#i love you psychopath creek

[ohposhers]

He's a keeper!

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Hey I love your work so much!!

I was thinking of maybe a Mike Schmidt x reader where the reader is all like “I’m not good enough for you, I don’t deserve you” stuff and then like Mike makes it up to the reader to show them that they are more than enough 🫶

Sure, but it's gonna hurt!

Blue Sunrise

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: All is well, yet you aren't. A fact that disturbs and irritates you so, even if it shouldn't.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns for Reader, SFW with brief mentions of smut, pre-established relationship, set during the movie but that's honestly not very relevant, hurt/comfort, Reader and Mike both have PTSD, this isn't projection, bed rotting, depression, self-loathing, night terrors/nightmares, panic attacks, sleep deprivation, mentions of medication, lack of self care, slight self-harm (scratching), breakdown, nosebleed.

Notes: *in sonic snapcube dub voice* heyyyyyyyyyyyy what's upppppppppppppp it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (STOP!!)

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6:34 A.M.

The dawn is gentle, the sky a soft blue behind the thin, cheap blinds that cover the bedroom window not that far in front of me. If I wanted, I could get up and open the window, revealing the surely beautiful and gorgeous sunrise that waits for me just outside the blinds.

But I don't. And I won't.

Birds sing gently outside, waking up and fliting about here and there. It's my favorite part of the day, quite frankly. When I can, I open the window to allow in the fresh, cool air, moist with the morning dew, unmuffling the bird's songs as I drift off to sleep, my schedule mostly in tune with Mike's for his night shift. Sometimes I manage to stay awake to greet him when he returns home. It's always nice when I do. His smile is lazy, his strides long and slow as he makes his way to the bed, peeling off his work clothes and crawling under the covers with me. Sometimes he'll press himself against me, his lips finding my neck as his hand dives between my thighs, his fingers trained on one goal as he murmurs against my skin how much he's missed me. Sometimes I wake to this.

There's a part of me that wishes he'd do this today just so I wouldn't have to think.

The lock on the front door rattles as someone attempts to insert a key into the hole. It doesn't matter how long he's lived here or how he uses those keys every morning, he still takes a moment to make sure he's using the right one, and on the first try he usually isn't. So it takes him a solid minute to unlock the door and enter the house. If we had dogs, they'd surely drive us insane from his routine. It slightly drives me insane already. But I'm technically not even supposed to be awake, so I never mention it.

When Mike finally enters the house, the first thing I hear after the satisfying break of the doors seal ringing throughout the living room is a deep sigh as Mike's backpack lands in front of the coat rack. He should be quieter about setting it down. I would be. But I think he assumes we should be so deep in sleep it really wouldn't matter, and it honestly doesn't make much noise. Just a slightly dull 'thud' against the thinly carpeted floor.

Next I can hear his car keys land in the bowl they're meant for. Again, he's a bit too loud with it all. At least, while people are sleeping. But it's not really a bother. In a way, I like it. It gives me a routine to memorize, his sounds before he'll trail to our room and come press himself against me.

The rocking recliner creeks softly as he sits in it, lazily undoing the laces on his boots before he tosses them towards the coat rack. And next he'll duck his head into the fridge I'm sure and look for the leftovers I put into a big bowl for him to warm up - which he won't, because he's a psychopath who likes cold food. - and then when my alarm goes off, he'll come to wake me up, rising from the old couch where he's very quietly reading his book while he eats and do whatever he has to do to prevent me from slipping back into sleep. He's very good at that job. Especially when he uses his tongue.

But today there's a break in the routine. Today, his footsteps are padding towards our room, the door quietly opening as he slips in. I can hear him let out a soft sigh as he tugs on his hoodie, pulling it off and then discarding of his jeans, which muffle the clack of his belt buckle as he slips them off. Left in his undershirt and boxers, he crosses the room to open the blinds and the window, letting in the fresh air and leaning against the thin windowstill for a moment. Now, I can see him.

He looks rested, a little more than he should for having just finished a night shift. I keep telling him he's going to get fired, but he always wiggles his way out of that conversation. The bags usually under his eyes aren't too deep this morning, which while problematic is relieving. His skin is pale blue from the dawns light that pours into the room. His dark curls are more thick on the top of his head, clumped together from him not brushing them after his shower. He must've used too much conditioner, because his hair also looks thicker than it usually does. The breeze blows his oversized pale blue shirt against his chest as he leans forward, allowing his eyes to close as he takes in a deep breath. It feels like an overly private moment. Like I've intruded by watching him. I don't see him like this much when he isn't alone. When he's with me or Abby, he's alert. Somewhat on guard. It's like he's watching us to make sure we're okay. He's too used to things falling apart in an instant. But when he's alone, physically or emotionally, the walls crumble away to reveal a man who enjoys peace. Who smiles softly as he bends down low, resting his chin upon his arms, letting the dawn greet him and being the supposed first in the house to greet the dawn. And I feel like a stalker for watching him. A scene that feels as if I've stolen what will now only exist deep in my mind for when I want to remember one of the few times he has truly ever looked at peace with the world. It's a scene out of a painting. As private as a prayer. I should grant him more privacy, but I don't. In a captivated and enchanted way, I can't.

I'd never tell him this, but in this moment he looks like his mother. And not in the sense of him being her son. No, based off of the few photos I've seen of her in more private, intimate instances, like when she was holding a very small Mike on her lap on his second birthday, or when Mike's father had stolen a photo during their honeymoon when she wasn't looking, Mike looks just like her. Quiet, serene, not hiding anything from anyone because there's no need. At this moment it is just him and the gentle, late winter breeze that makes my nose begin to sting. He's beautiful. Just like she was.

The moment comes to an end, and now it is just a moment that exists only within my mind as his eyes open. The blue dawn brings out the green in his eyes that's usually hidden by artificial light that overpowers the amber, turning them mostly black in some instances. That's the color I thought they were until I saw him in proper daylight. His long lashes bat once, twice in an almost sleepy manner as he shifts his focus, now turning his head to look at me. I shut my eyes quickly, my canines biting into my tongue to force myself to keep a straight face. But it's too late. We made eye contact, even if it was only for a second, and now he knows I'm awake.

"Sweetheart?" He whispers softly, his voice low and slightly gravelly in the way it always is. His 's' and 't's just a tad sharp, clear as always when he speaks. I hear the floor groan as he pads towards me.

I don't speak. I'm not supposed to be awake. I should be asleep, he would rather I was asleep. I tried to be asleep.

He stops in front of me, I can hear the floor groan louder as he crouches in front of me. He's trying to decide if I'm awake or not, if maybe he'd been tricked into thinking we made eye contact. But something convinces him he hasn't, and the bed sinks as he places a hand upon the mattress to support his weight while he kisses my temple.

"Hi," he whispers against my skin, placing another kiss just above the curve of my brow. "Good morning." He places another kiss on the space between my brows, his lips now trailing up to the middle of my forehead. "You look so pretty like this."

Like what? My skin shining with oil, my nose dirty, my body heavy from not having moved?

Something makes him pause when his lips find my cheek. He keeps his lips pressed against my skin for a moment before he pulls away, licking his lips as he looks closer at me.

"Hey," he whispers softly, a finger finding my chin. "Open your eyes."

I don't want to. When I do he'll instantly know what I've been doing, and I don't want to handle it. I don't want to deal with it.

His hand slips under my head, between my cheek and my pillow.

"Sweetheart, your pillow's wet," he says in quiet surprise. "Open your eyes, talk to me."

Hesitatingly, I obey. Cracking my eyes open and trying not to reveal how horrid the dryness in them feels after allowing them rest for a few moments after keeping them open for what could have been hours at this point. Mike's face is inches from mine, his brows furrowed in concern as his eyes scan for other obvious signs of distress.

"Hi," I croak in a tired, unused voice as I try to pretend all is well. Mike unfortunately knows better.

"What happened?" He asks concerningly, taking in the tone he does whenever Abby is upset, fretting over me like I'm an injured child as both of his hands cup my face, his lips finding what he's confirmed are thin, itchy and salty tear tracks, placing several, feather-light kisses along them.

"Nothing," I answer honestly, my voice still cracking. "I'm fine."

"Your eyes are red, baby," he says softly, pulling away to look at me again while his body inches closer. "You look like you've been crying for hours."

Ha. I wish. If I had been, maybe I'd feel better about everything. But instead, I've been lying here since Abby went to bed, feeling numb and dead internally as I willed myself to be upset about anything. Work, bills, the color of the walls. I'd succeeded maybe twice, little tears streaming down my face for a minute or two. But then they would stop, and it would feel as though I couldn't cry. Really cry. Like there was some emotional, maybe physical block preventing me from just truly letting all of my emotions out in a possibly hysterical fit. One that would mean I could connect to my humanity. I don't know what's wrong with me. So, instead I just say "I haven't cried."

Mike opens his mouth to call bullshit, but his brow furrows tighter as he thinks. "What's wrong?" He asks again, now lifting my head to allow one arm to slip underneath so I can lay upon it.

"Nothing," I answer again, truly unsure of what to say. "I'm really okay."

And I am. Work is fine, I am fine. Friends are fine. I don't have entitlement to be upset.

"Is it another episode?" Mike asks softly, now pulling his body onto the bed to lie next to me, fully committed to being partner of the year over here. Ugh. Great.

"No," I answer quickly, averting my gaze. Mike's hand cups my cheek, his body cool compared to mine. I'm soaked in sweat from sleeping - read: laying motionless on the bed since 9:30. - in too warm of clothes in too warm of a room under too warm of blankets. I probably stink. Meanwhile the morning air makes Mike feel refreshing. He's perfect. I'm a mess.

"It's okay if it is," Mike says softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of if-"

"I'm not having an episode," I say firmly, cutting him off as though it will solidify my statement more than his if I finish mine first. "I'm just not."

I don't pretend to be perfect. I'm not, and I never will be. I know that's okay. I know episodes happen, and that I'll be okay. I've been so much better lately on my new schedule. I'm working, I'm happy.

I have absolutely no good reason to be in the midst of a depression episode. One where the memories won't leave my mind, where I can't sleep, can't think about anything but the past. It plays in my head over and over again, and I can't stop it. Even though I try. I read, I journal, I bathe. But I don't feel real. People don't feel real. Mike is disorienting in the sense that he is the only thing that truly feels real. Where the pale color of the sheets seems hypnotic, his slightly tan skin contrasts to remind me this place really does exist. The furniture and details of the room seem as real as something from a video game, renderings that aren't as realistic as they could be that blend into the wall more as you look. Flat. Nothing. But the freckles on his nose are real. Strikingly real. Overly real. It's as though someone took their time to place each one, carefully deciding their color, their opacity, their placement. I want and love each one, but at this moment they slightly torture me by drawing me into a comforting trap.

"I haven't had an episode in over a month, I'm better," I attempt to say in a firm, solid voice. But I'm too tired, too worn out. My chest burns both from anxiety induced heartburn and how shallow my breathing has been for the past several hours. Mike looks sad, and I hate that. Deeply.

"You have been doing better," he says softly, like a reassuring parent. "I've seen that. And I'm so proud of you."

But I still have this. I'm still like this. I still can't have people wrap their arms around me from behind because I'm instantly taken back to when it would end in me collapsed on the ground, panting, crying, calling out for help that just wouldn't come. I still can't wear shirts with too tight of collars because it always end with me half naked, ripping the shirt off while hyperventilating. That was how I had to tell Mike. For our first Christmas together he bought me this beautiful turtleneck, knowing I liked the style but didn't own many. A dark evergreen color, affordable but a lovely tight-knit material, I adored the thing. But the moment the shirt was over my head, the neck felt like a hand suffocating me, and though I tried to tolerate it fie as long as I could, it only took one casual graze of his hand along my back to send me reeling into a corner, hyperventilating, sobbing, blubbering like a terrified child as I clawed at my neck while he tried to get it off of me.

'I'm so proud of you.' The statement feels like a backhanded reward. It feels as though I'm an idiotic child who just can't learn their ABC's or basic fundamental math. It feels like I'm a small toddler surrounded by adults looking at me full of pity in their eyes while they think 'well, you'll never be normal by any means. But maybe one day if you're lucky, you'll work in a Subway.' But they don't tell me this. They just praise me for existing. 'You woke up today! You put on clothes today! You didn't kill yourself!' It makes me want to scream. Yes, even at him. I want to grab him by his shirt and scream until my voice is shattered 'don't praise me for the bare minimum! I'm not a child!'

But I know he's not. I know he feels the same way when he slips back in progress as well. There was a solid month last year where Mike's insurance refused to pay for his sleep medication due to some paperwork slip and such, something they eventually realized was a complete blip on their end. But that month was hell for Mike, who could barely sleep well even with the medication. His easy smirks were replaced with cracked lips, skin raw from constant biting. His eyes were filled with paranoia from lack of sleep, and worse were the night terrors. Mike didn't even know he was still capable of having them, usually sedated by his meds well enough that if there was a nightmare, he just stayed asleep. At worst he'd wake up in a haze, maybe a very short yelp if anything. But without his meds, it was screaming. Constant screaming. There were nights he would wake after only an hour and he'd start, his voice shrill and reverberating off the walls as he thrashed in the bed. You couldn't console him, touch made him worse. When it happened, you simply had to leave the room and pray he would be okay. The episode could last anywhere from five minutes to an hour, and you would know it was over when all you could hear was broken sobbing, quiet and childlike in nature. Then I would return to the room, and there he'd be. Sometimes wrapped in blankets, sometimes his shirt torn off of himself. Usually sitting either in the dark corner of the room or on the floor of our closet. Red, angry marks would trail along his skin from clawing at himself with his uneven nails, some of them being actual cuts he'd managed in his terror. I'd carefully clean his cuts with cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide while he silently stared ahead, too ashamed to speak or make eye contact with me. And too terrified to sleep again.

Sleep deprivation didn't help, either. One day I saw him with a Redbull stuck in his hand, seemingly never empty despite how much he drank from it. At first I thought it was one, than I realized it was three, then I realized I didn't really know what number he was on. It was surprising how well he could take the new, unusual load of caffeine that tastes sickly sweet without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. I didn't realize he was trying to starve off sleep until the next morning when his leg was bouncing a mile a minute and he was snapping at every little thing. That day he had a breakdown over dropping an unpeeled onion. And that's when it slipped out.

I didn't judge him. I was terrified for him, but I didn't judge him. And I could tell the same was true for him when I would have my slips, though mine looked different. Mine looked like a lack of self care and rotting in our bed, staring pointlessly ahead until he would lift me off the bed and carefully guide me to a warm bath, where he'd gently wash my skin with a soft rag like I was a newborn while I stared ahead at nothing. At this point we had learned to tell the oncoming signs of each others episodes, and how to starve them off. And if we couldn't, how to help each other through them.

Usually, I don't mind. But today, it hurts. It all hurts.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks me gently, his thumb gliding over my cheekbone as he wraps me in his embrace, careful of where he places his hands on my person. Like I'm a bomb.

I don't want to be treated like this anymore.

"Yes," I sigh in an irritated voice, like it's the most inconvenient thing he should ask me such a question. But I haven't. I feel empty and yet too full at the same time, and guilt pounds behind my left eye with the ferocity of a headache that I can't just mother myself.

Mike doesn't believe me. He'll pretend he does, but the press of his lips betray him as he takes a deep breath in like he's trying to tell what wire to cut next.

"Would you like to have breakfast with me?" He asks softly, his thumb still stroking just below the raw corner of my eye. It burns. All of it.

'No,' I snap in my head. But I just tighten my jaw and press my own lips together.

"I'm not really hungry, but thank you," I say in a tight voice. Now he's going to pretend that's okay, and he'll go get his breakfast. Then he'll pretend he can't finish it all, joke lightly and say I gave him too big of a portion even though he eats like he's still a growing teenager, and offer me little bites as he "tries" to finish the rest, then eventually trick me into finishing it. He isn't slick, and I'm not a child.

"Hey," he says in a light whisper. "I was thinking maybe we could go out today? All three of us? Or I could call Max, see if she'll watch Abs for a little bit so we can get away?"

Distraction. Cute. I don't need it.

"That could be nice," I admit through half gritted teeth, not meeting his eyes. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," he says too quickly, obviously relieved to have a straw to grasp at. "Your choice."

Guilt twists in my chest like an alien creature settled in my lungs, burning as it begins to slither its way towards my throat to suffocate me on its wrath. He doesn't need to do this. Can't he see how well I'm doing?

"How was work?" He asks me in an attempt to keep me talking. Mike doesn't like silence, not like this. Not really any time. There's always noise throughout the house, whether it's a show on in the background or white noise from his cassette player. He can't stand silence. Especially from people.

"Work was..." Fine? The usual? Non-eventful?

"Good," I decide. Mike presses his lips together again. Stop doing that.

"Yeah?" He asks in a slightly tight voice.

"Yeah," I confirm in a tighter voice.

"You didn't... call out or anything?"

My bottom left back molar feels like it might snap from how tight my jaw is. "Why?" I ask, venom unintentionally creeping in.

"Just asking," he says quickly.

"Why?" I press harder, wanting to know who told on me. Abby hasn't even had the chance to speak with him.

'It's because he knows your patterns,' I think. 'He's trying to gage how serious this is.'

"Maybe we could go out for breakfast? We can wait until Abby wakes up, go get some Waffle Hous-"

"I'm not having an episode," I snap quickly, more harsh than I intended. My tone makes him flinch slightly, his eyes shutting for a moment as he takes another breath in. Now I'm scared he'll pull away.

"We... don't have to talk about this right now," he says softly, opening his eyes again and wrapping his arm around me tighter. "Let's just focus on breakfast."

The guilt pounds in my kidneys, which are sore since I haven't left the bed since I laid down after putting Abby to sleep, but I did have a full water bottle around 3:00 in the morning. It's not Mike's fault I backtracked. He's just trying to be nice. I'm the asshole here.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, dropping my gaze and biting my tongue between my canines again to stop the tears that are now willing to come freely to burn my eyes during such an inappropriate moment.

"It's okay," Mike says softly, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Don't even think about it."

'Don't even think about the fact he's just trying to be a decent person and you can't even say 'thank you,'' a grating voice in my head chides me. 'What, you're too good for a free meal?'

"I'm sorry," I repeat softer, my nails digging into my wrist that I'm holding to keep control over myself. Mike's hand is searching for mine, ready to pry it away to prevent me from doing what I need to to prevent the waterworks.

"Hey." Stop with the 'hey's. "I said it's alright, you're okay."

It's all bad. Everything's bad, and it's not going to get better. I keep thinking I'll get better, I keep thinking I'll be okay. But every two steps forward is one step back and I can't keep doing this redundant bullshit for the rest of my life. Am I going to be 40 at the office Christmas party sneaking off to freak out in the bathroom because something triggered me and I just can't get a grip on things? Am I even going to make it to 40?

Mike is comforting me, cradling my head to his chest and rocking me back and forth. And his shirt is wet. I don't like that his shirt is wet, it should be dry. Why is it fucking wet?

"It's okay," he's whispering in my hair while horrid choking sounds come from somewhere around us. Maybe the other room? "You're alright, it's okay."

I'm aware it's alright, I'm aware it's okay. Why are you wet? Why does my head hurt?

"I can't- sleep," my voice chokes out between guttural sobs, my face pressed into his chest. "It's all nightmares."

Oh. Shit. That's me. The wetness, I did that. My bad.

"I know, it's okay. How long?" Mike asks softly. What, are you gonna call my therapist?

"A week," I moan into his chest. My ribs expand with each recycled breath I steal from against his chest, and I can feel him trying to gently tug me away so I can get one with fresh, cold air instead. I don't let him. My lungs burn more. "They just won't stop."

"It's okay, it's only temporary," he says softly, his hand pushing away some of the blanket to relieve me of the boiling warmth underneath. The cold air is refreshing against my skin, even through my clothes are soaked with stinking sweat.

"No, it's not!" I cry hysterically into his chest. "They don't go away. None of it goes away. I want it to go away!"

He's nodding, rubbing circles on my back as I grip his shirt hard enough it may stretch.

"It'll get better. It did for awhile," he reminds me.

"But I'm back here. I always end up back here. I was doing so good!" I sob, feeling the wetness on his shirt begin to slightly thicken, probably due to snot. I try to sniff it back into my sinuses, but I think that just draws his attention to the new fluid he's covered in.

"That's okay. You'll do even better next time. And if you don't, that's okay too." Don't say what I think you're going to say. Do not. Michael, I'm serious, don't- "I'm still proud of you."

Fuck. Ooooooff!

This is the real release of my emotions. Now I'm gasping, choking, sobbing, making horrible sounds that sound like a European ambulance siren wailing through the streets to announce someone's dying on the way to the hospital. My head throbs with the pain from the heavy crying, and I may give myself a nosebleed from the passion of it all. And Mike, his patience thick and durable, just holds me through it all. Letting me soak his shirt, dirty his skin, grab at him blindly while I wail like a spoiled child, just repeating the phrase over again. 'Proud.' What pride. What honor to be had at such a breakdown. Yes, very understandable.

"I should be better," I sob into his chest. "You deserve better."

"What?" He laughs lightly, and at first it feels mocking, but then he's pulling my head away fron my soaked enclosure and his eyes are so gentle for a moment I know the light laughter is simply from surprise. Then his eyes widen and he's back in parent mode.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me!" I choke out while gripping his shirt. At first he thinks I'm talking about our relationship, then he realizes I'm not letting him pull away.

"Sweetheart, you're bleeding," he gently explains. "Let me wipe your face. I just need tissues. I'm not even leaving the bed."

But that's too much. Let me bleed, let my head throb, let this headache take the vision away in my eye from how bad it hurts. Let anything happen so long as I can stay in this moment. Don't break the spell. Don't let me go numb again.

"Don't leave me," I cry pathetically, my eyes all scrunched together in the same manner as wailing infants, my grip on his shirt not breaking. Sure enough, there on the wet spot of his shirt is a dark stain of blood that should hopefully come out if we wash it fast enough.

"Let me do that," I'm saying as I try to peel off his shirt now. "Let me wash it."

He's gently guiding my hands away. "Don't worry about it," he says gently, kissing my hands and wrists like they might break even from the delicate graze of his lips. "Let me take care of you."

He does this all the time. He always takes care of me. I should do more. Be more. For him.

"You deserve better," I choke out, feeling like I may suffocate from the tears. Mike's brows furrow in concern, and he grips my chin very carefully as he makes me meet his eyes.

"Hey, no. Get that out of your head, it's all okay," he tells me softly, staring at me like if he can't verbally convince me, his hard stare will do the trick. "I don't want to hear you talk like that."

"I should be better," I repeat, my crying lessening slightly as I try to hold eye contact.

"You're getting better," he reminds me. "This is the happiest I've seen you since we met. You'll get back to that. Hell, you could feel the same way tonight. It's okay. Take a day off. We all need one, even normal people," he says softly, stroking my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Can you just let me take care of you in the meantime?"

No. Go away, let me rot.

"We can still go out for breakfast," he offers gently. "I can still call Max, or we can all stay in. I'll set up a nest in the living room so you can watch TV. Works you like that?"

Stop. Stop being nice to me, stop trying to make me feel better. It all just feels awful. I don't want this guilt, someone takes it away.

Mike must sense my overwhelmed emotions, because he places another kiss on my forehead before asking if he can clean my face again, and this time I say yes. He pulls away, which is still upsetting but less so. I don't make a deal out of it this time at least. He opens a drawer, searching for wipes and pulling them out before turning back to me.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asks gently. I bite my tongue to prevent another mocking thought directed towards me and nod. Bones crack as I do, my kidneys hurt worse. But at least I finally moved.

Tears still streak down my face as Mike wipes away the snot and blood, his large hand gently cupping my face as he does. There's a soft smile on his face, though I'm not particularly sure why. And when he's done, he runs his thumb along my bottom lip before placing his own lips on top of mine. They're chapped, one spot raw from excessive biting. But there's still some leftover chapstick on them, and it tastes like grapefruit.

I tug on his shirt, one hand sneaking under it to feel his cool skin underneath. He gently takes my wrist once more, then pulls away. A silent rejection. He knows that I'm just looking for a distraction from my emotions, and in a moment he'll offer a much healthier one. He does discard the shirt, leaving his chest bare, but only so that he doesn't smear my fluids back onto me as he pulls me in for another embrace.

"We'll be okay," he promises. "Everything will be okay."

"What if it's not?" I ask in a quiet, strained voice.

"Then it'll be okay later. You can take time to not be okay," he says.

There's a short silence before either of us speak. And when I hear his voice hitch in the way it does when he's about to say something, Abby's alarm rings crystal clear in her room. Then the sound of a truck rattles by on the road in front of the house. Birds continue to sing. And my pours feel so clogged I'm sure my skin will be lashing out for days.

But it'll all be okay.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

"Can we have some fluff to reco-" no. Suffer.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[neko-naruto]

tear a hole exquisite red (fuck the rest, and stab it dead)

Summary: Creek has layers to his personality just like any other Troll does, rotting and wretched and vomit inducing layers, but he has layers nonetheless

Warnings: psychological manipulation, physical violence, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: @bulliestrolls started the psychopath Creek au, so go give him some love for all of the glorious ideas his brain spawns. also Creek's a bit of a whore, just to spite Branch even if it means sleeping with all four of his brothers, because I think it's funny. anyways! if ya'll enjoyed consider dropping a reblog or checking the Ao3 port, it really means a lot

It's all a game for Creek, he's playing the long con and Floyd is his perfect little experiment. Who knows, maybe after he inevitably decides to make Floyd cut the cord, he'll try for Bruce, really tear a hole into Branch and his family. He can laugh at the thought of getting Bruce to divorce, to manipulate him into leaving Brandy for another Troll after Creek himself picks apart Floyd and and gives Branch enough mental anguish for a thousand lifetimes.

But no, that won't be enough, not for Creek. Oh not in the slightest, not after all the agony that Branch has given Creek, his vendetta will never be satiated. Who knows! Maybe he'll go so far as to return Branch to his gray state, that'd be delectable. That could make him feel a sense of satisfaction if anything ever could, or Branch's head on a platter, but the downside to the otherwise beautiful idea is that he wouldn't be able to torture Branch anymore.

"Creek!" It's Floyd, the specific tone of his voice is one that Creek has learned to pick out of a hundred in a similar fashion to Branch's. Just so he can hunt down Floyd and use his sweetness and ignorance of Creek's intentions as a weapon. The magenta Troll has this adorable smile on his face, well, adorable if it weren't for the downturned ears that look just like Branch's.

Creek gives a smile, warm like a fireplace on the TV screen, "Floyd, lovely to see you," He catches sight of Branch trudging behind the slightly older and quells a smirk before tacking on, "My love."

Then he's being hugged and as much as he wants to recoil in disgust when it comes to anything that Branch has any form of relation too, he doesn't. He has a performance to enact, and he plans on fulfilling the part with precision as much as it makes him feel ill and want to gag. But at least Floyd is tolerable compared to the likes of John Dory, Clay, or Bruce. He has gripes against each of them for seperate reasons than being Branch's older brothers.

John Dory is far too obnoxiously loud and arrogant and stubborn and always thinks he's perfect, and apparently he bailed on Branch which he can respect. Clay is somewhat paranoid, always has this brat (Poppy's sister, disgusting) clinging to his side, his hair is a mess too. And Bruce, well, Bruce isn't half bad, his only problem is how often he says sorry for leaving Branch to raise himself, and his domesticity, it reeks like rotting flesh.

"What brings the both of you to my meditation alcove?" Creek asked, giving a small bow to his 'boyfriend' and his least favorite person. He wanted to just be cold and cruel to Branch up front and center, the amount of vitriol stored in his tiny body towards Branch and the queen was unreal, but he refrained. He didn't let it seep through the cracks of his composure, he didn't let it show through until he was alone and could tear something to shreds.

"My brother has been having anger issues again, and he's looking a lot more gray than usual," Floyd explained and Creek just watched Branch get even more agitated as Floyd spilled details that should be confidential, or saved for close Trolls at the least. But wait, that's right, Creek is a close Troll now, and Branch just has to deal with that.

Creek gives a hum as he steps ever closer to Branch and takes his paw, it's yanked away and Creek feigns hurt.

"Branch, he's trying to help," Floyd hissed.

"Really, Branch, I just want to lend a hand," Creek tacked on.

Branch gave a long groan of annoyance before reluctantly letting Creek take his paw, only because it made Floyd smile. He hated every second of his bristled fur brushing against Creek even though it was for just under ten seconds.

"Unless he finds a way to perk up," Creek goes the extra mile to grab the tips of Branch's ears and flick them up, the graying Troll stumbles back. Oh he relishes in that and tries to hide his smirk, "He'll go gray again, I'd suggest meditation."

"I'd suggest meditation," Branch bitterly smarms back at Creek who raises a paw to his chest in faux hurt that only Branch can see through for some fucking reason.

"Branch! If you make one more jab at Creek, I'll," Floyd falters, "There will be consequences."

"Love," Creek begins with, "It's fine, I'm used to dealing with children," The glare Branch shoots is sharp enough to slice diamonds, "If you'd like you can leave him here and I'll teach him the basics of meditation."

Floyd gives this soft smile, completely wrapped up in Creek's performance, and then he presses a kiss to the purple Troll's cheek. Creek returns the favor before Floyd speaks, "Thanks, Creek, I'll be back in hour," And then he's taking his leave.

"You're gonna leave me here? With him?!" Branch questioned, a frantic lilt to his voice as he spoke. Two paws held one of Floyd's, desperation clear with how he held himself.

"You're in good hands," Floyd answered with before gently lifting Branch's paws off his own, "I'll bring snacks when I return."

Branch knows he won't win, "Alright, be careful."

Both Branch and Creek wait patiently for Floyd to be out of earshot range before they interact any further. And their interaction consists of Branch trying to tackle Creek to the ground without any remorse behind his actions. Creek doesn't scream, doesn't writhe, doesn't kick or retalliate, and that scares Branch more than any other reaction could. Instead the Troll in question just smiles, this calculating and cruel one that oh so often is matched with the rest of the face, not now, his eyes are cold and most of his face is stilled.

"What do you want with my brother?" Branch tried to snarl, hands resting atop of Creek's arteries, a bit of pressure and he'll go lightheaded, maybe even pass out. It's illegal to kill a Troll, but every single day that Branch has to watch Creek feign domesticity around Floyd he gets closer to committing an atrocity.

Creek gives a hum, "Your suffering, as sweet as he is he's not my type," He watches Branch go through a thousand thoughts at once and the second he knows Branch is starting to formulate a response he adds on, "I'd go for a guy like Bruce if nothing else."

"You absolute cunt," The expletive is more of a harsh whisper, voice coarse with rage, "You homewrecker."

And Creek just laughs, "Oh, Branch, don't you get it?" He ever so carefully raises a paw and traces it across Branch's face, and he knows that the graying Troll would flinch back but he can't lest he wants to let go of Creek's throat, "I'll drop to lows you've never even heard of it'll hurt you- and if your brothers are the collateral damage? That's not really my problem."

"You're fucking sick, do you know how Floyd's gonna react hen he hears this? You'll break him," Was all that Branch could supply in response to to the downright sickening knowledge he had been given.

"And that'll hurt you, which is really what I'm looking for. But if I want a chance to have a go at any of your other brothers then I'll have to let him down easy," Creek said, "I've talked my way into getting a Bergen to not eat me and give up on happiness. You know damn well I can convince Floyd he's the monster so your brothers and all of Pop Village will come to my aid."

Branch steps back from Creek, speechless, and then the fucker laughs.

"They'll come to my aid Branch, they'll be doing everything they can to make sure I don't off myself while leaving Floyd to suffer- and the best part of it all, Branch? It's a two for one deal, and I just know that one of your brothers will be too caught up in making sure I'm okay to even realize how fucked Floyd is," Creek spat, "I'll fuck that one next."

"I'm gonna tell Poppy everything," Branch said firmly like the words would register as a threat to a Troll that's escaped death three times over now.

"She'll never fucking believe you," Creek answered with and the break of silence from Branch is all he needs as an answer. He stands up and makes his way over to Branch, firmly grasping his jaw, "What're you gonna do about it, Branchie?"

Branch doesn't have an answer ready for what he just had unloaded onto him, all he can do is wrench away Creek's paw. He steps back and wipes his paw off on his vest, "Something."

Creek gives a hum and a smirk, "Cute, you think you can beat me at my own game."

"Oh I don't think I can, I know I will," Branch snapped back with.

"We'll see," Creek said, again with this calculating and cruel smile on his face, "When Floyd crumbles you'll go down with him," It isn't an idea, it's something that Creek knows is true, "I look forward too it."

-/-/-/-

Its Bruce.

After Creek has cried a god damn ocean of crocodile tears and used gold to frame Floyd as the monster, Bruce ends up being his next weapon. And he even went so far into twisting Floyd's perception of reality that the magenta Troll is the one saying sorry even though he did nothing wrong. Even though he was the sweetest Troll in all of Pop Village, turned to a somewhat paranoid and reclusive Troll whose graying just like Branch is.

He loved Floyd to pieces. He loved Floyd into his basic elements. He loved Floyd into a million little bits that can never be arranged again. He loved Floyd and played him as the monster with so much accuracy that even the true victim was fooled into thinking he did everything wrong. He loved the way he played Floyd, he loved the way he could use Floyd, he loved everything about Floyd except for the fact that he was Floyd.

Maybe it's wrong, being a user in the way that Creek is, but he doesn't quite care. So long as it brings Branch mental agony than he'll be enacting it, whether it's him being the source of Floyd's joy or pain. And now he's going to go through the same song and dance all over again with Bruce, except, to a considerably more intensive degree.

Because with Bruce he has competition; and that would be Brandy, Bruce's soon to be former wife. What fun really, Creek can tear two families to shreds in one go while no one is looking. He'll gouge another gaping wound into Branch's family and he'll completely excommunicate Bruce from his family.

He's playing this pathetic act when he casts out the first bait for Bruce, sniffling and whimpering as he leans against the purple Troll. He has his knees hitched, "God, I just, I can't believe I was so blind for three months," He forces his breath to catch.

Bruce rubs comforting circles against his acquaintances back, "I wouldn't have seen it coming either, Floyd of all Trolls," It makes sense he'd never have seen it coming what with it never happening at all. All those years in acting school finally paid off for Creek, and he's using them to seduce a Troll with a wife and thirteen kids just to spite Branch.

"I don't even think any of the kisses were real," Creek sighed, slowly lowering his knees and tilting himself to face Bruce just a little bit more. He had to work this operation delicately, like giving someone a transplant, one wrong incision into Bruce's psyche this early on will botch the entire attempt. And he can't have that happening, no not at all, then he wouldn't have a chance to break apart Clay or John Dory afterwards.

"I get it, being the heart throb brings a lot of insincere praise your way," Bruce laughed a little bit as he spoke, edging away from Creek just a bit.

Creek gives this smile, the smallest upturn of his lips at one corner, "Well, if I kissed you it wouldn't be insincere," There's a slight twitch in Bruce's expression. Exactly what Creek is looking for.

"Yeah well, I'm married now, I have a wife willing to give me as many kisses as I so desire," Bruce said, a hint of defensiveness to his voice.

"Well," Creek begins, dragging out the 'L' as he speaks, "Brandy doesn't need to know, it's just between two friends isn't it?"

Bruce is crumbling, Creek can feel it, he can see it, he devours the destruction of resolve. The purple Troll gives a sort of discontented sound, a partially confused one, "Just between two friends, to make up for the falling out between you and Floyd."

Paws are already upon Bruce's face before he can finish his sentence because Creek already knew that the answer would be yes. He's swift to lean in and speak in a tone that he knows will snag Bruce on a barbed hook, "Thank you, Bruce."

And Bruce moves first and Creek has to try his hardest to not smirk into the kiss that picks up pace so much faster than he thought it would.

Hook, line, and sinker.

[phoenixwatchesmovies]

Phoenix's Favorite Films

No special occasion, or anything. I just realized it had been awhile since I thought about this. Calculated based on my metric of "happy it's starting vs bummed that it's over" (which translates loosely to Biggest Feels), I give you the top thirteen!

The Shining (1980)

A family heads to an isolated hotel for the winter where a sinister presence influences the father into violence, while his psychic son sees horrific forebodings from both past and future. - dir. Stanley Kubrick

Perfect Blue (1997)

A pop singer gives up her career to become an actress, but she slowly goes insane when she starts being stalked by an obsessed fan and what seems to be a ghost of her past. - dir. Satoshi Kon

The Secret Garden (1993)

A young, recently-orphaned girl is sent to England after living in India all of her life. Once there, she begins to explore her new, seemingly-isolated surroundings, and its secrets. - dir. Agnieszka Holland

Lord of the Rings (2001-2003)

A meek Hobbit from the Shire and eight companions set out on a journey to destroy the powerful One Ring and save Middle-earth from the Dark Lord Sauron. - dir. Peter Jackson

Dirty Dancing (1987)

Spending the summer at a Catskills resort with her family, Frances "Baby" Houseman falls in love with the camp's dance instructor, Johnny Castle. - dir. Emile Ardolino

Hard Candy (2005)

Hayley's a smart, charming teenage girl. Jeff's a handsome, smooth fashion photographer. An Internet chat, a coffee shop meet-up, an impromptu fashion shoot back at Jeff's place. Jeff thinks it's his lucky night. He's in for a surprise. - dir. David Slade

The Princess Bride (1987)

A bedridden boy's grandfather reads him the story of a farmboy-turned-pirate who encounters numerous obstacles, enemies and allies in his quest to be reunited with his true love. - dir. Rob Reiner

Labyrinth (1986)

Sixteen-year-old Sarah must solve a labyrinth to rescue her baby brother when he is taken by the Goblin King. - dir. Jim Henson

The Lost Boys (1987)

After moving to a new town, two brothers discover that the area is a haven for vampires. - dir. Joel Schumacher

A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984)

Teenager Nancy Thompson must uncover the dark truth concealed by her parents after she and her friends become targets of the spirit of a serial killer with a bladed glove in their dreams, in which if they die, it kills them in real life. - dir. Wes Craven

The Lion King (1994)

Lion prince Simba and his father are targeted by his bitter uncle, who wants to ascend the throne himself. - dir. Roger Allers & Rob Minkoff

The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

A young soprano becomes the obsession of a disfigured and murderous musical genius who lives beneath the Paris Opera House. - dir. Joel Schumacher

Wolf Creek (2005)

Three backpackers stranded in the Australian outback are plunged inside a hellish nightmare of insufferable torture by a sadistic psychopathic local. - dir. Greg McClean

Synopses yoinked from IMDB, and no yelling from me this time. I'm saving that for later! :D

[wildgeese-badideas]

Morally Grey Creek for Spooky Season?

Would you guys cancel me for writing a fic where Tweek kidnaps Craig and tries to keep him in his basement cuz he's *mentally ill*... It wouldn't reach DeadDove levels but it would be like a 4 parter with a lot of Tweek's insanity, self-loathing, obsessive mind, etc. I was thinking a while ago about writing smt creepy for Halloween, like them having to escape from a psychopath, and then I was like... what if... one of them is the psychopath instead 👀👀👀

All my stuff has been mellow, slice of life, fluffy shit so far so idk if this would gross my subscribers out.

[bylerconfessions]

I hate the Edward Creel theories so much, it’s unreal. They are so convoluted and make no sense. They only “make sense” if you’re someone who spends all their time and energy cornplating and picking apart every tiny, almost certainly coincidental detail in the show.

I hate the Edward Creel theories cause they’re so insulting and make the rest of us sound and seem stupid cause we don’t see microscopic newspaper details and think they somehow prove Henry has some secret alternate dimension twin or something. Edward Creel theorists are henry stans who can’t accept that their precious meow meow is a psychopath.

And the worst part is that basically every edward creek theorist are condescending AF ex-Bylers who think they’re so superior cause they no longer focus on Byler. They typically hate on Will and think the show revolves around “Henward,” and they talk about Henward like their theory is proven and obvious and not completely pulled out of their delusions.

The Duffers are writing a mainstream sci-fi/horror show, not something that only makes sense to five obsessives on Tumblr.com. I can’t wait to see every Edward Creel theorist’s face when S5 drops and nothing they predict comes true, just like none of their stupid theories about Scott Clarke and Henry being in love came true

(asked on march 21)

anon you were COOKING with this

[original-character-championship]

Bracket H Round 1

Poll 3

NERF (@nen-kaii) vs. Bruce the Just (@bruce-stan)

453. NERF (@nen-kaii)

he/him or ne/ner/neir

He has a zipper that exposes his skull because he thought it was silly, he drinks led water, ne blows stuff up with neir rocket launcher for funsies, and ne makes cookies for neir friends. He's so silly it borders on stupid. Gonna squisch him. Squinch.

4'11" little guy, with a shaved head that's split open by a zipper to expose his skull. Sometimes wears a mint-colored helmet with googly eyes pasted on.

454. Bruce the Just (@bruce-stan)

He/Him

     Bruce is a were-shark Barbarian from a pathfinder campaign im in. he is my precious baby boi and the sole reason I'm on tumblr is to shill for him in this bracket. He was abandoned as a child due to his family thinking him a monster and fending for himself till one day while trying to rob a family for food, he goes too far and kills the dad. Stricken with the weight of his actions he seeks to save as many people as possible to make up for his terrible deed.

     He is the definition of a himbo. The kindest of beans and loves nature especially the water. He is allo-aro as he loves everyone as his ever growing number friends but just can't hold romance in his heart, but still is distracted by boobs; can your really blame him boobs bouncy. He is autistic coded and has PTSD from his past actions, hating loud sounds as they remind him of the child and mothers wails of grief at what he did. He is self sacrificing to a fault and will no hesitate to throw himself into any danger for any reason.

     This is reflected in his weapon "Penance". which he spells (penents). A metal shark tooth macuahuitl with one half cold iron and the other half adamantine. It is enchanted to deal extra dmg at the cost of backlash upon himself, which has been the cause of his many scars across his body. Bruce doesn't care however as his weapon is just as much penance for himself as for his enemies.

     He serves as both the heart and big guy for our groups five man band. While he is obviously the dumb muscle, he is the emotional core of our group that makes a cold-hearted assassin, a conniving theif, a vengeance possesed psychopath, a shadowfell raised Dryder, and an apathetic druid, all want to be better people because of his unrelenting love and kindness.

    He hates killing and will even in battle go out of his way to avoid it and violence in general as much as possible. Their is but a single exception to this rule and that is to put any of his new found family in danger. That makes a woman by the name of Valentina a dead girl walking, as she callously murdered his dear friend Ms. S. An ex school teacher who would hand out gold stars to the party. He still has the stars on his macuahuitl as a reminder of his late friend and debt to settle.

     His caring nature has gotten the party into many adventures as he is always willing to help anyone. From hauling wood, to hunting fish for a starving child, to collecting cat skeletons for a friendly necromancer, to even facing down a 40ft tall face stealing monstrosity, all one must do is ask.

     Now a list of my favorite Bruce quotes:

" I got my info from a trustworthy source....... ya know a crab from that creek over there".

"NO STEALING! I will buy you the shiny".

"I would never kill him, just break a few ribs".

"I've fought plenty of trees and I only lost twice".

"You can be gay just don't do crimes........ok maybe a little crime since he's was mean".

"BRUCE IS INDOMITABLE" ( after holding back a bullete from his unconscious friends.)

"violence doesn't just break a man's nose, it breaks his spirit.............I've seen how terrible that truly is."

     I could go on for days about my precious lad, so if anyone wants to hear more hmu. That being said though reckless, naive, and certainly buried in his own sins; his unyielding sense of kindness and do-goodery make no one more fitting of the name Bruce The Just.

Taylor Lautner from twilight as to add to the shark meme since he also played sharkboy.

[shilchdcesntcare]

will graham is autistic: red dragon, chapter 1

“I think there’s been a lot of bullshit about the way I think.” “You made some jumps that you can’t explain.” “The evidence was there,” Graham said.

“I just decided to stop. I don’t think I can explain it.” “If you couldn’t look at it anymore, God knows I’d understand that.” “No. You know--having to look. It’s always bad, but you get so you can function anyway, as long as they’re dead. The hospital, the interviews, that’s worse. You have to shake it off and keep on thinking. I don’t believe I could do it now. I could make myself look, but I’d shut down the thinking.”

Jack Crawford heard the rhythm and syntax of his own speech in Graham’s voice. Often in intense conversation Graham took on the other person’s speech patterns. Later Crawford realized that Graham did it involuntarily, that sometimes he tried to stop and couldn’t. // this is called echolalia or echopraxia--involuntary copying of speech. i know it happens to me after i watch a show where people have foreign accents, or even if their rhythm is particular (like the Roses from Schitt’s Creek, especially Moira.)

After half a minute he put the photographs down again. He pushed them into a stick with his finger. Graham, ignoring his guest, watched Molly and the boy for as long as he had looked at the pictures. // social fauxpaus of ignoring your guest. jack is pleased when he looks at molly for the same amount of time, because he knows it means graham can parse his thoughts.

“I meant to thank her for the books she brought me in the hospital, but I never did. Tell her for me.” // like he just remembered. executive function. 

“I want to ask you, do you respect my judgement, Will?” “Yes.” “I think we have a better chance if you help.” Graham did not reply. “Let’s talk after dinner.” “Stay and eat.” // social convention regardless of whether graham actually wants him there

“Crawford stopped by to see me at the shop before he came out here. He asked directions to the house. I tried to call you. You really ought to answer the phone once in a while.” “What else did he ask you?” “How you are.” “And you said?” // i never answer my phone. also because of life experience, if i can know what other people are saying about me when i am not present, i do

“What does he want you to do?” “Look at evidence.” [Later] “He thinks you want him to look at evidence.” “I do want him to look at evidence. There’s nobody better with evidence. But he has the other thing, too. Imagination, projection, whatever. He doesn’t like that part of it.” // this again feeds into my slight paranoia about what people are saying about me and specifically my behavior behind my back.

“If you missed your other life, I think you’d talk about it. You never do. You’re open and calm and easy now...I love that.” “We have a good time, don’t we?” Her single styptic blink told him he should have said something better. Before he could fix it, she went on. // if i had a dollar

Graham resigned from the FBI and found a job as a diesel mechanic in Marathon. It was a trade he grew up with. He slept in a trailer at the boatyard until Molly. // he found a job with a skill set he was familiar with, and was content to live right there with just the necessities 

“Do you believe it?” Graham watched three pelicans fly in line across the tidal flats. “Molly, an intelligent psychopath--particularly a sadist--is hard to catch for several reasons. First,” //so my boy gives a whole half page instruction manual about this which is what we call infodumping// “You have to try to find patterns.” // yes there’s the autistic stereotype of being more logical and therefore more adept to pattern and puzzle solving, but it’s not an unfair stereotype.

Graham loved the way she turned her head, artlessly giving him her less perfect profile. He remembered suddenly and completely the taste of salt on her skin. He swallowed. “Maybe it would sour this place for you.” “If I were asking, what would you say?”

“I’m selfish, huh?” “I don’t care.” // instead of an ‘no you’re not selfish don’t say that’ which is was generally is expected in response.

“Make you know it. Value it, I mean.” // she clarifies for him

“He was really obsessed with the dogs for a while. Now he just takes care of them; he doesn’t talk about them all the time.” // special interests, and yes in general autistic people have an easier time relating to/being around animals rather than people, and especially pet dogs can be very emotionally sensitive; and vice versa it’s easier to pick up on and adjust yourself according to whatever vibe the animal is giving off this is me infodumping i have cats.

When Graham finished, Molly helped him pack. // Executive dysfunction be that way.

this is what i highlighted in ONE chapter.

[cellblockpsycho]

Photography Project Proposal

For my theme project, I plan on creative a narrative on a particular character with the sort of horror asthetic that one might observe in a movie on late october night. I will be photographing myself and a heavily staged enviroment to show off this demented character and see his life through different lenses. What I mean by this specifically is that the photographs will be both a third person perspective of this character and a first person perspective from a victim of this character.

It's Halloween and I really enjoy horror movies and just film/storytelling all together. So bringing together a story with this project that is also scary is something I find rather interesting to tackle. I typically like taking photos in the dark, as I feel that I have more control over light in these instances, which is also reason I tend to gravitate towards the spooky asethetic. By using myself and a first person perspective from an alleged second character, I can essenitally do this project myself without any assistance and limit the amount of travel I have to do if I keep this story relative to local areas.

Since this project is mostly focused on showing a direct narrative, I'll be staging most of my photos (Obviously). I'll be taking the photos in an order that's most benefical to my schedule. I shouldn't need much special equipment and I plan to film in public parks, public streets, and my own home at times in which these locations are mostly empty.

My clear objectives of this project is to get some interesting shots that really sell the narrative that I'm trying to create. I want each image to feel like it's a freeze frame from a major motion picture. I want the audience to walk away with their own interpretation on the character.

The give a brief summary on the narrative, I'd like to start off by saying that the overall story is to be largely left to interpretaion. We follow a young man who muddles about public spaces. He's the type of person that you wouldn't spot in a crowd if you weren't specificly looking for him, nor would he be the guy you'd want to find. From the perspective of the character, we see the world as black and white with burry formless figures (representation of people) move around him. We see a bathroom counter with perscription pills and a car full of dirty clothes and empty bottles. We see a homeless man in a dark tunnel, thirstily drinking a beer, when the main subject of our story emerges from the shadows. Switching perspectives, we would then see a lovely park in the bright and beautiful sunshine. Only at the edge of the park, our main subject comes into view. Once we see him burying something near the shores of a small creek, we find ourselves in the perspective of a prisoner in this persons home, and we follow the point of view of this prisoner attempting to escape the home of a demented psychopath. This is the very base idea of the narrative I want to work with, and I want to provide an ending to this narrative that is very interpretable.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Rose Girls by Jennifer Chase

Detective Katie Scott 9

 Intense, dark, gritty, and gripping from first page till the end – couldn’t put it down once begun.

 What I liked:

* Katie: ex-military K-9 handler and war veteran, cold case detective, works for her uncle who is the local sheriff, owner of Cisco the retired K-9, suffers from PTSD, engaged to Chad, focused, sometimes impulsive, dedicated to solving cases that come her way.

* Ciscso: Katie’s K-9 partner, retired from military, companion to Katie, skilled at his job, loving and protective, helps ground Katie

* Sean: detective, Katie’s work partner, calm presence, good balance to Katie, in a relationship with Denise

* The plot, writing, character development, creepy atmosphere in Coldwater Creek that is isolated and filled with secrets

* That this story was based primarily on police procedure and not as much on personal lives of characters – though we did catch up with a few and how they are doing

* The supporting characters – new to and already established in the series

* Joshuar – octogenarian, citizen of Coldwater Creek, cagey, wise, seemed a good soul

* That the case is solved at the end with no cliff hanger

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about how selfish and amoral some people can be and how little regard they hold for the lives of others.

 Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

 Thank you to NetGalley and Bookouture for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

       BLURB

 Like a precious doll, the girl leans against the towering pine tree with her long bare legs stretched out and her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head tilts towards the sky, but this innocent child will never feel the warm glow of morning sun again; her fragile little body is cold, her tender heart is still. When Detective Katie Scott receives a plea from neighboring Coldwater Creek to help with a tragic murder, she doesn’t hesitate. Fifteen-year-old Ivy Miller’s naked body was found tied to a tree, a freshly inked pink rose tattoo on her arm. The word “MORE” carved into her back means sweet Ivy could be the first of many… Katie’s heart aches for the young girl whose life ended before it had even begun. But she has her work cut out with the inexperienced police department fumbling the case at every turn. There hasn’t been a murder in this small town for as long as anyone can remember, but why will none of the locals cooperate? Katie’s only lead is a blurry photograph of Ivy’s long-missing mother found in Ivy’s bedroom. If she can find out where it was taken, Katie knows she’ll have the first clue in a mystery that has been haunting Coldwater Creek for years. But Katie’s world crashes down when Ivy’s two best friends are found murdered in the same woods days later. Inked with the same pretty flower, the rose girls were keeping a deadly secret. Katie will never forgive herself for not making the connection in time. As mothers cling to their daughters, terrified to let them out of their sight, Katie’s search leads her to an abandoned building deep in the forest where the last photo of Ivy’s mother was taken. But will she survive long enough to stop more heart-shattering tragedies? A totally nail-biting, keep-you-up-all-night crime thriller from a USA Today and Amazon bestselling author. Prepare to pick your jaw up from the floor at that final twist! Fans of Lisa Regan, Rachel Caine and Melinda Leigh will be absolutely gripped!  

      AUTHOR BIO

 Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning and best-selling crime fiction author, as well as a consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent psychopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells.

 In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists, and member of the International Thriller Writers.

https://www.instagram.com/jenchaseauthor/

https://twitter.com/JChaseNovelist

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[fever-fish]

in august 2019, i started recording every movie / tv series or season i watched to completion.

faves in bold

2020 year in review

tonari no kaibutsu-kun

marriage story

the king (the one with rpatts)

dolemite is my name

the gift / atiye s1

sex education s2

psychopath diary

american factory

miss americana

hot stove league

kingdom s2 (zombie sageuk)

emma. (period movie with the queen’s gambit actress)

i am not okay with this s1

history 2: boundary crossing

the breadwinner

hyena (kdrama)

hi bye, mama!

the half of it

the letter for the king s1

we the animals

black dog (kdrama)

never have i ever s1

tharntype

the romance of tiger and rose

queer eye s5

unorthodox

girl from nowhere s1

the old guard

a secret love

he’s coming to me

dakara watashi wa oshimashita

hospital playlist s1

a piece of your mind

the untamed

365: repeat the year

the trader

disclosure (documentary)

money game (kdrama)

mystic pop-up bar

someday or one day

kazoku no katachi

imperial dreams

american murder: the family next door

schitt’s creek s6

enola holmes

13th

josei-teki seikatsu

blackpink: light up the sky

the white helmets

the duchess s1

extracurricular

the queen’s gambit

athlete a

gaya sa pelikula

i told sunset about you

over the moon

flower of evil

joy of life (cdrama)

the burial of kojo

into the ring (kdrama)

saka no tochuu no ie

.

2021 year in review

farewell my concubine

the good place s3

cherry magic (jdrama)

nigehaji special

i am not your negro

feel good s1

his (jmovie)

life senjou no bokura

watashitachi wa doukashiteiru

nagi no oitoma

pornographer

shanai marriage honey

run on

long vacation

sf8: joan’s galaxy

to my star s1

find me in your memory

hikaru no go (cdrama)

a tale of a thousand stars

goodbye my princess

waiting for “superman”

uchi no musume wa, kareshi ga dekinai!!

word of honor

stranger / secret forest s2

the imperial coroner

bo burnham: inside

love and redemption

the square (documentary)

big eden

alice in borderland

the green knight (First movie In Theaters since Covid)

ashes of love

watashi wo kuitomete

doom at your service

hunter x hunter s1, s2, s3, s4

shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings

young royals s1

you are my glory

squid game s1

kimi no me ga toikaketeiru

kikazaru koi niwa riyuu ga atte

journey to the shore

one and only (cdrama)

what we do in the shadows s2

eternals (marvel.....)

single all the way

the witcher s2

spider-man: no way home

scarlet heart (cdrama)

utsukushii kare

[kookies2000]

Rant time

Creek in a nut shell. The core of shunning and making fun of Branch because of his "toxicity" when he's trying to warn the Trolls of the Bergens. Flirts with Poppy, making her fall in love with him only to try to kill her at the end WITH A SMILE!!! And attempts genocide to his own kingdom WITH A SMILE!!! And tries to make himself look like a hero when he does.

"Now I have to live with this for the rest of my life. At least you get to die with a clear conscience. I guess in a way, you could say I'm doing this for you." *caresses Poppy's face only to go straight for her cow bell that he'll use to lead her kingdom to death!*

I'm sorry, but if Creek was simply scared of dying, then I understand. He didn't want to die, so he sold out his kingdom. But to try to manipulate Poppy into thinking he's still a hero? And then he uses Poppy's cow bell to trick Poppy's dad into coming out of hiding. Peppy is just so happy that his daughter is alive. He's so proud that he brings the kingdom to see her. Only for it to be Creek with a bunch of Bergens. And how does Creek react? Little shrugged, drops the cow bell and smiles as he watched his kingdom get taken away to get eaten? Like "Oh well, sucks for you." That's the sign of a psychopath!

That's like asking why people hate Hans from Frozen. The dude was happy about killing the queen and manipulating Anna. Or Bradford in Ducktakes 2017. Dude saw himself as a hero when he just tried to kill Donald. Or asking why people hate Commodus from Gladiator. Or Dolores Umbridge in Harry Potter. Characters who show no concern for others' feelings and have zero problems with watching others die.

You can love a villain or antagonist. But you know what kind of characters people will always hate. The emotionally manipulating psychopath that smiles at others dying for no good reason while trying to make themselves look like a hero.

Me when I see that the immature Creek haters that over exaggerate his character and take up the Creek tags with their bullshit from 2016 still exist:

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[darkmulti]

⚠️NON CON⚠️ Ghost! Taehyung finding out that you brought some guy over to your house. He kills the guy then marks you

⚠️: NON CON, age gap, overstimulation, slapping, saliva play, anal

-> sorry for any mistakes

Taehyung had been peacefully living in your house before you were even alive

Your house was old

Taehyung was old

You finally got to move in and you were so proud of yourself

You worked so hard for this

When you moved in, Taehyung felt different

He never bothered the people who previously lived in the house

But with you, it was a different story

Taehyung followed you around the house

Everytime you entered in the room, he would follow behind, making the room colder

You know that your house is pretty old

The floorboards usually squeak when you step on them

You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner until you heard the floorboards creek in the basement then the door slammed shut

Taehyung was trying to get your attention because your laundry was finished washing

You went downstairs to check out the noise

But you screamed when you saw a man sitting on your washing machine

“Who are you?! I’m calling the police!”

You blink and he suddenly disappears

“H-huh?”

Are you hallucinating? 

You turn around to go back upstairs but that same man was in the kitchen, cutting up some vegetables

“What the-”

“Your pasta sauce is burning.”

You quickly turn off the stove and stir the sauce

After you dealt with the sauce you move back with a spoon in your hand

“Who are you?! What’re you doing in-”

“My house? This is my house, darling. I made it for myself in 1902.”

“I’m calling the police!”

Before you could pick up your phone, he snatched it away and raised it in the air

“Calm down. They’ll think you’re psychopath and send you to a mental hospital.”

Taehyung started telling you more about him and you still had a bizarre expression

“So why can’t you leave my house?”

You asked

“For the last time. This is MY house. Why don’t YOU leave MY house?!”

A week had gone by and you started to get along with Taehyung

He educated you about many things in the past

Told you a little bit more about himself

You guys became ‘bestfriends’

Time skip to next week

You had to do a project with a boy that you’ve been crushing on for a while now

You invited him over to your house to do the project without telling Taehyung

Everything was going well

He worked on the project while you cooked dinner

Taehyung watched you two chit chat

He wasn’t upset

He was angry

Taehyung patiently waited for your crush to leave

When the guy finally left, Taehyung wasn’t himself

He came to you and started yelling at you

You panicked because Taehyung looked terrifying at that moment so you ran into your room and lock the door

Taehyung walked through the door and pushed you on the bed

He pinned your wrist down and ripped your clothes off

He pounded himself into you with no mercy and let you scream and cry

You begged him to stop right away

Kicking under him

Struggled moans

Tears and sobs

This was a complete turn on for him

He loved when people were in pain because of him

He slammed in and out, then slapped you across the face

You whimpered under him, too afraid to look him in the eyes

He grabbed your jaw and made you look into his eyes

“Never bring another person over, understand? I don’t care if it’s your parents or friends, but I want you all to myself. Your attention stays on me 24/7!”

“No! You can’t! Please!”

He slapped your face again then spat on you

“Why aren’t you listening to your dear husband? I own you! Don’t you dare disrespect me!”

Another hard slap landed on your cheeks

You cry under him, kicking your legs out bc the pain was too much to bear

“Please! Let me go! It really hurts! At least slow down.”

He pulled out and slammed into your ass without warning

You sob loudly before kicking him off and crawling away

Unfortunately you were too slow and he pulled you back and slammed in his whole cock again

He held you down and thrusted in as hard as he can so you’d be weak under him

His plan worked

You couldn’t even move and struggled to breath

You couldn’t form sentences anymore

All you could do is cry

Taehyung kept going

Even after you passed out, he kept going

Man hasn’t had sex in decades

You’re close to having an orgasm so he slows down for you

But the moment you finish he starts going faster, overstimulating your sensitive cunt

Taehyung aka king of spanking

Choking too

He abused both of your holes

After filling them up with his cum, he shoved his cock down your throat and made you suck him off

Man was overstimulating himself too

The next morning you woke up and Taehyung was sleeping on your chest

His cock was still throbbing in you

Does he still want more?

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

So anyways I heard in the Cobra Kai video game Cobra Kai has fire powers and Miyagi-Do has ice powers and OBVIOUSLY I had to make a moodboard for a Forbidden Fire!Hawk x Ice!Demetri AU, I mean what other option did I feasibly have??? Listen I love me some elemental powers and forbidden gay romance, I COULD NOT RESIST

Anyways I got all hyped about it so I made a bunch of angsty (and fluffy) headcanons to go with it. Enjoy!!! ~Takes place in an superpower-ish AU where basically as soon as you join whichever dojo you start developing the corresponding powerset ~Both Hawk and Demetri turn out to be really powerful magic users. Demetri takes a while longer to master his ice than Hawk takes to master his fire, but once he gets the hang of it, he’s pretty lethal ~Kreese happily pits Hawk against Demetri as soon as Demetri joins Miyagi-Do ~Demetri manages to get through to Hawk briefly at Moon’s party, but the cops show up before they can fully reconcile (there’s bound to be some property damage when you put two drunk, warring gangs of fire-powered and ice-powered teens in one house ~Hawk fully masters his power just before the summer ends. When the school fight breaks out, Hawk gets a bit drunk on his new power and goes a little berserk. He goes after Demetri because, despite things almost being okay between them again, Kreese says he’s the enemy and Kreese probably knows best ~Once cornered, Demetri gets the upper hand in the fight. His powers are stronger than he expected when he’s in immediate danger, and Demetri almost loses control of them and freezes Hawk. He feels REALLY bad about this, but he IS able to subdue Hawk long enough for him to cool off (physically AND figuratively lmao). Demetri manages to talk Hawk down and they start to patch things up. ~They both yeet out of the school and go try to lay low until it’s over, which is probably a good call considering a lot of the school gets burned down and the rest gets iced over ~So much property damage good lord ~After the school fight Hawk and Demetri try to be friends again--but tension is still pretty damn high between the dojos, so they have to meet in secret ~LOTS of sneaking off to Coyote Creek on weekends to be alone together, away from the rest of their dojos ~It gets gay very fast, but they run into a lot of...complications, because their powers are pretty harmful to each other and they can’t really turn them off ~They can’t touch each other with their bare hands because they might freeze or burn each other, so they have to wear gloves like in Frozen ~Most of their power is channeled through their hands, so they’re usually fine touching each other’s skin if their hands are covered up--Hawk’s skin just feels a little warmer than usual and Demetri’s is a little cooler than usual ~Demetri loves making snow at random and shoving it up Hawk’s shirt to annoy him ~Hawk also loves to shoot fire and sparks up into the air and put on “fire shows” for Demetri. Demetri calls him a showoff, but secretly appreciates all the spectacle of it. ~Hawk also figures out how to make fire “hawk wings” for himself. He does this 85% to impress Demetri. Demetri is very much impressed, but pretends not to be. ~Demetri likes to ice the tips of Hawk’s mohawk. He claims this is so Hawk’s hair can be used as a weapon if need be, but really he just thinks it looks cool. ~When they make out, it tastes kind of like you ate a really hot chili pepper and then a Mentos immediately afterwards, and your mouth is full of hellfire. Demetri and Hawk don’t give a shit. In fact, they come to enjoy this. ~Sex is steamy. Like...LITERALLY steamy. There’s fucking steam everywhere. On the upside, this allows for some built-in privacy if the steam is thick enough. ~Eventually Kreese fucking catches them sneaking around ~All hell breaks loose ~Kreese attacks Demetri in a fit of rage. Eli tries to protect him, but he can’t fight Kreese off on his own ;___; ~Eventually Eli and Demetri manage to fend him off for the time being, but not before Demetri’s gotten some pretty nasty burns on his face ~A couple of them scar ~Eli feels REALLY bad, but Demetri keeps telling him “It’s okay, we match now. We’ve both got face scars!!!” ~Demetri’s burn scars are lowkey worse than Eli’s lip scar, but Demetri honestly doesn’t mind if it’ll help Eli be less self-conscious and feel a little better about himself ~As long as Eli still thinks he’s hot ~And he DOES--Eli thinks it looks “rugged and badass” ~He still feels really bad though ~Eventually they go on the run, because they’re sure Kreese is gonna want a rematch and is probably gonna hunt them down regardless ~Road trip away from a terrifying psychopath time!!! ~Or they go to Miyagi-Do and “oh no we can’t have a fire guy in here” angst ensues, idk

That’s all I got for now, but y’all can RB and add more if you want! I’m really vibing with this AU!

Moodboard pic credits available upon request!

[denqis]

your heart was beating out of your chest, ears filled with white noise. you had lost track of where you were and of how long you had been running after that lanky villain. all you knew was that it was starting to get dark and that you had lost bakugou as well as kirishima.

your steps slowed down as your breath hitched when you noticed movement from the corner of your eyes. this time he wouldn't get away.

you quickly gathered your last strength to summon a gust of wind that carried you over the treetops towards the source of movement.

you started feeling dizzy the higher you got, but ignored it. this wasn't a simple training anymore, you needed to make sure that he'd pay for everything he did to you, kirishima, mina and shiro back in middle school.

he was the reason you were in isolation for years, he was the reason yours and kirishima's friendship ended and he was the reason for shiro's death.

you let your body drop bit by bit until you were at close enough range for another attack.

hail the size of basketballs started dropping around him and right when you initiated the last attack a glimpse of red rushed to the scene and pinned the villain to the ground.

you didn't know wether to scream or cry or do both. you were happy that this was finally over but you hated the fact that kirishima had stolen your limelight.

"nice work."

he sent you a glance along with an approving nod, causing you to scoff.

"don't be ridiculous, you know i did most of the work."

"still young and in love, i see. did the death of your friend teach you nothing? kirishima i wouldn't trust her, she killed your best friend."

you noticed his hardened form slowly return to normal, his body slacking. you saw his jaw clench and his eyes starting to water. he was at his absolute limit, emotionally as well as physically.

"why are you in love with a psychopath when clearly ashido loves you much more. she's a perfect fit, she helped you through the death and conviction. she was the only friend there for you all this time, yet you're choosing a murderer over her? pathetic."

kirishima's grip loosened as his head began hanging lower and lower, tears already hitting the floor.

"kirishima don't listen to him! he's lying, he's been lying all this time, please!"

your voice was coarse and squeaky but you had to get him out of the villain's grip before it was too late.

"no.. y/n. he's right."

his empty eyes stared at you and for a split second the boy before you was the same person he was three years ago.

the same boy you were walking along the train tracks with three years ago. he didn't want to go there, but you, mina and shiro had convinced him to come. it wasn't supposed to be dangerous, it was an abandoned track surrounded by the woods.

while mina and shiro went skipping across the trails kirishima had grabbed your hand and stared right into your eyes. he said that he felt that something was going to go wrong, that he felt that you were being followed.

"stop being such a coward eiji, come on. i bet shiro wouldn't act like that!"

you ran after your friends, leaving the black-haired boy behind, who suddenly felt so alone, so used. you did like shiro after all, not him. he slowly started following you further into the woods, reaching a bridge. the water in the creek was the only sound in the air, even the birds had stopped chirping when mina's terrified, bone-shattering screams echoed throughout the woods.

a villain had appeared, lanky figure slouched over shiro's body, mina and you casted aside, trembling in fear.

"eiji! get help!"

you cried, arms clenching around mina until the villain suddenly stood up straight, staring at your shaking body.

"oh, i sense young, innocent love. he means so much to you, he's more than a friend right? why don't you show him how much he means to you? he's the only boy who should be in your life."

the life left your eyes and you stood up and went over to shiro, mina and kirishima watching, frozen in shock.

you saw shiro's terrified gaze on you, his rustling breath and trembling lower lip, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. you felt sick, you didn't want to do this, he was your best friend.

you didn't understand what was happening, it felt as though you were sleepwalking as you lifted a hand, surrounded by the water you had lifted from the humid air.

"go on, sweetheart. it's not that hard. you should be exclusive to.. what did you call him again? eiji. you wouldn't want your selfish love to destroy your friendship, this is the only way."

you felt the pit in your stomach, the way your heart sank and tears dropped onto shiro's face. you wanted to apologize, say how much he meant to you, that he was the best friend you ever had but all you did was chuckle and press your hand onto his mouth and nose, restricting his airways.

he struggled, hands clawing at your back, his orange eyes staring up at you with such agony.

"y/n!"

mina ripped you from your trance, causing you to fall forward, coming face to face with your best friends white, lifeless face.

"shiro? shiro! answer me, please. hey, answer me!"

you crouched next to him, holding his hand and caressing his cheek, tears and snot running down your face before you collapsed onto his cold chest that no longer hosted the heartbeat that had calmed you down so many times.

mina and kirishima sat a few meters away, staring at their two friends, confused and traumatized.

you couldn't let this happen again, you couldn't let the same villain destroy everything you had worked so hard for in isolation again.

"kirishima. listen to me! listen to my voice, please. i'm begging you, just listen. i'll guide you. it's his quirk, he infiltrates your mind and body and makes you do things for him, kirishima, please!"

your tears were spilling over, running down your cheeks along with the rain that poured down over your head.

"eiji.. eiji!"

you screamed, voice breaking along with your tough, invincible facade that you had built and kept up during the last three years of your life.

"y/n, the real you is finally back! you're weak, you killed that poor boy to have kirishima all to yourself. that's right, you're a selfish slut, nothing more! you deserve to die a slow, painful death just like shiro!"

he kept going but his voice faded as your eyes focused on kirishima, who was still kneeling on top of the villain, keeping him to the floor.

"eiji, hey. listen to me! we can get through this. just think about all the people you love, who are worth fighting for. your family, mina, bakugou, all our classmates. do it for them. i know you can't trust me anymore after everything that's happened, but please do it for them."

silence followed.

until you suddenly heard an all too familiar chuckle and when you looked up again, there he was. kirishima in all of his hardened glory.

"you forgot the most important person i should fight for. you."

but before you could respond you felt a sudden heaviness wash over you as your body plummeted to the floor, your mind clouded in darkness.

HISTORY — a kirishima eijirou social media au

synopsis: y/n and kirishima have been friends since kindergarten up until their last year of middle school. unfortunate events started piling up and their strained relationship ended in a catastrophe.

warnings: mentions of drugs, depression, suicidal thoughts and death

masterlist

part seven < part eight > part nine

taglist: @ochabby @yeet-these-hoez @sweethyunjin17