#horrid father. bad husband. twice

[dannybobany]

Working on this one again

Charlie is such a bastard I despise him <- his creator

Although this is young Charlie. He gets worse with age. Like a reverse wine.

[honeyydrunk]

reasons why i would and wouldn't have sexual relations with the nct ilichil members. and unfortunately majority of the "wouldn't" is just that they're in love with another member.

(just in time for their 8th anniversary).

the one the only mr johnny suh would: - mr big dick daddy johnny suh - unity the link focus + johnny solo stage - he'd take me out to dinner first - created sexy actually bc nct we are so sexy - his father actually so created coffee - he's like 6'4 (i'm like 5'10 on a bad day) - daddy long legs - he's from chicago - ohhh he's got me giggling not just because he's crazy hot but bc he's funny part time idol full time comedian - his tattoo is insanely attractive the design the everything - i want to carry his kids and i'm a guy bro what the flip

💚 !! lee taeyong !! 💚 would: - THE male AI visual - bros big boba 🧋 tea eyes - my wartime navy husband - theres only so many times i can say he's crazy ridiculously hot utterly insane what a face he's the only person i've seen get hotter without makeup actually crazy where's that list of adjectives like beautiful breathtaking gorgeous stunning SEXY SEXY MAN enchanting hypnotising so fine i'm getting whiplash from trying to comprehend him the neost neo to ever neo ethereal angelic the highest of all blessings from aphrodite romanticism personified he is THE muse fitting of all eras his face should be in museums shown to the world i have never seen anyone that competes with his face card face CARD? face global economy face universe economy i am so happy for everything that allows me to witness this that this timeline where he is here i am witnessing his beauty his presence himself he is the beauty of this world a gem that should be praised to the highest esteem i wish nothing for him but true happiness safety and love i've heard of beauty people go to war for but he is beauty i wish peace in this earth for so that he is residing in a world that is beautiful like him for beauty such as his shouldn't be living in a world with hate and horrid things. for me, i don't even wish for anything of him, i wish for happiness and love FOR him. he is beautiful like nature, something that is perfectly created and serene. something so perfect, natural, and stunning, i wish to be a better person for him. wouldn't: - he wants to be bullied and humiliated and idk if i have that in me. i want to shower him with love and affection and he wants to be harassed.

NAKAMOTO YUTA (be warned this list goes on long i wanna fuck this man so badly it's insane mark lee watch out)

what's that the gojo fangirls said about no lube no protection? would: (i would rather die than not) - he's so hot - bros an ultimate foreign swagger - HIS HEALING SMILE - he's a literal rockstar - his dark cherry red wolfcut - chain tattoo - butterfly tattoo ON HIS STOMACH - navel piercing - alleged tongue piercing - kawaita kaze o karanase anata wo tsureteku no sa honey so sweet - his bring me the horizon cover - suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki - he unbuttoned his jacket then kicked a guy in the head twice - his voice,,, man i wanna hear him talk in my mind constantly - his actual singing voice does crazy things to me though - he always EMBODIES the few lines he does get - his vocal tone is ridiculously clear and stable. genuinely unsure on how he's that mistreated his voice is insane. - i don't like drinking but when he does it, it's hot. - suzaki ryo - he takes selfies a little odd but that's okay bc he's so hot it doesn't even matter - him when he in that one kick it fancam when he just when he - "TOKYO ARE YOU FUCKING READY-?" yes i am so ready to be the baddie in your porsche. - he paints his nails cute little designs - he likes natto (i don't, so i respect this) - he was training to be a professional footballer before he joined sm - he's a scorpio - the xj kabedon incident the peppero game the favourite promotion ear furry rizz game whatever that was - he's ridiculously athletic - his lying is hot - he flirts so well wdym he got mark lee calling him oppa - he kissed that wall too well - no lube no protection all day all night any position any time place location anything he wishes anything he wants he could do anything to be and i'd be thankful on my knees thanking him

wouldn't: - he's in love with mark lee

jeong jaehyun i would because he's a february 14th valentine's 💌 boy. he's a romantic who's silly!! why wouldn't i want to dance around in the night making sure he lives the life of a romance novel even if i'm just someone he'll forget on his journey to find the one he'll truly love. i'm okay with that. please be my forever only, just for one night. why i wouldn't: jeffery jamal "can i please have 3 iced coffees?" he reminds me of handy mandy hes too much of a brother ik he has them high quality gags hidden his goofy aura ruins any sex appeal i have for him he has too many feet pics uploaded on instagram

kim doyoung would: - he's for the employed srry. - there's no way to explain his aura except he's super sexy in like a husband way. - i saw him in perfume and my life changed forever - i want to bring him home to my parents just so i could be successful for once - him when he reveals those mf collarbones and that waist of his - "tighter" yes sir - "i wanna kiss your lips" absolutely - me when he sings goes insane - he's got such a beautiful smile

wouldn't: - i'm not quite sure how sex with him would be like and this post is about sex not marriage,,,,, though let's be real if he proposed YES OFC?! - he sings like he's been through several divorces he seems so heartbreak and i don't want my heart broken (ignore how i'd break my heart into a million pieces for taeyong and yuta)

kim jungwoo

would: - two baddies era jungwoo changed me in ways you can't imagine - he's so tall woah (im the same height) - sugaring candy what's that doja said? - me when he in two baddies - i need fuckboy jungwoo to make a comeback - bro in the dojaejung videos made me go crazy - unity + the link jungwoo solo performance 'lipstick' - he'd play me and i wouldn't care

wouldn't: - how could we have sex when we could gossip

MARK LEE ITS BEEN A MINUTE IM IT RAWRRRRR WHAT IS A BAD VERSE? WHAT IS NO FLOW? WHAT IS NOT SERVING US W HIT AFTER HIT !!? would: - i'll make him pop w head no talk ay like chardonnay mwah cherry bomb - when he rapped his shi off on that glass box (quiet down, kyocera japan performance) - "ladies just wait for me good girl. i got a really big," show me rn no proof otherwise - "diamond. married the kitchen to cook you up," marry me - "topping your faves" i love myself so uh top me. (WHAT DID I SAY?) - when he swears it's crazy hot

wouldn't: - he moans too much but like doing normal everyday things don't think i've forgetting that one live - i'm not nakamoto yuta (i want nakamoto yuta) - he can say some real cringe things sometimes

haechanahceah my bro lee donghyuk the LEE HAECHAN

would - him in poison - him when glowy and tan - him when he sings - him when he dances - him when he raps - him when he does anything - him when he exists - him when he's with that messy eyeliner - him when he's barefaced - him when he flirts - him when moans (he has on live MULTIPLE TIMES)

wouldn't: - if he said anything in his aegyo voice i physically couldn't have sexual relations with him that's not smth i can stomach sorry guys - i'm not mark or yuta

love all my neos but a special shout out to the ilichils who have served us with absolute BANGERS timeless experimental classics. they've sacrificed a lot for us and work extremely hard for this. i want to thank them for 8 years !! and i hope that they can continue to bless us with more for as long as they wish to remain in the industry.

[skylarstark4826]

Spider sat in one corner of the Sully marui weaving a basket, his smaller hands making quick work of tying sturdy knots out of material new to him.

In the other sat Neytiri, skinning fish after fish and placing them on hooks, quick and efficient with her blade.

The hut stayed utterly silent aside from sounds of their labour, yet it barely felt awkward. After all, both inhabitants were focusing for a reason. The chores were a distraction.

A distraction from the horrid disaster they’ve been through. 

Strangely enough, since loosing the oldest Sully and arranging a funeral, both of them avoided talking about him; even in passing. It caused too much pain, like rubbing salt into a bleeding gash, but while Neytiri knew such agony well, to Spider it was all new. He escaped any thoughts about Neteyam because he was afraid he’d break down again, like he did the night of the funeral, when the emotional whiplash fully caught up to him and he broke, emitting barely-human noises as Kiri wept, holding him. He’d never been this vulnerable, never cried to the point where there were no tears left, and hoped to Eywa that he wouldn’t have to repeat the process, although witnessing Ms.Sully break down twice this week didn’t give him much hope. But could he blame her?

No. Not in a million years. The utter shock of witnessing a loved one’s eyes loose light is a horror Spider wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

His work slowed. 

Is this how Neytiri felt when she lost her father? Her sister? Half of her clan? His pain from loosing ‘Teyam felt gut-wrenching, so he couldn’t even begin to imagine how badly it burned Ms.Sully’s soul to have so much taken from her. Truth be told, he felt horrible for resenting her back in the forest. He only ever saw his own part of the story.

As he wandered deeper into his thoughts, so did the matriarch; except she had a bad habit of quickening her pace whenever she could not find focus on the present. She couldn’t let her children or husband know, but she was holding on by a thread. No amount of crying and screaming and throwing objects into the sand could quench her agony, despite Norm saying that it’d be healthy for her to let it out. No matter how much she let it out, there was too much still left, and it grew like a mold as soon as she’d stop screaming. Maybe she was well past the point of "letting it out" years ago, though she certainly tried many times.

She looked at Spider. 

Yes, she tried hard to let it out indeed…and this boy became her accidental target. He came under the line of fire because through his veins coursed the blood of a demon, and she recalled herself justifying that behaviour more than once by telling her beloved that said boy walked on a slippery slope, bound to repeat the mistakes of his ancestors. 

And yet, there he sat. After enduring months of captivity and torture, as he’d told them when Tonowari organised a council to hear our whatever information he had gathered, he was still loyal. 

He witnessed villages burn, had to beg the demon, *cry* for him to spare the people, and it eluded Neytiri how or why the monster listened. She didn’t want to put the puzzle together just yet, trying to erase the incident on the ship out of her memory. Eywa knows, Kiri hasn’t looked at her the same since.

“Ack!” She hissed when the knife inevitably drove into her finger, causing a bleeding. She then sees Spider react on pure instinct, fetching a bandage-like cloth and sitting next to the woman as he treated her injury. He was good at it, that much she was aware of, as she saw him treat a deep wound once. A human ally pilot bled once, but Socorro never lost his cool and swiftly bandaged it. 

She wondered how often he had to treat himself, to get this precise with his movements.  She also wondered why she let him touch her, but the last seven days have been a complete mess, and neither of the two had strength to be passive-aggressively avoidant of each other. There were bigger sorrows to mope over.

***

The crowd of Metkayina, as well as Tau’nui, roared in frustration at the council. They wanted action, and they wanted it now. The death of many of their loved ones, including the tulkun, has angered them beyond belief, but the leaders had to quieten the crowd so Spider could share what he had gathered about their enemy. He knew he was looked at side-ways, because contrary to how he felt on the inside, blue stripes didn’t make him taller, no matter how much paint he applied to his skin. 

Neytiri grew frustrated as well. The crowd’s fury had been understandable, but their restlessness only stalled them. She looked at the teenager to see if he’d be brave enough to do something about it, since not even Tonowari and Ronal could calm their storm. And he did.

Grabbing the tube filled with a yellow liquid from the mat in the centre, Spider stood in front of the big fire and raised it to the sky. The crowd went quiet, their attention now consumed by the strange device.

“Listen to me, reef people!” He exclaimed, mustering all the confidence he had. “This! This is why they’re killing your spirit siblings!” His voice shook when he remembered the death of a mother and her child.

“What is it!?” He heard the crowd demanding.

“It’s a liquid stored in the minds of every tulkun! They hunt for it because-” He couldn’t believe he was about to say it. “Because it grants sky people immortality!”

Reef Na’vi gasped in utter shock, and even Jake couldn’t keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

“What…what are you saying, child?” Ronal dared to ask, her eyes filled with horror.

“This…this fluid stops humans from ageing! It makes them live forever!” He locked eyes with her.

“But…that is impossible, all energy—”

“They found a way to break that rule. And they break it by killing the tulkun and pulling this out of their heads.” Socorro pointed to where his brain is, his own eyes watering.

The Metkayina and Tau’nui were silent now, processing this new information.

Neytiri felt even more furious than before, but by no means surprised. Sky people cruelty was new to the sea Na’vi, but not her. Not her clan.

Not new to Spider either, she thought, looking at him, and how bravely he held up in the face of a resentful mob.

Yes.

He was indeed quite brave.

***

Water, as beautifully as it sparkled, had never been Neytiri’s strong suit. She could swim just fine, could even fish to an extent, but riding an ilu was still quite difficult for her to grasp, even more when it came to the skimwing. Now that the war was upon them, she had no excuse to stall on learning, so Ronal took time out of her day to offer help. She guided the animal towards her, and ‘Tiri couldn’t help but feel warmth in her chest at its friendly clicks. About ten metres away, Spider sat on the woven pier and helped Jake carve wooden stakes for the nets. Socorro kept stealing glances, wondering how Ms.Sully would do.

Tsaheylu went smoothly but Neytiri shivered, as if cold water was dumped on her. She heard a familiar chuckle and whipped her head, seeing Spider quickly turn his down and pretending to work. She huffed, and listened to Tsahik’s instructions, slowly got on the creature’s back. However, the animal must’ve felt her lack of confidence, as it chirped and bolted away, dropping Neytiri into the water.

Spider tried, honest to the great mother, to hold it in, but the image of such a serious, graceful figure emerging from beneath the waves with the widest eyes was just too amusing. He let out a laugh, before biting his lip and hunching again. Jake looked at him like he just signed his death warrant, and Socorro couldn’t agree more. 

He didn’t see the smirk Neytiri failed to suppress, or her slowly wagging tail as she approached the ilu again, and whispered something into their ear.

He did however, definitely feel the harsh tug on his loincloth, which sent him tumbling into the water with a high-pitched screech. Once under the surface, he locked eyes with the clicking ilu and playfully shoved its face, swimming back up when the most incredible sound graces his ears. 

Neytiri laughed. It was short-lived, but she laughed, and laughed in his presence. Seeing a smile on her worn out face felt like a breath of fresh air and Socorro couldn’t help but chuckle in return, grinning. 

Oh how good it felt, to have the weight of the world pulled off their shoulders, if just for a single moment.

***

Neytiri was at it again; overworking herself because she steadily lost focus on the current task while the eclipse had long since passed. She was expected home hours ago, and the family, deeply scared for their mother’s wellbeing, went looking for her around the village.

Jake and Spider split to search on the shoreline, going opposite directions and soon enough, Socorro witnessed a familiar silhouette resting against the rocks. It was none other than ‘Tiri, with a half-weaved net in her arms. 

The blonde couldn’t help but appreciate that distinct, Omatikaya handiwork; he learned weaving from her after all, but his wonder turned to confusion when he caught the warrior twitching in her sleep. Looking up, Spider met her shut eyes and a forming scowl. It’d be better to wake Neytiri before she falls deeper into whatever nightmare she was seeing.

But as soon as Socorro’s hand touched hers, she pounced on him akin to a vengeful thanator. In a way, she was.

“Hey hey HEY!!” Spider yelled, as ‘Tiri felt for the blade strapped to her vest and unsheathed it. “Neytiri STOP!! IT’S ME!!”

In a fit of rage, Neytiri hissed at him, and on reflex, the blonde hissed right back. That seemed to do the trick, as it snapped the warrior out of her delusion, and she breathed heavily, looking him in the eyes.

After what felt like an eternally long moment, she leapt away, realising what she’d done. “What do you want!?”

“…It’s-it’s eclipse. Everyone has been looking for you…” Spider breathed.

Neytiri turned, eyeing the darkening sky, before giving the blonde a slow nod and collecting the net she’d weaved.

“Let us go.” She looked back at him, waiting for Spider to follow.

***

This night proceeded quietly, like so many others these past weeks, but Tshaka could not sleep. It has been roughly a month, but her scar bled still, as fresh as ever. Keeping her son out of her thoughts as to not breakdown completely has been an exhausting task. 

She needed some air, and slowly, as to not disturb her family, slipped out of the warm hut, shivering at the chill. It was then she caught a distant sound of sobbing.

In said distance, on a pier, sat a familiar tiny figure, with knees up to his chin, and shaking shoulders. ‘Tiri couldn’t help her gasp as she approached, akin to a predator trying not to spook its prey. Was Spider really crying? He hadn’t done that since the funeral. She guessed that he’d been putting on a front, but never considered how heavy the burden of grief would weight on someone who experienced it for the first time. 

Thinking of her child, she let out a tear.

It never got easier, but one’s very first loss always stings the most.

“Spider.” 

She spoke barely above a whisper, but Socorro still lurched, as if burned, before quickly lifting his mask and wiping away the salt on his cheeks. 

“W-what is it?” He croaked, his voice shaking.

It’s only then Neytiri realised that she didn’t actually think it through. Her deep-rooted maternal instinct pulled her towards a broken child, but knowing their history, she had no idea how to provide comfort to him specifically.

So instead, she sat next to him, looking at the glowing ocean.

“I cannot sleep.”

The Na’vi avoided making eye contact with Socorro as to not make him feel further embarrassed, but still noticed him nodding, while hiding most of his face.

“…Neither can I.”

‘Tiri nodded in acknowledgement, and they stayed silent for a little more. Listening to the waves swirl gently against pier’s columns, as well as watching peculiar creatures swim below.

“…How…how do-how do you do it?” The boy then asked, sheepishly turning to the woman next to him.

“Do what?”

“Keep going. After everything…” New tears gathered in his eyes. “I feel like a part of me has been ripped away. Is this how it felt when…?”

“…Yes. It feels like that all of the time.”

The blonde’s eyes widened, another tear escaping down his face. “Then how?”

Neytiri looked back at the ocean, trying to gather her thoughts and give him a hopeful response, but in truth, she had none. Every tragedy was a storm that destroyed her, and then, after a while, she just wouldn’t be crumbling as much.

“…I do not know. I guess…” She sighed. “All you can do is wait.”

“It’s torture.”

“Yes.”

“I want to see him again.”

Neytiri’s heart skipped a beat. “I know.”

“It feels like the world has ended, and everyone’s just pretending like nothing happened.”

That sentence brought new tears to Neytiri’s eyes. Socorro oddly hit the arrow on that one. It really did feel like a silent apocalypse at times; like everything after Neteyam’s death was an afterlife, a ghost remaining of the world that had once existed. 

But she felt that way before. The world had died before, one too many times, and yet here she still was, pushing on. It is thanks to her family that she once more found happiness and saw how her life could yet be full of love and purpose.

“…The sun, Socorro. Look to the sun.”

“What..?..”

Neytiri clenched the weaved floorboards of the pier. “The pain is agonising, and the tragedy may seem endless, but the sun will always rise. No matter what happens here on Eywa’eveng, it’ll greet us the very next morning.”

Spider looked up at Polemius; a giant orb with swirly patterns, gracing Pandorian sky.

“The sun will always rise.” Neytiri said, carefully, ever so carefully, moving her hand towards his, wanting to take the pain she is so aware of away from a boy so young. “Nor is the night starless.” She spoke, their fingers barely touching.

***

Curiously, Neytiri slept like a newborn after the conversation they had. Waking up with the morning rays, she saw that the marui had been emptied of all her family members, but she’d been tucked into a blanket. She’ll have to cook something big tonight, to reward her children and husband for working so hard to help Awa’atlu prepare for the future battle with sky people.

However, next to her lay a holo-pad. A human techno device used by Jake to contact their friends at high camp, and sometimes bythe Sully siblings to take photos. Tiredly, she picked up her head and stared at the screen. One of the icons was glowing, and she knew it meant that someone left a message. She pressed on it, expecting barely-comprehensible science gibberish written by Norm or Max.

Instead, it was a message written directly on this device. Neytiri read into the letters, her mind still foggy. 

Her heart sank into the ground.

Her face went pale. 

She leapt to a stance immediately, running as fast as she could through the village, a hundred emotions fighting to be felt, and a single question screaming to be answered.

Why?

The eclipse was not yet fully over when the warrior reached rocky cliffs on the edge of the island. Spider stood there, on the tallest edge, as still as a statue.

“WHY THE HELL DID YOU SAVE HIM!?” Neytiri screamed on top of her lungs, a human word escaping her in the state of panic.

Socorro turned to her, his face once more stained with tears, but his expression stone-serious. “I did it because….because he loves me, in his own horrible, fucked up way. He cared, and when push came to shove, he chose me over everything else!” He yelled to be heard over the crashing waves. “No one has ever done that for me before and, fuck!” He couldn’t keep up the front for long. “I love him too! I wish I didn’t! I swear I hate that I do! He’s a fucking monster and I regret my choices! But back there, I couldn’t stop myself!” He sobbed. “I was just…I didn’t want to be abandoned again.”

Neytiri glared at him, frantic, a small part of her wanting, truly wanting to understand, but getting overshadowed by anger and fear.

“Foolish boy! Do you understand what will happen?! He will come back for us! For your siblings!!”

Spider shook his head, breathing rapidly. “No, no, he doesn’t care for them. He only threatened you because he knew it would set off Jake. He wanted to bait him into a fight. It was his only goal all along.”

‘Tiri hissed, furious. “What is the meaning of all this? Why come here, to the outskirts, to say it!? Are you too much of a coward to face your sins head on!?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Off-handedly, the woman noticed that Socorro wasn’t armed.

“After yesterday, I made up my mind. I can’t make things right, nothing will make it right…but this nightmare can end with me.”

It took a moment for Neytiri to process what the boy had meant, but when it hit her, she couldn’t help taking a step back.

Spider didn’t run out here because he’s a coward.

He ran out here to help Neytiri get rid of the evidence.

“You…you want me to kill you.”

“Don’t you?”

Did she?

Neytiri was angry, and grieving, and afraid, and broken what felt like way beyond repair after the tragedies she’d faced. 

She hated Spider for whom he saved.

She hated what he represented so much.

She…

…

She didn’t want him to die, she realised, tearing up in frustration at herself. She recalled when he was a baby fitting into the palm of her hand, when he followed her like a little shadow and eager to prove himself, when he played with her children, when he gave Tuktirey one of her first necklaces, when he saved his siblings from the sky people who pursued them out of hell’s gate a year ago, when he went through torture at the hands of RDA, that cause him phantom pains, just to keep Omatikaya and their family safe. 

For so long, when meeting eyes with the child before her, she only saw Quaritch. A creature that would inevitablt morph into his exact copy.

But now, when it felt like she had gotten all the proof of it in the world, she looked at him…

And only saw Spider. 

Spider, the human Omatikaya from the forest, and no one else. Miles’s shadow was gone, no longer veiling the blonde away from her.

Neytiri wanted to pluck her eyes out in anger. Why, out of all moments, did she have to see him now? Why did the great mother tortue her so?

She sighed shakily. “I do not what a child’s blood in my hands. I am not him.”

Spider’s eyes widened, as he stared at her in shock, before eventually frowning and nodding. “Right. I’m sorry, of course you wouldn’t…fuck, I don’t know why I thought you would.”

Why did he?

Neytiri hated him, he knew that. They even had an argument once, a short but dramatic one, when the RDA had just returned to Pandora. He’d been so frustrated at the way she saw him, that he’d exploded on her in return that night, saying that Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk were all the family he had because of her war.

He regretted those words every day.

It was another reason to get rid of him. Truthfully, Neytiri had every justification to go through with his murder. Spider wasn’t even a creature of Eywa, so could it really that big of a deal?

But, of course it was.

Neytiri is not a monster out to get him, though it seems like Socorro had come to believe it at some point because of her sheer resentment. 

And then Neteyam died, and everything made sense. Honestly, Socorro had been surprised she didn’t actually attempt anything herself. Truly, Tsahaka was a warrior stronger than any other he’d ever met. An ideal Na’vi.

He only wished he could have understood her sooner.

But now he did. 

“I get it. I…”

And he still needed to make up for his sins.

“It’s time I act like one of the people for once.”

And with those words, Spider’s exopack flew down the cliff, disappearing into the foam below.

Neytiri’s heart stilled as she watched the blonde choke in slow-motion, before her instincts took over and she leapt into action. 

Spider’s limp form in her arms, she ran back to Awa’atlu, counting down the seconds with her every stride.

Sky people only had four minutes to live after loosing air. 

Awa’atlu resided way further. 

She wouldn’t make it.

But Socorro was not any other human, was he? 

Neytiri held onto that thought like a life-line as she pushed Metkayina out of her way. Had Spider always been so small? So fragile? 

She almost missed the entrance when reaching her home, slipping on the weavings, but regained her footing quickly and dropped Spider off on her pallet, rummaging through technical equipment Spellman had brought two weeks ago for the blonde specifically. 

Somewhere here, it had to be here!

There.

She pulled out a brand new mask, setting a charged battery into the slot before picking up her child and fixing the visor over his face, pressing a button that would start filtrating air. 

For a gruelling moment, there had been nothing but silence, and Neytiri’s heart kept sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

It’s been six minutes.

But then, there was a deep, loud inhale, punctuated by frantic coughing and shaking. Neytiri held the blonde as he gulped for air like a fish out of water. 

A moment or two, Spider had been completely disoriented, frantically looking around him, when his eyes paused, staring into Neytiri’s bright yellow ones, almost glowing in the light of the sun.

Socorro looked heartbroken, on the verge of tears the longer the warrior held him. “Why…why did you do it!?”

In response to his panic, Neytiri snapped out of her initial stupor. “I saved your life you ungrateful boy!” She snapped back, yet holding him only tighter. 

“Wha-no! You were supposed-I should have-” He stumbled over his words, distressed. “I should have died!” He sobbed, trying wearily to push Neytiri away, but his strength was no match for hers. “Let GO!” He cried. “…please.”

“True warriors do not go out like this.” She hissed.

“I’m not a warrior. Never passed the iknimaya remember!?” He blabbered, still pushing against Neytiri’s shoulders. “Ending it all was the most honorable thing I could do!”

“No!” She grabbed him by the bicep, forcing him to look up at her. “The honourable thing would be to own up to one’s mistake!”

“It was not a mistake! Don’t you get it?! I CHOSE him in that ocean. I s…” He whimpered, loosing his will to fight back. “He saw me. And I saw him. You can’t own up to that kind of shit.”

Neytiri’s hold on Spider’s bicep tightened, as she searched for something to say; something that would discourage him from trying that kind of blasphemy again, when a crucial memory surfaced in her mind.

“My mother. The Tsahik…” She began. “She saved a spy once. A spy of the sky people. A spy that helped your father destroy our hometree. That man chose to help our enemy…but he owned up to his choices, and eventually redeemed himself.”

“…but I can’t become rider of the last shadow.”

“No, you cannot, but it isn’t why I chose him. He made a commitment of loyalty, and showed us all that he was ready to fight, whether forgiven or not. You’ve made a commitment of loyalty a long time ago. I should have seen it sooner…should have seen you.” She spoke, and it felt like a puzzle piece missing from her damaged soul had finally been put into place. 

Spider gasped, his heart skipping a beat.

“Maybe if I did…the demon wouldn’t be alive.”

“What!? No! That-it wasn’t your responsibility!”

“It had to be someone’s, and I was the closest thing you ever gotten to a mother. That fact alone should have…cleared my mind.”

Socorro wanted to protest, wanted to take the guilt off Neytiri’s shoulders…but had no idea what to say to make it better. Perhaps a small, dark part of him didn’t want to, revelling in the newfound validation he’d never felt before.

“I apologise if I made you feel like death was your best chance at redemption.”

It was Spider’s turn to ho into Neytiri’s shoulder. “No! No it wasn’t you! I just-I brought so much pain already, I thought it’d be best if I stop being a burden.” Spider croaked. 

“You’re no burden. Never were.” ‘Tiri responded without missing a beat.

Socorro met eyes with Neytiri once more.

She looked back, not a shred of malice behind her gaze. Hate still raged in her heart.…but the love for this strange child, whom she knew practically since he was born, who put his life on the line for the people, was stronger. 

He fit perfectly into her embrace. 

“…Never?”

“Never.”

And the world, as these two knew it, shattered. This time however, it felt perfectly fine.

[jaysficarchive]

No change, I can change [Riddlerchrome]

Synopsis: Edward has danced with the devil for the last time.

For @floof-ghostie

Edward knew the courts were tired of him. They never said it but could see it in the judge, jury, and prosecution and defense team's faces. It's not his fault no one appreciated his genius--especially Batman.

Almost no one.

He had his girls watching the trial unfold. His henchwomen Echo, Query, and Miss Tuesday, his daughters Elizabeth and Mabelle, and most importantly: his wife. His darling Mona Lisa. He wished they didn't have to see him in such a manner.

"Mr. Nygma, are you aware this court has seen your face one too many times?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Then you should also be aware that repeat offenders prevent us from dealing with incoming crime. And sending you to Arkham or Blackgate isn't going to do anything because you'll just escape again. It's not fair to the people of Gotham that our time and resources are being wasted on people like you when there's actual harm being done to communities and families," the judge chastised him with contempt. Nobody could say it wasn't justified.

"The fact that you not only have a daughter but are also married makes your continued bad behavior worse. How do you think your daughter's teachers or your wife's coworkers feel knowing that their father and husband is the Riddler? What do you think that tells them?"

People never failed to let him know that he dragged Elizabeth and Mona down or that he didn't deserve them. Everywhere he went, he was the subject of concerned or disgusted looks and whispers. What was this sweet, innocent child and this gorgeous, talented woman doing with a lowlife criminal who got fired from his old job?

He remembered one time when he turned his back from Lizzy, a woman came up to her and asked if she needed help. Some people even called the police on him all because they thought he kidnapped a poor child.

With Mona, he could see how some high society people began to ice her out of their groups. Who'd want to be associated with a woman who has him as her new husband? Others went as far as to say that they had an agreement in their relationship.

The judge hummed. "I'm going to give you an ultimatum: change your ways or be put to death."

Mona gasped. What kind of ultimatum was that?! Was that even allowed?

Edward's eyes widened. "Put to death...?"

"Yes. I'm sure many people will sleep better at night knowing you're dead. Now I know it's extreme but that's the only way to get you to take this seriously. And given what happened to Mrs. Nygma's first husband, neither of us wouldn't want her to be widowed twice. So what will it be, Mr. Nygma? Will you give in to your criminal urges or will you step up?"

This damn judge, Edward thought. However he knew they were right. Was it really worth it to be a criminal anymore? The power being the Riddler gave him was unlike anything he'd ever had before. It allowed him to show his smarts and his craft in a way his old job wouldn't. No matter how much he improved his craft, though, there would always be a Bat to stop him.

"I...I concede."

Edward and Mona walked out the courthouse to the flood of reporters and paparazzi waiting outside. They hid their children's faces from the cameras as they got in the car. He felt Mona's hand on top of his.

"Is it really over, Eddie?" Echo asked.

Edward nodded. Never did he think that it'd end like this. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, to have his name immortalized in the history books forever. It's what he deserved. Instead, he went out quietly.

"Try to think of this as something good, Edward," Mona said, cupping his face with her hand. "You'll be able to spend everyday with me and the children. You won't have to go to jail anymore."

That's when it hit him. He wouldn't have to eat the horrid concoctions Arkham served or be barked at by power tripping guards anymore. Mona would always be by his side when he woke up and fell asleep. He would be there for all of Mabelle and Elizabeth's milestones.

Mona watched as Edward threw his costumes in the fire. The hurt of doing so was clear in his eyes. But there was also hope and relief. He could now focus on a life he thought he'd abandoned once he became a costumed criminal.

"What do you think of me now, Mona Lisa?" Edward turned to her while the flames glowed behind him. How ironic that he felt his conscious clear after getting rid of everything he worked so hard for. Perhaps reform had its benefits.

"I still think you're my husband. The smartest man in the world." Mona wrapped her arms around his neck. She could see every moment they spent together in his eyes. "Without you, my former in-laws would've taken Mabelle from me and never gotten my revenge against Felix and Helene. You may not be Riddler anymore but that doesn't diminish your place in my heart or my life. I love you and you only, Edward."

"And I with you, Mona Lisa."

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Wed., May, 19, 2021

May 6/May19

Saint Job the Righteous

     Saint Job the Righteous lived about 2000-1500 years before the Birth of Christ, in Northern Arabia, in the country of Austidia in the land of Uz. His life and sufferings are recorded in the Bible (Book of Job). There exists an opinion, that Job was by descent a nephew of Abraham, and that he was the son of a brother of Abraham – Nakhor. Job was a man God-fearing and pious. With all his soul he was devoted to the Lord God and in everything conducted himself in accord with God's will, refraining from everything evil not only in deeds, but also in thoughts. The Lord blessed his earthly existence and rewarded Righteous Job with great wealth: he had many cattle and all kinds of possessions. Righteous Job's seven sons and three daughters were amiable amongst themselves and gathered for common repast all together in turns at each of their homes. Every seven days Righteous Job made for his children offerings to God, saying: "If perchance any of them hath sinned or offended God in their heart". For his justness and honesty Saint Job was held in high esteem by his fellow citizens and he had great influence in public matters.

     One time however, when the Holy Angels did stand before the Throne of God, Satan appeared amongst them. The Lord God asked Satan, whether he had seen His servant Job, a man righteous and without blemish. Satan answered audaciously, that it was not for nothing that Job was God-fearing – since God was watching over him and multiplying his riches, but if misfortune were sent him, he would then cease to bless God. Then the Lord, wishing to prove Job's patience and faith, said to Satan: "Everything, that Job hath, I give into thine hand, but only he himself touch not". After this Job suddenly lost all his wealth, and then also all his children. Righteous Job turned to God and said: "Naked did I emerge from the womb of my mother, and naked shalt I be returned to my mother the earth. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blest be the Name of the Lord!" And thus did Job not sin before the Lord God, nor utter even an unthinking word.      When the Angels of God again did stand before the Lord and amongst them Satan also, then said the devil, that Job was righteous, since that he himself was without harm. Thereupon declared the Lord: "I permit thee to do with him, what thou wishest, sparing only his soul". After this Satan inflicted upon Righteous Job an horrid illness, leprous boils, which covered him head to foot. The sufferer was compelled to remove himself from the company of people, he sat outside the city on an heap of ashes and had to scrape at his pussing wounds with an shard of clay. All his friends and acquaintances abandoned him. His wife had to see after her own welfare, toiling and roaming from house to house. She not only did not support her husband with patience, but rather she thought, that God was punishing Job for some kind of secret sins, and she wept, and wailed against God, she reproached also her husband and finally advised Righteous Job to curse God and die. Righteous Job sorrowed grievously, but even in these sufferings he remained faithful to God. He answered his wife: "Thou speakest, like someone hysterical. Shalt we have from God only the good, and have nothing bad?" And Righteous Job did sin in nothing before God.      Hearing about the misfortunes of Job, three of his friends came afar off to comfort his sorrow. They reckoned, that Job was being punished by God for his sins, and they urged this righteous man though innocent to repent. The righteous one answered, that he was suffering not for sins, but that these tribulations were sent him from the Lord in accord with the Divine Will, which is inscrutable for man. His friends however did not believe him and they continued to think that the Lord was dealing with Job in accord with the laws obtaining under human standards, thus punishing Job for the committing of sins. In begrieved sorrow of soul Righteous Job turned with a prayer to God, beseeching Him Himself to bear witness before them of his innocence. God thereupon manifested Himself in a tempestuous whirlwind and reproached Job, in that he had tried to penetrate by his reason into the mystery of the world-order and the judgemental-purposes of God. The Righteous Job with all his heart repented himself in these thoughts and said: "I am as nothing, and I foreswear and repent myself in dust and ashes". The Lord thereupon commanded the friends of Job to have recourse to him in asking him to offer sacrifice for them. "Since, – said the Lord, – only the person Job do I accept it of, lest I spurn ye for this, that ye did speak concerning Me not thus rightly, as hath instead My servant Job". Job offered sacrifice to God for his friends, and the Lord accepted his intercession, and the Lord likewise returned to Righteous Job his health and gave him twice over more than he had previously. In place of his deceased children was born to him seven sons and three daughters, more beautiful than any other in that land. After bearing his sufferings, Job lived yet another 140 years (altogether he lived 248 years) and he lived to see his descendants down to the fourth generation.      Saint Job prefigures the Lord Jesus Christ, having come down to earth and suffering for the salvation of mankind, and then glorified in His glorious Resurrection.      "I know, – said Righteous Job, afflicted with the leprous boils, – I know, that my Redeemer liveth and He wilt raise up from the dust on the last day my decayed skin, and I in my flesh shalt see God. I shalt see Him myself with mine own eyes, and not through the eyes of some other see Him. In expectation of this, my heart doth jump within my bosom!" (Job 19: 25-27).      "Know ye, the judgement, in which be justified only those having true wisdom – the fear of the Lord, and true understanding – the departing from evil" (Job 28: 28).      Saint John Chrysostom says: "There was no human misfortune, which this man did not undergo. He was the firmest and most adamant, beset by sudden tribulation by hunger, and by woe, and sickness, and bereft of children, and loss of riches, and then suffering abuse from his wife, insult from his friends, reproach from his servants, and in everything he showed himself more solid than a stone, and a source before the Law also of Grace".

The Monk Mikhei of Radonezh (1385)

     The Monk Mikhei of Radonezh was one of the first disciples of the Monk Sergei of Radonezh, and lived with him in the same cell, and under his guidance he attained to high spiritual perfection. For his meekness of soul and purity of heart, the Monk Mikhei during his lifetime was vouchsafed to witness the appearance of the Mother of God to his great teacher. One time the Monk Sergei, having made the morning rule of prayer, sat for awhile to rest, but suddenly he said to his student: "Be alert, my child, for we shalt have a wondrous visitation". Hardly had he pronounced these words when a voice was heard: "The All-Pure One draweth nigh". Suddenly there shone a light brighter than the sun, and the Monk Mikhei fell down upon the ground and out of fear lay there as though dead. When the Monk Sergei lifted up his disciple, that one asked: "Tell me, father, what is the reason for this wondrous vision? From fright my soul hath nearly parted from my body". The Monk Sergei thereupon informed his disciple about the appearance of the Most Holy Mother of God. Saint Mikhei reposed to God in the year 1385. The celebration of the Monk Mikhei is done on 6 May, and his relics rest beneath a crypt at the Trinity-Sergiev Lavra. On 10 December 1734, over the place of burial of the Monk Mikhei, there was consecrated a church in honour of the Appearance to the Monk Sergei of Radonezh of the Most Holy Mother of God, together with the Holy Apostles Peter and John the Theologian.

All texts ©1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

John 6:35-39

35And Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst. 36 But I said to you that you have seen Me and yet do not believe. 37 All that the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out.38 For I have come down from heaven, not to do My own will, but the will of Him who sent Me. 39 This is the will of the Father who sent Me, that of all He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day.

Acts 8:18-25

18 And when Simon saw that through the laying on of the apostles' hands the Holy Spirit was given, he offered them money, 19 saying, "Give me this power also, that anyone on whom I lay hands may receive the Holy Spirit." 20 But Peter said to him, "Your money perish with you, because you thought that the gift of God could be purchased with money! 21 You have neither part nor portion in this matter, for your heart is not right in the sight of God. 22 Repent therefore of this your wickedness, and pray God if perhaps the thought of your heart may be forgiven you. 23 For I see that you are poisoned by bitterness and bound by iniquity. 24 Then Simon answered and said, "Pray to the Lord for me, that none of the things which you have spoken may come upon me." 25 So when they had testified and preached the word of the Lord, they returned to Jerusalem, preaching the gospel in many villages of the Samaritans.

[crqstalite]

"Have you ever been in love?" "Once." "How did it end?" "It hasn't." Whichever pairing you so decide at the moment you get that spark! :) Could be fluff like... horrid flirting or the mega sads. Whichever mood you in!

so i made myself sad with one longer oneshot. what’s better than one sad oneshot? two sad oneshots! f!handers, split between act 2 + inquisition (here lies the abyss spoilers)

-

“oh darling, have you ever been in love before?” her mother asks, a hand pressed gently to her own chest while skimming what reyna is sure is another letter from her mysterious suitor -- all in that loopy longhand that makes reyna dizzy. and nearly disgusted. not that she’d want to blackmail her own mother, but it’s so boring she’s sure even the Maker would look at it and cringe.

there’s a reason she doesn’t read the letters that come in willy-nilly anymore. if her mother is happy, then that’s enough for her. she doesn’t need to read all the mail anymore.

“considering i exist, i’m sure you have been.” she chuckles. habitually, her thumb finds the mark on her neck, hurriedly going to tie her damp hair up into something manageable, “but why do you ask? you aren’t attempting to marry me off again?”

leandra smiles wearily, though reyna is about halfway sure her mother truly is only taking a jest at her, “i won’t be around forever, reyna. then the estate will be all yours someday -- surely you’ll want an heir to the family home, yes?”

her dark eyes are nothing but hopeful and reyna coughs. as the last living amell (well, non-mage amell. she’s sure captain rutherford would have a fit if she installed bethany as the heir to the estate and family wealth...that wasn’t such a bad idea actually) she supposes she owes her mother that much.

she shudders at the thought though. leandra shakes her head good naturedly, eyes still turned downwards toward the mess of letters on the desk, reyna making to descend down the stairs, careful not to catch the fine linen on the staircase, “sure mother, maybe one day. and to answer your earlier question, yes. i have. just once.”

“and how did it end?” her mother asks, looking up to her once she pauses on the stairs, “i don’t remember you being particularly broken up about anything while we were in lothering.”

reyna hesitates, leaning on the banister with her head in her hands. she’s not ready for the possible disapproval she’d get from her should she admit that anders has been on her mind for ages now -- or that he’d already spent the night,“oh mother. that’s not important. who’s to say it has?”

leandra presses the letters against her chest, sighing dreamily, nearly girl-like, “yes. i suppose you are an adult, your own woman now. i won’t press you for information,” she smiles, patting her daughter on the shoulder lovingly as she passes by, “though i hope you find someone that makes you as happy as your father made me, reyna.”

she tracks her for a moment longer before she hears the door close behind her. reyna grins to herself, if only her mother knew that she’d both found someone that made her beyond happy, but someone who was nearly just like her father?

has she ever been in love?

there’s a letter on the desk scribbled off with her name and address of the estate when she eventually meanders over there, her dog brushing up against her legs while she leans against it. written quickly and methodically, but enough that she definitely thinks so. she’s beyond girlishly happy to read the words, ‘love, anders.’

oh, she has definitely been in love.

-

this is not how it was supposed to end. this was not at all how her life was supposed to end.

and yet? she knows this is her last stop. even before the inquisitor says anything, even moves, she’s preparing to grasp her daggers. both of her present companions are years upon years younger than she, and this was her burden to bear. she’s the reason corypheus is even here -- none of this would’ve happened if not for her. and she has to pay the heavy price in blood.

and she wouldn’t have their deaths on her conscience. she couldn’t. she couldn’t morally say that she wouldn’t stay behind to save their lives.

it’s still startling when she hears that voice, one of the last voices she hears call out for her. for her to do her duty to thedas. she knew it was coming, but it still sends a shiver down her spine when it does, so small, so scared and yet it only propels her forward, “hawke-”

“i know, lavellan,” she nods, her knuckles turning white on the hilts while she turns her head upwards toward the beast, “go on, get out of here, you scoundrel. you’ve got a world to save.”

lavellan visibly winces, indigo eyes considering before alistair starts, “hawke--”

“don’t. don’t even start with me theirin, i know your wife would throw a fit if i let you die,” she smiles sadly. from the sound of it, warden-commander tabris would destroy her limb by limb if she let her husband die here because she was too selfish to give up her own life for theirs, “just...tell anders that i’m sorry, and that i love him.”

“inquisitor-” alistair seems like he’s about to argue before the nightmare demon takes a swipe at them, a green shield encasing the group. lavellan is thrown backwards from the force of the blow, skidding across the ground in a heap before clambering back to her feet a moment later. hawke sighs a breath of relief, that meant the tiny woman was at least hardy enough to make a dent in corypheus. that means they have a chance to at least save the world.

“i said go, alistair. get lavellan out of here,” when he pauses again, she snaps, “now!”

that snaps him into action fast enough to follow after the elven woman just on her heels. she barely registers what she’s doing by the time the demon eclipses her view of their retreating forms, but she’s fighting with a vigor she can’t compare to anything else.

the fade is a terrifying thought. she’s been within it’s confines twice, but she had a mage (well, spirit) with her last time. someone who could guide her through. someone who could keep her from slipping into the abyss.

there is no one with her now. suddenly her fear tombstone makes a lot more sense.

she’s terrified of being alone.

her last thoughts are of anders when she shoves one of the daggers deep into the fleshy creature, it crying out as she stabs it over and over again before being thrown prone against something. 

she thinks of what she’s left behind while trying to stand, her own blood dripping out of her nose and staining her armor. of how surely someone, probably lavellan herself, would end up writing a letter to her love, how she bravely gave up her life for the inquisition to succeed. internally, she smiles sadly, resigned to her fate as she rushes the creature again, a battle cry on her lips. 

oh lavellan, she would destroy herself over this.

she remembers lavellan asking her, ever so timid up on the battlements just before they left for adamant, how her relationship with anders had ended. reyna would be a fool not to notice she was fishing for advice under the guise of friendly curiosity, but she indulged her.

reyna is flung backwards again, swiped at hard enough that she’s sure she’s snapped a few bones, if not all of them. she can’t even see where alistair and the inquisitor disappeared to, having been so far behind at the time.

she was confident to say, ‘it hasn’t.’.

[rax-writes]

Title: The End of Us

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Characters: Margaery Tyrell x Reader [featuring Loras Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Olenna Tyrell, and Mace Tyrell]

Word Count: 2,065

Warnings: None

Notes: Request from anon for “Margaery x female reader with the prompts ‘have you lost your mind?’ And ‘please don’t go’ ?”

You could only describe the atmosphere within the tent where Renly Baratheon’s body laid as the calm before the storm. The prospective king you had all been fighting for was now dead. His men remained in limbo in the yard, presently between kings as they awaited Stannis’s arrival, knowing that the moment he arrived, they would flock to him. Meanwhile, your husband kneeled beside the corpse of his lover, and your lover – his sister – paced nervously about the tent.

You had wed Loras, to be closer to Margaery. Being that Loras was always nearby Renly, Margaery had wed Renly, to be closer to you. The setup was absolutely perfect for the four of you, although it would have seemed very peculiar to most – had you four not adamantly protected the joint secret. Renly and Loras did a piss poor job of concealing their affair, as everyone in the kingdom knew of it. But you and Margaery were much smarter about it. No one suspected a thing of the time you spent in one another’s tents, brushing it off as a close bond between sisters in law. If they only knew….

“We need to go home,” Margaery stated, finally stopping her pacing to face Loras, and sufficiently breaking you free from your misguided train of thought. When he didn’t respond, she called his name, but Petyr Baelish entered the tent before she could continue persuading her brother.

Lord Baelish warned you all of the fact that Stannis would be arriving at the camp in an hour – far too soon for anyone’s liking. He also pointed out that Renly’s bannermen would join Stannis upon his arrival, throwing the present Tyrells into further danger. You and Margaery were both momentarily dumbfounded when Loras drew his sword to Baelish, before telling the pair of you to return to Highgarden. Instinctively, Margaery attempted to calm Loras, but you knew it was no use. You could only imagine how distraught you’d be if, gods forbid, anything happened to Margaery.

Much to your surprise, it was Baelish who managed to talk sense into Loras, advising him to be smart about how he goes about seeking revenge on Stannis. Margaery further encouraged him to leave, pleading with him to bring the horses so you all could flee. Finally, Loras gave one last longing look to Renly, before stomping out of the tent.

“I should go assist my husband in preparing our departure,” you stated, standing from your seat in the corner and moving to leave, but not before resting your hand on Margaery’s shoulder and giving it a comforting, gentle squeeze. The two of you had always been remarkably skilled in communicating without the use of words, and she knew that your gesture was done with the intent of reassuring her that everything would be alright. Upon seeing her small smile in response, you took your leave.

It wasn’t long before you, Loras, and Margaery were heading to Highgarden, a handful of House Tyrell soldiers in tow. Travels with your husband and your lover were usually very upbeat, filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter, but this trip was far from buoyant. Loras stared straight ahead, his normally warm blue eyes appearing cold as they struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill at any given moment. You knew that he was heartbroken, but trying desperately to pour all of that heartbreak into his rage. When your horse neared his enough, you’d place your hand over his, thankfully seeing his grip on the reigns relax enough that his knuckles were no longer white. He’d give you a forlorn smile, attempting to show gratitude for the kind gesture, then return his attention to the road.

Margaery was a bit more difficult to read. You knew what she was feeling, simply by knowing her well. You knew that she was upset to have lost her potential to become Queen, and also upset for her brother’s sake. You also knew that she was sorrowful that Renly died, for a variety of reasons, none of them being because she loved her husband. Primarily because it put a significant dent in the setup the four of you had established, although there was much more to her expression than just that. To the naked eye, she simply looked like a grieving widow, who was still in shock from the newness of her husband’s death. However, you knew that her look was more of deep thought than grief or shock, and you brushed it off as simply wondering who she may be wed to next. In contrast, that was a thought you were actively trying to keep far, far away from your own mind.

When you all returned to Highgarden, finally safe within its walls, Margaery wasted no time in declaring, “I need to speak with my family in private.” She nodded at you to follow her, then guided Loras by the arm to the meeting room, where she knew the remainder of her family awaited you all.

“I propose that House Tyrell fight alongside King Joffrey in the next battle, allowing him to win against whatever odds he may face. To show his gratitude, he will offer House Tyrell a favor in recompense for our aid. At which point, we will request that I marry King Joffrey, securing House Tyrell to the crown and assuring our prosperity.”

You were certain that your heart skipped several beats upon hearing Margaery’s words. Before her grandmother, her father, or her brother had the chance to weigh in, you blurted out, “Have you lost your mind?”

Your voice came out far more broken and distraught than the incredulous tone you had been aiming for, and Margaery’s confident expression turned to one of sadness when she looked to you. She knew that her proposal would not be well received by you, and that the prospect of her marrying anyone else – especially someone as vile as King Joffrey – would wrench your heart. But she knew that this was her family’s best chance, and her best chance at becoming the Queen.

“It’s not a bad plan,” Lady Olenna declared, breaking the poignant silence between the two lovers with a shrug. “Margaery certainly has the looks to win that little prick over, and she’s not the child of that Stark traitor, so I’m sure it would be easy to convince Joffrey to marry her. Regardless of how legitimate or not his claim is on the throne, it’s best for us to side ourselves with whoever’s ass is currently seated upon that iron monstrosity.”

“This is true,” Mace agreed – although he was essentially mindless, and quick to agree with whatever his mother suggested.

You then looked to Loras, hoping that your husband would talk sense into Margaery, and tell her that there’s another way to provide House Tyrell security. But he just sat there, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. You suspected that he had barely heard a word of the conversation, and you were certain that he didn’t care what happened next. He was still too immersed in his grief.

Before you even realized it, you were standing and storming out of the room. You couldn’t bear to hear another word of their plan to marry your sweet Margaery to some blond buffoon, who would only bring her pain. The last thing you heard was Margaery calling after you, “Please, don’t go!” But you ignored her, slamming the large wooden door to the meeting room shut behind you.

The sun had long since set before you heard the familiar sound of a gentle knock on your door. You knew that it would be Margaery. You’d been expecting her since you left the meeting.

“Come in,” you called, but she was already opening the door. The two of you had never had much care for privacy when it came to one another. In fact, it was rare that either of you knocked when arriving at the other’s quarters. You guessed that she only did so because she knew that you were upset.

Margaery found you leaning against the large window in your room, which looked out over the vast, prosperous fields of Highgarden. She joined you, although her gaze fell upon you instead.

“Talk to me,” she pleaded softly, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“You shouldn’t marry someone like Joffrey. Out of all of the whispers I’ve heard of him, not a single one has been good. Some of them are simply appalling. He’ll only cause you pain, likely mental and emotional in addition to physical. I do not doubt your strength, and your ability to handle even the most horrid of men, but you deserve more than to suffer for the rest of your life, Margaery.”

“I know that Joffrey is horrible, and I know that I deserve someone better. In a perfect world, I’d just marry you, and we’d live happily ever after,” Margaery said with a smile, although you did not return it. “But he is a man, and any man can be manipulated. From what I’ve been told, he isn’t invariably evil; he’s tolerable, so long as everyone is doing what he wants. So, I’ll just do everything in my power to make him happy, and he’ll be bearable.”

“You’re willing to bet your happiness for the rest of your life on that theory?” you snapped, shooting her a stern glance before exhaling slowly and returning your eyes to the field.

Margaery was silent for a few moments, before adding, “Highgarden isn’t far from King’s Landing. You’ll be able to come visit me often, and I’ll come whenever I can.”

“We won’t be able to be together, Margaery! Don’t you get it?” you cried out, pushing off from the windowsill to begin angrily pacing around your room. “I don’t care how often we’ll see each other, it won’t be the same! I won’t be able to see your face every day. I won’t be able to kiss you whenever I want. I’ll see you once – maybe twice a year, if I’m lucky. This… this is the end of us.”

Margaery stopped you with a pair of delicate hands on your arms, and she stared at you for a long time. Her eyes seemed to look right into your soul, and her hands slowly slid down your arms to intertwine her fingers with yours. After what seemed like a brief eternity, she finally spoke.

“I won’t deny that you’re right – this is the end of us. But we’ve both known it was coming since the day we first kissed…. Do you remember it? You’d been in Highgarden for less than a month, and you’d been stealing glances at me constantly. You had no idea that I had been doing the same. So, the moment we were alone in the gardens together, I took a chance, and I kissed you. I still remember how you smiled at me afterwards, and I knew right then that I was already falling for you,” Margaery recalled, a warm smile on her lips. This time, you returned the smile. You couldn’t help but grin every time you remembered that day. Margaery’s smile slowly faded, and she grew serious once again. “I love you more than anything else in this world, but the hard truth is that love isn’t enough to keep us together. All we can do is make the most of our time together – now, and whenever we see each other in the future.”

You could only nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you were to speak.

Margaery kissed you then, tenderly cupping your face in her hands as she did so. The kiss was brief, as she then pulled away to murmur, “Let’s start making the most of it right now, yes?” The smirk on her lips was enough to ease your mind instantly, and your hands fell to their familiar place on her hips, allowing you to pull her closer. You kissed her again, this time much deeper, before breaking the kiss just enough to respond to her previous question.

“Yes.”

Love may not be enough to keep the two of you together, but you knew that enjoying whatever time you had with her, whenever you were lucky enough to have it, was worth whatever distance may be forced between the two of you.

@whoabrekker @alexsunmners @pyppenia

[antarez4307-blog]

First Short Story (Lullaby)

They ran through the meadow, laughing all the way. Father had gone to the city for work and would be gone until dusk. Mommy had woken her up with a breakfast of fruits and cheese, and then combed and curled her hair. She was even allowed to wear her favorite dress because today was special. Today was the day that marked five years since Mommy and Father had taken her in after her parents died in the war. She’d been so little that she couldn’t remember them except as vague bits of warmth in her life. Mommy and Father took care of her now and loved her so. Father would be back in time to celebrate at evening meal. Mommy planned to take her into the village to get a present. But that would come later. Now they were running and playing in the field as the birds sang sweetly in the light.

They walked past the neighbor’s barn, hearing cows moo as they were milked at midday. A woman shouted out, “Erienne! Erienne, wait a breath!” Mommy tisked and turned towards the woman they called Old Gran with a smile. “What is ever the matter, Old Gran?”, she asked sweetly. The old woman walked up to her, and put a hand on her face, forcing her to lean down for a better look. “Ach, fer a start, ye should get sum sun, child. Yer skin’s pale as a ghost. If’n I didn’ know better, I’d call ye a wraith. Were it not for the Autumn breeze, I’d worry ye were catchin’ a chill. Ne’ermind that. Be wary on the way to town. Folk’s been talkin’ ‘bout a blood drinker ‘ereabouts. Pigs’ been cropping up dead of late. One torn ter pieces, others with their throats slashed and drained o’ blood.” Mommy looked scared, then asked “Aye, but what should we do? Isen won’t be back ‘till dusk.” Old Gran looked at Mommy kindly, “Oh, tis naught but a simple thing, dear. A line o’ salt ‘neath yer doors an’ windows will keep fiends, wraiths, and bloodsuckers out. None o’em can walk over it. Do it while the sun’s still out, and ye’ll be fine. Oh, and wear yer moonstone necklace! Fright’ns the basterds away.” Mommy looked happy, and hugged Old Gran. She thanked her for the advice and said we should be off so we’d not be late.

A few hours later, Mommy and her daughter walked through the town market. Mommy had promised to let her make a wish at the well before they went home. Now they were looking through the stalls for a gift for her. “Minishka, come see this! You’ll love it.”, shouted Mommy. The girl ran over to her mother, and saw a necklace of wound red silk with a shiny green stone. She squealed happily, and asked “Mommy, can I have it? It’s so pretty.” Mommy smiled, and gently told her “Of course dear. Today is special. And it goes so well with your hair and eyes. Come, we’ll buy it together.” They walked over to the merchant, the little girl happily holding her present. The merchant looked at them both, and asked “And how might I help ye?” Mommy and the merchant haggled for a bit over the price. After agreeing, he remarked, “It does suit the child.” He turned to her, “You’ll look quite pretty with this necklace. Would you like me to tie it on?” The child nodded with all the enthusiasm an eight year old girl could muster. After it was tied on, she was shown how she looked in a glass. “Mommy, I look near as pretty as you! It even hides my scar.” The girl skipped away happily, staying within a few feet of the jeweler’s stall where mother was speaking.

“Ye plan to be in yer house by nightfall, neh? There’s been talk o’ a blood drinker in the town. Killed a city guard few nights ago. If armed guards aren’ safe to wander at night, I’d not fancy the chances o’ tha likes o’ you an’ me.”, the merchant told Mother. The woman nodded, “Aye, you’ve got the right of it good man. My neighbor told me of what she’d heard when she last came to market. We’d planned to go to the well for my daughter to make her birthday’s wish, then head right back home. My husband will be along to home shortly, and he’s always made sure of the salt on our doors and windows. He even draws a line afore the hearth! No fiend will enter our house see if they don’t!” The merchant nodded understandingly. “Good, good. Glad to hear ye be a sensible lass. Rare in one so young as ye. Ye’ve a good eye too. That necklace be perfect for yer lass, and covers her ghastly scar. I was sure the poor girl would see me turn pale when I saw it.” The woman looked quite sad at the mention of her daughter’s scar. “Yes. . . She had an accident in the woods playing one day. Fell to the ground, and was bit by a viper. T’was all the pellar could do to keep her alive once the wound mortified. The scar. . . he said she’d carry it all her life.” Tears rolled down her high cheekbones as she spoke. The man looked mortified with what he’d done, “Apologies m’lady. Ne’er meant to stir up bad memories. Even with that scar, she’ll grow into a properly beautiful lass. How not, with a mother like ye? Aye, but Ah’ve spoken too much. I’ll leave ye be on yer way. Gods be with ye all, m’lady.”

They walked away from the stall to the village well. Mommy pulled her daughter to the edge of the well and told her to make her wish. “I, Elaine, vow to the gods that today I am theirs. I ask them to bless me, and grant me this wish: that I live with my wonderful Mommy and Father for all time.” As Mommy let her down, she turned around and hugged her as hard as she could. “I love you, Mommy.” She felt her mother’s arms around her, holding her tight as she kissed her cheek and whispered “I love you, Minishka” back.

Father returned from the city just before dusk, bringing her favorite sweet tart with him. They all sang the traditional birthday song to Elaine, and played games after the evening meal until sundown. As Mommy carried her back to her room, Father checked the salt underneath each of the windows and doors to make sure it was still where it should be. Mommy lay her down in her bed, and smoothed out her hair. “Minishka, would you like a lullaby to sleep?” She looked up to Mommy’s smiling face and nodded. Mommy leaned close, and sang

The winds-did howl, as daylight fled. All the dear children went, to bed. But thoughts most foul, did fill her head. Dear little Lilith, awake-with dread. She whimpered quietly, into the night, Each moment that passed, growing her fright. Tears came down, in ghastly flood. As she waited for it-to drink, her blood. And so she lay, awake in bed. Fearing in darkness, the monstrous dead. As night wore on, she fell asleep. To horrid slumber, dark and deep. Yet morning came, with wan sunlight. She woke to her mother’s smile, so bright. She thanked her gods, she was not dead. On her neck was a pale, red kiss, instead.

              She sang the lullaby twice more at Elaine’s request. “Mommy, you sing so pretty! I hope I can sing like you when I grow up.”, Elaine spoke tiredly. The woman smiled and put her hand on the child’s cheek. “Minishka, someday you will sing far more beautifully than I can. I’ll teach you how.” The little girl lay her head into her mother’s hand, and smiled.  “Mommy, can you sing it again? I love to hear your voice.” The woman smiled, and replied “Minishka, I’ve sung three times for you. It’s time to rest. Sleep and dream kind things, we’ll sing more tomorrow.”

The child put a petulant face on, and said stubbornly, “I want to hear you sing again.” The woman’s face changed in a second. Gone was the kind smile of Mommy; in her place was a sharp featured woman with eyes like gray rocks and none of the warmth of stone. “Sleep, child. We’ll sing on the morrow.” Elaine nodded hurriedly. It was never good to anger Mommy. As fast as it came, the scary face was gone. Gentle, sweet Mommy was back, smiling as ever. Mommy kissed her forehead, and blew out the candle. “Good night, Minishka.”

******************************

Erienne let down her hair as she walked out of her daughter’s room. The house was almost pitch black, only a deep red glow coming from the embers of the hearth. Isenrill’s breathing sounded clear across the house, a soft and rhythmic whisper as he slept. He must be tired from working so hard. I’ll let him sleep on the morrow. She smiled thinking of how excited he’d been lately to have a day off to spend with Elaine. She sipped from a small bottle full of dark liquid that lay on the top of the shelf and walked out of the house into the moonlit night, thinking to herself that it was in these quiet moments she felt most at peace. She’d grabbed the bottle as she walked out. Now it nested comfortably at her waist. She spied a toy of her daughter’s in the yard, and went to pick it up. Whispering quietly the words of her lullaby as she walked around their woods.

A soft whisper of wings came to her ears, and she froze. She focused on the sound. A bat seemed to be hunting. A whispered crunch, barely audible from so far away, accompanied its success. A cloud moved just then, and moonlight shone. Her skin seemed paler than the necklace of silver around her neck. Her dark hair and eyes seemed black in the night, the latter sunken into the recesses of her face that would leave an observer the impression of empty sockets. Anyone who saw her now would be frightened half to death thinking the corpse of a young woman had risen.  

She kept walking along their territory, listening to the woods and enjoying its sounds. Slowly, silence began to descend around her. Gently crunching, leaves gave away the approach of people before their breathing. The ragged smell of sweat and alcohol came off the men in waves that offended her nose. She heard them pause and begin to whisper of what to do. They resolved themselves and approached her. “Oi! You there! What’re you doin’ ‘ere?”, the man demanded too loudly for comfort. Erienne looked at him with a sweetly innocent face, and replied “I am merely walking through my lands, good man. Might I ask you why it is you are here?” He stomped closer to her, hand on an axe. “We be lookin’ fer the bloodsuckin’ freak that’s been prowlin’ round the village lately. One o’ the men claims he saw it flying this way.” He leaned in close, his appalling smell coming off in waves. The two men with him circling behind her. Erienne did her best to appear frightened, and told them, “Oh, that is so dreadful, that a vampire is lurking nearby. I shall run home at once, and have my husband draw lines of salt beneath our windows and doors.” She looked for all the world like a flustered young girl then.

One of them men looked at her, and recognized who she was. “Yer Isen’s lass, ain’t ye? What the devil ye be doin’ out here? Didn’t he tell ye about the monster?!” Erienne simply shook her head. The man grabbed her hand, more roughly than he might have had he been sober, and pulled her along to her house. As he did so, the bottle at her waist fell and broke. The men stopped and looked at it. One of them leaned down to it, and then bolted upright. “That’s blood! What the devil ye be doin’ with a bottle o’ BLOOD o’ all things?!” The man’s face was contorted in terror, his fear coming off him in ragged waves along with the foul odors he had been emanating earlier. The first man to speak to her caught on, and looking deadly serious spoke, “Yer the blood sucker. . . YER the fiend! By the gods, how many YEARS ye been hurtin’ us kind folk?!” She looked at him in shock, “How can you say that? I’ve never done ANYTHING to hurt the village. I took in a CHILD, by the gods. How can you accuse me of being such a fiend?!” The men grabbed their weapons, and moved to surround her at a distance. Their leader spoke, “Tis no use, FREAK! We’ll carve ye up, shove stakes into yer heart, and burn the pieces. Ye’ll die for all you’ve done, I swear it!”

Sick of the playacting, Erienne dropped the scared girl act. “It used to be that men knew their place, you know.” She dropped the cloak from around her shoulders. “Cowards and bastards like you would never have dared come after one of mine in decades past.” Her nails began to extend, turning into claws. “And the audacity! To think yourselves better than me. Two wife beaters and a whoremonger. How hypocritical.” -One of the men spoke up, “wha’ I do wit me cock ain’t none o’ yer business, BITCH!”- Erienne’s voice deepened several octaves, “You should have stopped at ‘freak’, imbecile. Not just a hypocrite and a monstrous person, but a moron as well. Humans should thank me for removing you from the breeding pool.” The men began to circle closer to her, their weapons trembling from fear or adrenaline. Her fangs began to lengthen and sharpen while her eyes expanded until they had no whites. She looked around, and said “On your heads be it.”

None of them expected how fast she would move. The first one had half his neck torn out by a swipe of her talons while he was lifting his axe. The second one swung down at her with both hands. She pirouetted quickly inside of his arms, and lifted up her hands. As his arms slowly, to her, descended into her palms, she squeezed. The pieces of the arms were barely falling when she locked her fangs around his throat, and threw him into the last of the men. As they landed sprawled, Erienne landed atop him and slammed her palm into the third man’s head. As she lifted her palm from the remains, she gently passed her tongue along it. Her first thought was, Blech, that tastes like rutting boar. The second was simply, I’m going to need something stronger than this swill.

The corpses had been taken care of; the dogs had eaten quite well. She had her bloody dress in a sackcloth. Come morning, she’d dye it burgundy. Isen kept saying the color looked wonderful on her, so he’d not be suspicious. She walked into their room, looking at her husband tenderly. In a few hours the sun would rise, but for now she simply enjoyed the darkened room and listening to his breathing. . . his pulse. She caressed his face gently, then turned to her daughter’s room. The impulse she felt brought up a mix of guilt, sadness, and fear bubbling up from a place deep within her. I’ll be careful this time. Elaine won’t get another scar from me. As she stood up to walk to her dear daughter’s room, she thought, I need a drink.”

[quitetommy]

Two Worlds

okay,, this is going to be a series and its gonna be hella cute bc dad!tom ??? um hello!! but this is also for @upsidedownparker's writing challenge so i hope everyone likes!!! And dont forget this WILL have multiple parts!!

And there are a few warnings in this; blood, death, drugs and mentions of drinking, curse words, and lowkey panic attacks

Two worlds 2

Tom hadn’t thought he was ever going to fall in love again, not after his wife and the mother of his baby girl passed. Love wasn’t something he had thought about, not when his princess was his first priority. He hadn’t even looked at a woman, like really looked, before his beautiful Milly. 

It was three years ago since he last saw her. It’s a tragic story, really; a freak accident. She was so young, too. The deceased mother only lived to be the ripe age of twenty-nine. Tom and Millicent had their beautiful baby young, they did everything young, apparently.

The day of her death wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but rather one of complete familiarity. The sad day started out like every other; wake up Fiona and get her breakfast, get dressed and ready for work, eat, say the goodbyes, and then off to work until later when the beautiful family is together again. 

The only difference with this specific day was the accident. It hadn’t even been more than an hour. Tom and Fiona had barely gotten off the highway, laughs escaping both brunettes. The only thing that could break their little moment was happened next. The phone had rang Milly’s special ringtone, causing Tom to answer with out any hesitation whatsoever. Tom had expected his beautiful wife’s voice to rip through the speakers and hit his ears but that’s not what he was met with. Instead, he got the voice of a very sad sounding man, he had asked if it was Tom and then he asked what he was doing. Tom had told him that he was driving, and the young man on the phone had asked him to pull over. 

Scared, Tom complied. And that’s when he was delivered the heartbreaking news of his wife’s death. The misfortune had sent the widower into a panic. His breath had left his body, his blood ran cold. He couldn’t understand how this happened, the only thing he could comprehend was the man on the phone telling him to get to the scene, after telling him he was sorry. 

Upon reaching the scene, Tom had thrown himself from the car. It was so overwhelming. It was straight out of a movie. The lights that were flashing white and red and blue were too bright and was starting to give the twenty-eight year old a migraine. As was the noise, God, it was so loud. Tom could barely hear himself think, let alone process what was happening. The young man had felt his whole world shift, stop. Everything was rushing around him, and he just needed a goddamned minute. That’s all he wanted; a single second to let it sink in.

It wasn’t until he saw his dead wife that he really felt it. Sure, it had felt like the whole entire world had just decided to continue on with out him, but now, he was feeling it; the loss, the pain. He had felt his feet shuffle lazily forward, his hands going to the curls that he shared with little Fiona. The car that Tom and Milly had picked out years prior was crushed, totaled. And there was so much blood, it was ridiculous. He hadn’t expected there to be so much blood. It was everywhere. His breath had hitched and he was having trouble regaining it back into his lungs. He had felt like he was underwater, breathless, muffled. Once he really got a look at her dead body, he felt nauseous. She was pretty banged up. It was hard to even tell that it was her. But he knew, he’d know those eyes anywhere. The image of her cold, lifeless eyes staring at him would be burned into his mind forever. The way she was staring at him was almost like she was blaming him, why’d you let this happen, Tom? This is all your fault, sweetheart.

Her skull was open and Tom could see directly into her head. He saw the brain matter,  it was turning a gross color Tom knew it shouldn’t be. He felt his breakfast leave his stomach and climb up into his throat, causing a lump to form. The broken boy gagged. Once, twice, three times, before it all came rushing out. The newly single father buckled over doing his best to rid the fowl contents from his body, keeping his eyes locked on the once lively girl. The sight would haunt his dreams until the end of time, he knew it.

How was he supposed to continue on without his beautiful Milly. She was his rock, she was the one that was able to pull him back to earth but keep him soaring in the stars. She was the one for him. She was what kept him alive, sane.

And then all of a sudden, it all clicked. The world shifted under his feet, once again. Tom stood up, wiping the vomit from his chin and lips. He turned on his heal, he had heard her. His little Fiona, the only thing that mattered now. She was his anchor now. He would be her everything now; her father, her mother, her friend. Everything she would ever need, he’d be it for her. His feet quickly carried him to the abandoned car. He let his body do all the work, his mind so tired. Flinging open the back door and removing the little girl from her strapped position, he held her to his chest. 

Tom shushed the screaming girl; it was like she knew what was going on around her. The baby girl was the spitting image of her father. She had it all, the curls, the big brown eyes, the beautiful smile. She was so smart, so aware. Tom was confident that she knew, and as he held her he promised to both her and to himself that he would protect her with his life for the rest of his days.

Now, Y/N’s story isn’t anywhere near traumatic. While her story still shaped her life into a single parent, no one died. Nobody was lost. Her story while one of tears and betrayal there was nothing of death. Rather a horrible ex-husband who once nice turned to drinking and drugs. Y/N, being the good mother she is, knew that she didn’t want her little boy to have to deal with such a thing. 

Y/N was willing to try. She wanted her husband, Dylan, to get help. She wanted him to go to rehab, and at first he refused. He had said, “If you want to be with me, you won’t try and change me.” He was a manipulative bitch, but Y/N stayed with him. He was the father of her son, Levi. She should at least try, right? Eventually Y/N told her bitch of a husband that if he didn’t get help that she was going to leave and that he’d never see her or Levi again. Ever. So he went and got help, and it worked. . . until it didn’t and he relapsed. 

Y/N didn’t say anything for the first few months. She just went about her life, making all the money, paying all the bills, doing everything to give little Levi a good life. It went on for months, Y/N doing everything she could to keep her son away from the bastard living with them and keeping the screwed family afloat. And it was going fine until one day. 

On this day, Y/N had been called into work, seeing as how she was a doctor, and had no choice other than to leave her son with the drunk druggie in their home. The whole way to the hospital, her time there, and the drive back, Y/N was doing nothing but praying Levi would be alright. She could feel it in her bones, something was wrong. 

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the horrid scene she walked into. Upon opening the door, she expected Levi to be in bed, sleeping the night away and for her piece of shit husband to be in front of the television or something. 

What she didn’t expect was for her entire world to shift. When she walked in, she wasn’t met with a quiet home, but rather her baby boy screaming his head off and her husband on the floor, a needle sticking out of his arm. Y/N had felt her heart stop, her adrenaline pumping. She didn’t even close the door as she ran to where her crying baby was, disregarding Dylan. He was in his room, laying on the floor, only in his diaper. When Y/N picked up her baby boy, he immediately calmed down. Holding him, the mother noticed how cold he felt and how disgusting he smelled. Y/N felt her anger boil up, filling up all her veins. She had never felt this type of anger before. The young mother quickly grabbed some baby clothes and a new diaper and changed him as fast as humanly possible. Once the little guy was satisfied, she put him in his carrier, wanting a fast escape. She knew exactly what she had to do. 

First, she needed to check if the bastard was still breathing. He was. Y/N didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad one. Once that was covered, she packed everything of her’s and Levi’s that she could think of. Clothes, toiletries, bottles, diapers, toys. Everything was cleared out in a matter of minutes. The young girl was able to get it all into her car and then she ran back in the house, grabbing her son, leaving with him. Once they both were safely in the car, she called an ambulance, telling what happened. Then, they left. 

Y/N drove them through three different towns before she stopped. The only reason she stopped was because she could barely keep her eyes open, so she pulled into a park. The young mother had watched her son sleep that night, just watching his chest rise and fall. Each little movement was like a miracle. She just felt so lucky to have such a blessing. And it was then, when she promised him that she’d do anything for him.

Flash forward two years and both Y/N and Tom were beyond in love. They both thought it could never happen, both thought that their kid was their only love. Fiona was now able to do all the things a normal human could. She could walk, she could talk (at the level of a three year old), she was even on the road to being potty trained. Levi was the same, only Y/N was having a bit of trouble getting him to pee in the potty. 

Y/N and Tom had been together now for over a year. Both feeling like they had won the lottery. They still didn’t live together, but Y/N and Levi stayed over practically every night. So much so, that little Levi even had his own bed. Granted the kids shared a room but it still was his own bed, something he hadn’t had since they moved two years ago. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t have enough money to buy him a bed, because she did. She just felt safer having him in the room with her. Ever since that night, Y/N hadn’t stopped blaming herself. She often expressed these concerns to Tom. It was always the same, she was just so afraid that she screwed him up, or that she will down the line. And Tom being the amazing guy he is, just always held her and contradicted her greatest fears. He battled them, always winning, even though it was like bringing a knife to a gun fight. He was always there for her, no matter what. And she was there for him, always. It was there thing.

And that’s what brought the question on. Both Levi and Fiona were fast asleep in their beds across the hall and Y/N and Tom were cuddled up in his room. It was extremely hot in the room, so sticky. The fans in the room were turned up to high, providing little to no comfort from the heat. Tom was on his back and had his left arm wrapped around his girl. Y/N was on her side, her head on his chest listening to his heart. It was soothing to her, it often calmed her down. Her arm was thrown over his chest and Tom had placed his hand on her arm, fingers rubbing subconsciously. Their legs were tangled together, bare and sweaty as they stayed that way, no sign of moving any time soon. 

Tom had cleared his throat, causing Y/N to jerk awake, as she was falling asleep, “Y/N/N? Can I ask you somethin’?” His voice was serious but also it was late so his voice was low, and tired and his accent was growing thick as it did every night. She lifted her head, placing her chin on his chest, smiling the smile he would never get tired of seeing. It was her tired smile. Her lips just barely would form the smile and her eyes would be closed slightly. It was Tom’s favorite thing she did. “Mmm. . . Of course, baby.”

Tom smiled at her, eyes crinkling. God, he loved her. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, but if that was the question, you could’ve saved your breath, because I already knew,” she chuckled, Tom joining, pink dusting across his cheeks and nose. “But I love you, too, Tom.”

“That wasn’t the question.” He sucked in a gulp of air, he knew her answer and he knew this was a stupid question. She had put her head back on his chest, her eyes slipping closed. She was awake and listening, “So, then ask me, silly.”

“Will you and Levi move in with Fiona and I.” Tom felt her breath skip, she sat up. She was wide awake now, confused. She didn’t understand where this came from. Things were going fine. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t do that to Levi again. He was all she had, she had to put him first. 

The scared girl brought her shaking hands close to her body. One went to her neck, clawing at it, like it was restricting her breathing. For all she knew, it was. Her other one went to her stomach, laying there. 

Her breath was gone and she struggled to get the question out, “W-What are you talking about?” Tom leaned up, his forearms holding his body weight. He could tell she was freaking out, so he said, “Hey. Hey, take it easy, yeah? Just take a breathe.”

She did, visibly calming down. “Okay, now, I want you to consider it okay? And it’s not like anything would change, you guys are here all the time. This way we won’t be paying two of everything.”

She nodded, slowly, thinking it over, “Tommy. . . I can’t put Levi through something like that again.” The curly haired boy frowned, sadly. “I’m not Dylan, okay? And you aren’t Milly. We are Y/N and Tom. This is new and we both know to put out kids first,” he paused, putting a hand on her knee, “And that’s why this will work. You’ve just gotta trust me, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. I trust you.” The once scared girl nodded, smiling a little. Tom cheered, letting a huge smile fall on his lips, Y/N did the same, laughing loudly when Tom wrapped her in his arms, kissing all over her face. 

“How soon can you move in?” 

taglist; @darlintom @rainbow-marvel @yoinksholland @spider-bitten @spideres

[ageeksnerdyworld]

Dirty Words Pass Through

Characters: Dexterity Burrows, Raleigh Burrows & Felony Burrows

Word Count: 3,700

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: I tried my best but writing’s hard... Idk how I feel about this... As always The Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Dexterity Burrows goes back home only to endure very uncomfortable, and forced, interaction with their parents. Afterwards they head to the nearest bar for some well-deserved down time. Click the read more if you like.

~~~

They had purposely parked on a side street. The driveway to their childhood home was long so it was possible for them to go unnoticed. But there was also the possibility that their parents would use that to their advantage. Both their mother and father had done so in the past. If they were honest with themselves they'd admit that they didn't want to chance it.

Dexterity Burrows currently stood outside of their car, which was a red Shelby GT500, leaning against the side of the hood by the front tire. Staring at the ground they thought things over again. Maybe they should just leave. Nobody would know. There wouldn't be any guilt or anger. Nothing bad would happen. But they wouldn't forgive themselves if they left without at least a short hello. As they thought about it their legs carried them along the sidewalk and all the way to the front gate.

And now they were walking up the lengthy driveway.

After ten or so minutes they reached the front door.

The large, ornate, gold plated knocker loomed ominously from the face of the door. An angry scowl stared them down from the demonic face. Two large and curved horns sat on either side of its head. Its eyes were deep recesses carved into the metal. That detail made the creature all the more terrifying. The handle of the door knocker hung from the demon’s clenched teeth. The very bottom of the handle was more oval shaped and was carved into the shape of two identical fleurs-de-lis which both lay horizontally.

Dexterity grabbed the handle and knocked twice.

Their mother opened the door not five minutes later.

Felony Burrows was always the epitome of a trophy wife. She had impeccable looks and long, luscious, chocolate brown hair. Her eyes were an olive green. Butterscotch veins ran along her skin. Red lipstick colored her lips; accentuating the shape. She wore a stylish two-tone dress with full length sleeves. The right side of the dress was a dark navy while the left was a sky blue. A white belt ran along her waist.

Her unwavering poise was broken by the clear shock in her eyes.

"Dexterity--I, we--we weren't expecting you. This is quite the surprise."

They smiled and crossed the threshold before she bade them enter. As the thick rubber soles of their boots landed on the white tile their mother slowly closed the door. She turned around to scrutinize her child. Her eyes flattened to small slits and her lips pursed together in intense thought. She rested her chin on her pointer finger and thumb.

“Looking as horrid as ever I see.”

They scoffed; “I don’t dress to please you, mother. I dress the way I like.”

In fact, Dexterity wasn’t wearing anything different from what they’d wear on a normal day. Head to toe black. Black combat boots that stopped an inch or two above their ankle. The laces were untied and shoved in the boots. The tongue was pushed out a bit so that it appeared taller than the boots themselves. They wore a black tattered t-shirt with a white pentagram and the phrase “sinners are winners” on it. They also wore a dark gray leather jacket. Somewhat distressed black skinny jeans covered their legs.

A half moon shaped silver earring dangled from their right ear. The facade of the metal was engraved to look like a skull.

“Your father and I were just sitting down for lunch. Care to join us?”

Dexterity shrugged; “I can’t stay long.”

Their mother laughed, deep and full of disbelief, “What on earth could you possibly have to do?”

They didn’t say anything. It was pointless to try and argue with her. She was the kind of person who would say whatever would hurt you the most. No matter what it was or if she was given the information in confidence. Dexterity had been on the receiving end of her vicious words many times.

The two of them entered the dining room without a word. Their mother went straight to the opposite end of the table and sat down. She went straight back to eating seemingly without a care. Dexterity’s father, Raleigh, calmly asked who was at the door. She told him and he grunted a stern hello to Dexterity.

“Won’t you sit down, dear,” their mother said sweetly. “You must be starved. Have you been eating well?”

"Please," they said with an obvious annoyance. "Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about me, mother."

Felony Burrows gave her child a harsh look over her wine glass. Her dark brows furrowed and her nose crinkled.

“How dare you,” she said viciously.

Angrily setting her glass down on the table she shot them a deadly glare. She didn’t raise her voice but there was no need to. Her tone, harsh and cold, was enough. It was the tone Dexterity had heard her use many times. It was the voice she put on when she wanted her words to be heeded. When she wanted to be respected and feared.

“After everything your father and I have done for you? We gave you a home, food in your stomach, and clothes on your back. You never need or want for anything.”

“We could’ve left you in the Nursery like your poor, disgusting, friend.”

Dexterity laughed.

“Emery is a better person than the two of you ever could be. But, this is between you and me. Leave him out of this, mother.”

She scoffed, shocked and appalled, and looked in between her child and her husband. Raleigh Burrows sat at the opposite end of the table with his head down. He was staring at his tablet; reading something. Knowing him it was either company emails or company stock records.

He wore a plain, mottled gray, vest over a black dress shirt. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned to the part where both halves of the vest met. Both of the long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dark pants matched the vest and he wore dark black dress shoes. Large, triangular, blue ears emerged from the top of his head. His black hair was combed back. The sideburns grayed slightly at the edges. A puff of cream colored fur poked out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His eyes were a bright, bold, red. Except for the right eye which darkened considerably due to the large wisp of navy blue soul that flowed from that eye. His skin was lined with the same navy colored veins.

Felony cleared her throat and said; “Dear, would you care to tell Dexterity why they shouldn’t say such things?”

“Oh fuck you!”

He set his tablet down with a sigh.

“Stop swearing at your mother. We raised you better than that.”

“First she brings Emery into this conversation, like this has anything to do with him, and then she...”

“You seem very stressed,” he said; cutting them off. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is. I came here to visit and the both of you are acting like I never left. You don’t care at all.”

“Don’t think that, that simply isn’t true,” Raleigh said.

As he spoke Dexterity could feel their anger dissipating. The disgust that had been rising in their gut since stepping foot in the house was becoming an afterthought. Each shred of emotion was turning into something else. They knew what he was doing but they didn’t know how to stop it. After years of this they were still unable to resist his powers.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Dexterity nodded; "Yes."

"Don't you have something to say to your mother?"

Again an unstoppable change in their emotion overtook them. They could feel the calm shift inside. Overwhelming waves of shame and regret slammed into them. A physical knot formed in their chest. They knew it was there. They could feel it.

"Sorry. I... I'm so sorry. I promise I won't do that again."

"Good, now sit down," Raleigh said with a nod of approval.

With that he sat back in his chair and returned to reading. Every so often he would take a sip of wine. He stayed silent for quite some time.

Dexterity calmly sat in the chair on the left side of the table. A plate of food had been brought out at some point in the argument. When they had no idea. They stared at their plate. They knew that if they tried to leave now things would only get worse. Their mother would make a scene and their father would make them stay. Even worse he'd make them want to stay and feel bad for thinking of leaving. They ate the food so as not to cause another fight.

The family of three sat in awkward silence for the rest of their lunch.

“So,” their father said after the plates were cleared away. “How long do you plan on staying with us?”

“What?”

“I believe you heard me,” Raleigh replied. He leaned back in his chair and brought his fingers together. With a serious, strangely almost concerned, look he asked; “Unless your friend’s horrible so-called singing made you go deaf?”

“I’m not staying,” they grumbled.

“What?” their mother exclaimed.

Dexterity knew that her surprise was completely fake, but, their father somehow was never able to see through it. He always jumped at every cry, or shock she endured, ready to help. He usually used his powers to help alleviate the situation but never in the way one would think. Raleigh always went for the supposed aggressor. And more often than not Dexterity was the cause of her emotional distress. For whatever reason she got off on having her husband manipulate their child. Or the control she got from having to do practically nothing. Either way in Dexterity found it very disgusting.

“It seems like your mother wants you stay,” Raleigh said.

They gave their father a harsh glare.

“This again?” they said; interrupting his manipulation.

“If your mother wants you to stay longer, then, maybe you should. After all, you haven’t visited us in a very long time.”

“Yeah,” they scoffed. “This is why. A person can only take so fucking much emotional manipulation, after all.”

Raleigh stood up from his chair and walked over to where they sat.

He stared Dexterity down as if they were a scuff on his newly shined shoes. It was a look of utter hatred and disgust. But Dexterity returned the angry glare right back. The two remained like that for a good five minutes. Then a strange, satisfied, smirk slowly crept its way on Raleigh’s face.

Unable to resist Dexterity suddenly stood up, with tears in their eyes, and hugged their father. Crying and shaking they apologized over and over again. They profusely apologized to their mother as well. Still overcome with regret and sadness they disavowed everything they believed in. Dexterity pulled away from their father and stood firm. Their bottom lip quivered as they begged for his forgiveness. Begged to be allowed to move back in with them. They vowed to quit the band and become their father’s intern. Once again they were the little kid, sobbing, exploited and dominated into doing exactly what their parents wanted.

Raleigh had made them do all of this without uttering a single word.

They didn’t realize what happened until they sat back down.

With that being the last straw Dexterity aggressively slammed their hands on the table and pushed their chair away. The legs of the chair loudly scratched along the floor. They stomped out of the house. As they made the long trek back to their car they stewed. They only felt better when they were finally in the car; turning the key.

Should've listened to yourself, you fucking dummy, their conscious scolded as they shifted the car into drive.

They knew exactly what they were going to do next.

Who was the real mystery.

~~~

Dexterity drove around aimlessly for awhile. They hadn’t been back home in such a long time that they weren’t sure where anything was anymore. But they eventually found their way to a local bar.

“Fucking finally,” they muttered to themselves.

They walked through the door and went straight for the bar.

A very tall, very buff, looking man was bartending. He had dark auburn red hair. It was slightly shorter on the sides than the top which was spiked up. He wore the, seemingly, standard uniform; black jacket over a gray top and black pants. The only part of his outfit which looked out of place were the round sunglasses on his face. Bright periwinkle veins poked out from his collar and shirt sleeve.

He was currently handing a drink over to the only one other virus at the bar.

She was a pale skinned woman with long, dark, brown hair. Purple dye colored the ends. She had bright yellow eyes. Her ears were sharply pointed at the top. Two curved horns protruded from the middle of her skull. They curved outward to either side of her head and curved around her ears before coming to a sharp point. A silver cuff covered a portion of the left horn; just below her ear lobe.

A series of bees were tattooed on the left side of her neck.

She gave Dexterity a nod as they sat down at the first empty bar stool.

They ordered a Death in the Afternoon and looked around the room as the drink was being made. The bar had a strange atmosphere. Most of the patrons were crowded near the back of the building. Dexterity craned their neck in a futile attempt to see what was occupying everyone’s attention. But the sheer number of bodies blocked their view. So they gave up and ran their eyes over the shelves behind the bar.

Bottles with strange names lined the shelves. Names they didn’t recognize. Some were very long laundry lists of nonsensical letter combinations.

Their drink was set on the bar and Dexterity barely noticed the woman move to the stool on their left.

"Haven't seen you around here," the woman said.

"Not really in this area much. Don't plan on staying long."

"That's too bad," she said. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Dexterity looked at her and decided to lay on the charm. It was what they did best after all. Their father could change and affect a person’s entire array of emotions and had a good handle on everything. But they could only affect one specific area; desire.

“In what way,” they asked.

“I think you know exactly what way,” she said.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?"

“Xylophone, but, most people call me Xy.”

“You should join us, big boy,“ they said to the bartender.

The man’s face went red. He tried to explain that they both of them had to work, but, it was useless. When Dexterity wanted a good time, or to block out a bad one, they made someone else want the same. Dexterity smiled seductively which only caused the man to blush even harder. He reached out to touch their hand, needing to feel their skin against his own, but Dexterity quickly pulled their hand.

“Soon.”

~~~

Hours later, well into the night, the three of them were laying on a queen sized bed. They had rented a room in a nearby hotel thanks to Dexterity’s father’s credit card. The thick, black and silver, comforter lay in a heap on the floor. As did some of the abundant pillows. Open bottles from the mini bar lay strewn about.

Dexterity stared at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin on their face.

They were in the middle of the bed with the bartender on their left. He was actually half on the bed and half on them; struggling for their affections. Xylophone was on their right. Hurried and without any regard tossed about the floor, mixed in with one another, were their clothes. It was pretty obvious which ones belonged to Xylophone as she was the only one who didn’t wear all black.

Not to mention the pair of bright, cerulean, blue panties that somehow hung off the lampshade across the room.

To no one’s surprise the bartender had enough energy and need to go again. He kept whispering sweet nothings, and very dirty words, in Dexterity’s ear. They ignored his advances. Truth of the matter was that so could they, but, the third member of their little ménage a trois seemed uneasy.

Xylophone sat up and stared off with a strange expression of mixed emotions. It was clear that something was wrong because their powers, which were still active, didn’t seem to be affecting her. They turned it off and the big, muscular, bartender collapsed onto them. It was as if the only thing that had kept him awake after.

Shoving the hulking man off of them Dexterity convinced him to give them some space. The guy begrudgingly climbed off the bed, pulled his pants on, and walked out of the room.

“Hey, you okay?” they asked once it seemed that guy was out of earshot.

“I lied earlier,” she said with an intense guilt.

“Everybody lies, darling,” they replied. “If I was honest I’d say I do it all the time.”

She didn’t laugh at the lame joke. Dexterity didn’t either but it was worth a try. She turned away and brought her knees to her chest. Looking down at the floor Xylophone stays quiet for a few minutes. The silence in the room was eerie. Unsure of what to do, and completely out of their element, Dexterity just sat there.

Comforting people, or staying this long after sex, was not their style.

Looking to the door they hoped the bartender guy, whatever his name was, would just barge in. Or that the room would spontaneously catch fire. Even getting a drunken call from the guys would do. Anything that would be a good reason to not have this conversation.

“I didn’t want to know you at all,” she said; still staring at the floor.

“Me neither,” they said.

Xylophone shot them an angry look. They then realized that what they said was the complete wrong to say at a time like this. She sighed; half angry and half sad. Running her hands through either side of her hair she closed her eyes tightly and grit her teeth.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she spit. “The bar, my outfit, my fucking lingerie... Did you really not see it? Or are you that desperate to get some?”

The realization hit them like a brick to the face. It was unexpected and hurt like hell. Their mouth hung open in a small “o” and they felt so stupid. The bar was a strip club which explained why most of the people inside were near the back. But it was crazy to think it was fronting sex workers. At the same time Dexterity thought that Xylophone had no real reason to lie. Despite their better judgment they spoke.

“Why do you do it?”

“What would you do?” she said with a serious look in her eyes.

“Do about what?”

Tears began flowing from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away but they continued to run down her face. Her makeup, some of which had previously from her sweat, was now ruined. Streaks of black eyeliner and mascara lined her face. Every time she wiped her nose she would accidentally take off her lipstick.

“For you this is just a good time but for me this is what I call life,” she cried through her tears.

“How much?”

“What?” she asked between sniffles.

In a half response to her question Dexterity got off the bed and rummaged through the mess of clothes. Turning the clothing items over in their hands they felt around for something unseen. Angrily tossing the clothes over their shoulder they finally found the pair of jeans they wore earlier in the day. Digging their hand into the rear left pocket they felt the cool plastic of their father’s credit card.

They held it up with a smirk.

“How much to get you out?”

Xylophone’s eyes went wide. She stammered; shocked beyond belief.

“It’s not fair that you have to do this to survive, to live,” they said.

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“And why not? If someone can pay to spend a night with you then why can’t I pay to make sure you’ll never need to do that ever again.

“Money can’t solve everything, Richie Rich,” she said.

Dexterity stood in the middle of the room; frozen. In that moment they felt disgusted with themselves. They had tried their entire life to prevent themselves from becoming this exact person. But they still came off as a patronizing rich elitist. She ran her hand through her hair and got off the bed. She walked across the room and picked her panties off the lampshade. Xylophone pulled her underwear on before grabbing her matching bra off the floor. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head.

The bartender walked in, just as she finished buttoning her shorts, and approached Dexterity with fiery anger.

“You little shit! You’re dead, you’re so fucking dead.”

Dexterity said nothing. They didn’t hear a word the man was saying. And they couldn’t care less. But Xylophone walked up and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Leave them, we have to go back to work,” she said.

The door slammed as the pair exited. Dexterity sighed heavily and ran their hands through their short, buzzed, hair. An intense feeling of disgust filled their gut as they paced the floor. Looking around the room they decided it was best to leave. So, they dressed themselves as quickly as they could and left the room. It didn’t take long for them to head to the front desk. With barely a few words they checked out of the room.

Rushing to the parking lot they hopped in the driver’s seat of their GT500 and gunned it out onto the street.

They made a silent vow to themselves that they would never come back.

[reddie-stenbrough-tea]

headaches and overdose pt.2

this is a STICHIE chapter fic. aka: richie tozier x stanley uris.

but this chapter is more of just richie waking up from his nightmare.

PART ONE

707 words.

warnings: idk really nothing. some nasty-ish description but that’s it

some need-to-know info before you read: bill and richie are neighbours. (richie and stan have feelings for each other but rarely have discussed it. maybe once- possibly twice. and stan is richies go-to guy for his nightmares. this one night, in particular, seems a bit too real for richie.) 

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

it’s not the thrashing coming from richies room that wakes up maggie tozier from her deep sleep. no- it’s not even the sound of richies horrid groanings of ‘stop’ and ‘help me’ that wake her. it’s the blood gurgling scream he emits when he’s woken up by his own hand choking him half to death. and for that, she feels terrible.

“richie!?” she jumps from her bed to the door as the thoughts of what’s happening to her son flood into her mind.

he’s dying. someone's killing him.

the door, which is locked, is the only thing keeping her from richie. and if anyone knows maggie tozier, they know she would do anything for her son. and even though her high school mile time was 13:45, she ran to the kitchen faster than hasely crawford could sprint a 100-meter dash. her hands wrapped around one of her mahogany kitchen set chairs and she sprinted back down the hall to richies room, where his screaming had not halted. at this time wentworth tozier, richies father and maggies husband, had been woken up as well. in his eyes his wife had tears spilling down her cheeks while she took the chair she was holding and smashed it into their sons’ bedroom door. her cries of ‘hang on, sweetheart’ were covered by the splitting and breaking of wood. when there was a decent sized hole in the door, wentworth, the more calm person in these sorts of situations, stopped her rage on the barrier and slipped his hand through the sliced door. he unlocked it and swung it open.

“richie!?” they burst into the room to find their son with a darkened bruised hand print around his neck, his face an eerily muted red colour and scratches covering his arms and chest. his screams had died down to meer sobs now. maggie is the first to approach him, where he’s quivering in the corner by his window.

“richard- honey.” his mother, hands shaking, crouches next to him. “who did this-” her voice trembles at almost the same frequency as her hands when she reaches out to her son. richie cowers away and she veers her hand back as if he’s a broken piece of glass that she could cut herself on.

“h-he’s buh-back.” richie croaks out. wentworth comes to him next.

“who… richie, who’s back?” he tries to stay calm, for his wife he tells himself, but maybe it’s to see if he can subside the fear in the room with the tone of his voice. richie burrows himself into his knees and tries to breathe. there’s a knock at the front door. probably a neighbour. wentworth- practically terrified- stumbles back. “i-i’ll be back, maggie- son… i’ll be right back ok?” he exits the room to the living space where he can greet whoever's at the door and tell them what's happening is fine and taken care of, when really nothing fine and leaving his wife to take care of it may be a bad idea. when the door is opened he sees zack denbrough, the father of his sons best friend. a slowly deteriorating man who he’s gladly lived next to for most of his sons’ life.

“hey- wentworth. is everything ok? bill said he heard screaming and i felt i needed to come to check on you guys.” zack, who seemingly had his sleep disrupted, was wearings a long dark blue robe. he was obviously exhausted, but if anything had happened to richie he wanted to make sure he was there to help. he knows what it’s like to lose a son. and despite the fact it’s about 3 am- he’s here for the toziers and whatever's going on.

“yeah- i think richie just had a nigh-” maggies sudden screech from the bedroom adverted his attention. he spins around and rushes back to his wife and child- forgetting to close the door. zack follows him closely and they plunge into the room. maggie is at the now open window and the room is silent, other than the sounds of her low whimpers. she turns to her husband, her tears starting themselves up again. the spot where his son was is currently vacant. and richie tozier is missing.

[flukeoffate]

There are very few things that make me angry irl. But I’ve come to realize that my social anxiety--and it is horrid, especially in the last few months--sometimes makes me seem angry.

anxiety/depression rambling under the cut:

Sometimes if I speak up about something (especially if I need to call someone out, or need to just explain something) I begin to ramble, and I think I embarrass people or make them mad at me.  So, I have a tendency to close myself off, freeze up, or go somewhere private to cry--because crying is a given this year. I think I have cried from depression nearly every single day for the last 4 months, both in private and in public.  My anxiety tells me I’ve done something wrong and that I deserve to be punished.  When I ACTUALLY do something bad, it’s so much worse. Every interaction feels like a judgement. I walk on eggshells. I’m afraid to be myself.  I feel like most people offline will hate who I am. 

I’m kinda pissed at my family lately, too. I wish I could TELL them that I REALLY WANT THEM to talk with me.  But I am always too distressed to talk to them without breaking down because they always get so defensive with me, like I’m trying to make them feel like bad parents or something. They just don’t listen--I mean, REALLY don’t listen. I talk, try to add to a conversation and it’s like i don’t exist.  They talk with someone else. They they get mad if I am upset.

They expect me to know what is going on in the family, but they don’t tell me. My father had had a mild heart attack, and I wasn’t told for days.  A couple years ago, my sister and nephew could have been killed in that awful crash that killed four people (2 were her personal friends, one was a classmate at his school) at the homecoming parade for OSU.  I had no idea there had even been an incident until a day later, and I figured it out because of FB Trending Headlines.  My nephew had a birthday on the first.  I love him and my sister. I tried to call THREE times over that week--something very hard for me to do, because I feel like no one cares/I’m interrupting if I call.  This included a chance to talk to my parents since they were all together that week...never mind that they never ask me if I want to join their trips to my sister’s place out of state. I got a couple short ‘we weren’t there, or my phone died’ messages, but no effort to call me back or actually set a good time.  

I can’t help but feel like they don’t think I’m WORTH calling back. 

My sister broke her arm. My mother flew out to take care of her for months, despite it causing stress with my dad.  I offered to fly out at his suggestion. Twice. So my mom could go home. I am good with kids. I am not stupid. I can drive a car. Despite my emotional issues, I take my responsibilities to others seriously. If my mom still wanted to stay, then I could have at least lightened the load, but each time I was told no. 

I just really feel like a black sheep in my family, and I was never a huge trouble maker, but my mom thinks I dislike her, and can turn anything I say into an attack or act very cruelly passive aggressive toward me if I get emotional--because apparently my emotional whiplash is always meant as an attack on her.

I have felt like a lot of people hate me lately and won’t talk to me in among local friends after an outburst I had this summer.  Very few people I used to interact with regularly have anything to share with me anymore.  I paranoid that people have just started talking shit about me.  

I randomly got a call from a friend who is outside of my emotional blast zone and I new to simply just be busy, and I burst into tears when she mentioned a mutual friend has been doing badly and I’m like: if she wants support, then why doesn’t she ever call or message me? I’ve seen her interacting with others on FB.  I have heard other people mention her in passing.  I just broke down because, yeah, I’m not great at randomly calling people, but I always pick up the phone for friends or call back asap, and we will talk for an hour or more. 

I feel like people only talk to me if they need something from me.  And the lack of outreach during the times when I’m really trying to connect makes me feel like I’m worthless, and my depression gets worse.  I think if I disappeared or died, no one would notice for at least 2 or 3 weeks (husband excluded, since he lives with me) is mostly only counting online friends who I interact with regularly.  I doubt my parents would notice for like 3 months, unless they were trying to make holiday plans and I didn’t email them back. 

I just wish I could get back the confidence I had last year at this time. I still had issues, but not this bad.

[nochuobsessed]

Reign || Christmas

Reign Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Groups: BTS, EXO, Blackpink, Twice

Au: Royal

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader, Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff | Smut | Au

Warnings: None… I think

Christmas was a wonderful time of year in Jeon.

Presents, grand feasts, Christmas trees, all sorts of things.

You had insisted on you and Jungkook helping with putting the Christmas tree up. It was an old tradition from Park, and you were determined to bring it to Jeon. Jungkook happily obliged, but his mind was on other things.

“Jungkook focus!”

“How can I focus when my beautiful wife looks so radiant?” Jungkook said, trying to pry you away from the giant pine tree. You shook him off, continuing to place the ornaments on the tree.

“I want to help decorate the tree,” You say, giving him a firm glance. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing light kisses to your neck.

“It’s our seven month wedding anniversary,” He says, tilting his head to the side to give you his perfect bunny smile, “I want to spend the day away from everyone, just you and me.”

You turn around, pecking his lips, meaning to pull away but Jungkook held you in place, cupping your cheek and deepening the kiss. You finally pulled away, a small smile on your face, “Our one year anniversary can be spent like that. You know how important decorating the Christmas tree is.”

“Can you imagine, a mini combination of you and me helping too?” Jungkook says, holding onto your hips, “A small person to call us eomma and appa?”

You look down, hiding your face, “You’re holding me up. Please let me go back to my job.”

“Your job is to be my wife,” He says, pecking your forehead, “And mine is to be your husband and love you unconditionally.”

You bury your face in his chest, before dashing away, “The tree.”

“Fine.”

There wasn’t much left to do. An angel at the top that you had asked your father-in-law to place was next. It would be a grand event, with everyone living in the court to observe.

“Y/N!”

“Father,” You say, curtsying, before hugging the King, “I hope you are not too scared of heights.”

“I will be fine,” He says, picking up the angel, “Thank you for organizing all of this, it looks beautiful!”

You smile, “I am glad you like it. The ladder is over there, we are ready when you are.”

“Of course.”

The King walked away, leaving you with Jungkook once again.

“Do I get you to myself tonight?” Jungkook asked, a pout on his face, “You’re not going to go decorate another tree in some random village are you?”

You sighed happily at your husband, pulling him towards you by his sword belt, “I am all yours, my love. I always am.”

He attached himself to your lips, smiling into the kiss as you reciprocated it. You pulled away when the King started to speak, quickly straightening up.

“I love you,” He whispered. You leaned your head on his shoulder, whispering it back.

“Friends, family, people living here only because they have money,” Junghoon said, making everyone laugh, “My beautiful daughter-in-law decided that this year, my family would participate in the Christmas tree decorating. Not only does it look splendid, but I know that it was made with the love and care of my family. There is one more thing left. The angel on the top.”

He carefully climbed up the wooden ladder, Queen Hyeyeon standing next to it, holding on to it. Junghoon reached the top, and placed the angel on the tree. He glanced to you and Jungkook, as you all began to clap.

“He’s right,” Jungkook says, his arm sneaking around your waist, “It looks beautiful. But never as beautiful as you.”

A blush rose to your cheeks. You would have thought that after being married for seven months, you would be used to everything he said. Yet it always felt like the first time. The first kiss you shared, the first time you had been intimate together, that feeling always returned whenever you were with Jungkook. That was how you knew you were supposed to be together, that the feelings between the two of you only grew more intense.

“I’m flattered,” You say, leaning into him, “What do you have planned for tonight?”

“Your favourite food, dessert, maybe you’ll let me show you how much I love you rather than say it?”

You raise your eyebrows, “I don’t have anything against that.”

Jungkook briefly kissed you, holding onto the sides of your arms, “I knew I picked the right wife.”

“You’re lucky I said yes,” You say, a cheeky smile gracing your lips, “Who knows, maybe I could’ve chosen Prince Taehyung, like Jina told me to.”

“Last time you said that, she started crying saying that no one could love Prince Tae-Tae as much as I do!” Jungkook says, grinning at you.

“I would always have chosen you,” You say, leaning into his embrace, “Never doubt that.”

He brought you closer to him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Let’s go to our chambers. Our food will be brought up to us.”

You nod your head, before letting out a shriek. Jungkook lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

“Yah! Put me down Kook,” you say, lighting hitting his chest.

“You usually love it when I carry you,” He says, smirking at you.

“We aren’t usually surrounded by everyone in court,” You say, playfully kissing his jaw.

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

You had enjoyed your private time with Jungkook immensely. A beautiful night so close to Christmas, eating your favourite dinner. Nothing could be more perfect.

“There’s another surprise,” Jungkook said, taking a sip of his wine. The butlers entered the room once more, placing a plate of chocolate dipped strawberries on the bed in between you.

“Oh my love, you truly know the way to my heart,” You say, placing a hand under his jaw and kissing him. He smiled as he broke away, picking up a strawberry and feeding it to you.

“How does it taste?” He asked, eating the rest of the strawberry.

“Perfect, as usual,” You say, picking up another one.

The strawberries were gone in no time, with them easily being yours and Jungkook’s favourite treat.

“You have a bit of chocolate-“ Jungkook said, leaning forward and kissing the chocolate off the corner of your lips, “Right here.”

You leaned into him, connecting your lips once more. His hand moved to cup your face, moving to sit closer to you.

“I love you,” You manage to mutter, breaking away for only a split second. His hand moves to your back, pulling the string of your dress. You pull your arms out of the sleeves, leaving you in your corset and underskirt. His hand hiked up your skirt, exposing your legs to him.

Jungkook pulled you under him, resting in between your legs. His hand moved to lightly caress your breasts, running his hand up and down your side, going lower each time.

“Jungkook-“

He let out a groan when you moaned his name, moving a hand to underneath your skirt, lightly brushing your core.

You broke away, throwing your head back on the pillow. You moved to kiss him once again, before freezing.

“Y/N?” Jungkook moved away, quickly helping you to sit up. You stood up and ran to the chamber pot, emptying out the contents of your stomach.

Jungkook ran to your side, holding back your hair and rubbing your back. When you were finished, you fell to the ground, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Darling, are you okay?” Jungkook asked, bringing him towards you. You laid back against his chest, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” You mumble, as he wiped away your tears.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, love,” He says, rocking you gently back and forth, “I made a vow exactly seven months ago, promising to always be by your side, through sickness and health.”

You sighed, “Thank you,” You say, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He says, helping you to stand up.

He organized for the maids to set up a bath for you, and watched over as you rinsed your mouth, trying to get rid of the horrid after-vomit taste.

“This will relax you, my heart,” He says, leading you to the bathroom. He untied the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare in front of him. He did the same to himself, and you gave him a confused look. He got inside the bath, motioning for you to do the same.

You slowly sunk into the hot water, leaning back onto Jungkooks chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder.

“You are too good to me,” You say, finally calm after the previous events.

“You would do the same for me,” Jungkook says, resting his head atop of yours, “You are my wife, it is my job.”

You sigh happily, “I will ask Nayeon about this tomorrow. I probably ate something bad.”

“Darling, all your food is taste tested by four people before it reaches you,” Jungkook says, “Rest assured that we will find the source of this as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” you say, enjoying the warmth from the water and Jungkook.

You stayed in there until the water started to turn cold, Jungkook hopping out first before lifting you out. He dried your body for you, the gentle touches comforting.

Your maids had brought out your bed gown for you. You had attempted to put it on, but Jungkook stopped you, insisting that he do it for you.

Once you were both in bed, you laid on his chest, as he played with your hair, softly humming to a song you had not heard of before.

“Try to get some sleep, my Princess,” He says, kissing the top of your head, “We will have a relaxing day tomorrow.”

You nod softly, falling asleep to sound of his heartbeat.

Weeks had passed, and it was Christmas Eve. You had brushed off the vomiting as eating something bad, and returned to your normal schedules.

The Christmas Eve feast was beautiful. Nobles from all around had gathered, and Hoseok and Sana were visiting too. Mina had been gone for a while, but was due to arrive back that night. Needless to say, you had a lot of catching up to do.

“Sana!”

“Sister,” She says, hugging you tightly.

You smiled, “You’re pregnant?” you asked, noticing her round belly.

“Yes!” She says, “Hoseok is so excited. He has about eight names picked for both genders, just in case we have more than one child.”

“Can you imagine, triplets, all the heirs to the throne,” You say, sighing heavily, “When are you due?”

“In a few months,” She says, “She’s a wedding night baby.”

“She?”

“Hoseok prays every day that it is a girl,” Sana says, rubbing her swollen belly, “I don’t care what she or he is, I will love them unconditionally.”

“I am so happy for you,” You say, “I have a secret to tell you, but you must not tell anyone.”

“Of course,” She says, looking around for eavesdroppers.

Jungkook was talking to Hoseok, happily hearing all about the baby joy of his sister and brother-in-law.

“I’m guessing you and Y/N are waiting to have children?” Hoseok asked, “I mean, she’s 17, she’s basically still a child herself.”

“We’re not in a rush, but I would love to have a baby. A perfect combination of the two of us,” He says, a small smile on his face as he watched excitedly tell something to Sana, “I wonder what they’re talking about.”

Hoseok quirked an eyebrow at him, “One thing I’ve learnt from being married, is to not think about what our women are talking about without us. They are another species when they’re with their friends. It’s scary.”

“Maybe they’re plotting to kill us,” Jungkook said, holding back a laugh, “But then again, isn’t that treason?”

The two Princes laughed, as you and Sana approached them. Sana pecked her husband’s lips, “And what are you two gentlemen talking about?”

“How beautiful our wives are,” Hoseok says, kissing her cheek. Jungkook wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“The Princess Mina, and Lord Jongdae.”

“Jongdae?” You gasp, turning to see your brother walk in with your sister-in-law.

You walk over to them, Jungkook still glued to your side, hugging them both, “Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m great,” You said, “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Jimin finally let me have time off from being his deputy,” Jongdae said, his hand linked with Mina’s, “So we decided to come here for Christmas.”

Sana and Hoseok followed soon after, and greetings were exchanged.

“Anyway,” Mina said, “We have news.”

Jongdae held up her hand, and everyone’s eyes landed on the giant rock on her fourth finger, “We’re engaged!”

You and Sana let out and excited squeal, embracing Mina as you shared words of congratulations.

“So my brother-in-law is becoming my brother-in-law,” Jungkook said, raising his eyebrows, before smiling widely, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you,” Jongdae said, smiling widely.

The rest of the night was great. Everyone ate the best food, listened to Christmas songs, before heading off to bed, awaiting the next day.

Your eyes slowly opened, before closing them to get rid of the light. They opened once more when you remembered what day it was, and you started lightly poking Jungkook’s cheek, probably missing a couple of times due to being half asleep. You stopped when his hand took hold of yours, pressing a kiss to your finger.

“Y/N?” He groggily said, subconsciously reaching an arm out to pull you closer. You happily snuggled into his warmth, lightly pecking his jaw.

“Merry Christmas,” You say, your words coming out as a whisper.

Jungkook chuckled, his voice low and husky, “Merry Christmas to you too.”

He opened his eyes slightly, and leaned in to kiss you. You were both so tired that your lips barely touched, but rather brushed against each other softly.

“Can we just stay in bed,” He asked, his hand trailing your cheek.

“We’re not needed until midday,” You say, “Staying in bed sounds like a perfect idea.”

Therefore, you did. You both took as much time as you needed to wake up, enjoying each other’s warmth in the cold weather.

When it was finally time to make an appearance, you and Jungkook helped each other to dress. You were both wearing matching outfits. You, in a gold and dark blue gown, lined with black fur on the edges. Jungkook wore the same colour scheme, with a fur coat thrown over his shoulders.

He held you hand in his, and you finally went to the throne room.

You both bowed to the King and Queen, “Merry Christmas.”

“Took you long enough,” Hyeyeon said, a smile on her lips, “I was growing impatient.”

“Our bed was warm,” Jungkook said, making everyone laugh, “We couldn’t leave.”

“No matter,” She says, “I have your gifts.”

Two maids brought out the chests. You opened yours to see a crown, gold with sapphires. The Jeon colours.

Jungkook held up an identical one, in a different form, of course. He placed his on his head, before placing yours on your head.

“You look perfect,” Hyeyeon says with a clap, “Thank you for your gifts, by the way, we received it earlier.”

“One can never have enough carriages,” You say, smiling to your husband.

“The feast is ready, your Majesties, your Highnesses.”

“Shall we?” Junghoon asked, and the four of you left.

The Christmas feast was always extravagant. All kinds of meals and desserts were prepared, each one perfect.

The Jeon tradition was that after the feast, the remaining gifts were to be exchanged. Only the members of the Royal family- which now included Jongdae- were in attendance to this special part of the day.

“From their Majesties, to Prince Jungkook and Princess Y/N.”

Another chest was handed to you, and Jungkook opened it. Inside was a piece of paper, which Jungkook read aloud.

“The Castle of King Si-hyuk, is now in possession of the Prince and Princess of Jeon.”

Your eyes widened, “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Junghoon said, giving you a warm smile, “We want you to be able to raise your future children away from court, until it is time for you to rule.”

“Thank you so much,” Jungkook says, smiling widely at you, “We really appreciate it.”

The gifts continued, you had received a lot of gowns and jewelry, with Jungkook receiving a new sword and coats to go with your gowns, as everyone knew how much you liked to match.

You stood up, taking a wooden box from the maid, “This is for you, my darling.”

Jungkook looked at you, bowing his head as he took it. He opened it to find a letter, looking at you in confusion as you sat down.

“Read it out,” You say, hiding a small smile.

Jungkook cleared his throat, “To my darling Husband. I am afraid that you will not be able to receive my for you gift just yet, as it is currently being created. You will be able to see it near your birthday, and I am hoping you can wait patiently,” Jungkook stopped reading, “What are you talking about?”

“Keep reading,” You say, sending a wink to Sana, who had a knowing look on her face.

Jungkook took in a deep breath, “This gift will change our lives. It will require a lot of care, and a lot of love. But I have no doubts that you will love it with all your heart, just as you do with me. These nine months will be hard, but it will be worth it in the end, when we get to hold it in our arms.”

You stood up, holding Jungkook’s hands so that he stood up too, “Do you understand?”

“Is it a dog?” He asked, making everyone on the table laugh.

“No my love,” You say, placing his hand over your stomach.

His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. He started breathing heavily, and looked up at you with a biggest smile you had ever seen, “Y-you’re?” You smile back at him, your hand over his, “You’re with child? Our child!”

“Yes, I am,” You say, “Our child.”

He took you in his arms, hugging you tightly as he spun you around. He placed you down on the ground, and kissed you passionately.

“Thank you,” He said, happy tears leaving his eyes as he got on his knees, hugging your waist, “This is the greatest gift anyone could ever give.”

You held onto his head, holding him to your stomach. It was hard to keep the secret, having known since that night that you were sick, but it was worth it to see him react this way.

He looked up at you, “That’s our baby in there! A baby that we made out of our love for each other.”

“Our baby,” you sighed, smiling so hard it began to hurt. Jungkook pressed a kiss to your stomach, before standing up and kissing your forehead.

“Congratulations!” Hoseok said, “Our children will be able to grow up as friends.”

“Two Grandchildren in one year,” Hyeyeon said, “Two heirs to the throne. I’m so happy for you two.”

The rest of the family continued their congratulations, with you and Jungkook forgetting that anyone else was in the room.

Night had came. Jungkook had announced that it was the second most happiest day of his life, the first being the day you had wed. He insisted on carrying you everywhere, saying that it was safer for the baby.

You were almost asleep in Jungkook’s arms, but woke up slightly when he moved away from you.

His hands caressed your stomach, only showing the tiniest bump, only visible to Jungkook who knew your body too well.

“Hi baby Jeon,” He whispered, pulling your dress up so he could see your bare stomach, “You’re only tiny right now, and I’m pretty sure your ears haven’t started to grow yet, but I thought I would talk to you anyway. My name is Jungkook, but you will call me Appa. Your eomma was very sneaky and didn’t tell me about you until today, but I’m glad she did. You are so loved, and you always will be. I will make sure to teach you all sorts of things, like jousting, and sword fighting, no matter what gender you are. Everyone should know how to use a sword. But don’t tell your eomma, because then I’ll get in trouble.”

You smiled softly as you listened to your husband, quirking an eyebrow when he mentioned the swords.

“You will be spoiled rotten, and not just by eomma and appa. Your grandparents, uncles and aunties will always be trying to give you things, like castles and horses. You will also be the future King or Queen of Jeon, after your Eomma and I, of course. Please grow well, Baby Jeon, we can’t wait to meet you!”

Jungkook pulled down your dress again, and brought the covers back up. He pulled you into his arms once more, kissing your temple.

“I love you,” He whispered, “So, so much. You are giving me the greatest gift a man could ask for.”

You knew he would be embarrassed if he knew you were awake, so you kept quiet.

“Sleep well my angel.”

[theheavymetalmama]

The point I am trying to make is that Captain America is not the "Kill and punch all alt right nazis" hero you are thinking of. He punches Nazi in WWII because it is a WAR. In peacetime, you don't punch Neo Nazis unprovoked unless in self-defense or in defense of a person under attack otherwise more people will think Neo Nazi are victims. Neo Nazi have gotten stronger today BECAUSE people kept on feeding their victim complexes by attacking anyone they THINK are Nazis.

Selective memory much? I never said he would attack them unprovoked. I said that he’d beat the shit out of them. Yes, Cap’s a stand-up guy and would seek a peaceful resolution. The thing is though, Nazis don’t want peace. They don’t want to cooperate, they don’t want to get along, and they don’t want to share. They’re fucking Nazis. They don’t want to debate their opponents, they want anybody who isn’t white and any culture that isn’t theirs wiped off the face of the fucking Earth. So if you think “unite the right” wouldn’t have thrown the first punch at someone trying to stop them from being Nazis, you’re naive.

That goes double for neo-Nazis. The only people who would sympathize with somebody hailing Hitler getting punched in the face are racists and idiots, so what’s that say about the people going “Hey, you shouldn’t punch Nazis”?

Now to answer the rest of the questions you just bombed my inbox with. I’m heading to a conference first thing tomorrow morning and will be gone for a couple of days, so I may as well knock ‘em out.

"So go ahead. Tell me more about how he wouldn’t fight people who straight-up murdered innocent people." He would, but only if they attack first. The whole "This isn't freedom, this is fear" talk happened because Captain America doesn't believe in punishing people before the crime (unless he sees them attempting to kill people).

Being a Nazi is a crime; a crime against humanity and basic human fucking decency. They deserve the spite and ire that comes their way and then some. Bottom line, Nazis are shit and anybody who defends Nazis are shit too.

"The president is a Nazi apologist (among other horrid, vile things,)" How sad you listen to the news (how have a history of lying since the new tens started) about Trump. In really, he condemns the Nazis as well as Antifa. But you wouldn't know that by listening to mass media. He is awful, but not as awful as the media falsely claims.

I don’t watch ‘the mass media’ and I’d appreciate it if you would NOT act like a presumptuous pest. The last time I watched CNN was years ago at the dentist and that’s what was playing in the waiting room. Thing is though, I don’t need the news to know Trump is a vile, lying, homophobic, racist, misogynist, Nazi apologist bigot. His abhorrent behavior speaks for itself. If he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have taken him four fucking days to condemn white supremacists and he would have said some form of “Fuck that guy” when the leader of the KKK endorsed him. And don’t get me started on him breaking bread with Holocaust deniers, racists, and other such forms of human pollution.

Ever heard of victimhood mentality? Because that is you in a nutshell. After searching your blog, I realized why you leave your Anon on, because you secretly WANT Anons to bother you so you can enforce your victimhood mentality. You WANT to be full of rage and hate, you want to stay a victim, you want people to attack you so you have someone to blame for bad events so you won't have to look in the mirror. So here is some advice, turn off Anon and you will be surprised how happier you get.

Don’t patronize me, Anon. Your armchair psychology would be funny if it wasn’t so damn insulting.

I may have as many issues as a yearly subscription, but at least I wear them on my sleeve. Yes, I have an anger problem. I’ve been in and out of anger management throughout my youth and keeping my temper in check is something I still struggle with to this day. Yes, I’m a stress drinker and over the last couple of years I’ve been drinking more than I should, especially after my father passed away shortly after losing his battle with dementia. But I’ve given up drinking and haven’t had a drink since last April, despite having plenty of opportunities like the house being stocked and my husband and I going out on a fairly routine basis. Yes, I’m jaded as fuck and have little sympathy for people who fall victim to their own stupidity. I can be crass and insensitive, but I know when I’ve gone overboard will happily apologize and admit that I fucked up.

Having said that, your assertion that I have a victim complex can be politely summed up as such. Oh, I had something much more explosive and mean-spirited in mind, but I’ll save that for someone who genuinely deserves it.

If I wanted to be victimized, I’d walk into a country/western music convention wearing a T-shirt that reads “Metal Tops Country” over a picture of Lita Ford ramming Johnny Cash in the ass with a strap-on. I leave Anon asks on because I want to; that’s it. Do I get plenty of shitty people saying shitty things? Hell yes, but I also get a lot of good stuff, asking everything from medical advice to what beer best goes with grilled fish (the answer is IPA.) Besides, said shitty people who say shitty things are mostly idiots, so why should I even care?

"What you’re missing is that it was written during a time when Neo-Nazis were looked upon as either funny or pathetic. In short, not a threat. Not anymore" and who's fault is that? Easy, it's the media's and SJWs' fault. If the Media hadn't made all the claims that "Trump is the second raise of Hilter" and if SJWs hadn't screech "whites suck", the Neo-Nazis would have STAYED a joke. Instead, the Media and the SJWs feeds the Neo Nazi's victim complex and got more people to side with them.

That’s stupid.

These posts sum up everything how Neo Nazis and White Supermasicts got so much bigger in modern times.

It didn’t get bigger in modern times; just louder. This Virginia Peach here explains it better than I care to at the moment.

What you want is heroes to punch every Neo Nazi and Alt Righters UNPROVOKED. The thing is that the only reasons the heroes punch Nazi was because they are in a WAR. The problem with with punching Nazi unprovoked in modern/peace times is that all it will do is make martyrs out of them and get more people to side with them. The ONLY times you should punch a Nazi is in self-defense and in defense of others (or in a war). Otherwise the Neo Nazis and Alt Right will get more powerful.

That’s bullshit. Remember when Richard Spencer went on this big country-wide trip to hold rallies and recruit more people to his cause shortly after Trump was inaugurated? Of course you don’t, because he cancelled all of that and slunked back to his Nazi safe space because he got decked in the mouth; twice. Or remember when ‘Unite the Right’ marched through the city of Boston? Oh right, that didn’t happen either because the people of Boston made it loud and clear that any Nazi who set one foot in town would be signing their own death warrant.

There’s a reason people respond to Nazis with violence; because violence is all they understand. It’s what their whole fucking outlook is based on; kill everyone that isn’t them. Nazis don’t care about diplomacy, they don’t care about peace, and they sure as fuck don’t care about getting along. So what do you suggest people do? Invite them for tea and biscuits and try and sort everything out? Joseph Stalin tried that once, then he lost half his shit.

There’s no debating Nazis. “We should clone extinct animals” is grounds for debate. “We should gas the Jews and enslave the blacks” is grounds for an asswhoopping.

"Now, are we done here Anon, or do you want to hit me with some more Nazi-apologist bullshit?" So you are using the old "They are against punching Nazis so clearly they are Nazi apologists!" and "Anyone who disagrees with me is a Nazi" attack, how typical. The point I am trying to make is that if you attack Nazis unprovoked, they will be Martyred and get more followers and you LOSE followers and supporters. In times like this, you need to take the high ground and avoid striking first.

The only people that would make martyrs out of Nazis are the same people who burn crosses and think soy beans feminize men, and they’d be doing plenty of stupid shit without Nazis getting punched. Fuck them.

Besides, what the fuck else am I supposed to call somebody getting butthurt over me saying that Captain “I was invented for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of Nazis” America would beat the shit out of Nazis? Also, those chucklefucks were brandishing torches and decking themselves out in homemade riot gear. They were LOOKING for a fight, so drop this “unprovoked” shit like a hot rock. Besides, you’re the one who’s suggesting that me saying that the fictional superhero Captain America would beat the shit out of the alt-right means that I advocate hunting down and beating the shit out of them.

Now I won’t lie. The last time a Nazi came within swinging distance of me, he spent four days eating through a rubber tube. He retaliated by pulling a knife on my husband. The result? My husband got a little scar on his arm and said Nazi now has more metal in his mouth than Jaws.

The other Jaws.

Point is, I’m not saying you should throw the first punch, though I certainly won’t lose any sleep if you do. I’m saying that if you encounter a Nazi, get ready for a fight, because I promise you they’re looking for one. Running or fighting is up to you, but if you try waving the white flag they’ll just wrap it around your neck. Sometimes taking the high road simply isn’t an option. When it comes to Nazis, it’s almost never an option. Remember; talk shit, get hit.

[duallygirl178]

Dearest O'Malley Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Gladys got too old to drive, I began to get antsy for a workout. Gladys retired in 1980 and by 1992; Nathan was born in Farmington New Mexico. I was handed over to Joe Popplewell to be driven and just to be a back up guy. Joe sure couldn’t drive me because he had to look so far up and out passed the hood to see the road, which frustrated him to the max. When I got a good look at Nathan as a baby. I was filled with joy. I’ve never been a father but at least I got to see what a baby is and what it looked like. Jan and Randy sure went through some trouble and back just to save him. I had heard something was going on with his heart or something that he had to be rushed to the Albuquerque hospital. I distinctively remember that I sure was worried-to-parts about this baby needing to be put in the ER. I smoked so many Pyramid full flavor 100 cigarettes that it took at least 8 butts just to calm me down. I had my suspicions that if Nathan never made it alive, I would be beaten down by Erik who was soon to be a careless pain in my prat and I would never see my life happy again. I was nervous that I wanted to know how the baby was doing. I had became so determined to hear the news on Nathan that I made a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes every day. When the day that Nathan came home, I was so relieved to know he was okay. After Nathan’s recovery, I knew I could quit smoking but I craved a butt and the taste drew me into an unhealthy lifestyle. I tried leaning towards working out and other distractions that was healthy but I wanted a cigarette. Finally, Joe got me on a quitter’s cycle; gum, patches, and hemp seed oil. It worked! I didn’t crave nicotine. When Jan would drive and smoke butts inside me, I didn’t even want a cig. At this time, Jan was working and living at Acacia Street, I was the only transportation Jan and Randy borrowed just until Jan had the resources to get another car. One morning, on my good mood, I was cruising down the road whistling “King of the whole wide world” by Elvis Presley, when people started to stare at me. I would just smile and wink just because I was in a good mood. While Jan was cleaning a house for a couple just down the road, I was waiting on the curb minding my own business. I seemed to be interesting to the sight of a glossy blue 1968 blue Chevrolet Impala. She seemed to be really interested. I was somewhat interested in her because I could tell when a female is interested in me because when she’s looking my way, she finds faults and quirks endearing and she realized my attraction was something she could learn. She had that sweet smell of heated oil and exhaust fumes radiating off her tailpipe. She had serious eyes for me that summer of 1993. The fumes caressed around my tailpipe and it made me feel crazy. Her name was Emma-Sue as she was leaning into me while she came closer into my personal space. She put on quite a revving roaring mating call with her huge V8 motor rumbled as she circled me. I held still as she was looking me over while I was getting a drippy stiffy. I was enjoying this interesting female’s attention and when Jan was all done cleaning house, the moment disappeared. Emma-Sue stopped and went back to the driveway. Jan got in and started me up steadily. Emma-Sue watched me leave until I was far away. I knew she was going to sneak over to my driveway to make heat and romance raise up tonight. Still in joy, I listened to many songs about love on tapes that included Elvis.

Many years into the future, it was the 15th year of that summer, I still hadn’t heard from Gonzo nor have I seen him. I missed him. I remembered when was Nathan was 2 years old, I had began to read him children’s stories using my talented voice to role in the characters even though I knew well that they had their dark origins when they were told. Boy, I really could entertain him when I did the right voices, and I loved it when Nathan laughed. It brought the flow of delight in my weekend days. While the parents were at work and Nathan was a curious little creature. He and I were spending time together and like every other two year old, Nathan pulled off one of my do-haws on the dashboard. It hurt but innocence comes in small packages. It was aright, I had pulled a few whiskers from my old man’s face and that’s just because I was a baby and wondered if the hairs would come off. When I would spend time with Nathan and when, I felt like I was already a dad. Nathan had started talking and he had called me “Papa” once a few times. Those were the days that were good to me.

Randy would drive me with Nathan along and the three of us would scoot ourselves into town when the parents had an off day. It was rare that Randy would take me out to town but we always had fun. I’d get comments of “I like your car” and “Nice car” which was aright. Every other day, I would get a car wash on my birthday and get detailed in August. I got wool seat covers one year on my birthday. After those days, I didn’t really care about presents on my birthdays. While Nathan was first home schooled, I’d sit in the carport to protect me from the weather’s rain and storms. I would always be up here once or twice a month to keep Ozzy company. Back in 2000, Joe bought him from PESCO, a place where he used to work at. Ozzy was a 1991 Ford explorer just sitting in the parking lot. He basically was used for lifting Carol in and out because Carol couldn’t stand on her feet any longer. Ozzy was there for the job. I had no envy towards Ozzy and since he was a sweet little bugger, I got along better after a break from the hectic storm with the morons living outside. Before, I knew it Ozzy was my little roommate. When I asked Ozzy how much he was sold for, the results shocked me. He was 4 grand and like many old things, there has to be a second wheel to accompany the leader. Ozzy’s lift was very useful because every time, Carol had a doctor’s appointment, Ozzy just picked her up with his ramp and he was ready to scoot. I basically came up there to get away while Ol’ Reliable was giving me attitude. I’d be invited in and I’d park next to the fireplace. I watched a little bit of the news with Joe and Jimmy Swaggart with Carol for 30 minutes tops until I fall asleep. Every hour or so, I’d make myself at home on the couch. Sometimes Nathan would come up to visit and sit with me to check on things.

Some time that Fall, Randy couldn’t get me to start up because now that Jan had the resources to afford a secondary car. It was a Jeep Liberty that I didn’t like. Jan had a loan on it and that could lead to rough road later in the future. Randy had bought a Plymouth voyager van and that was all I could accept. But whenever Randy would visit Joe if I was giving him issues, Joe would come to the rescue. I liked Joe because he could fix anything. Often Joe would fuss at Randy because he smoked and asked him to quit. I knew Randy wanted to quit tobacco butts but he couldn’t give it up on how much he had to follow. Jan tried to get her husband to stop, but Randy was antsy to have a butt to smoke. At night, when I was ready to get back to Jan’s house, Nathan and Randy would watch TV together because he couldn’t sleep. I sure didn’t mind staying up late because I could sleep with noise. Even when Nathan had a school night. The couch I was just as comfy as a bed was.

I remember when Nathan was a kid and every Easter, I dressed my best, in that horrid bowtie. I had thought I would never wear it again as long as I lived. But it wasn’t the last time I wore it. I had to wear it again for occasions later. I also remember when Nathan got candy but tucked it away never to be seen again. He didn’t used to eat a lot of candy. I had been in my wild 30s and I had a tradition of burning a little rubber off for the spring seasons to hype up my jive. Each Monday was fill the fridge and cupboard day and which I had to carry 23 bags of groceries from the store and it was my work out for the week. I could always tell when it was time to go shopping. So one Monday night, I had just zoomed in loaded with groceries, I noticed my shocks were getting sore and bad as much as my wheel bearings were creaky but at least it was nice to see Miss Gizmo who was always there to greet everyone. Now for Tuesdays, which were my resting days to take it easy and do what I want. A day to recover. I got to relax at Randy’s work and take the weight off my sores and pains. Even though he worked at a quality building between Aztec and Bloomfield, Randy had gotten on SSI to help pay for his health and that took more of the pain off my joints. It was a matter of time before he could stop working and rest.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Review] THE OPEN HOUSE Is Just A Vacant Spot In The Neighborhood

Have you ever, like, noticed how weird open houses are? Apparently, I didn’t think they were, until The Open House hit Netflix on January 19th and I was able to see for myself what the horrid consequences of hosting one would be.

The Open House centers on Netflix original 13 Reasons Why and Don’t Breathe star Dylan Minnette and his mother, played by Piercey Dalton (The Orchard). The two find themselves in a hopeless situation following a family tragedy that leads them to move into a relative’s empty vacation house where they are “besieged by threatening forces”.

Being acquired by one of the top streaming services out there (that turns out horror gems like a mining valley), starring a currently very popular teen star, and entailing a simple ‘haunted house’ premise means The Open House would surely be good, right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong.

Before I rip through this, because there is A LOT of ripping to do, my overall point here is that The Open House ultimately fails because it tries to be everything its not. What viewers need to know first and foremost about The Open House is that we, the horror community, have seen this before. Every part of this movie from the ‘stylish’ camera angles to the final ‘twist’ is taken from another, better film and artist.

It’s obvious in the film industry, that writers and directors draw influence from somewhere. That somewhere is almost always previously existing films ranging from actual plot to directing techniques. At this point almost all horror tropes have been covered or touched in some way, but it takes a special filmmaker to take a practical plot line, like a haunted house, and turn it on its head. Writer and director, Matt Angel (Ha/lf), is not that filmmaker. What he has done with his first opportunity to write and direct an official feature length horror film wind’s up mocking the talent and creative storytelling techniques used by those that have come before him.

The only positive and redeeming qualities The Open House has, that I would like to get out of the way, is the decent acting and the pretty intense score. Both, however, are quickly undermined by the forced ‘style’ Angel tries to cop from films ranging from Get Out to Funny Games. I admit I don’t know much about cinematography, but I know enough to sense a director’s certain style and I know when enough is enough. Each important shot in this film is different from the another, borrowing from well-recognized angles like James Wan’s panoramic scene movements to M. Night Shyamalan’s trademark perspective angles. Angel overuses distinct techniques almost as if to cover the spread of what’s popular in horror right now. False style and a narrative lacking any meaning and depth is not exactly what viewers want.

Basically, it feels as though he watched the most popular horror and genre films of the last ten years, put together some shallow and pretentious formula, thought ‘Easy, I could do that!’, and made this passionless, pointless Frankenstein of a movie to get himself out onto the scene.

I imagine him working on this was a lot like that scene in Scream 3 where Scott Foley’s director character rants about wanting to make a love story, but he has to make a horror movie first because the studio is making him to do it. You know what I’m talking about, right?

Okay, now that I’ve got that out of my system, I feel it’s necessary to go through the narrative, step-by-step in order to really justify why I feel this way toward a harmless, but wasteful, Netflix addition. No one likes negative reviews and, hopefully, no one likes to write them. I can find the good in most films from wide releases to the most obscure C-rated horror movie, but if I’m deeply disappointed I like to detail exactly why.

SPOILERS (which are only necessary to review a movie that is this bad)

Minnette’s character, Logan, and his mother, Naomi, are quickly hit with grief following the sudden traumatic and accidental death of Logan’s father (it’s incredibly similar to the opening sequence of Disturbia). We learn through many passive-aggressive comments made by Naomi throughout the movie that this has left her and her son in financial stress which we later learn was because of her husband ‘not caring’ enough to leave her and Logan well-off in the event of his untimely death. No insurance? Don’t middle-aged women typically murder their husbands to cash-out on their life insurance policies? Anyways…

Her nameless sister offers up a vacant vacation home that she and Logan can live in because she can’t afford the bills alone which Naomi takes her up on. The catch? They have to be out of the house whenever an open house is scheduled, which sounds to me like a much bigger hassle than finding a job on my own. We never hear from the sister character again, not because she gets caught up in some sinister situation or anything, but because of true carelessness on Angel’s part.

Logan and Naomi make their way up to the mountain mansion, nearly hitting a phantom figure out on the road in the dark (here I would cite all of the movies this scene is a ripoff of, but we don’t have that time). I won’t even do a review the disservice of ranting about jump scares. I feel, typically, it’s a staple tactic for a scary movie (how else can a general audience truly get scared without them?), so I am not drawing attention to the fact that it was a cheap thrill because The Open House has plenty of those, but that it was both important to the twist at the end and so unimportant at the same time.

  Deciding to stop at a gas station in town, we are introduced to two of the most useless character written for effect and for the sake of being red herrings: the old, loony, invasive neighbor who knows entirely too much about everyone, Martha, played by Patricia Bethune (Longmire, True Blood) and the odd, all too forward and friendly store clerk Chris, played by Sharif Atkins (White Collar). The entire scene, and really any other scene including Martha or Chris, is heavy with the feeling that something is off about them.

Martha mentions the death of her own husband and recognizes Naomi and Logan from pictures her neighbor, Naomi’s sister, showed her in one scene. In later scenes where she is randomly walking their lawn in the dead of night she does not recognize Logan, and later after that she drops in unannounced with banana bread and confusingly mentions that her husband is alive to Naomi. In one of her final scenes, Martha appears on the road Logan is running on (oh yeah, he’s a runner) and creepily insists on driving him home after he gets sick.

One minute Chris is just a sweet, possible love interest for Naomi much to Logan’s dismay, and the next he is awkwardly showing up at the house and requesting to see the inside. Just for the reader’s information, this house has no significance whatsoever other than the fact that it is big. There is no back story, no ghostly history, no one murdered Old Man Anderson with an axe in the basement, or anything like that, so I was very puzzled as to why this man would want to look around and why Naomi would let him. How this happens I don’t know, but Naomi loses track of Chris going in and out of the rooms and just assumes he’s left.

I only summarize these scenes because they have absolutely nothing to do with the plot whatsoever. They mimic the oddities of the characters seen in Jordan Peele’s Get Out and Shyamalan’s The Visit, but serve no purpose other than to lead viewers into thinking there is something there that there really, truly isn’t. I don’t think Matt Angel fully understands the way a red herrings is meant to be used in a film.

Halfway through this mess Logan begins to notice strange things happening around the house. Supernatural-type strange things. His cell phone, glasses, and cereal bowl appear and reappear. Doors open slowly within the frame (very similar to Paranormal Activity and that iconic scene in The Strangers). Naomi is plagued, and I mean plagued, with every woman’s worst nightmare while taking a shower: cold water.

The pilot light is blown out more times than I could even stand to keep track of. Each time this happens, towel-clad Naomi, goes down to the pitch black basement to relight it (each time a gimmick of Lily Taylor’s match-lighting scene in The Conjuring). Logan is, of course, equally plagued with memories of his father’s death and with vivid hallucinations of him in the basement.

On top of all of this they are shooed out of their house by a bossy real estate agent and her eager assistant twice for open house showings. Twice. Each time providing us with less than pivotal scenes involving Logan and his mother included just to move things along. Always looking for the twist before it comes, I was getting the feeling that possibly Logan and his mother were not really there themselves, maybe they were dead the way The Others perfectly tricks you? Maybe that has something to do with them having to be out of the house? Unfortunately, not even that was the case. The narrative of this story has all the makings, turns, and questions that eventually transpire into a huge twist at the end, but it is far from sophisticated enough to execute one.

Eventually the disappearance and reappearance of things in the house takes a toll on the relationship between mother and son. There is a pretty harsh explosion over the crumpling of a family photo where Naomi and Logan lash out at one another kind of out of nowhere. There is no development to either of these characters nor growth or lack thereof in their relationship so it’s more of a scene to roll your eyes over.

While watching this I found myself thinking that something has to be going on. There is going to be some revelation in the end to tie all of this weirdness together, that’s usually what happens with a divisive genre film, and it will all make sense. What the audience gets is the ‘twist’ mirroring that of Housebound and The Boy. Logan and his mother are finally met with the malevolent force in the third act. I’ve cut out a lot of details, again for the sake of time, because they have absolutely nothing to do with the development or ending whatsoever.

The cause of all the seemingly supernatural happenings? A faceless, nameless stranger has been living among them in the house slowly stalking and playing with the mother and son before deciding to end both of their lives. The entire finale of this movie is an absolute disaster resulting in huge flaws from the stranger knocking Logan out cold and dosing him in water causing him to freeze to the ground unable to move (and run!) to Naomi stumbling into the sharp end of Logan’s frigid, shaking knife-holding hand. With icicles literally brandishing his eyebrows, Logan escapes into the forest, but the stranger eventually catches up and strangles the life out of him. The stranger departs and the audience, if they haven’t stabbed themselves with their own knives yet, watch as he trucks off into the unknown past another open house sign.

Angel’s message throughout this wreck of a story is just simple: you never know who will come in and stay if you have public open house showings. This stranger is apparently an open house killer and the story we were fed just so happened to center on this mother and son going through a grievous (yet unimportant to the plot) time in their lives? I’m sorry, but the whole “Because you were home” reasoning behind The Strangers does not work here. The story tries so hard to match the incredibly powerful and dreadful ending of Funny Games, but it falls extremely flat and frozen. You’ll need to watch The Open House to get the full effect of that last joke.

Angel tried to incorporate too many parts into his Franken-movie and, unfortunately, all of the parts did not fit well together. It wound up being a mixture destructive only to itself. The dead father motif combined with the odd, very weird neighbor characters, mixed with the supernatural-happenings-actually-being-a-person-in-the-walls ending made for a very sloppy, depth-less, empty story. I find myself encouraging others to watch it just so that we can discuss all of the horrible things wrong with it.

The disappointed audience is left with questions, but not in a good way. As much as it wants to, this film is not the equivalent to that of modern ground-breaking genre films that leave their audiences with conversation bits and thoughts after they end, but instead it left us with the question we all hate asking ourselves once the credits roll: What the hell did I just watch?

The real irony here is that The Open House is indeed like a real open house: it’s vacant, and empty on the inside, the details are staged to make it look like something it’s not, it’s represented by a company name you recognize and trust, you feel optimistic going in, but wind up running out screaming because there is a deal-breaker looming beneath the surface. It’s not usually a psychotic, murderous squatter, but it happens. Huge dealbreaker.

    The post [Review] THE OPEN HOUSE Is Just A Vacant Spot In The Neighborhood appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street.

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