#i’m just sick of people who don’t know what they’re talking about spewing their bad takes all over the place

[fingertipsmp3]

I need mediocre men to stop having opinions on Taylor Swift

[thessalian]

Thess vs Burnout

I should have booked my upcoming week off for next week, not the week after next. When booking at least 50% of my annual leave (which HR demanded we all do by the end of June, possibly to stop Scruffman taking random half-days with no notice whenever he feels like it), I knew I needed a break fairly soon but I wanted to give as much notice as possible. Thus, first week in July. But I underestimated how burned out I currently am and I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of this week, never mind next week. Yes, I know tomorrow’s Friday; the point stands.

That whole “Violet does the long typing and Temp does the short typing” deal is still affecting me in unfortunate ways. I mean, it’s bad enough that Violet only takes them one at a time and works at them at a snail’s pace, which means I get a lot of them regardless of the supposed deal. Thing is ... Violet is elderly and a bit fragile, health-wise. She winds up being out sick a fair bit. But when she’s away, does Temp go, “Well, the deal’s moot since Violet isn’t here; I guess I’d better do some of the longer typing”? NOPE. Which is what it looked like today. There were many, many long ones, all by people who have no idea how to format the damn things, who do the “Oh, hey, could you go back to the first bit and add an important thing I forgot?” thing in the middle of the block key, and who also have no idea how to make sure their recording equipment is in working order. Two of the trickier accents in the building and they fucked up a setting so that it was using the built-in mic on their computers rather than their headsets and it sounded like they were talking at me from one end of a long tin pipe half-blocked by a three-week-old athletic sock. The problem is that I know how Scruffman feels about this; he has made it perfectly clear how he feels about it. How he feels about it is, “As long as I don’t have to do anything”. He doesn’t want to have to talk to Temp about this. He doesn’t want to have to police Temp about it. Most of all, he doesn’t want to annoy the one who is actively in the office who might give him dirty looks about it. Meanwhile, I’m the one who can’t take this shit because of a physical disability, but since he doesn’t have to watch me suffer, it’s fine.

Of course, shit continues being shitty in the rest of the world. Turns out the “We’re going to halve inflation by December 2023″ bull Sunak was spewing awhile back is ... well, just that. Interest rates have gone up to 5%, and odds are good that they’ll be raised to 6% come Christmas. But none of this is going to hit up the rich people, because all they’re going to do is protect their bottom lines by fucking the rest of us over. Landlords aren’t going to tighten their belts and pay the extra on their mortgages out of pocket; they’re going to raise rents even higher than they already are. As for supermarkets ... well, since the triple-whammy of Brexit, Covid, and Ukraine, the cost of actually producing the food and getting it from point A to point B has reportedly gone down but the prices in the supermarkets keep going up. They say they’re raising interest rates and risking a recession because inflation is such a bad thing, and I keep wondering ... why are you not pointing at the people who are causing it? People decide what everything is worth, and when that starts going up further than it should, you have to start looking at the people who set the fucking prices. And all of their increases are in the wrong place. If they just paid decent wages, more people would be able to buy the things they’re offering, and ... I mean, selling cheaply to many is a tried and tested way of doing business. It’s not huge profits, but it’s enough to keep going. The problem is that profit is not enough for these people. They not only want HUGE PROFIT, they want HUGE PROFIT now and EVEN HUGER PROFIT next year and ever-increasing. So they feed inflation by raising their prices to insane degrees, particularly if it’s a needful like ...you know, food. Meanwhile, to make their profit margins look even better, they understaff their workplaces, and underpay those few overworked staff they have. So the interest rate shit is all on them. But there’s going to be no windfall tax on the wealthy because apparently “that’ll just make inflation increase more”. Which is actually honest, given that the wealthy would raise their prices even higher and say, “We had to do it because of how much you’re taxing us! We’re losing money!!!”

They’ll lose a lot more when we can no longer afford to buy their stuff.

So the summary is that I am entirely burned out and everything is pretty depressing and I should have booked my week off for next week but I have to get through one more week of Temp’s bullshit before I can get enough rest to face ... well, this mess.

[gettingridofhope]

And so it begins. The dummies have had their greatest wish granted and elected the single biggest threat to this country and its citizens for another four years. How fucking wonderful. It’s so stupid. These fucking people are so delusional. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Throughout his entire campaign that piece of shit told lie after lie after lie. On top of that all the derogatory, racist, sick and ignorant shit that spewed from his mouth has me thinking all of his supporters are are reveling in the fact that they finally have a leader that says all the of the things that they’ve always wanted to but were afraid to. They excuse his behavior, they lie to themselves about as much as he lies to them. What amazes me is that not any one of them ever checks out his bullshit.

I recognized him as threat early on and when he got voted out last time I was aware of the fact that he was still eligible for four more years. They needed to convict his ass but he’s been stalling for time. So he can get in there again and pardon himself. I tried to make people aware if that and nobody listened. That is the most disheartening thing I’ve had to endure. Knowing ahead of time and feeling an urgency to tell people to warn them and nobody listens. You get discounted as a conspiracy theorist and your effort get shutdown by just the mere mention of those words. Case in point I had tried to be vocal on Facebook, which is a collection of all my old friends over the years and posted about a site called global-research.ca. This site is all unfiltered news articles from scientist and scholars and such reporting about all things world wide. A lot of truth on there and within 20 minutes some cunt that I don’t even know who they were but they were on my list and had said that’ “oh it’s run by a conspiracy theorist”. And that was a wrap. Once that label gets hung on you there your credibility.

See the powers that be know that and they exploit it. The person that runs global-research has been called a conspiracy theorist which is true, a person that theorizes on conspiracies perpetrated by other people. That person is usually very smart and has an ability two connect the dots and see what that connection of dots is going to lead to. It’s theory and needs to be legitimized by actual research and investigation. The problem arises when less intelligent people take that theory and run with it as if it’s the truth. No research no investigation and next thing you know pizza gate becomes someone’s truth and they’re marching on Washington DC. I’m sure that whoever threw that out there regrets even saying because of what happened. But a theory is just a theory and while it can come close to truth it isn’t. Not until someone does the leg work.

I throw shit out there all the time. I have a habit of talking to myself sometimes it seems but I’m not talking to myself. I’m tryin to solidify what’s in my head and speak it out loud so that I can get a clear defined idea to write down. Sometimes you have to say it out loud so it makes sense.

Stupid people can’t understand that concept. Stupid people don’t have critical thinking skills. A lot of what’s gone down in this election is due to the fact that people are fucking lazy and refuse too try to understand things or think for themselves and question what they’ve been told. Lazy because they don’t want to do the work. They don’t where to look and how to figure out where to get the answers. So they believe whatever they’re told. That’s the fucking problem with all these people that voted for Trump. They’re too fucking dumb and lazy to find the truth or they’re greedy and selfish and money is there God.

Liberals are not part bad people. They’ve just been ostracized by the right because they believe in change, in equal rights, in feminism, in out with old let’s try the new. Healthcare for all so we don’t have to suffer in pain until we die. Your body your choice. Free education for all. These principles are directly opposite of a conservative. It’s right there in the name, conserve. For who? Themselves. So when a conservative is talking and he starts using “we” in his language watch out, he’s trying to manipulate you. He doesn’t give a fuck about “we” he only gives a fuck about “me.” Donald convinced all the dummies that he’s looking out for them. Donald was gonna win this no matter what. He kept saying “don’t even worry about voting” and “we don’t need your vote”. Why would he be telling everyone that, Well, Elon was on board. His internet company was illegally used to connect to the voting system in the swing states and that is how you steal an election. Does Trump give a shit about all the fucking lies he was saying about voter fraud. Nope doesn’t even think about it anymore. He got his way. Congratulation to all the people that voted for him. You just have a criminal the means to do more criminal shit. Crime is like chaos in that it’s fair. It has no preference to who it’s going to happen to it just happens. When the people that voted for him experience that, well…that’s a story for another day.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

PAABITB had gone radio silent for a while and part of me hoped that she actually changed and was starting to do better, but she seems to have come back exactly the way she was, so I guess she must've just found a more private outlet to spew her toxicity, most likely with like-minded fandom scum who's just as bad as her.

Yeah, not only has been more active on her private Twitter and Tumblr from what my followers say, but it turns out that now, she’s uploading videos to YouTube lecturing the fandom on how to act. In fact, she uploaded one almost two weeks ago. Let’s go over it, shall we?

And before any of you act like I’m the one stalking her, just know that she still follows my blog while I’m still blocked from directly responding to her.

Also, she’s still smeared me in the past, in addition to some of the more prominent users in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom.

So yeah, if she can act like the fandom police to other users, I don’t see why I can’t give PAABITB a taste of her own medicine. Ready for a thorough rebuttal to her latest attack on the fandom from yours truly?

“Alright, we need to talk, Miraculous fandom. I get it. I seriously do. At one point, we were all naive, oblivious, and unaware of what we hated or liked. But honestly? How some of you deny or say Adrigami doesn’t work, but think Marigami works is insensitive and disgusting.”

Oh my God, people are shipping different characters together? That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen!

How many times are you going to say that it’s perfectly okay to belittle other people for their different views regarding ships while you keep acting like anyone who doesn’t ship Adrigami is a terrible human being?

“Seriously. I’m sick and tired of this. I’m seriously sick and tired of this. Not to mention you believe what the show writers tell you. You fall into their brainwashing, and look where it gets you: Nowhere.”

“Brainwashing”? What, do you think Mr. Big is in charge of broadcasting the show? Do you think anyone who doesn’t ship the Love Square is kidnapped by ZAG employees and is subjected to the same kind of torture Winston got in 1984?

No matter what you think of the writing of the show, whether you think it’s getting better or worse, I wouldn’t say they’re actually trying to “brainwash” viewers. Yes, a recurring problem is the way they try to act like certain plot elements have always been there (Ladybug mistreating Cat Noir, Marinette not being in love with Luka, Adrien and Marinette being best friends, Marinette giving Adrien a lot of advice), but I don’t think “brainwashing” is the best way to describe it.

And so what if some people still enjoy the show? It wouldn’t have five seasons if nobody liked it, wouldn’t it? The main idea behind the “Miraculous Ladybug salt” tag is so that people who are more critical about the show can discuss it without upsetting anyone who has a more positive outlook on it, because even some of the biggest salters know that not everyone can share the same opinion.

I don’t think I can speak for everyone else, but I wouldn’t call anyone who still enjoys the show “brainwashed”.

“Stop believing in them. They are not going to do anything good, and when they do, they always find a way to make it about someone that it’s not about them. You have an Adrigami episode back in Season 4, ‘Lies‘; somehow make it about Marinette because of that stupid lucky charm. Not only is that insensitive to Adrigami shippers, it’s insensitive to people who enjoy Adrien’s character.”

How the hell was Marinette the reason Adrien and Kagami broke up?

The lucky charm in the episode wasn’t important because Marinette made it. The whole point of the charm was that Adrien lied about losing it, and Kagami realized it when she had it. Adrien had to lie about losing the charm in order to come up with an excuse to fight an Akuma as Cat Noir, and as far as Kagami sees it, he’s just coming up with excuses not to spend time with her for more selfish reasons. If Adrien said he lost his wallet when Kagami saw it on the ground, the context for the situation wouldn’t change at all.

“I don’t know why you believe in the show writers doing well, but you need to break out of that shell of reluctance, and actually stand up, break out, and tell the show writers off, or at least, admit they aren’t good at writing.”

“Why can’t anyone who enjoys Miraculous Ladybug admit the writers are terrible at their jobs?” - You.

Again, I know that I see the show in a different way than a lot of the other fans online, but I don’t let my problems with the show prevent others from enjoying it. The “Miraculous Ladybug salt” tag exists for a reason.

“Because I am sick and tired of Adrigami being slandered and Marigami taking over. I’m all for gay ships, but Marigami? No. After how Marinette treated Kagami in the past, just no.”

I’m not really sure what that has to do with the writers, seeing how Adrigami isn’t mentioned at all after “Mr. Pigeon 72”, and there isn’t any real teasing for Kagami being in love with Marinette.

Also, you’re acting like Marinette still hates Kagami with a burning passion, when you forgot that Marinette felt bad about how she treated Kagami in the past after learning how she had no friends (Ikari Gozen), and even tried to get her back together with Adrien when she learned they broke up (Mr. Pigeon 72).

“And another thing; I’m really freaking sick and tired of how people say ‘Oh, the Kwamis are aroace’. That was never confirmed. All Tikki said is ‘Kwamis don’t fall in love’. She didn’t say they can’t fall in love. Maybe you don’t project or jump to conclusions so quickly, because the show writers are not good at what they do.”

Are... Are you really in a position to say that? What does that even have to do with the writers?

Again, what’s wrong with people headcanoning Tikki and Plagg as aroace? Is it because you ship the two? Because newsflash, people can have different opinions on certain characters when it comes to romance and shipping. 

“I haven’t seen a show fall this badly since... Well, I would say Star vs., but honestly, Fairly OddParents kind of fell off when they decided not to do something that easily could have been done, but besides that.”

You mean not introduce a bunch of pointless new characters to boost ratings? Not make three movies starring Drake Bell? Not make a live-action reboot that’s somehow worse than the aforementioned movies starring Drake Bell? Let me know when I’m getting warmer.

“Adrien could be better off with anyone that’s not Marinette, at least in the canon show: Kagami, Zoe Lee, Chloe (if we go from Season 2), Lila (if we go from Season 1, kind of), Wayhem, Nino, Luka, anyone around his age who actually interacts with him only a little bit. And yet, it’s still more cuter than when Marinette’s like ‘Oh, Adrien. Let’s have a frickin future with three kids and a hamster’.”

Okay, let me get this straight. You’re so against Marinette that not only are you unwilling to forgive her actions in canon, you think that Chloe and Lila, two people who have violated Adrien’s personal boundaries, would be better for Adrien than Marinette, as well as Wayhem, a crazed stalker who is arguably more obsessed with Adrien than Marinette is?

Yes, Marinette’s behavior regarding Adrien is unhealthy, and yes, it needs to be addressed more, but if you’re so against how Marinette treats Adrien, then why are you okay with the way Chloe, Lila, and Wayhem treat Adrien when they all can be just as bad, if not worse in some areas?

“Just understand this: If you think Kagami’s character got better because she became softer towards Marinette, you don’t appreciate what strictness and bluntness are, and probably might be a bit of a pushover, and need to learn to stand up for yourself.”

Wow, you’re really just  going to go out on a limb and belittle anyone who actually likes the idea of Kagami and Marinette becoming friends, aren’t you?

Are you sure you actually appreciate Kagami’s blunt nature because of how it fit her personality, or because said bluntness just so happened to be directed towards Marinette in Seasons 2 and 3? What about in “Lies”, when she was “blunt” and “strict” about how upset she was with Adrien when she dumped him. And yes, for someone who hates what Marinette does in canon, you seem to forget that canonically, Kagami dumped Adrien.

“However, if you are in a difficult situation with a family who doesn’t understand the best of your frustrations, you probably should take your time before confronting the problem. Never confront the problem if you don’t know what to do. I learned that the hard way as a kid, I really did.”

Oh my God, just say the rules don’t apply to Adrien already. We all know that’s why you said that after supposedly calling Kagaminette shippers “pushovers”, because you’re aware of how Adrien rarely stands up to his father, and don’t want to look like a hypocrite... Well, more of a hypocrite than you already are.

“Just to say it, I don’t hate Chloe, and I don’t hate Zoe. I believe in what Deneen Melody said about them being like sisters.”

Not sure what that has to do with Kagaminette, the Kwamis being aroace, or Kagami’s “bluntness”, but I find it funny that you’re willing to drag Marinette for her canon actions, yet don’t hold Chloe responsible for her actions. I’m a huge advocate for Chloe redemption, and even I don’t defend the stuff she did after Season 3.

“So yeah, stop hating on characters who don’t deserve to be hated, and stop shipping things that shouldn’t be shipped.”

Mind defining what warrants hating a character in your eyes, besides being named Marinette Dupain-Cheng? And outside of incest or pedophilia, can you please explain why there are ships that shouldn’t be shipped?

Oh wait, I get it now! You’re saying that you want people to like the same characters you like, hate the same characters you hate, ship the same ships you ship, and hate the same ships you don’t hate! I cracked the case!

I know this might sound like a major revelation, but it’s entirely possible for people to have different opinions and still get along, especially when it comes to fandom stuff. You seriously think you can police the fandom and shame them into going along with your views because you say so? 

Whenever I talk about Miraculous Ladybug, while I make my views clear in my posts, I always try to make sure other people can chime in through asks and give their own opinions, because that is how we as a society express our individuality. The whole reason I started this blog in the first place was to call out Astruc for telling us to view the show in certain way. For someone who thinks we shouldn’t respect the writers at all (something I haven’t even said once, by the way), how does that make you any better?

And if you think I’m wrong, prove it. Unblock me and try to back up your claims here, so we can both talk about this like adults. I’m willing to at least try and hear you out after everything you’ve said in the past.

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[helliontherapscallion]

Unexpected Encounters (Adrenaline Junkie Part 8)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: minor swearing

Word count: 2,775

You walked down the now worn cobblestone path towards the main plaza of the village by Philza’s house. Whistling the first verse of the L’manberg national anthem, you wove slightly at the crowd of people gathered at the stands that littered the sides of the street. 

The village was much larger than the entire L’manberg nation. It had several different precincts with a large, diverse group of people and a few hybrids living there. It also had more amenities like shops, a library (which, to your delight, grew expansively to include more books on inventions, some being exclusively about yours. They were proud people that embraced whatever fame comes out of the area), and multiple towering office buildings.

Everything’s changed since you’ve last been here a year ago. What was now more modern used to be traditional. What was loosely populated was now bustling with people. What used to be barren was now chock full of shops and apartment complexes. It was kind of jarring to see this much change in a little over a year.

In retrospect, it was jarring how much you changed in a little over a year. The hallucinations have finally almost completely stopped along with the nightmares. They only came about once a week now. You were slowly reincorporating green back into your wardrobe. Your phantom pain has retreated into your subconscious. It was always going to be with you, so you got used to the constant pain and tingling feeling. You learned to appreciate the small things in life and just live in the moment so you would have something positive to look back on in the future.

You invented several different gadgets to help your brothers win the L’manberg War of Independence such as a portable TNT launcher, handheld long-distance communication devices (which you affectionately dubbed walkie talkies since you could walk and talk! Wilbur and Tommy were not as enthusiastic of the name as you were), and a redstone powered crossbow that continuously fired arrows until you released the trigger. Though all of your inventions were practically your babies, they did not come anywhere close to trumping your magnum opus: your metal fully functioning wing. 

After several mishaps and failed attempts, you finally made your wing correspond to the electrical impulses in your muscles so that it copied the movements of your flesh wing. It’s built out of a lightweight hollow iron and has feather shaped metal pieces protruding off from it to emulate your other wing. It was a sleek silver color that always caught a ray of sunshine and reflected it to another place. It was basically permanently attached to your body by now due to it being a pain to take on and off. It was just easier and more efficient to keep it on constantly. 

People around you stared, some in awe and some in admiration. A stark difference from when you first lost your wing. Sometimes, you resented them for treating you differently just because your name became more widely known, but you were always a firm believer that everyone deserves a second chance. Even attention seeking, unscrupulous assholes looking for cheap brownie points from their peers because ‘I knew them before they were discovered! I knew them personally, we were, like, really close!’ So for now, you tried to ignore the ugly indignation bubbling in your gut and threatening to spew out in a string of hurtful words. You were sick of being angry, especially now that L’manberg is at peace. 

You passed several people who pointed at you and whispered amongst themselves. Ignoring them, you continued onward with your head held high and your wings folded in tightly to avoid children grabbing and pulling them with their grubby little hands. It always took you a while to clean and preen them after people touched them. You hated cleaning off fingerprints and grime from the smooth metal.

Walking with a sense of purpose, you continued onwards passing multiple shops and stands until you finally reached the butcher. Opening the decorated glass door, a little bell chimed alerting the burly man behind the counter of your presence. Like the others, he stared wide-eyed at you with his lips slightly parted in shock. Great, another exhausting encounter. 

Putting on a polite smile, you broke the silence of the meat shop. “Hello, I’m here to buy half a pound of fresh ground beef. Would you by chance have any in stock?” That seemed to snap him out of his stupor.

“O-of course, I’ll get that for you right away.”

He disappeared into the backroom where frosty fog rolled out in tiny clouds. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions or try to get to know you on a personal level.

He returned in a hurry, slapping the wrapped beef onto the counter and giving you a price. Reaching into your wallet for the cash, you paid him generously. “Keep the change.”

“I-thank you, Mx. Minecraft.”

Putting the beef into your satchel, you gave him a more genuine smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Briskly walking out, you made a beeline for the village’s main entrance. You couldn’t stand the feeling of constantly being watched and talked about anymore. Why couldn’t they treat you like a normal person? In your opinion, you were, well, you. Nothing was special about you.

As you were about to cross the threshold of the village, you heard footsteps behind you.

“HEY! MX. MINECRAFT I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, you closed your eyes and took a few steadying breaths so that you wouldn’t lash out at this person. You just wanted to go to your childhood home and have a nice, peaceful dinner with your dad. Was that too much to ask? 

Opening your eyes and plastering on a fake smile, you turned around and greeted him. He was a young boy, probably around eleven or twelve years old. His clothes and shaggy auburn hair were disheveled and he had dirt smeared on his face. “Hello, to whom may I owe the pleasure?”

He put his hands on his knees and tried to talk between gasping breaths. “Mx, my name’s Arthur Fox, i-it’s truly an honor to meet you. I’ve admired your work since before the war in L’manberg. You’re an amazing inventor and I wanna be just like you when I grow up. I- oooh I’m sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I?” He kind of reminded you of Tubbo in a strange way.

“No, you’re fine Arthur. Thank you for being a fan of my work, but I must get going. I have an important meeting to attend to.” You weren’t exactly lying to the young boy. Turning on your heel, you started to walk off only to feel a hand on your arm.

“Mx, I need to talk to you.”

“I really have to get going, Arthur. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, it’s important.”

You struggled to keep the smile on your face as you shrugged his arm off as politely as you could. This kid is determined. Too determined. “So’s my meeting. I have to go.” You started to walk off into the beaten forest path.

“Do you know about The Warden?”

You halted abruptly and sharply turned around. You let your smile and polite stature drop into pursed lips and sharp eyes.

“...Of course I do. Everyone does.”

Flinching slightly, he quickly recovered his confident facade. “No, that’s not what I meant. Do you know about The Warden?”

“Like I said,” you played stupid, “everybody does. Who doesn’t?”

He puffed his cheeks out in frustration. “Ugh, how could someone so smart be so stupid at the same time? I mean you met it didn’t you? It took your wing.”

You took a step forward and narrowed your eyes, fully facing him now. “How do you know about that? Who told you?” 

He stepped back. “I-I heard rumors a couple of years back that it got someone. I heard your name thrown around here and there.”

You gave him enough of a warning that you didn’t want to talk, but he ignored it and now he has to reap the consequences. At this point, you were so tired and drained from everyone trying to be buddy-buddy with you that you finally snapped. The only thing you wanted was to go home, you did not need this right now. 

“Well, Arthur, you shouldn’t pry into other people’s business. I’ve told you time and time again that I have to leave, yet you persist to stop me. Why? And where are your parents, didn’t they teach you any manners?”

He looked downwards and fiddled with his fingers. “They’re dead. T-The Warden took someone important to me. I… I thought you might be able to help me.”

Shit, you just yelled at a grieving orphan. You were a massive asshole weren’t you? Your eyes softened slightly and you frowned. “...I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything I could do to make it up to you? Dinner perhaps? We can talk about how I could help you afterwards.”

He glanced up at you. “But-but what about your meeting.”

You winced. “Uh, I’m moving it forward, we have more pressing matters.” You paused awkwardly. “Do… Do you have anybody to ask permission? Any siblings?”

His shoulders drooped. “...No. I’m all by myself.”

Shit, you yelled at a grieving homeless orphan? God what kind of role model were you? 

“C’mon, kid. We’re going to my house.” 

His wordlessly followed you and avoided looking into your eyes. The walk to your childhood home was very awkward, neither of you attempted starting conversation. You sighed.

“Look, Arthur I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. That was really uncalled for, I shouldn’t have yelled or gotten mad. It’s just that- The Warden’s a… touchy subject for me.”

“It’s alright, Mx. Minecraft. You can make it up to me by… making me dinner and showing me some of your blueprints?”

He looked up to you with hope filled, sparkling eyes. You snorted. “It’s a deal, kid. We’re almost there.” 

You could see the silhouette of the house in the nearly setting sun. It was still the same as when you left a year ago. 

“Ya know,” you sighed out, “this is actually my Dad’s house. I’m just visiting him for a couple of weeks.”

“Where do you live then?”

“I live in the heart of L’manberg with my brothers.”

“That’s cool…” He trailed off. You frowned, it seems that he was nervous to meet your Dad. You probably should’ve mentioned that Philza was there to him before taking him here.

You stopped, grabbing Arthur’s shoulders. “Kid, you don’t have to worry about meeting my dad. He’s probably the kindest, most genuine man I’ve ever met. He’ll welcome you with open arms, that’s what he did with me and my three brothers. He adopted us all.”

He gave you a small smile. “Alright, Mx. Minecraft, I trust you.”

“Oh, please don’t call me ‘Mx. Minecraft’, it makes me feel ancient,” you lolled your head back and dramatically groaned out, making him giggle. “I just turned twenty, buddy. Feel free to call me (y/n).”

 Putting your hand on his shoulder, you led him to the front door. You twisted the old door knob and pushed the wooden door open.

“Dad, I’m home and I brought the beef!”

He popped his head out from the kitchen, his messy blond hair flopping onto his face. He gave you a joking smile. “Took you long enough, any longer and I would’ve locked ya out.” 

You watched as his eyes wandered over to Arthur. He frowned, revealing his frilly pink apron that Wilbur got him as a joke. Oh, you could just hear the gears in his head churning.

“...(Y/n), who’s this?”

Grinning sheepishly, you replied. “Dad, this is Arthur Fox. Arthur, this is my dad Philza Minecraft. I promised him dinner and somewhere to stay for the night. Do you have some of Tommy’s old clothes Artie could borrow for the night?”

He sighed, shooting you a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look. “Yes, they’re in the attic. I’ll grab them after dinner so he could shower before going to bed.”

Arthur timidly spoke up. “Thank you, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad softened and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s no problem, Arthur. And please, call me Philza. Mr. Minecraft makes me feel old.”

Arthur let out a loud laugh. Despite everything he went through, his laugh still sounds like an innocent child’s laugh. You chuckled, kids always had a silly little laugh. Philza grinned at him, a child’s laughter was something that he missed.

Arthur wiped at his eyes as his laughter died down. “I’m sorry, (y/n) said the same outside.”

“I did,” you smiled lightly at Arthur before looking back at Philza with mischief, standing up straight and putting your hands on your hips. “But I was funnier.”

“Pft, you wish. I was saying that before you were even born. So, I win because I’ve been saying it longer.”

“Whatever ya say, old man. Funniness over age.”

He playfully glared at you, placing an offended hand over his heart. “I’m not that old.”

“Ya kinda are, Dad. You’re practically turning to dust!”

He gasped. “I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Are too!”

“Am no- wait Dad, that’s cheating!”

“You still said it though!” He sang out, grinning at you cheekily.

“No, that doesn’t count!”

Arthur’s amused brown eyes bounced between you and Philza like he was watching a tennis match. Every so often, he would giggle at something one of you said. You both took your banter to the kitchen where you and Philza started to cook. Dinner was done and the table was set in no time. There was pleasant small talk as dinner neared an end

Your dad swallowed his last bite of beef and turned his attention towards Arthur. “So Arthur, how old are you?”

Arthur gave a small grin. “I’m ten.”

“Do your paren-”

You loudly coughed, throwing a discreet glare at Philza. Mouthing ‘don’t’ from behind your hand, you took a big sip of your water and stood up. “I’ll wash all the dishes. Arthur, would you like to look at some of my blueprints while we wait for my Dad to get you some clothes?”

His eyes shined with excitement. “Yes please!”

You chuckled, putting the plates in the sink and walking down to your old workshop to grab one of the blueprints you left in a filing cabinet. You grabbed the first draft for your prosthetic and the final draft for the automatic farm.

Upstairs, you situated the blueprints in front of Arthur at the dinner table. “Okay buddy, learn to your heart’s content. I’m gonna do the dishes. If you need something just give me a shout.”

Walking into the kitchen, you filled the sink with warm soapy water and got started scrubbing. You moved your wings around subconsciously as you wiped the pots and plates clean of grease. Humming in satisfaction when you were done, you dried your hands and sat next to Arthur who was looking at your designs with complete awe. 

“You like them?”

He nodded his head so fast you thought it might fall off and started to fling questions at you. You smiled fondly at him, it was nice to see someone so interested in how your inventions were made and not just how they worked. 

You two were mid conversation when Philza walked into the room with a bundle of clothes in his arms. You grabbed Arthur’s hand and led him up to the bathroom. You bent down and rested your hands on your knees, looking at him.

“Alright buddy, everything you need is in there, clean towels are in the closet. When you’re done, I’ll be in my room just over there,” you pointed to your door. “Last door on the left. I can show you where you’ll be sleeping for the night when you’re done. Does that sound okay?”

He gave you a gap-toothed smile. “Yes, thank you (y/n)! You’re the best!”

He closed the bathroom door and you stood there. You felt… oddly fond for the boy you just met only hours before. 

Philza cleared his throat and pinned you to the wall with a stern look. “(Y/n), explain now.”

“I will, but let’s talk in my room so Arthur can shower in peace. Poor boy needs it.”

He sighed and walked into your room. You had a long talk ahead of you.

(A/N): so, how do you guys like Arthur?

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash4  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @lestrangenymph  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado  @laura--444

[mithliya]

Okay sorrh this is long I got a couple of receipts from sapphicdesi and don’t wanna send screenshots since I have social anxiety but the post genderistseku used was a bad one to call out sapphicdesi, but it doesn’t discredit all the hostile things she’s said about bisexual women

it’s nothing new, they all deeply hate lesbians. they refuse to admit they are homophobic oppressors and how homophobia and problemtic the bi community is. she has me blocked and so do many other of her deranged friends who have some osa victim complex / oppression fetish. they really act and speak like no other women experience misogyny.

(Bi women really aren’t it from an anon) they really aren’t. they’re the worst. rabid homophobic misogynistic narcs. who apparently spew the most racism here too. i’m gonna post all the asks / discussions i never did, they can keep harassing me. a bi tra or bi woman from radblr sent me such a racist yesterday i’m a post it when i wake up

(In response to an anon) but isn’t funny i’m called crazy and hateful for saying they aren’t oppressed nor victims for being into dick and men? im insane and evil for saying heterophobia isn’t real? and for being upset at how lesphobic and abusive they are? most bi women think lesbians need to be converted and raped by males. they are so deeply deeply narcissistic and fake feminists.

(In response to an anon talking about how they prefer straight normal friends above gender “queer” people) it’s also so fucked up because a lot of the gendies are actually heteros/bis. but you know bisexuals have always been homophobic and annoying. Even having no males and dick or threesomes w ur ugly bf in my bio im a lesbian, rejecting tras/tw got me banned on tinder bc of bis/trans/gendies. Always triggered white people.

(In response to an anon talking about a post where bi women claimed to like penis over vagina) oh my god ew no I never saw that can you link me? but that doesn’t surprise me at all, bi women don’t love women or respect women at all, only dick and treat lesbians like walking sex toys. they want us to be raped and used by dick so bad and then for themselves. straight women are more tolerable at this point, at least they aren’t pretending to like women. and it’s funny bi radfems think they’re any better or less homophobic. I’m so fucking sick of the homophobia everywhere, bisexual women hate lesbians/women so so fucking deeply I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with them, they’re fucking homophobic dick obsessed demons. of course lesbians to them are just their to lick their pussy and cuddle them, just for their boredom but real relationships and real sex? gotta be men and dick! and then they spew vile shit about lesbians all day long and how they love women more than us and are so gay. I hate them the same as trans males at this point. misogynistic homophobic demons who talk about dick like it’s water they’d die without. also if you’re an offended bi who’s gonna send me hate asks after this don’t bother just unfollow me and blog about how much you hate lesbians and how we oppress you for your love of men and dick.

bi women are fucking demons who don’t love women and hate women. especially lesbians who actually love women and only women. lmao apparently we’re not really lesbians if we don’t like straight men in dresses who fetishize us but they are lmao, like look at how they start listing their bs gender labels to showcase how they’re better for wanting to fuck everyone aka men w stupid labels. “all women” lmao het men in dresses ain’t women, trans “women” are evil lesbian fetishists and neither of you love women you’re homophobic creeps.

I just looked up bi on her account, there’s a lot lot more but I just used these since I don’t want this to be super long.

She doesn’t site things for most of(couldn’t find sources on her blog for any of these claims) this stuff and mainly uses her own experiences and others around her. I don’t doubt her experiences or her life exposure to hateful bisexuals but imo it doesn’t justify how hostile and hateful she’s being in return to bisexual. Im gonna cut it here since this s already long and I really already feel anxious about this

Sorry again for this

i agree genderistdeku should’ve used a different post if she wanted to illustrate a point and that her post choice was a bad one. to me it just came across as almost laughing at a lesbian for being abused by a bi woman. i understand that someone facing abuse at the hands of any type of minority doesn’t justify hating said minority, and i wholeheartedly agree there, but it just came across as malicious and like she’s laughing at sapphicdesi for what she experienced. i assume that wasn’t her goal or her intention, but that’s how it came across. based on the quotes you provided (i did not check to see their accuracy), there were clearly far better posts to choose from if her argument was that sapphicdesi is prejudiced against bi ppl.

for the first post you quoted, i agree the bi community is unfortunately deeply homophobic today. but i disagree bi ppl necessarily have an oppression fetish, many definitely are quite privileged and sheltered but many do in fact face a lot of shit for being bi. 2nd post, i think she has every right to criticise racism & homophobia, at the same time i think especially as woc & lesbians, we have to be very mindful about what we say and how we say it. i don’t think she genuinely hates bi women and i think she is simply hurt & traumatised, and to me it comes off like she’s very frustrated with the homophobia & other prejudices she sees spewed by many bi people. + im sure she’s very wary bc of what she experienced, and i can somewhat understand as i also faced abused at the hands of my ex who happens to be bi. but people don’t always know ur intentions from what u write on here and ppl often divorce your words from the context you wrote them in as well. for this reason i think we should be careful, and esp as woc we don’t get cut the same slack that others are.

for the rest, i get the vibe that she’s very frustrated by the homophobia she’s seen expressed on here and seemingly feels very betrayed by bi women. i don’t blame her bc i know many lesbians feel this way, and sometimes i feel frustrated and exhausted from the stuff i see on here too. or the homophobia i see irl. when it’s stuff online, sometimes i just log off and talk to someone who i can trust and know can understand me & where im coming from. i havent really properly talked about this before, but my previous relationship was with a bi woman (so was my relationship before that but that’s another story). and the entire time in our relationship, she’d tell me that one day she’ll leave me for a man. like she just… would straight up tell me that unprompted. she’d often ask me how id feel if she suddenly realised she was straight. and id usually say nothing or just say idk and she’d just keep pressing & asking until i eventually breakdown into tears. constantly telling me she wants a relationship thats “normal”, that her family will accept, that she wants to have a kid within the next year, that if she finds a man she likes she’ll leave me for him. another time some guy was hitting on one of us at a gay bar and she just… turns to me and makes out with me and then turns back to him, and gives him a look. idk why she did that or what her goal was but it made me deeply uncomfortable. but i said nothing bc i was scared of her and scared of losing her too. and on top of that she would physically, verbally, and most of all emotionally abuse me. this is stuff i kept to myself most of the time but at times people in my life would see how she was and beg me to leave her (and i refused and told them they simply didn’t understand). so speaking on a personal level, i get it. but i just tell myself that i don’t want to be anything like her, i don’t want to let how hateful she is change me. i make the conscious choice to be mindful and tell myself there’s many bi women (& men, tho idk many) out there who are completely decent and normal. who support gay people fully and truly. normal bi people. and im lucky to know a few, like my best friend who when she slept w a trans woman told me she thinks i won’t like it bc it’s like being w a man, or my bi cousin who’s 7 years younger than me yet came out at a younger age than me (she was 11 i think). they definitely exist and they are what prove me to everyday that shitty people are shitty independent of their sexuality. sorry for ranting but, yeah. i wish sapphicdesi well bc i can tell she’s hurting and i can empathise with what she’s going through. she and i talked about that before i believe and i know it’s really painful when someone you loved and trusted takes advantage of you and hurts you the way her ex hurt her. it also can really hurt when the women you expect to understand & support you most, are ones you see spewing homophobic rhetoric. i hope she heals from that. but ultimately people take our words at face value and won’t see that when she says “i hate bi women”, she doesn’t literally mean “i hate all bi women”. they’ll just take it literally without knowing where she’s coming from.

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Ludwig’s Story

Characters: Germany, Prussia

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Arthur’s story can be found here. 

Matthew’s story can be found here.

Gabriel’s story can be found here.

---------------------------------------------

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

---------------------------

AN:

I’ve been a very busy bee recently and haven’t been able to write anything, so in lieu of something new, have something old.

This is from my fic Earthbound, which I’m embarassingly fond of. It’s made up of several different stories and Ludwig and Gilbert’s is the one that I’m the most happy with after all these years.

Hope you enjoyed!

[anyoneseenadam]

Home: Chapter three

azriel x reader (acotar)

summary: (y/n) is a daughter of Persephone, still recovering from the trauma of her fall into Tartarus and doesn’t have time for a stupid, handsome, annoying, stunning, injured man. But now they’re stuck together in the middle of nowhere and there only chance of getting home is if she can heal him, and fast.

warnings: big spoilers for mark of Athena and house of Hades, also some for the acotar series, eventual smut, blood, PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, injuries and torture, enemies to lovers so az is a bit of a dick to start, swearing

word count: 4.2k

a/n: I’m not entirely happy with this chapter but I wanted to get it done so I apologise if its shit and pls comment and let me know :))))

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Azriel woke up, the sun was just beginning to rise although it appeared you had been awake for hours, you had stitched together cups, bowls, plates and had even sewn his Illyrian leathers back together, his top folded carefully next to him. He looked for you, not seeing you straight away and instead seeing a blanket you had stitched crumpled on the ground and a trail of footprints leading to the water’s edge, blushing bright red when he saw your clothes on the side of the bank. He looked and saw you standing facing away from him, watching the sun rise, with the water pooling around your waist. You were shivering slightly, running your hands over your skin in an attempt to clean away the dirt and sweat that had built up. He watched as you kneeled and tilted your head back tentatively, wetting your hair and massaging your scalp gently for a few minutes, he watched entranced as you stood back up, lifting your hair, and gently squeezing the excess water from it, basking in the sun as it slowly dried and heated your skin, unknowingly revealing the whole expanse of your back to Azriel who was staring with a sick feeling building up in his stomach. Who did that to her? Unimaginable levels of anger built up at the sight and Azriel was overcome with a burning desire to destroy anything and everything that brought you pain, but soon you began to turn around to come back to shore, and he forced himself to lie back down and close his eyes, falling asleep once again as he thought of revenge and your scars.

--

When he woke up again, the sun was much higher in the sky, and from what he could tell it appeared to be around nine in the morning. (y/n) was dressed again and her hair had dried due to the heat from the sun. She had pulled it out of her face and was frowning at her cup.

“Are your cups leaking?” he asked, voice deeper from sleep, trying to not feel smug at her sharp intake of breath.

“No, I’m a genius don’t worry. This water just tastes like shit,”

“Well did you get it from upstream?” She raised her eyebrows at his question,

“I’m not stupid.”

“I was just asking,”

“Still.”

“It’s probably just still got dirt in it, you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure,”

“Hmpf,” he laughed at her as she forced the water down with a shudder, before passing him a full cup. He took a tentative sip and frowned at her.

“This tastes normal.”

“Do you often drink river water?”

“Well…”

“Ew.” She laughed moving away from him as he stuck his middle finger up at her, making her laugh again, before chucking an apple at him, which he caught just before it hit him in the head.

“I thought you said I would feel horribly ill this morning.” He pointed out, he didn’t feel that bad, perhaps a little sick but he had been stabbed the day before.

“Oh you will, don’t worry,” She smiled at him, “I’d say you probably have about an hour, so I’m going to make us a treehouse.”

“A treehouse?” He furrowed his brows at the unknown phrase, she just laughed, pushing on her knees to stand up.

“You’ll see.”

He sat up fully and grabbed his top, pulling it over his head as she walked away, presumably looking for a good place to put her ‘treehouse’. The sight of her clothed back made the sick feeling in his stomach come back, he desperately wanted to ask her about it, but she was young, and they looked relatively new. It had been centuries since his hands had been scarred and he doubted it had been much more than a year for hers, and those weren’t wounds you moved past quickly, he still felt uncomfortable when people stared for too long. She stopped roughly a hundred feet away from where he sat and cracked her neck and knuckles.

“I’m going to need lots of water after this, cause I’m going to be drained, do you mind?” she asked, gesturing to the river. He started taking his shoes off as she held her hands up in front of her, he moved, wading ankle-deep into the river and filled the cups with relatively clean water, walking back and moving to stand near her, watching in awe as one of the thicker trees started to warp, lower branches forming a floor, and higher forming the roof, then more branches from other trees joined, creating walls and a small ladder leading up to an outside deck. Soon enough there was a small hut in the trees, and he smiled, turning to look at her. She was standing swaying slightly, all the colour drained from her face and he moved to hold her up, passing her one of the cups. She drank from it greedily, leaning heavily on his side, making him grimace at the pain and pass her the second cup, which she drank with as much vigour.

“That was incredible,” he whispered, tearing his eyes of the structure to look down at her, she was gazing up at him with an unreadable expression. He was struck by her beauty as he stared at her gentle eyes that held too much pain for such a young girl, his eyes flashing down to her soft lips which were beckoning him in. Without thinking he started to lean in slightly, before quickly tearing away from her, vomiting all over the ground behind him. He flushed bright red as she started laughing behind him, but soon let out a chuckle at her contagious laugh.

“Okay maybe an hour was pushing it, c’mon let’s get you sorted,” she said, moving to reach down into the river, filling one of the cups with water, slowly walking back over to him, kneeling next to him, and helping him drink as he was overcome with weakness. “told you so,” she smiled cheekily at him as he spat the water back out.

“Okay really, let’s get you inside, I’ll clean this up later.” She hooked a shoulder under his arm and helped him stand, walking him over to the ladder, moving to climb up but he just held tightly onto her and flew to the small porch she had made them, laughing silently when she squealed at the sudden flight.

“Asshole.” She muttered, practically forcing him through the hole in the wall and to sit down before she was turning around and leaving. As he waited for her to return he thought of his family who must be getting worried as he had sent word that he would be returning and now two days later he was in the middle of nowhere, in a completely different world with no way of contacting home. He wished Rhysand was here, then at least he could maybe winnow home. But the thought of leaving you felt wrong. You had already done so much for him and at least deserved to have him get you home.

He heard you struggling outside, but when he tried to stand to help you bring the small stash of appliances up, he was overcome by another bout of nausea and had to sit back down. Eventually their appliances, wrapped carefully in the blanket you had stitched the night before, were thrown over the balcony, Azriel’s’ heart warming at the cheer he heard from below, laughing as she appeared over the ledge with a pout.

“Stop laughing at me, I was going through something,” She scolded, picking up her bundle and bringing it over to him, arranging the cups and bowls on a ledge jutting out of the tree trunk then turning and throwing the blanket over the ground, motioning for him to move to it. He sat on it, groaning at the slightest of movements as she set about stitching something else.

“I thought you were going to nullify me, so I didn’t have to spew.”

“I said I would try. And even if it works it will take a while and you’ll definitely be spewing between now and then.”

“What happens if you can’t?”

“Worse case scenario I need you to get enough strength to take us back home, I have something that I’m 99% sure will work there.” He sat silently after she spoke, the word ‘home’ clanging through him. His shadows were crowding around him, growing thicker as he thought. He still wasn’t sure whether to trust her. She was nice, sure. And easy to talk to but there was something hidden in her eyes, he didn’t know what she had seen, or what she had done, to get a scarred back like that. He thought back over their previous conversations and realised he had practically told her his life story.

As he thought, he felt the walls that the pain in his side had begun to bring down slam back up. She was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear her over the roaring in his head, only lifting his eyes again, when she stood suddenly and left. He would observe her first, that’s what he should’ve done. This girl wasn’t his family, she wasn’t Mor, and she wasn’t Elain, no matter how many flowers she grew. He didn’t know her, and he certainly couldn’t trust her.

--

You didn’t know what you did wrong, but something had changed in Azriel. As you explained how the chemical you kept at home worked, his eyes had glazed over, his facing hardening into an unreadable expression. You stopped talking when you realised he wasn’t listening, shame coursing through your chest and settling in your gut, your hands aching as anxiety ran through you. You had stood quickly and left, practically running from the room to avoid him seeing your shaking hands.

You knew what he was doing of course. The expression that slid over his face wasn’t new, it was practiced the same way you had practiced lifting your chin and straightening your back when men didn’t take you seriously. Practiced the same way your scowl was when people made a few too many jokes about your fall. Practiced the same way your steps had been, moving silently around your house, around camp, around town, since you got out. Always afraid that someone would find you, wake you, force you back.

You had left and instead sat on the riverbank, slowing your breathing in an attempt to settle the embarrassment coursing through you. Of course he didn’t want to be friendly with you, he probably had all the friend he needed back home. You were just the stupid girl he got stuck with. You had let your desperate wish for a friend get the best of you. All you wanted was someone to scare the nightmares away, so you didn’t have to. You started stitching again, your thoughts moving to quickly for you to keep up, tears welling in your eyes as you over thought every interaction, every word. You needed something that would silence your thoughts, and you let out a choked laugh as you started quietly singing one of your favourite songs, horribly off-key, and choked due to your tears, but noise all the same. You wished for your home, your headphones, your stuffed toys, your bed, anything familiar. The weight of the situation that you were in finally catching up to you. You looked back down to the basin you were making, rushing to finish it, needing to move or do something, anything.

Once you had finished it you schooled your features, hiding all traces of your emotions, letting the mask slip back on and cover your pain. Climbing back up to Azriel, he was still sat of the blanket you had laid out when you laid the basin beside him.

“I’m going to go explore, yell if you need anything.” You said, hating how curt your voice sounded, adding a smile at the end, knowing he wouldn’t be manipulated that easily. He didn’t reply, just kept staring, the same way he had when you had first arrived. You opened your mouth to say something else, but your anxieties bubbled into your throat before you could, forcing you to instead simply turn and leave.

You made your way east, sticking to the riverbank, smiling when you met a white cockatoo, having a quiet conversation with it. You continued that way for at least an hour, before finally turning back and following the same route, singing stupid songs you had learned on quests to yourself when it got to quiet outside, and too loud inside. When you got back you checked on Azriel, cleaning out his basin without a word and helping him lay down. He thanked you quietly, but you just smiled, hating how quickly things had severed between you. You tried to convince yourself that he was probably just tired as you set to making a fire and growing vegetables that you could easily cook for lunch and dinner, then refilling the jug of water for Azriel.

You remained outside for the rest of the day.

--

Azriel felt like pure shit. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so sick he threw up, but he didn’t want to make it a tradition. He also felt horrible for severing the bond you two had sort of made. He had to give you credit, you were observant, and good at adapting. Just as quickly as his walls slid up, a mask came over your face, he couldn’t even read your eyes, your extremely expressive eyes.

You stayed outside practically all day. He heard you singing at one point and smiled through his wince. It was horribly off-key but made his chest tighten inexplicitly again.

He contemplated making conversation again when you came up, and handed him a plate of food, but you were unresponsive. He silently cursed himself for his untrusting nature. Cassian probably would have already wooed his way into your bed. Mor too for that matter. Feyre and Rhysand would’ve become fast friends with you, probably talking you through whatever trauma you had. But he didn’t have his family’s gifts when it came to new people and he was pretty sure whatever relationship you had was gone now, in such a short time. So instead he just let his tired limbs take charge and laid back again, wings and shadows wrapping around him, falling into a light sleep. You didn’t come up into the shelter that night, and he tried not to feel guilty about it.

--

The next morning you awoke early again, a long night of nightmares and freezing cold getting to you. You stood slowly, stretching out your limbs, and looking around your makeshift campsite. You didn’t have enough energy to grow the soft plants you needed to make another blanket last night, so you just pulled your jacket tighter around your frame and shivered your way through the night. You had hoped that the blistering heat during the day would help in some way, but all you had gained was tender, red tinted skin and dry, cracking hands.

You plucked four apples from the tree you had grown and moved to climb up to Azriel. He was also already awake, bent over the basin. You moved over to him instinctively, rubbing the space between his wings on his back. He was gasping for breath for a moment before hastily leaning back over and you cooed softly at him, pulling his hair away from his face the same way you had when your friends drank too much, or when they were brought to throw up due to nightmares. When he finally finished, you kept rubbing his back smiling slightly when he moved back into your gentle touch, still gasping for breath. After he calmed down, slumping back you passed him some water, holding his glass as he spat it back into the basin, before grabbing it and going to rinse it off in the river.

When you got back he was slowly eating one of the apples you brought up and taking tiny sips of water. You gave him a sympathetic look and went to sit in front of him. Downing a glass of water in preparation for the task you had at hand. Your hand tentatively moved to his side, where his wound remained unhealed, the tissue turning black from the poison, keenly aware of his eyes watching your movements. As you began to feel out the poison in his body you slowed your breathing and straightened your back.

“I’m not a healer, so this might not work at all.” You whispered, “So I’m sorry in advance.”

“Don’t apologise for trying.” He whispered back, voice hoarse. You closed your eyes, focusing on a small patch of the poison in his stomach. The poison was carbon-based, you could tell, and so you put your energy into turning it into food particles that could be broken down naturally. The two of you sat in silence like that for an hour as you focused all your energy into that small patch of poison, you could feel a sweat building up on your forehead, both from the heat and from the exertion. Eventually you withdrew, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, oblivious to Azriel’s keen gaze on your face, eyes filled with wonder and affection. He had felt your power coursing through him and became greedy for more, his shadows curling around both of you as you worked, oblivious to the world around you. He had to put serious effort into pulling them back to him when you had moved away, his shadows seeking to bring you back to him, to hold him like you did when he threw up, the caring affectionate touches so foreign yet welcome to him that he almost didn’t mind the horrible feeling of spewing.

After downing three cups of water and eating both your apples you looked back at Azriel. “Feel any better?” He did, but not the way you meant so he just shrugged.

“A bit, it was nice.” You smiled at him. A rare, soft, tired smile that made him want to hold you to his chest and protect you from this cruel world.

“I’ll let you rest then, shout if you need anything.”

“Actually, could you maybe help me down, I need to stretch my legs.” He requested.

“Of course, c’mon.” you slung an arm around his waist, careful to avoid his wings, and helped him stand, and walk to the ladder, moving through the doorway first in order to give him the space to tuck his wings in. You climbed down the ladder as he all but floated down, before standing back, turning away when you realised he was going to piss. You went back to where you had slept and started pottering, tending to the mini vegetable patch you had made. He came back soon after and sat across from you on a log. Unlike yesterday, the silence that followed wasn’t too uncomfortable.

--

That’s how the next three days went. You would sleep outside, while he stayed inside. Helping him through his sickness and taking a few hours each day to nullify the poison coursing through his system. You were making polite conversation, but the long talks like the ones you had when you first arrived were gone, and you almost mourned the hateful relationship you started with. You just wanted something to fill the silence, even if it was yelling and hateful words. But Azriel remained quiet and reserved and you remained oblivious to the shadows that moved towards you when you looked away.

One day however, when you were sat next to him and talking about his home, the world you had begged him to tell you about, a red bird had landed on the porch outside. Azriel had noticed instantly due to the way you had stilled, the colour draining from your face and he followed your gaze to the red bird.

“(y/n).” he uttered quietly, desperate to get that distant look off your face, he had never realised how much energy your soft smiles gave him, the way your sarcastic comments added to his stories, making him genuinely laugh. He repeated your name again, but when he got no response his shadows acted, surrounding you and pulling you to him. You turned and looked at him, eyes terrified and before he could think about it he was pulling you into his arms, holding you head to his chest as soft sobs filled the room.

You pulled away after a few minutes, breathing deeply and counting under your breath, he continued running his hand up and down your back and cooing in the way you did when he threw up.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Gods this is so embarrassing.”

“No! Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to everyone,”

“I just- I thought I was past this stage, I thought I was improving,”

“Do you mind me asking why you can’t look at anything red?” He was speaking slowly, afraid he would say the wrong thing, tensing when you drew in a shaky breath, eyes still trained on the floor. You stayed silent for a couple minutes, focusing on your breathing before finally speaking.

“Have you heard of Tartarus?” you asked, and he shook his head slightly, “Well as you saw when you kill monsters they don’t leave bodies, and that’s because they reform. They go to Tartarus, which is basically the underworld for monsters.” You paused wiping the stray tears from your face and he tentatively reached out to grab your hand.

“One day, I had been injured in a fight- broke a rib or something- and I was leaning on my friend Annabeth, she had just completed a quest and we were about to get back on our ship. She had fought a big spider or something, the details are fuzzy sometimes.” You shook your head, “the spider had fallen into Tartarus but before it fell it had wrapped its silk around Annabeth, and when it fell, so did we. Percy- Annabeth’s boyfriend- fell too when he tried to grab us. Nearing the end of the fall, a fury had grabbed me, taking me away from them. And then, until they got back to me, Tartarus took on a human body and he… y’know. The one thing that always stuck out down there was the colour red. The ground was red, the rivers were red, the sky was dark, but red all the same. And Tartarus, his eyes were red. I haven’t been able to look at it since.”

You finished explaining, eyes focused on the random shapes you were tracing on the wood, not wanting to look up as Azriel remained silent.

“How long were you there?” he eventually asked, voice filled with rage.

“I’m not sure, I didn’t have much of a hold on time down there,” you whispered and Azriel had to work hard to reel in his magic, the siphons on his hands starting to glow as he got angrier. But he looked at her again and found his heart shattering at the pained look in her eyes, and he went against everything he was.

“When I was a boy I spent all my days locked in a room without windows. For eleven years I was kept in that room. My father was a Lord, but I was bastard born, so I was kept in a cell, only allowed to go outside for an hour each day and to meet my mother for about an hour each week. They didn’t let me fly either, even as all my instincts begged to. Eventually they dumped me at an Illyrian camp, where I discovered I was a shadow-singer and learned how to fly.” You were staring at him in horror, hand clutching his tighter.

“How did you recover from that kind of pain?” you asked voice wobbling,

“I met people I loved, people that wouldn’t give up on me. I met my true brothers, brothers that would treat me like real family should,” You smiled softly at the way he spoke of his brothers,

“I’m shit with people.” You admitted,

“Well I’m also very old, sometimes it just takes time.”

“How old?”

“537…”

“You fucking WHAT?” he laughed at your expression, smiling widely when you laughed too. You leant back against the wall again, resting your head on his shoulder, your panic attack and sharing of emotions catching up on you, but happy that Azriel was opening up again.

“You know if I ever meet your biological family, they may find that they’ll lose some precious parts.” You whispered, cutting through the silence. His shoulders shook as they laughed, and he rested his head on top of yours.

“Now that, I would like to see.”

[statticscribbles]

Strongest

Summary: Sweet Pea/Plus Sized!Reader; Past Jughead/Reader Request: Using the song “Strongest by Ina”? Reader got pregnant w/ jughead’s daughter during senior year but jug doesn’t feel ready for a kid/ is still with Betty ( he used reader as a rebound) and sweet pea is there to love her ?

TW: discussions of abortion

You’re shaking when you lean over the toilet to vomit, you can hear someone come in and freeze hoping they’ll just use the bathroom and leave. “Y/N you in here?” You swallow grimacing and stepping from the bathroom stall looking nervously at Toni. “You okay?” She watches as you wash your hands before rinsing your mouth out. “Yeah, just uh, stomach bug.” Toni’s hand grips your shoulder. “Really? You didn’t even eat anything yet, you were just saying how you were starving.” “You don’t need food for your stomach to puke.” You shrug trying your best not to panic.

“Go home then; I’m pretty sure everyone will understand; especially if you puke more. Nobody’s going to want to get that. Not before the game.” You nod retreating from the bathroom to grab your bag and head home. “Hey Y/N where are you going?” “Home; don’t feel well.” You offer a half smile to Jughead who nods. “I can stop by later if you want; I wanna talk anyways.” You shake your head. “I’ll let you know if I feel better.” You’re walking home, feeling the nausea ebb off, and you debating stopping into the shop to get pain medication. You reason it’s probably just your period, and then the panic sinks in your gut that you should have gotten it two and a half weeks ago. “Shit.” You hiss deciding you’ll have to go to the store but not for the pain meds.

You’re surprised at how much your luck holds, the shop keeper doesn’t glance beyond the leather jacket, and your mom isn’t home from work which leaves you to chug five glasses of water and shiver in fear on the couch until you can pee on the stick that’s hopefully not going to change anything. You’re pretty sure this is what hell is and the four minutes is almost up when your luck runs out and you hear a knock followed by the door opening. “Y/N?” Toni calls out and you want to vomit remembering you left the box on the couch. “Listen I won’t bother you but Fangs said he saw you in the pharmacy looking freaked out and he panicked cause he thought you were gonna puke but when he went up to ask if you wanted a ride you were gone so he called me to.” You cringe as she sucks in a breath. The door opens and she finds you curled next to the toilet hiding from the stick that’s balanced on the edge of the sink. “I can’t look.” You speak muffled between your knees.  You hear her wince and you don’t even need to look to know it’s positive.

“Fuck. How do you think Jones’ll feel knowing he’s gonna end up like his dad?” Toni stays quiet, you can hear her moving the test, and crouching in front of you. “He’s back with Betty.” You sigh dropping your shoulder and pulling in a shaking breath. “Well it can’t-“ “If you say worse-“ You hiss. “Hey Toni is Y/N; oh shit.” You can hear someone grabbing the box and turning it over to read it. “Well at least it’s not my fucking mom.” “Oh hey Sweet Pea-“ Toni winces as you start to cry. “Come on Y/N maybe your mom didn’t see anything.” Toni assures you as she helps you stand and tucks the stick in her pocket.

You manage to keep a small amount of luck, Toni able to pass of your tears and general upset-ness as being sick; and her presence as worry and a reminder about the game coming up. It ends abruptly when your mom leaves as soon as she came rushing to get to her second job.

“So; uh, how’d it go?” Sweet Pea asks and Toni glares at him. “How the fuck do you think it went Pea?” “So that’s a yes then?” You turn away from them and retreat to the couch shoving your bag and the pillows to the floor curling into the side of the couch and tugging the blanket over yourself. “Maybe if I just don’t eat for the next like two weeks; hah I’d actually lose weight then, bet Cheryl would let me on the Vixens. At least it won’t be noticeable for a while.” “You have time to think about it anyways. There’s that clinic in Centerville I can give you a lift if you need. Maybe you should let Jones know?” Toni prompts and you shrug.

“Why, that won’t change anything. He used me for a rebound; just until Cooper decided she wanted him back. I wasn’t anything to him and he won’t care.” “You can say it’s mine.” Sweet Pea speaks and you and Toni stare at him. “What?” “Say it’s mine; everyone already assumes I sleep around; that way you don’t have to date me if you don’t want; no one would be surprised. I mean; not being bad, we’re Southsider’s I think they expect it to be fair. It’s just an option.” He holds his hands up nervously. “That’s really Sweet. Thank you.” “Just living up to my name.” He laughs a little and you can’t help but smile. Toni sighs. “I’m gonna bounce; we still on for Pop’s later?” You nod and she grins.

“You want me to leave?” You turn to Sweet Pea who’s ripping up the box and soaking it in water. “What are you doing?” “Soaking the paint off; this way when you throw it away it’s too soggy to read.” “Oh.” You curl your hand around his arm, and he sets the cup aside as you lean on him. “Thank you.” You can feel yourself crying. “It’s no problem; anything for you Y/N.” You laugh a little. “What?” He arches and eyebrow. “I don’t think you’ll be saying that in a few months.” “Do you need anything?” “Right now?” “Well yeah but also in general. You can stay with me if your mom kicks you out. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Why are you being so nice to me; you don’t need to pretend; I’ll be fine on my own; I can manage. Really it’s sweet of you to pretend to be the dad for cover but it’s okay. You don’t need to do anything.” “I know; I want to. I want to help.” “Why?” “I like you, as in romantically.” He keeps his eyes on the ground. “You like me? Me? When you could have anyone else in the entire town?” “Yes.” He looks up grinning. “Is that a problem?” You shake your head and he steps closer. “Good; can I kiss you?” He asks pulling your face closer. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

It’s been a week of keeping quiet before Toni looks guiltily at when everyone is sitting in Pop’s; you don’t catch on until you see the booth arrangement; Toni’s on the edge, next to Cheryl; who’s next to Veronica, then Archie, then Betty, and then Jughead. You’re about to ask Sweet Pea to sit next to him when Cheryl smiles and waves you in. “You’re smaller so Sweet Pea can hang off the edge.” “Y/N you doing okay? You look like you lost weight.” Betty asks and you shrug. “I’ve been stressed lately.” “Stress isn’t good.” Fangs trails off as you watch Toni glare at him; you know Sweet Pea told him something of your situation. “Fangs you’ve been staring at Sweet Pea since he got here. What do you know?” “Nothing.” He stutters and Toni and Sweet Pea shake their heads in unison. “Fangs.” Jughead pressures and you can see when Fangs’ folds. “Sweet Pea knocked some girl up.” He mumbles and everyone freezes.

“Fangs I told you not to say anything!” “They deserve to know they’re your friends!” “This is my business, y’all don’t need to be involved.” “Yes we do!” Veronica fires back and Sweet Pea glares. “Did I knock you up? No I didn’t the only people this needs to be between are me and the girl; the rest of you can fuck off.” “No; Sweet Pea as leader of the Serpent’s I have;”

“You ain’t got shit Jones; you ain’t got no reason to poke your nose in my business not when you went of and how did you put it to fang’s and me? Ah yes; slummed it with the Serpent’s while Betty wasn’t talking to you? Hm? Did all those hook-ups you had after you drank just like your dad escape your mind?” You can see the way Jughead’s eyes flicker to you and you can see him swallow. “Fuck this.” He hisses standing and leaving; you’re surprised when Betty doesn’t follow him. More surprised when you find yourself running to catch up to him as he storms off. “I’m pissed you didn’t tell me you were with Sweet Pea when we hooked up; it’s a little rude to both of us.” “I wasn’t.” “So now you have to deal with some random chick he knocked up trying to ruin your relationship; both of you are in the Serpent’s I’m not having that shit interfering with the rest of us.” He laughs and you shake your head. “What?” You swallow not saying anything just shrugging. “Y/N what the fuck is going on.” “I’m with Sweet Pea but he didn’t knock me up.” You retreat as Betty emerges.

“Jones looks like he’s gonna keel over.” Sweet Pea mumbles into your ear and you try not to laugh. “I bet Betty is pissed at him.” You comment and everyone nods. “She’s going to ‘have words with him’ as she put it; are we taking bets on if they break-up or not.” “Come on Toni that’s a shit thing to do.” Archie comments and she grins back. “You’re just pissed cause you lost the last time we bet.” “Shut up.” Archie laughs and you sigh, surprised at how quickly everything returns to normal.

Everyone at school knows; you don’t see the point in trying to hide it; nobody expects any different from a Serpent; although you have to admit having Toni and by extension Cheryl to back you up means no one actually says what they’re thinking about you. Jughead asks to talk to you; he and Betty reconnected yet again; Archie lost fifteen bucks once more and complains to both Ronnie and you about it. “What do you need.” He glares at you; despite having been the one to ask to talk. “You’ll have to be more specific.” You fake a smile. “For the kid; as leader of the Serpent’s I have a responsibility to make sure you and said kid are taken care of and-“ “Leader of the Serpent’s that’s what you’re going with?” You scoff and he shakes his head. “I didn’t ask for this.” “And you think I did?”

“You didn’t do anything to change it.” He snaps and you sigh. “Listen; I don’t need shit from you and your “I’m leader of the Serpents” crap you’re spewing; either you take actual responsibility or just stay the fuck away from me. You have Betty to deal with I’m not going to drag you from how perfect and wonderful she is.” You mock and snap. “I can handle it. I don’t need you.” You expect him to hesitate to ask if you need anything. Instead he just nods. “Good. Keep it that way. Betty better not find out.” “Is that a threat?” “If she doesn’t find out then it won’t be.” He stalks from the room.

“You okay Y/N? You seem kinda shakey?” Sweet Pea snaps you from the daze you were in. “Yeah just tired.” You try to shrug off Jughead’s words but they linger in the back of your mind making you tremor slightly. “Come on. Let’s head home.” You nod letting Sweet Pea grab your bag. “So?” He prompts and you let him pull you against him as he spoons you on the couch; one of his hands draped over the bump on your stomach. “What did Jones want?” “To threaten me; well imply a threat; he doesn’t want Betty to find out.” Sweet Pea narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure her and half the school know; little hard to hide it yeah?” His hand moves lightly upwards to turn your face to kiss him. “Not that; just the whole dad thing.” You shrug and Sweet Pea sighs into your hair. “Everyone assumes it’s mine; there’s no need to stress; even Fangs doesn’t know, just in case he lets it slip.”

“I’m not worried about them it’s just shit Jughead just used me for a quick fuck and he gets to walk away from all this; and I’d be the bitch if I said anything.” You sniffle and Sweet Pea sits up slightly wiping your tears. “I know baby, I’m sorry he’s being such a dick about everything; it really is shit.” He pulls the throw blanket over you as he goes to answer a knock on his door. “Hey Sweet Pea is Y/N around?” “What do you want Jones?” “Just to clarify some things we talked about earlier is all.” “Oh you mean when you threatened her?” You peer from the edge of the couch keeping out of sight of the door.

“Listen Sweet Pea I don’t expect you to understand but-“ You can’t see anything as he closes the door. You can hear, surprised no one else seems to hear their shouting match. “You don’t expect me to understand what? You playing pretend at being a good leader for the Serpents? You threatening my girl? You running off and hiding after being an irresponsible fuck boy? I get it, I understand perfectly why you don’t want this getting out; can’t have the leader of the Serpent’s not stepping up and taking care of what’s his can we? But you need to understand something Jones; you don’t get to say shit; you don’t get to have anything to do with this beyond what Y/N needs help with; because if you don’t I’ll go straight to Alice; and I’ll tell her exactly what you did behind her daughters back; before you two had officially broken up no less.” “You wouldn’t-“ “You wanna test that out?” “It goes against Serpent laws for you to-“ You jump when something hits the side of the trailer.

“Serpent law states we protect are own; what the fuck you doing to protect Y/N huh? Running off with some Northsider who likes to use us when she gets in trouble? Allowing one of our own to get killed cause you couldn’t offer him sanctuary after he got out of prison? What about Fangs; kicking him out cause he’s trying to help his mom; you gonna do that to Y/N? You need us to follow you; but if you think you’re the one directing us.” You can hear something thud and you realize Sweet Pea had hoisted Jughead against the side of the trailer moments ago. You don’t move and don’t say anything straining to hear if they’re talking more or not. “What happened?” You ask when Sweet Pea walks back in.

“Nothing Jones just wanted to see if you were okay; said he was sorry about the threat earlier.” “Oh that’s good then.” You don’t say anything as Sweet Pea lifts you and moves you against his chest as you return to spooning before the interruption. “I love you.” You don’t say anything else and keep your eyes straight ahead waiting for a response. You can feel both you and Sweet Pea untense as he smiles responding. “I love you too.” “You have another check up tomorrow, get some rest okay babe?” “Okay.” You nod; not commenting on how when he wraps his arms around you one automatically drifts to protect your stomach.

Support My Writing?

[imaginesbymk]

“Call in Sick Tomorrow.”

Reservoir Dogs One Shot

Summary: During his final moments, Freddy recalls the events from the robbery and the night before, where you find out who he really is, and because of your job as the retail jeweler at the same store the criminals plan the heist at, you showed up at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Pairing: Mr. Orange/Freddy Newandyke x Reader

Tags: swearing, angst + violence, guns/shooting, robbery + blood

Non Requested

Word Count: 2,289

Author’s Note: not me simping for a young tim roth lmfaksmwksksksk ugh</3 hope y’all like it - leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

THE cop who was covered in his own pool of blood from his gunshot wound, was now practically sticking to the dusty warehouse ramp. He laid there for a good fifteen minutes, maybe more or less, who was there to count? His company wasn’t making things better, either. “Listen to me, Marvin... listen to me, Marvin Nash, I’m a cop.”

“Yeah, I know.” The other bloodied cop, Marvin Nash, was tied up and had his ear cut off by Mr. Blonde, all he could do was bicker and moan in pain and rage. 

“You do?” The first cop asks.

“Yeah, your name’s Freddy something.”

“Newandyke,” he said. “Freddy Newandyke.”

“Frankie Ferchetti introduced us about five months ago.”

Freddy shakes his head. His wound definitely didn’t cause him memory loss. He was just too clueless to acknowledge colleagues, that was something he was aware of and he needed to work on it. “Shit, I don't remember that at all.”

“I do.” Marvin Nash coughs a bit of blood. “Freddy. How do I look?”

Freddy winces out a chuckle. “What? I don't know what to tell you, Marvin.” How do you look? If I told you, I’d be lucky you’re tied up.

“That fuck. That sick fuck! That fuckin' bastard!” 

“Marvin, I need you to hold on. There's cops waiting to move a block away.”

“What the fuck are they waiting for? This fuckin' guy, he slashes my face… and cuts my fuckin' ear off! I'm fuckin' deformed!” Marvin cries out.

Freddy clenches his jaw. How the fuck do you think I feel over here, asshole? “FUCK YOU! Fuck you, my love of my fucking life is gone! I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here! Y/N is gone and I’m fuckin’ dyin’!”

Marvin Nash, a bloodied cop who was now “fucking deformed”, really had no idea how bad the fellow cop’s current state was. Both of them were in pain, but one of them was gonna die first.

Freddy calms down a bit to explain the upcoming events he hopes to happen anytime soon. He was bleeding pretty bad, and it hurt like hell. “They're not to make a move 'til Joe Cabot shows up. I was sent in to get him. Alright? You heard 'em. They said he's on his way.” Marvin lets out a soft breath. Relief was touching a bit of his soul, now all is left is to wait it out, and listen to the sounds of rattling bullets and yells from cops out of one ear. 

“Don't pussy out on me now, Marvin,” Freddy says. “We're just gonna sit here and bleed… 'til Joe Cabot sticks his fuckin' head through that door.”

Marvin whimpers, then takes a long pause. “Freddy?”

Freddy looks up at Marvin Nash once more, lying on his arm for support, his body feeling like a throbbing stubbed toe. “Freddy?” Marvin talks about the giant elephant in the room. “What even fucking happened?”

THE last thing Freddy needed was to end up falling for you while he’s undercover. While he’s good at hiding his true identity from the recruits, he was also good at hiding it from you, but it wasn’t what he wanted in the first place. 

Freddy would never lie to you, but you don’t know that your boyfriend is actually a cop and not a cool bad boy that took care of weed for customers. It pained Freddy to lie to you about who he was. He never even told you that his name was Freddy, only to refer to him as his alias, Mr. Orange, but you paid no mind to it. You loved the mysterious thrill he had, even if that meant calling him a color most commonly known in a fruit.

To this day, he still wonders why you would want to date someone with such a dangerous persona. You made a living working at the same store the recruits were planning the heist at -  Karina’s Wholesale Diamonds, and you were allowed to wear the jewelry that was sold and refined there. You never came to think Mr. Orange was ever gonna steal from you, holding you at gunpoint? Rob your store while his face is covered then he kisses you goodnight hours after?

And so, Freddy’s confession and his first and last fight with you happened the night before the heist. A stressful twelve hours, and it all started with you throwing his police badge on the coffee table, right on top of his Marvel catalog. 

“You’ve been staring at that thing for a whole minute now,” you said, standing stiff as a statue, towering over him on the couch. 

Mr. Orange scrunches his nose. “It was from a cop back in Torrance. The fucker most likely lost his job for carelessly leaving it on a bench.”

“You’ve visited Torrance?”

He nodded. “Y/N, I kept that badge in one of my stashes. You and I agreed to not go through each other’s shit like that - y’know, outta respect?”

“I know that, but you asked me to get your TV guide from one of the drawers. You said you keep it next to your stash, I may not have found pot but I definitely found that.” You nod at the badge. 

Orange shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, babes, but that ain’t mine. Also I ran outta weed, that’s why I haven’t been making any sales lately.”

“You must suck at reeling customers in,” you took out your other hand hidden behind your back, now throwing four poorly folded sheets of paper stapled together right next to the badge. “Otherwise why the hell would you have this; an annotated script about you delivering weed to people, the same words you told me about how you walked into the men’s room with a big bag of weed in front of a couple of  cops and a dog?”

Orange was silent. You knew he was lying. Silence was as painful as spewing out another lie. Not once has there ever been a close call, but now he was trapped with no words to come out his mouth. Even if he did have something to say, each lie he told you felt like he was throwing daggers at your heart. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Orange, is there something you’re not telling me?” Orange merely frowned and got up from the couch, eyeing you up and down. He looked tired from whatever he did the whole day and resting on the couch while watching a movie on the TV was well needed. That, but he was tired of sleeping next to you while a police badge was taunting him in one of the drawers.

“I don’t sell weed, y/n. And the police badge wasn’t from Torrance.”

“So all of that... you smuggling weed in a bowling bag?” you scoff, feeling your blood boil. “You just made that up?”

“Y/n- baby” he starts.

“What the hell? Why would you make that up?” you ask.

“It’s what I had to do,” Orange says. 

You scoff. “Right. That was your way of making friends or to get free drinks, or even getting me to sleep with you?”

“It’s not like that, it was never like that.”

“This is so fucked up!” Hearing you say that made Freddy’s heart fall into a thousand pieces. “Tell me the truth, Orange, if that’s even your fucking name. Who gives birth, looks at their child and goes, ‘Your name is Orange’? As if your kid won’t ever get bullied from that.”

“That’s because that isn’t my fucking name. It’s an alias.”

You shook your head. “Okay, then. Who the fuck are you?”

He clenched his eyes shut, and opened them, wishing you disappeared out of his sight. “Look at my badge.”

You slowly hunched over the table, picking up the badge. You raised a brow at him.

“I want you to hold it while I tell you. My real name is Freddy Newandyke. I’m working undercover for a diamond heist formed by Joe Cabot... the group of criminals he hired are gonna rob your store, stuff a briefcase full of diamonds worth a college tuition, and they’re gonna break it apart, pawn it, whatever fulfills their need.”

“You’re a cop,” you say, confirming what he said was true. Otherwise, that could have been another lie.

He nodded. “I work for the LAPD.”

“What else?”

A pause, then he traces his finger on your hand before curling it with his. “I love you.” His face softens. “My name’s Freddy Newandyke. I’m a cop. The gang I’m undercover for is gonna rob your store tomorrow, and I love you.”

You slowly nodded, looking down at the badge in your other hand. There were no signs of a lie in his tone of voice. His name seems legit, and of course, you loved him, too. “Why didn’t you tell me... Freddy?”

“Because you go after guys that would do the things I told in my story, fellas who you fantasize of having a fucking Bonnie and Clyde ride or die bullshit with, and not me - a cop who geeks out over Marvel.”

“You’re saying my work is being targeted for a heist?” you said. “And you’re part of it?”

Freddy nodded. “You think I’m ever gonna rob you, lie to your face like that? Then walk out of your life, take off just like that - and never see you again?”

“You’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you, and whether I told you about who I was or not, I don’t want you involved. Crime gets you in trouble, being undercover puts you in danger,” Freddy kisses your forehead. “You can get caught stealing and smuggling drugs, you can get caught slipping out of character if you’re not careful. You can’t win.”

You tried walking around the couch to disperse into the kitchen, but Freddy stopped in front of you. “I wasn’t born yesterday, asshole. I know what an undercover cop is, if your cover gets blown, you’re fucked.” You crossed your arms. “So what else is gonna happen?”

“We planned this; cops are gonna show up on time, as long as a gun doesn’t go off, we’ll be okay, and the men will be in cuffs as well as Joe Cabot. But listen to me, I don’t want you to show up to work tomorrow, I don’t want you there, I don’t want to have a man in a suit point a gun at your face, and I definitely don’t want you to be a hero,” Freddy says, cupping both your cheeks. “That’s my job.”

“I’m freakin’ pissed at you, but I’m not gonna stay home.” You took his hands off your face.

“I’d rather let myself get caught by a bunch of criminals than have your life threatened by criminals.”

“You’re willing to do that?”

“Anything for you.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Getting hurt is part of the job. Y/n, you can’t be a hero. Not like that.”

“Freddy-”

“Y/n, please.” Freddy begs, his face tightening. “If you can’t forgive me; if you can’t trust me anymore, then you can hate me all you want. But for fuck’s sake, at least call in sick tomorrow.”

Yet, you were so stubborn, that was something you needed to work on. Freddy knew it, too. You didn’t listen. The day came, and you showed up, anyway, not wanting to live knowing the guy you loved no matter who he claimed he was. He was in charge of standing at the door, not allowing anyone access inside or out. But upon seeing you behind the counter through the glass window, you saw Freddy’s face drop. “No…”

The deafening sound of the alarm goes off by one of the retailers, forcing Mr. Blonde to shoot everyone he saw, including you.

Freddy cried out this time, “No!” 

People inside- the employees and customers, all screamed together. Freddy slammed his hands against the display windows, watching you as you fall back onto the floor, bleeding out from your shoulder. Mr. Blonde nearly shot everyone in the room, even almost hitting Mr. White in the process. He spotted your foot sticking out, and you attempted to crawl away, but he pointed his gun at you again. 

Just as planned, the police break in, prompting him to run away. You collapsed in your pool of blood, realizing how this was straight out of a crime movie scene, and the pain of your wound was inexplicable. How could you feel it with every inch in your body and still manage to move ever so slightly?

You looked back, realizing you were all alone, the only one left alive. Freddy didn’t do what a hero would have done, and escaped with the men, holding back his tears with his dear life behind the dark shades of his sunglasses, fighting to stay in character.

He had to assume the more logical conclusion; you were treated at the hospital, or you bleed to death back at that jewelry wholesale, and you died hating him.

Whether you knew him as a criminal or an undercover cop, you were going to show up, anyway, because you want to protect him, like any kind of Bonnie and Clyde you’d expect from movies. Except Bonnie and Clyde were both shot to death. In this world, Clyde escapes - Bonnie was left to bleed out.

FREDDY stared up at Marvin Nash. Does Freddy regret accepting the undercover mission? A brave young man like him took such a dangerous job, but he knew he was better off without it. The last thing he said to you swarmed his mind like bees; “Call in sick tomorrow.”

THE END

_

taglist: @locke-writes​

[lemonmeringueprincess]

The Mind of  a Broken Soldier (Leave Me Be, Chapter 2 )

Hello People of Tumblr ! It’s ya girl Hazel ! I am back again with another chapter which i am 100% sure NOBODY request it because nobody requested this story in the first place but i’m still continuing it because i feel like it. I was planning on continuing this story and give sly nods to WandaVision and The Falcon and The Winter Soldier here and there along the way. Not in this chapter but... maybe on future chapters. But I’ll see how this one goes and where my idea leads me to.

So you need to read Chapter 1 to be able to understand this chapter properly because this chapter is solely Bucky’s point of view of the reader and some random thoughts. I love reading novels and love their style of writing hence i aspire to write a decent and proper story fanfiction. I mean when you read some books, there will be several chapters viewed from that other characters’ perspective so i decided to implement that style to my story. 

So once again, thank you so much if you decided to pop by, read it and love it. Don’t be shy to pop by my message box to share some ideas you have or maybe you just wanna vibe together, I’d love to do that with you guys too. But please please please don’t be mean if you don’t like it. FYI, this chapter is slightly shorter than the first chapter. Love, Hazel .

Disclaimer: No disclaimer or any warnings. But definitely do me and yourself a favour and check out Chapter 1 so you can properly comprehend this chapter with ease :) 

Characters : Bucky x Reader; teeny weeny mention of Sam :)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Look man, I know we don’t really see eye to eye but I call to check on her…How’s she doin’?” Sam heaved a sigh of empathy from across the line.

I tightened my grip upon the thin, slick and smooth communication tool which now known as smartphone that I hadn’t had the chance to acquaint with. I let out a sigh of desperation, desperate of ways to haul her from the rabbit hole she’s now falling into. My fingers combing through my unruly long hair that’s bundled up in a disheveled bun. A bad habit of mine when I’m in desperation and anxiety.

“It’s been a week since Steve walked out from her life and if I’m being honest, Sam, she’s not doing very well. She’s…she’s been nestled up in her room since then.” I heaved another sigh of despair, my right human arm gripping the kitchen counter tightly in effort to prop myself while the other man-made hand still latched onto the phone.

“I even had to force feed her just to keep her alive for god sake.” I asserted whilst rubbing my right eye with the heel of my right human hand and quietly strutting towards her door. Leaning my side against the stark beige wooden door, plopping my ear against it to silently eavesdrop, just like how I had done countless times to check on her well-being without having to barge into the door. Soft whimper gradually shifted into muffled sobs. I closed my eyes, let my head hung low as if my neck was already tired enough to brace the weight of obstacles and desperation that merge into one and let out a long exhale.

“Gotta go, Sam… I’ll call you back.” I lowered my voice into mutter and hung up.

Even though I had known Steve for so many years, sometimes I still couldn’t decipher what’s in head. Recalling back to the 40s, way before he and I even considered enlisted into the army, women would always prefer me over Steve to take me out as their dancing partner when we’re at the bar. I felt bad for him and he’d sometimes complained that if only there’s the one out there who would see him through his frail and tiny stature. Seventy three years later, he abandoned the woman who’s been through with him through thick and thin, put up with his stupid decisions and god knows what more for eight years, for Peggy.

The woman whom he knew for only two years and only dated briefly.

The woman whom he’d share his infatuation and obsession with.

The woman he met at the army who didn’t even spare him a glance…not until after he’s gone through physical changes then eventually decided to give him a chance.

I wouldn’t even consider that as official if they only exchange flirting and longing glances at the office…

bar… 

and even Howard Stark’s Lab.

Clasping my hand upon the door handle, I levered it down and pushed open the door generating soft creaking from the hinge. I tiptoed my way in and left the door ajar. There she was… dressed down in only white camisole and panties while curled up in a fetal position upon the bed which was a bit too spacious now for a single person. Her back facing towards me, shoulders quivering from muffling her own sobs into whimper. 

Oh Steve… what have you done…

I slowly crept my way towards her and slowly sank myself on the bed. I was hesitant to lay next to her but I tried to push that thought away considering her mental health was already at stake. If I left her untended, she might eventually spiraled into deep depression and she’s already halfway there. So I laid next to her, draped my arm over her frail, delicate and small body to hold her close as if sheltering her from her own whirlpool of emotions . While offering her the comfort of silence, my mind wander off to how on earth Wanda dealt with her own grief… poor kid not only lost her significant other but also her twin brother and parents as I was informed by Sam. My train of thought was halted when I heard her croaked a rhetorical question, 

“H-h-he’s not coming back, is he? Did that prick even try second guessing his decisions?”

I wish I could do more than being her shoulder to cry on and dragging Steve back by the ear. That punk really took all the stupid with him. I contemplated whether I should say something decent to comfort and lift her spirit but I retracted. “I’m sorry, Doll… “ Were the only words I could muster from my still-healing disrupted mind. After Hydra’s infamous torturous events and being sent away to Wakanda to get my mind fixed. I found that I had difficulties of expressing my thought and feelings emotionally from the years of being over-electrocuted and memory-wiped conducted by Hydra, more strenuous than my old self. Not that I couldn’t do it but I realized it took more time to do so.

But even so I still try to rack my brain, dig deeper to find something nice to say; to make myself feel a tad better for at least doing something good in my life for once after the horrendous past, to at least counteract all those gruesome dirty work I unconsciously did to the others.

“I tried talking some sense into him, but he was very adamant of his decision. That punk…I’m really sorry…” i tried to string those words together carefully, worried that one step further or slight wrong move might set the fire ablaze even more. At this point, I was scared considering I had never connected to women emotionally. Sure I’d dated many women back in the 40s, but never considered them seriously… Now I know how it felt to wear their shoes, to know how it felt to be ditched and forgotten, even though I didn’t experience it firsthand.

Running out of options and words to say, I scooted closer whilst tightened my embrace and inhaling her scent, a hint of fresh bed linen and lavender; Steve hates it when women used too much perfume to the point it’s suffocating. I remember he’d always complained about the atrocious penetrating smell of perfume whenever we walked past the women at the bar.

“Doll… tell me what to do… I can’t bear seeing you breaking apart like this and I am running out of ways to numb your pain…” I consoled.

I used to be a good pep talker, a great one even; constantly spewing encouragement and lending a piece of advice or two to Steve. But I guess I had to shift my roles and be the good listener instead.

I did not expect her to open her heart and confide everything, as if she was confessing everything to me. I could only fervently listen to her anguish secrets that had been tormenting and keeping her awake. I felt really bad for the insecurity and self- doubt she had to endure these past years. Constant comparison with Peggy and doubting herself; nevertheless, she still fought her way to prove her worth… such strenuous and tenacious effort just to keep Steve’s attention to her…

Oh Steve… if only you’re in my position now, you’d know how much effort it took for her to keep up with your fantasy. They said love is full of sacrifices but not as much sacrifice from one side, both sides needed to make equal sacrifices to make things work, if one sacrifices too much, they’d weaken because they’re giving out too much and eventually died, just like her.

I knew Steve was always oblivious with things, but never as horrid as this. My heart sympathized and mourned for her. Eight years of relationship that she fought so hard to keep slipped out of her hands just like that.

“I-i-i-it h-h-h-urts, Buck… it hurts…He’s my first love, first kiss and…”

I felt her body shook under my embrace. No longer able to withstand her emotional suffer, I tried to soothe and lull her to sleep.

“I know, Doll. But I promise you’ll get through it, I promise to be with you every step of the way. We will get through it. I am not going anywhere. I am not going to walk out this door, not until you kick me out because you’re so sick of looking at my face. You have my word, Doll. I am staying.” I promised.

I promised myself I’d be there to pick up the pieces regardless of any circumstances, because it’s the right thing to do. I’d be there to hoist her up when no one else could. i’m doing what a good friend would do... It’s the right thing to do … Right? 

[papermoonloveslucy]

INDOMINATABLE LIFESTYLE

July 16, 1972

HOLLYWOOD - Indomitable funny girl Lucille Ball, with a messy scoop hair the color of an orange popsicle, flashes on the scene in a sad predicament. 

She's got a lame leg.  

Lucy hobbled from her sleek silver Rolls Royce and into the yellow cubbyhole dressing room which is a sunny retreat near the Lucy set which Is crawling with rehearsal activity. 

On the surface, everything's ha-ha-ha. But the fact is that surgeons have inserted pins into the shattered leg bone suffered last year in a Snowmass Peak, Colo., skiing accident. The leg brace is a semi-intolerable ball and chain. But, as always, crippling situations must be mastered. Lucy's inextinguishable spirit pulsates despite the physical handicap. 

Lucy Is showing a smiling color photograph of herself in a flowing white hooded cape coat rimmed in fluffy fox. The picture, radiating exterior happiness, doesn't reflect the inner pain. Lucy's leg, in a hip cast, is disguised under a blanket. 

You know the familiar Lucy grin? She's grinning it and saying hell no, baby, she's not ever going to ski again. She couldn't stomach another goddam ordeal like that. Besides, on the immediate horizon is an operation to remove the pins.

Lucy, being Lucy, bears the cross with humor: "Honey," she says, "skiing is just getting into those nice winter clothes and being a show off." The burdensome subject of broken bones is dismissed with frivolity. 

Brainy Lucy, now 60 and president of a $30 million corporation, is an American institution. 

But, like all super-successful females, she vibrates complex contradictions. The fashion plate - who initiated her career as a Hattie Carnegie hat model - is a winsome dumb broad on the tube. In reality she's tough executive who barks orders left and right. Staffers instantly do like the lady says. God has spoken. Lucy runs a tight ship, but she is more respected than feared. 

Yet Lucy is softie with a heart of spun sugar. Trappings, which she has in predictable abundance, aren't a psychic crutch. 

"Success is knowing that if everything were wiped away tomorrow, it wouldn't really matter. I wouldn't die if I lost my things," she says. Then the awesome simplicity: "Dear, I still go home and let the cat out" 

Lucy has always run her home life with a liberal hand.

Desi Arnaz, Jr. is currently Involved in well-publicized liaison with Liza Minnelli. There was a previous Desi scandal regarding Patty Duke. People gossip a lot here because they live in a city where the major industry is make-believe and fact and fiction become blurred. 

Lucy isn't deaf to the talk about her son's romances: 

"What the hell, they're having a fine spree. I just hope it lasts for Desi and Liza. They don't have time to get married. Their scene is the world and they're swinging in there. I'm the one who talked marriage to them. One night I said: Look, kids, don't get married too soon. They were upset. Desi countered with the observation that you don't have to settle down when you get married. So I go -  well, that's true son! The subject of marriage just never came up again. They're a nice couple. They present themselves well without becoming asses. I've told the kids to do as they wish." 

Lucy, who was a good friend to Judy Garland, makes no bones about her affection for Liza. And once Lucy loves, the feeling lasts. After 20 years of marriage to Desi Arnaz, there was the divorce. Still Lucy looks people straight in the eyes and says the present Mrs. Desi Arnaz is a "wonderful woman." And she can see it in her heart to rent ex-husband Desi studio space on her lot so that he can work in the shadow of a success they initiated together. 

When Liza Minnelli was a child, Lucy kept a scrapbook of Liza's activities at play, in ballet school, attending birthday parties. There, in a battered old photo album, are the precious pictures. Liza didn't know about the book until recently. Desi brought Liza home and Lucy accidentally-on-purpose left the book on a coffee table. "Oh! Wow!" exclaimed Liza through a flow of uncontrollable tears. 

Lucy; "And I said to Liza, honey-baby, I told you I've known you for a long time. Didn't you believe me?" Lucille Ball speaks in an affectionate aside about Liza and the loyalty is simultaneously visible and audible: 

"That kid is liable to explode any minute. I just hope I'm around to pick up the pieces. No one knows why she works so hard. She's made it her objective to clear her mother financially. Those b--- lawyers took her --- really took her. But she's paying back every damn cent herself." 

Life is, of course, an inexplicable mixture of tears and laughter. Buoyant Lucy can see the funnies in everything. Love, she says, is looking beyond someone's minor faults and caring passionately despite the irritations. Lucy's 80-year-old mom, Dede (Desiree Ball) lives near Lucy's sprawling colonial house in Beverly Hills. Dede has a longstanding idiosyncrasy which used to drive Lucy wild but is now an amusement. 

In that familiar screechy scratchy soprano voice oozing feigned stupidity, Lucy sing-songs the dialogue; 

"I say to Dede: Hey Dede, I've got a pain in my elbow. Dede always says: 'stupid, it's because you're not eating right!" Honest to God, if you've got a pain in your big toe, it's not because someone stepped on it it's the food. Drives you nuts! Dede really has a thing about food. The other day I went home and cooked a batch of chicken. 'Chicken!!" says Dede, 'you know it's gonna make me sick.' Of course Dede eats more chicken than anybody. Next day I say: Dede you been up all night throwin', huh? Naw," says Dede, the chicken wasn't half bad.'"

The ridiculous story illustrates two things Dede taught Lucy early in life. One: That without good health you've got nothing. Two; That without a non-pliant, thoroughly independent attitude, you've got less than nothing because show business kills the weak. 

Lucy is in constant awe of Dede. When Lucy built the five-story ski chalet 9,800 feet on the side of a Colorado mountain she was certain Dede couldn't take either the long trip or the altitude. Besides, once you get to Lucy's place, there are a million icy steps to climb before you make the front door. "Even the dogs stop to get their breath," says Lucy. "But when I start huffing, Dede looks over her shoulder and sorta snaps: Aw, Lucy, you're a sissy!' That woman is my challenge." 

Does Lucy ever get down? Do the burdens of crushing disappointments halt her enthusiasm even temporarily? "Jesus," she says, "I cry. I cry a lot. Then anger sets in. When I'm angry, I become a fighter. And I always fight to win." 

When Lucy talks to you, she taps your knee in a natural gesture of intimacy. Her gaze is through black fringed x-ray eyes that sear through trivia. She smokes her cigarette twirled ceremoniously between her thumb and forefinger. Lucy always spews gut honesty: 

"Love is a great peace of mind. There's no panic in the relationship. It's never having to prove yourself. Love is not playing games. Baby, some women have to put up with mysterious absenteeism. That's always a sign of hanky panky-ism. Christ, I never have to worry where Gary is." 

Gary is Gary Morton, Lucy's husband and executive producer. Suddenly he bursts into the dressing room and asks for the afternoon off. Lucy's going to work the full day. Her answer is affirmative, but she doesn't use the word "yes"; "Just don't forget to tell the cook to get out the steaks and have a big salad ready." 

The show is all in the family. Lucy's sister, Cleo Smith, is another producer. Lucy is having the talk-about twosome of Desi Jr. and Liza written into a script. Little Lucy, who has been Mrs. Phil Vandervort for a year, is a regular. She, too, bursts into the dressing room to use the john. The jeans are already embarrassingly unzipped. As she whizzes by she comments only to her famous mama: "Jeez, I though you were alone!" 

But an emergency is an emergency. Lucy, quick to seize the humor, quips: "Our togetherness is only occasionally splintered." 

In retrospect, Lucy is pleased with her real-life mother role. "I've been one hell of a mom," she says. "I always knew where they were every minute." Lucille Ball is a profound woman who often uses great simplicities to get her points across.

Once, when the kids were small, a nurse observed to Lucy that Little Lucy was calling Desi Jr., "fatso," and jabbing him in the stomach-when no one was looking. Desi didn't hit back because mama had said never to hit defenseless little girls. Lucy relives the old conversation with her daughter, first announcing each "part" and changing voices to portray the back-and-forth swing of conversation: 

Big Lucy: "Got a problem, Little Lucy?" 

Little Lucy: "Me? No." 

Big Lucy: "Let's talk. Whose fault is it? No, actually it doesn't matter whose fault it is. Next time one of you is hurt, I'm going to hit the one who is hurt." 

Little Lucy: "What does that mean, ma?" 

Big Lucy: "You'll see." 

Soon there was another battle. As usual, Little Lucy elbowed Desi in the stomach and he howled, Lucy illogically whacked Desi hard on the rear and his screams got louder. Little Lucy immediately became hysterical: "Mom, don't hit him! For God's sake, why are you hitting HIM?" 

Lucy delivered the punch line which is the credo of their life: "I hit Desi because you let things go too far. Never let things go too far. Someone innocent always suffers. Do you understand?" 

That was the end of sibling squabbling. Forever. 

Once, before her chorus girl days, New York-born Lucy worked as a fashion mannequin for various Seventh Ave. houses. She's still got a clotheshorse figure but she won't splurge on couture: "I'm just one of those normal working women who doesn't go in for hifalutin’ fashion." 

Lucy haunts three fabric shops in Beverly Hills and has local movie set seamstresses make all her clothes. "I'm not the type who dresses and goes out," says Lucy who long ago graduated from the silly-but-necessary movie star game of being seen in the right places. 

"Once when I was in Paris, I bought a designer dress grey flannel, I think and wore it out from the salon to my car.  When I sat down the damn thing was so strictly constructed that the neckline popped up to my nose. I was on my way to Switzerland and I mumbled to my driver, God, did that designer expect me to stand up on the plane?" Lucy can afford emergencies. When she got to Orly, she bought a dress from an airport boutique and changed in the ladies room. 

And, so, the sweet saga of Lucy continues, there are no plans to quit. The word - retirement - isn't in her vocabulary. "I can't imagine doing nothing," she says. "If you don't keep moving, you're buried." 

The beauty is still there. The complexion is like alabaster. Lucy confesses that she washes her face with Ivory soap, colors her own hair and occasionally gives herself offbeat facials." 

"Honey, the idiot who said to put honey on your face never explained that it has to be mixed with cream," she says. The face melts into that wonderful famous grin. "I put honey on straight from the goddamn jar and it closed my pores for a month." 

That's lovable Lucy. 

[Ed. Note: The original photographs were degraded by copying so similar shots were substituted as close to the originals as possible.]

#   #   #

[angelofthequeers]

What brought you into salting for ML, and what led you away from it? You’ve written some things that were very salty in the past, and more recently written that you were ashamed of those things, and now work to combat salt and write positive things. What brought about the change? And I’m sorry if I sound accusatory, I’m genuinely curious.

No, you don’t sound accusatory at all! I’ve been trying to avoid talking about it because I’d have to name specific people but honestly? I don’t even care anymore. I’m done not calling people out just because I was afraid of them sending their groupies after me. (I wish I could put this under a read more but my laptop charger is fried and idk how to do it on mobile 😭).

So when I was new to the fandom, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what opinion I should have about things. All I knew was tha I was coming from Supernatural, where I’d started to criticise a LOT of things about it, which was my mindset coming into ML. And the biggest and most popular bloggers were the Big Four, as I took to calling them: zoe-oneesama, lenoreofraven, gale-of-the-nomads and nobodyfamousposts. There were others, like miraculouscontent and jacquesthepigeon, and these were the dominant voices in the fandom from where I was. And if they’re the dominant voices and they’re being what I see as critical, of course I’m going to assume that they’re in the right. Not to mention that I’ve always had a problem with idolising people I see as cooler than me, so that definitely didn’t help. Plus they seemed to be Enlightened, claiming x and y were racist and problematic, and I was so desperate to be unproblematic that I didn’t stop and realise that they were the ones being problematic in the first place and just projecting the blame onto others to deflect from themselves. The racism in Zoe’s Scarlet Lady comic in particular is particularly disgusting and I’ve vented about it in private more than once, but it’s okay because it’s improving the show.

(Never mind that you can be critical of something and still enjoy it. Critical doesn’t equal salty as fuck. That’s something I’ve finally learned and I’m happy loving and gushing over the show while still pointing out where it needs to improve)

I eventually ended up joining a salty Discord and that’s what actually ended up pushing me away from salt, because it was so...bad. Everyone was egging each other on and encouraging each other to be salty and toxic about the show and I was starting to resent the show, and why should I waste my energy on something I hate? Salt legitimately very nearly killed my love for not only this show but children’s media in general, which was also why I left SPN because I was done with the constant gritty darkness. I wanted to love Adrien, I wanted to love Alya, I wanted to love the show, but I was being bombarded with Perfect Princess Saltinette and Perfect Boyfriend Loocah and Kickass Queen Chloé/Kagami (whichever one the author liked) and it just...all got internalised and reinforced. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to love Adrien and Alya and the show or I’d be doing something wrong, because clearly these fans knew better than I did.

And then we come to Défenseure. At the time of writing it, I legitimately didn’t mean for it to be overly salty. I intended for it to be like ‘Little Devil’, where the characters were fucking up but they stopped and learned lessons, albeit through the salter lens of what those lessons should be. Adrien was never going to lose his ring. He was just going to get a stern talking-to and end up apologising to Ladybug (despite that itself being exaggerated bc of how salters see him). But the Discord kept going and going and egging me on and providing “support” when I got negative feedback, and I let them push me to the point of full salt. And that’s when I stepped back and realised that I hated it. I hated being here, I hated interacting with the fandom, I hated writing. So I bowed out and never looked back.

But it’s not that simple. I was invited to another Discord by someone who, I will give a smidge of credit, did help pull me out of that dark place. But I didn’t realise that GalahadWilder was predatory and just outright yuck and literally manipulating me, especially with how he used his own autism to connect with me and empathise in a way that non-autistics couldn’t. Again, I couldn’t read people and I didn’t realise that I was being played until I ended up embroiled in another fandom drama. The less said about that, the better, but anyone who’s been around for any length of time knows what Drama I’m talking about.

And somehow, that ended up being even more toxic than the salt. We were actively attacking the showrunners (doxxing and then deleting to save face aka “do damage control over an impulsive mistake”), jabbing at other fans who I won’t name, constantly screenshotting one specific person (who legitimately is disgusting and hated by most of the fandom) and laughing at how pathetic they were, even going to one side of the drama and sending anons to try and pin the blame on the other side. And granted, I didn’t actively participate in most of this, but I still sat there and watched and laughed and believed the manipulations. It wasn’t until I got sick of this drama and someone informed me of the true nature of it (because I definitely wouldn’t have gotten involved and supported who I did if I’d been told the whole truth) that I left, but even then I still had people from both sides of the internal drama in that Discord messaging me and trying desperately to get me to believe them, and it was just. Too much.

Fandom’s supposed to be fun. Fandom’s supposed to be an escape. And yet I was ending up in more drama than a reality TV show because people were playing me like a puppet and I was sick of it.

But I’m in a healthier place now in the fandom. I’ve found the balance between roasting and being outright cruel; between criticising the show and spewing salt over it. And while I do hate what I’ve written and the drama I got messed up in, I’m grateful in a way. Without my salty writing, I wouldn’t have found that I hate doing it. Without that drama, I wouldn’t have found the true natures of certain people and I wouldn’t have made the friends I have now, like ladybuginettes, emsylcatac, amimons, bugabisous and yeet-noir. We jokingly call me a babie egg because I’ve been reborn as sugar and sweetness 😌 Especially since joining APS, which has let me actually love Adrien and even other characters like Alya and shower them in the positivity that I wanted to in the first place.

So, uh...yeah. That’s how I went from being a salty bitch to wanting to be more positive and sugary. And at least now I’m disillusioned enough that I just. Don’t idolise anyone anymore 🤷🏽‍♀️

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Made in Heaven

Read Chapter 5 on AO3 here.

“Alright, ladies and gents, let’s do this.” Pamela rubs her hands together. They’re all crowded around a table, having hauled Pamela’s magic crap in. She looks around at them like they’re all gathered around for a campfire ghost story. “So, rumor has it that you can crack into the Empty with an inter-realm spell. So… we need somebody from each of the ball fields: Heaven, Earth, Hell, Purgatory.” 

Charlie whistles. “Great. Well, we got the Heaven side covered. Earth is probably next easiest, right?” 

“Except we can’t run the risk of Chuck finding out what we’re up to. So, down low. Evasive measures.” 

Dean nods at Ash. “Sam’s got a handle on the Earth shit; he’s a little magic freak now. No offense.” he puts a hand on Pamela. She rolls her eyes. “But how do we get a message down to him without setting Chuck off? Not like we can send a halo-ed carrier pigeon.”

They all think on it for a second, till Pamela leans forward. “The veil. If we can contact a ghost, they can haunt Sam and get him the message.” 

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t ghosts known for being kind of… crazy? Murderous?”

“Huge dicks?” Ash adds helpfully. 

Pamela shrugs. “We could find one that’s recently died; there’s the possibility they wouldn’t have turned yet. But we’d have to know who we’re contacting, we can’t just put out a classified.” 

Something pings in the back of Dean’s head and he slams his hand on the table. He apologizes quickly because damn near everyone jumps at the noise. “I got it. Kevin. Kevin Tran. He’s in the veil still, and he’s spent a fuckton of time down there, he’d know how to haunt somebody good.” 

“And is he going to want to help us?” 

Dean frowns at Pamela. “What does that mean?” 

“I mean, people don’t usually end well around you, Dean. Case in point,” she motions around the table at all of them. “It’s not your fault but… sometimes there are hard feelings.” 

Dean shakes his head. He deserves hard feelings from Kevin, that’s for sure, but the kid’s awesome. Hell, last time he’d seen them he’d been almost happy, even signing up to stay in the veil forever. “Nah, we can trust Kevin. He’s family.” 

“Alright. Fire her up then, Pam,” Ash is excited. Pamela shoots him a glare for impatience but she gets her shit together anyway. It’s already set up, all she has to do is ask Dean for a few personal details, chant a bit, and she gets through. “We’re asking for Kevin Tran. Kevin Tran, if you’re out there, Dean Winchester wants a word. Well, a few actually. Kevin, can you hear me?” 

The draft spigot turns on by itself, spewing beer onto the floor. “Hey Kev, want a beer?” Dean jumps up and grabs a glass, pumped at the prospect of seeing his friend again.” 

“That’s it, Kevin. You’re doing great. Keep trying, keep locking into that.” 

The candles on the table go out one by one: apparently, Kevin practicing. Dean holds his breath and shuts off the draft spigot, a glass of beer held out in front of him. “Can ghosts drink? Wait, are you even 21, Kevin?” 

“The kid’s dead and you’re gonna huff and puff over the legal age for a Pilsner?” Ash laughs. Dean hands it to him; he has a point. Maybe Jack’s made him a little overprotective of shit like that. 

Kevin appears in front of Dean then, hand outstretched to try and take the beer. His sudden appearance makes Dean spill half of it all over himself. “Son of a- hi Kevin!” he offers the beer out again, and this time Kevin takes it and pours it right through his ghostly figure. “Oh… shit.” 

Kevin deadpans at him. “Yeah, it sucks. Hi, Dean.” 

“How you doing, bud?” 

Kevin shrugs and sighs, looking down at himself. “Well, I’m dead. Still. Dean, you wanna explain what I’m doing here first?” 

Dean nods, grabbing the beer back from Kevin and setting it on the table. He motions for the kid to turn around toward the table set up with witchy shit. “Kevin, this is Ash, Charlie, and Pamela, the psychic who summoned you.” Pamela and Ash both give a flirty wink, which makes Dean turn about three shades of red in the face. 

“Heard a lot, kid.” Ash greets him.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of any dead guy with such bad luck.” Pamela adds on. And she would know.

Kevin nods with a wry smile. “Yeah, well, that’s just me, I guess. Dead for years, in the veil most of it and hell for the rest.”

“Kev, I’m so sorry-” 

Kevin holds up a hand to stave off Dean’s apologies. “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s Chuck’s. Tell me you got him.” 

“That’s what we’re here for, man.” 

“Yeah, apparently we’re the Kill God Team now.” Charlie grins and Kevin smiles back. 

“Hell fucking yeah. I can get on board with that. Whaddya need me to do?” 

They all sit down at the table and map it all out. “We need you to get the plan over to Sam, but we can’t have Chuck finding out about any of it.”

“Yeah, so you need to make sure he knows to keep a low profile.” Dean warns. The last fucking thing in the world they need is to lose the element of surprise. Plus, that would put Sam right in Chuck’s crosshairs, and Dean can’t be there to back him up. He curses himself again for dying. 

“What exactly do we mean by low profile?” Charlie asks. “Are we talking cabin in the middle of the woods off-grid kind of low profile or just a Meet the Robinson’s type deal?”

Dean sighs. “Sam needs to stay away from anything Chuck likes to watch.” God, it sounded grimy just saying it. “That means hunting, that means me, that means… Eileen too.” 

“Eileen?” 

“His girlfriend.” It hurts Dean to think about, but- “Chuck’s used them against each other before; he likes them together. So they gotta stay apart.”

“Shit.” Charlie exhales quietly, and Dean nods. It’s unfair. It sucks. It’s Chuck. 

“Tell him to live a normal life. Be as happy as he can. But don’t come looking for me and don’t get interesting. Or Chuck will just fuck with him some more, and if he does that… he’s gonna find out what we’re doing.” Kevin nods seriously. He never gets brought around for fun shit, does he? Dean feels a pang of regret at that. He immediately wants to change it. “But right now, whaddya say we have some fun, huh?” 

The table looks at him like he’s gone nutty. He shrugs and grins. “Come on guys, we’re dead. Don’t we all have a night to spare?” 

He sees Charlie come around first, slow grin spreading across her face. “Fuck yeah, let’s party, bitches!”

It doesn’t take the rest of them much convincing either. Dean has some good-ass friends. “Yo Kev, since you can’t get fucked up, you wanna play some pool?” Ash hitches his thumb at the table behind him. 

Dean laughs. “Ash, you are one cruel son of a bitch. Years of being a friggin’ ghost and you’re gonna whoop him in pool? That’s cold.” 

Ash shakes his head. “Nah man, I’ve spent way more time passed out on that table than playing on it. I’d say the kid’s got a fair shot.” Kevin smiles and shrugs at Dean.

“Hey, that’s more than I’ve ever gotten before; I’ll take my chances” 

They head off to play and Dean grabs a beer to watch, a good one this time. One with the label he and Sam used to buy, the kind that Cas said “didn’t taste as much like the vast expanse of space dust” as the others. Charlie and Pamela follow with their own. 

“So Dean,” Pamela says. “Ash tells me you gotta angel on your shoulder.” She sounds a little weary. Dean figures that’s fair, given her experience with the species. 

“Uh… yeah. Castiel.” He gestures to her eyes. “That one.” Pamela shrugs if off. 

“So make me like him. Charlie here says you’ve got quite the bond.” Dean blushes pink, but for once there isn’t any innuendo behind her voice. At least, none that is teasing. He looks to Charlie, who makes a ‘I didn’t say anything’ face at him and relaxes a bit. 

“Well, uh, he hasn’t burned anymore eyes out,” Dean starts, then reconsiders. “Well, none that didn’t deserve it.” Not really true either. “Well-” 

“He’s super cute.” Charlie cuts him off. Dean blushes deeper. “He gave a whole fuck-you to heaven to save Dean.” Dean blushes deeper still. Why does it sound so… intimate when she says it like that? Pamela just raises an eyebrow.

“Sounds like some ally.” 

“Cas?” Kevin sinks a ball. The kid’s not bad, actually. Ash was right; they are neck-and-neck. “Yeah, he’s awesome. I mean, weird, but cool.” Dean grins. Weird but cool was exactly Cas. 

“Someday, man, I gotta meet this guy.” Ash laments.

“Someday, dude, you will.” Dean vows. Somehow sitting around talking about him with all these guys, he felt confident it was true. “Once we bust him out, you better bet we’re throwing a party and meet-and-greeting everybody. 

“I’ll finally get to tease him for the eyes. You think it’d get him better without the fakes?” She pops her fake cloudy eyes out and waggles her eyebrows at Dean, empty eye sockets looking bizarre on such a cheerful face. Dean laughs. 

“You’re not gonna need to; he already feels shitty for that. He’ll probably offer to heal ‘em, matter of fact.” 

“Well, he won’t get far with that one,” Ash calls over. “Angels been trying to do it for years.” Pamela nods at Dean’s questioning glance.

“Wouldn’t be me without ‘em, now. Who needs sight anyway?” 

“Without eyes you won’t be able to see my pretty face!” Dean bullshits. 

“Yeah, or your brother’s tight ass. Second thought, remind me when Sam gets up here, won’t ya?” Dean makes a gagging noise and Pamela laughs. 

“So you said Chuck’s in your… kid?” Kevin asks skeptically. He misses a shot and Ash hollers. Dean cracks his neck and considers how to answer. 

“Kinda. I mean, yeah. Just not- he’s Lucifer and a human’s, technically.” He starts, realizing Kelly’s in heaven too. They’ve gotta let her in on this, but not now. Not now when Chuck!Jack is probably visiting her as her son; it’s too risky. With how sick he feels at the idea of Jack being Chuck’s meatsuit, well…

He sees Cas. Again. Just for a second, there he is standing outside the window, looking less wounded but more tired than before. He looks like he’s focused on something, like he’s scared, but he also looks transfixed, like he can’t look away. As Dean watches, Cas closes his eyes and mouths something. It looks like he’s counting. “One, two, three.” Dean blinks and he’s gone, and Dean’s left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah.” He smiles at Charlie to let her know he’s okay. Ish. “Sorry, uh, so he’s kind of devilspawn but he’s ours. Mine, Cas’s, Sam’s. Long story. But he’s a good kid.” He nods, knowing he oughta give more information, but not really knowing how.

“Who woulda thought, Dean Winchester, a dad.” Ash ribs with a grin. Dean laughs back and nods. His life hadn’t really screamed stability and mentorhood. His death still didn’t.

“Yeah, I… I haven’t exactly been a star father-figure…” Dean shakes his head. The conflict in his head that culminates in Jack is confusing as hell, but three things win him over. The first is Jack’s innocent, naive face looking up at him for any kind of approval or wisdom. A kid. Just a kid. The second is Cas’s face as he smiles at him that one night over a whiskey glass, the prideful joy as he tells Dean he always believed in Jack. The third is the pit in his gut of all the times he acted like his dad to Jack. And no matter what, Dean can’t leave those memories be. He can’t have Jack remember him like that, and he can’t look Cas in the eye knowing he didn’t do everything he could to make things right. “But that’s gonna change, if it fucking kills me. We gotta save him when we get Chuck, guys, we gotta.” 

“We will.” Kevin looks at him with an overly-confident smile. “We can’t lose. You’ve got me, now!”

The rest of them bust out laughing, and Kevin fakes offense. “You’re right, Kev. Don’t know what I’m so worried ‘bout.” 

Tag List (ask to be added or removed):

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

[seijorhi]

asks :)

sorry for being a little mia yesterday/today - i’m bad at answering stuff :(

Were the team like "Meian we have an idea for a team bonding exercise hear us out" or was Meian's idea? A way to get their manager undercontrol before they got the team in deeper trouble? Did Meian get his turn??

I love your stories!

people seem to have fundamentally misunderstood the ending of unprofessional. when meian said the others were coming, he meant they were comin’ for their turn with their pretty lil manager 👀asdfgfcghjhjkl no, but meian was definitely on board with the plan - it might not have been his idea, but he certainly wasn’t objecting. it’s for the good of the team, after all. 

and thank you!

Sakusa walking alone with manager-chan: it’s free real estate

where is the lie??

IM INLOVE WITH THE NEW FIC😭 I JUST FINISHED MY EXAMS AND IT WAS GOOD REWARD I LOVE I LOVE ITTTT😭😭😭

ahhh thank you bby!! and i hope your exams went well!! i’m sure you kicked ass!

POOR LITTLE MANAGER CHAN. I never thought anything could make MSBY boys hotter, but mean!Meian takes the cake~ I want him to act like the good guy after all this is over, to pretend to be the one looking out for their dear sweet manager, all the while he conspires with the boys behind our back 😊

y’all should know better than to trust any man in my fics. meian would 100% stay back to ‘clean you up’ and take care of you. he’ll be the one making sure you don’t neglect your duties, while also making sure you’re not being treated too roughly by his boys. mostly. well, you can take it.

THE MSBY FIC IS SO GOOIID. Would u mind me asking what’s gonna be ur next fic?

bold of you to assume i know the answer to that

I love the idea of Sakusa getting to stake his claim first. Sending the rest of the boys a couple of pics. You snooze you lose! It was the perfect opportunity, how could he not take advantage? I for one would have probably got in his car like a naive idiot!

This is one thing about your fics I love. There is so much side plot and nuances we can explore. I dont know how to describe it, I just love the depth! Plus the smut is hot as hell 💕

sakusa might not film it, but he sure as hell ain’t against sending some pics of the aftermath, just as a less than friendly reminder of who you really belong to. out of all of them, i definitely think he’s the most possessive. 

and i’ve joked with some of my moots before that i am incapable of writing anything, much less smut, without throwing in a fuckton of backstory, even if i don’t actually write it all in. it’s always fun to write about tho, and i get super excited when somebody picks up on a little thing and i get the excuse to ramble on about it a little more! anyway ily, thanks for the ask!

not me laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Tomas, Inunaki and Meian having their turn with me 🧎🏼‍♀️

i was tired and wanted the fic posted but rest assured anon, it happened

I just wanna say your protectivecop!Daichi makes me feel things I didn't know I had but also physician!Ennoshita getting quite handsy during the hour where he's helping you stretch and I'm just .... whoa like I would love to have Ennoshita look after me and also Daichi 🥰🥰- @itishebihime-samaforyou

hhhh i don’t write nearly enough ennoshita.... or actually... none at all, which is a disgrace! because yes!! he’s just so sweet and calming isn’t he? you trust him. even when his hands touch places you don’t think they’re supposed to, even when they linger, squeezing, he’s just doing his job, right?

Settle Oikawa bringing his perfect little family to his games and showing them off before the crowd and his opponents 🥺

he’d have to trust you to behave before he’d let you do that ;)

On the wiki page it says Osamu, with enough provocation, gets angry and physical, and spews profanity. Led to me thinking Osamu's poor gf trying to break up with him for some reason, she's moving away for school, he's getting too clingy, or letting atsumu's hang around too much and being a bit creepy, or what ever. Just GF saying enough is enough we should move on and Osamu, sweet chill Osamu just going apeshit. It would be terrifying!

angry atsumu is one thing, angry osamu is a whole other ballgame! but yes, he’d lose his shit, you’re not going anywhere and you’re sure as fuck not leaving him.

rhiiiii 🥺 would the soulmate nastyboy miyas ever show you a smidgen of kindness? like the thing thats coming to mind for me is if reader was delirious and sick with a fever or something and she was in a lot of pain and they like 🥺 did one ☝️ nice thing in their horrible little miya lives

(I ask this because I have an infection in my jaw thats making my wholeass head hurt and I’m pretty mmmmm sick rn, so I’m mindlessly daydreaming about evil miyas being Nice™ to my heavily-medicated ass AHFIAHHD)

first of all, i hope you’re doing okay bby! please take care of yourself, gets lots of rest - i’m sending you all the love!!!

secondly, absolutely! don’t get me wrong, no matter how good you are, how much of yourself you give them, they’re never gonna be soft and sweet with you all the time, but they do love you. if you did get sick, osamu’s gonna take time off work to stay at home and cook for you, trading off with atsumu over who looks after you. and i think if you were heavily drugged out of it, they might just let their guard down a little - you’re not fighting back against their ‘affection’ so they don’t have to act so harsh about it. there’s just something about you being all soft and pliant that’s almost domestic. expect a lot of smothering cuddling.

Hi! I just read Final Girl, (absolutely loved it btw 💖) but I was curious, if she was pregnant but in the tent with her boyfriend did he assume it was his or did he know? I was just curious and thinking about the back story! Thank you :)

so there’s actually like a few months that pass between when the reader’s campsite is attacked (and her friends/boyfriend are all hunted down and killed) and the scene where she’s pregnant and running through the woods - so the baby daddy’s one of the trio 👀

Bless your brain and all its glorious lewd genius UwU - @beany-goes-dark

ahh bby, you give me far too much credit but ily!!

Please take of yourself and stay safe ily we can wait 💖✨

on a physical level i understand this, but my monkey brain drives me to write until 4am in the morning i am not the one in control here (but shgjhjkfgjkl thank you you’re so sweet!)

Hey! I was wondering if it's okay if I talked to you about my kin list and showed it to ya? I've never made one and I genuinely have no one to talk to about it or show😅 thank you in advance

w-what is a kin list?? 👀