#i’m so upset abt this u don’t understand

[reddamselette]

i wish i could like. project the visions i have in my head because how will i ever capture the absolute beauty of kevin skating across the ice to enemies to lovers by joshua kyan aalampour during a free skate program

or jean to swan lake. or nathaniel to dazed and confused. UGH i’m in tears TEARS I SAY

[keptoabysmal]

My only gripe with the trans character brackets polls that have both canonically trans characters & characters with popular trans hcs is just.

Usually it’s whichever character is more popular that will win & that’s understandable. And I LOVE trans hcs for characters so much, BUT it just feels wrong when a character who is canonically trans loses to a character who is not.

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly.��

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not��smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[sst4rdst]

yan! SCARA whose darling is like a twitch streamer and he’s obsessed with them and donates a lot then finds out his darling has an S/O? he’d def murder the s/o I’m sure or at least think abt it but I think he’d be more upset at his darling for even *having* an s/o!

warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships. author's note : i forgot to write smth here so uuuh hope u like it lol 😭

you don’t know who balladeer is.

you know of him, of course—you know the username that clings to your donation alerts like a stain, an ever-present reminder that someone, somewhere, is watching you too closely.

he’s always there, lingering just beneath the surface, an unshakable presence in the corner of your screen. silent, patient. he never says more than he needs to and never engages in idle conversation like the rest of your chat.

the others are loud, eager, fighting for your attention in a sea of meaningless words. but balladeer doesn’t fight. he doesn’t need to.

his messages come sparingly and precisely, the kind that bring the scrolling flood of chat to a halt.

and you always respond to them.

"thanks for the dono, balladeer!" you keep your voice light, keep your smile easy, because that’s what’s expected.

because it’s polite. because there’s nothing unusual about thanking someone for their generosity—except when that generosity comes in the form of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands dumped into your account in a single night.

more than anyone should be giving. more than you deserve. it made you nervous at first. you told yourself it was nothing, that he was just some rich guy with too much money and nothing better to spend it on.

that was before you realized he was in every stream. before you realized he never missed a moment. before you noticed the way he was always watching, always waiting.

you tried to tell him once, carefully, cautiously. you even laughed a little, trying to pass it off as a joke.

"hey, balladeer, you really don’t have to donate this much."

the chat had flooded with messages with people making jokes, teasing, egging him on. they didn’t understand. they didn’t notice the way his responses were never playful, the way his presence wasn’t just another fan being overly enthusiastic.

"don’t tell me what to do."

it was the first time you’d seen him speak so bluntly. the words cut through the noise, and for a second, you could swear the air in the room turned colder. you hadn’t responded. you hadn’t known how to.

and from that moment on, you never tried to stop him again.

but he doesn’t mean to find out this way. it’s a mistake, your mistake.

he’s watching, just like always, eyes half-lidded in the dim glow of his screen, listening to your voice spill through his headphones, the familiar lull of your laughter, the way you fill the empty spaces with idle chatter.

he doesn’t need to see you to know what expression you’re making, doesn’t need to watch to know exactly how you’ll tilt your head, the way your lips will quirk when you smile.

he knows you too well. he has spent months memorizing everything about you, every habit, every inflection of your voice, every little shift in tone that betrays your mood. he knows what you sound like when you’re tired, when you’re frustrated, when you’re forcing a laugh.

and he knows when you’re nervous.

it’s subtle at first. a flicker of something uneasy in your expression, a hesitation in your words. it makes his fingers still against the desk, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

then it happens—the slip. a voice, distant but audible, something said in the background, followed by the way your entire body tenses. a name.

you laugh, too quickly, too forcefully. it’s forced, an attempt to brush past it, to smooth over the mistake before anyone notices. but he noticed. of course he did.

the air in his room turns suffocatingly still.

oh.

so that’s how it is.

he watches the way you fumble, the way you pretend nothing happened, the way your eyes flick nervously to the chat as if you’re waiting for someone to call you out on it. but you aren’t worried about the chat.

you’re worried about him. as you should be.

his screen goes dark as he slams the laptop shut, the abrupt finality of the action ringing out in the silence.

his jaw clenches, his breathing measured and slow as he leans back in his chair, fingers threading through his hair. he forces himself to exhale, to smooth over the raw edges of something ugly curling in his chest. he isn’t mad.

that would imply you had the ability to hurt him.

no, this is… disappointment. that’s what it is. disappointed that you thought you could keep something like this from him, that you had the audacity to insult him with your secrecy, as if he wouldn’t find out.

as if you weren’t already laid bare before him, every inch of your life meticulously dissected, every detail tucked neatly into the spaces he’s carved out for you in his mind.

it would be easy, wouldn’t it? to fix this.

he knows where they live. of course he does. it took him less than an hour to find out after hearing that name.

he wonders if it would be worth it, if it would be satisfying to watch the problem disappear, to see the stain of their presence erased from your life before you even had the chance to realize what was happening.

but then what?

would you cry? would you grieve? would you hate him for taking them from you?

no, no, that wouldn’t do. he doesn’t want your tears, doesn’t want you to look at him with fear in your eyes.

he wants you to understand. that’s the real problem, isn’t it? not them. you.

because you’re the one who let this happen. you’re the one who betrayed him, who laughed for someone else, who gave away pieces of yourself that were never yours to give.

you made him think you were different. you made him think you were his.

but this? this is an opportunity.

to remind you. to correct you. to break you of your foolish little delusions.

the chat pings. a new message appears on your screen, but this time, it’s a private one. from balladeer.

we need to talk.

[marks-bby]

can you do a miles e42 fix based off of broken clocks by sza

U LUV ME | with 42!miles

— it’s been 3 years since you’ve dated him. why he still talking about you like you together ? i’m not officially back but i just LOVE this concept. and i love sza🤭 ex!miles, both characters are like 17-18, reader has a younger sister, simp!miles fr, reader is still in love with miles but is stubborn, probably makes no sense whatsoever

“ma,” miles kneeled in front of you. “i’ll do anything to win you back. swear. i’ll drop the prowler job. anything.” his hands were wrapped around your legs as he begged for you to take him back.

“you swear?” you pull him up, he now towers over you. “swear.” his lip inch closer to yours “i lo—”

“WAKE THE FUCK UP!” your sister, nicknamed yaya, repeatedly hits you in the face with a pillow. “damn. i’m up, i’m up.” you sit up as she hits your back.

you grab the pillow, throwing it in her face. “i said i’m up.” “mama said you better be ready in 10 minutes or you’re gonna have to find another ride to work.”

you turn your head, looking at the clock.

it read 9:45.

shittt.

“get out so i can get dressed.”

*time skip*

you had barely made it in time for work. “hi, welcome to [ insert favorite cafe ], how can i—get out.” your voice was quickly filled with hatred. “chill, ma. i just wanted coffee.” the boy laughs. “not from here. go.”

you refused to serve him. you knew what was to come next.

“i miss you.”

“my mom won’t stop talking about you.” know well it was just him ranting about how he wanted you back.

“i want—”

“you want a caramel frappe, no whipped cream, a chocolate chip, warmed. i remember.” you deadpan. “i want something else.” your brows raise in shock, “so you have changed.”

“you.”

you groan. you bit your tongue, trying so hard not to yell at him to get out of your store. “i take that back.”

after completing his order, you slid him the drink and cookie, “that’ll be 12.65. cash or card?” he slid you a 50. “keep the change.” he walked off, sipping his newly made drink.

*time skip to the next day*

the day before was stressful. you had karens upset bc you didn’t give them a drink at 75 degree exact, too many customers, not enough staff. it was a miracle you made it out alive.

your sleep once you got home was well deserved. it was peaceful.

until the next morning. your phone was blown up by your best friend trying to get your attention.

[ name ] ! when did u and miles get back together ?

[ name ] girl wake the fuck up.

i know you see these messages. don’t make me come to your house.

answer me hoe😡

you quickly unlock your phone,

“tf r u talking abt?”

he posted on his private story. sum abt “when you two talk it out and cuddle” some shit like that. the caption had you name on it

your head hangs low when they sent the screenshot.

this motherfucker is really delusional.

“we never got back together. tf is he on?”

you threw on some clothes, storming your way to miles’ house.

you knew his mother had work at this time so you have no mercy to his front door. “miles, open this fucking door. imma kick it down.” your tone let him know you were pissed. he opens the door, “what are you mad about ma?”

you raise your phone at his face. “what is this?” he leans back, getting a good look at it. “oh, i was letting people know you’re mine.” you tilt your head, eyes squinted. “are you fucking crazy? what part of “we’re broken up” do you not understand? we ain’t together. end of story.”

he laughs, making you more upset. “that’s what you think. why do you think no one has asked you out yet?” he smirks. “because they know that you’re mine. anybody who wants you gotta go through me first. and you and me both know that’s not gonna end well.” he snickers.

“miles—” “i’m not done.” he cuts you off. “look, i know me being the prowler affected our relationship. but i’m done with that. completely. i’m focused on you right now. i’m tryna do better for you.” he suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“i’m yours.”

you smirk at him. “and how do i know you don’t have any hoes in your phone right now?” “be reasonable right now.” he smile drops, his nostrils flaring. “okay, i was joking.” you laugh.

“so, what’s this mean ma?” you purse your lips, “i guess we can get back together.” he grins, pulling you closer. “you don’t know how much i missed you. and this ass—” his hands squeeze your ass before you smack his hands away.

“i can always change my mind, miles.” “okay, i was just kidding.”

[y13evie]

I had an idea for a James Wilson fic and saw ur requests were open.

U don't have to do it ofc uts just an idea :]

So ig it's a kinda enemies to lovers thing where the reader constantly pisses off Wilson and she's absolutely convinced she annoys him sm there's no chance of him liking her.

Then smt happens (dunno what) and the reader is upset abt smt and is hiding from everyone as she has a breakdown and Wilson somehow finds her and.... ye

Again u don't have to do it but ye

anon this is so cutesy wutesy. i tried my best n i hope you like it!! also i’m sosos sorry for the wait.

tags: no mentions of y/n, slight angst, mentions of cancer and dead people and heart attacks, otherwise just fluffy

“do you always have that stupid smile plastered across your face?”, james wilson asked. you’re pretty damn sure he would erase you off the face of this planet if given the chance.

“only for you”, and you were proud of it.

because the both of you were in the oncology department together, it gave you plenty of opportunity to bug him. at first you truly didn’t mean to, small things like bumping into him at the wrong time. but instead of letting your feelings become shot due to his scolding, you embraced it. you make it your goal to do something that you know will annoy james.

today was friday and the two of you had been assigned the same case. the patient at hand had stage 3 soft tissue sarcoma. their condition wasn’t great, but vitals were fine. you were talking with a nurse about what steps to take moving forward with his treatment. out of the corner of your eye you saw that familiar face. the two of you beckon the other doctor over. it seems as if he was trying to ignore you, the way he hesitantly made his way over to you two.

“please, make it quick.” he huffed. the nurse explained the case while you stood there for a moment deciding on whether taking his stethoscope was a good idea. you decided it was and quickly took the device from off his neck and onto yours. you put your hands on your hips and contorted your face to look angry. james was not having it as he quickly tried to get it back. but you were faster than him and was able to keep it.

“you might think that’s funny but it’s unprofessional. i don’t understand how you’re allowed to work with adults when you act like a child.”. his comment seemed to kill the mood as the other nurse walked off, leaving just the two of you. deciding that he’d had enough you unwrapped the equipment from your neck and handed it back. james snatched it from you, looking you up and down in distaste.

“do your job. it’s doctors like you that kill patients”. his tone was harsh. it pierced your heart a little bit. ever since you had first joined the hospital crew, you always sort of looked up to him. he was so intelligent and seemed to always know what he was doing. and you hated the fact he implied that you were killing patients. the people you work so hard to save.

you tried to brush his words off, telling yourself he’s just a grump and didn’t mean anything by it. you continued your day as usual. you only had a couple patients today so it was a relaxed day. that was until the patient from earlier had a rapid decline in health. he suffered a massive heart attack and the team was not able to save him. you stood there as the doctors repeated his time of death. you’ve lost many lives before and you know it was just apart of your job, but something stuck to you.

“it’s doctors like you that kill patients”. his words rang throughout your mind like a gunshot. you made your way to the break room and curled up on the couch with your head in your hands. quiet sobs left your mouth. maybe he was right. maybe all this time you weren’t good enough. at this point you had fully convinced yourself that it was your fault. if only you had payed more attention to his history. if only you had searched deeper into his files, then maybe. just maybe, you could’ve found something to prevent this from happening.

the screech of the door opening had pulled you from your thoughts. you looked up to see him. james wilson. james was able to read the hurt expression on your face. he stared for a moment, taking in the situation.

“it’s not your fault”

you got up and started your way to the door with tears threatening to fall once again. james moved so you were unable to exit.

“dr. wilson, please-“ you practically begged him to move. but he wouldn’t budge. instead, his eyes softened and face relaxed. he looked worried. you tried once more to leave the room but jus as expected, you failed.

“i’m sorry.” he took a deep breath before continuing. “you’re an amazing doctor. you love your patients. i know you do. and you’re a good person. i want you to know that. every time you bother me i secretly enjoy it because i’m able to see you happy.”. he paused for a moment, waiting for your response.

shocked at the fact he doesn’t hate you, you ask him, “you..like me?. almost laughing at the thought of him enjoying your company. but he’s not laughing. his eyes are gentle and he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“of course i like you. and the fact that you’re..” he motions to your current state of sadness, “..like this because of something i said is awful. i hate the idea that i made you feel unworthy.”. you stopped for a second to let his words absorb into your head. as if someone else was controlling your body, you hugged him. he froze for a moment with his hands dangling above your back, before relaxing into the hug. james gently rubbed your hair and back while whispering kind words.

you were the first to pull away. slightly laughing at yourself for being so sensitive. you awkwardly look at him before shuffling your way to the door. just as your hand reaches the handle he stops you.

“hey, wait. after this is all sorted, would you want to have dinner with me tonight?” he cursed himself for asking at a bad moment, but knew he would never ask if he didn’t now. you looked at him, and then back at the door.

“yeah! i would love that. just uhm- let me know whenever. okay?thankyoubyeeee” you smooshed the last words together in an attempt to leave and

cover up your now rose tinted cheeks. on the other side of the door james pumped his fist in the air like a little kid. maybe he needed some sweetness in his life.

[moyazaika]

hii genie! hope ur doing well and all 💓

If ur not busy, could u give tips on how to write a compelling yandere? Cause yours are actually scary (and hot). Oh and can you talk about vocab and dialogue?

love ur work and i'll eat up whatever u write in the near future

hihiii!! thank you for the kind words and the nice ask <3<3

for basic writing tips + building up vocab check out this post! see this post for a little bit on dialogue!!

and i’m honoured u think that way abt my characters nonnie :( thank you!!!!! as for characters hmmm,,, utc!

there’s deffffff going to be a massive difference in how you portray the yandere depending on your own view of them haha i can usually tell which writers view the niche as more of a horror based narrative and which of the artists and writers i follow tend to romanticise it a little more. no way is right or wrong, but your own perspective on the character you’re writing about lends itself heavily to how you portray them.

example; valentine is genuinely just terrifying in a quiet sort of way. kenji, on the other hand, is not scary at all.

to make a character scarier, stop telling the reader what they’re thinking or the meaning behind their thought. nothing to fear more than what you don’t know and can’t understand.

example (which one is better at making you feel more unsettled? the one where i tell you what he’s thinking, or where you’re left to assume the worst and fill in the blanks yourself?)

A; “my, aren’t you a sight?” he thinks you look so pretty like this, all helpless and tied up and trembling before him. so completely at his mercy. he grins at the thought; reaches out to roughly tug at the rope that binds your shaking legs together so as to tease you. “mm, i think we’re going to have fun together, babe.”

B; “my, aren’t you a pretty sight?” he muses, reaching out to tug at the rope binding your legs together. he doesn’t say anything about just how much you’re shaking before him. chooses to smile, instead. you wonder, watching the corners of his lips curl—what exactly he’s thinking about doing to you right now. “mm, i think we’re going to have fun together, babe.”

sometimes less is also more!

see below;

A; “say it, baby,” he runs his fingers down your spine, his touch so very soft, despite the sharpness of his nails as they ghost your skin; despite the derision lacing his tone. “i know you want to.”

B; “say it, baby,” he runs his fingers down the curve of your spine, deceptively gentle. “i know you want to.”

B is a lot more ‘quieter’ than A, which has nicer and more descriptive writing. both are good, but if i wanted to scare the reader, i’d go with B. it tells you nothing about what he’s feeling (which A labels as derision) and so is more unsettling, albeit less descriptive.

don’t underestimate the power of “says.”

A; “i did it because i love you,” he frowns.

B; “i did it because i love you,” he says.

with A i’m thinking ohhh ok so he’s upset, with B i’m thinking Oh Shiiiiit something’s about to go down 😅😅

i mostly write as i have in the A examples, (more descriptive and vibrant!) but sprinkling in some of the quieter moments that read like the B examples and unnerve you works like a treat. it all depends on the story you’re telling and the tone!!!!

oki that’s alllll i hope this helps! <3 :)

[kcokaine]

hey im the anon who said that I "jerked off to one of your OCs," and your response made me so genuinely upset. It’s like you don’t even care about who I am or what I’m feeling. I’m trying to reach out, to be honest and open, and instead of accepting me, you just reject me outright??? who do you think you are??? (YOURE A NOBODY BTW)btw I have so many friends at school, and everybody likes me?? so why are YOU speaking abt something u have NO IDEA about. You don’t understand at all. Unfollowing u :/ Rot away with your gay shit.

[twoa-plus]

stanford pines & npd

i have been thinking about this for a WHILE so figured i should finally make a post about it. obligatory i am not a doctor i’m just yapping, if any of the info/wording here is wrong lmk :)

i don’t have a problem with “ford has npd” headcanons, a lot of the reasons people give are completely valid and i think it has a lot of potential in adding depth to his character, but there’s also a lot of times i see it and it seems like the op just doesn’t understand ford as a character and/or npd. so !! here’s a couple of counterpoints/things to consider :D

a lot of his social issues (especially his struggles with empathy & difficulty connecting to people who are different from him) can easily be attributed to autism. like the dude definitely has an ego problem but that’s not the only thing to him, he’s a Person. not every problem he has with other people is because he just thinks he’s Better Than Them - he does genuinely have issues connecting with others, and his personality can make it seem like he just doesn’t care. there seems to be this issue online/in fandom of needing people to be complete social butterflies, the perfect image of nail-biting, hand-wringing social anxiety, or shut-in misanthropes, but people & their relationships are more complicated than that. ford doesn’t fit into any of those categories - he’s neither super sociable nor anxious, but that doesn’t by default mean his isolation from others is wanted or comes from a place of superiority. he just has trouble bonding with people outside of shared interests, which is really common in autism. the entire dd&md episode is ford going completely overboard with this ttrpg because he’s “gone a while without a friend,” which just ,, doesn’t fit with someone that Doesn’t Care. dd&md doesn’t have anything to do with his work, he’s not testing dipper to make sure he’s worthy of his company or whatever, he’s just having fun with someone who likes the same things as him - that’s the only way he really knows to spend time with people. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love mabel or stan, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to bond or connect with them, and it doesn’t mean he thinks he’s above them - he just doesn’t know how to express that. every day i wake up and i think about how ford wanted stan to play dd&md with them and i cry

(as a side note bc i think this needs more explanation here - no, i genuinely don’t think ford, deep down, thinks he’s better than stan. stan has a lot of good qualities and i’m sure ford is aware of that *cough cough his ability to bond with the kids cough cough*, they just have a really strained relationship. it’s not just ford being mad at stan, either - stan has his own reasons for being upset with ford. between the 40 years worth of tension and them Being Siblings i think it’s really easy to take ford’s attitude towards him as a superiority thing when imo it’s closer to having 2 five year olds in the backseat of a car going “HE TOUCHED ME !!” “HE TOUCHED ME FIRST !!!” “NUH-UH !!!!” lol)

autism aside, that previous part has a lot of mentions of ford having an “ego problem” or “superiority complex” etc etc, which are usually some pretty big points people bring up with him having npd - but npd is a lot more complicated than that. this is where the “i’m not a doctor” disclaimer becomes really important - this is based on my own very limited understanding of npd, so take it with a grain of salt lol. that being said i’m not gonna talk abt actual npd too much for obvious reasons, but i do have one thing to point out, that being the core/root issue/whatever else u wanna call it of npd. from what i understand, people with npd have very low self-worth, and their behaviors come from a place of wanting others’ attention and approval as a stand-in or replacement of their own self image. this ,, isn’t something i think ford has a problem with. i don’t think his confidence in himself or his abilities is a facade (which is ok!! he’s made mistakes, sure, but the dude has done a lot of genuinely impressive things in his life), and - this might sound a little crazy but hear me out - i don’t think he actually cares that much about what others think of him. yeah, there’s all that stuff in journal 3 about him wanting to be the next Big Scientist or whatever, but i honestly think that was his father’s dream, not his. i’ve talked about this before, but filbrick having a preference for ford doesn’t mean he was suddenly a present and caring father towards him - both of the stans desperately wanted him to love them. a lot of people point to stan’s decisions in his 20s-30s - his scams, his criminal record, etc - as a manifestation of that desperation (“don’t come back until you’ve made us a fortune” or whatever), which is a point i think is completely valid. to add to that, though, the journals were written around the same time period, and i think ford’s aspirations of becoming a world-renowned scientist are his own version of that. filbrick wanted stan to make money, so that’s what stan wanted, too. filbrick wanted ford to be some super successful science guy (so he could make money), so that’s what ford wanted, too. by the time of the series ford doesn’t really seem to care that much - sure, he wants the kids to like him and whatnot, but that’s normal. outside of that he’s this total hermit who seems pretty content to just hang out in the basement and do his own thing lol

a smaller little note to close this on, a disturbing amount of npd hcs seem to come from people who just ,, don’t like ford. which is fine, you don’t have to like him or anything, but maybe don’t drag an irl condition into it? like i said npd is a lot more complicated than just being mean and thinking ur better than everyone else. its fine if u see those traits in ford, i can’t get inside ur head and rewire ur brain to like him lol, but maybe consider just phrasing it as “he’s mean” instead of “he’s a narcissist”? idk, it just kinda rubs me the wrong way when people like. diagnose him with npd and then use that as their “therefore he is Bad and i Don’t Like Him” point lol

alright that’s it i think drink water or whatever my head hurts and i hate writing outros so i simply Will Not

[judeswhore]

Bsf!Jude being drunk out his mind and he’s telling you everything on his mind and getting upset when you leave him, touchy, all that. Walking back to your booth with a drunk Jude clinging to your waist and sitting down before he gets you and your friends kicked out because he’s almost caused a fight. he’s just staring at you likes he’s starstruck and when you ask him what’s wrong he’s telling you everything “you’re just so pretty, you go on and on about boys like I’m not right here?? We’re so close anyway, why you don’t you just date me? You even change in front of me too. Oh, and you have nice tits.”

And that’s when you cover his mouth. thank God it was loud in the club because your 2 friends across the table would’ve heard. Imagine if the other 4 were here?? You’re really taking this into deep thought and trying to connect the dots because you’re always changing in front of him and you’ve caught him staring before, you always tell him about boys and he looks uncomfortable and uninterested, plus he hated all your boyfriends and now it’s all making sense.

sitting in his lap bc he doesn’t wna let u go, his arms curled so tight around ur waist while he rests his head against ur shoulder and he’s so quiet for a few minutes, humming quietly at the way ur scratching ur nails over the back of his neck. and ur friends keep throwing u glances bc ur looking more than friendly and they’ve been waiting so long for one of u to just make a move and end the others misery bc it’s obvious youse are stupidly in love (especially jude). ur typing away on ur phone w ur free hand and jude catches sight of an unopened message from a guy he knows you’d recently gone out on a date w and in his drunk state it flips this switch inside of him and he’s lifting his head to frown at u. and ur asking what’s wrong and he’s shaking his head and huffing this little sigh before going on this little rant that leaves u completely stunned into silence. he’s all “it’s like i’m not even here, y’know? i’m ur best friend and i’m here all the time and i’m in love with u but u go on and on abt these guys ur seeing who don’t treat u right and it’s killing me bc i’m right here. you’re just- you’re so pretty, y’know? and i have to watch u get changed in front of me and act like i don’t wna kiss u stupid and god do u know how hard it is trying not to stare at ur tits? u have perfect tits.” and ur slapping a hand over his mouth at that bc there’s no way u want ur friends hearing that part of his confession but ur reeling at everything he’s just said bc how doesn’t he know the only reason u go out w other people is bc u never thought being w him was possible.

not really knowing what to do bc he’s obviously drunk but u also really need to talk abt this but definitely not while he’s in this state so ur just staring at him in silence for a few seconds before telling him “u can’t just admit that like this” and he’s asking why so ur all “bc ur drunk. i say all sorts of bullshit when i’m drunk. i told the barman that i owned a fish shop last week” but jude’s already shaking his head, the groove between his eyebrows getting deeper and he’s like “being drunk doesn’t change my feelings. it makes them worse actually. like right now, all i can think abt is kissing u, i think i might die if i don’t kiss u” and he’s being so dramatic abt it but there’s so much feeling behind his words at the same time and u really just don’t know what to do. deciding that it’s best not to discuss it rn bc u don’t wna get ur hopes up and have him crush them in the morning so ur telling him that this is a conversation for tomorrow and even tho he’s so drunk he half understands so he’s nodding but then a cheeky smile is curving his lips when he asks u “can i get a kiss tho?” and ur just rolling ur eyes and kissing his cheek (much to his dismay) trying to act normal when ur mind is racing from what he’s said and the possibility of what it means

[ask-postcrash-curly]

hai hai hai !!!! haiii dadd !!! i hope ur day has been okay !! and i hope u feel supa dupa cool !! (cause u are) anyways time to yap again !! (im a number 1 yapper bro cant keep my mouth shut tbh im always talking abt something) so today sucked ASS bro, my boyfriend or sorta ex boyfriend now? said he wanted to take a break, which hurt alot but i understand, BUT HIS REASON WAS IM NOT FIXING MY COMMUINCATION ISSUES FAST ENOUGH BASICALLY. LIKE BRO IVE HAD THESE ISSUES MY ENTIRE LIFE AND HE ISNT EVEN HELPING ME FIX THEM? LIKE WHAT THE FUCKKKKK idek if i have the right to be upset and mad but i am so, but yeah plus im js a loser so tbh i hate my life rn !! its whatever though i just actually am so pissed at him rn cause he could be helping me with my issues but no he isnt and is just expecting me to work on them on my own, like bro im not even allowed to get therapy irl cause of my mom, so im doing all of this on my fucking own and it sucks, god sometimes i hate him so much but i love him so much man i just cant take it, anyways sorry abt this yap !! i js need to rant !! have a very nice day !!!!

(this cat would be me IF my day was good... but i hope ur like this cat and ur atleast sorta happy !!!)

Hey, uh…

I’m okay now. Don’t you worry, kid. I’m sorry to hear… Ah— Sorry, sorry, I am hearing you, but could you please not shout? Of course you’re allowed to feel upset about it. Don’t think you’re a loser either. Yeah no I can’t imagine it’s an easy time for you to process all your problems as a kid with no help. Again, you don’t need to apologize. Here’s hoping it works out with him, yeah? Hang in there.

Aww… Cat does make me feel kinda better, actually. Thank you.

[whimsigothdragonfly]

While I dont think doctor who is getting cancelled i do think there might be a mess going on because Disney isn’t happy w how s1 went (i don’t know the numbers at all but considering the amount of marketing that went into it maybe it undersold or maybe there was lukewarm critical reception idk)

The news of reshoots isnt concerning me they do reshoots for stuff all the time and ncutis only just become available bc hes been at the national theatre

What’s concerning me is the rumours of ncuti regenerating already. He was never the problem so i don’t want him to leave every single review ive seen has done nothing but praise on his performance. If he is leaving i understand why he would want to. Not because ‘the show is shit now’ or whatever people say but bc it’s probably frustrating to go from one huge tv show which takes up most of your schedule (SexEd) to another and it not even being the huge success expected but ur still doing it. U can tell bc theres too many doctor-lite episodes in season 1. I bet if it was any other tv show he wouldn’t have done it to pursue more film opportunities but made an exception bc it’s Doctor Who.

Idk Russell kind of seemed quite cocky saying things like (paraphrasing i cant remember the direct quote but it’s in the commentaries) ‘we’ve already filmed s2 so if u had a complaint tough’ seems to have backfired (also another reason why this happened is most likely ncutis schedule). Also him saying he put stuff in to generate internet debates and then that not amounting to anything with a cheesy not fully resolved finale (that might be unrelated but it definitely started more internet debates). I like RTD btw I’m not one of those people who absolutely despises him all of a sudden.

If ncuti leaves for whatever reason this early on, before he reaches a full proper arc and reaches his potential as The Doctor bc i really thought he would’ve been the next ‘household name’ doctor ala tennant or smith or tom baker, ill be genuinely so upset it’ll be like Christopher eccleston’s situation all over again (ironically both of there seasons are 1). Ncutis announcement to be playing the doctor was my reason for getting fully into the show in the first place and if its really been handled this messily I’m not gonna care abt the next doctor or believe literally anything these guys say.

Or he might not be leaving and im getting worked up over nothing if so I’ll prolly delete this.

[charliefqirie]

What made you so drawn to Ozzy

you know, i’ve also wondered that myself for a while, but i think i figured it out.

ozzy, at first, did not stand out to me when i first got into the game. ozzy was just, there. my favorite was ted when i started.

ozzy’s a side character that doesn’t have much going for him. literally his only purpose in the game is to be killed. he’s just there to die. and he does not show any likeable traits to the average player, he’s a whiny, annoying, self-centered brat who’s constantly complaining every time you speak to him. he even told madison to take a bath first thing after she escaped (which i really don’t believe makes him a jerk, i mean being covered in unidentifiable slime is kinda gross don’t u think) who would like a character like that? ozzy’s really the most forgettable character in the game. these are thoughts i’ve noticed people always have abt ozzy. i didn’t really share these sentiments and didn’t think of ozzy as annoying but i certainly wasn’t that interested in him before, he was just neutral to me.

buggs and cindy are less liked than the rest of the characters but they’re still more liked than ozzy because they are fun and hilarious characters, with interesting dynamics to explore. i feel like the SLIME GANG, the characters who have like 3 lines of dialog at most get more love than ozzy. gives people a lot of room to explore the potential of what their characters could be. and ozzy? ozzy’s just there.

but maybe, that’s the reason why i started to like him?

i’m not much for genuinely hating characters without reason, the very idea makes me sad and pitiful. i never hated ozzy, he’s just five, of course he’s going to act like that. but i wasn’t that drawn to him back then either. (i also dont like it when people hate on cindy to a concerning extent. like yeah she’s a little brat i can understand why people would dislike her, i don’t like it when that happens but i still understand why people would, but to the point of genuine burning hatred is when it’s concerning and disturbing. she’s still just five. ah, but that topic is for another day. i’ll continue abt ozzy.)

back then in the old fandom, i had a friend who loved loved ozzy a lot, ozzy was their favorite and they cherished him. they shared their thoughts on why they loved ozzy and the potential his character has. it was their love that made me start to appreciate ozzy a bit more. but ozzy was still not my favorite still. i appreciated him a bit more but he was still kind of put to the side with me.

then kg3 got announced.

with the new game coming out, i found myself returning back to my old roots, with new people to share the interest. i didn’t even realize there was still a fandom after all this time. a small one, sure, but it’s still just as lively. it was around this time when ozzy started to shine to me.

i looked back at previous memories, looked back at old kg convo’s with friends, and one person stood out to me. this person, very obviously, hated ozzy. it was upsetting to me to see, especially since i had a friend who loved ozzy. they cut ozzy out of his own canon friend group a lot, made jokes of “who cares abt ozzy” and made his character quite unlikeable in their au’s. made madison break up with ozzy even, and made ozzy into this pathetic mess of an unlikeable character. essentially made him even more unlikeable than canon. all of this, genuinely upsetted me. i hate seeing characters treated like this. maybe they had a valid reason for disliking ozzy, maybe ozzy reminded them of a toxic friend they used to know or smthn, but looking back at old convos and seeing all that ozzy hate really perturbed me. i couldn’t stand seeing characters treated like this. and it was all that hate that made me realized really just how underappreciated and exaggerated ozzy was in the fandom.

seriously, ozzy really wasn’t as bad people thought. and he’s NOTHING like tweek from south park?? he’s not spazzy and nervous at all? he’s really more angry and uptight! (AND BY THE WAY MADISON DID NOT ASK FOR A HUG AND I DONT KNOW WHERE PEOPLE CAME TO BELIEVE THAT SHE ASKED FOR ONE WHEN SHE DIIDDNNNNTTTTTTTTT ITS A COMMON MISCONCEPTION IN THE FANDOM AND IT MAKES ME ANGRYYYYY. LITERALLY LOOK UP A CREATURE FEATURE PLAYTHROUGH, SKIP TO THE END AND YOU CAN SEE SHE DID. NOT. ASK. FOR A HUG. Anyways,) and, he was even willing to make friends with kidd after an act of kindness (which, tragically, ended in ozzy’s demise.) he was just sad. he was just sad and miserable that his friends were gone suddenly, and he lashed out. but people focused on his tantrums, they didn’t focus on why. all they say was a whiny brat who constantly complained and it was all of that that made the fandom turn their backs on him. people didn’t even remember ozzy CANONICALLY HAS FRIENDS. HAS A GIRLFRIEND. madison and ron. barely did i ever see them all in one post. BARELY. i was an avid member of the fandom and saw lots of fanarts and i saw almost NOTHING of ozzy and his friends. ozzy was always by himself. madison and ron were always paired with alice. ozzy was literally REPLACED with alice to make the slime gang. ozzy’s friends were paired with alice instead. ozzy was fucking replaced and it made me genuinely upset to see. did no one fucking pay attention to that? did everyone really fucking forget when ozzy literally complained about missing his friends all the time? why was ozzy replaced?

it was all this mistreatment that made me pity ozzy. perhaps this was why i started liking him. perhaps it was out of pity and anger at how much his character was mistreated. and with all this pity, all this anger, it made me pay attention to him more, it made me see his potential as a character.

it opened my eyes.

i started to think abt him more, thought about his good sides and moments, thought abt how fun his character could be and the potential dynamics he could have. and with his little quirks and traits, i even started to headcanon reasons for it. why’s he so germaphobic? haha, perhaps it was dr danner’s fault and he traumatized him. why does he like destructotron so much? perhaps his friends introduced him to it, and now that toy is his favorite, as it is the only memory he has of them now. and, i think ozzy’s more kinder than people think, he opened up to kidd after a single gift, ozzy’s really just mad at the new kids that they took his beloved friends away, but with that single act of kindness made him realize, ah, maybe they aren’t so bad. really, he’s just lonely, you know? my pity for him opened my eyes to how much potential his character has, especially since he wasn’t as developed as the other characters, so i did it myself. i developed him myself, gave him lots of headcanons, as i am passionate about him and i believed in him, all this pity was the stepping stone in me starting to enjoy him a lot, lot more. he has a lot of potential and i want to use it. i believe he’s an underappreciated lovely, lonely child who’s angry at the world. and i like to believe he’s genuinely kinder than people think, and that he cares. (i believe he felt a heart dropping amount of guilt when he told madison to take a bath. how could he say that after seeing her again? his germaphobia is somethign he cannot control and he hates it, it inconveniences him and now it’s inconveniencing his loved ones and he hates it. i believe the next day, he gave madison (knowing that she already took a bath ofc) a hug and a gift because he truly missed her and felt guilty he couldn’t hug her before.) he loves and cares and he laughs and cries. he loves his friends and he loves his toy and he loves his games. and i cherish him, and i want to give him something to be happy about. i want to be part of the tiny tiny club that truly enjoys ozzy as a character because he deserves it. he deserves some people who genuinely like him in this cruel fandom who only saw him and ignored him because of his whiny tantrums.

I believe he’s a good character and I like him.

perhaps it is pathetic to be so passionate about a fictional character, but does it really matter? i am still passionate. i am passionate and it gives me a drive.

[snuffl3s]

((Ooc: hi, I’m leaving the rp thing, I haven’t been talking 2 my friend that much since I joined it, they don’t rlly talk 2 me either but idrm ^^ (total lie, I left bc I didn’t want to ignore my friend, but they ignore me a lot so now I’m gonna be lonely, wtv) and also bc I’ve been going thru a lot of stress since I’m starting yr 10 in skl tmr and I’m rlly anxious, and I don’t wanna bring any bad vibes to the ppl in the rp so I’m leaving so I don’t upset any1 like I have in previous rps I’ve done. Ty all sm for letting me be a part of this rp, and maybe if I’m allowed 2 I’ll join back later when my anxiety’s calmed down, but for now I don’t want 2 upset any1 with any negative things abt me or my life. Srry 4 being a disturbance and 4 leaving w/out warning, I’ll miss u all, also whoever in the rp got a friend req off M4DS13 on Roblox it was me lmao I unfriended u bc I got 2 nervous 2 explain who I was. Again tysm for letting me join this rp it was rlly fun, but I don’t wanna ignore my friend anymore, even if they ignore me bc they’re w/ their other friends, I hope u all understand y I left and I hope I’m allowed 2 join back l8r when I sort my head out, or maybe I won’t 4 some other reasons, but wtv, I do hope u all have a rlly nice time in the rp tho, tysm 4 having me in it it was rlly fun. Bye :) ))

@randythefuckmaster @stumacherwazzaaap @xb1lly-loom1sx @motherless-movie-maker @snuffles-fan-page @mr-steveraglan (ty all again 4 letting me join the rp ur all rlly nice ppl and I’m happy 2 have met u, I would’ve friended u all but I got 2 nervous since Idrk who u all r + I didn’t wanna be more of a bother than I already was, I hope u all have epic days/nights wtv, bye :) )

[grifffins]

I love, adore, am completely smitten with your Lilia fic. I'm obsessed, I've actually given a standing ovation to my friends about how good it is. It has the perfect mix of the coven and Lilia. The y/n is so..me core that it just makes reading so much more fun. Not to mention, your writing style is just so natural, I love the way it flows and is just...awesome. And you also post regularly? Like, marry me already?? Seriously, your fic dead ass has made my WHOLE week. Idk when I first read it, but ever since then, my week? It's been AMAZING. Like, no joke, i randomly stop throughout my day to think about this fic. When I saw you'd posted today I was so upset cause I was busy and couldn't read it I was praying I got to go home early to read it,(it worked BTW I got to leave the event an hr early) I literally annoyed all my friends whining abt how I wanted to go home to read it. And when I did get home and read? oh god, was it worth it. It's so good. Not good. Good doesn't cut it. It was great, lovely, idk I'm out of adjectives, but just know it was as good as every single positive adjective.

I think this mssg is long enough. Sorry for making u listen (or read..) to me rant about ur fic, but seriously, no word can describe how wonderful this fic is, like...I'm just wowed, I love u, and ur writing 🫶🫶

- 🦝

(Idk can I be this anon, is it taken 🤔)

i don’t think you understand the crying i did reading your ask, like actually sat here clutching my chest 😭😭 it has fully made my week. ahhhh thank you so much!!! i basically had this fic almost fully written before i posted the first chapter (apart from a few tweaks), which is why i’ve been able to post so fast, i wish i could lie and say i’m just super quick at writing but alas 💀 alsooo the fact that you’re out here giving standing ovations to your friends about my fic??? like???? i cannae wrap my head around that, i love you so much! i’m so glad you got to leave the event early, lorddd knows the amount of times i’ve wanted to go home from something just to read fanfic, so i GET IT. and pleaseeee, rant away, i ate up every word, this was such a joy to read 😭

[lemon-towne]

HOLDEN PREVIEW TIMEEEEUHHH

Okay so I’ve realized that I’ve never given yall anything else abt the Michael book (book? Idk maybe an online fic or smthn) other than the potential covers for it

Needles to say I felt bad and so to make it up to yall I’ll post a small snippet of a part in the actual story so here yall go <3333

(Be nice bookie this is a draft, a really rough one so don’t expect a whole lot.)

TW

___________________________________

“It seems as if you take the things I do for you, MY SON, for granted. Michael I just don’t understand, you’re right; I don’t. But you blatantly refuse to talk to me when you have a problem so how am I supposed to know if something is bothering you?”

She looks at me with a blank expression after that. . .expecting me to answer wrongly. As if I don’t know what I’m talking about.

As if I don’t know how I feel.

“Because you never bother to ask.”

I pause.

“I don’t tell you things because you never even bother to ask. When I do open up to you, you feel the need to tell me I have nothing to be upset over.”

I remain in the same place, just standing there. . .looking down at my mother.

“When I come to you, you lash out on me. You tell me to ‘Just be happy’ to ‘look on the bright side’ or better yet ‘I’ve been on this earth longer than you have, what do you know about the world? You’re still pretty young!’ Well I’m fucking sick of it. .”

The words come out like a flood, it feels like I can’t stop! I want to stop but I can’t, they just keep pouring out of me like river.

Like a damn that was finally broken. First a few drops. . .then a small stream. . .then the rest of the flood.

“You can’t keep telling me to cheer up when there isn’t anything to be happy over anymore ! Fuck man- when was the last time you have asked me ‘How was school today’ ?”

“Don’t you dare get smart with me! Don’t you think I try my best, Michael!?”

She’s screaming now.

“I try my best as a mother to provide you with a home, a bed, clothes to wear, food to eat ! I don’t get a fucking ‘thank you for any of it !”

“Yeah! Mum I think you blatantly forget, that is the bare fucking minimum that you are supposed to do for your child !”

. . . I scream back.

“Thank you for providing the things that I needed as a child ! The shit that I NEEDED, yes ! You could’ve been utterly fucking neglectful but Jesus for you to be emotionally unavailable is just as terrible !”

This was the first time, in a long time that I have seen my mother display such raw emotion. Her face. .i can’t even recognize her face now. It’s all scrunched up and red with anger. It looks as if steam is about to start shooting out of her ears as if she’s some sort of cartoon character.

“All of the sacrifices, all of the time, pain, energy- whatever! I gave up my entire LIFE to raise you as best as I can, your father and I working for hours ! Hardly being home to make sure YOU have a place to rest your head at night ! And you’re right! What the hell do you know about living ? Normally when teenagers complain about wanted to be treated like adults it’s because they ARE being treated as such ! You’re sad ! Okay ! I get it Michael but for fuck sake stop making it everyone else’s problem !”

I had already emotionally disconnected from this conversation. .i start to walk towards the front door, not even looking at Jane anymore.

“Oh where are you going now.”

She says, her voice starting to become quiet

“Out.”

“With whom ?”

“. . .”

“Michael Alex Holden. I know you hear me speaking to you.”

I do. But I don’t say a word. .i don’t say a word as I open the door and I remain silent as I leave the house.

———————————————————————————————————

womp womp hope u like it or wtv