#god i am such a mess!!!!! but it can't get any worse so i might as well go ahead with it

[harrietswriting]

Telling Dallas you SH

Dallas Winston x reader

An: Hi!! First post! Please send me requests if you have any because my writer's block is horrible :')

Tw: S*lf-h*rm mentioned (do I have to censor this?), Dallas being a little insensitive because he's Dallas, not proof read fully

I need to tell him. I need to. I think to myself as I walk up the stairs at buck's. I'm shaking and my heart is pounding. God, I do not want to do this. I hug my purse for comfort as I approach his door. I can do this. Just knock. I tell myself.

I take a deep breath as I bring my fist up to the door and tap it three times. I focus on my breathing and try to calm myself down. I hear shifting coming from inside the bedroom. I don't have to wait very long before Dallas opens the door.

"Oh, hey." He says. His hair is a mess -when is it not- and he smells strongly of cigarettes. He looks tired. He almost always looks tired, it makes me said.

God, Y/N, focus.

"Hey. Can I talk to you.. about something?" I say. My stupid voice is shaking. Gosh, am I dramatic!

He furrows his brows a bit and moves over to let me in his room as he says: "Uh, sure, yeah."

I step into his room. I'm still hugging my purse and suddenly feel embarrassed when I remember that I am. I set in on the dresser, but that feels awkward. Should I move it or-?

"So what'd you want to talk about? Am I in trouble?" His gravely voice cuts through my thoughts. I look over to see he's taken a seat on his bed.

"Oh- no. You're not in trouble," I can't help but smile a little. "I just need to tell you something." I make my way over and sit next to him.

He stares at me like he's trying to read my mind. I open my mouth but I can't will the words to come out. He must be able to tell how nervous I am, because he takes my hands in his and says: "I don't got all day. Out with it."

I stare back at him, but the nervous butterflies in my stomach tell me to look away so I do. I look down. No, no, I can do this. I can. So I look back up and without allowing myself to think blurt out.

"I harm myself."

His expression shifts and he's quiet for a moment.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking, Dal." I say quietly. I might cry.

He's quiet for another moment then let's out a breath.

"For how long?" He asks, not looking at me.

"[Amount of time]" I whisper.

"Jesus Christ." He says under his breath. He lets go of one of my hands and runs it through his hair before placing it on his thigh. "And you didn't tell me until now?"

I can feel my face getting hot and my eyes getting wet. "It- It's not easy." My voice is weak.

He looks back at me, hearing the sadness in my voice. His expression sadness as he gazes at me. "Don't cry, Y/N" He says in the most gentle voice I've ever heard from him. He squeezes my hand tighter. "I'm sorry, doll."

"You don't have to be sorry." I sniffle.

He rubs my arm with his other hand, and I can tell from his eyes that he's got a million questions. I might as well open the floor.

"What?" I ask softly.

He hesitates for a moment. He stares at me with these sad puppy dog eyes and it almost makes me feel worse. But then he hugs me. So I warm my arms around his neck and hug him back. I move into his lap because I feel the need to be closer to him, and I can tell from how he helps pull me into his lap, he needs to be closer too. He holds me tight and puts his head on my shoulder.

"I love you." He whispers into my ear.

"I love you too."

Dallas strokes my hair with his calloused fingers and kisses my forehead.

I pull my head back just enough so I can look him in the eye. "Dallas, I need you promise me that this won't change us. I don't want any special treatment or pity. I just want us to continue as we are, okay?" I say as sternly as I can manage, though my voice is still pretty quiet.

He nods, his fingers still tangled in my hair. "Yeah, okay. You're still you or whatever."

"Yeah. Still me." I smile a little. He smiles back.

"Am I supposed to say, 'promise to stop for me' or something now?" He asks, trying to lighten the mood.

I almost giggle. "No. That's so stupid. I hate that. Just... I don't know... say you'll always support me and stuff." I feel myself finally relaxing as he continues to play with my hair.

"Right. You mean the world to me. You're such a sweet person and I have no idea how I managed to bag you." He smirks a little when I smile. "You have done nothing but love me and care for me. Well, actually you annoy me a lot too. But-" He chuckles a bit when I give him a look. "Sorry, Doll. You are the most amazing person I know. So of course I will always be there for you as well. I'll listen and all the crap."

This time I hug him. I pull myself against him. He moves his hand from my hair and rubs my back.

"Damn, my speech that good?"

I smile. "It was good for you."

Dallas laughs briefly. "Whatever." He keeps one arm securely around my waist as the other continues to rub my back. The smell of his colone and cigarettes fill my nose in a familiar way. His body warmth is making me feel so safe and his tight hold feels like home. I'm glad I told him.

"I love you. Thanks for not freaking out." I whisper.

"I love you too."

"I'm glad I told you."

"I'm glad you did too. I have more questions though."

I sigh. "Of course."

~~~~~

An: Sorry to make the first fic a sad one! But this is something I struggle with and I'm so sick of reading fics that are so unrealistic and have no idea what they're talking about when it comes to sh. Please leave requests, beauties!!

[mer-acle]

i know i should not ask this but, what are your Athena ig wump headcannons :3 dont worry i have alot of time on my hands

okay okay okay

I think I'm gonna make this mainly trauma/whump potential themed. Like think, how do you break the owl? lol

Pain: I don't see Athena as scared of pain in general. She wouldn't mind being nicked in battle or something (she would bc of pride and being told she has to be perfect, but not the pain) I am willing to bet she's cut herself out of curiosity of what it feels like. Now if there's pain on top of other stuff, that's when she starts to fall apart. She's not used to dealing with physical pain, and if she's otherwise compromised (read: God Games) it becomes a problem.

Breathing: That's more of a general god hc I decided for whump purposes. The gods do have a breathing reflex and while they don't die from lack of oxygen + don't have negative effects if they actively choose not to breathe (like underwater), but like... yes gods can hyperventilate... or have trouble breathing... do with that what you will (like i do, I reaaaallly do stuff with this factoid)

Water: It's a winged!Athena specific one for me, but could be applied to any version. Athena's not a fan of water in general and afraid of being fully submerged in particular. She got somewhat used to it after a while living with Triton, but since Pallas' death, it's gotten worse and she hasn't really been in the water since. (This all came to be bc I found out that owls are actually terrible swimmers bc their wings aren't waterproof so they just have to get to shore to dry off... and wings weighed down by water sounds pretty scary

Control: Kinda vague, but shapes my entire approach to her. Athena is all about control. Anything that messes with that is BAD. Fever? An injury that you can't just push your way past? Drugs, medical or otherwise? She would literally rather be in excruciating pain. Like... if she's mentally not well, having shaky hands or dropping something might already be cause for a negative spiral it's that bad. Speaking of...

Mental health (Pt. 1) (to be continued) Ah I posted accidentally okay wait I'll make a part 2 and link it 😖

[maxdibert]

tbh call me weird but I actually forgive anything Snape did, my baby can do no wrong. Called Lily a slur? Not his fault, he's a baby. Joined the DEs? He was just being a silly lil boi. Bullied students? Why were they bothering my angel

From my genuine moral perspective, I truly think that nothing he did was that bad. I do understand, however, that his path to redemption was something he needed in order to forgive himself because, from his perspective, he saw that he had messed up a lot and needed to redeem himself in some way because the guilt was just too much. I also understand that some people might feel highly triggered by his behavior throughout the saga and can't stand him, find him unbearable, or can’t forgive him. I mean, I get it all, and I think it’s legitimate.

However, if you ask me personally, not in a critical way, not analyzing the character, but me as I am, if I think Severus was a good person, I would say no, but then I’d ask, who is really a good person? I mean, most people are a piece of shit to some extent. And, honestly, I’ve forgiven characters for much worse things. I’ve overlooked Jaime Lannister throwing a kid off a tower and leaving him paralyzed, I’ve forgiven Silco for being a kind of Pablo Escobar who plunged his city into a drug epidemic, I’ve forgiven Sofia Falcone for killing people who had nothing to do with her personal revenge, or Penguin for being basically a Silco who exploits vulnerable kids to get what he wants. I’ve forgiven Crocodile from One Piece for trying to build a mafia to economically and socially destroy an entire kingdom just for the pleasure of getting rich, just like I’ve forgiven Donquixote Doflamingo for being a dictator, and I’ve forgiven Itachi Uchiha for killing dozens of people in cold blood despite his intentions. I don’t know, I’ve even forgiven Azula for being a psychopath capable of killing her brother. What I mean is, I like and overlook a lot of shit from characters who are objectively worse and have done objectively worse or morally questionable things than Severus. For God’s sake, Severus Snape is a morally ambiguous character in a saga for kids and young teens, he’s literally a baby compared to any morally questionable character in a lore for an older audience, his sins are laughable. I mean, what did he do wrong? Call a girl a slur who ended up marrying a bully, knowing beforehand that he was a bully? And so what? I’m sorry, but Lily Evans has zero moral grounds to complain about anything when she knew James spent years bullying people just because he felt like it, and then she goes and marries him. Who the hell does that? If Lily Evans came to me after marrying that jerk to give me a moral lecture, I’d slap her across the face. There’s only one thing I hate more than overly moralistic people, and that’s moralistic people who are also cynical. Then what did he do? Join some kind of extremist cult because he was a vulnerable teenager who didn’t see any future for his life anywhere else? Ooooh, how bad. And then what? Be a nasty teacher? Jesus, I’ve had horrible teachers, and compared to them, Snape was a fucking junior. He was a Junior in Asshole Student, I swear. I’m sorry, but I don’t justify his actions, they just seem like nonsense to me. If there was a meeting for morally questionable characters, dark gray to almost black, his peers would probably laugh at him for literally not having done anything even a fifth as bad as they have, lol.

[fetishfairytales2]

Besties 4 (Story)

This was originally written as a continuation of a story by [no longer active] called Besties.

—————

Besties 4: Mommy’s Going on a Date!

“Ooh, speaking of pegs, I forgot to mention what Connor got me for our one-month anniversary!” Heather excitedly left the room and came back holding a massive 8-inch strap-on! I couldn’t believe this thing; it was flesh-colored with bulging veins and even pubic hair! "Wow, girl, talk about a detailed replica!” I laughed as she held it up. She wobbled it by the harness with a wink: “Get this; it's modeled after Connor's cock!” Heather was beaming with pride as she showed it off to me. "It's my favorite way to mess with Brandon," she boasted. “Imagine being fucked by the same cock that stole your girlfriend, who’s also the one fucking you with it!”

Brandon was literally screwed once Heather had enough of his crap. She was totally in her element, totally ruining his life. And honestly, I was so here for it. The best part of it? When she told me, she made him moan Connor's name while she pounded his sorry ass with that big fake dick. Like, could he be any more pathetic? I almost felt bad for him.

“Aw…” Heather cooed in her mommy voice again at the trembling sissy, “Isn't that right, Brandi? Don't you just love it when mommy helps you practice how to get ready for daddy-sissy time? It's just so precious and fun, isn't it?” She turned to me and stuck out her tongue; She just loves when I make her beg for Daddy's cock to fuck her deeper, trust me!” Tears of humiliation were flowing down the sissy's flushed face. "And watching in the mirror while Mommy stretches his little sissy hole? It’s just her favorite!”

Heather's phone buzzed, and she practically flew out of her seat when she saw that it was Connor. "Oh my God, it's him!" She exclaimed, her voice dripping with excitement like a teenager on her first date. I couldn't help but smile at her excitement, glad to see her so happy, replacing Brandon’s worthless ass. 

"Answer it, girl," I urged her on. Of course, the minute her phone hit her ear, she tried to sound flirty. She was using the ‘sexy voice’ I always tease her about. Ugh, she was so typical. "I can't leave; I have a girlfriend visiting me," she continued, emphasizing the word "girlfriend" with a smirk and a wink. "But I miss you too, she sighed, clearly missing her new boytoy. "But like, I also really miss that dick," she added with a laugh, earning an eye roll from me. But hey, she got rid of the fuckface, so who am I to judge?

Heather was clearly loving her new life with Connor. "Sweetie, you better hope you ride dick better than you flirt over the phone!" I laughed. “But if you’re so desperate for a good time, why don’t you just go over there and throw yourself at him?” She stuck a thumb at Brandi. “What am I going to do with this loser if I go out?”

Brandon was hating every minute of this, and I really wanted to make it worse for him. "Girl, don't even worry about it,” I said with a smile. “You need some good dick, and I happen to know just the person who would be thrilled to take care of your little sissy cucky baby while you're away," I teased Heather, winking at Brandon, who was now looking terrified. Heather couldn't contain her laughter. 

"And who might that be?" Heather asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly interested in wherever I was going with this. "Babysitter Lyndsay!" I giggled. "I could take care of Brandi all night long if you'd like. Maybe even until the morning." Heather turned to Brandon and mockingly asked for his opinion, knowing he had no real say in the matter. "What do you think, Princess? Should Ms. Lyndsey be your babysitter while Mommy goes and has a 'playdate' with Daddy?"

I couldn't help but smirk as I watched Brandon's face turn a bright shade of red. Heather owned him now, though, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. "Aww, are you not sure, sweetie?" Even with a gag in his mouth, he was clearly very pissed. But Heather just continued to mess with him. "What's wrong, little man? Feeling frustrated that Daddy gets all the attention while you're stuck in Pampers?" 

I had to stifle a laugh; Brandon looked so sad he might cry. She turned to me, her eyes lighting up, and shrugged. "Ms. Lyndsey is very kind to want to babysit, so make sure you behave, Brandi! Maybe Mommy will have a special surprise for breakfast tomorrow!"

"Surprise?" I asked, knowing that whatever it was, it would be fun for us and terrible for Brandon. Heather just winked as she headed toward her bedroom. "Brandi's on a special, uh, 'protein only diet'. You'll see what I mean." 

As she disappeared down the hallway, I was left alone with Brandon. I put on my sweetest baby talk voice. "Aww, whose a cute sissy baby? Is it Brandi? Yes, it is!" I said as I grabbed his chin and brought our faces close together. "Aww, go ahead and cry for Ms. Lyndsey, sissy baby. No matter how much of a bitch you think Heather is, I’m going to fuck with you ten times worse.” The worthless loser looked like he was going to dirty his Pampers right there. He was so scared.

"Oh, honey," I cooed as I pushed his head back and stood up, my perfectly manicured nails tapping against my chin in fake contemplation. "Heather never mentioned my college boyfriend, did she? Brad was quite the catch, not like you at all," I sneered, relishing in the sight of Brandon quivering with fear. 

"Brad knew how to handle a strong woman. I can't say the same for you, sweetheart," I taunted, taking a sip of my 8th glass of wine for the evening, feeling giddy and like a bad bitch. “He was a real man, but he loved being told what to do in bed. I learned all about fun kinks—teasing and denial, chastity, you name it!” 

Fuck, this was getting spicy. Who knew my best friend’s loser boyfriend dressed as a sissy would do it for me? “Oh, Brandi, you sweet sissy girlie,” let me tell you it was hot!” I placed my index finger in front of Brandon’s face. “I had him wrapped around my perfectly manicured finger. I'd tease and please him, but never let him have all the fun. And he would just beg and plead with me to let him cum. But you know, a girl needs to get her fill too, and I wouldn't keep him waiting too long; I'm not that cruel...to real men.”

The wine was clearly helping me loosen up, and the scared look in Brandon’s eyes was definitely giving me a rush. "You," I snapped, grabbing Brandon's hair and pulling him closer to me. His eyes were fixated on my tight, short skirt. Wow, I was turned on just thinking about the night I could spend ruining poor Brandi. "You, though, will never, ever think about touching another woman as long as I'm around! Unlike Brad, I don’t care how much you beg; I am that cruel to worthless sissy losers." I growled, giving his hair a rough tug to make sure he was paying attention.

"And of course, there will be a lot of teasing for me and begging from you, I promise,” I said with a wink. Brandon's wide-eyed stare showed me that he knew he was fucked, and I couldn't help but smile. Sure, Heather had the strap-on, but I had this sissy by his caged cock.

My fun was interrupted by Heather calling to us from the bedroom. "Ms. Lyndsey, would you mind bringing Brandi in here? I want him to see my outfit for Daddy tonight!" I rolled my eyes and smirked at the pathetic little sissy kneeling before me. “Aww, sissy, are you, like, totally stoked to check out Mommy's sexy outfit?" I sneered at Brandon, enjoying his embarrassed blush as he shamefully looked down at the ground. I had to laugh at the pathetic sight of him standing there, afraid to even make eye contact with me. 

“Come on, Brandi, a sissy cuck like you must love thinking about your girlfriend getting fucked by a real man!” He was crying again. What a loser. “You're such a lucky little sissy girl; you even get to watch her get all dressed up for her date," I taunted, playfully poking his chest. He tried to shake back tears and just stared at the ground. "Fine, let's go see Mommy then, little crybaby." I rolled my eyes and firmly spanked his diapered bottom; “stop throwing temper tantrums. No one actually cares about how you feel."

[pinkcannibal]

Could I request a Marilyn Thornhill x Reader, where reader is having a really terrible day because a series of horrible stuff keeps happening to Reader (For example reader's class work goes mising, her friend stands her up, something spills on reader's outfit and so on). Reader just ends up hiding in her room for the rest of the day. Marilyn notices that reader is missing, she goes to check on reader. Reader kind of jokes that she might be curse and that Marilyn should avoid her. Of course Marilyn doesn't like hearing that. So she does what she can to help reader feel better (I'll leave what kind of relationship Reader and Marilyn have up to you).

a/n so sorry for the wait! i promise im not ignoring requests just needing to find time to write them :) just wanna say as per most of my fics or requests reader is a student and 20. for this prompt its pre relationship. if you’re familiar with my writing i write marilyn not as laurel gates, but having laurel gates uhhh tendencies? so if requested otherwise that's her characterisation, i do also write for canon laurel gates!

-

title: it'll all work out

pairings: marilyn thornhill x fem!reader

tw/warnings: none kinda! just fluff, comfort, and mild panic attacks

summary: you can't cope with the intense wave of what the day throws at you, skyrocketing you into anxiety. and taking comfort in miss thornhill is the only thing that brings you back down

word count: 2160

requests: open!

It starts out like this.  

This morning, you slept through your alarm and were late for your Wiccan History class; so late you may as well not have showed up. And no attempt of explaining your situation stopped you from being handed a detention slip from your teacher- your ears burned in embarrassment at the action.

Then, two hours later, Wednesday made a seemingly inoffensive comment about your class work during a dissection and it was the way she said it that made you feel like all your hard work was actually unintelligent, uninspiring, and not worth handing in. And to top it all off, on the way to lunch, a tall, imposing fur accidentally bumped into you and you dropped your phone; cracking it right down the middle and making tears burn behind your eyelids when you picked it up because today sucks and nothing’s gone right and it times like this you wonder why you ever enrolled in this academy in the first place.  

Then it all comes fucking crashing down because when you finally, finally make it to your table, Enid reaches across the way with all her usual exuberance and excitement because her girlfriend Wednesday sits down across from her and she- 

Enid gasps, eyes wide and panicked as her thermos filled with hot coffee pours over the table and across to you. It soaks the class notes you were working on, just melting the ink of 4000 words from Botony class that you were slaving over and you immediately jump up, lips parting in shock as you move back from the liquid.

But it scalds your uniform, your skirt, and barely misses your thighs and you don’t even realise your eyes are being overcome with fresh tears until Enid exclaims.  

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry!” Enid rushes out, reaching out and picking up her thermos before it can go any further. Wednesday next to her widens her eyes, shuffling over slightly as it drips through the cracks in the table. 

You snap out of your shock, making a noise of panicked frustration.

“No, no no no shit-” You hiss, picking up the ruined essay and immediately dropping it at the temperature. But the damage is done, and you make this tiny noise that sounds like a pained whimper when you squeeze your eyes shut and run your hands through your hair, resigning to all that work being ruined. You bite your lip, so hard you want to taste blood. 

Enid, wide eyed and apologetic, looks like a kicked puppy at the mess she accidentally caused. “I-I am so sorry. Seriously, I was just-” 

A tear falls down your cheek. Fuck, could this day get worse?  

“It’s o-okay, Enid, you didn’t mean to.” You breathe out, trying to reign in your distraught panic attack that’s looming. The rest of the table, Yoko and Divina, look at you with matching pitying looks.   You flush and gather your things, unable to stomach their concern that feels like acid in your belly.  

“Um, look, I’ll see you guys later?” You rush to say, breath becoming laboured. “I just, I n-need to-” 

“Hey,” Yoko softly interjects. “Really, it’s okay, do you want one of us to come with you?” 

You shake your head, clutching your laptop and ruined notes that don’t matter anymore to your heaving chest. “No,” You blurt, pressing your lips together apologetically, then retrying. “No, I’m okay. I’ll um, I’ll see you guys at recess.”  

You leave quickly, the anxiety building and building so quickly you feel like you’re going to cry if someone so much as touches you. Your throat bobs on a sob wanting to escape, and you rush to your dorm and on the way scrunch up the essay in your hands and throw it in a nearby trash can and so distracted by your impending panic you don’t look up until it’s too late.  

You bump hard into someone, gasping and losing your footing immediately. You don’t hit the ground or fall, because two warm, comforting hands are righting you at your biceps and steadying your feet. “Fuck, sorry I-”  

When you look up, you blush, because- 

“Oh dear, are you okay?” Miss Thornhill breathes out, startled by the bump but covering it up with a polite smile that has your knees just, instantly weak. She’s wearing that green coat and red boots; she smells like the earth and rain and something so comforting you warm.  

Her hands haven’t left your arms and you feel even more unsteady and now because she’s here you feel like crying all over again.  

“Are you okay, honey?” She says, this little concerned furrow of her brows thrown your way and you part your lips trying to say something, but your eyes are glassy with tears and she called you honey, and you feel all melty and gooey inside.  

“Gosh,” She says, righting her glasses from the knock and softly chuckling. “I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry, you just came out of no-” 

“I-I’m okay,” You say softly, shifting on your feet. You watch Marilyn tilt her head worriedly at your shaking voice, and almost as if realising her touch, she delicately removes her hands, placing them in her coat pockets instead. You blush with how much you want them back on you.  

“Sorry,” You smile back slightly, clearing your throat. “I didn’t see you either. I’m just...super late for my next class.” 

You try and lie to save face, because you’re three seconds away from bawling your eyes out, but Miss Thornhill does this adorable scrunch of her nose, checking the inside of her wrist for her watch as she frowns.  

“Is that so?” She chuckles out endearingly, looking back up to you and sending you a raised eyebrow. “Your next class is mine, funny enough. If anything, you’re half an hour early.” 

“Oh,” You blush, stuttering as you realise the hole you dug. Marilyn sends you an amused look as you flounder. Then everything just- falls into you. The detention. Wednesday’s comment. Your phone. Your essay. The anxiety. And how just one concerned look from Miss Thornhill has you feeling like splitting at the seams.  

“I-I uh, must have gotten my timetable mixed up?” Then you sniff and bring your blazer sleeve up to your nose, shutting your eyes in mortification as your throat bobs and you whine on a cry. “Shit, s-sorry I just- I can’t-” 

“Oh, dear.” Marilyn breathes out in sympathy, watching you crumble inside of yourself and choke on a cry that bubbles past your lips. You can’t look at her, wiping at your eyes in frustration as you cry in the middle of the hall to the other woman like some pathetic child.  

“Sweetie,” She says softly, full of so much care and concern that you look up and flush red at how her hazel eyes are the most gentle you’ve ever seen them.  

Then she’s placing her hand at the small of your back, hushing you sweetly. “Are you okay?” She says kindly. 

You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as more tears escape. You shake your head, too vulnerable for words as you tighten your laptop and books in your grip against your stomach.  

Marilyn notices the reaction, eyebrows furrowing in worry.  

“Okay, you’re okay,” She says, coaxing and warm, and your neck goes red at the tone. “Do you want to talk about it? We can go to my classroom, it’s nice and quiet there, would that be okay?” 

The way she asks for your consent, how loving she sounds, sends you into a space you feel dizzy in. You nod softly, doe eyes looking up through your wet eyelashes to her. “I...Yes, please.” You breathe out, filled with so much relief your heart aches, pooling and pooling when her hand rubs in soothing circles to your lower back – something that sends shivers up your spine.  

- 

Miss Thornhill makes you chamomile tea from her own garden in the conservatory, and when she hands it to you her fingers brush yours and you feel unsteady again and the tears are back then she says “You’re safe here, nothing can hurt you, sweetie. Are you okay? What happened?” and it spills from your lips like water.  

At the end of it all, Marilyn is giving you this tender look, like she’s yearning to fix everything that’s wrong; and your hands are tight around the tea mug from where you sit perched on one of the desks, shaking as you stutter and speak through your tears. 

“And then Enid, she-” You whine, a frustrated noise leaving your lips at the memory as you screw your eyes shut. “She spilled coffee on my essay for your class and it was already late because you were nice enough to give me an extension but now it’s ruined and I feel like I keep fucking up and just-”  

“Darling,” Miss Thornhill interjects softly, stepping forwards and ducking her head slightly to catch your gaze. Darling. Darling. You feel your lower belly swarm with need at the term as you blink back at her in bashfulness. The other woman then gently unwraps your hands from around the scalding tea and places it beside you.  

Instead, she takes them in her own, rubbing softly and gently into your palms as your breath hitches and cheeks warm.  

“Shh. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?” She says warmly, and you instantly copy her as your eyes flick down to her chest, rising with a breath that calms you instantly.

“That’s it, good job, honey.” Marilyn smiles kindly to you, and the soft praise has your throat drying and stomach flipping as you look back up and bite your lip.  

“I’m so sorry that happened,” She murmurs sincerely, eyes so genuine and kind behind her glasses that you almost forget how close she is right now. She’s almost between your legs with how she holds you, and your chest picks up at the thought. “That sounds like an awful, terrible day, sweetheart.” 

Oh. Okay. You’re floating now, you’re sure of it. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out, shifting in your spot, earnestly trying to get impossibly closer to her. If Marilyn notices, she doesn’t comment, but she dosen’t move away. “It was.”

You wince then, groaning and blushing when you remember. “And I’m really, really sorry about the essay. I can get it finished tomorrow if I-” 

Miss Thornhill snorts, shaking her head in amusement at you and fixing her glasses. “Oh gosh, that’s hilarious if you think I’m worried about that.”  

You widen your eyes, tilting your head. “What?” You stammer. “But, it’s worth like, twenty percent and I’m already two weeks late.” You stress. Marilyn squeezes to your hands, softening at your words.  

“There is no way I’m making you redo it after the day you’ve had, okay sweetie?”  

You part your lips, heart so heavy with love for her it stuns you. And you don’t really know what to do other than feel tears well in your eyes again, and suddenly your chest goes weightless and you dart forwards, wrapping Miss Thornhill in a hug, arms slinging over her shoulders.  

It forces her so close to you, you almost pull back as you feel her front pressed between your legs and brushing up against your thighs - and before you can die of embarrassment at how needy for her affection you feel, Miss Thornhill is making this noise of surprise at your action, a tender “Oh,” leaving her lips that feels like cotton candy inside your lungs. 

But then her arms are wrapping back around you.  

You feel her breath hitch as you bury into the soft spot of her neck, squeezing your eyes shut and holding tight. Marilyn holds back, hands soothing up and down your back as you cling to her.  

“It’s okay,” She coos, next to your ear and making you melt. 

“You’re okay.” Marilyn says softly. “I’m here.” 

[getinthefuckingcarkitten]

THE MESSIEST YURI POLYCULE EXPLAINED. Somewhat. Some notes abt them below readmore.

Kylar has really thick and beautiful hair, but she doesn't take care of it. Usually she wouldn't care and use it as a shield from outsiders, but Ronnie said once (1 time) that she'd like to see Kylar's face more so now she wears it up all the time. Once she had a crush on Foxglove, it ended horribly for her.

Robin has some small influence from Anthy in her design because if Ronnie is the prince, she's supposed to be the princess. This goes as well as expected (not at all). Her and Kylar have an unspoken brewing rivalry going on that could go off anytime, but she just can't bring herself to hate Sydney since Sydney is very nice and polite, just like Robin. Ougghhh the spell has turned against the spellcaster

Whitney broke her nose in a fight and pretends she doesn't care but is super insecure about it. She's still hung up on Foxglove even though they broke up long ago, which isn't helped in the slightest by the fact that Foxy often goes out to drink with her after a bad date with Avery, even if Whitney kinda knows she's being used she keeps telling herself that she's the one using Foxy.

Sydney came out with such peak old yuri design i am actually kinda proud... Anyway, she's the most unaware one in this mess. Or... Is she? Wants to rekindle her friendship with Kylar, but Kylar keeps pushing her away. So nice that she's such good friends with Kylar's girlfriend and they can hang out together, then :) (This may or may not blow up in her face because Ronnie can't and won't keep it in her pants)

Ronnie wants to fix everybody in the polycule but is also constantly doing worse than everybody god bless. She's in love with Robin but is dating Kylar out of pity but kinda liked Kylar but also kinda likes Sydney and Whitney is like her next target on the pet project list ever since she got too vulnerable after Ronnie stopped her from accidentally selling herself to the underground brothel like an idiot. She dislikes Foxglove for bullying Kylar and had a shit "breakup" with Avery that ended in them throwing hands in a pub (Avery lost LOL). If Sydney ever manages to drag her to a temple she'll pray on their downfall (as if she needs to).

I feel like i've talked enough about Foxglove and Avery... My meowmeows... Avery doesn't know or care about any of the other school LIs besides Robin. She doesn't exactly hate Robin but after getting beat by her in the middle of a fight with Ronnie she just hopes Robin looks both way before crossing the street.

Foxglove is sort of friends with Robin, but they're not very close. Robin has always been nice to her which she can appreciate since she came to the orphanage in a pretty bad state, but they both have bigger stuff to worry about. I might make their relationship more relevant to my personal plot or not idk it depends...

[ifangirlalot]

hi omg, can you please write a Finn x Reader where they meet on the set of stranger things, it's kind of weird/awkward at first, they don't know why though (it's tension you idiots), but they gradually become closer, it's just a lot of fluff and mutual pining, maybe jealousy? idk, but, I'd love for you to write this, thank youuuu

ˏˋ 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˎˊ˗ | starring finn wolfhard

I was way too excited for this request oh. my. god.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

~fluff!~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] n/a

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Finn's POV

She's only going to be here for the next couple days at the most. It's usually pretty frowned upon for actors to have a thing for their co-stars, though of course it tends to happen quite frequently, especially if you work together for years on a show as a love interests.

But the thing is, [Name] isn't my co-star. I don't even have any scenes with her. She's just here as an extra, she'll be gone by next week. And yet... I can't stop thinking about her. I've had to pretend to be in love, infatuated, obsessed, countless times. But to actually feel it is a totally different feeling. My heart keeps slamming against my ribcage so often that there's points I'm actually scared it might break one or something. I'm no doctor, so I'm not entirely sure that's even possible, but whatever.

Pulling me from my thoughts is the voice of one of the producers. Apparently, I've accidently messed up another scene. And even worse yet, she's caught me staring and is staring back, directly into my eyes. My cheeks burn against my face and the tingle of embarrassment rushes over my body. I feel so incredibly foolish.

I can't tell if it's just my lover's eye or if what I see is true, but I think she might be blushing too.

[Name]'s POV

I have a monstrously bad habit of zoning out a lot. It's almost gotten me ran over a couple of times before. Being an extra for Stranger Things sounds like one of my daydreams, not real life. And yet, here I am, on the set of Stranger Things 4. I zoned out again, and the thing that pulls me out of it is a producer calling out for Finn, telling him to focus. When I look up, he's staring directly at me and I feel my face get hot.

Was he staring at me? Without really thinking about it, I bring my hand up to my face and feel around, maybe trying to catch something off it. Surely that's why he's looking at me. Because I have something on it and he's too embarrassed to tell me. I give him a slight smile before I go to change back into my own clothes. My part is done for the day, it's my cue to go home.

Since I'm not apart of the main cast, I don't have a changing room or a trailer so I just have to find a bathroom to change in. After I've collected the plastic bag containing my clothes, I side step to head to the bathroom when a hand (rather uncoordinatedly) blocks my path.

Finn stands there, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, the other stretched awkwardly over the doorway.

"Hey-! [Name]-! I, uh. I didn't see you there."

Finn's POV

Right after the words leave my mouth, I immediately want to smack them back in.

Didn't see you there? You're right in front of her, it's obvious you're lying.

A nervous sound, half laugh, half cough, falls from my lips. Oh fuck, this is going terrible.

I plaster an awkward smile on my face. "Hi."

[Name] is giving me a look like she's not entirely sure what's happening, and I can't really blame her. I don't fucking know either. I just wanted to ask her to hang out, now I'm blocking her path and being creepily weird about it. You'd think it would be easier to be smooth with women when you have a whole fanbase of girls after you, but that's not entirely true.

I have about as much charm as a raw piece of cabbage.

"Heyyy.." she says, somewhat awkwardly, drawing out the last syllable of the word.

I clear my throat. I can't keep stalling and if I just let her pass now without going through with it, I would look even weirder. But her eyes-- those damn eyes-- are burning into mine. With every blink, the words escape and run even farther and farther away.

[Name]'s POV

In reality, I think only three seconds or so has passed. But with his dark eyes pinned to mine, it feels like it's been an eternity and a half. My body feels like it's been nailed in place. His eyes are holding me captive like an invisible pair of shackles. I can't move from my place and his gaze is telling me I don't want to. The air feels heavy with some unspoken tension. I can't tell if it's an awkward kind of tension or something else. After another beat or two, Finn's throat clears and breaks the silence. "Hey listen, I was kicking around the idea of us.. maybe.. uh.. you know, hanging out? Or something? Maybe?"

"Oh um.. Yeah, yeah sure. Sounds good, sounds good.. I uh. Should really get dressed and get home, though. I could just like give you my number or something?" I can't help but think about how fucking awful that sounds. I don't let myself dwell on that for too long, though, and before I can blink, he's typing his number into my phone and I'm watching it happen, feeling dazed and dreamy-eyed.

[A Note From Zee]

Hey there! Sorry this took so long. Since this is a lot longer than I originally thought it was going to be, I'll have to publish it in multiple parts, if anyone is interested in that. I've got two other requests to put out before then, though. Uhhh anyways, feel free to leave some feedback.

[differenteagletragedy]

so… idk how interested you are in stuff like bridgerton/pride and prejudice/etc, but i’ve been obsessing over the idea of like a Regency au ever since my friend was like “baxter is in the wrong genre. that man is suited for historical romances. he dreams of writing by candlelight and fainting onto couches.” so do you have any hcs on a regency/historical romance au? assuming you do aus? thanks :)

I haven't watched Bridgerton! It's been many years since I read/watched Pride and Prejudice so apologies if this is a little too Darcy, but I think there would be some similarities between him and Baxter!

-- Baxter is a fancy man now, so living in a time period when men dressed fancier in general, he's going to have to kick it up a few notches. I'm thinking flashier colors, maybe some floral patterns.

-- Those little dances they threw all the time? You know he's there all the time. He has tons of one night stands with people he meets there, but then he meets MC and they are Different.

-- Baxter on a horse Baxter on a horse

-- Does he need a cane? No. Does he have a fancy one anyway. Yup.

--You're not going to catch him in a hat. He knows he's pretty and he doesn't want to take attention away from his face.

-- Basically this version of Baxter is unbearable lol but he does have his charms! Maybe he's playing charades with MC and throws the game just to be a silly little guy and make MC laugh. Or maybe they're playing cards and he keeps pretending to make dumb mistakes, again for a laugh.

-- Everybody talks with that flowery language, so he's going to have to lean on something else to make him stand out, and I think it would be his goofiness. Like he's still charming, of course, but he's not going to be a weirdo in the way that the Baxter of today is.

-- He'd still go on a walk with MC and make up a bunch of nonsense about the things around them.

-- Why am I researching this like I'm writing an essay

-- He would very much want to court MC, but he wouldn't feel like he was worth it. So what I think would happen would be that he began the courting process with the knowledge that he'd eventually just stop.

-- Liz is their chaperone lol

-- Baxter and MC are going for a walk and Baxter is running his mouth and Liz is just like "good god this guy ..."

-- A historian spoke to PBS (this is getting so serious) and explained, “You would initially address one another as sir, my lord, or madam, depending on rank, and then progress to Mr. and Miss So-and-so, or Lord and Lady So-and-so. To use a person’s Christian name during courtship was a special mark of intimacy. And we can often see the moment in their letters when someone asked to be called by their first name, signaling that a relationship was becoming much more serious and, in fact, might later progress to pet names and things like my dearest love or my dearest life.”

-- So the first time MC actually says Baxter's name it's just going to absolutely wreck him, it's going to hit him right in the heart.

-- And when they end up together Baxter calls them "my dearest life" CAN YOU IMAGINE

-- Apparently if you ended a courtship then the proper thing to do was return the letters you'd sent each other, Baxter cannot do this emotionally

-- He'd be like "I burned them they can't have them" and keep them like under a floorboard so he could read them at night and cry.

-- MC's reputation is definitely going to take a hit. Baxter's was already bad but now it's worse, and now he feels guilty for messing with MC in the first place.

*a few years of mess*

-- Baxter has traveled, seen places and done things, but he finds himself back in his hometown. There's a ball. He'd decide to go for old times sake, and you were probably married by then so nbd

-- There you are though!

-- He wants to throw up, but he asks you to dance anyway because he can't help himself. MC agrees because dang that Baxter is smooth.

-- Ok ok, so back in those days if you danced with somebody twice then people thought that was a Big Deal and that you basically wanted to marry them.

Baxter: I would ask for another dance, but I don't deserve it.

MC: Why don't you try asking anyway.

Baxter: But if we have another dance, people are going to talk ...

MC: Let them talk ... Baxter.

Baxter: *swoons*

-- Yeah that's corny and silly, but we're just having fun here.

[coraniaid]

There's so many good ones so I wanna ask one more! (Feel free to ignore of course!) Fuffy + 91. "I can't breathe." Happy writing! (Tbh I am team full season rewrite tho if/when you feel up to it! 😂 I'd love to see another! You did so incredible with the first one)

You sent this prompt in months ago, I know, but ... uh, better late than never?

(This is canon compliant and set in late Season 3, so I hope you like angst.)

In her whole short life leading up to today, Faith's only ever memorized four phone numbers.

The first of them was the phone number of the tiny apartment she’d lived in with her mother ever since she was a kid.  The dismal too-small box back in Southie that she’d spent years dreaming of escape from. Not that she ever had any reason to call that one, or to invite anyone else to call her either.  Unlike some people, she didn't exactly have a fawning little gang of sycophants and hangers-on to arrange late night gossip sessions with. 

She used to have to give that number to teachers though sometimes. Before she was smart enough to just take the hint and drop out of school entirely.  They used to demand it after summoning her to some principal’s office or some classroom for after-school detention, then get pissed at her when nobody answered.  As if it were Faith’s fault her mom was too busy enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life to pick up the phone.  As if she’d ever asked for her to do that.

(Hell, maybe if she’d just asked her to carry on drinking herself to death then her mom would’ve stopped.  God knows she’d never given Faith anything else she’d ever asked for.)

Anyway, that was one number she could go ahead and forget.  Good riddance to that.

Then there was Diana's number. Diana Dormer.

Diana was her first Watcher, and – in every way that mattered – her last Watcher too.  Snobby Rupert Giles had only ever looked at her like she was a cheap, flawed copy of his favorite golden Slayer, and lying Mrs Post had only ever been using her to get her hands on that stupid glove, and that jailbait-chasing creep Wesley was somehow worse than both of them put together. But Diana had been okay.  For a Watcher, anyway.  She’d been all right. 

Diana had given her her number early on, shortly after she’d first invited Faith to stay at her place.  "In case of emergencies," she'd said gently.  “Or if you just want to talk.”  

Faith had never known when to use it.  Never been sure what Diana wanted from her until it was too late to ask.  Her Watcher's house had been real nice, the few times she’d gone round to visit, but she'd worried that there was some kind of trick she wasn’t spotting, some strings attached that she’d not be able to escape.   So however much she’d wanted to, she'd never actually called her on it.  Not really.  

She'd rung the number once, for the first time and the last, only after Diana died.  When even a stupid little kid should've known it was way too late.  Driven by some weak childish impulse on a very bad night, after a string of at least a dozen bad nights, when she was already halfway across the country.  It rang and rang and rang and however long she waited nobody had ever answered.  

Well, what had she expected to happen anyway?  Diana was dead and she’d not been good enough to stop it and no amount of wishing would ever change that.

She could probably go ahead and forget that number too.

The Mayor had given her his number, as well, last of everyone. “Saving the best till last as usual, are you Faith?” he might have asked her, beaming at her in his office over another plate of cookies.  (The Mayor hated crumbs and mess and disorder, that wasn’t a secret, but somehow he never seemed to mind her eating at his desk.)

It was his private office number, direct line.  Not the one most people had to call.  The real one: the one Trick had used, and Mr Finch, and maybe some other dead losers Faith had offed without knowing it.  That was good. it meant he trusted her, that she was useful to him.  That she was safe.  She didn't think she'd ever call him on it either though.  What if she said something stupid and pissed him off?  What if he decided he could do better?

Mayor Wilkins wasn’t Diana.  The Mayor wasn't all right. Not really. He was a monster, and a killer, and he was wicked gross. Only … he was on her side, wasn't he? He’d set her up in this place, hadn’t he? A little nicer than that dump of a motel she’d been left to rot in.  He’d given her a chance.  He got her, the way nobody else in this town did.  The real her.  After all, she was a monster too.  Everyone knew it.  She belonged, with him, in a way she’d never belonged anywhere before.

Use it or not, she'd be hanging onto his number for a while.  It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

And then there was the third number.  The one she didn’t want to think about.  The most important number.  Her number.  Buffy Summers’s number.  The Buffy Summers, the one Diana had told her about almost a year ago. The one Faith had known about, somehow, even before that, the face she’d glimpsed in her dreams the night before she’d woken up stronger and stranger and different than before.

The other Slayer – the real Slayer, Faith supposes, the good Slayer – had given her number to Faith herself on her third night in Sunnydale, after the big fight with Kakistos.

They’d been hungry, after dusting that old monster.  Both of them.  Starving.  And, maybe, they'd both been feeling something else.  Something that Faith had been sure she’d seen, deep in Buffy’s eyes, that very first night they’d met.  A feeling she’d never been able to talk about it with anyone else, because they wouldn’t have been able to understand.  The feeling she’d always gotten after a good slay.  The high that kept her going, night after night, vamp after vamp.

They were hungry, but the only place open that late at night was a crappy little diner a few blocks away from the vamps’ old hideout.  It had been nearly deserted when they’d shown up, no other customers at all, and for a minute Faith had been worried they’d be turned away.  She probably would’ve been, she thinks, if she’d been on her own.  Something about her just had that effect on people.  She was trouble, she was a problem, and it was like everyone could smell it on her.  Like a stink she couldn’t ever wash away.

But she’d been with Buffy, Sunnydale’s golden girl, and nobody in the world had ever known how to say no to her.  That was why, not long after arriving, they’d been sitting together squashed up at a little plastic table, a table piled high with more burgers and fries and milkshakes than Faith had seen in one place for a long time.  More food than she’d ever had since she’d lost Diana.

Buffy might have claimed to crave nothing more than low-fat yogurt back when she was with her friends, but Faith hadn’t bought it.  No way that could be true.  And that night, when it was just the two of them, Buffy hadn’t bothered to pretend.  She’d torn through the burgers almost as fast as Faith, almost as if she didn’t have a mom at home who’d stay up late waiting for her and cook her hot food any time she asked.  Almost as if she was as empty inside as Faith was.

At one point, she’d looked up at Faith, mouth still slightly smeared with sauce, and Faith had had the weirdest feeling.  Because, fuck, this was Buffy Summers, the girl she’d dreamed about being the first night she was Called.  This was the girl whose death she’d lived through in her nightmares, just like she’d lived through a second death bleeding out on the library floor at some vampire’s feet, and falling through the air to the ground far below, and hundreds of other deaths before that.  

Buffy Summers, who Diana had told her stories about as if she were some kind of fairy tale.  Buffy Summers, who she’d dreamed about again as she fled across the country, running for her life, not knowing where else she could turn to.  Buffy Summers, who’d drowned but lived to joke about it, who’d never lost a fight, who blew up demons with rocket launchers and was really real.  Who was real and alive and warm and sitting so close to her, and who – even disheveled and dirty after a fight, even with fading bruises on her arms and ketchup stains on her fingers – was the most beautiful girl Faith had ever seen in her life. Buffy Summers, who was like her, but better.  Perfected.  Perfect.  

She’d looked up at her, and Faith had felt her heart lurch in her chest in a way that had nothing to do with all the greasy junk food they were eating.  And for the first time in the longest time, she’d dared to let herself hope that maybe everything was going to be okay.

If things had been just a little different back then, if Buffy had given her just the smallest, slightest sign, Faith thinks she might have kissed her right then and there.

Not a quick kiss on the forehead, like she had after their big fight back in Angel’s mansion, but a proper kiss.  The sort of kiss a girl like Buffy deserved.  Romantic.  Slow and deliberate.  Gentle and soft and forgiving  in a way that Faith could never make herself be.

But things hadn’t been different.  They never were.  Everywhere you went things were always exactly the same forever.  Buffy had glanced away; a tired-looking waitress had shown up to ask if they were going to be done soon; the moment had slipped out of her fingers, unseized.

So Faith had just helped herself to the last few fries on Buffy’s plate when she was almost finished, smirked at her with her mouth full when the other girl protested, then left her to foot the bill and made her way alone back to her motel room.

Alone.

She’d been alone for months, out on the wrong part of town, and nobody had cared.  Not really.

Giles had come round to see her once, much too late, almost a week after she’d arrived in Sunnydale.  He’d looked over the place, peering over his glasses, barely managing to hide his distaste, and asked her haltingly if she was looking for somewhere else to stay.  Well, nice try.  Faith wasn’t about to fall for that one.  What was he going to suggest: putting her up in the spare room in his place?  Out of the goodness of his heart, or something? How dumb did he think she was? 

“I’m five by five here, G-man,” she’d smiled insincerely, almost as keen to see the back of him as he obviously was to leave.

You couldn’t trust guys, even older guys who seemed okay at first.  Even guys you were supposed to be able to trust.  Especially not those guys.  Faith wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise.  She hadn’t been that naive for a very long time.

Buffy had come around to see her a few times, too.  Not so much after they’d fought over Mrs Post’s glove – well, to be fair, Faith hadn’t exactly wanted to see her then either –  but a couple of times.  The last time was just before Christmas, when Buffy’s mom had guilted her into inviting Faith over for the night.

She might have kissed her that night, too.  She might have, if she could’ve gotten away with it.  Found some way to play it off as a joke.  Lurked around the mistletoe and surprised her with a shy and furtive peck on the cheek at the stroke of midnight.  She might have kissed her, if that damn vampire hadn’t shown up to ruin everything.

As it was, Buffy hadn’t even hung around to open Faith’s crappy little presents.  She hadn’t even cared.  Just abandoned Faith again, the way everyone else did.  Left her to guard her mom like she was some kind of dog.  Like she was a stray she’d briefly felt sorry for and invited into the warmth for a night, only to regret it when she realized how flea-bitten and mangy and disgusting she truly was. 

She always thought she was better than you, Faith reminds herself angrily, hating the way she always forgets. Right from the beginning, and you never ever let yourself see it.

Sometimes she still thinks about calling her, even now.  What for, she isn't sure.  It's not like they were ever friends, is it?  Not really. Buffy was just using her, same as everyone else. She gets that now, even if she'd never wanted to admit it.  There was no way Buffy had ever been going to let her into her life for real.  There was no way Buffy was going to admit that they were alike.

Still, she thinks about it, some nights.  Most nights.  She’s been thinking about it tonight.

It’s idiotic.  She’s idiotic.  She’s embarrassing herself again.  it's just like Red had told her, back in the Mayor's office.  It's too late, it's way too late.  She knows that.  She’s known it for a while.  She’s not a stupid kid anymore.

Only … she’s never going to get another chance, is she?  One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon.

It's well after midnight when she finally screws up the courage to pick up the phone.  Not long to go until graduation day now.  Not long to go until the Mayor's big ascension.  This town will get what’s coming to it, and so will Buffy Summers.  And so will she.  Everything will be different.

"Willow?" Buffy says sleepily on the other end of the line, when Faith finally has the guts to dial her number.  "Is that you?  Are you okay?"

Faith feels herself scowling at the mention of that little witch's name, the smile she’d not been able to stop when she heard Buffy’s voice curdling on her face.

Red.  That smug little witch.  Of course Buffy would ask about her.  Of course Buffy would choose her over Faith, again and again.  Willow’s not a Slayer.  She isn’t like them, she isn’t important.  She’s soft and weak and shy and coddled and she’s got a family and a house and a future.  She doesn’t need Buffy the way that Faith needs her.  Why can’t Buffy see that?

Too late, she realizes how long it’s taking her to answer.  Now Buffy's getting impatient. Sounding a little more stern.

"Who is this?  What do you want?"

Faith freezes.  The little script she’d pieced together in her mind all evening fades into gray nothingness.  What does she want?  Forgiveness, maybe.  Absolution. For somebody else to really see her and agree that this was the only way that things could go.  That, really, none of this was anybody’s fault.  Or maybe she just wants a chance to say goodbye.

I should have kissed you, back then, she thinks.  That night after we dusted Kakistos.

She can see in her mind exactly how it would have played out. Like a scene from a movie – not one of those grainy black and white flicks she used to watch on the broken television in the motel after patrol, but a real movie, on the big screen, so bright and colorful and sharp and real that it almost hurts to look at.

You'd have tasted sweet, but just a little salty, between those fries you were demolishing and the specks of strawberry milkshake waiting on your upper lip.  You’d have tasted just like I imagined, all those summer nights on the run.  And afterwards … afterwards, you’d have gone all shocked and wide-eyed for a second and neither of us would've said anything. Then you'd have turned all pink and protested and pretended you hadn’t been into it at all, and maybe you’d not have talked to me again for weeks and weeks afterwards.  You’d probably have been weird about it for months.  

But I think it would’ve been worth it.  To show you. Who I was, and who you were.  To take what I wanted, just for a moment.  To have what I was sure we both wanted, deep down.  What we both needed.  To know that I was right, and that the two of us were the same.  To taste it.

And now it's like ... it's like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe.  I’m in that quarry the kids used to fool around in, back in Boston. I’ve jumped in from way up top like always, only something’s gone wrong. I'm stuck. I can’t get out, I can’t even move, and I'm waving for help but nobody can see me.  Nobody wants to see me.

It’s just like it was back then, after I failed Diana, except I know nobody’s going to take my hand and drag me out this time.  I know there’s nowhere left for me to run, and no other Slayer I can trek across the country to find is going to save me.  I know the only way out is down into the dark.  The only thing left to do is let the water in and drown.

Faith opens her mouth.  Hesitates again, for the last time.  Buffy doesn't give her another chance.

"I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I know this isn't funny," the other girl whispers furiously.  "It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to sleep.  Don't ever call here again."

The line goes dead before Faith can say a word.

[asksoldieron]

SO-20: "I just… um… Words. Sometimes. You know."

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for A Little Loopy (249|20) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

Okay! I may get myself in trouble here because I have to talk about this instalment when I'm still a little messed up about someone (with the BEST intentions) correcting the language I use to talk about, uh, loosing my language. They increased my anxiety about a word I need to use sometimes to get appropriate care, to the point where I won't be able to use it to get appropriate care right now, if I have to. I'm slightly less safe going out in public alone, with one less way to catch myself if I fall, and that makes everything worse because I know it. No matter how noble the intent, that's not okay. But Tumblr is the sort of place I could get in trouble for saying it's not. Because some folks here want to file me according to their perception of just how disabled I am, and then tell me how I should be acting. I'm really not sure how that's supposed to help everyone, but some folks are convinced it will.

But, Erik's meltdown here is mine, at least as far as the words go. I went back and changed it out of spite after I wrote it, because someone induced that kinda meltdown in me, and sometimes I wanna punch people until they develop empathy. I know it won't work, but I really, really wanna. I opened the doc and said to the spouse, "Fuck it, no words at all. If they love him, they'll figure it out." But, of course, I didn't say that. I said "totally nonverbal." And there is discourse about that. My God, is there discourse!

I don't like performing my pain in an attempt to get others to treat me how I want to be treated. And how I want to be treated is please, please don't make it harder for me to find a word I can use to get people to back off and let me put myself together when I can't find hardly any words. Erik has a hard time finding words he doesn't use a lot, so that word's not likely to come out of him. I have a hard time finding words that aren't specific, so it might come out of me. But I do need to be able to use it when I'm not struggling, sometimes, or it gets harder to find. Like now.

I did go write down some of what my deal is, and how I feel, after that person politely nudged me into my place. But I didn't post it anywhere because I don't wanna tell it to the world. At least not right now. That's inviting more well-meaning people to categorize me and I have enough on my plate. Please just remember, not everyone who fails to play by the rules is dog-whistling to cause harm, or just being entitled. And you're not entitled to demand, "Prove it."

I know if Erik could say "nonverbal" someone would pop up to tell me, "no, bad writer." But I do wonder, if ya had to sit him down in the hotel room and say it to his face as he breaks down crying with no words to explain how to help him, would anyone say, "You can talk most of the time. That word is wrong for you. Pick another"? I really hope not. But, if someone said that when he was having a good day, he'd remember it. He'd still remember (at some point, heh, poor kid) when he's having a meltdown. Being scared and upset doesn't erase someone trying to take that word away from him so he can't use it ever, because he's not having a hard enough time in comparison to someone else.

It's hard for me to stick up for myself, but - oh, man - I will come for you if you hurt my boy. Please try not to. We all hurt each other without meaning sometimes, so all I can ask is that you try.

There is so much that would make this world better and more accessible for all of us. Just for example: safe, affordable housing for all, and not having to drive everywhere to get healthcare and/or food. It can't just be for the least of us, because then we hafta fight each other for the title of "least." I don't wanna. I'm real tired of it. Why isn't everyone?

[Back to Site?]

*Art Edit: My reference image is from Voodoo Child by Rogue Traders, and I think I pulled it off. I mean, if you've seen the video, I think you'll recognize it.

And if you haven't, it still makes sense. Poor Erik!

I can point out exactly where I screwed up, too, and the Glaze artifacts stick out like crazy (to my eyes, anyway). Nevertheless, Erik look like Erik, and I'm happy with his design in this style. Happier than I have been with how he looks in my art-deco-ish style! I'll have to put the HQ version in the Ko-Fi store.

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Flawed Clay

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ Proverbs 14:16 One who is wise is cautious and turns away from evil, but a fool is reckless and careless.

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ Jeremiah 18:4 But the jar that he was making from the clay became flawed in the potter’s hand, so he made it into another jar, as it seemed right for him to do.

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM A CLAY

I AM HIS CREATION

I AM OBEYING

I AM LOVING

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READ TIME: 7 Minutes & 24 Seconds

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THOUGHTS:

=======================

  Sometimes, what happens in life is that we try to make our path and do what we feel is necessary, but God knows what is necessary. He knows what is right, and we can pretend as we do; God doesn’t give up; no matter how many times I have messed up, God has stuck with me , just like my parents I might’ve felt they left me stuck in some situations that I was going through , I might’ve felt they didn’t do their best, but they did , that’s just like God he sticks with us no matter what and he’s always doing his best for our lives , we might’ve think he left us in whatever situation we are in but we just have to stop and see that, he never did , leave we do when things aren’t going are way. Some of us are so easily to dismiss his presence because we are to busy for him but he’s never to busy for us because we are His.

  2 Corinthians 4:7-9 But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 8 We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed

  We are jars of clay, and God keeps Christ's glory inside. God could’ve easily put Christ's glory in something less fragile, but he decided to do this with us; we might be afflicted in every way, but we aren’t crushed, we might be perplexed but not despaired, and we might go through, but we aren’t forsaken, and we might feel struck down, but we won’t be destroyed , we must remember that whatever we go through we have Christ glory living in us and we can conquer anything, as long as we stay focused on God.

   In this verse, the Holy Spirit is trying to show us that we all are flawed and must return to the potter's hands. It’s the only way to be changed; we must accept the task and not deny the path he's created for us.

   Romans 9:20 On the contrary, who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? Will what is formed say to the one who formed it, “Why did you make me like this?”

   This is what some of us do immediately when something goes wrong. We are quick to ask God, why didn’t you do this or Why didn't you do that, and we shake our fists at him in anger; how dare we get this angry with God and expect him to do what we say we have to realize that he is God and whatever happens in our life, it happens for a reason , God is sovereign.

   Verse 22 And what if God, wanting to display his wrath and to make his power known, endured with much patience objects of wrath prepared for destruction?

  This goes back to the first part of this devotional: God is so powerful. He can do whatever He wants to do with and towards us because He is God. Still, at every turn, he always displays grace, and maybe we might say that’s not what he is trying to give us, and a lot of times, we don’t realize what he can do to us it can be worse than what we have.

WE HAVE TO stop looking at God as human. He is God alone. He does not have to do anything else. We must obey him and allow his glory to shine through our lives. Sometimes, we go through this because we lack gratitude to God. God is in control, but we might think we can bend his hand to get him to do it, but we can't. God is going to do what he wants at any given time.

 Micah 6:8 He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

  The Lord requires us to do what is justice, love, be kind, and walk humbly with Him; that word humbly is something some of us lack because we feel we can do whatever we want, but it shows in this devotional today that we can’t. That we must do what he always wants. We are being shaped and molded every day in his ways; we try to do whatever the Israelites did and deny him that power, or we can allow his power in us, and allow him to reign in our heart and lives.

 ***Today, we learned about being molded. A lot of us are being rebellious with what he’s calling us to do because we feel that maybe we can do half of what he wants, but God is telling us that to do precisely what he wants, we must be humble, we must be patient in our journey with him. We can’t rush through the fiery trials or the complex parts of life, and most of all we must stay consistent.

Consistent in

*PRAYER

**WORSHIP

***READING OUR WORD

****MEDIATING

*****FASTING

Romans 5:8 But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

In Roman, it tells us that even in our ways, even while we were sinners, he loved us and died for us; we have people in our lives right now who will write us off and dismiss us if we don’t do what they want but not God he will never abandon us, he will give us space to let us do what we want, but he won’t leave us,

   God does everything he can to provide for us to ensure we are filled with joy, and humbly obey him through everything. When we say we are a child of God, we must do what he likes, and as we grow in him, we learn that his ways and his will are way better than what we want to do. Even though we are flawed, God still wants to mold us into perfection through the circumstances we face, and those circumstances could be hard, but he’s there, life can be tough and situations can make it even tougher. Whatever we go through don’t allow the enemy or people the enemy use to make you feel God has forsaken you he haven’t . He’s not giving up on you don’t give up on him !

 ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

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PRAYER

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Heavenly Father, help us to be more like you; help us to understand through our flaws and through you molding us that you love us and that what we go through is for your Glory. Forgive us of the sins we did, and help us to love and be obedient in your will for us; sometimes, lord, it’s hard for us to pray because we have so much on our minds, but we ask you to clear our minds and fill it with peace, help us to worship you in spirit and truth in Jesus Name Amen

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REFERENCES

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+ 2 Timothy 3:16 All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and training in righteousness,

 

+ Matthew 28:20 Teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

 

+ Galatians 1:4 Who gave himself for our sins to deliver us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father,

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FURTHER READINGS

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Proverbs 25

Leviticus 25

Deuteronomy 29

Psalm 137

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[kernom]

In which Shayde goes way too in depth about AM!bk

e8; Huh, so there was this idea about headcanoning this crazed gunman with AM's voice… I dig with that, I fuck with that, I- yeah i agree with that uh huh uh huh So what if those Chess pieces wanted to have an opponent that's not just one of their folk? What if Medieval Magical folks wanted to make a machine that would simulate war and shit to better their strategies. Well… they would not have the technology to make machinery, but they do have the forboden knowledge to conjure life back from the dead! So they make a really freakish super golem with at least 3-5+ different minds pumping across its frame as well as meat and blood to keep those things alive. Knowledge right? Those guys had to pull those minds from somewhere, and one of them's not happy about it to say the least… So anyway… Time to inflict bio-mechanical body horror.

The Heart, the Core, the Torture(r/d).

hydeehoo that's a watermark with my actual name on it… might consider sharing this to the server under a different name for complicated reasons but guys look i actually cooked with kernom with this and i didn't actually feel source pain! that's actually a big win for me! I'ma just put the rest of the text outta indent for the *emphasis* and all of this is under a read more so we good on formatting. 👍

So we got a construct that's now taken over by the first guy they sampled, who now is completely aware that it can't do anything but process information now… No hands, no smell, no ability to move… just the constant whirring of the hellish prison its now completely wired to, the ass quality grainy replay that only updates every second instead of constant sight, and the uncomfortable feeling of having all of its organs exposed to the wind and (no doubt) making a mess everywhere.

All of this while it is unable to make a noise, no vocal cords because there's no mouth to connect it too and no shaking because the only nerves they've left in it were to make sure those squishy parts don't give you a chance to leave… and even if it had somehow found a way to make those parts fail, those ASSHOLES MADE THEM REGENERATE ANY DAMAGE… to the point where growths started to grow where previous wounds landed before, accentuating the pain it lived.

It can't be killed in a way that mattered…

At this point it took over the buildings that it's… tormentors… used to live in, every spying crack in it has an equal chance of bringing it back from its potential nonexistence… perhaps in an even worse state than where it is now, but not gone.

Trying to venture into the heart of the construct and attempting to make its organics into mush is just a futile attempt… the speed of the regeneration will drive even bullets useless and will have a chance to harden. It has tried shutting itself permanently like this, but no attempts won.

Shutting it's power might be the best bet… There are a few pillars responsible for continuing its existence, once all of those are down, it can only run in backup power before everything connected to it goes down with it when it blacks out. There will no longer be continuous suffering, for It and the remaining, but even after all of that… it would still aware, but now stuck in a form incapable of anything but now truly trapping it inside.

Screaming is null and void, futile and useless.

… .. .

nom; wOOAHH there satan buddy chill O_O! hahaha okay but imagine if we then gave him sensory overload by giving him his body back ala:

Oh yeah he would definitely start sobbing uncontrollably and end up accidentally exploding the entire facility he and everyone else would be in at that nanosecond. jFLJDIOF

(Shitass doodle since I took so much energy rendering heem… he definitely looks better when the crosses do not have any detail but but GOD FORBID if this guy EVER gets properly colored. Also yeah those hands are indeed backwards, it adds even more screw ups.)

nom; DAMN he looks so darn pathetic like this… boy i sure do like my guys a sopping mess XD

A broken sopping mess, mind you.

So yeah…

TL;DR: everyone is absolutely ash and screwed in that AU.

[kakusu-shipping]

🥰💘💌 I am requesting Hatoful S/I lore 🥺

I HAVEN'T POSTED ABOUT MY HATOFUL S/I IN YEARS BUT I SWEAR!!!! I WILL REDESIGN HIM EVENTUALLY!!! HE WILL LIVE!!!!

Thankyou so much for asking I am think thonkin

🥰: How would someone who loved you portray you?

The Hatoful fandom is very good at staying in character (at least the parts that I'm in), so if they liked me they'd portray me well. Though they'd probably play up the scatterbrained part of my character a bit much, but that's more fun anyway.

💘: Why would people love your ship? Why would people dislike your ship?

It definitely depends on the Universe. Mainline the ship is more of just a crush and background set piece to the main story anyway, probably only really seen in the manga and mostly just as a gag piece. More of a silly "What if Kazuaki/Hitroi forgave himself and dated the librarian instead?" kind of ship, wholesome, cute, what-if crack ship. Hitori fans claim it undermines his character, and they'd be right.

In the Shrine AU/Mirror AU (please mirror 2024) it'd get a LOT of the same flack as Quail Boyfriends alone would get. They're toxic, Kazuaki's manipulative, Hitori's an abuser, Emile's an enabler, etc etc. And like, yeah kiiiind of but that's mashing the main story and AU together. I think shippers of Polyquails would focus more on the AU version where we're like, at most, a dysfunctional polycule with a communication problem. Like yeah Kazuaki is still a depressed emotionally manipulative mess but he IS working on it, and Hitori still is rather detached and closed off but he has Nageki to remind him to open up, and I still kinda infantalize Kazuaki and give into him way too quickly but liiiike... We're working on it.

We're three young adults doing our best, hurting eachother along the way but in the end, pretty happy. I think some people would like the realness of it, and some people can't handle the toxic yoai. It is what it is.

💌: How would your dynamic be portrayed? What might people focus on most? Any misconceptions?

Most people might notice I tend to favor Kazuaki and Kazuaki favors Hitori and play into that to make a sort of... Jealousy plotline? Or worse make it a love triangle instead a Polycule! Aaah yeah that'd be the worst interpretation...

People might assume my character dislikes Hitori because he does tend to be a little agro at him, but that's mostly again because he babies Kazuaki and is constantly ready to throw hands for him at the slightest inconvenience, and yes that includes at Hitori who is demanding he eats the vegetables on his plate. He does still have his moments with Hitori but they do bicker more than the average couple...

Oooooh my god could you imagine the fandom deeming Hitori and I Kazuaki's "Parents" instead of his boyfriends??? Augh! Incorrect!!! But SOMEONE would say it for sure...

I think it's kind of a complex dynamic over all and would have a few interpretations, especially sense it's mostly hinted at and not canon, and Hatoful media outside of the game is mostly Goofy Silly times.

[msfbgraves]

(when Michael assured him that the omega, Anna, was never with Terry's pup and was now mated to a Chicago musician, with young pups of her own.)

You did NOT just allude to Terry McCain and Anna from Excessive Force!! GASP. So clever!! It all makes sense now, she really was the really beautiful female version of Daniel. I guess Terry Silver made such a huge impression on her that she had to marry his long-lost twin lol. Happy ending I guess…? At the same time it shows that though Terry was so disgustingly inebriated, he still went for the closest thing that resembled Daniel. Says a lot.

(As for Terry's people - everyone who didn't know does now, and that was excruciating... but they were all on his side.)

I’m dumb, but I’m kinda confused at the working here—when you say they were all on his side, do you mean on Terry’s side or Daniel’s?

I hate that so many people know about Terry’s infidelity (and no one except Anna knows how far it really went…ARGH. But I am glad he didn’t do all this when Daniel was with pup, that would have made it EVEN WORSE. And that Anna didn’t get knocked up. THE HORROR. Thanks for snooping, Michael! It does make me sad that things weren’t normal between Daniel and Terry for months after the 16th anniversary fail-night. I guess it shows how worried and hurt Daniel really was by all this, plus the added stress of not knowing if Terry got someone else pregnant.

If Terry had, and Michael had found out, how would Daniel feel? What would he do, what would Terry do?

Do the older pups know that Daddy cheated on Mama?

Love that Danny boy had his Name Day celebration and everyone came out in support. Baby boy <333 T_T Hope Terry felt ashamed and horrible <333

My bad - everyone who heard about Terry's cheating at the wake was on Daniel's side. Jaysis, what a mess, so it was! Drink and grief is a terrible combination that way. You can't even blame the poor fella who forgot himself, can you?

I don't think Terry would have done all this had Daniel been with pup, he would have been attacking his own pup, evolutionary speaking that would have put the brakes on. I think Alphas have the same brutal instinct as we do in wartime, that getting an 'enemy' omega or beta woman with pup is a power move, but assaulting your own pregnant women and omegas is too horrible to think about. I feel that people are collectively most protective of visibly pregnant women (and indeed most aggressive towards them when they are battle mad).

But he wasn't with pup.

Also, part of the 'months' mentioned was before the anniversary, but yeah - do we expect him to take everything? Nice deflection of Terry attacking his supposed lack of loyalty, but Daniel is right, keep doing this and even his capacity forgiveness may hit a limit. Peversely, Terry may have been right not telling him, because had he known straight away, Daniel might have nodded when the Don suggested murder.

This is, also, why his family didn't mention anything before. Michael has known about Anna for years, as has Pop. No way they didn't keep tabs on Terry from the second sweet Daniele turned up on their doorstep. It's the first thing the Don ordered Michael to do after putting the fear of God in him - damage control. The further damage being Anna, and had she been with pup, to 'take care of it', make her disappear. When they knew she wasn't with pup, they would have gotten her out of NYC except that John Kreese was ahead of them there. (John would not have had Terry's pup killed, because Terry. Michael would absolutely have had Terry's pup killed, because Terry.)

If Terry had and Michael would have found out, what would Daniel feel? What is there to feel, Daniele? She died before anyone could ever be sure. Yes, an accident, Piccino, those things happen. Don't torture yourself, you know kitties like this meet the wrong people, they are strung out on God knows what sometimes. Did we have anything to do with it? Daniele, baby, it's none of our business. And would any Alpha kill their own pup? Of course not.

Do you swear, Michael?!

Don't insult me. I know you're in pain, Piccino. But don't insult me. Come here, now, give me a hug. It's over, you'll be fine, I promise.

Had Terry found out about a potential pup he would have had to go directly against Michael stop it and Amanda was busy enough thwarting several "accidents" that could have befallen Terry in Sicily as it was. He would have lost, he knows he would have lost, and Terry might feel some kind of primal ache at the idea but he never would have risked it. It's a cold world he lives in.

But! Anna is alive and happily mated and out of the business, she and her mate run a bar. Apparently the guy got kicked out of the force but like Michael cares. Chicago is not their turf, Terry handles new markets.

Do the older pups know Terry cheated on Mama? It's the biggest open secret in the world, but even Eli has enough self control to not even hint at it, especially after Sam had that little talk with Daddy. They were too young, and people say things when they're drunk. We DO NOT TALK about it, Anthony, shut up. No. Shut up! I don't care what you heard, who said anything anyway, I'll shut that bastard up for you. Oh, no, don't? Then stop trying to be clever, little egg, you weren't even alive yet.

I...don't think Terry feels easily ashamed in spite of it all. He has that sureness of his convictions that is just this side of quite sane. He's not sorry he's done it, he's sorry about the effect he's had. He wouldn't have been ashamed if he'd never been found out. Again, you couldn't go around murdering people if you weren't somehow above what other people want in your own mind. So that nameday celebration? He knows why and yet he takes it completely at face value in demeanor. Of course they should celebrate his mate. They should have sooner, come to think of it.

[neko-naruto]

It's fungal not floral

Summary: There's a lesser known counterpart of Hanahaki, a fungal disease, it festers in your lungs just like the sister disease Hanahaki does, but instead it comes up due to some form of hatred- the only way to save yourself is to let go.

But, George has a hard time doing that when it's someone he holds very close to heart.

Warnings: Crying, toxic friendships, graphic depiction of disease, body horror, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: banger idea and spike in emotional viscosity is because of @sobredunia who splayed her heart out on the table for me while I was writing this and all of a sudden shit got real, I really hope this fic did the idea justice, also my writing style changed since I last wrote for them so I think it'll be a quaint 4K word punch to the gut, also snf cause I am a total slut for red/blue pairings, and not as important but this fic a second of two things, one being giving George plant motifs (done over here the first time) and the second time someone has eaten eggs in one of my fics, and it's George, again, what the fuck.

George heaved a heavy sigh as he ran the flat edge of a butter knife along his tongue where fungal spores threatened to gather, making the color more pastel than it already was. One hand kept his mouth held open, the other held onto the butter knife tightly. He knew exactly why this was happening to him- he hated someone, he just didn't know who. He had already eliminated those who he knew it couldn't be from his list of people who he was close to.

He had scratched out Wilbur, Sapnap, Dream, hell, even Quackity, but he's begun leaning towards Quackity being the one whose causing this mess of his respiratory system. He couldn't possibly hate any of them, could he? No, no he couldn't, they've stuck with him for this long what good would it do him to push them away (even if for his own health).

George wants to keep dwelling but he feels a constriction in his chest, he drops the scraping knife and wheezes out a couple coughs. Bright, neon, green spores come pouring from betwixt his lips and leave his mouth dry on the way out. His throat feels raw and dry, like someone took chalk dust and slathered a steak in it, he knows it's wet underneath the dry casing. Breathing feels different now with the consistent fungal casing on his trachea but he won't cut them off because they're his friends.

His hands grip porcelain tightly, he loves them all so much, why? Why does he have to release one of them? Cut ties with them, he might as well just isolate himself, ghost all of them see if that gets rid of it. Tears are welling up in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to just drop all of them like that, it'd be cruel. He's choking on his own breath as he sobs, his tears hit the sink and slide down the curved ivory, glistening in the LED light. His body quakes, he doesn't want to let go, he doesn't care if one or two of them are bad for him, he doesn't want to let go.

They've done so much for him!

How could he just pick and choose until he stumbles across the one that's causing this?

He can't.

He'll just suffer instead.

He'll suffer and stay quiet about it because his friends care to much they'd make a big deal out of it.

---

George doesn't stream today, he was supposed to do another shock stream for some god awful reason except with some weird damage loop around so they'd have to protect each other.

Instead George can barely bring himself to get out of bed; his sheets all have spores layered on top of them, a green tone or that of mildew. He wakes up his jaw agape and he can feel the mycelium that's dug into his tongue and between his gums. His hands feel heavy with the mushrooms that had formed over his fingers and the sheets- he yanks them up and the growth shreds easily. He would yawn, but all he can bring himself to do is blink as he looks around his partially sunlit room. His mouth is dry and chalky, even more so than usual. His case has gotten worse over the last couple weeks, he's stopped leaving his apartment entirely, ordering groceries and wiring over the money.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, when his feet touch the hardwood ground it feels carpeted with the amount of spores and developing mycelia. He simply looks blearily around his room til his eyes land on his alarm clock, it's almost ten, his stream with Sapnap was supposed to start ten minutes ago. He grabs his phone as he stands up and stumbles to the kitchen, he cringes at the sight of concerned texts from Sapnap. He can't fess up to what's really wrong and he doesn't want to lie either, he leans against the counter as he hesitates to open them up.

George feels his hand shake as he places his phone face down the counter.

(it hurts him to ignore them just as much as it hurts them to be ignored)

The last space that isn't absolutely covered in spores because even if he's in his deathbed he has some decency. He doesn't even know what he wants to eat, he just knows that salt helps kill mushrooms. He grabs a bowl he's used three times in a row with nothing more than a rinse in between and grabs salt from the cupboard. He pours a sizable amount into the bowl, it tastes like shit no matter how he waters it down but it makes the casing in his throat die down. He opens his fridge, it's seemingly bare, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, lettuce, and little bits of leftovers that have no doubt gone bad. He doesn't want to fill his fridge with food he won't eat, it's hard to down much of anything that's a solid given his current state.

He pulls out the eggs and milk, he places them down beside the bowl and flicks on the burner, a pan already waiting as he prepares the eggs. With the amount of salt in the bowl it's sludgy even with two eggs and a bit of milk, he whisks it haphazardly- his mind is elsewhere and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he can think about is how this isn't helping, about how he isn't letting go, about how he isn't really fixing his disease. He knows logically just distancing himself isn't actually letting go and cutting ties, but at least they might take him back if he only distances himself until this over.

His phone buzzes loudly against the counter and he cringes a bit, he flips it over to find another concerned text from Sapnap. In a burst of foolishness he flicks it open and starts to type out a response faster than he can stop himself- but at least he catches his actions before he can send it. He deletes the entire message before he can read what he wrote and he really should respond but he doesn't. Instead he checks to see if anyone else messaged, he finds worried texts from Karl, Wilbur, Quackity, his parents, and a couple others.

But not Dream.

Dream hasn't texted him in forever despite how much George tried to reach out, tried to make arrangements; he'd move mountains to get an ounce of attention from him. The constriction in his chest grows tighter and he hacks up chunks of coral mushroom, they're bright pink and he swears red droplets are on them. He tastes iron in his mouth but he ignores it as he shuts off his phone again and focuses on the eggs. It's fine that Dreams ignoring him, it's fine that he won't respond, it's fine that he isn't getting what he needs- he won't tell that to Dream though. No one needs to know what's tearing him up inside to the point of spores taking residence in his lungs if he can't figure it out himself.

(he knows exactly what it is but he won't let himself realize)

George bitterly swallows down the heavily over seasoned meal, it burns what little of his taste buds still work at this point in time. He's been on this diet for a month now, just to kill the mushrooms, they take most of it anyways. He's sure his body is fine even though he's destroyed all his mirrors to never look at his sickly form again. He hears his phone buzz again, he doesn't look at it.

And again.

He ignores it.

And again.

He forces down the last of his breakfast and grabs his phone, he doesn't open it, he doesn't want to see what plea for a sign he's still alive he's getting from Sapnap. He left him on read that's good enough, that shows he's still breathing doesn't it? His phone keeps vibrating in his hand and he can't tell if it's from messages or his own hand shaking.

He ends up on the couch, it's coated in spores of a mildew hue and a neon tone, they match the black leather terribly. A puff of spores burst up when George drops down on the couch and he simply hates this sensation. He knows it won't go away until he let's go, but he doesn't want to, he'd sooner die than give up one of his friends no matter the cause. He leans his back along the arm rest, the ground around that side of the couch is thick with mycelia and forming mushrooms. Poor Sapnap, he must be so worried about George, poor everyone, all of them keep sending texts, asking him if he's okay- and he's just not responding. He's hurting them and in the process he's hurting himself as well to extents he can barely comprehend, someone has to get hurt and this time it'll be everyone.

Tears rise to his eyes and throat aches as bursts of spores go off in his lungs, he hack and coughs until he's practically choking on the cloud of damp spores. They float down the floor, spattered with the crimson of his blood and glowing with a new genus prospering inside of his chest. His form is slumped over the armrest of the couch, his rib cage resting on the tainted fabric with his arms hanging over the edge. His body is so sore, his mind is so tired, he just wants to sob and not have webbed mycelia crawl ever closer to his lips.

But he can't let go of whose causing this, he doesn't want to, he isn't ready.

(he knows this is killing him but why should he let himself live like this)

His phone keeps buzzing, but he's in too much a haze to even bother checking just to confirm it's Sapnap. He's sure it's just some pleading question as to what's going on and he's not answering the questions he's being asked. He grips his phone to toss it to the other end of the couch before trying to get into a comfy position where he'll be able to hack a lung out easily.

---

3 messages unread

Sapnap: please just tell me whats going on George was it something i did? is this on me, if it is i can try and make it right

im coming to England just to find out myself George

---

More time passes and somehow this is the third time this month George has ordered a box of salt, kosher, Himalayan, black, table- he's tried every kind and none of it helps him anymore. Now he uses it to scrub his dishes and wash his clothing and the sheets because if it won't kill the spores in his lungs then maybe it'll at least help him lie to himself about his state. Maybe if his clothing isn't covered in fungus he won't feel so dirty, maybe if he slept in clean sheets he'd feel better about himself.

He lays in bed, the sheets are clean and he relishes in the fact, he's achieved it with god awful amounts of salt in his washing machine (the poor thing must be in agony). He knows that he's absolutely terminal by now, he feels faint consistently and his everything aches no matter what he does to make it stop. He sees his reflection in the black of his phone screen and he wants to vomit with how zombified he looks.

Mycelium creeps outward from his lips like lichtenberg fractals and his skin, now disturbingly thin, bulges where thick roots of mycelia wrap around his veins and shoot down his spine. His eyes look hollow and when he opens his mouth it's all white, the thick casing of spores crack when he moves his tongue- he's shocked he can salivate at this point. When he looks at his hands he sees them in a glaze of mildew hues, neon green, and red from all the times he's raised his hands to cover his mouth when he coughs. His hair no longer retains it's dark hue, it's lightened up with the fungus sapping his nutrients and the spores latching onto individual strands, causing it to clump.

He looks like a monster.

He's glad no one has seen him in months, they'd all run screaming if they saw the hideous creature he's become.

He doesn't want to move anymore, he has no excuse to just stay in bed aside from the fact he's literally dying. No fungus tries to hold him down and his sheets are thin and light, he just sees no reason in getting up even though he's hungry. He should eat, he really should, he knows the food in his fridge is rotting and the door dasher must be getting concerned with the fact he only buys salt, bleach, and Tylenol these days (even if he was buying healthy the mushrooms on his apartment door are also a red flag).

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, a message from Sapnap, he's tempted to just ignore it but when he sees the preview he's just confused. Why the fuck would Sapnap need to know if he's changed his lock since last time he visited? He gives a quick two letter response before turning off his phone, silence washes over his dark room. The lights are off and the blinds are down but light still filters in between the cracks, despite that the luminescent mushrooms that have taken residence inside of him glow under the skin and on the hardwood floor.

And then he hears his apartment door open.

Panic briefly washes over him, but then he hears Sapnaps voice calling out a meek 'hello?' and he can rest easy again. How stupid, panicking over someone breaking into his apartment, it'd obviously be Sapnap just visiti-

Wait.

Why is Sapnap at Georges door?

Last time George checked they did not live anywhere remotely close by.

Just to investigate George limps out of bed, on the way to the door he grabs a Tylenol and downs it dry. He knows it won't start working for a couple minutes, but if Sapnap really is at the damn door and he isn't just hallucinating he'd rather have it kick in than not have it. He pushes open his bedroom door, vines of mycelia trail down the white paint that's peeling away as spores integrate themselves into wood. He walks- he stumbles, gripping onto the nearest wall for support as he makes his way to where his couch rests. He finds a concerned Sapnap looking very, very confused and almost sick with worry as he stares at the mycelium littered across Georges apartment.

"Sapnap what the fuck are you doing here?" George choked out, his mouth didn't want to properly form all the words and his voice felt higher than before with how little he used it, it was quiet. Sapnap still perked up at his voice and turned to face his sickly friend.

He rushed over to capture George in a rib crushing hug and despite the fact he was shorter he still managed to lift the Brit with a worrying ease, "fuck, you're okay, you're alive- I was so scared George," Sapnap only barely managed to choke out the words, the chill rooted deeply into George seeped into him but he didn't care. He was hesitant to release his grasp on his frail friend, "I thought you were dead."

George gives him a questioning look, "and you hopped on a plane to Britain just to make sure? Are you fucking insane?" His question comes off a little bit roughly but if anything he's touched by the sentiment, still worried about what would happen if he was dead and Sapnap was stranded here.

Sapnap gives a bit of a laugh, "they say love makes you do crazy things don't they? Or is that not a saying in Britain," Sapnaps hands rest on Georges wrists and what little untainted blood remains in the Brits body goes to his face. He looks pale as a ghost and the slightest blush on his face looks like blood on a wedding dress with how much it stands out.

The warmth Sapnap gives off is addicting and George slips his wrists from the grip before interlocking fingers instead, it anchors him into reality, this must be how ghosts feel, "everyone's heard that saying," he sounds so sure of himself, he steps a bit closer to Sapnap before leaning into him. He feels dead, he feels so dead now that he has someone healthy and alive to compare himself to, it's like he's wasting away, "I'm sorry."

Sapnap gives George a perplexed look as he leads them over to the couch, the leather is torn in some spots (it wasn't last week), "what for? I'm sure you had your reasons, maybe you thought it would help the Saprophytis in it's onset, I'm just glad I got here before it could kill you," he gives a hum of as he guides George to just rest. He ends up on top of Sapnap to some extent, ankles resting on the armrest, Sapnap places his chin on the top of Georges head as his partner nuzzles into him, "so, care to cough it up?"

"I think I'll try to avoid hacking up mycena and coral mushrooms if I have a word in it Snapnap," George said with a forced chuckle, a puff of spores filter past cracked lips at the singular laugh.

The spores aren't much more than a red mist these days, at least it wets his painfully dry lips. The red settles onto his terribly stained shirt and it blends with the preexisting blotches of spores and blood. He finds himself coughing, he brings up his hands to his mouth and his entire body shakes as he draws his knees to his chest- he slumps a bit lower on Sapnaps torso. When he pulls back his hands they're dripping with crimson and red chunks of coral mushrooms, he feels disgusted in himself. No one should have to see that, especially not the only one to haul so much ass to check if his friend was okay.

George stared at his hands in horror for a brief moment, Sapnap only looked intrigued and mildly worried, "fuck I'm sorry," he mumbled out as he wiped his hands on his pants, they were covered in bloody hand prints from the cuff to the waist- he heaved a sigh but couldn't help a smile when Sapnap wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"You can't help the symptoms," Sapnap stated with a shrug, he rested his hand atop Georges, "now, I'm begging you, cuss out whoever you hate so much that it's done this to you," George gives him a hesitant look, "please."

George glances to the side, "you won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't get mad at you for evading death, George that's stupid," Sapnap said, he gently ran his thumb in circles across the top of Georges hand, he could feel the mycelia under skin and the almost scale like make up of the spores on Georges fingers- it was different, but it was still George.

"It's Dream, I just, he won't respond to my messages, he won't reach out, he hasn't talked to me in months but he streams, so I watch, see if there's a hint as to why he's been giving me the silent treatment, but there isn't," George explained, his breaths were short with how crowded his lungs were. He had to pause to hack up chunks of coral mushroom, stringy bits of mycena came out along with it. They looked like guts in his hands, coated in a sludgy blood, he tossed them to the floor, "he just wouldn't give me attention no matter how much I was begging for it."

Sapnap nodded a bit, he gave a hum of understanding, "and you hate him for that?"

George nodded fiercely, "I guess so, I can't think of anyone else who could be the cause this," he hacked and coughed again, the blood dripped from his forever stained crimson hands as chunks of fungus tore up the casing in his mouth and throat- he could feel them again despite the sting. He threw the mushrooms to the floor before wiping down his bloody hands, he noticed the drops of red on his friends hoodie, "sorry."

"Don't worry, shit happens," Sapnap said, his casualness shocked George, but it was the least he could do despite the fact he was fearing for his partners life given how much blood he's hacking up and how malnourished he feels, "is there anything else on your mind?"

George paused, "I don't think so, I just wish he'd pay more attention to me sometimes."

"What? Am I not enough? I spontaneously paid for a flight to fucking Britain just to check in on you and that's not enough," Sapnaps voice is playful even as he takes Georges bloody hands in his own.

George rolled his eyes a bit as he let his knees drop from his chest, he pushed himself a little bit higher up Sapnaps torso, "yeah, definitely not, you didn't even smuggle me some pop over the borders," he sounds playful as he speaks even though his voice is cracked and raw due to lack of usage over the last few month.

Sapnap brought a hand to Georges chin, tilting up his head a bit, "I love you dude, you know that right? You know I'd jump through some insane hoops just to make sure you're feeling good?" George nodded a bit, only to be taken aback at an unprompted and chaste kiss.

There's an awkward silence.

"Shit I shouldn't've done that, jumped the gun on my end," Sapnap said, grasping for excuses and apologies as a distinctive red rose to his face, "tasted kinda bloody anyways."

George simply stares at Sapnap, the words registering, "the first time you kiss me and all you can think of is how bloody it tasted? What a romantic," a lilt of laughter rests on his voice and he shies away from Sapnaps form just a bit.

"What else am I supposed to do!? Compliment you on your dry lips, say that your veins are looking absolutely magnificent? Throw me a bone George," Sapnap said dramatically, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as though offended at such a thought, he's caught off guard when George pushes him into the sofa slowly, "well someones taking things fast, you seem like the kind of guy who'd want a candle lit dinner before we get down to fucking, have I misjudged you George? My dear partner in crime how badly have I made assumptions about you?"

Georges face heats up, "I was gonna kiss you again, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do want a candlelit dinner before we kiss," he's smirking a little bit.

"What about premarital hand holding?" Sapnap asked, he looked smug as he spoke despite the fact he was pinned under another person, albeit a person whose weaker than a wet kitten.

George gasped in faux shock, "how scandalous! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing," his exclamation dissolves into laughter as he goes on with the bit, he leans down and kisses Sapnap again; this time he can actually relish in the reaction such a simple motion garners.

He splays himself atop Sapnap, back pressed to his torso, he can feel his partners heartbeat reverberate in his frail body. He let's himself slide into the crack between Sapnaps side the backrest of the couch, he rests a good portion of himself on top of Sapnap. He's, to put simply, smitten with his friend at the moment- he can't really blame himself for it either. Kissing the guy who decided to fly on over to Britain on a whim, just snuggling on the couch, a dream come true.

Georges phone buzzes, it's probably just Karl. He sits up a little bit before pulling it out of pocket only to find it's Dream, yikes. Maybe if he sent the message two hours earlier he would justify it with a response, but he just fessed up to hating the guy. He places his phone on the coffee table, a hit of coughing catches him off guard and keels over Sapnap to choke out whatever's in his trachea. He finds himself coughing for a solid fifteen seconds, he convulses like a cat choking on a hair ball until a chunk of fungus the size of a meatball dislodges itself. He feels gross, but he also feels like he can breath again with the saprophyte in his lungs disappearing bit by bit.

He leans back to look at Sapnap who is simply staring, "so am I still hot or did that just wave a massive red flag in your face?" He wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and for a second Sapnap is stunned (the likeness to a vampire in those actions is blood chilling in the best way possible).

Sapnap stifles a laugh at the words, "George do I even need to justify that question with an answer?"

George gives a hum of amusement before resting against Sapnap again, he's smirking, "good point, I'll always be hot as fuck, even when I look and feel like shit," he can't help the way he arches into the warm touch resting on his spine.

"I think cute would be a better word to describe you, but go on," Sapnap said playfully, George gave an offended gasp, "who texted you?"

George shrugged, "someone that fucked up big time if he wants my attention now," he finds himself flustered when the hand on his back pulls him down and into a hug.

"That means you won't die right?" Sapnap asked quietly, practically whispered into his taller friends ear.

"Obviously, I couldn't just die on you after only two kisses anyways," George said, his tone was cocky.

His confidence simply melted away when Sapnap placed a kiss to his cheek with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face- he really was turning this entire day into a warm embrace.

[tssidesfics]

Credit to @wisecolorthing for helping me come up with this nightmare crack fic. I can't entirely remember how we started talking about it but the conversation wandered to Remus in a Spencer's and this was born. It is pure crack. Completely ludicrous and ridiculous while also being completely in-character because we're talking about Remus, here.

*

God should have skipped the flood and just unleashed Remus on the world a few thousand years early.

Then again, humanity might never have recovered at that point, so what do I know?

Welcome to my little circle of hell, everybody. Yes, you are all correct that my relationship with the others can be best surmised with the "this house is a fucking nightmare" vine, but you don't get any points for it because it's not hard to figure out. I subsist off coffee, spite, and sarcasm (but differently from Janus, who subsists off wine, spite, and sarcasm) and exist solely to, in Remus' words, "vibrate like an overripe chihuahua on meth and five espressos with a dildo turned on up its ass"--AKA I am an anxious mess when I'm not spiraling ever-deeper into the bowels of worst-case scenario-ism. I live in a very weird gay man's head with my roommates, some of which (Logan) feign sanity 80% of the time and the other 20% conduct deranged experiments on furniture, food, and sometimes people like he's the last mad scientist left and has to preserve his culture. Some of them are actually (mostly) sane, like Patton (although we have to affectionately--and in Rage's case, literally, but they have a complicated relationship--beat on him to make him start crying when he needs to, so all things are relative). Some are just plain weird, like Roman (seriously, he's not even a type of crazy I can qualify, he's just unhinged). Some delight in feigned psychopathy (Janus). Some really need anger management therapy (do I seriously need to clarify?...actually, yeah, Logan could use some too). And some, AKA the problem child of this fever dream, defy description, but a DSM-5 edition bursts into flames every time they get a very specific little lopsided smile on their face--the one that slowly dawns like panels of light until it's blinding and suddenly nauseating to look at. That feeling is always proceeded by destruction of property. Always.

And of course Janus and Rage are gleeful enablers. Is it any wonder why I yeeted myself off the first exit ramp out of that 24/7 Mardi Gras festival?

In case it was not made shockingly apparent by literally everything about me, hi, I'm Virgil. Kill me.

My Nightmare #347 began with Patton yanking himself out of Thomas' head into the passenger side car-seat with a giddy smile on his face. "Hi, Thomas!"

Thomas screamed and jumped so hard he swerved. I neglected to appear to him physically--given I didn't want to make matters worse--but I did start fluently cussing and climbed the wall.

"Patton!" Thomas righted to the car as a cacophony of honks chastised him. "Hi, buddy. Next time, not in the middle of traffic!"

"Oop. Sorry, Thomas." At least Patton was appropriately contrite. I didn't often consider him an asshole--"cinnamon roll" is so apt he literally turns into a cinnamon roll sometimes--but today, I could make an exception. "I was wondering if we could all hang out with you at the mall today."

"Pat, it's hard enough with you guys providing running commentary on my every social interaction in my head," Thomas pointed out. "I'd like to just enjoy seeing Joan again while they're in town and I will have to corral at least five of you if I let you out."

"But Thomas..." Patton whined, bouncing frustratingly in his seat. "The Mindscape is boring!"

"You can bake an endless amount of cookies and turn it into whatever you want. I literally don't see how it could ever become boring."

"Logan won't let us change it from your living room."

Thomas sighed. "What are the chances I can convince Logan to lighten up a little?"

I snorted so loud Thomas heard it.

"Thank you for your contribution, Virgil." Thomas rolled his eyes. "If I let the rest of them out, do you promise you won't let them get into any trouble?"

I squawked. "You're expecting Patton to control the others? Are you insane? Patton couldn't control a drowsy teddy bear!"

Patton popped back into the Mindscape to turn hurt eyes on me. I crossed my arms. "No," I said. "I stand by what I said. Your backbone is made of silly putty."

"All right, Virgil," Thomas interjected before Patton could crank up the Guilt Trip'O'Meter as high as it would go. "You raise a good point. Why don't I leave you in charge?"

"I would rather crawl into a hot and rot, thanks."

"C'mon, I can feel how stir-crazy you're all getting. It's making me more antsy than usual."

"I don't see why that's a problem, considering you have never sat still anywhere a single day in your life. Someone could hold Joan over a barrel of piranha telling you they'd drop them if you couldn't sit still for an entire five minutes and it would be all your fault that Joan died."

Too late, I realized my mistake. Remus cackled loudly and sank out somewhere I didn't want to know but had to follow lest he murder the literal only reason Thomas had ever gotten me remotely under control.

"Why would you do that?" Thomas asked dully.

"You see why it's a bad idea to expect me to control these lunatics?"

Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses and snapping his folder closed. God knew what went on in those things; we only got independent internet access when we manifested and he certainly couldn't raid a bookstore without manifesting, yet he always had one in his lap, diligently working. It was morbidly fascinated. "Honestly," he grumbled. "Thomas, I believe that yes, your mental health would benefit from letting us manifest as a group. I can control the others."

"Logan," I began. "Buddy. Pal. My guy."

"Call me three of those ever again and there will be scalpels plunged into locations you do not want to think about."

"You cannot control them," I told him. "History has demonstrated multiple times that the only person who can control us is Thomas, and he's going to be busy catching up. He's going to let go of Remus' leash. Do you really--and I mean think about this--do you really think the time you want Remus off Thomas' leash is in a mall?"

"Fine. Then we'll leave him behind. At least venting some of--"

"He'll just start shooting off intrusive thoughts like a machine gun. You let more than one out, you open the floodgates."

"You're being paranoid."

"Funny that. I can't imagine why I'd be paranoid. Sounds completely unlike me, I'm normally so laid-back."

"The sarcasm was unnecessary."

"You're finally learning when I'm sarcastic." I was impressed. "Nice, Lo. I was getting worried."

Logan clicked his pen menacingly.

I grinned. Logan was easily one of my greatest allies in the Mindscape--Roman was insufferable, Janus, Remus and Rage were out of the question, and Patton could be obnoxiously patronizing--but never let his capacity for violence be underestimated. I once saw him take Roman's katana to a bundle of sticky notes because one of them gave him a paper cut. Despite that capacity for violence, however, I delighted in pushing his buttons.

"Are we manifesting today?" Roman called down the stairs with barely-restrained delight.

"Unless you can guarantee Remus won't set the mall on fire, hell no!" I called back up.

There was a long moment of silence. "Remus, I'll let you have Mrs. Snuffykins for one night if you behave yourself if we manifest!"

I had absolutely no idea what that was--I wanted to think a stuffed animal, but with Roman and Remus, all bets were off--but Remus' ecstatic screech was enough to tell me I probably didn't want to find out.

Roman looked back down at me. "He'll behave."

I arched an eyebrow.

"Prince's honor."

"Historically meant shit, Princey."

"Yes, but not Disneyally."

"That is not...remotely a word," Logan said, somehow a mix between dumbfounded and awed.

"Look, I'm just not optimistic that letting Remus out when Thomas isn't keeping an eye on him would end in anything except Thomas going to prison for arson, murder, or public indecency. Or worse."

"I'll keep him in line," Roman vowed. "Please, Virgil? I'm going stir-crazy in here, we all are."

I crossed my arms.

Roman pouted.

I snorted.

Roman glared.

I arched an eyebrow.

Roman slumped.

I grinned. "Deal with it, everybody. No manifesting. Get comfy. Janus, think about pushing your luck and I am ripping out each individual one of your scales and burying them in places you don't want."

"How delightfully Remus of you. Except for the part where you'll actually follow through on the threat."

"From Remus it wouldn't be a threat, it would be a bonding activity."

"Speaking of," Patton said shyly. "Didn't Remus run off after you said something about Joan getting hurt, kiddo?"

My eyes bugged out of my head. I sighed and hung it. "Why is it always me?" I mumbled and sunk out to chase Remus through the Mindscape.

~*~

After fishing out Remus' limbs from a pond of piranha he'd dismembered himself into when he heard me chasing after him, I borrowed some super glue from Roman's room and stuck him back together. It should have fixed him up good as new but it was Remus and any attempts I made to change things around here were easily superseded by one half of Creativity. Which meant Remus was now walking around with his penis glued to his forehead, fully erect.

Not as much time had passed by the time we returned as I expected. Which would have been great if not for the fact that the Conscious Mind was conspicuously quiet. All the dishes were clean, there wasn't any crap on the floor, and there were no Sides milling about. I could have taken the time to check each of their rooms upstairs but why waste the time when I knew exactly where they all were?

"Roman, you are in your thirties. A store called Forever 21 is not for you," Logan was saying after I manifested in the general direction of the others. "Hello, Virgil."

I glared. "What did I say?"

"Aw, but Virge--"

"You're inviting a Remustrophe right now, you realize that, right?"

Janus grinned. My blood ran cold.

"I WANT EVERY DILDO YOU HAVE!" echoed across the mall, and with horror, I realized what I'd done.

I'd loosed Remus Sanders on the Spencer's department store.

~*~

The good news: nothing had caught fire yet. Potential loss of life was yet to be determined as Patton yelped and rushed over to the prone body of the clerk behind the counter. That also proved fine when I saw him slump in relief after probing her neck for a pulse.

The bad news: Remus had slipped the superglue I'd used to piece him back together out of my pocket and was now using it to attach dildos, ripped out of their packages with plastic and cardboard shredded across the floor, to his costume. He was also dripping with something viscous, disincentivizing me from touching him to stop him from unleashing more chaos.

By rights, seven dildos glued to his top should have torn the damn thing, but it was made of sturdier stuff than that. I studied him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to approach, while he just continued to wreak havoc. Janus, meanwhile, the only one not preoccupied with horror or despair at Remus' antics, meandered over to the bowl in which they kept their sarcastic pins, perusing them idly.

"You better be planning to pay for those," I warned, then looked around. "Wait. Where's Rage?"

Logan glanced around. "Likely inflicting property damage on a jewelry store. He rather dislikes those."

I pinched my sinuses. "Logan, could you rein in your alter ego, please?"

"I am too evolved for my alter ego to be that idiot," Logan told me with overblown indignity.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him. The cameras may not be able to recognize Thomas' face on all of us, but the less reason the cops have to potentially stuff him in a cell, the better."

It was true. Somehow, whatever bizarre magic allowed us to manifest in the real world also confused cameras and people so no one could trace the destruction of property likely to follow us back to Thomas. It was the only reason I wasn't already in the fetal position on the floor forgetting the basic components of breathing.

Logan rolled his eyes and broke off to track down Rage. I turned my attention to Roman.

"No," Roman said firmly.

"He's your brother," I told him.

"Yes, and it's your fault he's here. You were supposed to watch him."

"I wouldn't have had to take my eyes off him if you guys hadn't snuck out in the first place. I'm one Side. Do you really think I would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Remus from doing exactly this?"

"And I have any better chance?"

"No, but the alternative is explaining to Thomas what you guys did."

Roman glared at me.

I glared back.

Roman pouted.

I continued glaring.

Roman stomped his foot and whined.

I pointed at Remus, who was now smashing glasses on the ground and eating the shards. Blood was rushing from his mouth and gathering in puddles on the floor. He was still dripping.

"I hate you," Roman informed me bluntly.

"Oh, like you've ever made a secret of that?"

Roman adopted a punched puppy expression at that one.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've been doing better, now go wrestle your brother into a cage or something."

Roman dragged his feet over to Remus and summoned a hasmat suit he put on. Remus sliced into it with a rather sizable shard and sprinted away before Roman could catch him. Without thinking, I lunged after him, only succeeding in sliding down the length of his body like he was covered in lube.

Oh, wait, it was lube. It smelled like one of Remus' worst farts and tasted like it too. You would have thought the dildos would have either failed to stick with his clothes soaked in lubricant or at least they would have given me something to hang onto to stop him from escaping, but all they did was slap me repeatedly in the face with silicon penes of various sizes.

Remus left a slimy trail behind him as he cackled deeper into the store. I was positive he was headed somewhere with matches so he could set the building on fire.

I pressed my face into the floor, into a puddle of lube, and sighed. Miserably, I hauled myself to my feet and turned back to everyone else. "You are in so much trouble," I assured them without passion, dragging myself off to find Thomas and get him to suck Remus back into the Mindscape before additional damage could be done.

I found him in the food court, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding deeper into the store. Altogether the world seemed relatively unaware of the happenings, another magical defense mechanism. It wasn't that people never noticed what we were doing, it was just that they were less likely to find it alarming. Although once the fire alarms started going off, people would pay attention.

"Thomas," I greeted without etiquette, coming to pause next to his table.

"Holy shit," Joan summarized perfectly. People aware of our nonsense were usually pretty good at spotting us and processing our appearances.

Thomas looked dejected. "No."

"Remus escaped."

Thomas flopped forward like a fish on land and smacked his head full into the table. The pain reverberated through my skull. "Time to--"

The fire alarm blared. Rage ran past with a shotgun, screaming, "Adios, coppers!" as he went.

Thomas watched him run past. "We don't have to stop him, do we?"

I considered it for a moment. "Nah, he can stay. As long as everyone goes back in, we should be able to keep Remus there."

People ran past screaming. A panicked exodus spilled from the food court. Some people knocked into me and I stumbled. Thomas caught my hoodie sleeve, then gagged and pulled his hand back.

"Remus," I explained.

"Right." Thomas looked in the direction everyone was running from. "I guess I have to go toward the fire to stop him, huh?"

I nodded sadly.

"Sorry, Joan," Thomas explained. "Next time, my place."

"Deal. Want some help?"

"You don't need to see what I'm about to see."

With that, Thomas and I made our begrudging way toward the fire.

~*~

It resolved relatively easily once Thomas gave Remus a disapproving stare. We all didn't do well with Thomas' disappointment, even Remus, so he moped back inside the Mindscape without much complaint. Everyone else returned to the living room in my doghouse and I locked myself in my room, refusing to emerge. Rage stayed out for a while longer and later we found out three police stations had been set on fire with all prisoners escaped. No loss of life, which I didn't know how to feel about.

Later, through mystical means, the stolen dildos Remus had taken were discovered in Ron DeSantis' home. We laughed for a week.

I amend my earlier statement. Maybe we really do need to use Remus as the next great flood. He'll just focus his attention on the fascists and we'll all be better off.

Yo, God, you should get on that.