#how do you deal with that person keeping secrets for a majority of your fucking marriage?

[yowumi]

Hotshot surgeon Gojo x Medical Student Reader Ft. Hotshot Surgeon Suguru [ modern au ] TW. Pregnancy & Love Triangle

shotgun wedding CH. 02 | Diagnosis

summary. Satoru Gojo, The states #1 Neurosurgeon, known for his wealthy clan. He was known for his success, parties, and his willingness to fuck anybody and everybody in a 10 mile radius. Unfortunately, one unlucky night, you make the wise decision to do what any hard working young medical student would do when faced with a sexy doctor…you sleep with him in which changes your life forever.

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warnings. Accidental pregnancy, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), love triangle, roommates (they all live together), arranged marriage, satoru is a bit of a meanie, plot twists, angst, smut, you only end up with one.

A/N. this is my first time writing a fanfic, although i’ve always wanted to! i’m always open to take constructive criticism or any tips to make my writing better! I hope you guys enjoy and definitely lemme know if you have any suggestions, read well luv <3

keep up! // ch. 1 // ch. 2 // ch. 3 (coming soon)

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

getting used to Satoru’s house wasn’t easy, for all the woman dreaming to be feet away from him at all times should think again.

one of the major problems was the noise. he must have some type of superhuman strength on his dick or something because whenever he was home, he was using it like there was no tomorrow.

from the room over you could hear the moans from the room across the hall, soft chants almost religious screaming ‘Satoru’ and lewd comments you wish you had forgotten.

on top of that, he hated wearing clothes around the house. his poor maid is probably traumatized from the things she has seen because he is allergic to clothes when he’s at home, constantly walking around shirtless or in his boxers.

just the second day in, the creek of his door was open and you caught a glimpse of his bare ass just out in the open.

never in your life did you think a man’s ass would look edible…

although, not even Hercules himself could get that information out of you.

Suguru on the other hand was a great house mate, constantly cleaning up behind you, offering to cook for you and do your laundry.

he didn’t make noise and wouldn’t bring woman home, although he definitely used to considering satoru’s life concerning comments on how suguru has changed his habits of being a man whore since you’ve moved in.

“I wouldn’t want to cause noise for the woman, she doesn’t need more extra stress, she already has to deal with you as the baby father, satoru” he grins at his cheeky remark as satoru pouts.

one thing you couldn’t complain about though was how spacious and comfortable everything was in the house. it was no secret satoru was rich and came from money but seeing his wealth in person almost felt overwhelming.

you wake up to vomiting once again, the whole stress of the situation now has been a bit overwhelming and you can’t deny pregnancy is taking a toll on you.

your maid is holding back your hair as you vomit straight into the toilet, perhaps maybe it was from all that thinking of satoru.

“Ms. Y/n L/N, Mr. Geto has suggested you stay home from work until you feel better” she says while patting a hand on your back comfortingly.

“I should be fine, it’s nothing i can’t handle and besides, i’m in a hospital so if push comes to shove, i’m in the same building as the two of them, although i doubt anything horrible would happen. it’s nothing more than pregnancy sickness” you say reassuring her seeing the worry across her face.

you give her a comforting smile and she seems to relax just a bit.

“hey, you’ve worked her for quite some time right?” you ask

she replies with a nod, “yes ma’am”

“well…i have some concerns, i don’t know satoru or geto too well before all of this and i would like to know your thoughts on them, they are obviously playing a huge role in my life now that i’m carrying satorus child and staying here, i would just like another persons opinion on who they really are.”

she pauses for a second almost surprised you would ask her that question out of all people but to be fair, you didn’t have much options to choose from, it was either her or megumi.

[ megumi would have said to run for the hills ]

“well, i was hired by satoru when he was just barely an adult so i would have known him for about a decade by now, but my personal opinion is that he really does mean well, he’s a good person and has a big heart, he can be a handful but he means well deep down, to be fair, he is letting you stay in his house rent free-“ she catches herself in what she’s saying and she lets out a gasp,

“oh i’m so sorry miss! i didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“ she starts apologizing frantically as she bows down in apology.

you giggle at her motions and stop her from bowing “haha it’s okay, i suppose you do have a point”

she blushes at your understanding of her behavior, “when i first moved her, i didn’t have much money and made my living off of being a maid, i’ve dealt with many house owners but satoru is by far the most generous. he has helped me pay for my child’s schooling and has helped me more times i could count, i don’t know what kind of father he will be or person he will be towards you but i know he will try his best at whatever it is you need him to be…for you and your child.” she says giving you a light hearted smile, you can tell she truly means what she says.

“and suguru…?” you almost forgot, you almost feel embarrassed asking about him. after all, you didn’t really need to know about him but you were still interested…just as any other person who lives with someone new would be…right?

“oh yes, suguru! he’s a very kind man, he has lived here for about 5 years with satoru, the two seem to get along very well. he’s a generous man and very friendly although it’s hard to see his interior..” she says

“interior?” you ask now curious.

what did that mean?

“well…it’s almost like an empty smile, it’s warm and gentle and it makes you feel welcome but something about him almost feels unreal, like it’s a mask he uses to perhaps hide how really feels. even when him and satoru argue, he seems to keep his good attitude but it makes you wonder what’s really going on, you know?” she is now seeing the worry in your face as she says this and continues,

“oh but i’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about, he is a generous man and very helpful, he seems to care about you a lot nonetheless! his intentions seem very pure and kind hearted, i was just stating that he seems like he has more depth underneath his smile” she says patting your hand in comfort and you smile.

you appreciate her advice towards the boys, it almost helps you have a better understanding of the two.

*knock knock

you hear a deep voice echoing behind the door, “mind if i come in”

satoru.

your maid turns towards you looking for your approval and you nod as she opens the door for satoru to come in and he sees you on the bathroom floor.

“is everything alright in here? don’t tell me you’ve thrown up again?” he asks walking closer to bend down to speak to you.

“it’s just morning sickness, i’ll be fine” you say as your maid passes you a glass of water from your nightstand.

“hmmm” is the sound satoru makes as he thinks to himself, “you’re taking the day off today, i’ll let shoko know for you, i’ve gotta go in anyways to sign some stuff anyways” he says making a groaning noise at the mention of signing papers all day.

“yeah yeah i get it dad” you say rolling your eyes as you get up off the floor, satoru offers out his hand so you can use it to help you stand.

“will you be okay for the rest of the day, should i bring you anything back? do you need ibuprofen or something”

“some gummy bears would be nice” you say and he shoots you finger guns as he makes his way towards the gun

“you’ve got it” he says as he makes his way out with a light wave goodbye as he walks out.

a small alarm beeped from your maids watch as she seemed startled by the noise, “oh that’s lunch, i will be back here in the afternoon, if you need anything Mr. Suguru should be home soon, i suggest some rest for now” she says as she sees her way out.

this gave you time to rest up today before going back to work where you’ll have to work up the courage to tell nobara, yuji and megumi about the news.

you’ve been dodging their messages, there was probably about 200 messages from nobara and yuji themselves meanwhile there was no text or anything from megumi.

maybe he was pissed about the whole gojo thing?

after a long needed nap you wake up and the sun is already going down, no sign of gojo or suguru as the house seemed unusually quiet.

you make your way towards the kitchen and scramble for a pot to make yourself dinner on, although it seemed impossible considering satoru had a million cabinets.

you groan as your finding no sight of the pans growing frustrated before a large arm comes up behind you reaching up at one of the top cabinets that you hadn’t even acknowledged until now revealing tons of pans.

you look up and see suguru put on his signature smile as he pushes his long black bangs behind his ear, the rest being held in a bun.

“oh” you say as you look towards the pans like an idiot.

“this what you were looking for?” he says with an amused grin,

you nod and put your head down in embarrassment,

“well go on, get what you need” he leans back with arms against him as he is eager to watch you grab the pan

you then realize how high it was, that dick.

you step on your tippy toes hoping he wouldn’t notice your struggle as he lets out a soft chuckle behind you as you’ve now retorted to climbing the counters.

“you need some help over there?”

“shut up…yes”

he lets out a laugh as he brings the pan down from the cabinet.

“so that dumbass knocked you up, hm? how are you feeling about that?” he asks in a playful tone although the concern was still there.

“oh you mean how much of an honor it is to carry THE satoru gojo’s child is? just amazing, brilliant” you say sarcastically.

before you knew it time flew by in an instant talking to suguru, you guys talked about work, life and satoru.

it was dark out and you both were comfortably sat across from each other of the couch that laid in the middle of the living room, the dim light lit down on the both of you, it felt homely almost.

you and suguru were mid conversation when you heard the chaos coming from the opening front door with a loud drunk satoru with a blonde wrapped around his arm, satoru not paying attention to him nearly leaning his whole body weight on her as they walked in.

they both must have came from some sort of party because they were both dressed in fancy clothing, their outfits had to be worth someone’s house.

satoru stumbles across the kitchen searching for the alcohol in one of the cabinets, “hey suguru, where did we leave that whiskey we got back at that one party shoko threw a few years back”, he stutters over his words.

“left top cabinet above the oven, but go easy on it”

“why? you feeling greedy suguru” satoru says in a teasing tone as he finds his way back towards the woman he walked in with

“perhaps, but shoko said that’s some strong stuff, you get all bratty when your hungover darling” he remarks back at him.

satoru let’s out a laugh

your eyes turn towards the woman he’s s with in which you come eye to eye with as she’s already staring at you, she seems almost disgusted and you feel a sense of intimidation.

you weren’t jealous or anything but it was no secret that you clearly didn’t belong, they were both dressed nicely and suguru’s house clothes themself are well kept meanwhile you look like a mess

you didn’t bother to care since suguru was the only person here but being around satoru just felt…

humiliating.

you’re interrupted by your thoughts when it’s almost as if suguru reads the uncomfortable situation and places a soft comfort hand to your back, rubbing it slowly

you’re brought back by satoru’s voice once again, “hey suguru, wanna join me with this one”

it was like you weren’t even there.

the woman carrying his child and he hasn’t looked at you once let alone acknowledge that you were even in the same room as him.

the woman next to him laughs and gives suguru bedroom eyes, you look towards him to see that his eyes were staring down at his cup with a hint of annoyance as if he was embarrassed by the way satoru is acting as of now

he places a firm hand now still on your back.

“nah. she ain’t my type” he takes a sip of his coffee now grabbing the side of your waist gently, protective like

you see satoru let out a frown before noticing suguru’s hand placement, staring directly at you now.

the first time he has the whole night.

“ahhh i see. hey there” he greets you with a wave,

a wave? why the hell is he greeting you as if he hasn’t seen you before, as if you don’t live in his house, carrying his baby.

satoru continues, “is this one of your girls? damn you must’ve messed her up real bad, she looks a little beat. you alright sweetheart?” he teases but leans down to look at you examining your face.

you look down, not answering him

suguru notices your upset expression and squeezes your hand softly before standing up to look at satoru

“Satoru, why don’t you show your companion the guest house, i’m sure she would find it much more amusing” he says as he starts to lead satoru out of the house

“haha i get it, want some alone time with the lady, i wouldn’t go to hard on her, she already looks worn”

satoru says nothing as he walks them to the door before satoru turns around towards you again, “oh right, where are my manners, nice to meet ya darling”

and he left.

suguru comes back you, now kneeling in front of you

“are you okay, y/n?” he asks looking up at you for any sign of anger or tears

you nod, “yeah, think i’m ready to sleep, night” you say as you get up to walk towards your room without looking back at suguru

that night, as you lay in bed with tears staining your pillows, you wonder how you ended up here.

could you have had a child the right way? with someone you love?

why did the father have to be satoru gojo.

06:25

beep beep

the alarm goes off on your phone, not bothering to scroll down at the concerned messages sent from nobara and yuji.

still nothing from gumi.

today would be the day you would have to face them, still having no clue what to tell them exactly

the morning was quiet, not bothering to talk to anyone as you make your way out in your own vehicle as you go to work.

you are faced with yuji when you walk in, noticing your face he lets out a smile and big wave motioning for you to come his way

“hey yuji” you say as you walk up to him

“hey l/n, where the hell have you been, kugisaki has been like losing her marbles and has been taking her insanity out on me! she hits so hard” he frowns at the thought

you laugh, “sorry i’ve just been really busy lately and it’s a long story but i’ll make sure to explain to all of you when i find the time to sit down and talk with all of you today, that way she doesn’t end up shaving you in your sleep”

yujis eyes widen playfully holding a shushing finger to your mouth, “shhh! you never know when she’s listening, don’t give her ideas!” he says looking around paranoid

you’ve got to admit, you missed hanging out with the gang again, it reminded you that you were still young and distracted you from the fact that you would become a mother soon.

you made small talk with yuji as he caught you up with how things were at the hospital and with the gang,

“how is megumi? has he said anything?” you ask

“surprisingly not, i thought he would’ve made some comment by now about how you ran away to per-sue a life of becoming homeless and popping pills from the stress finally breaking you but he has been unusually quiet!”

“oh, uh-“ you were interrupted by being tapped on the shoulder behind you as you turn around being met face to face with familiar white hair,

asshole.

“hello Mr. Itadori, would you mind if i borrowed Ms. L/N from you?” he gives yuji his signature persuading smile and yuji nods

“yeah sure, my break is about over anyways but nice talking to you y/n- I MEAN UH MS. L/N!!!!” he says as he waves you off and walks away,

you turn your attention to satoru and without a word he grabs your hand to pull you

“where are we going? the hell do you want Gojo!” you ask annoyed

he pulls you aside to an empty closet and locks the door behind him with a key he had in his pants,

“what the fuck satoru? why did you lock us in here?!” you grow angry at his lack of communication.

the anger doesn’t last long because moments later you are faced with the white haired man on his knees now hugging your hips,

“i’m sorry y/n, i’m so sorry. suguru told me what happened last night and i was hammered and wasn’t thinking at all and i’m so fucking sorry, i promise i wont be bringing any of my ‘friends’ to the house anymore.” he says as he catches his breathe, leaning against your stomach leaving a small kiss on your stomach that held his baby.

“i don’t care if you bring your fuck buddies to the house, you’re a grown man, that isn’t my problem” you say not looking at him as you keep your hands to your side,

you were trying your best to keep your composure, satoru has a habit of getting exactly what he wants so his affection wasn’t gonna work on you.

“then why wont you look at me? i know we aren’t together or anything but i mean you’re carrying my child so the least i can do is respect you, and the drinking thing isn’t a thing that happens a lot i swear…i’ve just been a little stressed and worked up because this is all new…”

the way he acted wasn’t okay but you did understand this was a lot, it’s a lot on you too so you couldn’t really blame him for having a drink, you would too if you could.

“It’s okay, satoru” you say helping him get up from his knees so he can stand again and you help him fix his composure and he looks at you with a smile

the smile that could always make you forget how much of a dick head he can be sometimes.

but he meant this one.

his walkie talkie goes off as he hears his co worker stating that he’s needed in for last minute surgery

“gotta go” he says as he gives you a soft pat on the head

“be careful, if you need anything you can come to my office” and he rushes off.

work was pretty slow today, most of the patients had very minor injuries thankfully, it’s nearly the end of your shift before you get a last minute patient

“hey listen y/n, i know this is so last minute to ask but can you stay a little late today and take this last patient, i’ve got an emergency back at home, good news though! you’ll be working with kugisaki, i know how close you two are” shoko says as she smiles, “thanks again”

nobara stares at you and waits for shoko to leave,

“y/n where have you been, i’ve been texting you like a million times, i thought something serious happened to you”

“I know, i’m sorry just- i need to tell you something, i was going to wait til everyone is all together but i’ll just say it now” you say and this catches nobara’s attention as she looks at you with worry

“spill the tea, what is it?” she asks

“i’m pregnant..”

nobara pauses and you think she’s upset before her jaw nearly drops to the floor

“WHAAAAAAATTTTT???? BY WHO? OH MY GOD DID YOU HOOK UP WITH ONE OF THE MEN AT THE EVENT??? OH MY GOD I BET IT WAS SUGURU” she says invested as she begs to hear more details dying to know who the father is

“i would rather not say who but that’s why i haven’t been answering you guys texts, it’s just been a lot to take in lately” you say

and she finds her composure and hugs you

“don’t worry about it girl, i just wish you would have talked to me sooner, i wish we could’ve helped you” she says

you smile and let her know it’s okay before you make your way to meet your next patient,

you read over the information listed in your check board about the patient, the patient was minority injured in a car crash but needs to be checked for concussion

this shouldn’t take long

you look up to meet eyes with the woman from last night that was around satoru’s arm.

nobara now takes the clipboard, writing things down as she watches you examine the woman

“oh so you’re that one girl who looked sick last night with suguru, wow never would’ve guessed you would work in a place like this” she cockily laughs and nobara looks up at you with a slight hint of confusion and excitement at the mention of you being with suguru last night

“don’t know, you probably have me mixed up with someone else.” you say trying to stop this conversation before nobara gets any ideas.

“oh no i never forget a face. you know…” she scoots in closer to try and get under your skin, “i’ve never seen you around before and trust me i’m over there a lot”

you can tell she’s lying but you don’t really care enough to correct her.

“listen, i saw the way you were looking at satoru all lost puppy like and shit and i know you want him and all but me and him are kinda a thing and know each other really well and he was telling me last night about how he can’t wait til i get all swell with his kids and birth his baby, so you should probably pregnancy test me, you never know!” she says

it’s obvious she’s trying to get a reaction out of you and nobara is obviously catching on to a hint of annoyance from you but she knows not to push on or ask more, especially from a bitch like the woman sitting in front of you.

nobara figures it’s better to ask you yourself than some delusional woman who probably has a concussion.

“Ms. L/N I think we should discuss these papers, we will be just a moment, you just sit tight!” she gives the woman a fake smile before leaving the room with you

she grabs your arm and pulls you to the side,

“what am i hearing about! oh my god..geto??!!…ughhhh hes such a sweetheart! and doctor save a hoe? oh my god what about all this? you never told me you moved in girl!”

“keep your voice down nobara” and nobara giggles,

“so it’s true then!” she might as well start jumping from excitement, “oh my god this is like the stuff you see in movies, i’m high key jealous of you rn!” she says as she pokes your arm and you roll your eyes playfully at her

“yeah yeah whatever, what about the woman’s results?”

“oh yeah, she doesn’t have a concussion although she may be a tad bit delusional” she says and you both laugh

“could you walk her out? yuji has been waiting in the parking lot for like an hour complaining”

“yeah, no problem” you say

you both go your separate ways as you are now walking the woman to the entrance as she blabbers on about the details of satoru gojo, as if you cared to know more about the famous satoru gojo. not like you were carrying his child or anything

you both make your way to the checkout desk when you see satoru walk towards you both in his formal work attire rather than the scrubs he was wearing earlier, hes wearing black shoes and dress pants with a blue button up shirt, leaving the top buttons undone

the classic sexy doctor get up

the woman next to you waves at him trying to get his attention and he formally waved at her as he would any patient

“hey Mr. Gojo, last night was amazingggg!” she draws her words out and satoru looks confused and nods and waves her off wishing her a nice day

did he not remember her?

“Y/n, when does your shift end? we should ride home together, suguru and i came together but he left early so do you mind?” he asks turning his attention fully towards you

you see the woman give off a small scoff of jealousy as she marches away

“my shift ends now and yeah sure” you say bluntly

as you both walk silently to the car. watching his tall shadow trail behind you, your curiosity gets the best of you.

“did you uh get her pregnant” you stop in your tracks,

he stops to stand in front of you and gives you a look of confusion, “huh? uh i got you pregnant if that’s what you mean but you know that already obviously so..” he lets out a nervous laugh,

“no uh i mean the girl just now, like um did you uh…finish inside of her…?” you don’t know why you felt so nervous asking about this, was it really your place to ask if he got another woman pregnant? “she said y’all are a thing and you were talking to her about how you can’t wait for her belly to get swell and for her to birth your baby? did you get her pregnant?” you continue, not being able to hold eye contact with him

“oh uh i had no clue who that girl is, must have been a one time thing, pretty sure i just picked her up from a bar, but uh no i didn’t finish inside, pulled out..” he sounds nervous and a little embarrassed.

you nod somehow relieved, maybe you just didn’t wanna live with her, you thought to yourself

“okay…good then, uh let’s go home”

“mhm” he hums

he follows you like a dog as you grab your things and he takes them out of your hand to hold. the car ride home is silent and he places a gentle hand on your stomach softly pinching your hips, you feel a little awkward at first before you let yourself embarrass his touch. you can feel satoru’s eyes on you as you doze off, leaving satoru watching you with a hint of a soft smile across his lips.

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A/N. this took forever to write but im excited on writing the next chapter, which will hopefully be done by thanksgiving, i hope you enjoyed luvs <3

let me know if you want to be on the tag list for this series!

tag list: @jeannieboys @maskedpacific @muimuiwisteria

[terrm9]

so

[onlyhyunjin]

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

(♡) - my personal favorites (🔞) - CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT

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10 DAYS TO FALL IN LOVE - @luvyeni (you and heeseung used to be bestfriends as children — he even told you he'd marry you one day. but then you went to highschool and things changed , he dyed his hair and started hanging out with a new group group of friends. through all that his love never changed for you — has yours changed for him?)

RENT A BOYFRIEND - @jayujus (in which jeon y/n is desperate to find a boyfriend ASAP because she needs a date for her family's mixer. her best friend, ningning, introduces her to a website perfect for this situation!)

CHERRY CHAPSTICK - @angelwonie (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

[merwgue]

Why Feyre as High Lady Could Lead to the Night Court's Downfall (Or, How to Ruin a Court in 10 Easy Steps) comming from someone who is planning to study international relations and whos whole family is quite familiar with it:

Look, we all love Feyre. She's fierce, she's brave, and she can paint a mean flower. But let's be real: as High Lady of the Night Court, she's a Fucking diplomatic nightmare. If there were an award for "How to Piss Off Every High Lord and Their Neighboring Courts," she'd win it. Twice. Here's why Feyre's reign might just bring the Night Court crashing down faster than rhys can growl or cum to the image of his child

1. Explosive Temper and Poor Diplomacy Let’s talk about the High Lords meeting in A Court of Wings and Ruin. Remember that? Feyre’s blow-up at Beron wasn’t just a passionate defense—it was a major diplomatic fuck-up. Yes, Beron was being a total asshole, but diplomacy often means biting your tongue and playing the long game. Feyre's outburst could have easily cost them an alliance with the Autumn Court, potentially turning Beron into an outright enemy. With Hybern on the horizon, losing any potential allies could have been catastrophic. Instead of keeping things cool and trying to find common ground, she let her temper flare, risking everything Rhysand had worked for to keep the courts united. Feyre basically threw a damn match onto a pile of political dynamite.

2. Alienating Potential Allies Ah, the Summer Court fiasco. Remember when Feyre decided it was a good idea to steal from Tarquin? Not just any theft, but a "Hey, let's be friends—JK, I’m taking your most powerful magical artifact" kind of theft. Brilliant move. And then she had the nerve to act all shocked when Tarquin was pissed about it. "What do you mean you're mad I stole from you? We're supposed to be allies!" Gee, I wonder why Tarquin wasn’t thrilled about that little betrayal. It's like borrowing your friend's car and returning it on empty, with a dent in the side. And by "borrow," I mean grand theft auto. Feyre, maybe try not to screw over potential allies next time? Just a thought.

3. Emotional Decision-Making Feyre often lets her emotions drive her decisions. While being passionate isn't inherently bad, it becomes a problem when it overrides logic and strategy, especially in the high-stakes world of Prythian politics. The High Lords meeting is one instance, but it happens repeatedly. Her open hostility toward Tamlin, even if understandable on a personal level, didn't help the broader cause. By pushing him further away instead of seeking some form of truce, she risked driving him into Hybern's arms. A High Lady needs to think beyond personal grudges to what’s best for her people and her court, and Feyre struggles with that balance. You can't just say "screw it" and go off on people when the fate of your entire court is on the line.

4. Ignoring the Complexity of the Night Court And let's not forget the Night Court's lovely little secret: Hewn City. You know, that underground hellhole they basically keep under lock and key. Rhysand and Feyre are all "Oh, look at Velaris, it's so pretty and free!" Meanwhile, half their court is rotting in a glorified dungeon. And what's Feyre's big idea for dealing with Hewn City? Oh, right, pretend it doesn't exist. Smart. Because ignoring a potential uprising within your own court is definitely the way to keep things stable. It's like the French Revolution all over again—if the Night Court were France, then Feyre's approach is like Louis XVI ignoring the starving peasants while hosting extravagant parties. Eventually, ignoring the discontent and keeping people oppressed leads to revolution. Treating Hewn City like an inconvenient problem rather than addressing it is a recipe for disaster.

5. Undermining Rhysand’s Diplomacy Rhysand spent centuries mastering diplomacy—playing the long game, keeping everyone in check. And then comes Feyre, storming in like, "Oh, you spent centuries building these delicate alliances? Well, watch me fuck it up in five minutes." She's like that one friend who always says, "Hold my beer," right before doing something incredibly stupid. Rhys is trying to keep the court from crumbling, and Feyre's out there acting like diplomacy means "scream at the enemy until they go away." Newsflash: That’s not how this works. This isn't some street brawl where whoever yells the loudest wins. It's politics. You know, the art of not making enemies out of every living soul around you?

Conclusion Feyre's got the passion, the guts, and the fighting spirit of a warrior. But when it comes to actually leading a court? She’s like a bull in a china shop, if that bull also happened to have a grudge against every piece of porcelain in the room. Being High Lady isn’t about who's right in the heat of the moment; it's about playing the long game, keeping your people safe, and not, you know, burning bridges with every other court. If she keeps going down this path—alienating allies, ignoring the needs of half her own court, and letting emotions drive her decisions—the Night Court is in serious trouble. Feyre needs to understand that diplomacy isn’t about who can throw the best tantrum. It’s about avoiding a revolution and ensuring the stability of your people. Otherwise, the Night Court might fall not because of an external threat, but because its own leader is too busy screwing things up from the inside.

[ghost-proofbaby]

DO YOU WANNA BE FRIENDS? (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie really hates being on bar. Especially during morning rush. When you not only notice his impending breakdown, but do something about it, he realizes that the two of you might be capable of being more than just coworkers.

warnings: ONE use of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), description of being overstimulated/extremely anxious

wc: 4.5k

a/n: shoutout to all the friends that let me make them fellow victims of the siren <3 also thank you to everyone who showed love the first one shot! i didn't expect that at all so it means the world. hopefully with this part, it makes more sense what i meant by little slices of life! the masterlist will always have the individual one shots listed chronologically.

the full menu

Bar was Eddie’s own personal Hell when he first started. It was chaotic, it was fast paced, and it was simply too much to deal with first thing in the morning (especially on the sparse few hours of sleep he functioned off of). 

He was much better put to use on DTO. Taking orders, stalling perfectly so that whoever was on food could get a jump start, cracking plenty of jokes all while still always perfectly reciting back the customer’s drinks. He thrived on DTO. Even when he would be assigned to “one-manning” drive, which simply meant he handled both taking orders and handing them out the window, he was clearly one of the best.

Nicole knew this. Meg knew this. All the shifts knew this — except the newest shift, Gale, apparently.

Because this morning, a major fuck up had occurred. 

Gale was going over his floor plan for the peak rush, explaining who would be in which position, and Eddie knew something was up the moment you shot him a concerned look from across the room. Initially, it was actually funny, the way your eyes so quickly found his and your nose scrunched microscopically. But by the time Gale had made his rounds to Eddie, he understood that the reaction you’d given him the privilege to witness had not been just something cute – it had been a siren going off from across the store, your attempt to forewarn him of the impending chaos and doom. 

Since that first opening, Eddie has been lucky. Just as he had hoped for, that morning wasn’t the last time he saw you. In fact, he sees so much of you on a weekly basis, he’s sure the Universe is playing a sick joke. It was bound to happen; there’s only so many people who are willingly to be openers (for obvious reasons), and you were one of those brave soldiers. He took Nicole’s advice to heart, he decided to let you slip into pace beside him on the front lines, and he’d been reaping the benefits. 

You’re kind, you’re funny, you make the time pass. You make Eddie feel like the two of you might be friends, or at least could be. And it wasn’t the fake kind of niceties that some of the other baristas would extend only from the moment they clocked in to the moment they clocked out. Your sweetness towards him lasted long past being on the clock. In the parking lot in the early mornings, in the lobby after your shift as the two of you solicited just to get a few more jokes in with Nicole. You’d wait for him and walk out to his car with him. You learned how he likes his coffee, and sometimes made him his preferred drink amidst your opening tasks, only handing it over with a smile and charming, “Drink up, Munson. You’re gonna need it to keep up with me today.” 

God, he fucking liked you. 

A month of openings all tallied up to this moment now, in which you’d just opened him up to the possibility of private, silent conversations in a crowded room. He’d never been on the receiving end of that before. Usually, he was the outsider as glances in a secret language were exchanged. 

Not anymore. Not now that you had your sights set on him. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Gale approaches him slowly, a friendly enough smile on his face. He’d transferred here from another store a few weeks ago, “So, game plan for today’s peak.”

The words lay it on me are on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, but they stick to the roof of his mouth instead. He wasn’t that quick on his toes with most people at work. Half the time, he’s lucky he’s managed any banter with you. 

Blandly, Gale explains how Marissa will be on cafe bar. “And then, I’m going to put myself over on front and warming, try to keep myself flexible for you guys. I’ll have you, Y/N, and Ash run drive today.” 

Eddie pales a little, and just as your eyes had immediately sought out his, he’s looking right over Gale’s shoulder to find you peeking out from around the corner, already in position. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” Gale is oblivious to Eddie’s nerves, “I’ll have you bar, she’ll be your DTO. It’ll be great, you guys are going to kill it.” 

The only thing dying will be our drive times. 

Gale leaves with a quick, encouraging smack to Eddie’s shoulder, telling him to go ahead and head over to the small nook that’s designated for the drive thru as he ‘splits the bars’ – changing the system so that tickets for cafe and mobile orders will expel out from the printer that sits atop the bar facing the front of the store, while any drive thru orders print on the bar hidden there. 

Eddie is in his own personal Hell. Actually, he’s in his own worst conundrum. 

On one hand, he’s thrilled to be able to spend the day in this corner with you. Plenty of times, Nicole will assign you to bar and Eddie to take orders or greet customers on the window, and it’s wonderful. Forced proximity due to the set up of the store, easy conversation during lulls, and abundance of inside jokes shouted between customers. He loves it. But he only loves it because he’s not the one busting out those drinks, already starting on the next iced caramel macchiato as the customer at the speaker box has hardly finished announcing it as their drink of choice. He loves seeing you in your element; you’re quick, fast and always on your own rhythm that keeps those damn drive times that corporate care about so much under a minute. Eddie could never do that – he could never average thirty second wait times, especially when so many customers order so many drinks. 

Today is not his ideal situation. He will be the one trying to juggle all those drinks, trying to find a pace that works for both him and the customers and fucking corporate. 

“You good?” you whisper the moment he steps up around the corner and up to the bar, turning and facing you. Your mirror images of one another – both of you have your lower backs pressed to sticky counters, leaning with arms crossed and already looking defeated before the rush has even begun. 

“I’m gonna fuck it all up,” he blurts out quietly, the girl who will be on window - Ashleigh, Ash for short – not quite joining you two in the corner yet. “Our times are going to suck so badly.” 

If it were anyone else, he would have just shrugged the question off. He would have smiled politely. But it’s you, still bleeding sunshine even after being back from vacation for a full month, and still offering him a reassuring smile even as his pessimism hangs around the space like a dark cloud. 

“Fuck the times,” you immediately say, and he laughs a little, eyes widening in shock at how serious you look right now, “You know what? I think our store has been doing a little too good. I’ve always wanted to see if we could get it up to a five minute window time. Are you down to test my theory today?” 

He can’t help but fully throw his head back at that, smile wide, no laughter audibly escaping him but he can feel it fizzing in his chest. He used to hate that, especially during his first shift with you – the way you could seemingly make him feel so much better about this entire situation. Now he’s just grateful. If he has to stand on the deck of a sinking ship on this terrible Tuesday morning, he’s so glad he’s going down with you. 

It’s the worst moment for Ash to appear between the two of you, looking wildly confused as she asks, “Did you just say five minute window times?” 

You throw your head back, and the laugh that leaves you is the prettiest sound Eddie has ever heard. The fizzling chuckles in his chest burst, and Ash only looks at the two of you as if you were certifiably insane. 

Oh, yeah. He’s very glad that this is the ship he will go down in. 

—

Famous last words. Not even an hour into peak, Eddie is biting down on every positive thought you had fooled him into entertaining. His jaw aches with both stress and regret as his knuckles sting from burning himself again with the steam wand. Honestly, he thinks he burnt himself less his first time on warming, and he still has a scar on his pinky from those damned ovens. 

“We’re just waiting on a-” Ash starts to say to him when she turns and lets the window close, effectively sealing them off from the customer. 

“A grande hot americano, I know,” Eddie cuts her off. He didn’t mean to snap, but his irritation is getting the better of him. An impending meltdown is already crawling beneath his skin due to overstimulation and stress. 

Yeah, he really hates bar. 

When the newest green bean meekly adds on, “With cream and two sugar,” Eddie prepares himself to scream into oblivion. 

Until you interfere. 

He’s just taken his first breath, shallow and vapid as he glares at Ash, when one of your hands comes down on his shoulder, the other carefully slipping the cup that only needs to have hot water added to it from  his grasp and into yours. 

“I can finish this off for you,” you sweetly insist, leaning forward so that your face fills the minimal space between him and Ash, “That okay?”

Something flashes in your eyes. It isn’t the same look any of your other coworkers send him when he’s falling behind, when he feels like he’s drowning in this position. It doesn’t feel as though you’re insisting on finishing the drink out of impatience, a desperate last call to speed Eddie along like some sort of machine, but instead as though you’re genuinely trying to help him. 

And your hand. It’s still on his shoulder, curling carefully as he finally can feel the way your thumb is sweeping back and forth over his shoulder blade. Such a soothing motion, it nearly makes him cry. Between your thumb and hand, your gentle eyes, your sweet perfume that cuts through the nauseating smell of coffee – all of it makes him just want to throw in the towel, step off the bar, and let you hug him while he’s a giant crybaby. He knows you’re the only one here who wouldn’t judge him. He’s witnessed first hand several other coworkers do almost exactly that, as a matter of fact. 

He was still secretly jealous of your coworker Sam and the day that she’d been on the verge of her own breakdown, still had the image of the way you’d softened when you caught sight of her genuine tears and just pulled her into your arms. 

He swears he isn’t down bad as some of the kids would call it. He wasn’t special – everyone wanted hugs from you. 

“That’s fine,” he answers after far too many precious seconds have slipped away between you two, the customer at the window momentarily forgotten. His voice is thick with emotion and he has to blink several times just to eat away at that impending breakdown once more. 

Just make it another few hours. Another few hours, and you can scream and cry all you want in the van. You can lose your damn mind if you so please, if you make it another few hours.

He has to remind himself of this over and over as he lets you finish off that fucking americano, and he takes a few consecutive stickers of nothing but frappucinos. He doesn’t even know the time, but it might be better that way. 

He doesn’t even realize the way you’re still watching him so carefully, and so full of concern. 

Suddenly, though, your voice sounds over the headsets — this time, without a car at the speaker box. You’ve clicked for the private channel, meant just for communication between any of the baristas wearing a headset.

“Hey, Gale?” you sweetly say. 

Eddie finishes the drink he’s working on with shaking hands.

Gale takes several seconds until he finally answers you from where he is in the back, “What’s up?”

“Can we switch up the floor a little bit?” Eddie’s stomach twists immediately, the burn of betrayal causing his shoulders to tense without facing you. Cool. Great. She noticed. She’s doing something about it. She’s about to throw me under the bus. Whatever. “I’m getting tired of DTO, starting to kind of stutter and I can’t hear the customers clearly anymore because my brain is melted.” 

That he didn’t expect. It’s subtle, and a little white lie. You hadn’t been stuttering. Any mishearings were laughed off easily. You were constantly buying Eddie more time to get a head start on the drinks.

You weren’t requesting a switch for your sake.

Gale sighs over the channel, mumbling your name before saying, “It’s the middle of peak, we can’t-“

“What if me and Eddie just switch?” he finally turns to face you at your suggestion. You’re not quite looking at him with pity, but understanding. You’d been there before — overwhelmed and panicked on bar, left out to sea without anyone to throw you an anchor. And you could recognize an anxiety attack from a mile away. “The customers always like him better anyways. And he has better suggestions for drinks-“ 

You’re blatantly lying. You knew Eddie was more comfortable on DTO. You knew he could handle that, even on his bad days. He almost gives in to his urge to hug you out of sheer relief.

“I- Fine. Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Once Gale agrees, you’re instantly logging out of your partner number and sweeping your arm out dramatically for Eddie to take your place at the order screen with a small smile. He moves forward slowly, finally feeling like he can breathe as you walk up to the bar. 

You didn’t need a break from DTO. You’d thrown yourself under the bus to offer him some relief. 

Wordlessly, the two of you transition into your new positions, and it immediately becomes obvious that it was more ideal. You barrel through drinks all while wearing a smile, and although Eddie stays a bit reserved in his interactions with customers as his anxiety settles, he still shows off all his strong suits. Stalling customers with idle chat, lying about checking to see if something was in stock so you could pull extra shots, repeating back drinks multiple times to make sure you heard it correctly. 

It’s seamless. The times that corporate cares about dwindle down to better match the day’s goal, and Eddie’s chest finally loosens. 

You didn’t have to do that. Anyone else wouldn’t have done that.

When the rush has finally passed, both you and Eddie finally in the final stretch of an hour until your shifts end, he finds the nerve to bring it up.

You’re wiping down counters, humming under your breath, when he clears his throat awkwardly, “Uh, thank you. For earlier.” 

“Why are you thanking me?” you ask nonchalantly, shrugging as you stop pretending to be busy, “I really was tired of DTO-“ 

“No, you weren’t,” he stops you from defending your lie, “You… you’re amazing at DTO. Better than me by a landslide.” 

Your entire expression softens from that constant joy and constant reassurance. But the glow of your kindness doesn’t erase with the relaxing of your cheeks. If anything, it simmers and only reaches Eddie even more potently.

You relay your next words with careful consideration, “I’m really not, Eddie. It’s not a competition. I.. do enjoy DTO, but you were stressed. And Gale wasn’t about to change his floor without someone saying something.” 

“If it had been anyone else, they would have told me to suck it up,” he points out.

“But it wasn’t anyone else. It was me, and I don’t think any of us should have to spend our shifts suffering.” 

You leave off a very important detail that you aren’t quite ready for Eddie to be privy to yet — if it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have caved so quickly. You actually probably also would have told anyone else to suck it up, albeit still in a light-hearted and encouraging tone. You would have offered extra help, you would have tried to make jokes to ease the anxiety, but you wouldn’t have just thrown yourself under the bus. 

And yet, when it comes to him, you find yourself going soft. Any affirmativeness that you use during your training, that you usually persist with having with new hires, has melted. 

You hated seeing him so stressed. 

“You know,” Eddie’s nervous to say his next words, but they’re true, “You’re probably my favorite coworker.” 

Your smile is back, radiant and comforting. Eddie’s pride swells that it was his hand that ignited that bit of flame back into you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You’re like a child, looking down bashfully and fiddling with the edges of your apron. He’s sure that any second now, you might start swaying side to side, that your pupils might form into absolute hearts. You visualize exactly how it feels every time he sees that yellow Jeep parked in the lot. 

You bite your lip to break from your shy spell, leaning towards him with a summer glint to your eyes, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m starting to think you’re my favorite too, Munson.” 

A conglomeration of the past month – it feels as though it all comes to a rise in this moment, hitting an unimaginable peak, and he isn’t scared of a sudden drop. There will be no veering or falling down from these heights, no sudden lack of friendliness. He knows it surely the longer he stares into your eyes. If anything, maybe this is actually just a beginning. 

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, unable to contain himself, “I doubt that, Sunshine.” 

The nickname slips out without much thought, but he doesn’t even have time to panic – your grin is painfully wide as you lift a brow. “Wanna bet?”

“Never took you as a gambler.”

“John rubbed off on me.” 

He twists his face, holding back any sexual innuendos, and that’s when it happens. Your mouth falls open, realizing the dirty joke he’s biting down on, and you gasp dramatically. Your hand flies out without second thought, smacking him on his shoulder. 

A smack. That’s what breaks the seal between the two of you. A joking smack on the shoulder at a crude innuendo, and suddenly the unspoken and terribly awkward boundary that should always exist between coworkers is shattered. 

“I lied,” you try to deadpan, but you can’t stop smiling at Eddie’s withheld laughter, “Oh my God, fuck you. That’s gross! You’re officially my least favorite coworker.”

“Yeah, but I bet John’s your favorite customer, right?” 

He’s able to block your second attempt at a slap this time, now close enough that he smells your perfume and sweet shampoo. Smells whatever lotion you use, that lingering and stubborn fragrant chai syrup that’s dried on your arms. You’re giggling shamelessly as you wrestle your wrist out of his grip. He swears, if you’d let him, his fingertips would stay pressed there on your pulse until the two of you conjoined in some twisted way. Like overgrown roots taking back control of abandoned buildings, you’d wrap around him and his ridiculous insinuations. He’d die a happy man. He’s already about to die a happy man as he feels your heart racing, and he almost convinces himself that you feel it too. 

God, Eddie really liked you. He doesn’t care anymore, he’s willing to admit it to himself at the very least. He fucking likes you. He’d be a fool not to. 

His fingers are still wrapped around soft skin when suddenly, Gale rounds the corner, and clears his throat. 

“I, um-” his eyes zero in on the space left behind as Eddie drops your wrist, and you’re quick to tuck it behind your back. It’s as if the two of you are children who have been caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Eddie shoves his own burning fingertips into the pocket of his apron, “I just wanted to say you guys did good today. It’s- uh, you’re both off. So… yeah. Um, good job today.” 

Eddie gets second hand embarrassment from Gale’s stuttering, but you look like you might burst into laughter at any moment. Not teasing chuckles or cruel mockery, but the kind of laughter that occurs when two friends are in trouble, and they avoid each other’s gazes during their scolding in the fear of laughing at an inopportune moment. 

You won’t look his way. It’s exactly that. 

“Thanks,” Eddie forces out, seemingly satisfying Gale as he just nods and scurries off. 

Once you two are left alone in the corner again, you finally look at him and burst into that building laughter. 

Sunshine is fitting for you, he decides, as your laughter fills his lungs with the sun and more. 

—

“So, you don’t live near the store?” you ask, scrunching up your nose cutely as you walk side by side with Eddie across the parking lot towards your cars. Both of you had been eager to get out of the store after Gale’s fiddly dismissal. 

Eddie shakes his head, pulling the straw of his free drink from his mouth, “Nah, twenty minutes out.” 

He’d gotten a caramel frappuccino, emphasis on a blasphemous amount of drizzle, and Ash had nearly castrated him with a glare as she had bustled away on bar. You’d only snorted under your breath and asked for a water. 

“Really?” you stop dead in your tracks, in the center of the parking lot. Eddie can’t lie – it makes him nervous. If any of the usual asshole drivers that usually speed through here decided to arrive, they’d hit you. He has half the mind to reach out and grab your hand, to tug you over to the safe space between the two of your cars, “No way – I live twenty minutes away.” 

He swears his stomach falls to the pavement below, “You live in Hawkins?” 

No. It can’t be possible. He refuses to believe that you could live so close, that you would have been residing so near him this entire time and it took a miserable opening job at some out-of-the-way coffeeshop for him to meet you. You cannot be in Hawkins. Not fucking possible.

“Oh, no,” you shake your head, finally walking over to that space Eddie had deemed safe. The shade from your Jeep stretches only about half way to his van as the sun gets closer to settling into the center of the sky, “Opposite direction.”

“Damn.” 

He can’t help the disappointment; yes, his stomach had dropped at the prospect of having spent years already circling around meeting you, but it’s his heart that sinks as you reveal the actual distance between the two of you. 

At least this means you don’t know anything about his reputation in his hometown. 

“That would’ve been cool, though, right?” you stop and turn to him, kicking as a few of the pebbles on the ground, “If I just so happened to live, like, next door to you or something.”

It would have been Eddie’s innocent crush’s dream come true. To find out his sunny coworker was also his goddamn neighbor.

“Yeah,” he tries to hide his disappointment, continuing on with a shrug, “But if we’re gonna be neighbors, it’s probably better that I live next door to you.” 

You look up at him questioning, “Can I… ask why?” 

“I live in a trailer park.” 

He shouldn’t be handing this information over so easily. He’s one step away from dumping all his childhood traumas onto you. 

And he knows that the others joke that it’s normal, and that there've been many heartfelt conversations on the floor between rushes. But something about this feels more personal – it doesn’t feel like two coworkers just comparing old wounds or exchanging living situations. It feels like two friends just getting to know each other. 

He never would have admitted that to anyone else that works with the two of you. 

You don’t even react, just shrugging as he had to brush off his disappointment. There’s no pity, no disgust. No judgment. It’s just a new piece of the puzzle that is Eddie. 

“Fair enough,” you settle on replying before it looks as if you’ve had a sudden revelation. Eddie swears he sees the lightbulb go off over your head, “You know, no one else knows where I live.”

He finds that hard to believe. They all adore you too much, surely your coworkers would be fumbling over themselves to find out as much about you as they can.

“Really?”

“Really. No one’s ever asked me. And it’s… never really come up.” 

Something about holding this rare piece of information about you makes Eddie want to jump for joy. He wants to hold it close to his chest, tuck it away for safe keepings. He doesn’t really know why. 

But he’s on his way to figuring it out as he says, “I guess it’s not something coworkers really talk about, huh? Probably more friends territory.” 

A slight fib, because plenty of the other baristas have overshared that type of information. The ones that talk too much, that never seem to take a breath or leave a space for people like yourself or Eddie to really insert yourselves into the conversations.

He’d noticed that. You talk quite a bit too, but never about yourself. Always encouraging information out of other people, remembering the little details they share, but it’s never an even exchange. He used to think it was a choice you made, but he’s suddenly wondering if it’s because no one ever cared to listen. 

“I guess so,” you hum. You two should part ways. You climb into your Jeep, Eddie hop into his van. And maybe you’d sit in your respective idle vehicles for a second, even look at each other through tinted windows and make silly faces. But this should be the beginning of the end of your day together. Someone has to leave; one of you should leave. Instead, you just tilt your head curiously at Eddie, and he knows why now he wants to hold you so near and dear and safely as you ask him, “Well, in that case, do you wanna be friends?” 

And – yeah. Eddie does want to be friends. As a matter of fact, he might want to even be more than friends eventually. But for now, this offering is enough. 

He thinks you’ve rubbed off a little on him, because he must be bleeding a little bit of sunshine as he says, “Absolutely.”

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taglist is now closed.

[wordy-little-witch]

Omegaverse content but adding in the seraphim and Omega Buggy content

• Buggy probably wouldn't really like. Broadcast to the world that he's an Omega. I genuinely believe the Roger pirates and other previous era crews were semi old fashioned insofar as Omegas Are To Be Protected, a sort of Don't Ask Don't Tell type of deal. It was never a shameful thing but a safety thing, and if you were secure with your crew, it was fine. But it's a Need To Know Basis and based on personal discretion. Buggy, as the youngest on board, was the baby on top of being the only Omega so the protective urges were compounded.

• some in Buggy's crew knows, I think. He's very adamant that you do what makes you happy but you do NOT judge another for things beyond their control. Any primary and any secondary is welcome with open arms and intercrew relationships are fine so long as everyone keeps it from impacting the crew by and large in anegative way. He doesn't give a single flying fuck. But that said, he also doesn't have a large scale Secret Reveal. His closest people know bc he just vibes on a need to know basis.

• Mohji and Cabaji are Betas, and Alvida is an Alpha. While Buggy's Heats are essentially like menstrual cycles, he also gets slightly needier - it manifests as his temper being shorter, his tears coming quicker, and he's constantly On Edge. He demands SNUGGLES and AFFECTION /j ((honestly he almost never asks for it, but they offer it regardless. While pheromones are slightly lighter in Betas, Cab and Moh are His Pack and Alvida joins the Pack too, so between the three of them, he just kinda goes boneless. It's prime real estate for a lion to snuggle into, too. Win-win))

• When the cross guild starts rolling, Buggy absolutely does not offer information on his Secondary. Mihawk and Croc are both private people as well so they never ask or offer their own. Tensions are high for a while before everyone starts warming up and settling down

• everyone has hit Friendly Status ((pining stage 1)), when the seraphim show up. Rumors start absolutely FLYING because the Big Three are basically co-parenting these kids. Someone makes a remark that "captain Buggy must have blessed Sir Crocodile and Hawkeyes with children to deepen their ties", and it spreads like wild fire. Nobody ever mentions the logistics of it, because what is logic when you worship your clown god.

• S-Hawk (Birdie but open to options ig) and S-Croc (name pending but I like Angel for some reason) overhear it and go "oh papa and father and so of course Buggy must be mama".((Bonus points for cute kid logic of "you read us stories and moms in the stories do this, and you do that so obviously you're our mom"))

• Crocodile and Mihawk, while Angry (read: flustered) at first, eventually warm up to the idea and even begin seeing Buggy in a better light (pining, stage 2). It's a dramatic hot mess. Bets are being placed on the wedding date.

• Buggy actually eventually feels comfortable enough with them that he doesn't feel like he has to hide 24/7/365. So he winds up casually coming out to them, in a manner of speaking, for a stealth thing. They're trying to acquire backers, they're planning on the best method for infiltration, and Mihawk mentions off hand how majority for this sheltered branch of nobility only acknowledge Alpha and Omega couples. Croc just sighs, because his own scent could rarely be mistaken for an Omega, let alone Mihawk, and they don't want to leave it up to just any other person who happens to smell nice enough to pass and-

Buggy just arches a brow. "So I'll just go with one of you. I can Chop my nose, use a prosthetic. It's uncomfortable, but I've done it before."

"Clown what part of "an A-O couple is required" did you not comprehend-?"

"No, I got it all. You and Hawky are both Alphas. You need an Omega who can play the part. I'm right here, dude."

"An omega."

"Yep."

"You?"

"Uh-huh."

"....."

"............"

"Croccy? ...... Hawky....? OhMySeaseAreYouBreathing-?!"

• anyway they do go undercover and Croc and Hawk play rock paper scissors to be Buggy's "husband". Mihawk then threatens to remove Croc's other hand in retribution when he lost. He won't do it, but let it he known it was definitely said.

• the kids btw ADORE Buggy. And Buggy loves them!!! Both the seraphim and other kids. And the kids at the locatipm of the undercover mission. Croc almost chokes on his cigar when he catches a glimpse of Buggy giggling with a noble lady and holding a baby in one arm while cooing over another with the other Omegas.

That's all I have rn ily baaiiii

[blacktofade]

ok i combed through your blog for long enough that i think this is a safe space to do a little discussion of ccs personal lives. if not, you don't have to answer this. but: i know we are all very happy for skizz to be able to go full time with youtube and twitch but i am 99% sure i know what company he worked for — i don't think it's ever been too hard to find the info so maybe most people do? but i've never seen anyone say it directly. if it wasn't common knowledge before, this is going to make it extremely easy to find out — anyway, that company is going through fucking massive layoffs and cutbacks right now, which was announced in private to employees the same day that skizz made his announcement. i don't know how well it lined up other than the day, but the major shit he would have been in either pushed him to jump into professional youtubing and streaming even though it isn't as secure for him as people on the outside might think, or at the very least made the decision feel much better in retrospect.

the graph of the company's stock crash is painful even if you are entirely disconnected from the industry, it is historically awful. like the situation for the company as a whole is not, at this point, bankruptcy bad, but it's not-entirely-unwarranted-comparisons-to-late-90s-early-00s-era-nortel bad. which is… Very Bad. they're cutting approximately 1 out of every 7 employees (15,000 people) over the next couple of months, and in just one day wiped out $30 billion-with-a-b worth of value from the market. it's an absolute nightmare for the people working there, because nobody knows if they're going to be one of the ones getting laid off yet. the company's giving early retirement packages to push out some of higher earning workers, and even if skizz made his decision to leave after knowing the layoffs were coming, the chance he was included in that is very small. but i do hope he got a good deal, if he could.

in conclusion: it's very likely this choice was even scarier than anyone in the fandom previously thought, so… idk everyone please subscribe to skizz on twitch if possible!!!!!

This is absolutely a safe space for CC real life discussions, mostly because I know I'm way more deranged than any anon could be. I know things that would make CCs sweat.

I'm also going to name and shame the company, Intel, because Skizz has mentioned it before, so I'm not considering it a secret -- plus he's no longer there. It's also real shitty what they're doing and my heart goes out to their employees. I dealt with something similar recently and can confirm that these guys will have to wait weeks/months to find out if their job is safe and it will be the most degrading, dehumanizing experience ever.

I keep hemming and hawing about my 1000 IQ assumptions (lmfao), but he 100% knew about the layoff. Whether he heard about it and bounced or whether he took a volunteer deal is up for debate, but there's no way he didn't know it was coming. These companies are not subtle and Skizz is a smart man.

I am quietly praying he was able to take a volunteer deal though, because severance packages at those kinds of companies are WILD. Like, for some actual example numbers, a coworker of mine got 23 weeks of pay (8 weeks base + 15 weeks for years of service), which they received as a lump sum. Skizz says he's been with Intel for 20+ years so he'd be looking at base + 40 weeks. Dude would most likely get a year's salary lump sum (minus taxes), which would definitely help him going the full-time route.

Intel won't be going anywhere anytime soon, but their employees are going to be overworked and underpaid for the foreseeable future and we should be glad that Skizz is free! He's his own boss and, yes, we should all go support him to show he definitely made the right choice! He's such a delight and I will continue to be unwell and horny about him!!

[armoricaroyalty]

Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next

author's note: now here are those wholesome sibling relationships we have all come to love and expect from my story!

Transcript under the cut.

Nakawe Palace // Armorican State Visit - Day 2

REPORTER | ...I'm live outside of Nakawe Palace, where the press and members of the public alike have gathered following unconfirmed reports that Crown Princess Rosalind has, for 3 years, conducted a secret relationship. REPORTER | This afternoon, Uspanian tabloid The Concordia Times broke the story of the Crown Princess's relationship with Komrebigan national—and accused murderer—Hakane Satō, also known as Mary Yokoyama. REPORTER | [offscreen] In 2013, Yokoyama was named as a person of interest in the still-unsolved disappearance of her husband, Noah Satō. She was questioned by Komorebigan police in 2013 and again in 2014, but released without charge. Blackwell Palace has yet to comment on this developing story... MARY | [offscreen] Are you sure this is a good idea? ROSALIND | Do you have a better one? MARY | No, but give me a week— ROSALIND | We don't have a week. ROSALIND | [in Komorebigo] Darling, is everything alright? You seem upset. MARY | [forcing a smile] I'm fine. [knock on door] ROSALIND | That's them, now. ROSALIND | You're late. MARY | Good to see you both. EMILY | Don't look at me! I was ready to go while he was still putting his contacts in. FREDERICK | Sorry. I was late getting back from Canarís. I ran into an old friend... ROSALIND | Well...whatever! Come in! Sit down! We need to talk... ROSALIND | So...I'm sure you've seen the news by now. FREDERICK | Heck, I've seen the reporters. They're still all outside, by the way. EMILY | Frederick... ROSALIND | Can you not be a smug know-it-all for 15 minutes? This is serious. ROSALIND | We don't know how the story got out. We're looking into potential leaks, but in the meantime, we can't allow the press to run with this. The longer it's in the headlines, the worse it'll be for the family. EMILY | I'm so sorry, Your Highness. This must be so difficult— FREDERICK | You've got friends in the press. Can't you get Vance Marshall or one of his cronies to kill this one for you? He's done it before. ROSALIND | It's too late for that. It's all over the Uspanian press and the major Armorican networks have already picked it up. Our only option now is damage control, and we'll need something big to bury this one. ROSALIND | [sighs] We need you. Both of you. EMILY | Both of us? FREDERICK | I don't think I like where this is headed... ROSALIND | [offscreen] The only thing that people love more than a royal scandal is a royal wedding. EMILY | ... FREDERICK | ... FREDERICK | Roz, are you shitting me? EMILY | Frederick— FREDERICK | You want me to propose just to bury an embarrassing story? ROSALIND | What's the big deal? You were going to do it, anyway— FREDERICK | get shit from the press every single day of my life! And you have never once lifted a finger to defend me, but I'm supposed to make major life decisions to spare you a couple weeks of bad press? ROSALIND | [offscreen] I am the Crown Princess— FREDERICK | Yeah! I know! You've never once let anyone forget it. ROSALIND | [offscreen] —I have to be beyond reproach. ROSALIND | Unlike you, I do not have the luxury of making mistakes. Everything I do has to be perfect, for the sake of the entire family! Everyone depends on me, Freddy! Do you really think the Armorican taxpayer would keep paying for your fuck-ups if I wasn't included in the bargain? FREDERICK | Oh, poor you, it must be sOoOo fucking hard being the chosen one! ROSALIND | IT'S NOT MY FAULT I WAS BORN FIRST YOU ENTITLED LITTLE— EMILY | [offscreen] [sobs] FREDERICK | ...Em?

[princess-of-the-corner]

I wonder how the show is going to deal with Marinette keeping Adrien in the dark. Like are they going to do another 'consequences' of Miracle Queen thing where it's just never brought up again or another Gabriel has all the miraculous situation where the show makes a big deal about it during the one to three episode then basically abandon it for the rest of the season

I mean I wouldn't say Gabriel having all the Miraculous was abandoned for the season it was still a big part. But I get what you mean.

And like. I just.

I think /at best/ we'll get a few scenes of Mari going all scrunched kermit face when the subject comes up before eventually coming clean, and Adrien's shocked and angry but it's all worked out and forgiven in a single episode.

And and and and just fuckin.

I don't think I'd have as much problem with keeping it secret from Adrien(I'd still think it's a bad move regardless), if it weren't for the fact that instead of just 'Monarch was defeated and also Gabriel mysteriously disappeared these events have no relation', Maribug's lie included telling the public that Gabriel is a Hero who sacrificed himself to take down Monarch.

Because there's three options here:

1.) No one ever learns, everyone and the narrative treats Gabriel as a 'Hero'.

2.) Adrien and maybe some major characters find out, but they have to be in on the lie and pretend to the public that Gabriel is a Hero when he's actually an awful person who caused this mess. And GOD can you imagine being Adrien in that knowing your father was awful and being fucked up about it but never allowed to express this and constantly hearing from everyone what a good person he is? I'd snap.

3.) The information is released to the public, my bet on it being Lila who does it, and the public goes absolutely insane because /Ladybug lied to them/. She covered up the situation and lied and told them that Gabriel was a Hero when they've in fact been celebrating Monarch and his 'heroic sacrifice to defeat the villain' was just committing suicide.

[jacquesthepigeon]

I know I'm not saying anything new or groundbreaking, but if you think about it, the writers really don't know how to incorporate characters into the narrative unless it is for pointless romantic drama or to be manipulated by Lila.

I'd say the treatment Luka and Kagami got in season 5 is the best example of it.

Kagami got to keep appearing because they used her as, say, a sort of catalyst for Lila's "solo villain" arc. Never mind it made no sense because Kagami had already been akumatised by her actions and was quite literally in Chat Noir's arms when he said she couldn't be trusted back in Oni-chan, or even the fact that after Protection that friendship served no further purpose other than Kagami informing Lila she wasn't invited to the Diamonds Ball because she was a nobody. Because, let's face it, they really didn't need to drag one of the best characters through the mud like that for something that could have been done by either Chloé (by virtue of being Lila's willing accomplice and haughty enough to brag about such a thing) or Gabriel (who at that point was quite done dealing with the brat he himself gave power to in the first place).

And aside from that, she also kept appearing for two reasons: her original, lingering feelings for Adrien and the fact that their parents wanted them to end up together kept feeding the Adrienette drama, and then she got her own share when her character was basically retooled into Félix's girlfriend and willing accomplice.

Compare it to Luka's situation. His only real major role was in Migration because his supportive and mature personality meant he was no longer involved in the romantic aspect of the show, and it would have been even more egregious to have him fall for Lila's lies when he is a living lie detector thanks to his ability to hear people's inner music. Notice how the two have NEVER interacted.

And what happened to him? He was unceremoniously booted for the remainder of the season (except the finale, I guess) despite his very important role of being Ladybug and Chat Noir's secret secret-keeper, which was admittedly a much more compelling angle than "Adrienette: The Star-Crossed Lovers" or "How to Use a Lying 14-Year-Old to Justify Your Terrorist Abusive Father Villain Being Redeemed" routes the season took.

God, this got long.

Legit they had no clue what to do with them and honestly I’m grateful Luka got shipped off to learn magic kung fu in Brazil when the alternative was the huge fucking mess they made with Kagami

If I’d had my way and Adrien was involved with the plot, Kagami (alongside Nino) could’ve served as support for figuring out their parent’s’ evil plans and putting a stop to them. No Lila, no arranged marriage, no Felix, just her and her buds uncovering Evil Secrets.

Similarly, I’d have had Luka (alongside Alya) serve as support for Marinette as she figures out Guardian stuff without the deadbeat daddy drama

[yaknowlikenyah]

how would you go about telling your partner youre into something that youve seen them kinkshaming

cuz like its not a relationship i want to leave nor do i want to keep secrets from them but i also dont want them to a. take it as a joke or b. do that thing where people just stop listening to you and start reacting based off of their bias

thanks big bro 👍

So this is one of those things where the longer you leave it to rot, the more it's going to fester until it becomes a major problem. The last thing you want is to become resentful. Ya know? And the reason that shit happens is because it hurts.

Going into a communication like this there's a couple things you're going to have to keep in mind.

1. Set expectations for reactions.

Set the tone. You don't want them to make fun of you or call you gross or anything, obviously, but you have to communicate what is/isn't expected. Set the discussion up for compassion and make it clear that being teased or ridiculed would make you uncomfortable.

2. State how the thing influences you.

This is the devil. Absolutely the fucking devil, but you have to express what the action in question is doing to you. Yes it hurts you, but "hurt" is abstract and makes it hard for the other person to understand exactly how their actions are influencing you. Does it lower your self esteem? Is what they're doing influencing your thought patterns or making obsessive thoughts worse? Giving you body image issues? If you specify the cause and effect rather than just stating the feeling, communication will be clearer.

3. State a reasonable outcome for resolution

You know the thing and how it hurts you, and now you have to give a suggestion for how you want to fix it. It keeps your S/O (or whoever else) jumping to conclusions on what you want and helps to assuage any rejection sensitive dysphoria or guilt they may have.

So your ending communication will look something like:

"Hey babe, can we talk about something seriously for a second? I want you to hear me out about something that's been making me feel uncomfortable and I'd like if you wouldn't make fun of me for it, but I have that [insert here] kink you've been making fun of. You don't have to like it yourself or do it with me, but I'd appreciate it if you could stop making fun of it around me because it's making me feel gross about kinks I can't control."

The not fun bit of this is that if they react badly, if they make fun of you and double down, you have to think about if you want to be with someone who would make fun of other people like that in the first place and who would double down instead of reacting with compassion. It doesn't have to be a deal breaker, but don't tolerate making yourself more and more palatable just to keep what you think is a good relationship. That's the high speed train to waking up one day and realizing you're miserable trying to be someone else.

[erigold13261]

wait. wait that's. that could work actually. dion & sam would have a weird little dynamic, but i think they'd be able to have a wholesome one. both wholesomely weird and weirdly wholesome.

on the one hand, there's dion. gullible asshole working through psychophobia. repressed nerd and secret sap who's probably experienced some parentification through his life. and then on the other hand we have sam, who is. well.

she's sam. she lives in her own world and somehow her troll logic works. she's weird and unabashedly so. she's an older sister and a weird little gremlin and could possibly become the world's greatest psychic assassin someday. she's honest and hardy, in sharp contrast to dion's repression and struggle to cope with having his life turned upside down.

so consider: sam & dion cooking in the diner together. having banal and benign little arguments. teaching squirrels how to go through hoops. going into the woods to parkour across branches and yell at bears. sam using dion like a fucking stepladder when she needs better vantage. dion initially freaking out over dogen's blastokinesis, but then seeing dogen as a little brother figure because dogen really truly is Just A Little Guy. sam telling dion stuff that isn't really true but she believes it. and then dion believes her wholeheartedly because he's dion. dion helping ground sam, sam helping dion relax. helping him shake off his worries and just be.

consider: sam/dion

YEEEES! I love these so much!

I adore the idea that Sam doesn't fact-check something and fully believes it so she tells Dion it and he believes it. I can see someone correcting him on that fact and both he and Sam are like "no that doesn't sound right, we'll stick with our fact" (like I legit believe the two would think soap makes dirt particles small and that's how soap cleans your hands).

Also, Dion as a step ladder or teaching Sam parkour is so cute!!! I feel like Sam, with their physique, might have been dissuaded from doing something like that without using her psychic ability to help (people can be assholes to heavy-set people, especially teens). Even if she doesn't realize why she is apprehensive to try parkour, I can see Dion just encouraging her without ever taking her weight into question and helping her do the basics without using any psychic powers.

I also love the way that you worded it "Dion helping ground Sam," because I do see Sam as a person to let zer mind really wander. Dion could help Sam figure out ways that are best for staying present without making zer life miserable trying to forcibly focus.

Which takes into your account that Sam could be the greatest psychic assassin, or really any psychic profession, because Sam's abilities probably come so naturally when ze isn't even TRYING to focus, I can see Sam becoming tenfold stronger with Dion's help. Because I am sure Dion has some tricks on focusing, especially one second of dozing off could lead to a MAJOR accident in a circus.

Plus, the idea that Dion could potentially also help ground Dogen is nice to think about! I have a feeling Dogen only ever hangs out with psychics or his family for long periods of times, so having a non-psychic and non-family member there might really help Dogen somehow. Though I do think Dion needs a lot more time dealing with his psychophobia before hanging out long term with Dogen, as we don't want Dion to accidentally scare Dogen or something that would trigger Dogen's blastokenisis. I'm sure Sam would keep Dion safe, but it's always good to be cautious around people who can't control their psychic powers, especially dangerous ones.

So yes. I am very much considering Dion/Sam! They are starting to live in my mind!

[afdinonug]

What if Sarah Never Died?

What If Things Were Different - Chapter 1 - Airfried_DinoNug - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

What If Things Were Different - Request(open) - Wattpad

"The Last Of Us" one shot (Mix between video game and tv show)

August 2019

"Hey old man." Sarahs voice rang through the tiny living room. Sitting on the old grey recliner was her father, Joel. He had spots of grey seeping through his hair. His face, wrinkled from age and stress. Sarah was walking into the living room when she kicked the chair Joel was sitting on.

"I am not that old" Joel responded with a playful annoyance on his lips. Getting up he sat an old, wrinkled magazine that he had reread countless times, on the table. "I heard from Tess that a resistance group is making moves against FEDRA. You uh wouldn't know anything about that would you?" His eyes trained on Sarah, watching her every move.

"Now, why would I, an innocent 19-year-old girl, have anything to do with a resistance group?" She smirked while cutting an apple. Her involvement was no secret in their house. What Joel didn't know, was how involved Sarah actually was.

After a sigh Joel smirked, hidden behind his unkept beard. "I know your involved. I don't think I want to know how involved, but Sarah, I need you to be safe. You know just as well as I, what FEDRA does to resisters." Without communicating what Joel actually meant, Sarah understood. They hung people. To make a statement. Sarah broke the gaze they held. She looked at the warn wood floor. 

"I am being safe dad. Instead of worrying about me, how about you worry about Uncle Tommy and yourself. You two are out running "Errands" when everyone knows you guys are just mercenaries." Sarah runs her fingers through her curly black hair. "I have spent the past 5 years worrying about the both of you. Now I am doing something so you both can stop killing, stealing and doing deals." Sarah raised her voice. She didn't do it often so when Joel straightened his back and took a step back, it wasn't a surprise. Sarah looked at Joel. Her expression was of sullen disappointment. She left her apple slices on the table, turned on her heels and left their apartment. Joel leaned against the living room window and ran his fingers through his speckled hair. He thought to himself on how that conversation took such a major turn. He was ashamed of what Tommy, and he had to do, but they had to do those things to survive. To keep Sarah alive. He knew she wasn't the same 14-year-old girl, but she was still his daughter.

August 2033

Sarah wasn't at home as much, but neither was Joel. Joel and Sarah didn't talk much when they were both at their apartment. Sarah was off working on tasks for the resistance group known as The Fireflies. Joel, he was still running deals, not with Tommy but with Tess.  

Sarah, her black curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, walked into their apartment. It sits empty. Joel must be with Tess, Sarah thought to herself. She audibly scoffs.

"I am doing something to make an actual change, why can't he just see that." She doesn't understand why her father doesn't accept that she is a firefly. She has the key that they need to make a difference. She sits in the old, now torn grey recliner. She needs a runner and the only person she trusts is her father. She knows Joel won't do any business with the fireflies but maybe if she gave him the puppy dog eyes, she used as a child he just might do it. That or she will do the run herself. Its nearing nightfall, instead of waiting for her father to come home, she graps a water and heads to bed.

The front door barges open. Joel walks in, dirty, and sweating head to toe. His hair is now more grey than brown. "Why the hell can't Kirk just do that damn run on his own. We only get 30 rations from it. It's the same fucking run every month." Joel throws his backpack and sweat stained coat on the kitchen table.

"I don't know, maybe it's because he knows you couldn't care less about going outside FEDRA walls, or you know, getting hanged." Tess follows suit. She closes the front door checking to make sure they weren't followed by FEDRA guards. She steps behind Joel and wraps her arms around him. Joel lets his head hang down.

"I do care. I do all of this for you and Sarah." They never talked about what they were to each other, but Joel and Tess were something.

"She isn't 19 anymore Joel. Shes 33. She can handle herself more than you think." Tess had known Sarah since Joel and Sarah had arrived at the Boston quarantine zone 17 years ago. She knew about Sarahs involvement with the fireflies and how much of a fighter Sarah was. Sarah was just as hardheaded as her father. She loved that about them. So arrogant, so stubborn.

"She's right. I'm not a little girl anymore. I can hold my own." Sarah walked into the kitchen. She loved that her dad had Tess to look over him, even if he thought he was looking over Tess. 

Tess took a step back as Joel straightened up. "You're home?" Joel asked with a shakey voice. Seeing Sarah always brought Joel happiness. He remembered that night when the outbreak happened. The soldier pointing his gun at Sarah and him. Ready to shoot to kill. Joel pleading out for the soldier not to kill them, Sarah crying in his arms. Tommy had made it just in the nick of time to save them both. 

Sarah was worried about this conversation might go but it needed to happen. "Yes, but it's for business." Sarah watched as the little bit of happiness on Joels face melted away. "I need you both to help me with something, firefly related. I only trust you two."

"No." Joel was stern. 

"Maybe we should hear her out Joel." Tess was trying and Sarah appreciated that.

"I don't do business with fireflies. I'm sorry but no Sarah." Sarah knew this might happen. She had run this scenario in her head countless times.

"If you don't help me, I'll have to do the run with some idiots who might get me killed. Dad, this could change the course of history please. If it wasn't important i wouldn't have asked for your help." Sarah was worried if her father had still stuck with the same answer. She was hoping that pulling the life card had helped persuade him a little. 

"Don't. You don't get to pull that card Sarah." Joel had pushed back his tears. Sarah knows that was a cheap shot. But it was a cheap shot that worked. After a few moments of unbroken silence. Joel nodded his head. He looked up at Sarah, her light brown skin gleaming in the morning sun. "I need to know what it is we are running, and you, you're not coming along. Me and Tess do this alone."

"I can't tell you. At least not here, I have to show you. And that last part? Its nonnegotiable. I have to run this with you. I'm the only know that knows where to go." Sarah could see on her father's face that he understood. She motioned for Tess and Joel to follow her. 

They left their apartment and walked to the edge of the QC walls. They walked inside an old, abandoned hotel. Down a set of corridors and into a hallway. Outside a set of doors sat three men. they all looked to be Joels age. They unlocked the door and let Sarah, Tess and Joel inside. Inside sat a girl, who didn't look any other than 15, on a ratty, torn bed.

"So what? Are we running this girl? What is she? Some FEDRA leader's daughter?" Joel scoffed at the notion of smuggling a girl.

"Yes. Shes the "package", We need to get her west. Out to St. Louis." Sarah walked towards the girl sitting on the bed. "Are you okay Ellie?" Sarah handed her water and protein bar from her backpack. 

"Who the fuck is this dude? And you know what fuck you old man." Ellie stood up and flipped off Joel. Sarah and Tess had both snickered causing Joel to look at them.

"This is Ellie. She is important dad." She pleaded to Joel with her eyes. "Ellie, this is my father Joel and Tess." Sarah looked over at Ellie and winked. Ellie sat back down with her eyes still stuck on Joel. She quietly opened the protein bar and started eating. Sarah, Joel and Tess walked about out of the room and into the hallway.

"What is the deal, Sarah? Why are we smuggling a girl all the way to St. Louis?" Joel needed answers, he knew Sarah had them.

"Shes immune. She got bit 8 weeks ago, she was fucking around and left the QC. I got some Fireflies out there who think they can make a cure." Sarah knew from the moment it left her mouth that her father wouldn't believe her.

"Bullshit Sarah. No one survives getting infected." Joel barged back into the room where Ellie sits drinking her water. "Let me see it." Joel grabs Ellies water and throws it down. Ellie pulled up the sleeve on her right arm to show a fully healed bite mark. It is scarred. Joel takes a step back and looks at Sarah and Tess. "You're not lying. When do we need to leave?" Joel believes Sarah but is still skeptical. 

"Tonight, Less guards and less patrol." Sarah is relieved that her father and Tess are willing to help her.

The four of them leave the QC in the middle of the night to avoid any FEDRA guards. Ellie won't stop asking Joel questions about what Sarah was like before the outbreak. He sees so much of Sarah in Ellie.

"How did she become immune?" Tess asks Sarah hoping there may be others who are immune as well.

"We're not sure. We think she was just born immune." Sarah always wondered how Ellie become immune and hope the people at the lab in St. Louis can tell them. Sarah zones out while listening to Ellie talk to Joel. She hears Ellie asking Joel why people slept outside willing when they had homes. Sarah laughed, she never thought about how weird the world must be to someone born after the outbreak. While Ellie was making Tess, Joel and Sarah laugh, Ellie had unknowingly stepped on a fungus root. 

"Joel." Tess stops and looks at where Ellies foot had just landed. Joel and Sarah both turned around, their faces drop into despair.

"Run." Sarah yelled at the group. Sarah grabbed Ellie's arm in a hurry. As they are running, they hear a trembling coming from in front of them. They stop dead in their tracks. A small group of infected came up behind them. Ellie screamed. Sarah, Tess and Joel whipped around to stare face to face with the infected. Sarah lets go of Ellies hand to help her father and Tess fight off the small group of infected. Ellie had run inside the small cafe next to them. Sarah followed pursuit. She pushed Ellie towards the back looking for a rear entrance. Tess and Joel had both caught up with them.

"We need to go Sarah." Joel said out of breath. 

"I need you to take Ellie and run." Sarah lifted up her pant leg to show a scratch. Joel and Ellie started to tear up.

"I'm not leaving you!" Joel screamed angrily. He wasn't mad at Sarah, but mad he agreed to let Sarah come along. While he was trying to open the door in the back of the store, Tess put her hand on his shoulder.

"Joel, you have to go, now." Tess said with her soft voice. Joel already knew what that meant. He didn't want to turn around, but he needed to see it for himself. Tess pulled the shirt off her shoulder to reveal a bite taken out of it. Joel let the tears fall onto his cheeks. He couldn't lose anyone. 

"Take Ellie. If she's the last chance we have, you need to keep her safe." Sarah was crying now. The trembling had grown louder, they had 30 seconds at best. She pulled out the grenade she had, and Tess did the same. Sarah pushed Ellie and Joel out the door. "I love you, old man." Sarah said before shutting the door. Joel was stuck in place. Ellie had to throw herself at Joel to get him moving. They ran for what felt like forever. Ellie tripped on a log that had become rotten, causing Joel to stop and pull her up. 

Joel heard the screams from the horde of infected. He turned just in time to see the grenade blasts. It threw Joel and Ellie backwards. Joel hit his head on a rock and passed out.

May 2035

"Joel, wake up. Joel!" Ellie yelled at Joel. Joels eyes fluttered open. "You were mumbling her name in your sleep again." 

It was just a dream. How can you live an entire life in 8 hours, just for it to be a damn dream? Joel hates those dreams. The ones where Sarah never died, ones where the outbreak never happened. If only there was a way to go back in time and redo it all.

The End

[starcrossed-sky]

Also like. We love the image of evil, intentional abuse on this website, but that's not the majority of abuse. Most abusers are Just People who did not think about the ways they were harming the people they had power over.

It's easy for people to internalize "your parents didn't mean to harm you, but they did" and "your older sister was Like That because she had normal people problems and took them out on you" successfully about their growing-up abuse, but then not apply that to the everything else.

You gotta let go of the impulse to shut abusers away from the everyone else, because there is no secret way to determine abuser vs the everyone else. You cannot make an ontologically pure society in which no one is hurt ever, and the sooner you let go of that idea the sooner you can work on healing the actual harm going on around you, including the harm you and other perpetuated in the name of that fake-ass utopia.

That aside: You have to stop constantly trying to martyr yourself in the name of your victims, even if you aren't willing to forgive yourself, in the name of causing less harm. People who are vocally Like That are exhausting to deal with and they hurt people like sandpaper in the bottom of your shoes - sure it's not so bad at first, but walk long enough and your feet come away bloody. You have to let go in order to do better, because people who don't are fucking obnoxious and no one wants to deal with them.

So unless you want to go live on a mountain as a self-flagellating hermit for the rest of your days, brooding about that person who blocked you when you were sixteen and an asshole, you have to let it go. You have to accept that you'll cause harm, and that the appropriate response is to apologize, do what you can to make it right, and try not to do it again. A healthy relationship with yourself is a precondition of being tolerable enough to other people in the long term that they'll keep you around and build relationships with you.

If you didn't come with a healthy relationship with yourself installed, you can build your own. It takes work, but it's a doable task, as long as you don't expect perfection out of yourself right from the get-go. You're a work in progress that finishes the day you die, and you never get to see the final piece. That's just how it is on this bitch of an earth.

the thing is, if your younger self was a bigot or an abuser, u can't make people forgive you. but you still gotta forgive yourself, like that's non-negotiable, dude. that happens before u can even ask the question of earning forgiveness from anyone lese

[crulwrld]

Stew

They say if you’re the smartest person in a room, you need to get out of that room. It rings to me, it’s why I stopped going to bars after getting sober. I’m lighting in a bottle. I’m clever. If I drink, I promise you I’ll end up coked out at the end of the night, getting fucked by a stranger I seduced in the back of an unmarked cab.

I have a boyfriend now, Brandon, he drinks wine on the weekends. He’s a bartender at a fine dining restaurant—a “mixologist,” he professes, so I’m sure he drinks on the job. I can’t say I’m tempted by it. I don’t like being depressed for three days after I drink. It makes me homicidal and suicidal. I also like to think it makes Brandon less conscious than me.

There are three men who I work with at the coffee shop. I’m pretty, they like to listen to me talk about myself. I do lots of things. I paint and draw portraits of people. I put my face in the right light, show the men my work and they say,

“Oh wow, that’s better than I thought it would be!”

Like most men, they’re shocked women can be good at things.

I feel supercharged with powerful emotions, and it makes me become a very rambunctious woman. I scream songs to stay sober. I paint dead animals, maybe a Renaissance woman dismembered by a fierce set of hounds, shredded out next to them, Ora Boras, wilderness. My creative process is not evergreen. It only comes out the way I like when I have more energy than I can handle. I’m very insecure that what I create may say nothing or isn’t worth it. I scrap most of what I conjure, and that makes me very sad. It feels as though my light flickers out almost the instant it’s ignited, I melt into a pool of wax that goes hard and cold.

I hate hearing other people talk about themselves. Try as I might against it, I’m pretty self-absorbed. I can’t avoid getting stuck in the mirror. My camera roll is gluttonous with selfies. It’s true, I nitpick, myself especially. I dissect my own behavior at all times and forget everyone else has their own universe, intelligence inside of them. It’s believable to me that I’m more strategic and on a level of awareness above those around me, and it makes life quite bleak. I was going to be a Gender Studies major in college, but learned quickly after research that I was more in the misandrist camp—but not even that encapsulates how I feel—I despise most everything and everyone, and hate injecting a fluffy, philosophical attitude into my lived experience. I find that stance too altruistic and flighty. I feel like it’s how stupid people, who are confused about who they are, overcompensate. It’s simple: I keep score of how I’ve been wronged and make sure to get back at people, usually by making them feel insecure. Like Lana Del Rey said, “Peace by vengeance brings the end.” I use their secrets and fears as ammunition. You don’t want to tell me a secret and then offend me. Not at all.

I want my existence to make people question the stories they tell themselves. I like to think I have that hypnotic effect. Dilating the pupils.

I used to do cocaine often, daily, I felt very dirty all the time. In mind and body. Though, I do miss how skinny I was on it, food was utterly disgusting to me back then, now, it’s moderately disgusting—and sadly, I just get hungry. Sometimes I feel the gross fat giggle around my body here and there. I’d slice it off if I was rich enough.

One of the times I spent with blow, I had a man I was dealing with, and he left me at a dive bar to go do meth with some wack bitch, it made me feel real shitty. I left him a voicemail, let him know,

“Hey, it’s Monica. Understand, it’s guys like you that make me want to commit suicide. Tell that chick you're with to watch her back, and you should probably watch yours too. See a doctor. Because I have horrible chlamydia, the one with the deep smell. It feels like someone bombed my pussy with mustard gas. So yeah. Y’all can have fun with that.”

It wasn’t true. But he should have to pay for that visit, I thought.

The drugs made me less analytical, but more wild and creative with my way of expressing fury. Colorful lies. Not very mindful. At that point in my life, my mind was like a bunch of knives bound together with rubber bands. When you act out of rage, you humiliate yourself. When you create art out of rage, you embrace yourself. I feel like I chose that lesson to be my purpose. If I’m being honest though, which I guess that’s what I’m doing, telling you all my secrets, I still smoke about a thousand cigarettes a day for the buzz, because consciousness is pretty intolerable, you know?

I think at some point in my childhood my brain hired a bodyguard, sifting through all of my thoughts, keeping me from falling apart while also invalidating my struggle. I’ve been tired for a while of belittling my own emotions. I feel split into two people, like I’m barely fitting in.

As I’ve said, I position myself in the right light at work, I pose when I stand. I’m hyper aware of what and who I look like to other people. I feel like there’s a camera on me at all times, somewhere secret and out in the distance. There’s something rewarding about the attention I garner. People think I’m a cool girl, and I don’t have drugs to fuck that all up for me anymore, to send me on manic tirades. I don’t rage against the machine. I work with the patriarchy to receive advances.

I listen to what the men like and somehow relate that to what I get up to, my path. You can always rely on being interesting. Boys are intimidated by smart and turned off by batshit. There’s a balance in there somewhere. In their eyes, to my understanding, I make cool art, I’m the strong silent type, I’m a reformed bad girl who doesn’t give too much away. Has her finger on the pulse, where she sparks from.

I’ve cheated on my boyfriend twice since I met him. We met a few months ago, while two months into my sober journey. Before I met him I thought it was best I get out of town, save myself the embarrassment from my past life. Most of my old friends still did drugs, so we parted ways. I felt completely alone. But then he came along. I was in the pink cloud, high on sobriety, thought I’d choose a “smart,” “docile” boy with a smaller dick, I thought a flashy sex life wasn’t all it’s cut out to be, at the time.

His best friend Camden works with me at the coffee shop. He’s blonde including his eyebrows and facial hair, he’s built, and he dreams of being a rapper. There’s speculation that he’s bisexual—he has a very seductive energy, also hideous cystic acne on pallid veiny skin. I’d assume from drinking or steroids. He wears Hey Dudes and that disgusts me. He’s a stupid idiot. Once he told me,

“I smoke all day and eat like shit, but it doesn’t affect me. I don’t even have to work out every day, I’m just a mass magnet. The doctors say I have amazing blood work, I’m like Caitlyn Jenner… well, how he used to be, I’m a natural born athlete.”

He’s a rambler. I’d tap him on his hard ass or rub his back with sharp nails as he showed me photos of a new deer he shot. Eventually, I blew him in the back seat of his Jeep truck while listening to $uicideboy$. Crawled on top of him, rested my weight in his lap, and kissed him with his dick on my breath.

He always got high on a weed pen in the cooler at work, surrounded by gallons of milk and whipped cream prepared for later, and we’d talk about how dumb and boring our lovers were. He says I’m cooler, more fresh than his girlfriend. I tell him no one lives up to my standards. Brandon is a fucking snore, I’ll say it. He’s boring. One weird thing about him is that he likes to watch me piss in the shower, or wants me to hold his flaccid penis while he pisses, or, he will piss behind the curtain while I’m in the shower. He says he likes the vulnerability aspect. This is the riskiest he gets. The sex is normal, not painful at all, and his interests include making drinks and listening to self-help podcasts. Sure, he sits and acts like he’s absorbing what I’m saying, but he reminds me of my dad in the way he patronizes me, intellectualizes my emotions, sips from his mug of wine…

“Let’s dig deeper into this…”

“There’s always a bright side…”

“Everything happens for a reason…”

“How you feel is your choice…”

As if he’s a psychotherapist. He’s not. He calls my thoughts “fleeting” and “cascading.” Idiot. Maybe cashapp me motherfucker, maybe then I’ll feel better.

For the past three months, I haven’t been on my medication. My pharmacy and psychiatrist, who I ghosted, had a miscommunication and I just never cared to sort it out. I never bothered to ask about my diagnosis.

The other guy I cheated on Brandon with was a hot Indian maintenance man. He had a wife and kids. He goes by “the maintenance man” in my mind, I must’ve heard his name before but I don’t recall. We would make out often while no one was looking. I brought him to the cooler, too, and held his cock under his pants, finagled, while talking randomly about my plans to unwind after work. Behind black wire eyebrows and a bushy beard, a Carhartt hat, his sun-speckled face was so hopeful and sweet. I love black eyes. He got super huffy and puffy when I was showing Camden attention and fled the coffee shop scene. Sayonara, I thought.

Once, one of the new hires at my job was flirting with Camden, she was a heavy-set Christian with a cross around her neck, her fiddling with it while laughing at everything Camden said. Standing closer and closer, then leaning on the food prep table with her chin in her hands, her elbows sitting in the crumbs and memories of mayonnaise, a foot kicking cheerfully back and forth. He was feeding into it, this upset me. He showed her pictures of the dead deer, too. Oh, wow, how cool. Wow wow wow. Bitch.

I talked to her, acted nice, asked her about what she does in her free time. She said she was on a fitness journey. How she owes this process of “bettering herself” to “god.”

Every day after that I walked into work and talked about how fat I felt, and made sure she heard. It wasn’t true, I’m anything but fat. I look like Mia Goth when I love myself, and Kate Moss when I hate myself. She looked like The Penguin standing next to me. On one of these hilarious days I made sure to catch her and Camden in the break area and lead their conversation towards the beyond, afterlife, karma, “once upon a time,” you know? Lofty thoughts. I went on about how,

“I just don’t think there’s any ‘cosmic supreme being’ that’s up above magically granting blessings and curses. Nothing happens for a reason. The concept of god doesn’t sound ethical, it doesn’t make any actual sense. It’s actually quite desperate and stupid. Spiritual people are like Dumbo with his red feather. Like, stop grasping at meaning and take some accountability like the rest of us. You’re not the second coming of Jesus, you’re just experiencing suffering, cracker. Cut the narrative.”

I enjoyed how uncomfortable she looked. Drained.

I’m miserable every day I work, especially if there’s no one there to flirt with or give me attention. Every movement I make is a pain. I do not like having tasks, and I especially hate being of service to the lardos of my city. It’s genuinely sickening to me, watching them gorge on pastries—pastries as doughy as them, blubbery fat under their chin emulating a busted can of cinnamon rolls, supporting their puffy faces like a neck brace, acned from all the lactose they flood their guts with. Coming up to me at the counter, holding their hands in insecurity over their sliding tummies, wrists pinched in as though squeezed by rubber bands, arms like loaves squishing their breasts inward—man or woman.

“I would like a cookies and cream frappe, no coffee in it please.”

“What size?” I ask.

“The largest you’ve got.”

“Well of course,” I respond, “would you like whipped cream on that?”

I don’t even know why I ask. I already know the answer.

When they turn around I have to look down at my feet, catching a glimpse of their asscrack breaking out of their athleisure makes my stomach turn.

I notice two types of silhouettes in these types of people. One of a stack of doughnuts with legs, the other an upside down apple with legs—and they both seem to flaunt it, bounce back and forth between hips as they hit the world, usually with a limp, ankles gasping for air, too big for their disproportionate feet crammed into extra wide loafers. Slamming their rear down, taking a load off, catching their breath, licking their fingers of cream cheese frosting, then finishing their grown up milkshake at light speed, poking their straw around the bottom of their twenty four-ounce cup to catch any remnants of whip. Greedy greedy greedy. Horrifying. You have to understand, I don’t hate obese people, it’s just the mere fact of having to cater to them, co-opt their disgusting behavior, that highly irritates me.

I’m tired of being a different thing to everybody I meet. I’ve let go of all conscientiousness. Maybe I don’t wanna govern myself all the time and maybe that doesn’t make me a goner or a lost cause or a loose cannon. I just wanna let my hair down. I stopped going to AA meetings, stopped looking for a sponsor, dropped out of school, everyone thinks they can tell you how to be all the time. I was an eleven compared to those AA people, fuck that. Maybe I’m just fine the way I am, people don’t have to like that. I don’t care. My life is dull and frustrating and monotonous without drugs in it. Every day is drab and a duplicate of the last, I’m just seeking a thrill. That’s natural. I’m as whole as possible. Fuck blowing dandelions off the stem. I know how to be me.

Every time I’m around a man or two I’m thinking of ways to seduce them. I’m self-conscious about my facial expression, my hair, the ideas I share. I have no clue what the goal is, though. I’m not sure if I’m being mindful, but what I know for sure is, I’m definitely not being natural. I don’t want them to think that I desire them. I want them to think they have a desire for me, aroused through their own accord. It makes me depressed when I don’t win them over.

Another day comes, a day like any other. Hating opening my eyes in the morning. Hating showering. Hating my job. Sober.

I get off work. I came home and Camden and Brandon were hanging out in the kitchen. Camden’s girlfriend, Alasia, was there too. They were doing mushrooms and offered me some, said it was my choice. I thought, well, I’ve been sober for a proper amount of time. Mushrooms shouldn’t hurt anything, they probably don’t even count as a relapse. Mushrooms and tea, it sounded so sensical. Like some self-development thing, maybe I’d come to some due realizations.

Brandon was drinking a mug full of wine per usual, and I finished it while he wasn’t looking. I already broke my sobriety, might as well go all in.

I was sitting on the rug in Brandon’s room. They were smoking weed and I decided I’d take a few hits of the blunt. Camden blurted to me,

“Look at her go, she’s got it all figured out. You handling yourself okay, Monica?”

Idiot, die. I don’t reply, just stare.

I remember, at one point, I was alone. No one in the room but me. What was past and what is future overlay in the present moment, I begin to understand. I can feel my flesh wrapped around my muscle, like clothing. There was a can of nitrous gas in Brandon’s closet. I took a big gulp of the air. I felt static electricity shoot up and through my head, hit the ceiling, and drop back into my body and through my toes. I felt pressure in the back of my head and saw black nats swarming the edges of my vision. I heard my name, like a choir of whispers,

“Monica?”

I come to, through a widening tunnel, opening up towards a vision of the tapestry on the ceiling. Brandon’s gay tapestry that I hate so much. I had been knocked onto my back. I lean upwards and Brandon and Camden were on the bed, to my left. The bed set’s color was roving between sage and blue-gray. I felt my eyes flex. I put my palms to my face and pressed into my lids.

Alasia is going to walk into the room, I thought. Then, she did. Brandon is staring at me, I thought. I looked at him and he was. I focused into the rug in front of my crossed legs and saw the air multiplying. Molecules spawning from one into two into four into eight. I saw the particles of air generating. Static stacking like the pages of a book. I suspect space and time are one, it feels as though this information is a secret, and I had just pieced together the clues. Music drifted in tactile wavelengths and sounded like moans from the underworld. It made no sense. My phone flashed on at 5:55. I saw spirals of atoms sinking into the screen. There must be alternate, more complex dimensions that are processing through me, revealing themselves to me, I mean, look at the air. It’s multidimensional. I’m seeing sides of consciousness that I didn’t know were available. What dimension did I happen upon? Which page?

I start to think of my cells and how they generate at a rapid pace, how they transform under the sway of trauma, how most everything that takes place is trauma to the human body—humans crave stasis—and any amount of happening changes you, scars you, even if on a microscopic level, and I think of how my neuroplasticity in response to men has taken a perverted turn. I see now that even the smallest of thoughts build up a world that eventually becomes a mindset, micro-decisions sculpt a belief system, my own universe that I project through, and that my understanding of men is anything but neutral, it has skewed in the face of adversity.

I see men as subhuman because, the ones I’ve come across, have had a pattern of making me feel undermined and stupid and subordinate. I’m a walking chasm, an open wound, and trying my best to knock down the patriarchy, peg by peg, man by man. Take control. I’ve made it my life’s purpose. And at the end of the day, as much as I denounce manhood, I’m still putting all my energy and focus into it. I’ve tried using sex as a weapon. I’ve tried to hurt them by scaring them bad enough. I’ve tried to appease them. I’ve thought that if I loosen my screws, I’d get more in touch with some baser, more wild nature. And now I’m here, with too much hatred to hold. A walking trauma response. I’m humiliated by my existence.

Who am I to expect a man to understand my pain? They themselves are traumatized by the patriarchy. Always having a big dick contest with one another. They could never handle the level of criticism they dish out if it were splashed back onto them. Layered over all their insecurities, they’re all up in arms if you so much as suspect that they have a bit of femininity inside. They’re dramatic if you call them dramatic. The ones who do adopt femininity do it performatively, as a persuasion tactic. Meanwhile, their ideal partners are other men in actuality. They’re practically faggots, the lot of them. I read an essay once in school that painted it clearly: They idolize and find kinship in other men and expect sex and servitude from women.

I’ve wanted to create a shocking, spilling slit to escape from this mortal mold, act boldly in a way that says, “I’m here, I’m free, don’t fuck with me.” But now all I am is red-handed. A freak. Everyone freaks me out and that must be a reflection of my internal world. I feel as though the people around me can see my thoughts painting the way I hit the scene, and will catch me analyzing too intently.

Alasia interrupts my flight of thought and begins a sentence that her, Brandon, and Camden throw in a circle.

“I’m”

“Tripping,” Brandon said back.

“So,” Camden said next.

“Hard”

“Right”

“Now”

“Dude,” Alasia concluded the sentence.

I must be losing my mind, I thought. Am I all-knowing? Why are they playing games with me? Am I not in on some joke? All breath ceases. I got up and exited the room, slammed the door shut.

I sat on the floor in front of the door and began questioning my thoughts. When did they have time to craft a plan to make me feel excluded? Is this really happening to me? How am I touching base with the future? What has transpired, and what will continue to transpire—it all seems to happen simultaneously. Years of what my subconscious has absorbed from the lessons it’s faced, those ideas are conjoined in one great, glorious, horrible coil of data that seems to unravel in front of me and have a weight and light body of it’s own. I see my past, and I’m mortified by it, but can’t seem to separate from it fast enough. I have no plan. I want all the idiots that have ever wronged me to just die, and I want everyone I’ve ever wronged to vaporize. I’m feeling my thoughts—not thinking words. If I let the thoughts flow through me, will I see what happens next? What if what’s next is the end?

I see every event as a silver loop linked to the next loop in an infinite chainmail tapestry, the pattern slapped over my skull, deafeningly cold. Each fold influencing the next. That loop affects the other one over there, every situation and action interconnected. We wake up, we go to sleep, the seasons cycle constantly, after soaring on mania we fall short once and hit a depressive stretch, then something comes along to get all high and obsessive for, manic about again, we wash our hands, they grow dirty, we get thirsty then have to piss—it’s all loops.

I can hear them talking about me through the wall. I swear they’re talking mess. I listen intently. It sounds like a group of a thousand people, a crowd or clan laughing at me. Camden was saying I cheated on Brandon with him, joking about it like a standup comedian, and the crowd broke with laughter, excitement to see me fall. I did cheat, but no, it couldn’t be true that he was saying it aloud, and that they were all engaged and listening. Everybody knew. They tricked me. I claw up and down my scalp, trying to rip through the chainmail, to sever myself from this timeline. I’ve been tricked. I swing the door wide.

“You all tricked me!” I yelled, “Alasia, your boyfriend is a whore, he forced himself on me, it wasn’t my choice, I didn’t have a choice! You’re all pieces of shit, making me feel crazy! I’m not crazy! I know what you’re doing!”

If this is what life is like, if I’ve cracked the code, found a higher dimension, and I still hate everything, feel so used, then I don’t wanna be here anymore, I want to return to the source from which I originate to save myself from all the humiliation I’ve ever experienced. Everything happens in a vacuum. I feel as though everyone I’ve ever known is here to make me the fool, yet none of them hear me crying out for help. Begging to be understood. It’s like I’m invisible yet the center of everyone’s universe. Like I’m on the operating table, cut open, and my insides are being broadcast live on the laptops of everyone I’ve ever encountered. I feel objectified, completely ashamed. I touch my chest to make sure I feel a beat. I don’t know where I am anymore. I’m self-destructing. Coming undone. From the most cavernous points of my being, I understand that I need to be isolated from society.

I jet to the bathroom and lock myself inside. I projectile all around and up and over the toilet. I sit myself on the toilet seat, vomit sticking to the backs of my thighs. The vomit seems to swell and slither as though alive on the tile, I hear it creep. I rested my head in my hands and slipped slowly to the ground. I hobbled on my knees over to the tub and ran a bath. I stumbled to grab my razor and slashed my thighs with it back and forth until I saw flesh irritate and rise, it looks like cottage cheese. It’s so ugly, I don’t want to look damaged. I’d rather get shot in the head then cut myself to death. It stings. Can I go back? No.

I try to remember my name but it’s lost. I don’t think my name is true to me anymore. I don’t know anyone’s true name. I don’t remember my family’s faces. I’ve lost the plot. Everything is useless, in this moment. I’m self-destructing. I’m self-destructing. I’m self-destructing. My mind floods with random artifacts and information, clues to who I am, I hear them loud and clear, spoken out to me in my own voice. My name is Monica, yes, Monica. I hate men. I paint. I was once a drug addict. I have regrets. These are the things that make me human. I can feel my eyeballs shoot back and forth in their sockets, they seem to pulsate. I bang my skull into the side of the tub because it’s all too much, readjust, Monica, readjust. I cup my hands under the water and bring it to my mouth. All slips into darkness.

~

I wake up in a new day laying in a bath full of murky pink water, strands of skin afloat, brown clumpy flecks of what I understand to be feces. I submerge myself in it once, keep my head underwater and tousle it. I don’t understand consciousness. I get out, barely dry off, and don’t drain the water. I take a moment of silence, in awe of the grotesque toilet.

I text my manager. I’m quitting my job. I think of calling Alasia and apologizing but I don’t have the guts. Brandon isn’t home, no one is. I boil a pot of water, my wet hair falls forth into it and the steam opens up my face. I slice vegetables in very conscious symmetrical sections. I push into the point of the blade until a dot of blood wells up. It’s sharp, very sharp. Hot bubbles snap around and stir in my intestines, like water bugs, wafts of strong acid double over themselves, rumble from the caverns of my guttural void, and fizz comes in sheets that reach and dissolve at the top, I can imagine it—taste the reflux on my teeth. I stare deep into the pot’s bloating tide. I have a clear, shocked mind. Whiplash. I make a stew. I make stew.

[helloconfusingfeelings]

have you ever experienced confiding in someone that you trust fully but then watch them become a stranger to you and wonder if your secrets are still safe with them?

I’ve been burned in the past by people using the things I tell them against me so now I am very conscious of who I tell my secrets to. I'm pretty good at keeping my deepest secrects really close by so nearly anything that I fear people knowing about, almost no one knows. But, I can tell you about times I’ve been betrayed

For 6 years, I had a bestest friend. It was me and her against the world. She knew me better than anyone ever had, and I used to worry that she would know me better than anyone ever will. One day, she met cooler friends and stopped liking me. I think she felt too bad telling me that the reason she was ignoring me was because she stopped liking me, so instead she told me that she was going through some major mental health issues. She said she could hang out with other people because they couldn’t tell how bad she was doing, but me and her were so deeply close that I would be able to tell and she wasn’t able to face that. It was a lie, she just stopped liking me. But she kept telling me this for about 5 months whenever I would check up on her and ask to hang out.

When I finally got her to admit that she just stopped liking me, she threw a bunch of things I had confided to her, in my face. She told me that the reason why she hadn’t invited me to hang out with all her new friends was because I had anxiety and that she didn’t want to have to “babysit” me. Those exact words. It just sucks because of all the things I did for her. All the times she was depressed at night and I let her come to my house to sleep over. All the times we would have deep talks about our mental health and would try to grow together. Once the friendship was over, she just threw it in my face. I’m more guarded now with those things. I try to hide my anxiety from people because I don’t want to burden them in the way that she felt burdened by me.

Another example of getting burned was when I first lost my v-card. I lived in a dorm and was extremely close with 6 girls who lived on my floor. When I first had sex, I told the one girl who I felt would be the least judgy. She was very sexually active and open about it so I felt completely safe telling her. Having sex was a big deal to me because I have some intimacy issues I was really struggling with and had confided in her about that. She was the only person I told.

Well, the night after I told her I was in a room with my boyfriend at the time and about 7ish other random guys. Most of whom I did not know. She got mad at my bf for something that he didn’t do. (Very long unimportant story. Basically the girls on the floor were pulling really mean pranks on my bf and one of the boys responded with a note calling her a cheater because she would cheat on her fiancé a bunch. But she thought my bf wrote the note so she got mad at him) She stormed into this room full of guys and started screaming about how he is only dating me because he wants sex and how he finally convinced me to have sex. Screaming about how after he fucks me a few times he’s just gonna leave me in the dirt. Stuff like that. She meant it as a way to get back at him, not to hurt me but holy fuck, it was fucking terrible.

I have major intimacy problems, and a part of that is this shameful feeling I get. I had only felt comfortable telling one person about how I had sex. She told a room full of men, that I not only had sex, but I was just being used for sex. Literally terrible. All the other girls were also mad at me because I kept it a secret from them and didn’t tell them I had lost my virginity. So basically, just a terrible situation LOL. I stayed friends with those girls for a while because, I lived with them and had no one else. They ended up being actual terrible people. I have more crazyyyy stories about them that I could say sometime haha