#drunk camp texts incoming

[heavycrwns]

imessage >> lottie & camp.

campbell: sooooo you n dany hmm? campbell: i hope ur dad didn t see @quccnbees

[crimelrd]

𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ﹕ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 ﹕ at  first  it  was  just  a  face  but  then,  something  more...  the  face  shifted  and  changed  until  it  was  not  your  own.  how  could  it  even  belong  to  you?  you  cannot  look  away.  you  are  darker  than  you  had  ever  realized.  that  thing  haunting  you?  it  is  you  as  well.  it  twists  and  turns  until  it  is  the  "you"  you  recognize  once  again.  you  just  saw  your  shadow  and  you  did  not  look  away.  you  are  brave  and  i  am  proud  of  you.  once  you  acknowledge  it's  firm  presence,  you  can  understand  and  heal.  do  not  look  away  and  you  will  learn  to  live  in  harmony.

tagged by @vcnenum & @the-heros-sidekick

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ﹖

tagged by @fireburial, @vcnenum, @shadowpunk

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑.

Bold what your muse has done.

fallen for a character in a movie book | lied about their age | went through a “twilight phase” | finished an entire jaw breaker | been kayaking or canoeing | bungee-jumped / skydived | experimented with their sexual orientation | stolen something | done a successful handstand | skipped class | flown on a plane | gotten drunk | gotten high | taken nudes | sent nudes | kissed someone of the same sex | kissed a stranger | been in a fist fight | been in handcuffs (for any reason) | fallen asleep at the movies | taken part in a talent show | cut their own hair | experienced sleep paralysis | tried lucid dreaming | thrown up on a roller coaster | chipped a tooth | gone hunting | had a bad allergic reaction | worked at a fast food restaurant | looked through someone else’s phone without permission | changed a diaper | eaten an entire pizza by themselves | been pulled over | eaten out of a trash can | played candy crush

tagged by @the-heros-sidekick

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐌 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

Bold what applies.

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ﹕ love poems. flickering candles. conversations in the meadow. roses. midnight meetings. silk dresses. long phone calls. spilling your heart out. curtains blowing in the breeze. cheap paperbacks. the sun’s reflection on the water. smooth jazz. waiting for something to happen. blushing cheeks. kisses in the rain. faded polaroids. noses bumping. floral perfume. a restless spirit. oil paintings on canvas. hiding under an awning during a thunderstorm. candlelit dinners. horse drawn carriages. sunset views. smeared lipstick.

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ﹕ streetlights reflected on rainy pavements. a phone alarm. rapid texting. the smell of smoke. aggression. the natural instinct to fight. dramatic reunions. distant gunfire. funerals in the rain. the coppery scent of blood. solitude. fierce protective instincts. doomed to fail. driving too fast. near death experiences. inner turmoil. running through crowds. expensive watches. tired eyes. overnight plane rides. cold cups of coffee. dangerous secrets. lying through your teeth. bullet holes.

𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 ﹕ a distant farmhouse. congealed blood on the hardwood. ice picks. tilted headstones. bare feet on the carpet. splintering wood. masks that hide who you really are underneath. quiet summer camps. ghost stories. locked rooms. sharp knives. a full moon. the scent of rust. grasping hands searching for something to hold. last minute decisions. bags under your eyes. a cross hung on the wall. crawling maggots. the carcass of a dead animal. an abandoned hotel. blood-soaked clothes. broken bones. the sound of glass shattering.

𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ﹕ gnarled rope between your fingers as you hold on for dear life. glittering gold in a dark room. snakes. an incoming sandstorm. the consequences of your actions. hidden secrets. an unopened door. a leap of faith. squeezing your best friend’s hand. shelves of dusty books. ancient curses. the smell of fire. crumbling buildings. complicated puzzles. mystery novels. footsteps echoing in a large room. smudged lenses on glasses. warm skin. doing what’s right. dirt under your fingernails. scribbled notes. cobwebs blocking your path.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 ﹕ friends you’ve known for years. crowded comedy clubs. crescent moons. open mics. out of tune pianos. a messy desk. leather messenger bags. stacks of papers. huge sweaters. bitten nails. ordering takeout every night. dog-eared pages. unmade beds. hand movements and broad gestures. the smell of the subway. colorful graffiti on brick buildings. big dreams. enthusiastic phone calls. rejection letters. the heat of stage lights. pulling pranks. restless sleep. cold showers. laughing until you’re crying. half-finished ideas. tiny apartments. velvet curtains. cheap alcohol.

tagged by @schwarzpulverherz

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 ��𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 ﹖

𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 ﹕ a  single  image  reminding  you  of  someone  or  something  you've  lost,  something  you  don't  want  to  live  without.  you  can't  seem  to  move  on,  to  accept  life  has  changed,  to  live  again.  you're  trapped  in  the  picture,  in  the  past.  maybe  this  was  a  lost  family  member  or  friend,  maybe  this  was  a  sickness  that  isn't  going  away,  maybe  this  was  sinking  into  depression.  but  you  can't  help  but  remember  how  life  was  before,  how  life  after  will  never  be  the  same,  and  can't  help  but  feel  that  nothing  in  the  future  will  be  able  to  fill  the  hole  the  past  left.  nothing  lasts  forever… right?

tagged by @chaoticmvse

𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅

tagged by @hochmvt & @zeitrcisende

feel free to steal whatever you like ﹗

[mandoalorian]

Today, Tomorrow, Always [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: The nights were restless without Frankie by your side. He had left for South America a little over a month ago, promising he’d come back with more money to support your family. You didn’t want him to leave in the first place, but there was no changing his mind. You miss him. You’re worried about him. You just want him to come home. [Set after the events of Triple Frontier. Like, right after.]

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3000>

Masterlist

Reblogs appreciated coz this isn’t showing up in tags and I’m too tired to figure out why. xx

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

The love of your life. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and in that exact moment, you swore there was no statement truer. He’d been gone for a month and three days, your Frankie. You’d been shamelessly counting down until his return. No cell service in the jungles of South America, he’d warned you. He told you he’d be gone for two weeks max, and that you shouldn’t worry. He promised you he’d be fine.

But he was gone longer than two weeks, and you had no way to contact him. You were terrified, unable to help yourself from thinking the worst. Everything reminded you of him; the family photos scattered around your house, his cheap, tangy beers in the refrigerator, waiting to be drunk. Mostly though, your daughter. Maria was a newborn when he left, but now she was nearing two months. As you cradled her, your heart swelled with love. Same eyes as her father. Holding Maria only made you miss Frankie even more.

Religious or not, you would’ve prayed every night regardless. You prayed for his safety, and that he’d come home. You missed his warm hands and broad chest. You missed the way he’d tangle his fingers into your hair, and the faint smell of his musky cologne. Sometimes when you laid in bed, at night, you could still feel the ghost of his touch. Not a second went by where you weren’t dreaming about your Frankie.

This wasn’t the first time he and the guys would get involved in shady business. You wished he wouldn’t. He knew your feelings on it.

“I’m doing this for you and Maria.” he reminded you the morning he left. He took your hands and pressed soft yet chaste kisses across your knuckles. Everything he done, it was always for you and Maria.

Ever since Frankie had his piloting license revoked, things had been difficult. No job, no income. You had a job waitressing throughout your pregnancy but once you entered your third trimester, you were left with no choice but to take maternity leave. You, Frankie and Maria had been living out of your savings. And the savings were rapidly running out.

You knew better than to ask questions, but it was blatantly obvious that he’d accepted the mission in South America for a monetary reward. Or else, why would he go?

On a Thursday evening at around 7:30pm, the phone rang. You’d just put Maria to bed and you were sitting on the sofa, cradling one of your favourite fiction novels. Your eyes flicked towards the wall clock as you took a mental note of the time, wondering who could be calling you at this hour. Three more rings and you got up, padding towards the phone on the coffee table and picking it off the hook. The second you pressed it against the ear, you heard him.

Frankie.

“I didn’t get the money,” he announced over the phone, the line crackling slightly with the distance. No ‘hello’— no ‘how are you?’— just ‘I didn’t get the money.’ You were speechless. Not because of what he said, or what he didn’t say, but because he was alive. And safe, you assumed. Tears welled in your eyes as you processed the familiar sound of his voice. You hadn’t spoken to him in over a month, and so the low octave of his words were like the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. “I’m sorry.”

The guilt was eating him alive. He had to let you know in case you were expecting the money upon his return. He was so anxious, picking at his fingernails and anticipating your response. He had one job and he couldn’t even do that right.

He was broken. He’d done all of this, risked his life, just so he could earn a little cash to help support you and Maria. He’d left you for a month, and soon, he’d be returning with absolutely nothing. If you left him and took Maria with you, he wouldn’t even be surprised. He’d failed you. He’d failed Maria. He’d failed himself.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your shaky fingers curling around the plastic coated phone wire. He took a few breath, waiting for the worst to happen. “I’ve missed you so much.” you choked out, feeling your heart contract in your chest at the mere sound of his voice. What he was saying didn’t matter. No money? You couldn’t care less. Just the fact he was alive, speaking to you, was enough. All of Frankie’s nerves were immediately put to rest.

“I’ve missed you too.” Frankie confessed, his voice equally as soft as yours. As he marched through the freezing temperatures of the mountains and stormed through the humid temperatures of the jungles, he’d thought of you. When everyone else was camped out and sleeping by the fire, he couldn’t settle. He yearned to hold you, to kiss you and to love you. His month away from you only confirmed the feelings he’s been having for a long time.

“Where are you?” you sniffed, wiping away your tears and taking a deep (albeit shaky) exhale. You had to remain composed.

“Hawaii,” Frankie replied. “I’m calling from a public phone box and I think it’s gonna cut me off soon, but I’m catching a flight home first thing tomorrow,”

You smiled ecstatically, giving up and letting the warm tears free fall down you cheeks. Tomorrow? You were seeing him tomorrow? “I’m coming home, baby.” he confirmed, and you gasped out a sob over his good news.

“I love you so much,” you cried. “I love you Frankie. I— I love— I love you—“

“Don’t cry,” you heard him say. “I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. Is Maria okay?”

“She misses her daddy so much. Frankie, we’ve missed you so much.” you revealed, your smile now aching your cheeks. But you didn’t care.

“My two girls. I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. Wait for me, hermosa, I’ll see you soon.” Frankie promised before the line went dead.

He muttered out a curse word and kicked the phone box in frustration. Frankie jumped slightly, feeling Santiago rest a comforting hand on Frankie’s shoulder. He’d somehow manage to shift into the phone box to be alongside Frankie, needing the privacy. “You sure about this, bud?” Santiago quizzed, presenting Frankie with a velvet ring box. Frankie took the box and slid it into his jean pocket.

He managed to hit a jewellery store just an hour ago before they had all closed. He picked out a diamond ring, just for you. It was simple but elegant (or so he hoped. Frankie didn’t have the greatest judgement when it came to jewellery and what looked good or not). He was drawn to it because it was similar to the only other engagement ring he’d ever seen. The ring that belonged to his mother. If you didn’t like it, he’d be fine with returning it until you’s could afford a better one, but the ring was more than just something to make your finger look pretty.

It was a symbol of promise.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” Frankie sighed into admittance.

Santiago nodded, his heart blooming over the fact his best friend had finally found happiness. Frankie had been through a lot, but you’d saved him, in every sense of the word. Santiago knew that better than anyone else.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Frankie called you that morning from the airport, just before he caught his plane. You barely slept a peep that night, excited to finally see him again. The love of your life. Your Frankie. You had a rough idea as to when he’d return; maybe 5 or 6ish. That’s what he’d told you. And you believed him because, well, he was a pilot. He could judge these kinds of things.

‘5 or 6ish’ gave you plenty of time to plan a little something for Frankie. It was hard, but you refrained from texting his family and calling your friends because you knew they’d all want to see him. As selfish as it sounded, you didn’t care, you at least just wanted one night alone with him where he could be all yours. No one else to fuss over him, just you. You deserved that much.

You could cook his favourite meal, pick out his favourite record, blow up some balloons, light some candles and dress in his favourite set of lingerie.

You wanted to make everything perfect.

Frankie came home at 2pm, and shamefully, you were still in your pyjamas. He’d told a little white lie about what time he’d be home because he wanted to surprise you. And you were definitely surprised. When he stepped through the front door, clean shaven with glazed eyes, it was like your feet were glued to the floor and you couldn’t move. It was strange, really. You’d always envisioned this moment where you’d run into his arms and give him a big, passionate kiss, but that’s not what happened at all.

Just a few days ago, you were thinking you might never see him again, but here he was, standing before you like the angel of your dreams. And the first thing you said...

“You shaved!” you cried out accusingly, your eyes going comically wide. Frankie chuckled and your heart clenched in your chest.

“What do you think?” he laughed, walking towards you and putting his bag on the floor. You raised your hands to cup his cheeks and feel the softness of his skin.

“Oh Frankie,” you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek, but Frankie was quick enough to catch it and wipe it away. “It’s really you. You’re really home.”

“Yes my love, I’m home.” he said, pulling you into a warm bear hug. His big arms squeezed your body tight. If he’d gone any harder, he might have crushed you, but you wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

“Being away from you for so long made me realise something. Home isn’t a place, it’s a person. It’s you. Any doubts I once had are now completely diminished and I know, for sure, I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. And I want to promise that to you, so, if you’ll let me...” Frankie dropped down to one knee and reached into his pocket, bringing out the velveteen ring box he’d purchased in Hawaii. “I promise to never leave your side, or Maria’s, ever again. You two are everything I could ever need. Any difficulties we encounter, I know we’ll be okay as long as we have each other, and I promise to swear my life to our little family. So, my love, would you do me the honour of being mine forever? Will you marry me?”

His brown eyes were so warm, they burned you. This was a moment you had only pictured in dreams. Without even taking a second to think about it, you already knew the answer. You’d always known the answer.

“Yes,” you nodded ecstatically. “Yes Frankie, I’ll marry you.”

And the grin that plastered his face was like nothing you’d ever seen before. He was absolutely delighted and he didn’t think he’d ever been this happy in his life, apart from, maybe when Maria was born. He was pretty damn happy that day too.

Frankie slid the diamond ring on your finger and it fit perfectly. It looked good too. Maybe Frankie had a better eye for jewellery than he’d though. “Do you like it? Because if you don’t, we can save up and get it exchanged.”

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped, eventually tearing your gaze from your fiancé so you could admire the way the diamond sparkled under the lights. “I don’t want to get it exchanged. I love it. It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” he cooed, swaying backwards and forwards. When you looked back up at him, his cheeks were flushed an adorable pink.

You crashed your lips into his and wrapped your arms around his body.

“I love you so much Frankie Morales.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Today, tomorrow, always.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos​ @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics

[shesclearlya3]

Grow As We Go

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 3,538

warnings: au! in present time, mentions of drug use, overdose, angst, fluffy at times, no camp rw

disclaimer: i am in no way shape or form using the topic of addiction lightly or willingly romanticizing it. the use of heroin is a major problem in my state and my family has personally been affected by it. i lost family to this horrible epidemic and this has been a coping mechanism for me as i was too young to understand the gravity of the situation my family was under at the time it happened seven years ago. i also am not tagging due to possible triggers. 

*not entirely proof-read* *inspired by Ben Platt’s song*

You sat on the couch in your shared apartment, waiting for your boyfriend, Xavier, to come home.

It was a Friday night, and like most Friday's, you were supposed to watch movies with him and eat a ridiculous amount of takeout. You had rushed home from work, taking a shower and making sure you shaved your legs for specific events you knew would be happening later that night.

A box of pizza sat on the coffee table, now growing cold. Everything was set up, the television on Netflix, multiple blankets piled up next to you, and you wearing your soft pajamas and fuzzy socks. Xavier was supposed to be home from work nearly two hours ago. He had finally landed a small role on a beloved show, and his excitement about it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen. An eight-hour shoot soon turned into ten.

At least that's what you hoped.

You had sent him a ridiculous amount of texts and voicemails, your voice growing more and more concerned with each one. You went as far as to text your mutual friends, Montana, Brooke, Ray, and Chet, to see if they had heard from them. Nobody had heard anything, but the girls assured you they'd try and contact him in some way.

This wasn't like him, not showing up and ignoring your messages, you thought as you turned off the random episode of your favorite show you started playing. The characters made you feel less lonely. You stood up, slowly pacing the room as you debated on what to do.

Is it too early to file a missing person's report?

"Don't be stupid, y/n," you grumbled to yourself. "Xavier said he can't have his phone while filming."

Another hour had passed by. You had put the untouched pizza in the refrigerator, before going into your bedroom and taking one of Xavier's jackets. You slipped it on, inhaling his scent and feeling more at ease.

Your thoughts only became darker as the time ticked by. You lived in Los Angeles, anything could have happened if he wasn't at work. You had no idea how to call a studio and ask for an actor; for all they knew, you could be a creepy stalker. Your hands were shaking as you stuffed them into the pockets.

One thing that always lingered in the back of your mind was Xavier's past.

When you met him, it was just out of high school. Montana was your best friend for years, and she introduced the two of you just weeks after graduation. They had a little fling, nothing too serious. He was older than you by a year, and you instantly took a liking to him.

The first few times you had hung out, you never thought you'd one day become Xavier's girlfriend. First, it would be against girl code. Second, even though he was with Montana for a short period, he had the mindset of being unable to be tied down.

However, it didn't take long for you to uncover the truth.

Xavier Plympton was a softie hiding behind a facade. He always claimed he didn't need a girlfriend, and all he needed and could rely on was nobody other than himself. His arrogant demeanor attracted girls for the wrong reasons. If they wanted a true rebellious bad boy, they wouldn't find it with Xavier.

Just months after Montana moved on with a guy named Trevor, Xavier had shown up at your doorstep. One of the few times it actually rained in Los Angeles, his car had broken down, and you were the closest apartment to him. His blond hair was matted to his forehead as he smiled at you sheepishly.

"Xavier?" You frowned, pulling your blanket from your shoulders to pull him into your apartment. "Why are you soaking wet?"

"My fucking car broke down, and I got cold," he pouted as you locked the door. "I called for help, and the storm has them backed up, it's like a hurricane out there."

"You need to get out of those clothes, Xavier," you said as you led him to your small bathroom. "How long did they say?"

"I don't know, just a few hours?" Xavier shrugged.

"Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up."

"Yeah..." Xavier grimaced, pulling his cracked iPhone out of his pocket. "I had another little accident."

You huffed a laugh, grabbing a clean towel and setting it on the counter. "What did you do?"

"I tripped and fell, it landed in a puddle, and now it won't turn on, this piece of shit," Xavier mumbled.

"Take a shower, I'll wash your clothes. When you're done, you still have clothes here from the last time you invaded my home." You joked, averting your eyes as Xavier slipped off his drenched shirt.

"I was drunk, and friends don't let friends drive drunk, y/n," he smirked at you. He had already started unbuttoning his expensive jeans when you slammed the door in his face.

When he was done, he came out and lounged with you on the couch. The same one that was now in your new apartment. You forced him to watch Heathers and yelled at him whenever he put his cold feet against your warm body.

Xavier used your phone to call about his car, and they said he'd have to come to look at it in the morning. He smiled at you as you rolled your eyes, granting him permission to sleepover, and you'd drop him off. This is what started your movie marathon traditions. And it's when Xavier kissed you for the first time.

Ever since then, it was like a poorly written romance novel.

You started dating after Montana assured you she wouldn't hate your guts. At the time, Xavier was taking acting classes, making money on the side doing mediocre jobs. You were just months short of getting your degree, and your current job as your primary source of income when you eventually moved in together.

Xavier slowly booked more and more roles over the years. He refused all commercial gigs until his agent eventually stopped offering them. Xavier was proud of his work and spent many nights holding you and telling you when he wins his first Oscar, you better be in the audience so he can show the world what keeps him grounded in life outside of the screen.

Xavier was arrogant about his fame to outsiders. In his inner circle, however, he knew that one day he would blow up. You believed in him, you loved and adored him, and all his accomplishments so far.

Those were the good times.

One thing that Xavier was never open about to anyone besides you was his history with drugs.

Montana had known he was a user when they met. The story was that his parents sent him to rehab after finding needles and a bag of heroin in his room.

But that's all it was, a story.

You remember the night perfectly. You were forced to work over as someone bailed on their shift, and like tonight, you texted Xavier and told him you'd be late, just to get no answer.

When you arrived, the living room was empty, and the house was dark. You called his name after setting your things down, seeing the light coming from the bathroom door. You walked to it, knocking gently.

"Xavier?"

You could hear the shower running and what sounded like quiet sniffles. You frowned, going to touch the handle when you heard his voice. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay, babe?" You questioned. Xavier remained silent for a few seconds, and you could hear the sound of skin against the tub as if he were sitting down.

"I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute." He called, his voice thick.

You decided to leave him be, going into your bedroom and stripping from your uniform. Xavier never liked to cry in front of you. He was self-conscious about it, he wanted you to know he could be strong for you. As much as you told him you hated it, you had only seen him cry a handful of times.

You laid on the bed in your bra and panties, pulling a blanket over you as the bathroom door creaked open. Xavier shuffled into your room, wearing sweatpants and his blond hair pushed away from his face. You could already tell his eyes were red as he put his dirty clothes in the hamper.

"The shower's free," he said, his voice monotone. Xavier refused to look at you. He crossed the room, sitting on the bed before plopping on his back, his head nudged your leg.

"What's wrong, Xavier?" You asked gently. You could smell his body wash, and you slowly pushed yourself down, so your heads were level. He kept his eyes closed.

"I'm fine, y/n,"

You tsked at him. "Your eyes were red."

"So? I got soap in them."

You rolled your eyes, "Don't lie to me, Xavier Plympton!"

"I really don't want to talk about it, babe." He groaned. You continued to stare at him until he opened one eye, snapping it shut when he realized he got caught.

"I had a long day," you whispered. "Please, tell me what's bothering you, Xavier. It's going to kill me inside."

Xavier stared up at the ceiling after he finally cracked. He told you what really happened when he was younger.

When he was 18, one of his closest friends at the time, Andrew, started to become heavily involved in drugs. Xavier initially tried to get him to stop, but one day he was stupidly persuaded to try some. You played with his hair as he quietly explained how it got out of control. Whenever Xavier was angry or upset, he would use.

And then, his friend died.

By the time his parents found him, it was too late. His anniversary had passed a few days before, and suddenly Xavier's sour mood the past few days made sense. You held him tightly as he went on to say that shortly after his friend's funeral, he left his home in the middle of the night and wandered to a park where he injected himself and passed out after stumbling around and hitting his head.

He woke up the next day to a man named Blake, who threatened to expose Xavier's drug use if he didn't repay him for saving Xavier in the park. Your heart pounded in your chest as Xavier admitted that he had made porn, specifically with other males after being extorted by Blake.

You didn't know what to say at this admission. Your heartbreak was not because your current boyfriend, who you've had sex with many times, slept with other men. That was Xavier's worst fear, you abandoning him or leaving after he kept it from you. Your heart was breaking because of what this disgusting man did to the love of your life.

"You don't hate me?" Xavier tearfully asked after you comforted him.

"I don't hate you." You confirmed.

Xavier finished by saying he got away once Blake was arrested for his actions. Xavier and countless other men, some underage, were freed from the monster, but some never fully recovered for the mental abuse they suffered.

"After that, I told my parents that I didn't want to end up like Andrew. I didn't want to die, I wanted to get better. That's when I went and got help, and I've been clean ever since, y/n,"

That was a year ago.

Which is why when you got the call from Montana, your heart shattered.

"They found him slumped over, y/n," Montana said tearfully into the phone as you ran to your car, tears threatening your vision as you climbed inside, gasping for breath. "They were able to revive him, but his parents are out of town, and they won't let me inside!"

"I'll be there soon!" You cried into the phone as you drove as fast as you could to the hospital Montana said they were at. She stayed on the line with you the entire time, but you were both dead silent.

You were out of breath when you finally met her, hugging her tightly as Trevor and Chet stood up at the sight of you.

"We tried contacting his parents again, but they're not fucking answering," Chet explained as he and Montana followed you to the receptionist currently talking on the phone. "None of us are his emergency contact, his mom called me and begged us to come here. They might be on a plane ride back."

"I don't know if I am," you breathed as you impatiently waited for the lady to hang up. "M-Maybe I'll tell them we're engaged, or married?" You whispered.

"Married, most definitely," Montana mumbled.

Chet answered his phone when it started ringing, before stating he was going to meet Ray downstairs and bring him up. You watched him go, feeling more tears well up as the lady finally hung up, typing away on her computer.

"Excuse me!" You gasped, hitting the desk as you all but ran to it. She jumped back, looking at your disheveled state before her eyes settled on Montana.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I've already told you-"

"I'm his wife!" You choked up, causing the woman to look at you. "I-I should be one of his contacts."

The woman slowly looked at your hands, seeing the promise ring Xavier had given you on your first anniversary. She sighed before looking up his files.

"Name?" She asked.

You repeated your name, almost crying in relief when she stood up, "Come on, Mrs. Plympton," she said. Montana watched as you walked off, unable to keep the slight smirk off her face.

When you approached his room, a doctor was just coming out. He stopped at the sight of you two, quirking an eyebrow at the lady as she quietly explained who you were.

"How is he?" You blurted out, not meaning to interrupt the nurse as she spoke.

"He's awake, his vitals are back to normal, but he is a little out of it, I'm afraid." He said before his eyes slowly trailed you up and down. "Mrs. Plympton, are you aware your husband is a user?"

Your mouth was dry as you answered, "Xavier had been sober for almost four years, I-I had no idea he was using again..."

The doctor slowly nodded, but you could still feel his judgemental stare as you shifted uncomfortably. "If I were you, I'd consider the possibility he may need to enter rehabilitation. The use of heroin has become quite an epidemic, if he has been sober for as long as you said, a relapse would seem rather unlikely-"

"Doctor Stephens, with all do respect, I do not believe this is the appropriate time or place," the nurse said, glaring at him as she gently squeezed your arm. "Her husband almost died. Let her see him before we discuss any further steps."

You looked at her gratefully, before noticing her last name was also Stephens. You hid your smile as you realized they were probably married.

"Very well, in you go," he said, before nudging you inside. As the door clicked shut behind you, you heard him mumble, "Sharon, in the workplace we are not-"

You slowly approached Xavier's bed as he tiredly glared at the television, playing old reruns of Friends. He whipped his head around at the sound of your footsteps, and a mixture of relief and remorse crossed his face. "y/n?"

You let the tears spill over as you slowly approached him. His blue eyes shining at you from the reflection of the television. He was hooked up to machines, yet he moved over for you to climb into bed with him. He let you sob into his hair, his own lips trembling as he silently cried.

When you both seemed to settle down, that's when you began to talk.

"What happened, Xavier?" You sniffed. "What caused you to relapse?"

Xavier remained silent, bringing a hand to wipe at his face. The only sounds you could hear were the beeping of his heart monitor.

"When Blake went to trial," he began, "The courts ordered all of our... Tapes to be destroyed," he sighed. "They were, except for one,"

Your stomach dropped as his brows furrowed, another sob bubbling in his chest, but he pushed it down. "It was the second video Blake forced me to make. It was of another kid who was younger than me and me. It was his first time ever having sex. Someone found it, or it had been stolen before the trial, I don't know. It was uploaded to the internet last night, and..." he squeezed his eyes shut as the need to cry suddenly became too much. "I didn't know about it until the FBI called me and informed me today. They took it down, but-"

"Oh my God," you breathed out.

"They don't know how many copies exist, they're doing everything they can to track down the person who uploaded it, but my life is so FUCKED up!" He yelled, more tears spilling over as he buried his head in your chest.

"H-Has anybody?..."

"I don't know, nobody has reported on it, my fucking Instagram hasn't blown up or anything, but my fucking life was supposed to start over, that was all supposed to be behind me." He said. "Some times, I can almost forget that it even happened. My life has changed so much in the past four years. I never had the urge to use again until tonight."

His voice was so broken and small that you almost didn't recognize it. You stroked his hair, hoping it still had the same calming effect on him like the many times before.

"You've come so far, Xavier," you whispered to him. "Everything you've been through, everything you've become is so inspiring." You started to comfort him, but he shook his head in disappointment.

"I'm too much of a fuck-up, y/n," he mumbled. "You don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve you."

"Don't you dare fucking say that!" You gasped.

"It's true, y/n," Xavier said. "Whatever happens because of this, I don't want to be the one responsible for ruining your life. It's going to get out what happened to me tonight, what that guy did, and what I did to myself. You deserve nothing but happiness and a great life."

"Please stop," you whimpered.

"If you want to leave me, I won't stop you. I-I love you too much to hurt you, y/n."

You squeezed him tighter, whispering assurances in his ear that you weren't going to leave him. You loved Xavier with all your heart. "I'm not throwing away two years of us being together over this."

Xavier cupped your wet cheek in his hand, bringing his lips to your forehead as you crumbled beneath his touch.

"W-We can get through this," you said. "Xavier, if people heard the story of what actually happened to you, your real fans will love and support you no matter what. What Blake did was a horrible thing, and now he is spending the rest of his life in prison."

Xavier nodded, but you could still see the hurt in his eyes. "They'll find out I was a heroin addict. Society doesn't care about people like me."

As much as you wanted to convince him he was wrong, you knew in a way that not everybody would be supportive of someone with an addiction, society could be unbearably cruel.

There was a knock at the door, and you both straightened up as two uniformed agents slowly stepped into the room. You immediately found yourself recoiling at the sight of them, more worry coursing through you as Xavier looked at them nervously.

They introduced themselves as partners with the FBI. Due to the ongoing investigation, no details of what happened tonight will be made public. Xavier wished for much secrecy as possible, not wanting any of this to get out.

"We are currently monitoring all adult websites and making sure no articles about this are being made public. The woman who found you is being cooperative and will not spread the word of what has happened, Mr. Plympton."

They stayed for about twenty minutes, explaining that Xavier was under their protection for the time being. When it’s time for him to discharge from the hospital, it will be at an undisclosed time and location, and they also informed you to not be alarmed if any agents show up at your doorstep.

After they left, Xavier was exhausted. You had since moved to the chair, continuing running your fingers through his hair as his eyes drooped.

"y/n?" He whispered.

"What is it, babe?" You asked.

"I'm happy you decided to stay."

You cracked a smile, "Did you really think I wouldn't have?"

Xavier didn't say anything but held a mischievous twinkle in his eye as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. You whispered to him as he slowly dozed off, promising him of a better tomorrow.

And most importantly, of your future with him by your side.

[obiternihili]

Ngo writes for the National Review and Quillette. Spins stories such as a hit and run into a group of BLM protestors as antifa attacking an old man. ( https://katu.com/news/local/driver-plows-through-protesters-in-downtown-portland | https://www.wsj.com/articles/a-leftist-mob-polices-portland-1539298766 ) . In the aftermath of that, right wing groups started protesting around Portland which led to what should be understood in democratic countries as normal outcomes of protest; groups A and anti-A arguing in the streets, occasionally breaking out into brawls in the same way drunks do in bars or sports fans do in parking lots. https://www.wweek.com/news/courts/2018/10/13/portland-streets-descend-into-bedlam-again-as-proud-boys-and-antifascists-maul-each-other/

And because apparently now “militant” means throwing a milkshake, despite the A groups being known for literally killing people, despite far-A groups being known for stockpiling weapons. An informal, completely unorganized aesthetic some informal counter-protestors with all the coordination of football brawlers get the militant label while the people they’re reacting to, people who nakedly want to overthrow democracy and commit human rights violations discriminating against and deporting a reasonable chunk of the country, despite being nakedly in bed with explicitly white nationalist groups and pushing their agenda, one gets the label militant and the other doesn’t. Gee, I wonder why?

At this point I’m largely going to plagiarize the article I’m using as a middle man. Sorry I just figure if I lead with the source instead of putting the text down as is you’d dismiss it instead of considering the fact that the article draws its information from such horrifically communist tabloids as “a local sinclair broadcaster” or “the wsj” “ It didn’t end there. The flash march created new viral moments. A video of a left-wing activist harassing a woman claiming to be a 9/11 widow was posted days later to The Daily Caller, which was cofounded by Tucker Carlson. (The woman appears to have lied about being a 9/11 widow.) Efforts to doxx the man hurling invective resulted in a professional skateboarder from Portland being falsely identified and inundated with death threats. Eventually the man in the video was identified, which started a new round of harassment. One source says the social service agency that fired him over the video “was flooded with hundreds of harassing calls and Facebook messages that were explicitly racist and threatening to harm and kill staff.”

Carlson credited Ngo with publicizing the videos. Ngo was a bit player, but the incident bolstered him. The incident was an example of a disturbing media model for the Trump era: opportunists using biased reporting, social media, and wild accusations inflame vigilante and digital mobs to target “enemies” such as the media, Democrats, and left-wing activists. Figures like Carlson and Ngo reap followers, prominence, and income from the outrage and threats of violence. But to keep the ratings and the money flowing, the outrage machine must be cranked ever louder, risking greater violence.

One political organizer in Portland who has received death threats stemming from Ngo’s work says, “It’s an arms race for money, and the narrative isn’t the point — the grift is. The larger, more offensive thing you can do, the system rewards it.”

This appears to be Ngo’s model. He uses social media to push biased opinions in conjunction with selectively edited videos that play to the bigotry of his audience. His followers get worked up, and this is often followed by a deluge of threats against his subject.

[source] has talked to six people in Portland, including journalists, political officials, and activists, who described harassing messages and threats of violence resulting from Ngo’s work or political involvement in Portland. Friends of two other activists claim they went into hiding after Ngo spread their names and they became targets of harassment. Some individuals who’ve tangled publicly with Ngo are reluctant to go on the record. They say they want to avoid the “trauma” of being subjected to a new round of death threats.

In fact, Ngo appears to rely on people not speaking up about his effect on them. He often writes of how activists won’t talk to him or they take down social media profiles after he focuses on them, seeming to imply they have something to hide. What he doesn’t mention is many say they are doing so to avoid harassment and threats of violence.

Madison, a Portland activist who tracks Ngo, says, “Ngo signals this is a person that should be targeted, should be harassed, and should be threatened. Andy puts a target on them and that results in the person being doxxed. Andy is giving people explicit permission to unleash hatred and violence on people. He absolutely knows what he is doing.” 

Ngo is so intertwined with the specter of violence [writer I’m plagiarizing] encountered it after just a Facebook post.  [writer I’m plagiarizing] wrote a post with the headline, “Andy Ngo is no journalist.” The post was shared by notorious right-wing figure, Carl Benjamin, aka, “Sargon of Akkad,” who has been featured on Ngo’s podcast and was banned from YouTube for repeatedly “joking” about raping a British Labour MP. In the comments on Benjamin’s post were calls for violence against [writer I’m plagiarizing], Antifa, and others. Within hours  [writer I’m plagiarizing] started receiving threats directly, such as “You’re a bunch of retards and it will be a glorious day when you all are dealt with,” and “You are a disgraceful liar. If you or anyone of your ilk throws even a fucking tissue at me or my family watch what the fuck happens to your family lol.”

Now this model threatens to turn deadly. On June 29, Andy Ngo was attacked in Portland while videoing a Patriot Prayer rally heavily outnumbered by Antifa. A video shows him being punched, kicked, and hit with coconut milkshakes and silly string by masked individuals. Within minutes, videos of the attack and of a beaten Ngo narrating the incident were picked up by right-wing media such as Breitbart that have a dodgy relationship to facts. Headlines screaming brutal assault, vicious assault, and vicious attack by Antifa on Ngo were pumped out.

The sensationalism breached the mainstream with CNN’s Jake Tapper sending out an ill-informed tweet above a video of Ngo being attacked, writing, “Antifa regularly attacks journalists; it’s reprehensible.”

In a bizarre twist, the Portland police threw fuel on the fire by tweeting that some milkshakes thrown on June 29 “contained quick-drying cement.” The police never provided evidence and observers, including journalists, noted that many counterprotesters drank the milkshakes, making it extremely unlikely anyone could have laced them with concrete. But amplified by conspiracy theorists like Jack Prosobiec, the tweet went viral, whereupon right-wing media turned the disinformation into fact and the mainstream press treated it as a credible assertion. The police tweet incited the Right further and the group that made the milkshakes was deluged with death threats. It culminated in the city being flooded with death threats. Days after Ngo was attacked, City Hall was evacuated after a bomb threat. One source inside City Hall says the mayor’s office received “insane vitriol” and every office was receiving threats, including almost 100 harassing calls that tied up emergency service dispatchers.

Far-right figures responded to the June 29 attack on Ngo with graphic threats, and plan to hold an “End Domestic Terrorism” and “End Antifa” rally in Portland on August 17. Such is the level of far-right anger that many in the city fear the rally could become another Charlottesville, or worse — given the anti-Latino murder spree in El Paso and other foiled white nationalist plots since then.”

Here’s a point where I mildly disagree with the writer I’m plagiarizing:

“ To be clear, the attack on Ngo should be condemned. It serves no political purpose, and the Left should not be attacking media makers, even if they use dicey methods.”

Ngo doxxes people and sicks his far right buddies on them, and it’s known he doesn’t do the due diligence to make sure the people he’s targeting are actually guilty. If you think it’s wrong when left-wing adjacent people on tungle or twitter do it, it’s still wrong when right wingers do it, holy shit. If you think it’s dangerous, the type of action that gets people lynched, you’re right! Fuckers like him and Milo need to be silenced. Yes, legally it’s unfeasible to do this without opening people up to loosing their freedom to publish or accuse; which is what movements like antifa serve to do - they do the dirty work the law cannot do so the law doesn’t have to break over every item-line exception to the necessarily clumsy, overgeneralized, poorly thought out “““principle”““ put into place. It’s the same sort of deal as wide-eyed idealistic and overly-narrowly focused deontic reasoning and utilitarian thinking, you know, the ethics that actually deal with consequences and reality.

Does it break the law? Yes. Does it violate principles? Yes. That’s the point - the principles underlying this shit aren’t fundamentally different mechanically speaking from the principles that lead to people’s hands being chopped off for stealing a snickers bar or because they didn’t want to live as a serf or why people are content with sending ethnic minorities to concentration camps because the Party said so. A principle that doesn’t have the nuance or flexibility to recognize when it needs to let other principles take the lead is a bad principle; you’ve fetishized it.

Of course there are other issues too. If you’re not comfortable letting Nazis throw milkshakes too you should be comfortable with people getting arrested for it. But of course fuck all because the cops take one side in all of this, lying about wet cement mix as seen above, so this principle needs to be nuanced for the fact that some people receive more violence from law enforcement than others.

It’s late, I’m tired, lazy, mad, and exhausted. At some point before the last paragraph I was going to ask for evidence of antifa kills comparable at all to the number of far-right kills in the last decade in America. Because it’s a valid question that’s rarely answered. Because again antifa have all the organizational structure and systematization of belief as drunks at a bar. But I can’t remember my rhetorical point.

Continuing.

“Some Antifa activists in Portland also admit the attack played into right-wing hands by elevating him.

That is exactly what’s happened. Trump has beatified Ngo as one of his sinless followers — “A single man standing there with a camera who never got hit and never hit back before in his life” — under assault from the “evil” Antifa full of “sick, bad people.”

But it would also be a mistake to see Ngo as an innocent or as a journalist, considering that whoever he turns his camera, social media, or pen on is at significant risk of being inundated with violent threats from the far right.

Shane Burley is author of Fascism Today: What It Is and How to End It, and a Portland-based journalist who covered the June 29 rally. He says, “I would never condone what happened to Andy Ngo, but I think there is a reason why he got in a conflict with protesters and dozens of other reporters present seemed to be left alone.”

Burley says, “One way to think of Andy Ngo is he is part of a far-right mediasphere that creates victimization narratives of conservatism and profit from it. It’s all about the embattled American man who is under siege at every turn, whether its trans children, immigrant criminals, anchor babies, or dangerous college campuses. ‘They are all out to destroy us and our values.’ It’s an entire infrastructure that’s moved from commentary like National Review to populist media hucksters drumming up a controversy. Ngo doesn’t seem to have many real journalistic credentials, and any he does is from creating controversy. He gets in the Wall Street Journal and New York Post from being a conservative celebrity. His actual reporting is very infrequent and sparse.”

Ngo adds a new element in facilitating violence, intentionally or not. Burley says, “He appears to target ideological opponents, which can make them fair game for harassment and violent confrontation.” The scale of the threats keep escalating. Now Portland is bracing for the August 17 rally.

                         Killing in the Name of Free Speech?                                      

For the last few years, the far right has used fascistic language about “cleansing” Portland, while its brawlers wore T-shirts proclaiming themselves kindred to South American death squads that killed thousands of leftists in the 1970s. But in advance of August 17, the language and memes from the far right have become more extreme. They’ve posted dozens of threats on social media pledging to kill Antifa and naming left-wing activists in Portland who should be shot during the End Antifa rally.

Individuals affiliated with Patriot Prayer and the Proud Boys talk of wanting to “slaughter” Antifa. Others have posted hair-raising images of a Portland activist and his partner with crosshairs over their faces and the words, “End Domestic Terrorist’s [sic].” Another image is of a knife cutting the throat of an antifascist with blood spraying out. This is especially ominous. In April 2017 white supremacist Jeremy Christian attended a Patriot Prayer in Portland and threw Nazi salutes while yelling “Die Muslims!” Weeks later Christian allegedly slashed the throats of three men, killing two, after they came to the defense of two black teenage girls, one wearing a hijab, whom Christian threatened by saying, “Go home. We need America here!”

One organizer of the End Antifa rally is Joe Biggs, a former staffer at Alex Jones’s Infowars website who has “encouraged date rape and punching transgender people.” He shared an illustration for the rally of a Proud Boy punching an antifascist, warning, “Free speech was fought for and paid for with blood. It will not be lost for anything less!” Biggs, whose Twitter account was suspended recently, used the platform to advise his followers to bring guns and declared “DEATH TO ANTIFA!!!!!!”

After the FBI visited him, Biggs now says “he wants a peaceful demonstration and has told his followers to keep their weapons at home.”

But that may be too little, too late as the far right is encouraging potential mass shooters to come to the rally. Recently, Haley Adams, a provocateur in Portland who told a reporter last year, “Damn straight I support white pride,” said on Facebook she “couldn’t wait” to meet Thomas Bartram on August 17. Bartram is an Infowars fan who showed up in El Paso days after the anti-Hispanic massacre and was briefly detained after allegedly brandishing a gun and trying to enter a migrant solidarity center. The center claimed police did not search Bartram’s truck that was decked out with violent pro-Trump images, saying “he has rights.” After being released, Bartram told media he was headed to the End Antifa rally.

What connects these dots is Andy Ngo. He even did his bit to stoke right-wing paranoia in El Paso. In a July 29 tweet Ngo included an image of a flyer about an immigrant rights “border resistance tour.” Ngo claimed stick figures on the flyer represent “border enforcement officers being killed & government property fired bombed” as part of a plot by Antifa to “converge on a 10-day siege in El Paso, TX.” It’s been retweeted more than 11,000 times and hundreds of comments endorse violence against Antifa. Four days later Patrick Crusius allegedly killed twenty-two people in an El Paso Walmart in “response to the Hispanic invasion of Texas.”

                         Gateway Bigotry                                      

Ngo’s ascendancy began as an editor at the Portland State University newspaper, The Vanguard. At a university interfaith panel convened in April 2017, Ngo tweeted a brief video claiming, “the Muslim student speaker said that apostates will be killed or banished in an Islamic state.” The entire clip shows the student gave a long answer in response to a hypothetical question about Quranic law. The panelists stressed they weren’t experts, and the Muslim student later said “he may have misspoke.”

Ngo’s tweet was picked up by Breitbart. The Vanguard fired him days later for a “dangerous oversimplification that violated very clear ethics outlined by the Society of Professional Journalists.” The Vanguard said Ngo’s actions “placed a PSU student in significant danger.” Ngo twisted his termination into an article for The National Review, “Fired for Reporting the Truth,” which the student paper said was a “misrepresentation” that resulted in “unjust threats” against them.

Critics see this episode as establishing a pattern in Ngo’s work: using charged language and selective facts on social media that stoke bigotry, putting his subject at risk of harassment while boosting his own reach and status. It worked because in 2018 Ngo graduated to writing a “racist” and “massively Islamophobic” travelogue to two Islamic communities in England for the Wall Street Journal.

But it’s in the city of Portland and state of Oregon that Ngo calls home where the most damage has been wrought. Zakir Khan is board chair of the Oregon chapter of the Council of American-Islamic Relations, a Muslim advocacy and civil rights organization. Khan says of Ngo, “That guy is obsessed with us.”

Ngo has tweeted dozens of times about CAIR, saying it “has done PR for terrorists & their families.” He characterized CAIR’s representation of the surviving child of the Muslim couple who committed the 2015 mass shooting in San Bernardino as advocating for “the terrorists’ orphaned baby.”

Recently, in a sprawling New York Post opinion Ngo claimed a “suspicious rise” in gay hate crimes in Portland fits a pattern of hoaxes. (Ngo found space in his 2,100-word article to quote a member of the Proud Boys, which experts call a “gang” notorious for violence, as “the most welcoming organization that I have ever been a part of.”)

Khan says, “We are seen as experts on hate crimes reform, so I questioned Ngo’s groundless claims of ‘hate-crime hoaxes.’ He is not an expert in the field.” Ngo responded by accusing CAIR of “terrorism” and “terror.”

After the exchange with Ngo, Khan says, “We received dozens of threatening and harassing messages. We weren’t able to log them all.” One post that tagged Ngo, as well as Michelle Malkin (who signal boosts Ngo and started a “Protect Andy Ngo” fundraiser after the June 29 attack that netted him nearly $200,000), read, “CAIR IS HAMAS! If you stand with your Muslem neighbors; prepare to die with your Muslem neighbors. We will take our country back![sic]” Ngo frequently claims that Hamas, the governing authority in Gaza, is connected to CAIR.

The irony of all this is that after CAIR challenges Ngo’s claim of hate crime hoaxes, he responds with what could be considered hate speech, accusing them of terrorism. This appears to have incited his followers to threaten and harass CAIR, actions which might qualify as hate crimes.

For his next act, Ngo joined Quillette where he is a “sub-editor.” Described as the voice of the intellectual dark web, Quillette published a report on May 29 claiming fifteen reporters who cover the far right were really “Antifa journalists.” According to the Columbia Journalism Review, the article by “estabished right-wing troll,” Eoin Lenihan, was picked up by the neo-Nazi Stormfront website within a day, and a day after that a video was uploaded to YouTube containing “imagery of mass shooters intercut with images of the [Antifa] reporters.” The names of the journalists were put on a list called “Sunset the Media,” while the video ends with a notorious neo-Nazi saying he won’t “disown” anyone who kills the reporters.

Two journalists, including Shane Burley, wrote of the unnerving effect of being put on a Neo-Nazi death list. Another targeted journalist wrote that Quillette had crossed the line from being merely reactionary to “reckless endangerment” and bluntly stated that its list “could’ve gotten me killed.”

The article was so shoddy, Lenihan was suspended from Twitter. But Ngo promoted the article and more significantly continues to promote it — just as eight months after the fact, Ngo continued to claim that striking the protester from the Patrick Kimmons march is really evidence of Antifa taking their anger out on an elderly man.

In at least one instance it appears Ngo has doxxed activists himself. During May Day 2019, Ngo published a YouTube video that included him talking to members of the Portland chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America who were tabling for “Hands Off Venezuela.” The entire time Ngo points his camera at a sign-in sheet, not the person he is interviewing. In the video the sheet is digitally blurred. However, Connor Smith, a Portland DSA member, provided a still from what he claims is an earlier version of the video. The still includes a watermark of Ngo’s twitter handle, “@MrAndyNgo,” exactly the same as in the YouTube video. Eleven names can be seen on the sign-in sheet, including Smith’s, all of which have visible email addresses and six of which include phone numbers. Smith says at least one person on the list received threatening messages such as “Die commie.”

Smith claims it is a common right-wing tactic to doxx people on social media like YouTube and Twitter and then delete the offending material before it is removed for violating the platform’s rules. He says this cat-and-mouse game achieves the results the far right is looking for. “I’m sure some fascist has put all our names and phone numbers in a list.”

Ngo is more of a symptom, however.

Ngo couldn’t exist without social media companies which turn a blind eye to right-wing violence because having to monitor their platforms for hate speech would cut into their profits. Ngo also needs Murdoch-owned media such as the New York Post, Wall Street Journal, and Fox News that allow him to masquerade his bigotry as journalism. These outlets, in turn, are amplified by the larger landscape of mainstream media, which often fail to distinguish between fact-based journalism and pro-Trump, white nationalistic propaganda. Add in police who collaborate with the far right and weak political leaders, as in Portland, and you have all the conditions needed for opportunists like Andy Ngo to grab the spotlight.

Ngo is just the latest inflammatory right-wing agent in Portland who’s tried to vault to the big leagues. Before him was Patriot Prayer leader Joey Gibson, who has seen his ranks of violent white nationalists dwindle due to infighting and long-overdue arrests.

Way back in 2016, before Gibson, was another media provocateur, Michael Strickland. Strickland shot his YouTube career — which mainly featured him doxxing and harassing local activists — in the foot after he pulled a gun on a Black Lives Matter protest while being armed with enough ammunition for a massacre.

That’s not to say the Left should ignore the likes of Andy Ngo or even Tucker Carlson. They are both the cause and effect of white nationalism and the violence that comes with it. Their synergy is also a reflection of the complex digital landscape. Legacy media like the Wall Street Journal, the New York Post, and even Fox News need Andy Ngo just as much as he needs them. They gave him a platform not for his shoddy reporting and tired bigotry, but for the audience he’s amassed, even if it’s a digital lynch mob.”

[imagines-dreams]

Her or the Revolution - Connor RK800 Imagine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of death, confusion, kidnapping, slight manipulation

Summary: You were a family friend of the Anderson’s. When Cole died, you were there for Hank. Whenever he was wasted, you made sure he got home safe with water and advil by his bed. One night, when Hank was too drunk to function, you met Connor when he tried to break into the house through a window. Since then, the two of you have become close. And on the night of the raid of Jericho and the peaceful android protest, he asks for your help.

Word Count: 2050

You switched between news channels. The androids were performing a peaceful protest in front of the android camps. Hank couldn’t take it anymore, so he had gone out to do some errands. He was getting more drinks, and you knew it, but you couldn’t blame him. Connor had left to stop Jericho. Thankfully, he became a deviant before that could happen. He had texted you, saying to stay safe and that he’ll introduce you to everyone, including the famous Markus, when everything is over.

Too bad you couldn’t go with him. You wanted to keep him safe. Connor, he was very important to you.

The doorbell rang.

You gasped and rushed to open the door. “Connor!” You smiled at him and hugged him. “Why are you here? Is everything ok?” You pulled away and checked his face for any injuries. Connor’s expression was stoic, but he cracked a smile. “I’m in perfect condition, (Y/n).”

You squinted at him. “Wait, is something wrong? Do you need help?”

Connor adjusted his tie. “Yes. I require your assistance. I need to go to the Cyberlife tower.”

You tilted your head.  Couldn’t he get in himself? “Why do you need me?”

“Amanda suspects that I am falling prey to deviancy, so you must bring me inside for a maintenance check-up. It would be better for a human to introduce a possible problem with my model than for me, an android, to do so.”

You nodded. “Great. I’ll go get my g-”

Connor interrupted you, “There’s no time. Please, get inside the car, and we will arrive in approximately six minutes.”

You blinked a few times. “Ok.” You let Connor lead you to the passenger side of the car.

When the two of you pulled up to the first security gate, you leaned over to lie about Connor condition. However, Connor just introduced himself, “My name is Connor, and (Y/n) (Y/l/n) is in the passenger seat.”

The gate opened.

You stared at Connor. He said that they wouldn’t let him in. He lied to you. Connor would never lie to you.

Your heart jumped to your throat. There were many Connor’s. Just in case he died or failed his mission, there were more prototypes to replace him. This, the man driving you to Cyberlife and who convinced you not to take a gun with you, was not your Connor. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

You reached for the door handle.

He cocked a gun.

You whimpered and let tears slip down your cheeks.

“I wouldn’t try to escape, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

Your breath faltered. “Connor, whatever he needs to do, he will do it.” You shook your head. “He wouldn’t give it all up for one life. It’s not logical.”

“It’s not logical for an android to go against its programming, yet here we are.”

He parked the car and, with a gun aimed at your head, led you to the basement of Cyberlife tower. “Don’t make a sound, unless I say so.”

You stood still and rubbed your arms. You had to stay strong. Connor needed to know it was ok. Of course, you were terrified. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to live another day, to see Connor get his freedom, to meet Markus, to get to know the struggles of androids, to see them get the right they deserved. You wanted to spend time with Connor. You wanted to see his smile again, to hear his laughter, to teach him the simple things of life, to learn the mystery of humanity with him.

But, you... You weren’t that important. If ending your life meant the freedom of androids, of Connor, you’d let him do it. You had to.

The fake dragged you out into the open. The barrel of the gun touched your hair, and you froze in place. You flinched in fear, all those memories you wanted to make flashing before your eyes. You shut your eyes as tightly as you could and looked away from Connor as his so-called replacement demanded, “Step back, Connor, and I’ll spare her.”

You could feel Connor’s eyes on yours, and even though you couldn’t see him, you knew he was worried. Your name slipped from his lips, and you wanted to sob. “I’m sorry, Connor,” you apologized. You didn’t dare lift your eyes. “He… I thought it was you, and he said he needed help and I couldn’t-”

“Her life is in your hands. Now, it’s time to decide what matters most. Her?” He pressed the gun into your head, and you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped.

“Or the revolution?”

“Th-The revolution.” You stuttered. “Con, please, my life, it’s nothing compared the thousands you can save right now.” You tried to smile, but your cheeks quivered from the force of your tears. You blinked a few times. You had to stay strong. For the androids. For Connor.

Connor stared at you with wide eyes, his hand so close to the non-deviant’s. He had that when he felt the deviant die that it would be the only time he’d feel that overwhelming terror of death other than his own death. But when he saw you so near that point, with a gun at your head, aimed by someone of his own image, the familiar and unwelcome terror raced back to greet him with a crash.

Connor’s clone shook the gun. “Choose, Co-”

“Alright!” Connor stepped away from the androids.

“No,” you gasped. You lifted your leg to step towards him, but your enemy grabbed your hand and pulled you back. “Connor!” you screamed.

“It’s ok,” he said with a smile. “It’ll be alright, I promise.” He took a deep breath. “You win. Just let her go.”

The one that held you captive didn’t let go just yet. It gave you enough time to see what was around you. The only problem was there wasn’t much you could do. The main thing would be to get the gun out of his hand, but in your position, you were too vulnerable to do so.

The fake pushed you away and aimed the gun at your Connor.

You tackled the fake just as the bullet left the barrel. You held onto the fake as he wrestled you and tried to shake you off. Just when you felt the cold metal of the gun brush against your stomach, your Connor rushed to the two of you, pushed you away from the incoming fight, and threw the other Connor to the ground.

As the two wrestled with each other, you searched the area. Your eyes lit up when you found the gun right by an android’s feet. You raced to get it. You pointed the gun at the fight.

Shit.

Connor… Which one was he?

You observed their fight, but nothing seemed to give him away. Both were the same model, they’d have the same strategy and moves. Connor even told you that his memory could be uploaded into other models.

“Hey!” you shouted.

The two stared at you, separated, and slowly got up.

“Thanks, (Y/n),” the one on your left said. “I couldn’t do anything without you.”

You aimed your gun for the one on your left. “What are you doing?” the right one asked. “Get rid of the clone. We don’t have much time.”

“(Y/n),” the other tried, “please, it’s me.”

“Shut up,” you demanded. You gulped. There was no physical difference between the two. Even that one strand of hair that always fell over his forehead was the same. “Ok, one of you is my friend, the other held a gun to my head.” The left one moved, so you aimed your gun at him. “So, we’re gonna do some trivia.” You held your chin up high. “When did we meet?”

The right one responded quicker. “You were at Hank’s front door when he was absent from his duties. You got the spare key from a potted plant and proceeded to help me sober him up. That night, you told me about your routines to help Hank since his son’s death.”

“He uploaded my memories,” the left one whispered. “(Y/n), he has all of my memories. I would’ve said the same thing.”

The right one argued, “No, that one uploaded all my memories. I’m the real Connor.”

You looked between the two as you tried to find a question that only Connor would know. You couldn’t ask about memories. You couldn’t even ask about implications from dialogue. Both of them would know.

You took a deep breath. “Humans differentiate themselves from animals because we are the only ones that imagine a future.” The aim of your gun wavered between the two. “Androids, Connor’s model, they could do it, too, but only for the mission. However…” You gulped. “Deviants, they can imagine a future without having to need that imagination for a mission.” You pointed your gun straight at the left one. “Whoever is my Connor, tell me, what do you plan to do if we survive?”

The one on the right looked at the ground, the LED light flashing yellow. “I want to introduce you to my friends. Some don’t believe a human like you could understand the revolution, and Markus wants to meet you, too.”

You raised an eyebrow. The right one was correct.

The one on the left just smiled softly. “I wanted to walk Sumo with you. Let you show me the Detroit.” He stepped forward, and you let him continue, “I-I wanted to spend more time with you. I like seeing your smile, hearing your laugh.” He took a deep breath. “And after today,” his expression hardened as he thought back to mere moments ago when you were so near death, “I don’t want to ever see you cry again.”

Your expression softened at his retelling of his wants. He was Connor. The one of your left, he was your Connor.

You aimed for the one on your right. “Even Connor’s clone would know his texts.” And just as the non-deviant barrelled towards you, you shot right in the head.

The fake fell to the floor, eyes hauntingly open, reminding you that this was far from over. Connor immediately went to your side and examined you. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” you said.” You smiled and touched his cheek. “I’m fine, I promise.” His eyes held so much fear and worry, you weren’t sure how others couldn’t see that androids were just like humans. He cared about you. And god, did you care about him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have been-”

“I’m ok now.” You laughed a little. “I’m ok now, especially since I know you’re going to be ok.” You sighed and kissed his cheek.

Connor froze. It was the first time you had kissed him. He had seen you do it before to a close friend of yours when saying goodbye. Was that why you kissed him? You were still worried. But, kisses were also for affection, for friends, romantic interests, family. Was he that important to you only in that moment?

Connor cleared his throat. “Why did you do that?”

You saw the blue blush fill his cheeks. You giggled and said softly, “I’ll answer that when you come back safely. For now, Connor, isn’t there something you need to do?”

Your friend smiled. “You’re right. There are a few things I need to do.” He held your hands. “Go home.”

“No.”

“You’ve been through enough.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his pained voice stopped you, “Please, (Y/n), I care about you.”

You sighed. To be fair, there wasn’t much you could do. Connor needed to convert the batch of androids and bring them to Markus. Even if you went with him and the army wasn’t sympathetic, they’d shoot you and him. You had to go back home. There was no other choice. “Ok,” you agreed. “I’ll go back home.”

Connor let out a breath and bowed his head. “Thank you,” he breathed. He smiled. Then, Connor leaned over slightly. Your eyes fluttered close just as his lips brushed against your forehead. “Stay safe.” He beamed. “I’ll tell you when everything is over.”

You nodded. “Come back alive.”

“I promise.”

[areyoureadyforsomemeatballz]

Happy Campers

Summary: Your childhood best friend decides to purchase the summer camp you went to as children on a whim. After losing your job and fiancé she offers you a job at the camp for the summer as an escape.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (eventually)

Word Count: 1340

Warnings: Swearing. Brief mentions of murder and a controlling partner.

It was sweltering in New York City. If meteorologists were to be believed it was gearing up to be the hottest summer on record. The city you usually loved smelled like hot garbage, plunging you into an even worse mood. You bustle out of your office building onto the scorching streets, your arms full of the odds and ends that usually fill your now-vacant office. The thought of getting on to the subway made your skin crawl and made the executive decision to get a Lyft back to your apartment.

As the car pulls up the lanky man behind the wheel throws the car into park and rushes out to help you with your belongings. “Do you have anything else I can help you with, ma’am?”

“No, thank you for offering,” you say, his genuine desire to help brightens your sour mood, “Most drivers aren’t so eager to help, you fishing for a good review?”

He beams at this. “No ma’am, I used to be a cab driver. I guess I’m just used to doing as much as I can for my customers. But a good review would be much appreciated. It also looks as if you’ve had a rough day.”

“Rough week more like it, I broke off my engagement on Monday and just lost my job. Jesus, what is it about cab drivers that make it feel like you can spill your guts?”

“That is a saying, right? Taxi cabs being like confessionals and all that,” he replies, as he weaves in and out of traffic.

You let out an affirmative hum and lean your head against the window. Your eyes slip closed as you try not to focus on the storm that is threatening every aspect of your life.

The driver glances at you in the rear-view mirror and breaks the comfortable silence. “Love can be tricky and careers never seem to pan out as we planned, take it from me. I tried to win the heart of the love of my life. Only to have her snatched away by my cousin.”

“Damn, that’s some Shakespearian shit. I guess I’m not the only one with problems. Sorry I don’t have any cab confessional appropriate advice.”

Coming to a stop he turns around to face you. “It is so Shakespearian, Bantu is the Paris to my Romeo. He is as dishonorable as he is attractive. I’m curious- what is your inappropriate advice?”

“The childish thing to do would be to break them apart. Sticking with our Shakespeare theme the only option would be kidnapping. Maybe murder for that matter,” you say, laughing as he nods along.

“Then I could dump his carcass on Gita’s doorstep. Although that may not win me any brownie points and feels more Al Capone than Shakespeare.”

Your laughter peals throughout the car as he pulls to a stop in front of your building. “I would advise against that, but honestly maybe just tell her how you feel. She might surprise you and at least you won’t have any regrets,” you say sincerely as you step out of the car.

He rolls down the passenger side window and calls out to you. “Miss, you should consider being a cab driver if nothing else works out for you because that was solid cab advice. Have a nice night. I’m sure things turn in your favor very soon.”

Your smiling as his car pulls away from the curb and glance down at your phone, the Lyft app still open. What a strange guy, you think, but Dopinder deserves a good review.

******

Upstairs in your apartment, you peel off your pantsuit and pumps and rinse off in the shower before throwing on your favorite pair of threadbare sleep shorts and a tank top. It is too hot to even consider cooking and you pick up your phone to order out. You notice a string of texts from your best friend and open your messages.

NATASHA: Me and Wands are in the city tonight. We’ll be over in 30 and   then we can all go out for drinks

You sigh and check the time, noticing that they would be at your apartment in 15 minutes.

YOU: I had a shit day, bring wine and pizza. I’m not going out

NATASHA: You got it, dude. we haven’t had a whine and wine night in too long

YOU: Thanks babes. tonight’s going to be a real doozy

NATASHA: Yikes I’ll get an extra bottle

******

Natasha and Wanda let themselves into your place, their arms were laden with wine and junk food.

“Holy fuck,” Nat exclaims, glancing around at the changes in your apartment, “Numb-nuts is really gone. You are officially a free woman.”

After the break-up, you kept your and Brock’s shared apartment and had made some drastic changes. Not only was all ‘his’ furniture gone, but any memento that reminded you of him. Which left most of the space bare.

“We should be out celebrating,” Wanda added, glancing at the remains of your office piled up on the entry table as she poured each of you a glass of wine.

It wasn’t a surprise to you that your friends had hated your fiancé and after years of them complaining about him you had finally opened your eyes. You had met Brock in college and marriage had seemed like the next logical step in your relationship. He had slowly become more controlling and jealous, to the point where you had stopped spending time with people to placate him. The final straw had been him getting drunk at an office party and accusing you of cheating with one of your co-workers, Austin, who was happily married.

“What brings you two into the city?” you question, hoping to distract them for the time being.

Natasha raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you. “We’re here to pick up Steve, Sam and a few supplies to get the camp up and running.”

You smile, grateful that Natasha is playing along and keeping the focus off you. “Oh, that’s right! School is out in the next couple of weeks. Do you guys have everything ready?”

“We’re just putting some finishing touches on the cabins. You should come check the place out, it looks better than it did when we used to go.”

Your friends had purchased the summer camp that you had frequented as teenagers after the owners had decided to retire. They had decided that they couldn’t bear to have the camp demolished and decided to renovate it so that future generations would be able to enjoy it. Some of your best memories had been made at Camp Cranberry Lake, from your first kiss to deciding where you would go to college. Your unbreakable bond with Nat and Wanda had been forged there. You were happy that the camp would live on in their capable hands.

“I got fired today,” you blurt, unable to keep your emotions in any longer.  

“Yeah, we kinda noticed the boxes when we came in,” Nat retorted.

Wanda reached over and pinched Nat’s thigh. “Natasha! Be gentle with her.”

“We’ve never been gentle with each other before. Besides, Y/N this is a good thing.”

Your posture stiffened and you glanced at Natasha. “Dear Natty, please enlighten me how losing my only source of income is a good thing. I mean for fuck’s sake how am I going to afford rent?”

“There’s no rent at Camp Cranberry Lake, you losing your job gives you the perfect reason to come back with us,” Natasha declared while beaming at the two of you.

Wanda’s eyes light up at the suggestion. “I didn’t even think about that! Y/N, you could just come for a few weeks and help with the last of the renovations. Or you could stay on through the summer. It- it’ll be great everybody’s up there helping out, the whole old grou-”

Natasha shoots Wanda a pointed look cutting her short. “What do you say?”

You look around your gloomy apartment and then back to your friends.

“I’m in.”

Part Two

[sotheywrotestories]

Texts From a Lover

Request; None

Pairings; George Weasley x Reader

Warnings; Some language

7:32 p.m. Saturday, January 14

???: uh, hey. is this (Y/N)?

8:03 a.m. Sunday, January 15

(Y/N): Yes, this is she. Who is this?

???: hi, this is George, im one of Lees friends?

(Y/N): Oh, hi! You’re looking for the history notes, right?

George: yeah! thanks, by the way

(Y/N): No problem! They’re all handwritten. Would you like to pick them up?

George: yeah, sure. meet at the coffee shop?

(Y/N): Sounds good! See you in an hour?

George: definitely

3:43 p.m. Friday, January 28

George: hey, um, its George again. im not sure if you saved my contact or not

(Y/N): Hey George! Yeah, I did. What’s up?

George: i really hate to ask this, but i need your help in my history class again

(Y/N): No problem! Need my notes again?

George: i was actually wondering if you could help me, personally?

(Y/N): Oh, uh, sure! Same place?

George: same time?

(Y/N): Works for me!

11:27 p.m. Sunday. January 30

George: uh, hey, (Y/N), i know its late and youre probably asleep, but i had a really good time today

4:32 p.m. Wednesday, February 3

George: i passed my test, all thanks to you!

(Y/N): Congrats, George! I’m so happy!

George: but really! thank you!

(Y/N): Anytime!

7:23 p.m. Wednesday, February 24

(Y/N): Hey George!

George: uh, hey (Y/N)! whats up

(Y/N): Just checking in, it’s been a while! How’s your history class going?

George: great! thanks for asking!

George: hows your economics?

(Y/N): Just as boring as when we met, lol. 

George: man that sucks.

George: hey do you want to meet up again?

George: same place, same time?

11:56 p.m. Wednesday, February 24

(Y/N): Yeah, sounds great!

5:00 p.m. Sunday, February 28

George: im really sorry.

5:02 p.m. Sunday, February 28

George: im more than sorry. i had no idea. i guess Lee mightve mentioned it once or twice. i guess i wasnt paying attention. i had no idea, and if i had i wouldn’t have tried to kiss you. hes a lucky guy.

5:23 p.m. Sunday, February 28

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

5:22 p.m. Sunday, February 28

George: im sorry

12:32 a.m. Monday, March 1

(Y/N): I can’t blame you. You didn't know. 

3:32 p.m. Thursday, April 22

George: um hey again. 

George: i really hat to ask this.

George: could you help me, again? i may or may not be failing. 

(Y/N): Same place same time.

5:24 p.m. Wednesday, April 28

(Y/N): How did the test go?

George: great! thanks to you, again.

(Y/N): Yeah, no problem!

3:30 p.m. Friday, May 21

George: summer break!

George: actually youre still in class

George: but hey! Fred and i were wondering if you wanted to come camping with us!

George: you remember Fred from the party, right?

George: anyways, were meeting in our old spot, so come by after class

9:32 a.m. Tuesday, May 25

(Y/N): That was tons of fun! Thanks for inviting me!

George: anytime, (N/N)!

(Y/N): Do you happen to have my sweatshirt?

George: oh- about that

11:32 a.m. Tuesday, May 25

(Y/N): What about it?

George: you should come over

3:23 p.m. Saturday, May 29

(Y/N): I still have your sweater!

George: keep it, it looked better on you, anyway

(Y/N): No! George!

George: what? what if you need it again?

(Y/N): It’s summertime!

George: so?

(Y/N): Why’re you so difficult to work with!

6:25 a.m. Sunday, May 30

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

6:30 a.m. Sunday, May 30

George: dont act like youre not awake!

George: how early did you even drop it off?

6:45 a.m. Sunday, May 30

George: did you WASH it?

(Y/N): ;)

George: right, and im the difficult one

4:30 p.m. Thursday, June 10

(Y/N): Who let you into my apartment?

George: (B/F/N) of course!

(Y/N): I regret ever giving her a key

George: this is what you get for washing my sweater

(Y/N): This is because of your sweater?

Calling; “George”

5:46 p.m. Friday, June 11

Calling; “George”

Voicemail; To “George”

6:13 p.m. Friday, June 11

Calling; “George”

Voicemail; To “George”

6:14 p.m. Friday, June 11

(Y/N): George, please pick up.

6:53 p.m. Friday, June 11

Incoming Call; “George”

2:03 a.m. Saturday, June 12

George: you kept apologizing on the phone for keeping me up so late, I’m just glad you finally went to sleep. 

George: and you didn’t need to apologize. ever. you never need to apologize.

2:10 a.m. Saturday, June 12

George: he’s a douche, you know? he really doesnt deserve you

George: screw him. you dated for how long?

2:30 a.m. Saturday, June 12

George: my point is, you deserve a lot more than what he gave you. hes a lying, cheating bastard and if you think Fred and i arent going to prank him, youre wrong. 

12:16 p.m. Saturday, June 12

Incoming Call; “George”

12:17 p.m. Saturday, June 12

George: he im standing outside your apartment with a tub of ice cream.

George: please let me in

(Y/N): George I’m not home...

12:19 p.m. Saturday, June 12

George: shit

9:32 p.m. Saturday, July 10

(Y/N): I had a lot of fun tonight.

George: are you surprised?

(Y/N): Oh shut up you twat.

George: oh you know you love me

9:33 p.m. Saturday, July 10

Calling; “George”

10:34 p.m. Tuesday, July 27

Calling; “George”

Voicemail; To “George”

10:38 p.m. Tuesday, July 27

Incoming Call; “George”

George: which one?

10:49 p.m. Tuesday, July 27

(Y/N): No it’s okay, you don’t have to come.

George: which one?

10:52 p.m. Tuesday, July 27

Incoming Call; “George”

George; im on my way.

7:30 a.m. Sunday, July 31

(Y/N): I didn’t mean what I said

George: i know, love

(Y/N): Please be there, I can’t see her alone

George: are you sure?

(Y/N): George I can’t go to my mother’s funeral alone

1:39 p.m. Friday, September 24

(Y/N): The boxes are here

George: ill be home soon

(Y/N): I’ll start unpacking

4:32 p.m. Thursday, January 6

George: i love you, i hope youre having a good day

George: come home soon

5:24 p.m. Monday, February 28

(Y/N): I’m making your favorite tonight. Will you grab some milk on your way home?

George: on it

(Y/N): Thank you, sweetie

8:34 p.m. Tuesday, March 15

George: im sorry

9:00 p.m. Tuesday, March 15

Incoming Call; “George”

7:46 a.m. Wednesday, March 16

Calling; “George”

Voicemail; To “George”

7:50 a.m. Wednesday, March 16

Calling; “Fred”

Voicemail; To “Fred”

9:36 a.m. Friday, March 18

(Y/N): I’m coming home

George: please dont ever leave again

(Y/N): Please don’t make the same mistake again

George: really?

9:38 a.m. Friday, March 18

Incoming Call; “George”

10:46 a.m. Friday, March 18

(Y/N): Fine, just hang up on me then.

(Y/N): I’m staying with my sister for a little longer.

2:35 a.m. Monday, March 21

Incoming Call; “George”

12:00 a.m. Friday, April 1

(Y/N): Happy birthday Georgie

9:32 a.m. Friday, April 1

George: (Y/N) we literally sleep in the same bed

(Y/N): I wanted to say “Happy Birthday” first!

George: you couldnt have said it when I woke up?

(Y/N): Fred called you first thing!

George: true

7:23 p.m. Saturday, April 30

George: is it all right if i go out with Fred tonight?

(Y/N): Be careful!

George: i will, dont worry, love

11:32 p.m. Saturday, April 30

George: i missss yooou

12:03 a.m. Sunday, May 1

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

12:15 a.m. Sunday, May 1

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

12:17 a.m. Sunday, May 1

(Y/N): i swear to God George if these are drunk messages...

12:23 a.m. Sunday, May 1

(Y/N): I’m on my way

3:42 p.m. Monday, May 2

(Y/N): George where are you?

3:45 p.m. Monday, May 2

Calling; “George”

Voicemail; To “George”

3:50 p.m. Monday, May 2

(Y/N): George, your mom’s a wreck, please come back

2:56 p.m. Thursday, May 5

Calling; “George”

(Y/N): Where the hell were you?

George: i needed some time

3:05 p.m. Thursday, May 5

Calling; “George”

(Y/N): George answer your phone

8:42 a.m. Friday, May 6

(Y/N): So not only do you not show up to your brother’s funeral, but you also don’t come home?

5:43 a.m. Saturday, May 7

(Y/N): George please, I’m worried about you.

9:07 a.m. Saturday, May 7

Incoming Call; “George”

12:32 p.m. Saturday, May 7

(Y/N): Then I’ll go

8:34 a.m. Monday, May 8

George: you really left?

8:38 a.m. Monday, May 8

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

9:00 a.m. Monday, May 8

Incoming Call; “George”

Voicemail; From “George”

9:13 a.m. Monday, May 8

George: i fucked up didnt i

10:53 p.m. Wednesday, May 18

George: please (Y/N).

George: i love you

George: i didnt mean what i said

(Y/N): Then why say it?

2:34 p.m. Thursday, May 26

Incoming Call; “George”

“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to reach has a voicemailbox that is already full”

2:54 p.m. Thursday, May 26

George: (Y/N) im begging you

4:53 p.m. Tuesday, May 31

George: thank you

(Y/N): It’s a start

[soullesscircuits]

Rules: answer these 86 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people

tagged by @thankwheezus (Thank you thank you thank you!!!)

last

1. drink - Cereal milk, I think.  Unless that doesn’t count. Then water.

2. phone call - Incoming was the LOD at work calling to see if I could cover a call off, outgoing was...My mom.

3. text message - Both incoming and outgoing was my little (middle) brother

4. song you listened to - Awakening With You by Celldweller

5. time you cried - Uuuuh...  Sunday night at A:IW

ever

6. dated someone twice? - No

7. kissed someone and regretted it? -wiggly hand gesture-

8. been cheated on - No

9. lost someone special - Depends on how you define ‘special’ and ‘lost’.

10. been depressed -  Eeyup

11. gotten drunk and thrown up - Eeyup.

fave colors

12. Grey

13. Electric blue

14. Olive green

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends - A few, yeah

16. fallen out of love - Maybe? A year is a long time and love is weird. I couldn’t say for sure.

17. laughed until you cried - Probably?

18. found out someone was talking about you - Don’t think so?

19. met someone who changed you - Y... es?  Unsure.

20. found out who your friends are - Eh. Not really?

21. kissed someone on your Facebook friends list - Yes.

general

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know irl - I dunno who all is even on there.  The vast majority of them.

23. do you have any pets? - My son, my boy <3

24. do you want to change your name? -  Yes.

25. what did you do for your last birthday? I was in the car all gotdam day.

26. what time did you wake up today - 6 AM, give or take.

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - Scrolling tumblr, probably.

28. what is something you can’t wait for - Death  Poe to finish healing over so we can go camping!

29. when was the last time you saw your mom -  This morning when she woke me up at 6 in the gotdam morning

30. what are you listening to right now - Cry Plays: Night in the Woods (episode... 7, I think?)

31. have you ever talked to a person named Tom - Probably?  Off the top of my head, I couldn’t tell you.

32.something that’s getting on your nerves - My little brother’s alarms.  They go off ever 5 minutes or so and he won’t wake up to them but he won’t turn them off either.

33. most visited website - tumblr, probably? 

34. hair color - brown

35. long or short hair? - super short

36. do you have a crush on someone - who knows? maybe?

37. what do you like about yourself - not fuckin much lmao... (Uuuh...  I guess some of my writing is ok?)

38. want any piercings - yes yes yes!!!  I want to get my nose re-pierced, if nothing else.  Aesthetically, I’d love a septum, brow, and bridge.  But I won’t do any of those because a) I’m a coward, and b) I feel like those would get infected real easy.

39. blood type - No idea.

40. nicknames - Soul, Soulless, Circuits, V, Ri, Narf, Kai, Hitori... There are many others I’ve been known by, but they’ve faded into antiquity.

41. relationship status - Yes.  (Taken but available - polyamorous)

42. zodiac - Capricorn

43. pronouns - They/them is the go to, but any are fine.

44. fave tv shows - Travelers, Crazyhead, BtVS, XFiles, a variety of anime...

45. tattoos - None yet, but I definitely want some.

46. right or left handed - Right, but my left is passable in a pinch.

47.  ever had surgery - Two rounds of wisdom tooth extractions and another dental procedure that I don’t remember the name of to separate my lower lip from my gums (I think?)

48. piercings - Earlobe and a healed over nostril (2x)

49. sport - I’ve played a ton, but not anymore.  Figure skating, soccer, volleyball, basketball, golf, rowing, swimming, diving, tennis, cross country, gymnastics, softball...... I’m sure there were more, but I can’t think of them off the top of my head.

50. vacation - What about vacation?  The last one I’ve taken? (An overnight to Chicago with my family) The next one I want to take?  (Probably a camping trip with my boy)  My dream vacation? (Maybe a wide view of Japan or somewhere in SA or...  There’s a lot of places I’d like to go.  Maybe, if it’s a DREAM vacation, it would be a month long thing where I hop all over the world, never staying anywhere for long unless I wanted to)  What I do most often on vacation?  (Probably camping)  Gonna need to be more specific.

51. trainers(shoes?) - I’m barefoot right now.

52. eating - Nothing right now.  Most recently frozen Reece’s cups

53. drinking - Nothing right now. Most recently cereal milk (which I am strongly regretting rn holy shit i need to pick up some lactaid from walmart or smth)

54.  I am about to watch - The rest of this playthrough.  And then I’ll probably find another playthrough. Or maybe an anime.

55. waiting for - These fucks to get out of my house

56. want - death to get some gotdam stuff done today.

57. get married - I’d like the experience, but not terribly interested

58. career - Everything and nothing.  A nature photographer, maybe?  I’d like that.  Don’t think I’d make much of a living, though, so I’d still need a day job.  Something that lets me travel often, though. That’s the ultimate goal.

which is better

59. hugs or kisses - Hugs.

60. lips or eyes - Eyes.

61. shorter or taller - Taller, but shorter is also A+

62. older or younger - Older.

63. nice arms or stomach - Arms.

64. hookup or relationship - r...elationship?

65. troublemaker or hesitant - Hesitant

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger - Sort of?  The closest was someone I’d met earlier that night.

67. drank hard liquor - Yes.

68. lost glasses - No.

69. turned someone down - Not explicitly. I did drive off before someone who had asked for my number came back, though.

70. sex on first date - No.

71. broken someone’s heart - Who knows?  I doubt it, though.

72. had your heart broken - Mmmhm

73. been arrested - Nope.

74. cried when someone died - Yep.

75. fallen for a friend - Several times.

do you believe in

76. yourself - -wiggly hand gesture-

77. miracles - Not, like, divine intervention-type miracles, but things do sometimes just work out even when it seems impossible.

78. love at first sight - Not true love or anything, but a strong connection sure.

79. santa claus - I mean, like, the kid’s story had to come from somewhere.  I’m sure there was probably a real person at some point that he was based on.

80. kiss on a first date - Sure, if you wanna.  

81. angels - -wiggly hand gesture-  Maybe?  Not the commonly accepted idea of them probably though

other

82. best friends name - Fay

83. eye color - Hazel (they used to be real bright green, but they’re muddled and muddy now)

84. fave movie - Right now?  Probably...  Hm...  PacRim?  Maybe Princess Bride?

85. fave actor - Eh. Changes day to day.  Jeff Goldblum is a pretty good constant, though.

86. fave actress - Probs Winona Ryder.  Maybe Zoe Saldana, tho

I’ll reblog this later with tags but im tired and ive been working on this on and off all day sooooooo. yeah......

[therobincastle]

Go Mad For a Couple Grams || Self-Para

TW: Drug Use

ur comin tonight right?

havent seen u in forever

where r u ???

dont bitch out on me dude

Robin chewed his lip, staring down at his phone and all the incoming messages. Some of his old “friends” who worked on the same studio lot as Daemon Above were having a get-together and word got out that he was back in town. They had all been texting him nonstop all night and even though Robin was yet to reply, he hadn’t completely ruled it out. Maybe this would be a good thing. He was back in the real world finally, and what was wrong with going out with the people he used to go out with? Other than the probability of him falling back into his old habits...

Deciding to just throw away any leftover inhibitions he had, Robin grabbed his dagger from underneath his pillow and strapped it into his belt, throwing on a long shirt and jacket to cover it. He texted their family driver to meet him at the end of the drive and grabbed his wallet and keys before slipping out of his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The lights were all dimmed in their unneccessary-because-there’s-literally-two-people-living-there-three-story house on the beach, Robin’s steps slow and careful so he could sneak out without getting caught.

“Robiiiiin,” Dove’s slow drawl rang out from the hallway behind him. Shit. He turned to see his mother exit from the kitchen, frowning at him with a glass of almost-finished wine in her hand. “Sweetie, where are you going? It’s late.”

Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and he refused to look guilty, even knowing that his mom could always tell when he was acting. “I’m going out. Is that a problem?”

She sighed heavily, leaning against the wall as she sipped at her glass. “Who with?”

“Just some friends,” Robin shrugged.

“Which. Friends?” Dove asked slowly, her usually pretty features screwing into something more pained. “Robin, we talked about this.”

“Bullshit,” Robin sighed. “I need to go out, Mom. How else are people going to think nothing’s going on with me if they know I’m back in town but not even allowed outside of the house?” It was sound logic, more to a manager than a mother. Robin hoped she was swaying more to the former tonight. “Come on, I’ve wrapped on Buddy Holly, can’t I enjoy my time back in LA?”

“Baby...” Dove pouted, walking over to him. She ran her fingers through his curls, tugging worriedly at his ears. “I want to trust you... If I let you go, you have to promise me you’re going to make good decisions, and that you’ll be home before your new curfew.”

Robin flashed a cheeky grin. “Three a.m.?”

She gently smacked the side of his head. “Two. I want you back before two. And you leave your cell phone here and off. You have Drachma, so Iris Message me as soon as there’s an emergency,” she kissed Robin all over his face until he managed to wriggle free, crying out in embarrassment. He jogged down the long driveway, entering the code to their gate so he could slip out into the neighborhood. His driver was smoking a cigarette in front of the SUV.

“Hey, Maurice,” Robin greeted as the man opened the back door for him. “Why don’t we sit up front together?”

The man looked slightly surprised but smiled and shut the door, now offering him shotgun. “Good to have you back, kid.”

They pulled up to the apartment complex, Robin promising he’d be back out front by 1:45 so they could get home and that he’d have his mother call him if he ended up needing to go home earlier than that. He could already hear music blasting from the loft as the elevator doors opened on the correct floor, the door unlocked. There were about fifty people all hanging around the apartment. Robin’s appearance had a ripple effect, people too high, drunk, or both to notice his arrival right away. Slow yells of recognition rang out, varying jeers and rough hands giving him a greeting. He recognized some of the people but didn’t know them by name, looking around for the kids he did know. There was a pile of them all sitting on a king-sized bed on the floor in the corner of the room.

“Rob, man, you made it!” Flynn, cried out, jumping off the bed to grab him. “Holy shit, you got tall! You’re looking skinny too,” he grabbed at Robin’s arms and gave them a shake.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin brushed him off, kind of annoyed because he thought he was starting to build a little muscle thanks to camp.

Flynn flung an arm around Robin’s shoulders, dragging him over to sit on the bed. “You remember Arissa, Vic, Marnie, Jules?” he pointed out all the people and Robin nodded despite not really remembering them at all. They were all in their early twenties, none of them actors like Flynn, just friends he made through the scene. “Dude, Jules got the nastiest shit bro, you gotta try it, it’s life changing,” He leaned over the nightstand and grabbed a razor blade to make a line of whatever mix of cocaine and probably Adderall on the table for him. Robin felt ill just looking at it.

“Ah, actually man, I’m not really down for that tonight,” he scratched the back of his neck.

Flynn scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Robin. This isn’t like last time when that shit messed you up for two days. We got this from a way better guy, not shady at all,” he finished up the line and pushed a straw into Robin’s hand. He tossed it aside on the bed, Flynn flashing him an annoyed look. “What the fuck, man? Next you’re going to tell me you don’t what a shot of top-shelf tequila next.”

“I don’t,” Robin said stiffly, standing up now. “Listen, man, I just came here to hang out, I don’t... I don’t want anything.”

“They allllll say that,” one of the girls, Arissa or Marnie, he wasn’t sure since these Instagram models all started to look the same to him. “You’ll change your mind after you try it.”

The other either Arissa or Marnie sat up now where she had been draped over the edge of the bed. She wasn’t wearing a top and her make up was smeared. Robin decided to focus his attention on the false eyelash clinging onto the corner of her lid for dear life. “Didn’t you guys hear? Lil birdie here has been locked up,” she slurred.

“What, like house arrest?” Flynn scoffed before snorting the line he had just insisted Robin take. He started making another two immediately.

“Rehab,” the girl corrected before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“No shit,” Flynn said with wide eyes, looking at Robin. “That true?”

“Of course not,” Robin scoffed immediately, crossing his arms. “Just been working on personal projects right now.”

“That why you get kicked off that dinky zombie show?” the other guy on the bed snickered. A few other party-goers had wandered over, all vying for more of whatever these drug-mongers had holed up in the corner. More of their attention was starting to shift to Robin, as blurry and incoherent as it was.

“I wasn’t kicked off,” Robin denied with a clenched jaw. “I left. It was a mutual decision.”

“Lay off him, guys,” Flynn crowed in annoyance before looking back at Robin. “Listen, kid, I believe you!” He starts prepping a needle now, one of the girls climbing over and sitting next to him like a patient lining up for her flu shot. “If you’re not one of those bitches who gets sucked into that rehabilitation bullshit, then take a hit.”

Robin shook his head. “I’m just gonna leave if this is how you’re gonna be, you dick.”

Flynn stared at him coldly, looking him over again. “This ain’t a good look for you, Baby Boy.” He turned to everyone else on the bed as he injected the girl sitting next to him. Robin watched the way the needle sank into the skin, wondering how many collapsed veins the girl already had. He watched the plunger sink down, hardly hearing what Flynn was saying until he came back to himself. “...what happens when you go to rehab, folks.”

“I wasn’t in rehab!” Robin shouted over the music. “What the fuck is wrong with me just trying to get clean?” He crossed his arms uncomfortably over his chest. His faded track marks were starting to itch just watching the administration in front of him. People were staring now, the interaction sobering them up somewhat. Robin could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his ears going red. “Whatever. Just get me a fucking blunt if that will get you guys to lay the fuck off,” he groaned. He had cut himself off cold turkey, and the strong stench of marijuana hanging in the air was like a secondhand high that his body craved more of.

It’s not that bad. A puff or two isn’t that bad. You’re not backsliding. No one at camp will have to know and these people will keep their mouths shut.

“No,” Flynn chuckled, reaching out to stop one of his friends who was holding a roach out to Robin. “No, no, no. You wanna prove you weren’t in rehab?” He scraped together another line. “Bump this shit.”

“I already said--”

“I know what you fuckin’ said,” Flynn interrupted. “But I know it’s a fuckin’ lie if you’re gonna stay up there on your high horse now that you’re too good for a little fun.” He held out the straw again. “Now shut up and snort the damn coke, pussy.”

Robin angrily snatched the straw from him and bent over the table, immediate drunken cheers of approval coming from the onlookers. Robin hesitated, looking at the dusty little line of coke. He thought about what happened when he was angry and frustrated with someone. How easy it would be to turn one deadly look on Flynn and make him wish he hadn’t tried to threaten Robin’s life, his career. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make him pay-- teach him a lesson. Use his powers to drive Flynn to be locked up in a place much worse than rehab. He deserved to have his mind turned inside out, that dark impulse sneaking up on Robin’s clear and sober mind.

Then he thought about his mother’s face, covered in tears as he shook him awake, a needle still poking out of his arm. Melody’s kind smiles every time she helped him work through the withdrawal symptoms. Penny screaming at him almost two years ago that he needed to quit. Dean and Aaron’s endless support no matter how frustrating or annoying he was.

The burn felt great.

“Atta boy,” he heard Flynn mutter under his breath as Robin stood back up, wiping his sleeve across his nose.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin dropped the straw to the table and walked away. It would be a matter of time before the reality of his situation sank in on him, but Robin didn’t mind. The high was supposed to be fun, right? It was the calm before the storm, and Robin did feel calm. Sated enough to forget how close he was to using his powers on Flynn.

There wasn’t really anywhere to go in the studio apartment, but he managed to slip outside where another group sat on the balcony, all smoking weed. They greeted Robin with lazy waves and grunts, not paying him any mind as he sank down. He stared out blankly at the city below, a beautiful and ugly place. His hands were trembling now, Robin lowering his head between his knees. “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that,” he breathed softly. “Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit!” He kicked his foot out angrily, his sneaker colliding with the railing with a metallic shudder.

The group glanced over at him at he turned his face away, embarrassed by his outburst. “Yo, kid,” one of them called over to him. “You look like you could use some of this.” Robin didn’t need to look over to see that he was being offered some pot. 

“I’ll pass,” Robin said, swallowing back the bile in his throat. He didn’t like how hard it was to say no.

“You sure?” someone else asked. “It’ll help. I’ve got, like, a vape if that’s-- Shit, kid, your face.”

Robin looked fully at them now, brow wrinkling in confusion. He suddenly felt a warmth pooling against his shirt collar and turned to look at his reflection in the glass sliding door. Blood was gushing from his nose and he hadn’t even felt it. “Shit--” An irony tang sat on his lips as he scrambled to his feet, holding his sleeve over his nose and mouth. He stumbled back into the apartment, looking around for a bathroom. There were people milling around outside of it, a couple of girls doing more lines on the bathroom sink when he burst in. There were cries of annoyance asking him to knock, their irritation going ignored as Robin yanked on a toilet paper roll to get enough to mop up his bloody nose. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said as a soft mantra, clutching it to his face. The girls quickly hurried out of the bathroom, leaving the sink open. Robin clutched the stained surface to hold himself up, slowly lifting his head to look at his reflection.

Crimson was still smeared across his nose and chin, Robin running some water to try and wipe it away. “You’re a fucking moron, Castle,” he muttered to himself. The anxiety from before was coming back tenfold then, Robin’s eyes welling with tears. “Why did you do that?”

He knew exactly why. It wasn’t the peer pressure. It wasn’t the stupid double-edged threat of having to snort coke just so other people wouldn’t find out about his addiction. It wasn’t even the difficulty of recovery.

He did it because he wanted to.

Robin emerged from the bathroom, grabbing hold of the first guy he saw with a roll of something lit on the end. “Can I?” he asked dryly. The guy just nodded and pass him the joint, letting him take a pull. He coughed on the smoke, feeling his eyes sting as his lungs protested the sensation they hadn’t had to feel in a while.

Getting high won’t fix this.

You’re making it worse.

Stop now, you can still get home and sleep this off.

Mom’s going to hate you.

Robin sat outside of the apartment, back against the wall. No one paid him any mind as they came and went, a few dirty looks from neighbors who weren’t happy about the party inside but weren’t going to call any cops about it. It must’ve been 1:45 because as he sat there in a daze, he could feel a large man pick him up and sling him over a shoulder to carry him downstairs and put him back in the car, letting him lay down in the backseat. “Oh, kid...” he heard Maurice’s voice as a distorted echo, the world around him blurry and confusing even as he was helped into his house.

“Mom?” Robin called out in a weak voice. No answer. He closed the door quietly behind him and shuffled into the kitchen to get some water. There was no comfort food to be found, not in their kitchen. Robin caught his reflection in a hallway mirror as he made his way for the stairs. There was still some blood on his shirt and his eyes were bloodshot, hair messy. “Idiot,” Robin muttered, ascending all the way to the top step before he heard his mother’s voice from below.

“Robin?”

She sounded sleepy. Maybe she had stayed up after all. Robin contemplated rushing to his room. How was he supposed to face her like this? Still coming down off his high, throat raw and face pale. He backed up slowly, peeking into the den to see her lifting her head up from behind the couch, an empty wine glass tipped over on the glass coffee table.

“Robin, sweetie, how was your night?” she asked sleepily, yawning as she rested her cheek on the cushion. “Come here, baby.”

“I... I’m really tired, Mom,” Robin said, lip trembling. Fuck, his voice sounded so shaky.

“Just come here,” she requested again, softly. Robin turned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs, slowly going over to her. She looked at him sleepily, a slight frown clear on her face that would probably look more severe had it not been for the botox. He stood stiffly, feeling dead on his feet as she reached out to hold his hand, her own grip lazy. “I’m so proud of you, darling. I know how hard this has been and I’m glad to have you home.” A warm smile.

He flung himself down into her lap before he could stop himself, immediately bursting into tears. You stupid fuck up. He sobbed against her for what felt like hours, Dove rubbing his back and carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he cried into her chest, heaving to catch his breath as he wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, baby,” she mumbled, hugging him tightly against her. “You don’t have to be sorry. You got home before curfew,” she pat him on the head before sinking back onto the couch, letting him curl up into her. She doesn’t get it. “I know it’s tough but I knew you could do it. I knew that camp would be good for you,” she yawned and rested her chin on top of his head, quickly falling back asleep. She has no idea what you’ve done. “And I’ve been thinking... I think you’re ready to come stay here for good.”

Robin had been waiting to hear those exact words for months, but now it just put a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t deserve this.

Robin didn’t sleep well that night, and it wasn’t because he was curled up on an aesthetically pleasing and wholly uncomfortable couch with his mother. He woke up fully and alone sometime around ten. “Mom?” he croaked, looking around their open concept home. There was music playing softly from another room, but that didn’t mean much in their household. Robin eventually made his way upstairs, his poor decisions last night weighing heavy on his heart.

Without really thinking through the motions, he grabbed his largest duffle bag and started packing. He threw his dagger in last before hooking the huge bag over his shoulder. As he trudged down the stairs, he was mumbling to himself, trying to figure out the wording of a note he needed to leave for his mom... Maybe he wouldn’t leave a note at all. Just disappearing would be easier on the pains in his chest. Maybe he could make some bullshit up in a week about how he missed camp or something. 

Maybe she’d even pretend to believe him.

Robin’s hand was on the front door knob when he heard footsteps behind him. “Robin?” his mother inquired softly, rounding the corner from the kitchen. “Where are you off to? I was about to make breakfast-- or maybe we could go out? How about that gluten-free bagel shop you like so much? We should get you nice, well-balanced meal before your photoshoot today--”

“I did coke last night.”

Dove stood there, frozen. Robin almost couldn’t bear to meet her eye and be subjected to the heartbreak written across her face. “Are you joking, sweetie?” she asked softly, her voice breaking delicately over the question.

Robin chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a tingling prickling at his ears. There was a phantom burn in his nose, a reminder of his transgressions from the night before. He shook his head and turned away from her. “I’m gonna go back to camp for a while.”

She didn’t reply, and her silent disbelief was too much. Robin wrenched the door open and didn’t look back.

[stunudo]

In America, sex is an obsession, in other parts of the world it’s a fact.

Marlene Dietrich

The Legs Aren’t So

Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader

Warnings: Happy Smut-urday! Okay, this is my last public place smut for a while, I swear! Awkwardness.

Aaron Hotchner had been over Beth for long enough, too long really. He was just lonely, despite Rossi’s best efforts at setting him up. After a quiet three hours on the jet; he gave in and decided to contact Y/N. She had expressed interest in grabbing drinks sometime. Besides he had a kid-free three days with Jack at boy scout camp.

You glanced at the screen of your phone, “HOTCH” was the one surprisingly calling you on a Friday night. You sighed, assuming it was work related. Aaron didn’t really seem like the one to follow up on some easy flirtations. “Y/L/N, whatcha need Hotchner?”

“Alcohol,” He nearly laughed, “and perhaps some conversation.”

“Well, well, I’ll be damned. Hotch is going to let his hair down.” You teased.

“Just promise me you’ll hold my hair back if I get out of control?” The man’s voice alone could send shivers down your spine. When he actually used his razor wit for fun instead of work? There was much more tingling.

“Always, where should I meet you?” You checked the time, still early enough to grab an Uber without an insane surcharge.

“How about that piano bar on sixth?” He offered. “See you in an hour?”

“Piano bar? Sounds fun.” Reid overheard Hotch’s phone call.

“Yes, I could use a drink!” Emily agreed. Suddenly the entire team (minus JJ) was joining in on Hotch’s date. He couldn’t get a word in. Maybe he should cancel? Or at least warn her. As he walked down the stairs, he sent a text to prepare Y/L/N for the onslaught of BAU banter.

He smirked at the thought of his team’s insistence of sticking together even after hours. They were a good bunch and he was determined to not let them stop him tonight. Y/N Y/L/N was smart and extremely attractive, even to the hardened agents’ eyes. Those eyes were on the prize tonight, set somewhere between Y/N’s thighs…

You didn’t mind mixing work with pleasure. You were all adults and it was the weekend. Might as well have a few drinks with well-vetted company. The tech girl was the only one at the table when you walked in, but she remembered you so you felt instantly welcomed. You bought the first round, waiting for the air travelers return.

“How’ve you been doing, Penelope?” You asked, being polite.

“Me?!” Garcia stammered around her straw. “Good! Well, fine really. How, how about you?”

The awkwardness ended the second his dark eyes fell on you. You smiled, his face sly. “Garcia, I hope you have kept Y/L/N entertained?” Aaron said, leaning into to kiss your cheek. You gently held his stubble covered face in reciprocation.

“Sir?” Garcia’s eyes darted around to the suddenly arrived team. “I, uh, so I mean…”

“Aaron, be nice. Penelope was a doll as always.” You leaned over and patted her forearm, reassuringly. The team got drinks and started to release the tension of their latest case with anecdotes and past faux pas. This group was a trip! You had to wipe away tears of laughter on more than one occasion.

Aaron sat beside you, keeping his strong hand on your clothed thigh the whole night. It was during one of Rossi’s stories that you had to take off your cardigan from the heat. Aaron helped you out of it and laid it on the back of your chair. The silk camisole you wore beneath caught his eyes. You side-eyed him and wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. He nearly laughed, returning his attention back to the Italian across the table. His palm inched up your thigh slowly.

The anticipation of the remainder of the evening started to build on the warmth from the alcohol. You slowly opened your thighs, letting your ankles hook around the feet of your chair. His sure hand continued to slide between your legs. Unable to reach his lap without the entire table noticing, you lifted your hand up to rest on the back of his chair. The team knew who you were here for, no use hiding comfortable affection.

Hotch’s phone chirped, interrupting your pleasure. He stepped away from the ruckus of the group. You watched as he headed toward the door. There was a lull in the conversation, so you excused yourself to the restroom. You caught his devilish eye, just as you entered the ladies’ room.

Once he was off the phone, he bypassed the team and took the long way to the quiet hallway housing the restrooms, an actual payphone and the kitchen entrance. You had left your stall unlocked, in anticipation. Once you saw his polished shoes, you let the door swing widely. The amused look he gave you when he turned around, locking the door, made you smirk.

You held your fingertip to his lips, shaking your head at both of your deviousness. He kept his eyes on yours as he carefully opened his mouth, licking the tip of your finger, then pulling it softly between his teeth. His hands were already at his belt when you claimed his sassy mouth. Why had you worn pants out? You regretted the poor choice now.

As you slid your pants down to your ankles, you spun, giving him the easiest access in the limited space. The smell of your arousal greeted you as his strong hands removed your damp panties next. Your fingers gripped the top of the stall, as he bent his legs at an extreme angle to get behind and beneath your entrance. One of his hands was braced against the door while the other held you in place. He was trying so hard to be quiet, but as he entered your core, you both groaned.

You pushed back on to his length, wanting to feel every inch of him inside of you. The door to the restroom opened and a set of clipping footsteps fell upon the stylish tile. You both froze. Trying to breathe as calmly as possible. The lack of motion sent your walls clamping down along Aaron. The heels made their way to the row of stalls, a slight squeal came from the unsuspecting woman on the other side of the door. She quickly scampered out of the room in alarm.

Penelope didn’t quite know what to do with what she had just witnessed. She also really had to pee. After three martinis and a shared appetizer, she had been holding it until she absolutely had to go. She spun and tried the men’s room, she was that desperate. Luckily there was just one guy washing his hands and she scooted passed him without an upwards glance.

After completing her business, she naturally walked passed a pissing Reid at the urinal. He was completely caught off guard. He actually had to stop himself spinning around. “Garcia?”

She just washed her hands, keeping her head down. In complete silence she left the men’s room and returned to the table of joking agents. Spencer had caught up to the catatonic analyst. “Garcia, why were you in the men’s room?!” Reid demanded, as the whole team paused and stared.

Garcia finally looked up and sighed. “Because the women’s room, it, um.” She didn’t know what exactly she was going to say. “The legs, there were two sets of legs in one of the stalls.” She found Rossi’s knowing look across the table. Everyone looked around at the empty seats before them. The laughter burst through the quiet space, gaining the large group stares and whispers from waitresses and bartenders alike.

As the door closed once more, you both exhaled in relief. Returning to business at hand, you pulled his grip from your abdomen to your right breast. Wanting more sensation, more of him. He grunted and began thrusting into you again, causing you to hum in pleasure. His phone chirped again. He actually answered it, leaving your breast unattended once again. That fucking workaholic answered the phone while he was balls deep in your vag.

“Aaron Hotchner, you bastard!” You whispered at him, pushing back on to his cock with all the strength you had. His back was now flush with the other wall of the stall. His eyes alight with the taboo he was choosing.

“This is Hotch.” He answered. His hand found the back of your neck, pushing you into a right angle. You bent further, grabbing your ankles as he continued to fuck you senseless. “Thanks, Rossi, I’m just about done on the other line. I’ll be right back. No matter how drunk she is, Prentiss is not paying the bill. Thanks Dave.”

The call ended, he slid the phone back into his jacket pocket. His newly free hand reached around your thigh, finding your sensitive clit. “Sorry about that, pet.” You squirmed as he expertly drew the pleasure from that tiny bundle of nerves. His rhythm increased, his belt scraping against the stone floor. As your core began to tighten with your incoming orgasm, Hotch removed his hand. You whined at the denial of your pleasure.

“I need to watch you come.” He huffed. Slowly he slid out of you. On shaking legs, you stood. His hands quickly found your sides, gently spinning you. His strong arms lifted you up, pressing your back onto the door of the stall. You held the coat hook for balance as you looped your long legs around his waist.

Hotch’s dark eyes were surprisingly soft now, he waited for you to nod before he slid inside you once more. Your eyes closed at the pain and pleasure of sliding down onto him. He started rocking into you once more, the door’s hinges rattled in protest from the force. Once he was satisfied with the momentum, he carefully slipped a hand down between your lips. You whimpered against the sudden stimulation.

You held his face in your free hand, wanting him to know how he was pleasing you. Your nails dug into his neck as your climax attacked your center. You called out a reverberating “Fuck!”. Aaron increased his thrusts, bursting the cheap lock from the door frame, sending you both into the shared part of the women’s room. You felt his seed fill you as you gasped at the shock of being out in the open.

You clung to his neck to keep from falling to the floor. He chuckled into your collar. He turned you both around, lending his back to be a lock enough while you got redressed. Once you were steady on your feet, he pulled you in for a fierce kiss.  “Y/N?” Hotch murmured. “Let’s just ditch the team? I can get us outside without them even noticing.”

You looked at him with suspicious eyes. “Nuh-uh, Hotch. I still have half a drink. I am going to go finish it. Whether you join me AND the team or not.” You poked his nose and left him standing in the women’s room.

@dontshootmespence @hotchnerfuckmeup @reidsexualwriting

[descender-pakku]

Relationship Star Meme

✩ for the following:

Doing this for Human Pakku, and Human RiasThe timeline where they get back together “Sparkling Cider”

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?  RiasWho threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither, they’re both to stubbornWho actually keeps their word and leaves? NeitherWho trashes the house? If it was really bad probably Pakku, Though its doubtful. He has expensive thingsDo either of them get physical? Never. If they did Rias could kick his ass most likelyHow often do they argue/disagree? Not to often. Most things are over silly stuff that amounts to nothingWho is the first to apologise? Rias, Which makes Pakku feel bad that she beat him to it, so he tries extra hard to make it up to her.

Sex:

Who is on top? DependsWho is on the bottom? DependsWho has the strangest desires? Pakku ProbablyAny kinks? Quite a fewWho’s dominant in bed? Either, In the right mindset...PakkuIs head ever in the equation? yesIf so, who is better at performing it? That question can spark a competition. Pakku would say Rias, and Rias would say Pakku. Enjoy that argumentEver had sex in public? Not unless you count years ago in a tent on a beach. If not then NoWho moans the most? Depends. They can both get pretty vocalWho leaves the most marks? Rias, unless Pakku is in a bite/suckling or dominant mood~Who screams the loudest? RiasWho is the more experienced of the two? Probably Pakku at this pointDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Both. Rough or soft? BothHow long do they usually last? About a half hour to forty-five minutes? Longer if there’s a round twoIs protection used? Yes, Until kids became/become a prospect. Unless its just that quick and shit happens...Does it ever get boring? Not a bitWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex? Roof of his shop

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? YesIf so, how many children do your muses want/have? twoWho is the favorite parent? Pakku.Who is the authoritative parent? Rias, Though it could depend on the situationWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Neither, unless they’re sickWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Pakku!Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Rias and Pakku, Rias has possibly been to more.Who goes to parent teacher interviews? PakkuWho changes the diapers? BothWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Its a rotation thing, Unless it has to solely be Rias for obvious feeding reasonsWho spends the most time with the children? Depends on whats going on with work etc etcWho packs their lunch boxes? Rias, other wise they’d get a ton of snacks that weren’t good for themWho gives their children ‘the talk’? Depends on the child, their sex, or just who they come toWho cleans up after the kids? Both, its a joint effort Who worries the most? Rias, Even though Pakku worries to. She would most likely be worried about forgetting stuff still, even thenWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? PAKKU!

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Both. Rias is more adamant about itWho is the little spoon? PakkuWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? PakkuWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?  RiasHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? A good while, Like a few movies worth of it at best. One wrong move and either of them can cause it to dissolve into other activities thoughWho gives the most kisses? RiasWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity? Gardening, or campingWhere is their favourite place to cuddle? The couchWho is more likely to playfully grope the other? Pakku, though it would also depend how grabby Rias felt at that pointHow often do they get time to themselves? Often enough that its not a problem

Sleeping:

Who snores? Rias snores quietly and cutely, Pakku is about the sameIf both do, who snores the loudest? Pakku is probably a bit louder than RiasDo they share a bed or sleep separately? Share. How else do you cuddle?If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Together, again cant cuddle otherwiseWho talks in their sleep? Neither that they’re aware ofWhat do they wear to bed? Underwear sometimes with a shirt, Rias most definitely has cute PJs to wear though. Sometimes nothing though,depending on antics.Are either of your muses insomniacs? Pakku can be Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Not really. Maybe once in a while when they really need itDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Wrap em up buddyWho wakes up with bed hair? PakkuWho wakes up first? Rias is up with the sun most days, it takes a herd of buffalo to wake Pakku a lot of the timesWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Pakku for RiasWhat is their favourite sleeping position? SpooooooningWho hogs the sheets? RiasDo they set an alarm each night? Pakku sets several, mostly for himselfCan a television be found in their bedroom? YesWho has nightmares? Both do. Who has ridiculous dreams? PakkuWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? PakkuWho makes the bed? PakkuWhat time is bed time? Late, but mostly depends on level of tirednessAny routines/rituals before bed? Bathroom break, Kisses, and small little talks about nonsense as they fall asleepWho’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Pakku

Work:

Who is the busiest? PakkuWho rakes in the highest income? PakkuAre any of your muses unemployed? NoWho takes the most sick days? Neither really, both to stubbornWho is more likely to turn up late to work? Pakku, but its ok he owns the placeWho sucks up to their boss? Neither. Pakku is his own boss btwWhat are their jobs? Florist for Rias and Pakku runs his shopWho stresses the most? PakkuDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Enjoy, Pakku is sure Rias wants her own shop too thoughAre your muses financially stable? Yes

Home:

Who does the washing? BothWho takes out the trash?BothWho does the ironing? Pakku, he has tons of dress shirtsWho does the cooking? Both, Rias is better at itWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying? NeitherWho is messier? Rias probablyWho leaves the toilet roll empty? No one, that’s just rudeWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Pakku is a bit guilty about that, though they’re normally in the bedroomWho forgets to flush the toilet? No oneWho is the prankster around the house? RiasWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? PakkuWho mows the lawn? Both, one mows while the other weedwacks normallyWho answers the telephone? They have their own phonesWho does the vacuuming? Depends on who has the timeWho does the groceries? They shop together, Rias helps Pakku eat betterWho takes the longest to shower? RIASWho spends the most time in the bathroom? Pakku

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? NoHow many cars do they own? oneDo they own their home or do they rent? Own, Its his family homeDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? about an equal distance betweenDo they live in the city or in the country? city/rural areaDo they enjoy their surroundings? yes, they have a great view from where the house isWhat’s their song? Pakku says for him Its “Something Just Like This”Or “Wait for Me”What do they do when they’re away from each other? What ever they want? They text back and forth and make sure each other are okWhere did they first meet? Her backyard, growing upHow did they first meet? they were neighbors, their parents introduced them so they’d have someone to play with. Then they met again for the first time when Rias woke up from her comaWho spends the most money when out shopping? PAKKUWho’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither reallyWho finds it amusing when the other trips over? RiasAny mental issues? Rias has retrograde amnesia. Pakku may have some mental issues tied to his dads deathWho’s terrified of bugs? Rias HATES caterpillarsWho kills the spiders around the house? Neither, they shoo them outsideTheir favourite place? The dog parkWho pays the bills? BothDo they have any fears for their future? Tons but they come and goWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Pakku is most likely to surprise RiasWho uses up all of the hot water? Rias, unless they shower togetherWho’s the tallest? RiasWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? RiasWho wanders around in their underwear? PakkuWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? RiasWhat do they tease each other about? cute noises they make, and how red they are when they blushWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Pakku, but somehow Rias still makes it look cuteDo they have mutual friends? YesWho crushed first? PakkuAny alcohol or substance related problems? NoWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? No one. But Pakku would stumble home at 3am after an auction Who swears the most? Pakku probably

[keykidpilipili]

Hamilton(AYFS AU)-Second chance

@badromantics @sarcastic-swl-dragon please take this late humble George^2 offering. Maybe a bit ooc at times but they’re drunk soooo I tried.  Hope you like it, sorry again for the lack of smut. QwQ

Are you for Shores belongs to @badromantics

George Peterson let himself fall on the couch after yet another exhausting day : managing the debate club plus his new duty as class president was quite draining, even with his boys helping. Unfortunately there were the incoming mid-year finals to count in his schedule as well! Never as a college student he wished so hard for days to last more than 24 hours!

At the very least Frederick attended classes once more, there were too many feelings better left unsaid which had been laid out in front of the whole college. Nobody deserved that, nobody. Alex and Thomas had taken this challenge way too far but he couldn't even begin to apologize to his ex-boyfriend who kept getting dragged away by his people. Before this he had attempted to check on Frederick due to the worryingly long radio silence except Lee had set up camp before his boss' door and refused to let anyone not from the Royalist group inside. Exhausted and entranced by the tune of the water hitting the window, the general let himself drown in his deep thoughts.

Last year Peterson had remembered his past life entirely, his boyfriend had very quickly noticed something had changed: Washington would take longer to reciprocate touch, get lost in day-dreaming all while refusing to explain. Maybe the general had wished to pretend things wouldn't change despite his memories and Thomas so eager in gathering his old acquaintances. In the end he never knew how Frederick learnt the truth, however slowly King would stop cuddling, come back late or go missing for days altogether.

Till that one morning past 2 am when regardless of many texts and calls his boyfriend hadn't been at his own flat or in classes, he found him tagging on the walls with Charles Lee of all people. Peterson in the spur of the moment outed himself as first POTUS resulting in Frederick crying and laughing for ten minutes with everyone else too flabbergasted to ask what the hell was going on.  “I-I can't believe you just told a total stranger about your past life and never me!” Had uttered King between two giggles while the Redcoats were burning holes in Washington with their disapproving glare. Later in the morning Frederick came to pick up his stuff, revealed he remembered his other life a week ago following the news of his favorite cousin Amelia being deceased, once his daughter two centuries ago. All while meeting Peterson's eyes King choked how he couldn't get a hold of his lover during those events because he was out with his past friends. He even told him in person who he used to be but his boyfriend didn't pay attention somehow.

Washington's daydreaming was broken by a knock, suppressing a sigh he got up: only Alex was reckless enough to climb the rain gutter multiple times past second floor. However in front of the glass a bruised and drenched Frederick plastic bag in his other hand starred sheepishly at his ex-lover. Frozen and confused by the sight the general stood there for a few minutes before dragging him inside by the hoodie, disappeared into his room then soon came back with a change of clothes and a towel.

Little red-riding hoodie now dryer spread the contents of his bag on the table: cans of beer and partly smashed chocolate box. The quizzical look from the host was answered by a sly grin and a sultry 'Movie night' whisper by the unexpected guest who after setting the DVD dragged his ex-boyfriend back on the couch. Peterson could hardly hold back his laughter as the title screen appeared, of all the things they watched together Frederick pulled THAT movie!

“Hey! It wasn't that bad,” Pouted the red-riding hoodie leaning further in the sofa, “ probably not worth sneaking out of my conservative grandparents' house though.”

- Definitely not. The restaurant was nice but that's because I was the one to pick it!” Retorted Washington half-smiling glancing the student wearing clothes two times his size. “Then you got grounded for breaking three gutters trying to get back in!”

- Okay! Okay! We had more closet time though the week after that so it was all good. Let's not cry over spilt tea.” Shrugged Frederick winking at the host first despondent then just groaning taken back by the return of the bad jokes.

- PLEASE it's not even past midnight yet! You know what? Never mind! Tell the world how General Washington was slayed by royal puns!” Moaned Peterson clutching his chest, slouching deeper and deeper into the couch while his other hand was reaching for the sky.

Time passed swiftly once Frederick had broken the awkward silence between the two. The film did hold their attention otherwise they would playfully bicker over rations with King falling off the couch trying to keep them for himself. More often than not the latter would cautiously close in the space separating them, repeatedly glancing at Washington's face searching for disapproval. Yet as they became less and less sober he leaned on the general's broad shoulder and later simply rest his head on his lap. Their hands had long found their way back together as naturally as geese fly south craving with absolute certainty. Once in a while the red-riding hoodie would tighten his grip, in his haggard eyes a shimmer of fear he would wake up to an empty bed and icy cold sheets. As for Peterson  he was twirling then untangling the ginger curls, aware of the need to discuss how to work out this relationship but content with this moment of peace after such dreadful weeks.

At some point the general startled by the menu music blasting from the speakers suddenly recalled they had started a movie. Once the TV was turned off, he nudged King whose snore still sounded like a cat's, faint almost like wheezing. Things didn't change that much after all: the grumpy look on his face as he reluctantly opened one eye assessing whether he REALLY had to get up or not, was the exact same one. Speaking of bedtime Washington ought to move the guest on his bed and leave the sofa for himself not exempt from morning classes. Tentatively the red-riding hoodie swayed back up on the couch, ignoring the black spots in his vision stared at the host for two minutes then mumbled followed by falling right on the other side: “I'm stayin here night.”

- Nope. Unless you wanna rise at six.” Spelled out Peterson dragging into the bedroom his guest who dropped on the mattress nearly the second they entered. Objective number one accomplished and after grabbing a blanket and a pillow was ready to head out when a hand clasped  his wrist pulling him on the bed.

- Hey... I know... you didn't help Hamilton with that pamphlet...”, Confessed King avoiding his ex's tired eyes attempting to cover it with a forced laugh and rambling, “I mean they didn't even checked my spelling! I was like 'Wow, these new beta-readers are crap!' Anyway... thanks for letting me in. Had a great time! Tell me if you wanna spend another night with me any time bed or couch!”

- Shhh talk less.” Spoke the general as he warped his arms around the stressed red-riding hoodie who crumbled under the touch whimpering, having missed those embraces for so many months. Ultimately both slipped under the covers, reveling into this tender warmth tied to much simpler times deprived of ancient and heavy memories. Loneliness and longing vanished under the new dawn, it was still dark but they were together once more.

The following morning Frederick groggy bumped into the same wall twice and a desk, tripped over a coffee table before recalling he was in his ex-lover's apartment and not his own. While the mist had cleared up, the nausea refused to let go of the past monarch who settled on a glass of water and reluctantly crossed slushie off his shopping list. Suddenly the realization that no one except Peterson knew where he was he hit him like a canon ball, with the violence of a hurricane he flipped over every pillow and blanket searching for his phone until he saw a note on the coffee table signed by the host.

“Pudding in the fridge and tea bags in the cupboard. Also in your latest story the writing for the actions scenes was clumsy and awkward, meet me at 1:30 pm closet under the stairs next to the chemistry classroom for practice,     Peterson.”

A quick glance at his watch displaying 1:20 slapped the red-riding hoodie awake as he hastily threw over his sweater, still wearing his borrowed clothes. Though the campus Frederick ran the goofiest grin on his face, jubilant over having a second chance at their romance.

Later in the afternoon, Peterson, after fixing his collar to hide a hickey, opened the door of the debate club ready to greet his fellow soldiers. Unfortunately the light headache from this morning spiked up at the sorry sight before him: Alexander moping on the floor mourning another comrade lost to the red coats with John reminding the group he was still alive and so was Burr despite the latter being busy banging his head against the well in denial. In the end only Lafayette and Thomas seemed to have retained their sanity or so the general thought as the two pulled him asking every detail of his intercourse with King. Suppressing another sigh Washington considered that maybe they should stop having sex in school closets.

[skywardpumpkin]

ANSWER THESE 88 AND TAG 20

@jiminieboi tagged me in this, i feel so blessed!

i’m not tagging 20 people but if you want to @affxtionism @endless-profanities and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh brain machine broke so just whoever else sees this and is keen to

the last:

1. DRINK: water, stay hydrated kids

2. PHONE CALL: discord call to @jiminieboi, we had rad chats then i sent her evil ideas for one of our story plans mwahaha. But last phone call to my parents

3. TEXT MESSAGE: "HOLD UP I GOTTA PEE” and “i’m doooooooone” to @jiminieboi, a thrilling correspondence i know

4. SONG YOU LISTENED TO: (Tree of/Archangels of the Sephiroth) by Stellar UNDERRATED GIRL GROUP PLS CHECK THEM OUT THE SATANIC AESTHETIC IS A+           

5. THE TIME YOU CRIED: In a churros cafe having an public arguement with my family! fun!

have you:

6. DATED SOMEONE TWICE: nope only dated once lol

7. KISSED SOMEONE AND REGRETTED IT: no, again not much to work from

8. BEEN CHEATED ON: nah

9. LOST SOMEONE SPECIAL: yes

10. BEEN DEPRESSED: uhhhhh don’t think so? there has been less-than-ideal mental health periods but i don’t think it was that...

11. GOTTEN DRUNK AND THROWN UP: at one point it was only pride that stopped me but no

top 3 favorite colors

12. navy

13. green

14. metallic tones (these aren’t in order btw)

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. MADE NEW FRIENDS: hell yeah!

16. FALLEN OUT OF LOVE: yes

17. LAUGHED UNTIL YOU CRIED: lots of times!

18. FOUND OUT SOMEONE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU: can’t remember

19. MET SOMEONE WHO CHANGED YOU: not that i can tell?

20. FOUND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE: hell yes

21. KISSED SOMEONE ON YOUR FACEBOOK LIST: yep

GENERAL

22. HOW MANY OF YOUR FACEBOOK FRIENDS DO YOU KNOW IN REAL LIFE: there’s plenty i’ve fallen out of contact with but i met them all first

23. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS: no but random dogs used to walk into my house

24. DO YOU WANT TO CHANGE YOUR NAME: lena could be cool but nah

25. WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOU LAST BIRTHDAY: went to a nice resteraunt with my family

26. WHAT TIME DID YOU WAKE UP: 9.20am but i’ve woken up at 4.25pm before lol

27. WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT MIDNIGHT LAST NIGHT: unpacking my luggage from a holiday

28. NAME SOMETHING YOU CAN’T WAIT FOR: to get my wii u from home so i can finally play breath of the wild again! also go see @endless-profanities and save enough money to buy bts merch

29. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR MOM: 3 or 4 days ago on holiday, before 30+ hours of travelling to get back to NZ so it seems like a long time ago

30. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU WISH YOU COULD CHANGE IN YOUR LIFE: have more disposable income so i could take @jiminieboi and @affxtionism to a bts concert (like i’m not broke but i’m not rich either) and just generally get cool gifts for my friends/some things for myself without having to worry about price

31. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: The sound of drunk students

32. HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO A PERSON NAMED TOM: dude from nerd camp

33. SOMETHING THAT IS GETTING ON YOUR NERVES: Fans and companies ignoring/hating on/underpromoting JIN AND F(X), ESPECIALLY AMBER AND LUNA #givef(x)acomeback2k17 #givejinmorelines2k17

lost questions

34. MOLE(S): a fair few, there’s a line of them on my arm

35. MARK(S): birthmark on my waist

36. CHILDHOOD DREAM: some kind of scientist

37. HAIR COLOR: dark blonde

38. LONG OR SHORT HAIR: long (technically i normally have it medium length but i’ve been putting off a haircut)

39. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON SOMEONE: not at the moment

40. WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: i have passionate interests (oh boy)

41. PIERCINGS: none, i’m too lazy to even do my ears

42. BLOODTYPE: idk

43. NICKNAME(S): mostly just weird family ones but nini, tron, squirm

44. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single pringle

45. ZODIAC: libra

46. PRONOUNS: she/her

47. FAVOURITE TV SHOW: couldn’t choose Humans, Agent Carter (r.i.p), Voltron Legendary Defender, Miraculous Ladybug

48. TATTOOS: none

49. RIGHT OR LEFT HAND: right

50. SURGERY: never

51. HAIR DYED A DIFFERENT COLOR: maybe if i get to play around with wigs and see what suits me?

52. SPORT: used to row, now i just gym and run sometimes

53. VACATION: loads of places with my family

54. PAIR OF TRAINERS: i have black and green ones that glow in the dark! but usually i wear boots/heels

MORE GENERAL

55. EATING: nothing

56. DRINKING: nothing

57. I’M ABOUT TO: go to bed bc i’m still jetlagged

58. WAITING FOR: people to appreciate girl groups as much as boy groups

59. WANT: to see bts live as well, to be better organised this semester, to get in better shape

60. GET MARRIED: if i find the right person

61. CAREER: physics/computer science/maths or do something creative if i can find the drive and discipline (writer or singer)

62. HUGS OR KISSES: both! both are good.

63. LIPS OR EYES: eyes

64. SHORTER OR TALLER: don’t care

65. OLDER OR YOUNGER: don’t care as long as its not a massive difference/underage

66. NICE ARMS OR NICE STOMACH: stomach SIKE all tummies are good! arms i guess

67. SENSITIVE OR LOUD: loud usually

68. HOOK UP OR RELATIONSHIP: m8 do you think i have enough experience in either to answer that question

69. TROUBLEMAKER OR HESITANT: hesitant, i can talk shit but i don’t do much

have your ever:

70. KISSED A STRANGER: no

71. DRANK HARD LIQUOR: i <3 absinthe

72. LOST GLASSES/CONTACT LENSES: no thank god my glasses are fucking expensive

73. TURNED SOMEONE DOWN: yes

74. SEX ON THE FIRST DATE: never been on a date lol

75. BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART: yeah i think so

76. HAD YOUR HEART BROKEN: idk if it was broken and nothing happened but i sure took a long time to get over him

77. BEEN ARRESTED: no

78. CRIED WHEN SOMEONE DIED: yes

79. FALLEN FOR A FRIEND: that’s usually how i work

do you believe in:

80. YOURSELF: sometimes

81. MIRACLES: no

82. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: no

83. SANTA CLAUS: nope

84. KISS ON THE FIRST DATE: i’m a dateless gal with no clue here

85. ANGELS: nope

86. CURRENT BEST FRIENDS NAME(S): acacia, ned and amber!

other

87. EYE COLOUR: brown

88. FAVOURITE MOVIE: oh boy lets not dive into that lengthy list, but my favorite movie series is definately harry potter

[beachweekdramaturgy]

Definitions

Each word or phrase lines up with the character who says the line (or SD- stage directions) and the approximate page number since all of our scripts are just a little off. If you click on the links, you’ll get a gif or a video or a photo of what I’m talking about. There are also pronunciations. 

Raise the roof (SD-1): dance move, as exemplified by Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute

“Waa waa” (SD-3): a sound effect that the adults in the Peanuts comics

Over my minutes (LIZ-3): a reference to the technology- prepaid cell phones generally give the user a set amount of minutes to use per month. The user has to factor in incoming as well as outcoming calls into their monthly minutes. Since beach week usually happens at the end of May, Liz has already used her allotted minutes for the month. By being over her minutes, Liz is paying a per-minute fee for any calls she receives or makes.

Candy Kitchen (CAROLINE-4): a popular chain of candy stores on the Eastern Seaboard exclusively catering to beachers

DD (SAMMY-4): drunk drive

White Jetta (JEN-4): a type of car, looks like this

Fogo de Chao (LIZ-5): fancy Brazilian steakhouse all over the country, Puerto Rico, Mexico, and Brazil (though mostly in the U.S.)

Sophie’s Choice (JEN-6): a very popular Holocaust movie where the main character reveals that, upon her arrival at Auschwitz with her two children, she was forced to choose which child to get gassed and which would go to the labor camp, ie. very difficult choice

Bethesda Bagels (SAMMY-7): store with handmade gourmet bagels with a location in Bethesda and one in Dupont Circle

Mother Teresa (LIZ-7): a Roman-Catholic nun and missionary widely recognized for her charity work

Sister wives (LIZ-8): references to polygamy, two sisters married to the same man, in context of the play, Evil Liz and Krissy both dating the same boy at the same time

Gypsy Rose Lee (CAROLINE-9): an American burlesque entertainer famous for her striptease act, actress, author, and playwright. Her memoir was turned into the musical and film Gypsy. For Caroline, she’s the star of the show. 

Carrie quotes (GIRLS-10): “They’re breasts, Mama, and every girl has them!” is from Carrie, the specific lines are from Carrie directed to her mother after her mom tears her down over her prom dress; “Plug it up!” is a reference to when Carrie gets her first period in the showers at school and thinks she’s internally bleeding to death and other teenage girls throw sanitary napkins at her shouting “plug it up!”  

Greenwich Village (SEAN-11): a neighborhood in Lower Manhattan, known as an artists’ haven and is generally very carefree and hippie type

Smirnoff Ice (JEN-14): brand of Vodka, 70-100 proof, 35-50% alcohol by volume

Mike’s Hard Lemonade (JEN-14): essentially beer, 5% alcohol by volume

Tree pose (SAMMY-20): pose in yoga, looks like this

Bonsai (SEAN-21): a Japanese art form of growing trees in containers, looks like this

Harvard on the Pike (SAMMY-23): nickname for taking community college classes and then transferring into a “proper” university, “on the pike” refers to Rockville Pike

California Tortilla (LIZ-27): popular Mexican-style restaurant (actually was originated in Bethesda in 1995)

QVC (JEN-27): an American cable/satellite/broadcast television network that specializes in televised home shopping, essentially a TV version of Amazon

IM speak (KRISSY-28): instant messaging, basically texting over the Internet only

Solipsistic (LIZ-30): the view or theory that the self is all that can be known to exist, pronounced like this

GW (JEN-32): George Washington University in DC

Giffords (JEN-32): ice cream store that is no longer in business (actually was founded in Silver Spring in 1938)

Abercrombie (KRISSY-34): casual clothing store that targets tweens and teenagers, advertisements notoriously featured barely clothed teenage models

Aloe (CAROLINE-35): type of plant that soothes sunburn, pronounced like this

Dr. Phil (SEAN-39): TV personality that offers his advice to people who come on his show

Costco (JEN-41): absolutely enormous store that offers almost everything in bulk

Tempeh (JEN-42): traditional soy product originating from Indonesia, pronounced like this

Plebs (LIZ-43): short for plebeians, in Roman times, a commoner, pronounced like this

Seitan (CAROLINE-45): wheat meat, is just gluten, pronounced like this

Cosmo (LIZ-48): short for Cosmopolitan, a magazine that offers advice on beauty, fashion, career, sex, and relationships

Bop It (SD-49): type of toy that looks like this

Drano (SAMMY-50): sink cleaner, unclogging

Everclear (LIZ-50): a grain alcohol, bottled at either 75.5%  or 95% alcohol by volume

Little Lizzie Homemaker (JEN-50): a reference to the term “little Suzy homemaker,” putting Liz’s name into the term, refers to a woman who displays habits linked to stereotypical domestic activities traditionally done by women, based off of the Suzy Homemaker dolls launched in 1966

Nordstroms (LIZ-53): department store all over the U.S. with upscale clothing

Nalgene bottle (CAROLINE-55): type of water bottle

Bud Light (CAROLINE-55): beer, 4.2% alcohol by volume

Creme de menthe (CAROLINE-55): sweet, mint-flavored alcoholic beverage, 20-25% alcohol by volume

Cheech and Chong (TODD-58): stoner comedy duo consisting of Richard "Cheech" Marin and Tommy Chong, comedy based on the hippie era and counterculture

Up in Smoke (TODD-58): stoner comedy movie done by Cheech and Chong, is regarded as the beginning of the stoner comedy genre

Thrashers (TODD-60): a restaurant in Bethany Beach known for their french fries, now closed

Hot in Herre (SD-62): a truly iconic song by Nelly that’s all about taking clothes off, released in 2002, won a Grammy for Best Male Rap Solo Performance, sounds like this

Wong Kar-wai (JEN-63): a Hong Kong Second Wave filmmaker, internationally renowned as an auteur for his visually unique, highly stylized, emotionally resonant work (real sad but real pretty)

D.A.R.E. (JEN-63): Drug Abuse Resistance Education, a substance abuse prevention education program

Bob Marley (LIZ-63): a Jamaican musical performer, in the context of the play, Marley saw marijuana as a vital part of spiritual growth and medical treatment

Chunky monkey (SAMMY-68): flavor of ice cream by Ben & Jerry’s, Banana Ice Cream with Fudge Chunks & Walnuts

The Middle (SD-71): another truly iconic song, performed by Jimmy Eat World, was responsible for the group’s popularity, released in 2001, sounds like this

1970s swinger (JEN-77): a swinger refers to people in a non-monogamous relationship having sex with other people, swinging from one partner to another, in the 1970s it was more prevalent, though still viewed as a “fringe” activity because of its association with communes

Sex and the City (LIZ-81): a popular romantic comedy that ran from 1998 to 2004 about a group of women in New York City

Buzz nightclub (JEN-82): an electronic dance event in DC that appeared at multiple nightclubs, not an actual fixed location

Sabrina the Teenage Witch (CAROLINE-84): a TV character based on the Archie Comics of the same name, uses magic to get her way and to make many mistakes through the show’s run

Drive Me Crazy (LIZ-84): a 1999 movie about a boy and a girl who live next door to each other and date each other to spite their real crushes, however they realize that they are actually in love (unfortunately, they return from prom to find that their parents have also fallen in love, making them step-siblings)

Duncan Hines (LIZ-92): in Beach Week’s context, a brand of cake mix, amongst other baked goods