crazy

jin: DON’T TALK ABOUT AGE

jimin: it’s a sensitive topic for him cuz he’s still old no matter what

namjoon: please

jk: i’m 25

jin: IDC SHUT UP

y/n: yikes

hobi: jungkook has been 25 for like 10 years

jk: that’s not true that makes no sense

hobi are you bad at maths?

hobi: don’t speak to me

tae: jimin you smell the best in the group

y/n: why are you smelling people?

hobi: furry

tae: after the loml ofc

jk: jennie?

tae: SHUT UP

jk: did you break up again???

tae: KICK HIM KICK HIMMM

jimin: what do i smell like?

tae: like vanilla i love it soOOOO much

it’s like a sweet vanilla but not so strong it overpowers ur senses it’s just right

i could eat you

jimin: i wish bitches i wanted said shit like this

but it’s just you

thx ig

tae: ???????

jin: that’s frfr creepy as hell tbh

why is he actually sniffing people is that not insane

jimin: don’t be mad you don’t smell like sweet vanilla

jin: i’m actually glad

look at what ur attracting

hobi: furries

jin: right

tae: 𝖘𝖍𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖈𝖐 𝖚𝖕

jk: WOAH

CALM DOWN TAE CALM DOWN TAE ITS OKAY ITS JUST US 😰😨😭

jimin: again what the actual fuck

tae: ur right i’m sorry i didn’t mean to get like that guys

jk: it’s okay

namjoon: they’re actually insane oh my god

y/n: i have seen a real decline in jungkooks mental state since the arrival of tae at our home

yoongi: again i think that’s just jungkook

y/n: no i know jungkook

jk: yeah she knows me

i know her

we have a connection you wouldn’t understand yoongi

y/n: and i know for a FACT he’s not that dumb

hobi: dumb dumb

jk: right i’m not that dumb

tae: WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY RN???

jk: wait

namjoon: tae go back to therapy

jimim: begging you

jin: awoman🙏🏻

tae: NO

I TOLD YOU LAST TIME

SHE LAUGHED AT ME

THE THERAPIST

I WONT I WONT I WONT

you can’t make me

it’s a free world

jk: you can buy the world??

yoongi: what do people see in you?

jk: whom?

y/n: LMAOOOO

namjoon: jungkook are you high rn?

jk: am i what?

namjoon: high

jk: hello

work on ur spelling joon

jimin: who tf is supplying him with this shit

jin: bet it was tae

tae: NO LOL

LOL

LOL

yoongi: so it was tae

y/n: HAVE YOU BEEN GETTING JUNGKOOK HIGH THESE LAST 2 WEEKS TAE???????

namjoon: this explains a lot

hobi: this is why he’s been messaging shit to my phone at like 2 in the morning

crazy

jk: who

tae: NO

LOL

y/n: HOW HAVE I NOT NOTICED???

jimin: right you dumb as hell tbh

namjoon: does it not smell??

jin: namjoon drug expert

tae: MAYBE HES BEEN TAKING EDIBLES

FROM SOMEONE WHEN YOU GO TO SLEEP???

LOL

yoongi: why are you giving ur self away like that

you really are stupid

jk: yeah stupid

yoongi: don’t ever agree with me again

jk: in y/ns bed rn

hobi: fight fight fight

yoongi: been there multiple times

jk: um ur lying

im here every night

i haven’t run into you in the last 4 months

tae: DONR TELL ME YOU LET JUNGKOOK HIT BEFOR ME OH MY GOD I CANT BREATHE RNNNNNNNNNNN

LIKE JUNGKOOK

ARE YOU FR .:’sk

omGGGH

NOOOSODODOD

jk: i’ve never hit a woman in my life

it’s not right pls don’t hit y/n

y/n: he comes to cuddle sometimes

yoongi: he does?

jk: everyday actually

she’s lying

jin: i’m gonna kill 14 puppies in-front of taehyung and see what happens

tae: why me

jin: you’re n need of a personality change

tae: i’m fine the way i am??

love urself and others will love you for you

we made a whole album about it?

jin: i’m not loving you for you tbh

and a LOT of people would say the same

tae: you guys are lucky i’m not sensitive

y/n: i’ve always been a lucky girly

hobi: you literally live with jungkook?

jk: yes?

hobi: nothing

jk: if you remember lmk ^^

tae: y/n do you have ugly man syndrome or something?

y/n: ??

tae: idk you just seem to enjoy being friendly with ugly men

y/n: never once have i said i’ve enjoyed ur company

tae: ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY IM THE UGLY MAN??

y/n: you said it not me…

tae: anything jungkook can do i 110% do it better

unless it’s lack common sense

i’m pretty full of common sense

jimin: that’s actually not true

y/n: maybe that’s what gets jungkook cuddles?

jk: when?

yoongi: being stupid?

y/n: yeah maybe he’s a loser and i find it endearing

yoongi: lol

hobi: me when i’m jealous

tae: IM ACTUALLY THE BIGGESt LOSER AROUND

TELL HER GUYS

namjoon: the biggest!

jimin: HE SOOOOOO DUMB ITS CRAZY

hobi: i feel the need to kick him every time i see him type of loser

jin: he’s such a loser actually i still bully him to this day

tae: not too much now

hobi: okay i can’t do this anymore let’s address the elephant in the room

jimin: namjoon…

namjoon: wtf?

y/n: don’t be mean

jk: are you guys in all in a room without me?

tae: u-um >.<

jin: did he just stutter through text?

y/n: pls stop

jk: where is the elephant??

jin: jungkook go to bed or something ur pissing me off now

jk: sleep well jin

namjoon: gn jin

jin: don’t feed into his shit namjoon

jk: y/n are you with the elephant?

yoongi: y/N aRe yOu wItH tHE eLepHaNt

jimin: what the beef omg?

tae: what is this elephant hobi-senpai ?!!!

i’m sitting on the edge of my seat

♡ (⇀ 3 ↼)

jk: me 2

hobi: tae you need to learn how to get a fucking grip and shut the fuck up

…

FYI JK AND Y/N ARE LIVING TOGETHER FOR THE FUNZIES OKAY? FOR THE GIRLIES THAT DO NOT KNOW

the rest of the members have their own houses and are lonely losers

[oh-no-another-idea]

OC in fifteen

Tagged a very long time ago by the wonderfuls @blind-the-winds and @aziz-reads! Thank you! I think I'll do Sutton from Bent Nails because she's so fun :D

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

“Tell that to the Feds.”

“No, I heard you,” she said, eyeballing him. “I’m just trying to decide if you’re serious or not. Or if you’re mentally sound.”

“If you were going to murder someone in this town, how would you do it? It’s a personality question, you understand. I’m just trying to get a sense. It’s hypothetical.”

“Thank you,” Sutton chirped and followed Michael out. “Do you think she thinks I’m your homeless ragamuffin orphan?”

“I have no money,” Sutton told him. “Not like, more than thirty bucks. And you can’t go to my mom for it because we’re here to see if she and Nick are compatible and should get married and live together forever and I can’t be a problem, not now, not when things are going so good. She’ll kill me, and then she’ll leave Nick and I’ll be the ruination of her happiness. Again, probably.”

“Yeesh, is this an interrogation or something? Where’s my lawyer?”

“I have never,” Sutton repeated. “Held a hammer before.”

“I’m right here,” Sutton said blankly. “And I need mom not to know what I did ever, so can you two put down your measuring tapes for one moment? It’s cool if your dicks are the same size.”

Sutton sighed. “Siblings,” she said, like she couldn’t imagine it.

“Ha,” Sutton said, getting up to get forks. “Say, why is my mom doing all the cooking anyways? You only love her for her womanly skills?”

“Michael doesn’t know any girls,” Sutton said, ruining Michael’s good opinion of her in one blow. “So how on earth could he have any of their phone numbers?”

“Relax,” Sutton said. “I’m trying to compliment your back muscles. Very impressive. Ten out of ten.”

“That’s what that means, you stupid goof.” Sutton ground out. But her irritation didn’t last. “Do you know, I tried to train myself to write with my left hand once?”

“You’d better come back, when you’ve had your fill of Jacob’s dirty laundry,” Sutton told him through the door. “Because I won’t let you leave me with another hole in my stomach, Michael Bradley. I won’t allow it at all.”

“Good,” Sutton said, and then added just to make her mad, “Can we clear about before the cops find us in here?”

Tags for anyone that sees this! Also @floralmusings @rjcopeseethemald @sleepy-night-child @winterandwords @sarandipitywrites

@sarahlizziewrites @theunboundwriter @lavender-laney @penspiration-writing and @cherrybombfangirlwrites <3

[thetraumaking]

A Crow and Her Fox

Here’s a few prompts and headcanons of the story I’m about to write.

I believe that Makima deserves a little antagonist in her life. The title would be their relationship dynamic.

Basically, Makima would finally get the person of her dreams, a true equal, but with a little bit of spice.

Makima x female Ajin reader

You: Ok, so let me get this straight, you remember WW2 and Nazi Germany, and it is currently 1995?

Makima: Yes, that is correct.

You: Uhuh… so, if the math is matching correctly, that means you are at least 50 years old.

Makima: ...

Makima: You know, this counts as harassment. I can easily sue you.

You: And I can kill myself in court and blame you.

Makima: Y/n, I have a job for you.

You: How can I help you, Granny?

Makima: ...

You: I'm telling you, homeless people and I don't mix.

Makima: And why is that?

You: I've never had a positive interaction with any of them. It's like they have something against me.

Makima: You have to let it go. They’re mentally unstable.

You: I'm mentally unstable! This is equality!

You: Okay, I get it. You’ve had a really hard time lately, you’re stressed out, seven people died -

Makima: Several, not seven. Several.

You: Not the point. Look, they’re dead now, and really, whose fault is that?

Makima: Yours.

You: That’s right. No one's.

You: THAT’S WAS THE 5TH TIME I DIED THIS WEEK! 5 TIMES ALREADY AND IT’S ONLY WEDNESDAY! WHAT THE FUCK!!!

Makima: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.

You: Killed without hesitation.

Makima: Precisely.

You: Who the fuck-

Makima: Language!

You: Whomst the fuck-

Makima: Close enough

You: Fucking bitch-

Makima: Language.

You: I'm sorry, it’s English! You haven't taught me Japanese yet! So it's technically your fault.

You: *bleeding out* I can see my organs!

NPC: Oh wow, they are losing a lot of blood, 3!

Makina: Beautiful day for a drive, don't you think?

Fighting a giant crab devil.

You: This thing is making me very scared. But also very hungry.

Headcanons

Reader's nicknames for Makima: Sinner, Grandma, Granny, Fossil, and Offender.

She knows what Makima is.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 115

“What do you mean?” My voice wavered as I looked into the boy’s eyes, his familiar gaze somehow both haunting and precious.

He stood up slowly, facing me. Tall for a boy who should only be seven, his posture and presence seemed older, and burdened. He looked away, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond me as he began to speak, almost as if dredging up memories he wasn’t ready to share.

"I woke up in that lab one day, plugged into machines, scientists bent over me. I didn’t understand what was happening. It was like I was gaining consciousness for the first time, like I’d just been born.” His voice took on a dark tone, recalling the confusion and pain. “I got so angry all of a sudden. Whatever they were doing felt wrong."

He glanced back at me, gauging my reaction before continuing. “I killed them all… with my bare hands.”

My breath caught, memories of that lab flashing through my mind—the bodies we’d found, lifeless and mangled, left in that sterile, soulless place. If only I’d known then…

“I was supposed to be dead,” he continued, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “That’s what one of the scientists told me as I towered over him, begging for his life.”

I took a cautious step forward, instincts urging me to pull him close, to protect him from all he’d endured, but the moment I moved, he flinched and took a step back.

“That was seven years ago,” I said, my voice trembling. “How… where have you been living all this time?”

His expression darkened, his voice hardening with a bitterness I couldn’t miss. “I stole what I needed. I’m quick and quiet—no one pays attention to a homeless boy.”

Looking closer, I noticed his clothes: torn at the seams, too small for his muscular frame. His body had developed beyond his years, built more like a teenager than a child of seven. I remembered his file, the notes about the growth hormones they’d used, forcing his body to mature before its time.

But beyond his frame, his eyes held an age, a depth that no child should ever carry.

He squinted at me then, a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his anger. “Are you…are you my mother?” There was a hint of hope in his voice. “My file said my father was Steve Rogers and my mother…Loretta Barnes. There were no pictures.”

My heart raced as I took another step forward, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I am your mother.”

This time, he didn’t flinch.

“Did you even look for me?” he asked, anger flashing in his eyes, raw and accusing. The question made me recoil, the weight of his resentment hitting me harder than any blow.

“I did…” I managed, my voice wavering. “But then we found the base. The bodies. The file said you were dead.” My words sounded like pleas for forgiveness, for him to understand everything I hadn’t been able to protect him from.

He looked down at his worn shoes, wrestling with my words, a storm of emotions darkening his expression. It felt like an eternity before he spoke, his tone quieter but no less sharp.

“I don’t need a mother,” he said, and the words cut deep. I could feel my heart breaking, but then he hesitated, his gaze shifting down.

“But it’s cold, and…” He trailed off, looking at his torn shoes as if the words were too heavy to say. “I need a place to stay... it’s so cold at night.” His voice cracked just slightly, revealing the child within, vulnerable and worn. In his eyes, I saw past the guarded walls, glimpsing the lost boy just asking for warmth—a bed, a safe place to sleep.

My throat tightened, and I forced myself to stay steady. “I’ll take care of that,” I said softly, my own heart wrapped in the weight of everything he’d endured.

I decided it would be best to take him to the house instead of Bucky’s place, wanting to ease him into things slowly. As we drove through the snow-covered streets, he stared out the window, watching the flurry of snow dance in the headlights. For a moment, he looked like any other child, his expression soft and curious, letting his guard slip. But then he caught me watching him, and his gaze hardened. He straightened, crossing his arms as though to shield himself from the silent questions in my eyes.

"Here we are," I said softly, giving him a small smile as I cut the engine. I stepped out, and he followed, shutting the door quietly and looking up at the house with a frown. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms to warm up as he studied the place.

I unlocked the door, leading him inside, shutting out the cold behind us. He walked slowly through the hall, his eyes darting around, lingering on the framed photos and the faint dust that settled on the surfaces. As he peeked into the living room, he turned back to me, a suspicious look in his eyes.

“You don’t live here,” he stated, his voice almost challenging, his gaze sharp.

“No,” I admitted softly, “I couldn’t bring myself to live here after your father died.”

“Why?” he asked, his gaze piercing. “You left everything here, so you didn’t really move, did you?”

“It’s… complicated.” I took a breath, trying to steady myself. “Listen, why don’t you sit down? I’ll start up the fireplace, and we can get some takeout. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

He glanced around uncertainly but didn’t argue. I knelt by the fireplace, striking a match and stoking the flame until it flickered warmly, casting a soft glow across the room.

I settled on the couch opposite him, trying my best to keep things light. "So, what do you feel like? Pizza? Chinese?" I asked a gentle smile easing onto my face.

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the fire as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. "I'll eat whatever," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

I silently scolded myself—of course, he didn’t care. He was a boy who had likely gone days without a proper meal, just hungry and tired. "Alright then, pizza it is," I said, getting up and retrieving my phone from my bag. I dialed the Italian restaurant where Bucky and I had gone on our first date, memories of that night flooding back in bittersweet waves. They said it would be here in about 20 minutes.

As I hung up, I turned to see him still staring into the flames, the flickering light casting shadows that played across his face, highlighting the weary lines etched into his young features.

The emotions surged within me, nearly spilling over as I looked at him—my son, so much like the boy I’d once dreamed of holding close and protecting. The urge to reach out, to pull him into a hug and tell him how desperately sorry I was, how deeply I wished he hadn’t endured any of this, made my hands tremble. But I held back, swallowing the lump in my throat, struggling to find the right words for a moment like this.

“You’re safe now… I’ll take care of you,” I managed, my voice soft yet steady as I met his guarded gaze. He blinked, his expression unreadable, his mouth set in a grim, tight line.

“You can stay here, with me,” I continued, my words tumbling out, fueled by the fear that he might reject them. “Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can go. I just want you to feel comfortable, to have whatever you need.”

I realized I was rambling, my voice laced with desperation as I tried to express everything I felt without overwhelming him. He just watched me, his gaze steady, unreadable, as though he were weighing each word, each promise I offered.

He stared at me, unblinking, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, hesitant movement, he pulled his legs up, tucking them under his chin like a child seeking comfort.

"That sounds nice," he whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear, his gaze drifting back to the fire. There was a hint of disbelief in his voice as if what I’d just promised was a fairy tale—a story too good to be true. He’d likely spent years imagining a reality where he was safe, yet here he was, struggling to accept that this was real, that I was real.

I wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap between us, but I could see that he was still guarded, still unsure. All I could do was give him time, hoping that little by little, he’d start to believe.

The sudden ringing of my phone startled him, and he flinched, his guarded expression snapping back in place. I quickly picked up the phone, offering a small smile. "Just my phone," I said, hoping to reassure him.

When I glanced at the screen, I saw Bucky’s name flashing. I'd told him I'd be visiting the cemetery—it had been hours since then. I held up a hand, signaling an apology, and stepped quietly into the hallway to take the call.

"Hey, Buck. I'm sorry I got held up," I murmured, casting a glance into the living room. He was still seated on the couch, his legs tucked close, lost in the warmth of the fire. He’d removed his hat and gloves, his bare hands stretched out toward the heat, and there was the slightest curve at the corners of his mouth. It was almost as if he was beginning to let himself feel the comfort of a simple fire.

The sight made my heart ache.

“Held up? By what?” Bucky’s voice held a mix of curiosity and a hint of worry that made me hesitate.

I sighed, knowing there was no way I could explain this on the phone. “It’s…complicated. I’m okay, but I’ll be late,” I said, hoping to ease his concern without raising more questions. “I just met an old friend.”

“Oh…okay.” He paused, sounding a bit uncertain. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back soon,” I reassured him softly. He waited a beat before replying, “Take care.”

With a quiet click, he hung up. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, taking a moment to steady myself. Returning to the living room, I watched him from the doorway, still nestled by the fire, his face softened in the glow.

When the pizza arrived, he dove in, slice after slice, hardly pausing to breathe. My heart ached watching him eat like that, as though he hadn’t had a proper meal in a long time. He blushed slightly when he caught me looking, glancing down at his plate.

“It’s good pizza,” he mumbled, fidgeting a little before looking away.

“It’s from my favorite place,” I said with a small smile, reaching for the bag. “Here, try this. Best garlic bread in town.”

He took the offered piece, studying it as if unsure, and then took a big bite. His eyes lit up for just a second, a flicker of surprise at the flavor before he guarded his expression again. “I like it,” he said in a small voice, and then stuffed the rest into his mouth, his posture relaxing just a bit.

In that brief moment, I could see the young boy he truly was beneath the hardened exterior.

“I’ll get a guest room ready for you,” I said, trying to sound casual. “There’s a TV if you want to watch something and a bathroom if you feel like a shower.”

He took a sip of his Coke, and a frown settled on his face. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but pointed. “You’re not staying? I heard your phone call.”

There was a trace of something vulnerable in his tone, almost masked by the attempt at indifference, but it still cut through.

I took a slow breath, meeting his gaze. “Would you like me to stay?”

He shrugged, looking away, masking any sign of what he might really be feeling. “I don’t care either way.”

For a second, his walls faltered, and I caught a glimpse of the boy longing for someone to be there, to stay by his side.

"Then I'll stay, if you don’t mind," I said, holding his gaze. For just a split second, I saw his shoulders ease, the faintest relaxation settling into his posture, as though he allowed himself to breathe, even if only briefly.

I returned his gaze with a soft smile before rising to prepare the room. Just as I reached the stairs, his voice, barely more than a whisper, stopped me.

"Thank you."

Turning back, I gave him a reassuring nod, feeling the warmth of those two words settle over me. They were more than enough.

Next Chapter

[ofliterarynature]

JUNE 2024 WRAP UP

[loved liked ok nope dnf bookclub*]

The Language of Thorns • Transitions: A Mother's Journey* • Sipsworth • The Watchmaker of Filigree Street • Sunbringer • Someone You Can Build a Nest In • The Curse of Chalion • The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi • Heartstopper Vol 5 • Knit One, Kill Two • A Letter to the Luminous Deep

Slim numbers this month! But we had a few days off of work, and a couple of these were long -

The Language of Thorns (4 stars) - I don't really enjoy Bardugo's work anymore, but this survived my very first TBR poll by my interference because I love fairy tales and retellings! I think Bardugo had some cool stories, made some cool twists, the illustrations were nice to look at - I think she definitly has the structure of fairy tales down, but I don't think she quite has the language. I don't love her writing style, but it really doesn’t fit here all of the time. I'm still trying to decide if I want to keep it, but I think I'm leaning towards not. I don’t own it, but I also plan to read the Hinterland collection by Melissa Albert.

Transitions (3 stars) a graphic novel based on the real-life experiences of a mother coming to terms with her child’s transition. I could maybe see this being a helpful book for someone whose parent is also struggling, but it was a bit too short and occasionally abstract for me to really understand the mother’s behavior - we definitely struggled to find anything to talk about at the bookclub meeting.

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street (3.5 stars) - I wanted to like this more. I definitely liked parts of it, most of it even! I just really hated the entire Grace subplot and it dragged the rest of the book down for me. Also, major deja vu at the ending? I don't know why, I can't remember reading this before. Will probably read the sequel and more of the author’s work, but I'd love to read KJ Charles’ version of this.

Sipsworth (4 stars) - it was fine? But I was also bored enough on occasion that this really should only be 3 stars, and I only finished it because it was short. Overly sentimental.

Sunbringer (5 stars) - fun! Really wish I could have picked this up right after book 1, it gets right into things and I’d forgotten a bit more than I liked. I didn’t realize that this series was set up to be more than just a duology, so news on book 3 soon I hope!!!

Someone You Can Build a Nest In (4.5 stars) - also very fun, would recommend to fans of fairy tales if you don’t mind some gore and body horror.

The Curse of Chalion (4 stars) - did I love this to the bottom of my heart? No. Did it hold my attention and keep me entirely engaged! Yes! So overall I’d call it a great read, and I really need to get the next book(s) on my reading schedule.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi (5 stars) - WHAT a delight!!! Sailing ships, a reluctant hero, non-romantic relationships at the forefront, what’s not to love? I wish some of Amina’s friends had gotten a bit more development, but I also dearly love her and her terrible cringe-fail husband. While we wait for the next book I should go back and actually finish the author’s earlier series.

Heartstopper Vol 5 (5 stars) - also fun, and if I had more time I would have absolutely launched myself into a full Oseman read/reread (I wish her later novels had been released in the US when they first came out, but I’m glad we have them now!)

DNF

Knit One, Kill Two (4%) - the problem with cozy mysteries, especially with the slightly older ones, is that they tend to give strong vibes of having been written by women of a certain social class with certain views, and the writing just does not age well. Within 4% we got a conversation about dieting and calories and a tasteless comment about a homeless individual, and I was out.

A Letter to the Luminous Deep (31%) - this one’s been getting a lot of buzz, which, honestly, means it could have gone either way for me. It did not go, alas. The story was dragging, the back and fourth between timelines was frustrating, and the letters were not really convincing - if the siblings had set out to solve their siblings disappearance, maybe it would have had more pull, but it really felt like a lot of spilling your guts to a stranger and not much else. Too bad, because I do enjoy an unusual story structure if it works.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 14: Preparation

“OK, Meghan, but I need to inform you that I am required by law to report if I suspect that you have plans to harm yourself or others, and that includes Mr. Säure. Even though he is a dragon, like you, he is still a citizen of the United States and currently legally recognized as a fellow human being.”

That last phrase just feels so wrong.

I did not miss a third therapy session. I’m there. I think I’ve made an error.

“Not harm,” I say. “Stop.”

“What do you mean by ‘stop’?”

“Intervene,” I carefully type out. “Convince to cease terror.”

“Shouldn’t you leave that up to the authorities?” she asks.

“Out of their league,” I say. “Either they let continue. Or they attack with military. Bad either way.”

“That’s like what happens in movies, though, isn’t it?” my counselor asks. “Don’t you think we’re all more sophisticated than that? Don’t you think there are experts who can work diplomatically with someone like Säure?”

I snort. It’s basically a sneeze. A sneeze of derision.

“No? You don’t think so? You know something they don’t?” she asks.

“Am dragon,” I say, and just stare at her.

“Then why did you ask me for my advice on the matter?” she asks.

“How,” I type into my tablet, looking up at her occasionally to indicate I’m taking my time and want her to pay attention, “do we fight fear? You are a therapist. Maybe you have idea about humans I do not.”

—

I’m starting to formulate a plan. But I’m not writing much of it down, just some of the process of putting it together, because I don’t want to tip Säure off to just what I’m doing. You’ll have to excuse me for this, it’s important.

Hang tight. I think this is going to work.

Why try to take Säure down?

That’s a good question. Mostly, for my part, because he’s targeted me specifically. He tried to eat me. But also, because he’s terrorizing my city.

And we’re dragons having a territorial dispute. It’s inevitable.

He’s a competing predator trying to push me away from my food source, but also away from my family and my own hoard.

But also he’s a rampaging billionaire. I keep harping on that without demonstrating just how dangerous that is. He hasn’t really done anything yet besides fly around and scream at the sky and boil the bay, basically threatening everyone. Except, as a billionaire, he is a representative and enforcer of the very system that failed to accommodate my own disabilities and that put me into government funded low income housing while on SSI, and that made and kept Joel homeless before his dracomorphosis, and that had the police illegally working with his own company to kidnap people and relocate them into the wilderness because we had the fortune of becoming full blown dragons. And sure, he disavowed that last thing, but he was complicit in the habits and systems that made it possible in the first place. It was his company. Like, these are just tiny examples in a massive system of the exploitation and destruction of the populace.

I feel like I should just point outside and let the entire world be my example. You can surely see what’s going on out there. And if you can’t see that, then you might not be my audience anyway.

But, in this case, it is actually personal.

And it’s not like I’m trying to hurt or kill him, anyway, just change his perspective and behavior.

I’m going to communicate with him. As legally as I can, because I myself personally don’t want to deal with the consequences of misstepping. I’d like to keep living on the roof of my building and to continue dating Rhoda and Chapman.

And, like, that’s hard. Everything is set up so that the average person can’t do this sort of thing without getting dinged for it. Or without just being ineffectual. What incentive does he ever have to change his behavior in the first place? What leverage does anyone have to give him an incentive?

But, despite all of my instincts or C-PTSD or whatever it is that’s causing me to ideate the act of tearing him apart and spending the rest of the decade swallowing the bits and chunks, as if I can even do that, I do think I have an idea of how to do this in just this particular case.

Every dragon of his kind has a weakness.

And also, as a dragon, I have resources the average person does not.

—

The sound of three seagulls crying as they fly low overhead makes it hard for anyone to talk. It’s kind of amazing how loud they can be sometimes.

Caleb squints his eyes as if that helps keep the noise out of his head. Then he glances at Astraia and says, “We’ve got lines of communication to most of the dragons in the county, now. Each community has their own mirror of your Discord server. Well, not mirror as in a digital copy of it, but an imitation, their own thing. Believe it or not, you weren’t even the first to do it. The city of Jam had a PHPBBS going by the end of that first weekend, of all things.” He sighs, “Anyway, yeah, I think we can do this. But we’re not going to get 100% cooperation.”

“Don’t need all,” I say, knuckling my tablet to do it. “Just most.”

“Yeah, it’s still going to be tough going,” he replies. “This isn’t instant communication. Honestly, a lot of the dragons are being represented by their human friends and family. And while not everyone is always on their devices, there’s a lot of relaying going on, too. The more time we have, the easier it will be to set it all up and get everyone coordinated. Or, most of them coordinated. But, day of, we can’t rely on it.”

“Need humans, too. As many as can,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s take time,” I tell him. “Day of, Sunday?”

“Might work. Good choice for other reasons, I think,” Caleb nods.

I turn to Astraia, “You lay low. Keep healing. Coordinate.”

“It’s what I’ve been doing,” she responds, doing her eight headed trick with a newer, larger looking tablet. “We’ve had to crowd fund a garage for me, and that dovetails with the other outreach we’ve been doing. I’m good.”

“Thank you.”

“People do like to support their neighborhood dragons,” she says. “We’ve really got that going for us.”

“Banking on it,” I say. Then I work to spell it out, and everyone waits patiently while I type it “When I led roll call on Murder Thursday, the fact it worked tells us what we need to know.”

Joel yawps cheerfully.

We are on his territory, in his park, behind the defunct acid tanks. We’re here so that he stays up to date on the plan, too.

“I have something for you,” I tell him. “It might suck.”

He tilts his head.

With some effort, I pull out the pendant that Chapman made for me, and lay it on the ground next to my tablet, then I say, “Put this on, human. Take off, dragon. Magic. Chapman made. But, make you girl. No talk, only type.”

He sneeze-snorts and looks away.

Yeah, OK. Honestly didn’t think so.

—

As I’ve said before, I’ve had a little training with Wentin since it helped me to see my true nature as a dragon, and to access what I guess could be called dragon magic. Our natural abilities to engage with reality in a way that other life cannot typically do. But I haven’t had much.

And though I still won’t say all that I’ve learned, I will admit I don’t feel like it was enough, despite how little I trust the monster.

Our dream hunt through the woods of the nightmares of my youth, the one that turned into a game of me chasing it, felt like it changed something between us. And I feel like I could seriously use some extra help in what I’m trying to do.

So, I try to set up a meeting with it in its arboretum, despite all my misgivings.

I do this by sending it a direct message on Discord, and then moving on and dealing with other preparation work.

“I agree to train with you at your next earliest convenience,” I send it.

Eventually, I do get a message back from it.

“I’m sorry, My Dear Queen, but I am currently indisposed with other work. When I am done, I will let you know when I am free, and I would love to assist you in your studies at that time. I do not know when this will be.”

For how relieved I am, I’m also sharply disappointed.

But it did respond to me, it is marked as online, so I dare to ask it something that’s been bothering me. If it answers, it might still be a help.

“Did you have life as human before?” I send to it.

“Oh, dear no, My Queen. Not at all,” it says.

I’d asked the question because everything I’ve been learning about it had led me to have a doubt about its origin. To question whether it underwent dracomorphosis the way the rest of us did. But to have it confirm that doubt feels unexpected anyway. And it leaves me with a question about the most frivolous thing.

I wonder so many other things, like what its nature was before dracomorphosis. And whether it had been some other kind of creature, or whether it had always just been a nightmare monster. How is it now capable of manifesting physically?

There’s a lot to wonder about, but instead I focus on this one silly thing.

“Why are you called Wentin?” I ask.

“Oh, I love this story,” It sends. “Long ago, a child I used to hunt chose a novel way of dealing with me. And one night, she turned to face me and told me to stop. And, of course, since I no longer had consent to hunt her, I had to cease. Confused and at a loss as to what to do, I asked her what she wanted from me. And she in turn asked me if I would be her friend. For the life of me I don’t know why, but I agreed. And when she learned that I didn’t have a name, she gave me the name Wentin. She has now died long ago. But I have kept the name ever since in her memory.”

And then its status turns to red, indicating that it has logged off.

In case it will answer another frivolous question when it logs back on, I ask it, “Do you use a computer or other device to access Discord?”

I do feel a little strange trying to have such a mundane conversation with the monster of my childhood nightmares. But I get to, it seems, so I’ll keep pushing it.

I tuck my tablet away and get back to business, part of my mind chewing on its answer.

There are so many clues to other questions it just gave me, as well as a lot more questions.

—

Somewhere in there, I have a genuine date with Chapman.

We do spend some time talking business and preparation, during which I learn that sie can’t prepare much for me to use on such short notice. But that sie thinks my plan has some merit, and won’t dissuade me from trying it.

And then we spend the rest of the evening just getting to know each other better over some unexpectedly good food and live music on a Thursday night. The nice thing about using the table to communicate with each other is that we don’t have to hear what the other is saying.

I also start making longer term plans with hir. Things to do as the world maybe, hopefully settles down from the dracomorphosis. Though we both acknowledge that might not happen for a while. I want to genuinely pursue a remedy for people like Kimberly, who may feel left behind by the latest wonders of the world, who are beings of other sorts stuck in otherwise human form. And maybe if we track down and find the Artist of Transformation, or whatever they actually call themself, we might be able to do that. Chapman agrees to give this an honest shot.

Perhaps we can help transgender humans on the way, if sudden transformation and other spectacular expressions of Art are here to stay.

Or, at least, maybe we can bring a few people some joy while the world seems to continue to vibrate itself apart, as it is apparently doing.

I suppose you might conclude I’ve thoughtlessly thrown my lot in with what Säure calls the Architects, without suspicion or question.

Maybe I have.

But, mostly, I’m following Chapman, because sie has given me reason to trust hir. And I like hir. A lot.

I might be a little dazzled or smitten or something, but I guess I’ll eventually learn.

In the meantime, I’m swallowing bits of marinated lamb wrapped in herby and fragrant other foods, something I don’t think I’d have ever tried before, while enjoying a live band that’s developed a strange and dark fusion of traditional Greek music and bluegrass, with lyrics about the Odyssey.

It’s a very Fairport moment.

—

On Friday, there isn’t much prep left to do, besides wait for the threads that I’ve started to continue weaving themselves together and the net to spread. Fortunately, today’s the day I’ve put aside to tend to Rhoda.

We’ve been back to our nightly tea. And I’ve been spending the night in her apartment, curled up by her front door, ever since that first night she drew her line, made her rule, and offered me shelter. We’ve effectively been living together.

But I need to talk to her about this.

Normally, after a day out and about, I arrive on her doorstep in my faerie trans princess gown and tiara, and relax back into dracoform once inside her door. I’ve been doing this because it’s just easier to get to her apartment that way.

This time I’m much earlier and I relax before I knock. This is our agreed upon signal for this.

Of course, she peers through her peephole before she opens the door, so she already knows.

She opens the door and just says, “I’ll start the tea.”

Her acknowledgement. By being business-like, instead of welcoming me home, she’s telling me she’s prepared to rescind her rule about the apartment for the night.

I see a haunted and exhausted look in her eye, though, and I dread what this conversation will entail.

But she lets me make my way into the apartment, and once she closes the door behind me, she’s smiling and coming to cup my jaw and give me a kiss on my snout. And then she says, “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Rhoda,” I say. The one full phrase I can smoothly use my syrinx for.

She’s still moving more slowly and thoughtfully than usual when she goes into the kitchen to get the kettle and fill it with water. The tea set itself is already arranged on her coffee table, complete with my customary bowl. The water she’s about to heat is actually for my bowl, her tea is now steeping.

“You seem to have had a busy week!” she calls from the kitchen.

“Yes,” I say.

She comes back and sits down and then plugs the kettle in and sets it on the table.

“Let’s go ahead and talk about that, then,” she says. “Whatever we need to air out is fine. Catch me up.”

I have my explanation as a set of sentences in my tablet that I play one at a time, pausing in between to let Rhoda react or to ask any questions. She just prompts me to continue, so I do. But by the time I’m done explaining my whole plan to her, my bowl is full of tea and I can taste it fully by licking the air.

I then turn the conversation over to her by playing my final precomposed sentences, “I imagine all sorts of ways that this could cause worry and be difficult to bear. We can try something different.”

She considers that for a while, finger touching her lip to keep it from quivering, and then she blinks a couple times and shakes her head, “No. This is good, Meghan. I won’t say I’m happy about your role in this, but I am proud of you for coming up with the whole idea. I can’t think of anything else to try that would be any safer. And somebody has to do something.”

I don’t bother telling her that she’s someone who can do something. We’ve already covered that. She doesn’t want that power or what using it for that level of influence will do to her. She doesn’t want the responsibility or the weight of it, nevermind that the proclamation she’s already made is clearly having a profound and powerful effect. My goal here is to take some of that weight off her shoulders.

I bow my head and stay quiet a little longer to see if she has more to say. She does.

“You have to come home after this, Meghan. I’ve been working on a project that’s important to me, and I think you’re the only one who can edit it properly. I need your insight. Your experiences. I need you to help me make sense of some things I don’t think I can fully understand, and I don’t really know anybody else who is qualified. Except maybe Chapman, but I’d rather it be you.” She lowers her head at me and says, “So, after you do this on Sunday, you come home. Please.”

I know what she means. I know how important it is to her. I hope I can deliver.

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack short take (75)

*The wrong phone call*

Sejanus: Hey, Babe.

Coryo: Yes, Babe?

Sejanus: Can I ask you a question?

Coryo: What’s wrong? Are you being bullied again?

Sejanus: No. I-

Coryo: Who was it? Was it Jubilee? Peacekeeper Joe? I’ll ask Urban and Pup to fight them for us.

Sejanus: No need! I just want to know someone’s phone number.

Coryo: But you already have our phone numbers. Even Arachne’s and Livia’s.

Sejanus: I know.😔

Coryo: So who do you want to call? Lepidus Malmsey? Lucky Flickerman?

Sejanus: Oh, Panem, no. I don’t like weird magical clowns.

Coryo: Mama Cardew?

Sejanus: Heck, no! She might even kill me with my family’s taxes.

Coryo: President Ravinstill?

Sejanus: He’s a dinosaur.

Coryo: Mrs. Aurelia Ravinstill?

Sejanus: Aurelia? Who’s that?

Coryo: The Vice President of Panem.

Sejanus: Oh, she’s the one who’s extremely allergic to charity, poor people, and homeless Hilari!😀

Coryo: Yes, that’s right.

Sejanus: At least our poor Felix didn’t inherit his mean mother’s explosive temper.

Coryo: Fortunately.

Sejanus: Thank Panem.

Coryo: So who is it?

Sejanus: Who’s what?

Coryo: Who do you want to call?

Sejanus: Oh, right! I almost forgot. Do you perhaps know the phone number of Professor Sickle?

Coryo: No. Why?

Sejanus: I accidentally left my ✨Bread Body Bag✨ inside her office yesterday and I really need it back before my Ma finds out.

Coryo: You left your precious B.B.B inside Professor Sickle’s office?!

Sejanus: Yeah, but to be fair, I was busy searching for something very important-

Coryo: You were busy searching for my pretty feet pics, weren’t you?

Sejanus: And Creed’s.

Coryo: I knew it.😑

Sejanus: So. . .

Coryo: Ask Ney Ney. She’s her fam.

Sejanus: Ok! Whatever you say, my love!😍 *turns to Vipsania* Hey, Ney Ney!

Vipsania: *is sleeping like a pure little lamb*

Sejanus: She’s asleep.☹️

Coryo: Not for long.

Sejanus: What do you mean?

Coryo: Hey, Ney Ney, your beloved dumbbells and expensive running shoes are on fire! They’re on fire!

Vipsania: *immediately wakes up* Call the fire brigade and Creed’s working ambulance right now!

Coryo: I’m poor.

Vipsania: Call my daddy too!

Sejanus: Ney Ney, calm down. We’re just kidding-

Vipsania: But don’t tell my mommy! She will celebrate my demise!😭

Coryo: Vipsania Sickle, for the love of Panem, do you know your auntie’s phone number?!

Vipsania: My auntie’s what?

Coryo: Phone number!

Vipsania: Why?

Coryo: My boyfriend needs it.

Sejanus: I’m Coryo’s boyfriend.😀

Coryo: We know, Babe.

Sejanus: Just saying.

Vipsania: What do I get in return?

Coryo: What do you want?

Vipsania: The latest treadmill?

Sejanus: Deal!

Vipsania: Fine. Give me your phone. I’ll call her myself.

Festus: *walks in* Hey, guys!

Vipsania: Hey, Creed!

Hilarius: We’re back!

Apollo: We brought snacks!

Diana: Banana!

Felix: Hey, Coryo, I brought you your daily cabbage. Catch!

Coryo: Thanks, Class Pres! You’re the best!

Felix: You’re welcome.

Sejanus: How about me?😀

Coryo: You’re my boyfriend. You’re always the best in my eyes, Babe.

Sejanus: Coryo, kiss.😘

Coryo: Later.

Sejanus: When?

Coryo: After lunch.

Sejanus: Broom closet?🥺

Coryo: As always.

Sejanus: Yey!

Hilarius: How about me?😀

Coryo: No.

Hilarius: But I want a kiss too.😢

Coryo: Get your own sugar daddy.

Hilarius: Hey, Felix!

Felix: No.

Hilarius: Is your crazy President Gran Gran still available?

Felix: What the f*ck, Hilari!

Hilarius: Is he?

Felix: He’s like a hundred years old! He’s a dinosaur!

Hilarius: Just asking.

Felix: Don’t ask me again.

Hilarius: Is your daddy available?

Felix: He’s happily married!

Hilarius: How about your crazy uncle Achilles? Is he available?

Felix: He’s in prison!

Hilarius: For what?

Felix: For smuggling fireworks.

Hilarius: That’s illegal?

Felix: No. He just wanted to fly.

Hilarius: Dammit.

Coryo: Bro, I thought that you were pregnant with Strabo Plinth’s baby.

Hilarius: Oh, that’s right! Thanks for reminding me, Snowy.

Coryo: Anytime, virgin.

Hilarius: Sejanus, pay up.

Sejanus: Ask my old man.

Hilarius: Mr. Plinth scares me and I need money right now.

Sejanus: I’m not paying child support.

Hilarius: But we’re family!

Sejanus: You’re not my Coryo and you’re not carrying my baby!

Coryo: That’s right!

Hilarius: But good sir, my poor miracle baby is still your half brother!

Sejanus: Your fake baby with Strabo Plinth is not my half brother!

Hilarius: Half sister?

Sejanus: You’re dead to me.

Hilarius: Coryo, help!😫

Coryo: Lol. I’m recording this.

Festus: So what’s up?

Vipsania: We’re calling my auntie.

Festus: What for?

Felix: Are we in trouble?

Hilarius: Is the gym on fire?

Apollo: Are we dancing again?

Diana: Banana?

Coryo: No. My Seji Pie left his precious B.B.B inside her office yesterday.

Diana: B.B.B?

Coryo: Bread Body Bag.

Festus: Lol. His Ma will kill him.

Sejanus: My Ma will kill me.🥲

Vipsania: Then stop crying and whining and give me your most expensive phone right now.

Sejanus: Here.

Vipsania: Thanks. *starts pressing random numbers*

Festus: Yo, it’s ringing!

Coryo: Obviously.🙄

Felix: Are we even allowed to call Professor Sickle?

Hilarius: Calling your auntie is not illegal, Class Pres.

Felix: In my family, it is.

Vipsania: Well, she’s my aunt and I’m her favorite niece. She’ll answer my calls. Just you wait.

Felix: Turn the volume up. I want to hear the conversation.

Apollo: I wanna hear it too!

Diana: Banana?🥺

Vipsania: Fine. There.

Com.Hoff: *picks up the phone* Hello? This is District 12’s Commander Hoff speaking.

Coryo: Commander who?

Felix: District 12?

Vipsania: Auntie?😀

Sejanus: *quickly grabs the phone* Professor, I’m so sorry but can you give me back my precious ✨Bread Body Bag✨?!

Com.Hoff: Your what?

Sejanus: My body bag!

Com.Hoff: Body bag? What body bag?!

Sejanus: Are you Professor Sickle?

Com.Hoff: Are you a rebel?

Sejanus: A what?

Com.Hoff: Are you a rebel?!

Sejanus: No. I’m baby.

Com.Hoff: Tell me the truth, boy!

Sejanus: I’m baby!

Com.Hoff: Are you stupid?!

Coryo: *grabs the phone* Why are you shouting at my sugar daddy, you creep?!

Com.Hoff: Sugar daddy?!

Coryo: He pays for my bills and groceries!

Com.Hoff: So?

Coryo: Creep.

Com.Hoff: I’m not a creep!

Hilarius: Are you a pole dancer?

Com.Hoff: A what?!

Hilarius: A pole dancer!

Com.Hoff: I’m the commander!

Hilarius: A commanding pole dancer?

Felix: Is that a new position?

Apollo: Cool.

Com.Hoff: No!

Festus: How much do you make?

Diana: How much for a dance?

Com.Hoff: Where’s the body bag?!

Coryo: None of your business!

Com.Hoff: Tell me now!

Coryo: No! My Seji Pie will cry!

Sejanus: I will cry!

Com.Hoff: Where are you?

Coryo: Where are you?!

Com.Hoff: I’m in District 12!

Coryo: You’re a forest hippie and a pole dancer?!

Diana: Nice! A versatile man!

Com.Hoff: I’m not versatile!

Vipsania: In bed?

Com.Hoff: What the actual f*ck.

Festus: So you’re a loser?

Com.Hoff: Give me your current location.

Felix: Sorry. We’re still planning our next class vacation.

Com.Hoff: Where are you?!

Festus: In your mom’s ugly closet!

Hilarius: Under your pathetic bed!

Apollo: Behind your back!

Diana: Banana!

Com.Hoff: You bastards!

Festus: I’m stealing her hats!

Felix: And I’m wearing her dress!

Hilarius: Oh, look! An eyeliner!

Com.Hoff: Give them back!

Hilarius: Do you want to see my pretty feet pics? I’m selling.😀

Com.Hoff: How much?

Hilarius: 50 bucks.

Com.Hoff: I will find you and I will kill you-

Vipsania: Wrong number!

Com.Hoff: Don’t hang up!

Festus: Bye, loser!

Com.Hoff: I’ll buy those feet pics!

Hilarius: Really?😀

Com.Hoff: Are they prettier than General Crassus Snow’s feet pics?

Coryo: F*ck no. *hangs up*

Vipsania: So who wants pasta?

Coryo: Ney Ney, don’t tell me-

Vipsania: Yeah, I don’t know my favorite auntie’s current phone number. Sorry.

Coryo: That’s impossible.

Vipsania: I was kicked out of the house, remember?😢

Coryo: Do you want a tissue?

Vipsania: Give me the whole box.

Festus: Let’s call again!

Apollo: Let me try! *grabs the phone and dials a random phone number* There!

Diana: It’s ringing. I’m excited!😆

Felix: Shh! Somebody might hear us.

Hilarius: I just hope they’ll buy my feet pics.

Coryo: Hilari, please-

Hilarius: Poor homeless Hilari needs some fast cash right now.

Festus: And poor Festus Creed needs poor homeless Hilarius Heavensbee to pay his freaking rent!

Hilari: I’m trying my best!

Festus: Penelope disagrees.

Hilarius: She’s a rat!

Festus: And she disagrees!

Sejanus: I still need to get my body bag though.☹️

Coryo: Don’t be too sad, Babe. We’ll just ask Anderson to steal your bread bag later.

Sejanus: Ok!☺️

Vipsania: Quiet!

Mayfair: *picks up the phone* Hello? This is District 12’s Mayor’s daughter speaking.

Coryo: Ew! A cheater!

Mayfair: Lucy Gray?!

Diana: Are you a pole dancer too?

Mayfair: Who the f*ck is this?!

Apollo: I’m the sun god!

Diana: And I’m the moon goddess!

Hilarius: And I’m having your dear daddy’s miracle baby next summer!

Mayfair: My daddy’s what?!

Hilarius: Pay up, sister!

Mayfair: I’m not your sister!

Hilarius: I need child support!

Mayfair: Go f*ck yourself!

Coryo: Your daddy’s a cheater!

Mayfair: And you’re a stupid whor-

Sejanus: Take that back!

Mayfair: Cry harder, loser!

Coryo: Well, tell your stupid boyfriend to suck a f*ckin’ di-

Mayfair: *hangs up*

Coryo: The audacity! Call her again, Class Pres!

Felix: Fine. *dials back*

Mayfair: Hello? This is Mayfair-

Coryo: Suck a d*ck!

Mayfair: F*ck you, you whor-

Coryo: *immediately hangs up* There! I won. I’m happy now.☺️

Sejanus: I’m happy too!

Festus: My turn! *grabs the phone*

Diana: Me next!

Hilarius: But-

Festus: It’s ringing!

Apollo: Felix, you answer!

Felix: I hope it’s not my mom.

Hilarius: Or mine.

Festus: My “dearest” mommy never picks up my calls.

Coryo: Creed, do you need a hug?

Festus: Yes, please.

Coryo: *hugs Festus*

Sejanus: I need a hug too!

Coryo: Fine. Come here.

Sejanus: Yey!

Elmer: *picks up the phone* Hello? This is District 13’s Elmer Coin speaking.

Felix: Elmer Coin?

Elmer: Yes, I’m Elmer Coin.

Felix: Never heard of you before.

Elmer: I’m the current president of District 13!

Felix: What’s District 13?

Apollo: Are you the mole people?

Elmer: Seriously?

Festus: District 13 doesn’t exist.

Elmer: Who told you that lie?

Festus: It’s a universal truth, you uncultured swine!

Elmer: District 13 still exist!

Coryo: I’m poor. So I need to disagree.

Elmer: I swear we still exist!

Felix: My mommy said you don’t!

Elmer: Your poor mother’s wrong.

Felix: My mommy is never wrong and she’s allergic to poor people.

Elmer: I’m not poor!

Felix: Not on my mommy’s watch!

Elmer: Your evil government is brainwashing your mother!

Felix: My mommy is literally the Vice President of Panem.

Elmer: She’s the VP?!

Felix: And my lovely daddy is her secretary.

Elmer: Seriously?!

Hilarius: *grabs the phone from Felix* Do you want to buy my pretty feet pics? They’re on sale.

Elmer: Who are you?!

Hilarius: I’m Hilarius.

Elmer: You’re not funny.

Hilarius: But I’m Hilarius!

Elmer: Are you rebels?

Felix: I’m allergic to rebels.

Elmer: Not you, you freak.

Felix: I’m not a freak. I’m a sweet baby Ravinstill.

Elmer: Same thing.

Coryo: Are you a mole person?

Elmer: I’m not a mole!

Hilarius: Do you live underground?

Elmer: That’s none of your business!

Apollo: Do you sell glue?

Elmer: How old are you?

Apollo: Physically or mentally?

Sejanus: I’m from District 2 and I’m old enough to screw!😀

Coryo: We know, Babe.

Elmer: That’s great! You’re one of us! Do you need some help?

Sejanus: On my biology homework? Of course!

Elmer: Homework?

Sejanus: Yes, homework! Our insane Professor will most likely fail me.

Elmer: Why?

Sejanus: She hates me and I’m dumb.

Festus: Same.

Apollo: Do mole people like to eat snakes or spiders?

Elmer: I’m not a mole!

Apollo: Doubt.

Elmer: Am I talking to a bunch of stupid children right now?!

Vipsania: Maybe.

Sejanus: My gorgeous Snow Bae and I will be having 24 kids and more!😊

Elmer: You’ll have 24 kids?!

Sejanus: And more!

Vipsania: I’m baby.

Coryo: Jealous, Elmer?

Elmer: You’re a child!

Coryo: My boyfriend’s rich and I’m pregnant!

Hilarius: I’m pregnant too!

Elmer: So?

Hilarius: So pay up, Elmer!

Elmer: Pay up?!

Hilarius: I need child support!

Elmer: I’m not paying anything!

Hilarius: It’s your baby!

Elmer: *immediately hangs up*

Hilarius: The audacity! *dials back*

Elmer: Hello? This is D13’s leader-

Hilarius: Pay my f*ckin’ child support, you b*tch!

Elmer: Go away!

Hilarius: You’re a mole f*cker!

Elmer: A what?!

Hilarius: *quickly hangs up* So who’s hungry?😊

Festus: I’m hungry.

Coryo: Me too. Let’s eat.

[hellshire-harlot]

Categorically, I’m one of the lucky ones. Both my parents are employed, and I have an employment opportunity coming up quite soon. We own our house, I’ve never had to go hungry, and we always have heat, electricity, and Wi-Fi.

and yet. AND YET.

We are barely above the poverty line. Some years I had to go without school lunches because we couldn’t afford the fees. We save money wherever and whenever we can. Going out to eat at a burger joint is a special treat for special occasions because we can’t afford it often. Some of my favorite foods and snacks- pomegranates, veggie straws, chips, hell, even lemonade -are luxuries because we just don’t have the money to spare for it. The attitude has rubbed off on me so much that I go out of my way to avoid spending money and I feel guilty when others spend money on me, even for things like gifts or fucking therapy.

If any of our phones were to break, it would probably ruin us. If any of our cars broke down it would be even worse. One of the reasons I got into achievement hunting and building and exploring in video games is because buying new games is almost always a luxury we can’t afford. I use achievement hunting and making complex builds and finding all the Easter eggs as a way to squeeze out every last bit of enjoyment I can from a game so I can last until we can afford to get new ones. All of our clothes are thrifted or second hand. Same for most of our furniture. We stay in our house all day not only because we don’t like going out often and there isn’t a lot to do, but because WE CANT AFFORD TO DO FUN THINGS MORE THAN A FEW TIMES A YEAR.

I worry constantly about how my basic needs affect my family’s wealth. And we’re the lucky ones, because I’ve never had to worry about being homeless. I don’t consider myself very lucky, actually. My family worries constantly about money. They hate their jobs. They can’t afford to get new jobs because going without a paycheck is too risky. And how would they get new jobs? Neither of them went to college, and we don’t have the money for any of us to go. I’m basically unemployable in my current mental state, and that’s not liable to change. We’re lucky. Most of my friends have it way worse than I do. And yet I don’t feel very fucking lucky.

Everyone talks about poverty in the context of not being able to eat or receive reliable healthcare. Obviously those are huge fucking issues that need to be immediately addressed, and I don’t mean to minimize them. But I hardly see anyone talking about the kind of poverty that gives you just enough to get by a little comfortably- but no more than that. You have the money for your home, your food, your car. But you don’t have money for games. You don’t have money to go out and eat something nice. You don’t have money to buy toys for your kids. You don’t have money to see a movie, or buy that new phone that would be such an improvement over the secondhand one you have now. You don’t have money for anything that would put you at ease. And yet, you’re made to feel lucky, that you should be grateful. You’re not poor, poor people can’t put food on the table. Stop complaining. Be grateful. You could have it so much worse.

No one even addresses that yes it could be worse. But it sure as hell could be a lot fucking better, too. And that kills me.

[blubushie]

HI HELLO VERY QUICK YELLING THINGY TWO TRANS MEN ANONS I LOVE YOU! I RELATE TO THE SAME FEARS (AM ALSO TRANS AND PARTICULARLY WISH TO LOOK LIKE A BEAR AND LIKE I FISH)

ANYWAYS. REAL POINT; amab people, cis or gnc or any variation (trans women too, pre transition or during or after, depending on how transphobic etc), are literally barred from certain services on gender-based discrimination. like crisis shelters are reeeally difficult to get into!! or to get help for things like sexual assault or domestic violence! and i’m really, really tired of people saying sexism when they mean misogyny and i’m tired of misandry being a punchline instead of something that DOES happen, just not as systematically enforced as misogyny (and patriarchy is really just also a system that confines EVERYONE into preset societal roles even if it usually has men in a position of power, it still harms men) and i am going to go sleep now. there’s too much caffeine in me

Seconded 100%.

When my mum left my dad she left me in an "abusive" home, at 16, because the DV shelter would not take women with sons older than 12. So boys 12 and older have to fend for themselves with an abusive father, I guess.

Luckily my mum was just a shit and my dad isn't actually abusive.

When I was 17 and going from homeless shelter to homeless shelter I was expected to just put up with the woman who'd get in my face and call me a rapist for staring, and try to physically goad me into fights by hitting me and slapping me because she has issues, and I was told outright that I, as a man, was not allowed to defend myself and that I would be arrested for assault if I put my hands on her in defence of myself. She physically attacked another woman who kicked her arse. Neither was arrested. But I, a man, was expected to just put up with her assualting me, and I would've been arrested for it.

The reason I was staring? I was 17, suddenly unmedicated, and was having PTSD flashbacks to when I was raped as a child. And she was calling me a rapist because I'd zone out and stare at the wall she'd happen to be passing in front of during dinner.

And honestly tired of any time someone brings up men's issues, someone has to go "but the women!" I'm tired of seeing someone post something about men's mental health month (this month!) and reading someone in the tags saying "what do they need that for" or, being aware of men committing more suicides per capita than women, saying "wishing every man a happy kill yourself".

I'm just tired.

[bumblebeerror]

It’s been on my mind today but I need you to know.

Hitting 25 has been one of the best things to ever happen to me.

I don’t say this lightly - I lost my father who I loved dearly at age 18, I grew up a bit above the poverty line and now only *just* live above it. I’ve been treated for severe mental illness and learning disabilities since I was a child, starting at 6 years old. I have a physical disability and chronic pain. I have had some bad fuckin times, I’ve been through my share, and I’ll go through more I’m sure.

But I can tell you I feel so much better mentally at age 25, unable to stand for more than an hour or so without severe pain, on a consistent schedule of prescribed pain pills, discovering just how hard I was masking some pretty serious autism, struggling with my ADHD meds being less effective, and only leaving the house three total times a week because I’m immunocompromised than I was at age 13 when “all my problems were school”.

Because at age 10, nobody close to me had ever died before. At age 11, I had never lived in a new place before. At age 12, I had never felt so cold and empty and tired. I’d never endured my peers teasing me for crying about a death in my family. At age 13 I had never felt like I wanted to die before then, like the world was on fire, like it was ending. At age 14 I hadn’t known what it felt like to have period cramps so bad my mother sent me to school with a muscle relaxer and still had to pick me up by lunch, to have this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that being a girl was a lie and I was a liar. At age 15 I’d never had people remind me so viciously that I wasn’t like them, I’d never felt so throughly upset by the idea of one more person calling me she. At age 16 I’d never had my heart broken before, I’d never dealt with a friend turning on me completely. At age 17, I’d never had my family feel so broken. At age 18, I’d been petrified of the idea of my father dying, and he did. At age 19, I’d never actually thought about how I would kill myself before. At 20, I’d never gotten drunk before. At 21, I’d never gone inside a bar.

You get the picture.

Your teen years suck because you’ve never done so much shit, and on top of the terrifying experience of doing it all for the first time, you also have all your peers picking at you for doing it wrong the first time. Your teen years suck because they are chaotic and new and stressful and you don’t know how to handle them yet. You’re not supposed to know yet.

Hitting 25 was the realization that I wasn’t going to just up and die, that now I have to actually plan. I have to do taxes, and that I actually know how to. That I have to care for my pets and I know how to. That I have to drive to work and do my job and I know how to.

25 was what made me realize that I had things I was supposed to be around for. People and pets who relied on me, who loved me and needed me and wanted me.

That I can have a panic attack and know that I’m having one. That something can piss me off and I know I can take a moment before I respond. The awareness that I do not have to do everything for the first time all the time anymore, that I know stuff, that I’ve been around the block and can use those tools is INVALUABLE. The fact that I can look at my intrusive thoughts and, if I truly wanted to, CHOOSE to indulge them? That I can sit here and be the cat that doesn’t wish to go to the vet and the concerned cat owner?

It changes everything.

It was the realization that I am the one punishing myself. That I can and should respect myself as a person because it means I can respect more deeply the care that other people have for me. It sounds so stupid when I explain it but it’s absolutely a whole different ball game.

The fact that I think the only thing that could severely tank my mental health is if I were to become homeless in winter or actively abused or something similar should speak volumes to you what I mean when I say that not having to do everything for the first time all the time is a huge mental weight off you.

I promise. It will feel better when you are 25. I promise that even if it isn’t fixed, it will be easier. And if I’m wrong when you hit 25, you can come yell at me about it. Probably I’ll still be here.