#let me say as someone who is not used to using public transportation i’m doing a great job and navigating the stations

[tojilvrs]

i’ve been so busy i haven’t thought about trying to take good pictures but here are some from my first few days in tokyo 😼😼

last two are from shibuya station + the view from my school!! >:)

[tibby-art]

i am straight up on my hands and knees BEGGING for more hitman au

crazy that you mention that actually because i did write another snippet a little while ago.. here’s a doodle i did to accompany it + the writing under the cut

=+=

Grian gazed out the window of the bus, soaking in the quiet evening of the city. It had been some time since he was out in public like this, since he had felt like a normal citizen going about her daily buisness. It was nice to be outside the NHO headquarters for once, free to do what she pleased. Well, sort of.

Grian wasn’t exactly free. He was allowed some free time out when there was no training, lab visits, or missions. However, she was only allowed outside the NHO with a bodyguard. Someone who could both protect him from the overstimulation of the outside world, as well as protect others from her… if he were to ever lose control of his powers, or something.

Yes, riding the bus with a former-criminal-turned-professional-hitman certainly made the whole experience feel less normal for Grian.

“It’s nice to take public transportation once in a while,” Scar mused, stretching his arms over his head. “Us vexes don’t get to do that much anymore, when we can just fly around wherever we need to go.”

“That must be so much better, though,” Grian pointed out. “You can fly wherever you want, and you don’t even have to pay the bus fare.”

“Let me tell you, Grian, flying can be so tiring,” Scar huffed. “Sometimes I’m so tired by the time we show up to a hit, we need to take a breather on the roof for a few minutes. The NHO should just let us have a car for the long missions, for goodness’ sake!”

Grian did a quick check of his surroundings. The bus was pretty empty this time of day, but she got no sense that any of the passengers were paying attention to Scar so casually talking about being a hitman. A brief tap into watcher vision didn’t show any movement from the passengers behind her, either.

“Cub’s in much better shape than me,” Scar rambled on. “Did you know that man was a professional basketball player once? Or was it golf…? Actually, I think it was both.”

The NHO didn’t deem it too urgent to send both their prized hitmen on Grian-watching duty, so Cub had stayed behind at the headquarters. Last time Grian had seen Cub, he was showing off a ring of keys to Scar, saying how he was going to get a lot of ‘research’ done that night.

“What are those keys for?” Grian asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Cub shrugged. “That’s part of the fun”.

“So… those aren’t your keys?”

Cub and Scar just grinned at her.

“….This is our stop,” Grian said.

The pair exited the bus. The Hermit City library stood before them.

“Library, huh?” Scar asked. “Do you have some overdue books from before you became a watcher or something?”

“Not so loud,” Grian scolded, glancing around a mostly empty city street. “But, no. Speaking of… that, I wanted to see if there were any books I could find on the subject.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think a public library would have better information than what we have at the NHO?”

Grian shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

The library was pretty empty at this time of day. In fact, they probably closed in an hour or so. Grian had deliberately chosen a time of day where less people would be around, so that the trip was less overwhelming on his new senses. Scar had complained that he wasn’t a morning person, so they settled on the evening instead. Grian secretly was also glad she could sleep in a little.

“Geez, when’s the last time I’ve been in one of these?” Scar muttered, glancing at the countless shelves of books as they walked past.

“What, are you allergic to reading?” Grian teased.

“Well, I am dyslexic, so… sort of?”

Grian realized that for a trip to the library to do some research, she probably should have gotten Cub to come. The man literally has two science degrees, after all.

The two made their way to the front desk, where the librarian on duty appeared to be preoccupied… knitting a hand puppet of some kind?

“Well howdy there!” The librarian looked up from his work cheerfully. He had long, brown hair that was dyed neon green at the tips, matching perfectly with her pointed green glasses. “What can I help y’all with?”

“Uh, yes, um.” Grian tapped his fingers on the desk. “We were wondering if you had any books on Watchers, and where they might be?”

“Watchers, huh…” The librarian furrowed their brow. “Now that’s an obscure topic.” He swiveled his chair towards his computer to investigate further. Grian began to grow anxious with how obvious he felt they were being.

“I know, right?” Scar sighed, leaning on the desk casually. “It’s for some lame group project that’s like, a fourth of our final grade in the class.”

“Yikes! That sounds rough,” The librarian remarked as she typed on the computer. Grian tapped into his sixth sense and didn’t pick up on any feelings of suspicion from the librarian. Maybe bringing Scar was a good idea.

“Okay, well, most of these books that are coming up seem to be more on the… fantasy side,” The librarian explained after a moment of scrolling. “I know those guys are mythological beings, but you said you’re doing a research project, so I’m guessing you want something more factual…”

“Yeah, anything with information about where they came from, what they do, stuff like that.” Grian nodded. “Y’know, like if they were real.”

“Oh! Here’s something promising.” The librarian turned the monitor so that Grian and Scar could see. “This book right here seems to be a study of the tales of Watchers throughout history. Although… it looks like our only copy is checked out at the moment.”

“Really?” Grian asked. “By who?”

The librarian blinked. “Hm… y’know, I’m actually not sure if I’m supposed to like, give that information to people? Like, legally?”

“There’s another person in our group project, so we just want to know if they beat us to checking out this book,” Scar lied. “Communication in group projects, am I right?”

“Pff, yeah, that makes sense,” The librarian turned the computer back to face him. “It looks like this book is currently being borrowed by a Martyn. With a y! How fancy.”

“Ah, Martyn with a y, of course!” Scar exclaimed. “Well, now we know that Martyn has the book, right Grian?”

“Yup,” Grian agreed, mind racing.

“Hey, actually…” The librarian scrolled down on the computer some more. “You guys sure got the right person for this project. It looks like this Martyn fella has been checking this book out for a few months now?”

Grian’s eyes widened.

“Ohh, that Martyn,” Scar laughed. “Always getting the head start on things! Uh, did we need anything else, Grian?”

“Um…” Grian needed to think fast. Whoever this Martyn person was, he’s been checking the same book on Watchers out for months. Surely he has to know something about them. Grian had to speak to him. But how on earth were they going to find this person?

Grian focused on the back of the librarian’s computer monitor. For a brief moment, in her mind’s eye, he could see the content of computer screen, from the librarian’s eyes. There on the screen was a full name: Martyn Littlewood.

“Nope, that’s all,” Grian replied, blinking rapidly as he returned to his own vision.

“Great. Well, you two have a good one!” The librarian said cheerfully, and returned to their knitting.

Grian and Scar briskly made their way outside.

“Wow. So who’s this Martyn guy? I didn’t think anyone else cared about Watchers that much,” Scar began, turning to Grian. “Oh uh, Grian, you’ve got something there…” Scar pointed to his own nose, looking worried all of a sudden.

“Huh?” Grian wiped his nose on his sleeve instinctively, expecting snot. However, when he glanced at his arm he saw red.

“Ah.” At least her sweater was already red.

“What did you do in there?” Scar asked, his green eyes intense with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“I was able to get a better look at that computer, and see the guy’s last name,” Grian explained. “Martyn Littlewood. Whoever he is, he might have a ton of information about Watchers. I’ve got to find him and have a word with him.”

“Grian, you’re amazing!” Scar exclaimed, impressed. “Well, finding someone in this city should be easy enough for a Watcher.”

“Shush,” Grian glanced around the empty bus stop. “Or we could try, y’know, looking the name up online first…” Grian quickly pulled out her phone. “Ah. Found him.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“Oh my god, Scar.”

“What?”

“Scar.” Grian held the phone out. “Martyn Littlewood is…”

“A youtuber?” Scar’s jaw dropped as he scrolled through the list of videos. “And he makes videos talking about-“

“Watchers.”

Scar stared at Grian, dumbfounded.

“Scar, I think we just found the world’s biggest, and perhaps only, Watcher fanatic,” Grian stated in disbelief. “And he lives right here in Hermit City.”

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 16 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Fair warning there might be a couple of typos and shit in this part because I’m too tired to proofread properly

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

The door of the theater falls shut behind us with a loud bang and I can’t stop myself from flinching ever so slightly.

Sam squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, letting my eyes roam around the room.

Nothing’s changed since the last time we were here and I cringe once again at the sight of the mannequins on the stage dressed in the old Ghostface cloaks.

It’s eerily quiet, but the knowledge that backup is ready to jump in and help us when Kirby gives them a signal brings me some sense of peace.

When Sam and I came out of the bathroom earlier Bailey had left to go to the station which gave me the chance to pull Kirby aside and tell her about what we figured out while Sam distracted the others, especially Ethan who kept looking at me with his big doe eyes.

She believed me instantly and we quickly came to the conclusion that in order to end this we either have to kill Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan, or get a confession out of them, so they go to prison for the rest of their lives.

I opted for the latter because I’m sick of people dying, but we agreed that should anything go wrong, we will kill them.

We also agreed that the less people are involved the better, so Kirby called the hospital Anika is at and convinced them to call Mindy in Anika’s name, saying she wanted to see her girlfriend.

We tried to come up with a plan to get Chad out of the way as well, but nothing came to mind, which is why he’s here with us now.

Danny’s also here, but we left him outside under the guise of needing someone to call for help in case something goes wrong.

He doesn’t know that the FBI is already stationed nearby, waiting to be called in by Kirby.

Sam, Kirby, and I are the only ones who know and even though I wanted to tell Tara and Chad, I never got the chance because we were never alone.

At first, Danny and Ethan were with us, and then it was just Danny because I managed to prevent Ethan from getting on the same subway as us by shoving a stranger in his way.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon though, just like Bailey who’s in on the “plan”.

We told him we wanted to trap Ghostface and execute him which he immediately agreed to since he doesn’t know we know about him yet.

He was super supportive and even told us to use public transport to avoid getting targeted, and if I didn’t know better I would have actually believed that he was concerned.

I still don’t know why he, Quinn, and Ethan are doing all this, but I guess we’ll find out sooner.

“I cleared the whole place before you got here,” Kirby says, turning to face us. “This—“ she nods her head at the door we just came in through, “—is the only way in or out.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks, her hand still in mine.

Tara is holding onto Chad’s arm, nodding along to what Sam just asked.

“One gun and I hold onto it,” Kirby lies. She slipped me a knife earlier when I told her about what we found out.

It’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, hidden by my sweater, and not even Sam knows about it.

I know right now would probably be a good time to come clean and tell Chad and Tara everything we know (and tell Sam about the knife), but we can’t be sure that this place isn’t bugged.

“I’m the only one with a badge, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Kirby says when the others look at her in disbelief. “We’re safe here,” she adds and even though I know the FBI is on standby outside, I’m still not entirely convinced. There’s three Ghostfaces and four of us, and they’re all armed.

This is going to be fun. . .

I wish we’d had more time to plan, because this is all super reckless, but we can’t risk someone else getting hurt, so it will have to do.

The others look skeptical, too, but no one voices their concerns and a moment later Sam’s phone rings. She disconnects our hands and pulls it out of her pocket, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that it’s Mindy who’s calling her.

She glances at me and I dip my chin, wordlessly telling her to answer it.

“Mindy? Hey, you okay?” she says. She walks off in search of better reception and I let her be, turning to Chad and Tara who are eyeing the glass display cases with disgust while Kirby makes her own way through the theater, looking at everything with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sprout. . . Chad,” I say quietly, approaching them. They turn with furrowed eyebrows and smile weakly when they see me.

“Y/N.” Chad exhales sharply and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“You guys okay?” I ask.

Tara shakes her head and hugs me while Chad grimaces. “Not really,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I sigh and hold her closer. “Yeah, me too.”

“Same. . .” Chad watches us with a forlorn look and I chuckle softly before pulling him into the hug as well.

“You’ll be okay. Both of you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head and nudge Chad.

They both shudder and tighten the hug before my phone rings and I’m forced to pull away.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket, but then the sight of Paige’s name flashing across the screen makes me relax again.

It’s not Ghostface, Y/N. Calm down.

“Paige, hey. Everything okay? Are you in the city yet?”

Despite the situation, Paige laughs softly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m not in the city yet, I still have two hours to go. I’m just calling to tell you that the hospital called.”

The tentative smile that pulled at my lips just a second ago vanishes and I tighten my grip on the phone. “A-and?”

“Lee’s still in surgery, but he’s stable.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I spin around to avoid Tara’s and Chad’s concerned looks. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

I swallow thickly to get rid of the growing lump in my throat and Paige sighs on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is. . . so what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but—“

The lights turn off and the call disconnects. A scream pierces through the silent theater and I whirl around.

Tara.

She and Chad seem to be unharmed, but they’re tripping over their feet, trying to get away from something, of rather, someone.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dark, but even before a homemade Stab movie gets projected onto the white curtains that have been lowered in front of the stage, I know that Ghostface is here.

Baile, Ethan and Quinn are here, right now, and we didn’t see it coming.

How didn’t we know? There’s only one entrance and we would have heard them come in. Right?

But what if Kirby overlooked a different entrance? What if she didn’t search the place probably?

Speaking of Kirby, my blood runs cold when my eyes land on her. Her face is covered in blood, and it looks like her nose is broken, but what’s more important is the blood on her shirt from a stab wound in her stomach and the knife pressed against her neck by Ghostface, standing behind her.

Ethan or Quinn. . . Bailey is taller.

“Fuck.” I rush to pull Tara and Chad behind me, feeling anger rising in the pit of my stomach when Ghostface tilts his head mockingly.

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Kirby was supposed to stay hidden, she was supposed to observe and call for backup.

Movement out of the corner of my eye makes my heart skip a beat, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there.

A second later though I feel a presence on my other side, and I whirl around, expecting another Ghostface, but it’s just Sam, wide-eyed and panting.

“They’re here,” she breathes, “They’re—“ she freezes when her eyes land on Kirby, “—Fuck.”

She grabs my arm, and together we shield Chad and Tara while Ghostface continues to watch us wordlessly.

Kirby is deathly still in his hold, despite the obvious pain she’s in because she knows that if she even attempts to reach for her gun or her radio, her throat will be slit.

Some blood is already trickling down her throat because of how hard Ghostface is pressing the knife against her skin, and I shiver, remembering how I was in that same position a year ago.

Every breath, every blink could be your last one, and it’s a horrifying experience.

This is definitely not how I thought this would go. Was I skeptical of our half-assed planned? Yes. Was I expecting it to go off the rails at some point? Also, yes, but I didn’t think shit would be hitting the fan this quickly.

Well, there’s no point in keeping my mouth shut any longer.

“Let her go, Ethan. She has nothing to do with this,” I say lowly. I know it’s him because Quinn is even shorter than her brother and she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to overwhelm Kirby.

Ghostface falters ever so slightly, obviously surprised that I know who’s under the mask, but he doesn’t move or say anything.

“What are you doing?” Tara hisses, tugging on the back of my sweater. “That’s not Ethan.”

Sam squeezes my arm, and I glance over my shoulder for a split second to meet Tara’s eyes. “Yes it is,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “He’s behind all of this with Quinn and Bailey.”

“What?” Chad lets out a surprised gasp.

Someone starts clapping slowly behind us and we all whirl around to see Bailey standing there next to another Ghostface.

He’s smiling menacingly and claps one more time before exhaling dramatically. “I knew you’d figure it out. I mean, the way you looked at me at the police station after the bodega. . . I knew you knew something was up.”

I narrow my eyes, but stay quiet.

There’s no way to get a confession out of all of them now, at least not one we can use against them in court because Kirby was supposed to record everything, so we’re moving on to plan b.

Kill them. Kill all of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Liam, Gale, Anika, and Brooks, and for how they tired to frame Sam for what happened im Woodsboro.

“Also, Ethan saw you talking to Kirby, so I knew we had to do something sooner rather than later to make you pay.”

“Make us pay?” Sam asks indignantly. “For what?!”

The homemade Stab movie still playing in the background flickers eerily, casting weird shadows over everyone’s face, but especially Bailey’s when it tightens in anger.

He pulls out his gun and waves it around. “For killing my son!”

“Your son?” Tara snaps over my shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s right there.” I gesture at the Ghostface still pressing a knife to Kirby’s neck.

Bailey snorts and the Ghostface next to him takes off his mask.

Quinn.

I knew it, and so did Sam, but Chad and Tara suck in a breath behind me.

Ethan takes off his mask as well, somehow managing to do it without letting go of Kirby.

“Not him!” Quinn snaps with wild eyes before pointing her knife at Sam. “You killed—“

The curly hair, the thick eyebrows. . . E.K. Ethan Kirsch.

“Richie. . .” I say through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hand around my upper arm tightens. “You’re Richie’s family?!”

Tara and Chad shift uncomfortably, but they don’t say a word.

Of course they’re Richie’s family. How did I not see that coming?

They want revenge for what Sam did to him and they started it all by spreading rumors about her online, so when they kill her, kill us, people will just suspect some rando who took matters into his own hands after he found out Sam was the “real” Ghostface.

How fucked up is that. . .

I glance at Kirby while Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn catch the others up on what I just figured out, and nod subtly when her fingers graze against the pocket of her leather jacket.

The radio. . . We need to call for backup. We need to get out of here.

There has to be a second exit we don’t know about because how else would Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn have gotten into the theater unnoticed.

My call with page was disconnected, probably because Bailey turned on some kind of signal jammer, which could mean the radio is also useless, but getting my hands on it and trying to call for back up is worth a try anyway.

I mean, don’t radios and cell phones operate on different frequencies?

All thoughts of frequencies are quickly forgotten when Bailey steps forward and holds out a weathered Ghostface mask.

“This is your father’s, Sam,” he says. “Quinn’s got Stu Macher’s and Ethan has Nacy Loomis’s, your grandmother’s. . .”

“It really runs in your fucking family, doesn’t it,” Ethan pipes up, and the way Sam’s breath hitches next to me makes me want to bash his head in.

This is exactly what she’s afraid of, being like them, and I just know it’s going to take a lot of therapy and a lot of pep talks to make her, once again, believe she really isn’t anything like them

Tara sniffles quietly, and I reach behind me to squeeze her hand when she holds onto the hem of my sweater.

“This is what we’ve been counting down to,” Bailey says, waving the mask around with the same crazy look in his eyes as Quinn. “I’m going to need you to put it on.”

Oh, hell no.

Sam breathes heavily, and for a split second I think she’s going to take it—she’s going to give them what they want after all, but then she lets go of my arm and smacks the mask out of Bailey’s hand.

“Fuck you!” she spits and her confidence fills me with so much pride that I don’t react fast enough when Quinn lunges forward, slicing Sam’s exposed upper arm with her knife.

She was wearing my zip up hoodie earlier, but it’s so hot in here she must have taken it off while on the phone with Mindy, leaving her in only her gray tank top.

Shit, Mindy. . . Why was she calling in the first place? Is she okay?

There’s no way to find out now, so I quickly pull Sam back against me, out of reach of Quinn while she presses a hand to the cut on her arm.

It’s only superficial, but it’s already bleeding pretty badly and it will definitely need stitches.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tara shouts, trying to step out from behind me, but Chad holds her back with an arm around her waist.

“You’re a killer, just like your father, Sam,” Bailey says, pointing an accusing finger at Sam and this time, unlike when Ethan opened his stupid mouth, I don’t hold back.

“No, she’s not you!” I snap, baring my teeth. With her free hand, Sam squeezes my arm around her middle, either to silently thank me for standing up for her or to get me to settle down.

“Yes, she is you motherfucker!” Quinn screams. “She killed Richie like the cold-blooded psycho that she is!”

That’s it!

I let go of Sam and rush forward to tackle Quinn, but Ethan is quick to react. He shoves Kirby aside and jumps in my way before I can get to his sister, stabbing me in the shoulder right below my collar bone—right below the scar on my neck where Amber stabbed me.

“Ah, you fucking little twig,” I exclaim, squaring my shoulders, ready to take him down instead when Sam pulls me back by the back of my sweater.

“No, run!” she shouts and I spin around, knowing she’s right.

Tara and Chad are already weaving through the glass cases, trying to get to the metal door we came in through and Sam and I follow them.

Quinn and Ethan are hot on our heels while Bailey shouts how he knew Sam had to die when he saw the pictures of what she did to Richie.

Everyone who had something to do with his death dies. . . Yeah, no thanks.

Amidst the chaos, the fact that we don’t have the key card to unlock the door dawns on me the moment we’re standing in front of it. Chad tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge and when Quinn and Ethan’s footsteps get louder behind us I exclaim, “Forget about it. We’re not getting out this way! There has to be another exit!”

“The roof!” Tara says. “I saw an exit sign leading to the roof behind the seats on the balcony overlooking the stage.”

The roof? Seriously? We’ll be trapped there, too, unless there’s a fire escape.

Anything’s better than this though, I think as Ethan and Quinn skirt around the corner.

“Okay, go left! There’s a staircase up to the balcony!” I shout and we start running again, abandoning the metal door, which could possibly still be our only way out.

Somewhere in the theater a shot gets fired, and I pray to God that Kirby is okay, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as we get to the staircase.

I yank on Sam’s arm and pull her in front of me, and usher her to follow Chad and Tara, but she stops when she notices me freezing on the bottom step.

“What are you doing? Come on!” Urgency seeps into her voice and she tries to drag me up the stairs, but I don’t move.

“No, get to the roof and get help, I’ll buy you some time,” I say, pulling out the knife Kirby gave me.

If Quinn and Ethan want to get to the others, they’ll have to go through me first.

Sam’s eyes widen when they land on the gleaming blade and she shakes her head adamantly. “Fuck no! I’ve left you behind twice now, I’m not doing it again!”

“Sam— I—“ I want to protest, but then Quinn appears with a lazy smile, dragging the blade of her knife along the wall, seemingly in no hurry to get to us any more.

No, no, no. Why’s she so calm. What’s going on?! Where’s Ethan?!

“Y/N!” Sam urges, which snaps me out of my thoughts.

Right. We’ve got to move, no matter how slow Quinn is walking, she’s going to get to us eventually if we don’t move.

“Shit. Yeah, okay! Go, go, go!” I follow Sam up the stairs, taking two of them at a time with my heart pounding in my ears until we get to the top.

Oh damn, we’re higher up than I expected.

It’s at least a ten foot drop from the balcony to the main floor of the theater, but that’s not what I’m worried about.

No, what I’m worried about is Ethan, who’s blocking our path to the roof because he somehow managed to climb the scaffolding connecting the balcony and the main floor to our right.

Tara and Chad are rooted to the ground, staring at him while he simply waves his knife mockingly.

“You really thought you guys could get away?” He laughs and I grab Sam’s hand and spin us around when I hear Quinn coming up the stairs behind us. “Yeah, no. You’re all going to die here tonight and pay for what you did to Richie.”

Tara whimpers and she and Chad take several steps back until their backs are pressed against Sam’s and mine.

The weight of Kirby’s knife in my hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s, does nothing to ground me.

We’re caged in and there’s nothing I can do without risking getting hurt because both Ethan and Quinn also have a knife.

“Richie deserved everything he got!” Sam spits next to me. “He was pathetic and killed innocent people just so he could make a new Stab movie! A fucking movie!”

“He loved those movies!” Quinn exclaims angrily and I can’t help but scowl at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did! How deluded are you to think that it’s okay to kill people just so you can make a movie?!”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouts and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s absolutely livid right now.

I don’t shut up though. Not only because I can’t stop myself from going on, but because I need to get him to snap and move so we can get to the roof.

“I mean, how fucked up is it that your dad brainwashed you into avenging your brother’s death? He’s a grown ass man and he’s using his kids to do his bidding. Really gets you thinking about who the favorite child is, or was in this case, doesn’t it?”

Quinn’s face contorts into a grimace of rage and I can see both her and Ethan lunging at us from miles away, so I act before they can.

I let go of Sam’s hand and pick up a discarded scaffolding pipe, shoving it into Chad’s hands before turning back around and kicking the side of Quinn’s knee when she comes at us.

She cries out in pain and goes down, and I spin around just in time to see Chad knocking the knife out of Ethan’s hand with the pipe.

“You piece of shit, you know nothing about us!” Ethan shouts, scrambling to pick the knife back up, but Chad is one step ahead of him.

He kicks the knife under the seats before stepping to the side so Tara can knee him in the face, knocking him out.

Yeah, get his ass, Sprout!

Quinn wails furiously and jumps to her feet, her rage obviously numbing the pain in her knee. She tightens the grip she has on her knife and lunges at Sam who raises her arms defensively.

“Oh no you don’t!” I growl, darting forward and catching her wrist mid-strike. I twist it so the knife is now pointing at her and watch in horror as she runs straight into it, stabbing herself in the throat because she can’t stop her advance in time.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her own blood for a moment before Sam kicks her in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the knife and fall backward.

She twitches helplessly, coughing and clawing at her own throat for what feels like hours before finally going deathly still.

“Good fucking riddance,” I spit and Sam nods, seemingly in a daze with her eyes trained on Quinn’s dead body until I grab her hand and pull her away. “Let’s go!”

Tara and Chad have already left and I can only hope that they made it to the roof okay. Where Kirby and Bailey are, I have no idea, but the theater’s been deathly quiet since that gunshots I heard earlier.

Please let that have been Kirby shooting Bailey and nod the other way around.

“We need to call for back—“ My words get stuck in my throat when Sam lets out a surprised cry behind me. Her hand lets go of mine and I hear her knife clatter against the ground before I whirl around to see that she’s tripped over something.

No, not something, someone. And that someone is Ethan who’s got his hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam seethes and kicks him in the shoulder, which makes him let go of her, but when they both jump to their feet, my heart drops at the sight of him holding the knife she just dropped.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He slashes the knife through the air, missing Sam’s throat by an inch which makes me see red.

I yank Sam behind me, ignoring the way my back stings because of it, and tackle him.

He grunts when we go down and I feel him dragging the knife across my side, but all I can focus on is the sound of Sam’s voice, crying out my name, and the sensation of falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling.

“Y/N!”

I look up and it’s only when I see Sam bent over the railing of the balcony with a bewildered look in her eyes and an outstretched arm that I realize Ethan and I went overt the edge.

No. This was not supposed to happen.

I want to reach out and grab her hand, but it’s too late. I’m falling and before I know it, everything goes black.

I can’t have been out for too long, because when I come to again, everything is quiet.

There’s no shouting, there’s no police and I’m still in the theater, staring up at the blurry outline of the balcony and the dark ceiling.

Sam is nowhere in sight, but when I turn my head I see Ethan right next to me, sprawled on the ground amidst the glass shards of the display case he fell on.

Black dots are dancing in my vision, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out again, but I know for a fact that he’s dead.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and his lifeless eyes are staring at me. His lips and chin are covered in blood from when Tara broke his nose with her knee and there are tiny glass shards sticking out of his cheek and forehead.

That’s two for two, I guess. . .

I avert my eyes and go to sit up to find Sam and the others, only to feel my heart drop when I find that I can’t move.

No. Not again.

I try again, willing every muscle in my body to help me sit up, but it doesn’t work.

All I can do is turn my head, and even that is difficult now that I think about it.

It’s like trying to run in a dream, and before I can stop it, a desperate whimper slips past my lips.

Not again. Please, not again.

The memory of Leroy’s face— the firefighter who pulled me out of my parents car after the accident— makes its way to the front of my mind and when I close my eyes I see his sparkling blue eyes above me.

No, not again. Not again. . .

“Y/N!”

My eyes fly open and I look up. Leroy’s blue eyes swim in and out of focus before they’re replaced by dark brown ones.

Sam.

She’s kneeling over me and has her hands on the side of my head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What did you do?!,” she whispers frantically, her eyes darting between mine.

I go to say something, but she shushes me by pressing a finger against my lips. “Don’t answer that. Save your strength. Just stay awake, okay, keep looking at me.”

I don’t know why’s she’s telling me to stay awake, but then I feel the almost irresistible pull of sleep tugging on my insides.

My eyes flutter, but I can’t in good conscience rest until I know it’s over— until I know that everyone’s okay.

“T-Tara. . . Chad,” I whisper, my eyes momentarily focusing on the pendant of Sam’s necklace. It twinkles in the low light and fills me with an indescribable warmth, knowing that she hasn’t taken the necklace off since I’ve given it to her. It also somehow chases away the panic that threatened to wash over me just a moment ago when I realized I couldn’t move.

“They’re okay,” Sam says, her voice breaking which makes me look at her again. Her eyes are filled with tears and her bottom lip is quivering the same way it did when I collapsed at the hospital a year ago. “They’re both okay. Kirby’s okay, too.”

I exhale shakily and blink back my own tears. “So, it’s over?”

Sam nods, running her thumbs over my cheek. “It is and help is on the way, so try to stay awake, okay? I know you’re tired, and you’re in a lot of pain because you took quite a fall, but you have to stay awake.“

“Quite a fall” feels like an understatement, but I don’t comment on it. I just shake my head and sigh quietly.

“‘M not in pain,” I slur, feeling my consciousness slipping away again.

It’s true, I’m not in pain. I just can’t move, but that’s okay because I know everyone else is okay. They’re all going to be okay, including Gale and Liam.

“What do you mean you’re not in pain? You just fell ten feet! How can you not be in pain?” Sam grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. I can’t feel it, but I see her doing it. I also see her furrowing her eyebrows when my hand stays limp before realization dawns on her.

“Y/N. . .” Tears roll down her face and I want nothing more but to reach up and wipe them away, but I can’t. “You’re— You’re—“

“‘S okay,” I whisper, trying my best to smile. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not, you’re not,” she hiccups and lets go of my hand again to cradle my head and the back of my neck just as my eyes begin to flutter. “Hey, keep your eyes open! You hear me, Y/N?! Keep your eyes open!”

But I’m so tired and she’s here. She’s finally here after everything that’s happened.

“Sam?”

Tara’s voice makes Sam look up and I take that as my chance to close my eyes.

Just for a little bit, I tell myself, but as soon as my eyes close, darkness washes over me.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

They’re all okay.

She’s here.

_______________________________________________

Before you come for me I just want to say that—spoiler alert—we’re going to be okay!

This part was a pain to write, but it’s done and I can rest now.

Only one more part to go!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[lonesome-sometimes]

up on the bookshelf

wheels on the bus 2 and it’s completely different because there is no bus or any form of transport at all really and matty is a librarian but it’s still wheels on the bus 2 (in the brat remix album cover format)

that was until a certain someone sitting behind the librarian desk caused you to drop them abruptly, sending a loud echo throughout the near silent building.

“matty?” you say in disbelief.

matty healy x female reader

content warnings: public sex, sweet service top matty, age gap, oral (female receiving), slight blood kink when you squint, lovey dovey stuff because I miss matty I’m genuinely a trainwreck right now

minors do not interact!

with your reading list in one hand, you huff in annoyance as you fail to find the last few textbooks you needed for the rest of the semester. admitting your defeat, you carry the rest of your books towards the front desk, already dreading the walk back to campus on the other side of town.

that was until a certain someone sitting behind the librarian desk caused you to drop them abruptly, sending a loud echo throughout the near silent building.

“matty?” you say in disbelief.

he looks up from the book he was engrossed in, startled by the loud thud. he takes a second to register who you were, scrambling to push his bookmark into place before turning his full attention towards you. “y/n? oh my go- hey! hey, how are you? god, I haven’t seen you since-”

“since the really, really long and awkward bus ride home with your wife in our presence after you-” you explain nonchalantly, causing the older to choke on his own spit as you remind him of your rest stop bathroom antics, not that he had ever forgotten.

he laughs nervously, pushing a hand through his shorter curls. “I mean, I guess? anyway, what are you doing here?”

“oh, I go to college here.” you say like its obvious, gesturing to nothing as you look around the empty room. “I just hate our campus library, or just our campus in general I suppose, so I come here to study and take my books out. It’s much quieter here, campus is too…studenty?”

he laughs with you, chuckling softly at how ridiculous it sounded. “I get your point, but aren’t you meant to like, enjoy all of that?” he thinks for a moment, shaking his head softly. “nevermind, that’s not the point. this is crazy, what a nice surprise I-”

“you have a moustache now.” you observe out loud, your tongue working quicker than your brain as your eyes lingered on his upper lip and the new strip of hair there, moving down towards the tight sleeves of his grey tshirt and admiring the way it hugged his frame perfectly. “...and you look like you’ve been working out…don’t tell me you…”

his cheeks tinge pink, swinging his chair slightly away from you as he lets out a nervous breath. “I told he, I mean, not about us! not exactly, I just told her how I felt and here I now am, working day shifts at the local library, waiting for my whole music thing to take off, while she vacates on some island somewhere with her neeew husband.” he draws out the new, politely taking a book from an older lady and wishing her a nice day, turning back towards you. “I’m happy here though, the people are nice and well, you’re here.”

It’s your turn to blush at his words, forgetting how sweet he had been with you in the bathroom moments after he had fucked your throat raw. “oh, come on matty, it’s not like you sat and dreamt about me everyday like a fairytale princess waiting for her prince to come…” you half joke half admit about yourself, causing his cheeks to turn a darker shade of pink at the comparison, his secrets spilling without having even said anything.

“oh I seeee.” you singsong as you lean forward, putting your hands on the desk so that you were leaning over him, letting your oversized tshirt fall off your shoulder slightly and revealing your collarbone. not the most flattering outfit you could have worn, but you weren’t exactly expecting your random one bus stand to show up anytime soon. “been thinking about me, matty?”

he visibly swallows, opening his mouth to answer but instead his eyes widen as a mother and daughter approach the desk. you stand up straight again, slightly embarrassed as you pull your tshirt centre again. you watch the exchange, matty smiling ever so sweetly as he hands the young girl her picture book and again wishes them a lovely day. he turns to you once more, sighing softly. “darling, I don’t think now is a good time, I’m working and-”

“matty, I managed to seduce you into fucking my throat with enough time for small talk afterwards inside the bathroom of a service station during a twenty minute rest stop, all while your wife-”

“-ex wife.” he corrects, smiling softly.

“...ex wife, was sitting back on the bus unaware of how her sweet little husband was crying for me and asking me about my favourite radiohead album, and you’re gonna sit here and tell me you can’t have a private conversation with me because you’re at work?”

theres a moment of silence as he looks between you and the empty room, standing up suddenly and grabbing your hand as he pulls you back towards an abandoned section of the library. smiling wide, you expect him to push you up against one of the old bookcases and start kissing you like a man starved as he pulls you in front of him, but it never comes.

Instead, he pulls you in. hands coming up around your waist, he hugs you. unexpected and unsure of what to do at first, you let your arms come up around his shoulders, pulling him in closer as you stroke the hair on the back of his neck softly, letting him breathe you in as you stay silent for a moment.

he pulls away, the both of you laughing as you realise how ridiculous this is, not having shared more than ten minutes alone together that didn’t include a quickie in a restroom. “everything okay, matty?” you ask, pushing his hair away from his face and letting your hand rest against his cheekbones as he nods.

“I wanted to erm, thank you, for helping me realise things about my life and marriage, I might not look like anything special at the moment but since meeting you I’ve been able to find my own place, I have a kitten who I adore, and I actually get to work on my music I-” he stops. “I’m really happy y/n, and I owe that to you.”

for a second you’re worried he’s being completely serious. “m-matty, you surely can’t fully believe I’m to blame for all that, you barely even know me I-”

he starts kissing down your collarbone, letting your tshirt fall again as he sinks down down down till he’s almost kneeling in front of you, his hands coming up towards your tshirt, breathing heavy. “no really darling, thank you so, so much.” he breaths, punctuating each so with a wet kiss to your stomach, kissing and licking at each expanse of skin he can reach. your hand comes up to cover your mouth, the other moving to hold the back of hid head through the fabric of your shirt. somehow this felt much more intimate, more naughty, than the restroom ever did.

he reappears from under your shirt, staring up at you with complete adoration as his fingers dance up your thighs and hooking themselves into the waistband of your leggings. “can I please?” he asks ever so politely, although your pants are already being pulled down low enough so that he can access where he wanted before you had chance to answer. your face was on fire.

“been thinking about doing this since I met you, wanted to taste you so bad darling.” he breaths out against you sending goosebumps across your skin, lips so close to you as he teases before finally settling on your core.

you desperately try to stay quiet, the fact that you were both in a library being some sick torture and punishment for engaging in infidelity beforehand because good god was he good with his tongue, licking and sucking at your clit like he was desperate. his large hands almost enveloped your waist, holding you in place as he began to fuck you on his tongue up against the shelf behind you. you thread your fingers through his salt and pepper locks, frowning when it was a little too short to pull. still, you let your fingers stay where they were, your lips bitten red as you tried to conceal your noises.

suddenly he stops, pulling away from you with only a trail of spit connecting the two of you, lips glistening with your wetness. you look down, brows furrowed in confusion as you try and catch your breathe. “w-why’d you stop?”

he giggles before diving in again like a teenager, his hands moving to hook around the backs of your thighs now. you moan around your fist, desperatly trying to stay as quiet as you can but failing miserably. he shushes you, the vibration from his vocal chords not helping your situation as you feel yourself quickly approaching the edge. “m-matty I-”

he pulls away for a small second, eyes wide and hungry. “please cum for me darling, need to feel you cum on my tongue-” he begs, quickly diving back in as he licks you through your orgasm, groaning softly as he feels you clench around his tongue, lapping at your folds as he cleans up your orgasm.

“fuck-” you bring a finger up towards your lip, blood pooling on your tongue from where you had to bite to keep quiet unless you wanted the whole library to hear you. he pulls your leggings back up and over your thighs, the both of you silently thanking somebody for the fact that nobody was looking for cooking books. he smiles up at you dopily, allowing himself to catch his breath before standing back up.

“good?” he breaths out, pulling your bloodied finger to his lips to lick it clean. You couldn’t find the words to answer, nodding as you watch his lips sucking your fingers entranced. He pulls off them with a pop, smiling at the way he left you speechless.

you both forget where you are until an older male comes around the corner, causing you both to jump away from each other. he doesn’t suspect much, why would he? shooting you both a small smile before turning and going back the way he came, sending you both laughing.

“so…” he begins as your giggles come to a stop, shuffling from foot to foot nervously. “I don’t actually finish up in here for another hour, but I could drive you back to campus? your books seemed heavy, and I’m guessing you don’t have a car…”

god, you were so smitten for him and you had only spent less than an hour with him alone at most. “...or I could come to yours?”

he smiles, thinking for a moment as you two start walking back towards the desk, to no surprise the place was still pretty much empty. “wanna see a picture of lilah?”

you squeal at the idea of singing his kitten, sending apologies to nobody at the sudden loud noise coming from you once again. “yes please.” you nod and whisper, the idea of seeing both matty and lilah filling you with warmth.

you were right, the local library was definitely better than the campus library.

[cozage]

you wanna do continue the one you did where the s/o gets captured? Get them rescuuuued. please and thank you :D

A/N: I actually have two of these requests in my inbox, and these got really long because I’m insane and have to write every detail, so I’m going to break these up into three different posts so people aren’t stuck reading and scrolling through a 10k fic on tumblr. Ace and Law’s will be coming soon!

Characters: female reader x Luffy

Cw:  angst, drugging, near-death experience

Total word count: 2.3k

Summary: You've been captured by marines, and the Strawhats work to get you back. (Followup from this request)

Rescued by Pirates - Luffy

Luffy stood at the top of the cliff, staring down the Marine fleet in the bay. There were ten ships, and you were on one of them. Captured. Alone. He knew you were fighting, but there’s only so much you could do in a locked prison cell with sea prism cuffs. 

“I’m coming.” Luffy muttered, hoping the wind would carry his words to you. “Wait for me. Don’t stop fighting.”

“Luffy, get down!” Nami pulled the captain back over the ridge, keeping him out of sight from the scouts. “If a Marine sees you this whole stealth operation is over!”

Luffy groaned and slumped to the ground. “I don’t even know why this has to be a stealth operation! If we just start smashing everything-”

“They’ll kill her.” Sanji said, and Luffy grew quiet. “If they know we’re coming, they’ll execute her now and report it to the news coo after.”

“They probably have people waiting outside her cell to do it as soon as the call is made,” Franky admitted coldly. “They don’t want another repeat of…” he trails off, and everyone knows what he’s going to say. 

They don’t want another repeat of Ace. Luffy embarrassed the entire World Government when he broke into Impel Down, broke out of Impel Down, and then sailed to Marineford and freed Ace from his shackles. 

“It’s possible that’s why they’re still here.” Nami’s voice was worried as she spoke everyone’s thoughts. “They’re baiting us so they can kill her. They don’t want to transport her just to have Luffy embarrass them again.”

“It would make sense why they haven’t taken off yet,” Brook added. 

“Or they’re waiting for backup,” Sanji countered. “She’s a dangerous pirate, but the Navy always prefers public executions. Especially with the new leader having a personal vendetta against Luffy, he’ll want to kill her publicly if possible. I’m sure of it.”

“Then we have to go!” Luffy started to stand to his feet, frustrated with the lack of action, but Nami quickly pulled him back down. 

“Let Robin and Brook handle this first part! We have to find her first before you start smashing everything to bits!”

Luffy hated waiting. Especially when there's nothing he could do to pass the time. But finally, after about 30 minutes of silence, Robin opened her eyes. 

“She’s on the fourth ship in the back with the red and yellow tailwind sail. Under deck, in a prison cell. Shackles on her arms and legs, and a neck collar.”

Luffy’s eyes peeked over the cliffside to find the ship Robin was describing. He located it, and sprang forward to jump over the cliff, but strong arms held him back. 

“Zoro, let me go! We know where she is!” He struggled to break free from the swordsman's grasp. “We have to go get her!”

“Hang on Luffy, we need a plan before we just jump into action!”

--

The guard change comes early today, which you find odd. Normally the Marines are dragging their feet to stand guard over your cell, but then you spot green hair poking out from the marine cap, the man next to him with a very familiar scar across his cheek, and your heart begins to beat faster. 

“So, the keys?” Zoro holds his hand out to the Navy officer watching over you, who laughs in his face. 

“This must be your first time imprisoning a pirate, kid,” the old man says. “We don’t keep the keys anywhere near the prison. You know how easy it would be for someone to knock out a guard and take them? Let me show you the ropes, kid.”

The old man and his colleague turn to face you for the first time in hours, ushering Zoro and Luffy to look at you now. You can see Luffy is in visible pain just from looking at you. 

Your arms and legs were each shackled to the wall, and you had a contraption around your neck that looked strikingly similar to the ones the Celestial Dragons used on their slaves. Blood caked your hair and trickled down your face. Your body was littered in scratches and bruises, your clothes torn from whatever battle had happened that Luffy wasn’t there for. 

“Each one of those shackles has a different key, and that neck collar too, as well as the key to the jail cell itself. Each of those keys are on a different ship, and we’ve got instructions to throw the keys into the harbor if we catch a glimpse of a Strawhat approaching the ship. 

“The best part, though,” he continues, with a hungry malice in his eyes. He raises his hand to point a finger at your neck. “That collar has a fun little detonator. The Vice Admiral has the control button if it comes to that. And the collar itself administers a sedative every hour on the hour, and gives another dose if someone touches the bars.” 

He smacked the bars for good measure, and you flinched as you felt a pinch in your neck. 

“Honestly it’s a miracle she’s still awake. We like to hit the bars every now and then just to keep her calm. Don’t want her causing a scene now, do we?”

You were trying your hardest not to stare at Luffy. You can see the rage consuming his body as he realizes what an insurmountable task it is to save you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head viciously to relay a simple message. Run. Don’t save me.

But you know he won’t listen. He never has. Not with Robin or Ace or Sanji or anyone else he’s saved against their will. And he certainly won’t do it with you either. 

“I see a pretty big flaw in this whole design,” Zoro said, staring at the cell you were in. You could see he was enraged as well, but he was hiding it better than Luffy. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that, kid?”

“Can’t they just cut it?”

The old Marine let out a hardy laugh at his question. “Sea prism stone is the hardest substance in the world. Nobody can cut through that, I don't care if it’s Dracule Mihawk himself!”

“Oh, Mihawk can cut Sea Prism Stone.” The green-haired man gave a devilish smirk to the Marine.

You braced yourself. You knew what was coming. Zoro only had two swords with him, but it would be enough. 

You heard a whirlwind of air swirl around you, and you could feel the weight on your arms get lighter. There were several pinches in your neck, and you could feel yourself involuntarily slip into unconsciousness. 

--

Zoro had put just a bit too much power into his swings to free you, and the cuts ripped through the ship behind you. He then turned to the marines, wickedly smiling at them. 

“Told ya.” He smacked the younger one with the hilt of the sword and the marine crumpled to the ground, but the older marine was fast and dodged Zoro’s attack. The Marine locked Zoro into a battle of swords, occupying his ability to get the other chains off of you.

Luffy sprang into action, running to grab you. He screamed your name as he ran to you, jumping over sea prism stone rubble and other debris to reach you. He knew Zoro hadn’t hurt you, but you were slumped against the ship wall, and he couldn’t help but think about how fragile you looked. He shook you, desperately trying to wake you up. 

And then Luffy heard a beeping sound, coming from the collar around your neck. The same sound that he was helpless against in Sabaody. “ZORO!” He screamed, holding you tight. 

“Forgot to mention,” the older marine grinned back at the swordsman, keeping him locked in a battle. “Tamper with the chains too much and the collar will detonate, even without a push from the button.”

Zoro tightened his muscles in horror. “Luffy, get it off of her!”

“I hear she’s the weakness of Strawhat Luffy. Let’s watch and see, shall we? Perhaps he’ll have an even worse reaction than in Marineford.” The marine's gaze was on Luffy now, eager to see him snap. 

Luffy ignored the weight of what failure meant for you. He focused, letting his Haki flow through his body like he had seen Rayleigh do in Sabaody. He grabbed the collar from around your neck and squeezed, snapping it in half, and threw it away from you. In the same motion, Luffy turned and glared at the Marine, who instantly crumpled to the ground, knocked out by Luffy’s Conqueror's Haki. 

“Luffy, we have to go,” Zoro’s voice was urgent. There was commotion above them coming from the deck. It was clear the Navy was alerted to their presence. But Luffy was ignoring him, desperately trying to shake you awake. 

“Come on, Luffy,” Zoro insisted, stepping over the rubble. He quickly cut each of the shackles off your legs.  “She’ll be fine. I’ll carry her, you punch things. Let's go.”

Zoro put a sword between his teeth and picked you up into his arms. He saw the darkness in Luffy’s eyes, and stood back to let his captain destroy the people who had tried to take you away from him. 

Luffy spared no ship. Once he saw Zoro and you were safe on the beach, he unleashed his full might against the ten ships in the harbor. His crew could hear his screams of rage from the shoreline, his pent up fear of losing you spilling out into his attacks. 

When he was finally finished destroying the ships, he came back to the shore and sat silently among his crew. He pulled your unconscious body into his lap, stroking your hair softly. He stared down at you for a long time, just watching the rise and fall of your chest, his eyesight fuzzy from tears. 

As the sun was starting to sink over the horizon, Nami finally spoke up. “We should go.” Her voice was hoarse, and her cheeks were damp with tears. 

“Not until she wakes up.”

Sanji sighed, pulling out a few small rations of food to give the crew while they waited. Luffy didn’t eat, he just combed his fingers through your hair, willing you to wake up. 

Nightfall came, and you were still unconscious. The crew could see lights on the horizon. Marine ships that were supposed to lead you to Impel Down. 

“Luffy, we need to go,” Sanji insisted. Luffy refused to respond, his eyes only watching you. 

“She’ll be more comfortable on the ship, Luffy,” Chopper said, trying to coax the captain back to the Sunny. “She can sleep in a bed and we can monitor her more closely.”

“It’s better for her to be back on the ship,” Sanji agreed. “And we need to get moving.”

Luffy finally nodded, giving in to his crew's request. If it was better for you, then he wouldn’t be selfish. It was selfishness that got you in this position in the first place. If he hadn’t run off on his own, if he had just stayed with the group like Nami had told him too, this might’ve never happened.

He held you close to him and walked back to the ship with the rest of the crew, not speaking. When they got back to the ship, Luffy set you down in the infirmary and stood in the corner, letting Chopper take care of you.

“Let me know if anything changes in her status.” And with that, Chopper left the two of you alone in the infirmary. Luffy sat in the chair next to your bed, holding your hand and watching you sleep, waiting for you to come back to him. 

--

Before you open your eyes, you can hear the heart rate monitor beeping; you can feel the harsh light against the back of your eyelids. Beside you, you can hear soft, even breathing of someone who is sleeping. Luffy. You’d know the sound of his breathing anywhere. You feel relief wash over you, knowing you’re safe with your crew. 

The light is still too bright for your eyes, so your hand reaches out blindly, searching for Luffy. Your hand finds his head, and you pat him gently. You don’t intend to wake him, but he instantly stirs from his sleep. 

“Y/n?” His voice is groggy as his head lifts up. 

“Hi,” you whisper, your eyes still closed. “Can you turn off the-”

His body crashes into you, cutting off your question, and you wrap your arms around him in an embrace. You can hear his broken sobs of relief fill the air. “I was so scared,” he sobbed into your shoulder. “You weren’t waking up.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say soothingly, trying to calm him down. You crack your eyes open a bit, trying to adjust to the light in the room. “Thanks to you, captain.”

[pitchsidestories]

Welcome to New York II Ali Krieger x Reader

"Everybody here was someone else before And you can want who you want Boys and boys and girls and girls." Welcome To New York, Taylor Swift

masterlist I word count: 2901

The first thing you thought as you spotted Ali Krieger standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum was that this could have been a scene from a romantic comedy. A warm smile played on the defender’s lips while she had two cups of coffees in her hands:” Hi.” “Hi. Is this one for me or do you just need a lot of caffeine today”, you asked her teasingly.

Amused she shook her head: “No, the second one is for you. Ocean and Sloane let me sleep long enough today.” “Oh, lucky for me. Thank you so much.”, you answered grateful for her thoughtfulness. Still smiling Ali handed you your coffee: “You’re welcome.” Nervously you put a string of your hair behind your ear: “I hope you didn’t wait too long for me.” As much as you loved this city, the public transport was against you coming punctually to your coffee date with the equally busy soccer player today. Kindly she waved at you:” No, I didn’t. Do you want to keep standing here or walk around?” “Let’s walk around a bit.”, you decided.

Side by side you started walking, clearing her throat Ali admitted with a shy grin: “Alright. To be honest, I’m so glad Jason Sudeikis introduced us to each other at my last league game party.” “Oh, me too. Trust me. It was nice to get a look inside a soccer team.”, you agreed with her. Curiously the older woman looked at you:” As inspiration for your upcoming leading role in the female ted lasso spin off?” “You can never have enough inspiration. And to be honest, I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I want to portray my role as realistically as possible.”, you declared slightly blushing.

Playfully the defender pouted: “Oh, and I hoped you were really interested in me as a person and not only in the soccer player part of my personality.” “Not at all. I think the soccer player part is impressive but it’s not the most interesting part about you.”, you told her.   “Oh really?” The blush on your cheeks intensified: “Maybe your good looks were also a part of it.” “And the glasses of wine we shared.", she winked at you. This comment made you chuckle:” I can only say that they definitely kept the conversation going.”

“Not only that.”, Ali added grinning hinting at what happened as the night turned over into the early morning, the time in which the never sleeping city was buzzing with life and excitement and the sexual attraction between you could not been denied any longer. “Ali!”

“What? It’s true.”, the football player shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. You scoffed: “You’re terrible.” “Yes, but you don’t mind it.”, she observed. Laughing you confessed: “Actually, I kinda like it.” “I can tell.”, Ali nodded satisfied. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.”, the defender whispered.  Elegantly you changed the topic: “It’s really beautiful today. The weather is perfect.”

Ali let her gaze wander over the autumnal scenery of the Central Park. The yellowing leaves were contrasting against the blue sky. “Agreed. New York in fall is stunning.“, she smiled. “It is.“, you agreed, taking in the crisp air. “Have you always lived in New York?“, Ali asked, genuine curiosity on her face. You shook your had and admitted; “Actually, no.“ The football players eyebrows knotted together; “No?“ With a sigh, your gaze dropped down to the fallen leaves on the ground; “Although I wished…“ “Tell me about it…“, Ali implored.

“Actually, I grew up in a conservative midwestern town.“, you started to explain. The defender grimaced, understanding the implication; “Oh. I’m sorry.“ “So coming to New York as a young adult did feel liberating in every way.“, you continued with a sad smile. Ali sipped on her coffee; “You know, a lot of my team mates who are queer had similar experiences.“ “Similar to some of my acting friends.“, you added. Ali shrugged with a sigh; “I’m always glad to hear when queer people from difficult places found a safe space.“

Nervously turning the cup in your hand, you asked; “You came out quite late to the public too, right?“ “Yes, that’s true. I thought it’s no one’s business but mine.“, she replied, nodding in thought. “What made you change your mind about it?“ “I realized that I can be of better use as a role model.“, she answered nonchalantly. You bit your lip, moved by revelation; “That’s very brave of you.“ Ali gave you a wry smile; “Thank you. But that wasn’t an easy decision for me either.“ “No, I understand that. Being queer wasn’t something that people in the movie industry liked to see a few years ago… sometimes even now.“, you told her. “I’m sorry.“ You shook your head; “It’s fine, really.“ “I guess we all have our struggles.“, the defender thought out lout. “Yes, we do.“

You were grateful when Ali finally offered; “Do you want to change the topic?“ Smiling, you gave her a soft nod to leave that topic behind; “Yes, please. I don’t want to ruin the mood during our little coffee date.“ “You couldn’t. I really enjoy talking to you.“, Ali said, carefully taking your hand into hers. “Same.“ „You do?“ “Yes, even though I told you about my sad little childhood.“, you laughed, your cheeks turning slightly pink as you wondered if you had overshared. But the smile on Alis face made that thought immediately disappear; “I appreciate it. Really. I’m glad you shared it.“

“That means a lot. So, what about you? Are you excited for the play offs?”, you asked her. The eyes of the defender lit up:” Yes, absolutely. I’m happy about every game I get to play.” “This must feel very special.”, you said, her excitement was infecting you too. “It is. If you’d like to get some more inspiration you could come.”, she offered you without hesitation.

Delighted you replied:” To your game? I’d love that.” “I’ll make sure you get some tickets.”, Ali continued happily. “Thank you.” The football player could not stop smiling: “You’re welcome.” For a second you looked worried:” You don’t think Ashlyn would mind, right?” “She won’t. Trust me.”, she reassured you quickly. Relieved you sighed:” Okay. Good.” Don’t worry about it. This is over.”, Ali confirmed. With a remark you tried to lighten up the mood again:” Yes, you made that very clear when you kissed me at the doorstep after your party.” “You asked about her.” “Sorry, I’m an idiot.”, you hid your face in her hands.  Softly the football player disagreed with you: “No, you’re not.” “So that means I can kiss you? This time without alcohol breath?”, hopeful you looked up to her.  

Amused Ali glanced at you:“You can always kiss me. Doesn’t matter if it’s on parties or in the Central Park.” “Although, I’d argue that this here is way more romantic.”, you chuckled.  Expectantly she threw a look at you:” You can argue all you want but I’d rather you just kiss me.” “As you wish.”, you said before your lips met her who were waiting for that to happen since they departed from another.

After the training ended for the Gotham players Kristie let out an excited shriek: ”Oh my god, Ali ! I’m so jealous!” Confused the captain looked at her before the blonde showed her an article on her phone which contained photos of Ali and her new girlfriend kissing romantically in the Central Park. Laughing Kelley intervened:” Jealous about the fact that they had a romantic moment in the autumnal Central Park or that she made it into the news with that?” “Actually.. both.”, Kristie admitted. 

Surprised the dark-haired defender mumbled:” Oh no, they wrote about us.” “What’s wrong? It’s a cute photo.”, Kelley furrowed her eyebrows. Enthusiastically Kristie reminded the older player: “Exactly and you’re allowed to have fun, Ali. You’re in your lemonade era, remember?” “Still, I wasn’t ready to go public with that yet. And I don’t know if she was either.”, Ali bit her lip.  Empathetic Kelley put an arm around her shoulder:” I get that too.” “I need to call her.”, the captain announced.

You were on set, spending your lunch break with the other actors, when you noticed your phone ringing. Seeing Alis name appear on the display made your heart jump unexpectedly. Happily you took the call; “Ali, Hi.“ “Hi.“, she replied. The tone of her voice made you frown; “What’s wrong? You sound a bit upset.“ The football player sighed as if to brace herself; “Have you seen the article yet?“

You grabbed your coat and your bag and hurried away from the other actors, ignoring Jason Sudeikis’ sceptical glance; “Uhm no. What article? We were busy filming the new tv episodes.“ “They photographed as kissing.“, she came straight to the point. You froze in place; “Wait. What?“ “I’m sorry.“ Your thoughts began racing, bringing you back to how exhilarated you felt during your date. Even though Ali couldn’t see you, you still shook your head; “No, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t kissed you there… this article would not exist.“ “I don’t regret the kiss… really.“, the defender replied with determination in her voice. “But you wish to have been private a little longer, right? Which is understandable considering your divorce is still fresh…“, you were thinking out loud.

Ali confirmed your thoughts; “Actually, yes. How do you feel about it?“ You let a few seconds pass before admitting; “It feels very early.“ “I know.“ “But you should know that I’m serious with you.“, you added truthfully. Ali let out a small breath, relieved; “Me too. I want this.“ Your smile was back in place; “Jason gifted me an Ali Krieger Fan club - shirt. Should I wear it to one of your games or would this be too much?“ “Please do it. If they won’t let us have our privacy, we can at least have some fun with them.“ You could basically hear Ali grinning through the phone. “Exactly what I thought too.“ Ali laughed; “I like that. You get me.“

“So, I’ll see you at the stadium? Will Sloane and Ocean be there too?“, you asked. You had the chance to meet Alis kids briefly for a few times and they had already won your heart, so you got even more excited when you heard Ali say; “Yes.“ “Great. Because I already miss them while being away on the set.“ “I’m sure they’re happy to see you again too.“, Ali said, her voice soft. “And I miss you too of course.“, you added quickly. “I do hope that!“, the defender teased. “So much.“, you admitted and with a quick glance on your watch, you ended the call; “Okay, break is over. I’ll call you back tonight.“ “Talk to you later.“

The team of Gotham FC was buzzing with excitement as they stepped on the field in Portland. If the players won, this game they would make it to the final. Grinning Lynn Williams touched the shoulder of her captain: “I spotted your girl, Ali!” “Really?”, Ali wanted to know from the forward, trying to discover your face in the crowd at Providence Park.  Equally thrilled Kristie pointed to the direction where you were standing: “Over there.” “Oh. She’s wearing the shirt.”, the defender observed with a hint of proudness in her voice.

Amused Kelley remarked: “Not subtle at all.” “It’s not supposed to be.”, Ali told her. A bright smile was on Kristie’s lips:“I love it, I’m obsessed.”  “Of course, you like that, Kristie.”, Kelley threw in unsurprised. Clearing her throat Lynn drew all the attention on her:” Yeah, so that’s all cute and sweet but we’ve a game to win girls.” “Yes. We got to focus on that.”, Ali agreed with the forward. Gotham’s number 5 nodded along:” Yes, we’re making sure that Ali has another game to play before her retirement.” 

“What retirement? With those many games, I guess you can’t really call it retirement yet.”, their captain corrected her smiling. Winking Kelley reminded the dark - haired player: “Yes, but it’s one game before the final.” “And I’d love to get to the final, girls.”, with a cheeky grin Ali glanced at each of their teammates to give them that extra motivation tonight.

The game was really close, and they had to went into overtime but thanks to Katie Stengels goal in the 107’ minute against the Portland Thorns, they won this important match and would make it to the Final. After the referee blew the final whistle, Kelley cheered loudly:” She’s not done yet!” “I’m not leaving without a trophy!”, Ali shouted happily. Ecstatic Kristie who played her first minutes after her injury in today’s game screamed: “We won, bitches!” “Who are you calling a bitch?”, Ali threw an eyebrow up at the blonde before the two and Kelley started to dance out their feelings. The words to describe their emotions would be found later, now was the time to just be in the moment and celebrate.

Meanwhile Sloane made her way through the soccer players:” Mummy!” “No more b-words here, Mewis!, Ali warned her fellow teammate before pulling her daughter into a hug, Hi, baby.”

“Okay, but your new girlfriend has a nice ass.“, Kristie commented with a smirk, disregarding Alis warning, while Sloane jumped into her mums arms; “You won!“ “Mewis!“, Ali yelled before turning back to her daughter and agreed with a much softer voice; “Yes, we won. That means mum has to play one more game.“ “That’s okay. Love to see you play. Ocean was such a baby though. He fell asleep in her arms.“, Sloane rolled her big brown eyes and pointed in your direction where her little brother was sleeping in your arms. With a laugh, Ali explained to her daughter: “He is still small.“ “Yes. I’ll forgive him that.“, Sloane nodded. Alis eyes met yours and you both had to suppress a laugh.

Slowly you bridged the few steps between you two; “Hi. Sorry, someone is very sleepy. As is the big one who pretends she’s wide awake.“ You nodded first into Oceans, then into Sloanes direction. Ali put Sloane down who pressed into her leg with a yawn. “Let me take him.“, Ali offered, holding out her hands to take her sleeping son from you. She gratefully smiled at you; “Thank you so much for taking care of them. I appreciate it.“ “You’re welcome.“, you replied, leaning over to kiss your girlfriend passionately but careful to not wake up Ocean.

“Excuse me! Those kisses are not child friendly either!“, Kristies voice interrupted the two of you. Alis face was still close to yours as she rolled her eyes; “It’s a kiss. You do worse things with your girlfriend!“ “Ali is right about that!“, Lynn chimed in. Ali shook her head and you noticed the adoration for her teammates in her eyes, even though she wanted to seem annoyed; “Sorry about them.“ “It’s okay, trust me. My acting friends are even more dramatic.“, you laughed. „Yeah, I can imagine.“, the defender grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

Next to you, Lynns face brightened while she pointed to her teammate; “I bet Kristie would have been great in drama school too!“ “Yeah, but she can’t remember shit.“, Ali interjected. Kristies mouth fell open in outrage; “You guys are so mean.“ “Only because we love you.“, Kelley now joined your group, winking at Kristie. Ignoring the others, Kristie turned to you, her phone in hand; “Can we take a selfie together? My girlfriend Sam is such a fan of you and can’t wait for your upcoming tv show.“ “Sure, but I’m for Ali tonight…“, you answered politely. You posed for the photo together, grinning into Kristies phone camera while she smirked; “Yeah, we noticed that.“

“The shirt spoke for itself, huh?”, you laughed with her. An amused smile was on the blonde’s lip:” I can assure you it did.” “Good.”, you nodded satisfied. Slightly displeased Ali asked her teammate:” Are you done now, Kristie?” “Yes, sounds like someone is missing her girlfriend.”, the younger player winked at you.

The older woman rolled her eyes before turning her attention to you:” Ignore her.” “With a pleasure.”, you told her as you kissed her again. Expectantly Ali looked into your eyes when you two ended the kiss:” I hope you know that you have to come to the final now too.” “That’s alright with me.”, you replied happily. The defender whispered into your ear:“You seem to bring me luck.” “Meaning I need to wear the same shirt too?”, you asked her, throwing an eyebrow up.

Innocently Ali played with a loose hair string of yours:” Actually, this time I’d like to see you in my jersey.” “Your Jersey? Okay.”, you agreed. Softly your girlfriend blushed:“It’s a bit more.. official.” “I see.” “If you want to of course.”, Ali’s face went serious. Quickly you replied: “I do.”  “I’ll bring you one.”, the older woman decided. Proudly you glanced at her:” Thanks, it’ll be an honour to wear it.” “It’s an honour for us that you support us.”, Ali corrected you. Looking at her children you said: “The children look tired.” “Let’s take them to bed now.”

“Good night you three.”, you wished them warmly while you all four were slowly falling asleep in the hotelroom. With a bright grin on her face Ali answered:”Good night.”

[kisspromptsforthelovesquare]

Kisses under an umbrella

One last kiss before I sacrifice myself/risk it all for you

Jumping on the other kiss

“I thought I’d lost you” kiss

Detransformed but still pre-reveal kiss

Romantic sewer kiss

We just won/lost an akuma battle kiss

“In case we don't make it out of this alive" kiss

“I just found out your identity and I don’t think it’s physically possible to keep my lips off your face now” kiss

Formal kiss

We're platonically cuddling on a chilly patrol night when we're making each other laugh so much we spur-in-the-moment kiss

Sleepy/half-asleep kiss

“I forgot you’re dating my other identity” kiss

Someone’s hanging upside down kiss (aka Spiderman kiss)

Blowing a kiss

“Someone claimed to be dating you and I couldn’t contradict them” jealous kiss

“Your suit’s in the way” kiss

“Your suit’s not in the way anymore!” kiss

Someone just lost their memory kiss

He/she just said yes kiss

"Kiss it better" kiss

Celebratory kiss

Kiss for the camera

Kiss they think is secret but actually lots of people can see, or getting caught kissing

Forehead kiss

"Did you know that kissing is good for hiding in plain sight, because it makes people uncomfortable so they look away?" (aka fake out make out)

I got jealous how you smiled (politely) at that civilian who was obviously (except to you) flirting with you

Kiss on a dare

André got akumatized again and he's leaving couples alone kiss

True love's kiss worked before let's try it again kiss

We need to make our fake dating look convincing kiss

Hello kiss, or goodbye kiss

Distracting your injured partner from pain while you patch them up kiss

She mixed up her words and asked for a kiss by accident but he just went with it kiss

“It’s not fair that you remember kissing me and I don’t” kiss

“I need you to stop punning for like FIVE SECONDS, so I’m going to occupy your mouth in a different way” kiss

The akuma is a huge Ladynoir shipper and it's the only way out kiss

“Sure I’ll help you practice confessing to Buttercup” kiss

“Thanks for saving my life” Ladrien or Marichat kiss

Anywhere but the face kiss: hand kiss, wrist kiss, shoulder kiss

One corner of the square kissing to prove another corner isn’t dating kiss

You were going in for la bise and I read into it kiss

“I’m/You’re using a different miraculous today” kiss

Spin the bottle kiss

“I know I said I wanted to keep our relationship a secret but…” kiss

"What do you mean you're moving away?!" kiss 

Welcome home kiss

"I want my first kiss to be with someone that I love and trust, but it's not that I'm IN love with you or anything hahaha no way" kiss

Kiss you to sleep, or kiss you awake

"Distracting you while you're trying to do something because I want attention" kiss

"Oh no, you made me fall in love with you" realization kiss

"Kissing your forehead/cheek while I thought you were sleeping" kiss (bonus if the 'asleep' person was actually unconscious and the kissing person is all "please come back to me.") 

Kiss during Second Chance

Anniversary kiss

“I thought this was just dancing, so how did we start kissing?” kiss

“We just fought and I’m mad at what you did, but I want you to know I’m not mad at you” kiss

“You fell asleep on public transport and I’m waking you up at our stop” kiss

“It’s been years since we’ve seen each other and I didn’t know what happened to you because of secret identities” kiss

“Reunion” kiss but one of them has the kwagatama ability to talk to the other through reunion and their lips can’t even touch because one is a ghost :(( 

Winning a bet kiss

Drunk kiss

Soft kiss after wrapping them in a blanket

Kiss on an old injury

“Our friends are trying to set us up, haha, let’s humor them” kiss

Sneaking into each other’s room kiss

“I’m pretty sure the grimoire says something about kissing, but I’m not sure exactly what. Want to help me experiment?” kiss

Apology kiss

Kissing while using one of the suit power-ups

“We’re both so busy that we’ve barely seen each other in days, so we should make the most of it” kiss

Kissing under the mistletoe

Kissing in a car

Identity reveal kiss

“Let’s recreate our first/favorite kiss”

Kissing backstage after a fashion show

“We should be focusing on this battle but, wow, you are extra distracting today” kiss

First kiss, or last kiss

“I know it’s the worst possible time for a kiss but…”

Failed kiss or interrupted kiss

Kiss as a confession/to show you how I really feel

Post-reveal pre-relationship kiss

Kisses that tickle

“We found our way back to each other” kiss

Soulmate kiss

Everyday domestic bliss kiss 

A kiss to comfort

“Why exactly are you kissing me?”

“Oh yeah? What are you willing to do to get a kiss from me? 😏” kiss

Accidental lip contact during la bise

Kissing in a disco

"What's the difference between le bisou and la bise? Hmm, let me show you..." 

“Maybe this will jog your memory” kiss

“I was going for the cheek/forehead and I missed 😳” kiss

Sealing a pinky swear with a kiss

"Will you marry me?" kiss

"I just love you so much, I can't help it" kiss

Fake dating kiss

A safe for work “not safe for work” kiss (like they’re standing on a forklift or something - what were YOU thinking?)

Interrupted by kids. Or a hamster. Or a kwami. 

 "Miracle cure brought you back" kiss

“Here’s your present” kiss

A kiss that promises forever

---

More info below:

I hope you wanted a long list of kiss prompts for the Love Square this Valentine's Day! What better way to celebrate a day of love than with our favorite lovesick dorks. 🥰

Use this list however you want. As an ask game, a challenge to draw or write every one, or just pick your favorites!

(For more fun, here's a random number spinner that you can set to any number you want.)

Feel free to use any version of them you want, too. Multimouse, Cat Walker, Dragon Bug, Chat Blanc, or stick to the original four-cornered square, if that's your thing!

Tag @kisspromptsforthelovesquare and we'll reblog. Marinette and Adrien's love for each other is forever. Just like the offer of reblogging. There's no time limit.

There's also a collection on AO3. Feel free to post there instead/as well.

Have fun everyone! Go and make them smooch!

Thank you to the wonderful @ladyofthenoodle for the header, and for our Discord group with their kiss suggestions.

[guesswhojusttt]

I have spent all my life resisting the desire to end it

Summary:

"I wanted to be chosen, maybe loved. I wanted out of my life, out of my skin, and his offer seemed like the best someone like me could hope for." - Susan Abulhawa, Against the Loveless World

someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little? (love me a little?) BTD Ren x reader

Chapter 2

AO3

The bell chimes cheerfully as you step out into the night- a black-gray sky, starless and empty and hollow, light pollution long since blanketing any chance of a pretty view. Streetlights stoop over the sidewalks, warm orange bathing the cement and the gravelly, winding streets and the black trash bins. Cars occasionally drive by, wheels crunching scattered pebbles, a window rolled down so their music blasts and slams the air as it whizzes by. A cool breeze settles over your skin, between your pores, ruffles Strade’s brown curls as he walks beside you.

"Where's your ride?"

"Oh, I'm heading to the bus stop."

"That's at least twenty minutes from here," he dismisses, that blinding grin plastered on his face, "I can just drive you."

"No, no," you say hurriedly, remembering the rule to never go to a second place with a date. It might not have been a date, sure, but the same principle applied. Getting into a car with someone would essentially give him the power to take you whenever he wants, to trap you as long as he wants, to- "I'm fine. I love taking the bus."

But he's leading the way, you realize- it had felt like you'd been wandering aimlessly, but really, you'd been trailing beside him. He hadn't been walking directionless at all, but leading. Guiding. "Public transport is spotty at best here, you know. It’ll take hours before you're home." He pops open the passenger door for his rust-orange car, expectant.

You purse your lip. "I don't just give out my address. Nothing personal, sorry."

"No problem, buddy! I'll just drop you off at the bus station." He’s so cheerful. He’s been cheerful since you met and hasn’t stopped since. Surely his cheeks hurt by now, straining from the perma-smile?

You lean against the door, making no effort to enter. “Look, this really isn't a you thing, okay? It’s just not safe to get in a car with a stranger, so I’ll- just be going, now.” You move to leave, but he grabs your upper arm in a vice-like grip.

“You’re always like this, aren’t you? Never accepting support, always doing everything alone?”

“Let go of me.”

“Isn’t it isolating, growing up too fast? Being so responsible, so independent, even as a child. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

“Right, but this isn’t help, this is-”

“A friend offering a friend a ride home.”

“A strange man coercing a woman into his car. Strade, let me go.”

“Why? You’ve already opened up to me, you haven’t scared me off.”

“No, but you’re scaring me-” when you yank yourself from him, you know it’s only because he let you. The indents of his thick fingers tunnel welts into your skin, and you glare. Just who did he think he is? “This isn’t about- about me being lonely-”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

“That’s not-”

“You are,” Strade emphasizes firmly, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, but this isn’t about being unable to accept support-”

“But you don’t let others help you, do you?”

“Stop it-”

“When was the last time you asked for-”

“Are you kidding me?” you snap viciously. "Just leave me alone."

His eye sort of twitches, and you know, the way you always could tell with your mom, that he was losing patience. But his smile is ever-present. “And you’re uncomfortable because…?”

“I don’t know you.”

”And?”

”You’re not taking no for an answer.”

”And?”

”I know what you want me to say,” you begin kneading at the pressure point at the base of your thumb. Once you opened your mouth, it all came tumbling one after the other, a domino spiral, blocks knocking the other over until it all fell down. “That I can’t accept help, that I’m uncomfortable because I’m not used to kindness. That I feel guilty when my coworkers all chip in to get me a cake for my birthday. That it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, because I'm scared I'll be abandoned so I push people away so I can leave them first. I just... don't know how to handle support. But that's not what this is. Is it?”

"It is. I just want to help you, buddy." He pats your shoulder. Comforting.

(And his hand is heavy, on your shoulder, big and warm and strong and real and so, so comforting. No one had ever touched you affectionately, had touched to comfort, not to hurt- no one had ever been proud-

But he is. Proud of you for listening. For complying.

You find yourself thinking you'd do just about anything to feel the weight of his hand validating you again).

Gently, he steers you, and this time, you enter. And when you- when you willingly got in the car, willingly entered through the door, without making a break for it, and he patted your shoulder- large fingers curling over your bones- you sort of (couldn't help it) leaned into it, the warmth and strength and reassurance of it all. It felt like conditioning a pet with positive reinforcement- twice he'd done it, each when you'd given in a little more: the vanilla milkshake, now getting in without protest. He shuts the passenger door for you, as a gentleman would.

The interior of his car smells a little like machine oil, of the cheap beer bottles and crumpled aluminum cans at your feet, a pair of matching, cute hammers dangling from the rearview mirror. He switches on the radio- neat, blunt nails fiddling with the black dial till some FM station came on. Upbeat German folk music, low and dull and enough to both fill the silence and not drown out any conversation.

You rationalize your decision. Well. You do get winded from five minutes of walking, your legs do get sore from 10 minutes of the most basic stroll. Shoving down any apprehension, any discomfort (never go to a second location! Never ever go to a second place with a date! You wanna end up on the news with an ugly headshot?), you buckle your seatbelt with a satisfying click.

You probe the dangling, weightless hammers, watching them bumblingly sway and swing. "The machine oil and these- you're, a mechanic or something?"

"Or something," he agrees. His large hands smoothly steer the black wheel, turning the corner. When you don’t respond to his non-answer, he elaborates in a low, smooth baritone. "Most of my income is from working remotely- freelance. It's nice to be my own boss, work my own hours. It's a niche market, but I have a bit of a steady stream from loyal clientele. You?"

"Me?" You blanch. Working at a suicide hotline might've been meaningful, but it was a call center, and eventually, like everything else, it was boring. "Well, I- it's a bit complicated."

"Come on, isn't there something you'd love to do? A dream, maybe?"

"A dream," you repeat thoughtfully. Mulling the word over, syrupy and strange. Foreign, even, invasive the way a virus is. The way a disease is. "Well, I've always- hey, you missed the bus station."

"Did I?" He says airily.

"Yeah, you just passed- hey, quit driving- go back-"

"Buddy, you've gotta live a little. Relax."

"Stop the car. Where are you-? " Your hand scrabbles frantically at the door- there's no handle on your side, only his. "I'm serious. Stop the car."

(It’s your mom driving past your job all over again. Were you a magnet for maniacs?)

"Why? It's not like you have anywhere else to go. No family, no career, no friends. No one will come looking for you. You really are perfect." He drums his thick fingers on the steering wheel. Scuffed, leather fading and peeling into flecks in sporadic patches. "And the best part is- you don't have shelter, or food. You need me."

"I need help," you admit, attempting in vain to yank up the black little car lock that just wouldn't budge, "but not from you. Let me go."

"Or what?"

You unbuckle your gray seatbelt, yanking at it to make it longer and longer- you could strangle him, you think madly, can noose it round his neck and pull and pull till his face is white and his brain is dead and-

He laughs, giddy. Like he knows what you're doing, like he wants to see you try. The upbeat music still thumping from the radio is mocking, now, mean. "Do it. Let's crash, let's push and pull and fight and struggle while the car is still driving in the middle of the road, where we can hit a pole or any of the cars driving by- oh, wouldn't that be decadent? Look in front of us, is that a little kid in the back? Oh! A big dog with her, too. Go on, go on, wave hello to them and choke me, let's see how many others you can take out." His rambles are that of a mad scientist, of a maniac, of a...

Of a serial killer.

He's right, though: there's a smattering of cars on the streets, left and right and behind you all, and even if you do kill him, the struggle alone- the loss of control on the gas pedal, the wheel- would T-bone any of the cars around and, well, would it be so bad to be grievously injured or killed?

Yes, if it means you'll be killing bystanders whose only sin was being on the road too. 

You lower your hand, still clutching the seat belt. “So this is what you do? You find little broken dolls, fix them up only to break them again?” 

"Not much fixing," he chuckles heartily, “now. You’re a little less compliant than I like them, and I’d like a peaceful drive home. So you’re going to open the glove compartment, take out a rag, dowse it chloroform, and smother yourself with it.”

You snort, “why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t,” he’s getting thrilled, now, like it’s a rare treat, a guilty indulgence (except he doesn't appear guilty at all), “I’ll do what I usually do: grab your neck and pull your hair and bash your head into the door, a nasty concussion and maybe a skull fracture or two. I’m stealing you either way, engelein, but it’s your choice how much pain it’ll cost.”

“What’s to stop me from using chloroform on you?” You spit scathingly.

“You’re a big girl. Tell me, why won’t you use it against me?”

“Because…” that stupid car is still in front of you, with the little girl and the oversized dog. She’s in pigtails and is petting his golden fur, his tongue eagerly licking her cheek and his tail thumping on the car seat. The car next to you is a slug bug, low and yellow, with a sticker reading MY OTHER CAR IS THE ARGO II. A pretty girl with too many tattoos bobs her head to some song as she drives it. You sigh, “because if you pass out, you’ll crash us. And someone will get hurt.”

“Someone’s getting hurt either way, but you get to choose: and if I’ve read you as well as I think I have, and I always do, then you’ll obey like a good-”

“Of course I will,” you snap, “it’s literally my job to save people. I'm not about to let others die just because I was dumb enough to get in this-”

“No,” he says calmly, eyes on the quickly-passing road, “you’ll listen because that’s what you do. The texts you showed me, everything you’ve told me- did you know, some people have personalities that are just more susceptible to abuse? Usually it’s a consequence of past abuse, which is why those with abusive parents often end up with abusive partners, too. How many times, in those texts, did you apologize to your mother? I counted upwards of a dozen. How many times did you grovel, say it was your fault for being ungrateful, promise to make it up to her- when she changed the password on your bank account and spent the money on the most obscenely useless garbage, you apologized for not supporting her interests. When she made you take a week off of work because you ‘weren’t spending enough time with her’, even though you told her you need to give your supervisor two week’s notice before taking that much time off, you ended up doing it anyway. Then she yelled at you for not spending time with her the right way, for acting like it was a chore rather than something that you actually want- that you’re treating her like a roommate, not a mother, though if anyone sane had a roommate who treated them half the way she treats you, they would’ve been evicted by now- then your supervisor was angry at your time off without sufficient notice. So you quail and cower before them both, not because you’re weak- though you are, make no mistake- but because you’re clever enough to know that the best way to avoid being fired, avoid being hit, avoid conflict, is to swallow your pride and just give the other what they want. And you’ve swallowed it so many times, buddy, that you don’t have any dignity left in you. You’ll listen to me, because you’re the type to.”

Well. Damn.

You swallow. Defend yourself, you can't let him get away with talking about you like that. “You're wrong: just the other day, I was hungry, and was going to eat- but then my mother says, I want my daughter to eat. She does that a lot, says ‘my daughter’ instead of ‘you’, because- because she views it as two different concepts. If I stay up late, she tells me to stop hurting her daughter. It’s never me she’s concerned about. So anyway, I tell her I’m an adult, I can eat when I want. Later, when I get up, to get food- she again tells me to eat, and so I tell her I’m just going to the bathroom, and I do. Another hour passes and I’m starving, but then she gets on my case that I haven’t eaten since I got home and I should really eat, and I tell her again that I can choose when to eat, she doesn’t need to decide it for me.”

“So you went to sleep hungry.” Strade concludes. 

“I just… it’s the only way for me to have- to have some semblance of control from her constant commands. Even if I’m sinking the very ship I’m on, at least I get to sink the captain, too.” You click open the glove compartment. There really is a rag, hastily shoved in, and a clinical white bottle of chloroform. “When you’re… in a cage, your whole life, simply choosing not to run on the stupid hamster wheel is the closest thing you get to freedom.”

“Which is why you’re going to knock yourself out.”

“No,” you say flatly, unscrewing the blue cap, “I’ll pass out so I don’t have to hear more of your incessant, victim-blaming drivel.”

You regard the bottle- a square base, a stinging smell, a skull with crossbones warning TOXIC and a neat font instructing for professional dental use ONLY. You feel the weight of it in your palm, and it’s- not that heavy. How many times has he used this? “Inhaling this… can cause mild to severe respiratory or brain damage. It says right there on the label.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, “as will grabbing your head, bashing it into my dashboard, and scrambling your brain until its gray matter stains my car mats. Like I said, it’s completely up to you.”

Your finger twitches, index tracing the rim of the bottle, considering. You could drink it. It would be a much easier, more painless death than whatever this serial killer had in store for you.

Suicide is a sin, you remind yourself firmly, you’ll go to Hell, and that’s worse than whatever this serial killer has in store for you.

You want to. You don’t want to. You…

“Pour just a little, and go from there.” He instructs, and somehow, being given a clear direction helps- makes you automatically move to follow it. Like he'd said, obedience and defiance had paradoxically both been carved into you, woven into your DNA so thoroughly you couldn't extract it without losing yourself entirely. You tip the bottle, but can’t force your hand to do it. The same way that you can’t tickle yourself, same way you can only hold your breath for a little before your body forces itself to breathe, you can’t do something that you know will lead to torture and agony and a slow, awful death.

“I know you can do it, schatzi. For me.” He encourages. You huff. Dunk the chloroform on the rag until the wetness seeps right through the fabric and right into your palm, just as period blood soaks right through a too-thin pad to stain your pants. The smell is sharp, acrid, terrifying-

“Are your eyes watering because of the smell or because you’re scared? ”

You scoff, “you gonna tell me I don't need to be scared?”

“No, you should be. But you shouldn’t be sad. I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t deserve.”

You simmer. You can't believe you'd liked him even for a minute, even for a second. “You’re a terrible person.”

“I know. But most people are, too, and don’t admit it. At least I’m self-aware, no?”

“No.” You shove the rag over your nose just so you can end the conversation, so you don’t have to respond, so you can avoid letting his (blatant, not even attempting to be subtle) gaslighting seep between the cracks of your brain. You smother yourself, clutching the white cloth tight and letting the scent stab into your nostrils- you gag, hack, body’s natural self-preservation kicking in to make you lurch back in the car seat-

“I'm so proud of you.”

So you keep the stained fabric on your nose till you pass out, after all.

When you stir awake, you’re- achy. Sore. Your neck isn't sitting right and there's an awful crick in it, so you swivel it left and right and try to blink the sleep out of your eyes. You don’t panic, because honestly, living with your mother means being shoved in this musty old basement isn’t even in the top 10 scariest things you’ve experienced.

And it is musty. The basement has a mildewy tang in the air, copper (you tell yourself it’s copper) staining the cold concrete floor.

Blindly, you feel for the pressure point at the root of your thumb, and knead it idly as you steady your breathing and think. Think. You try to be smart, be reasonable. What's the logical thing to do here? How can you get out of this?

On the other hand... Why should you? What did you have waiting for you?

It didn't matter who you talked to on Reddit or Discord or Tumblr, you didn't make the close friendships you so desperately craved. Even when going to the library's writing club, and the anime club at the downtown center, you didn't quite click with anyone. And not for lack of trying! You exchanged phone numbers, you went to movies you didn't even like with this person or that, and you never- just never hit it off. No one would miss you, and... you wouldn't miss anyone. 

Whatever dreams you had were rapidly shut down by the reality of the housing crisis, of needing to pay a 200 nonrefundable fee for any apartment you apply for, to pay the security deposit and for the first month's rent upfront- so 3000, easy. And proof of employment. And a salary that's 3 times the monthly rent. your fantasy of a perfect apartment- with big windows flooding the room with sunlight, the walls covered with your own grand paintings, fairy lights draped in every corner-

But you weren't even able to afford gross fast food without a kidnapper/serial killer/kinkster gone too far to buy it for you. 

No career, no friends, no- no love. You'd read so many posts and poems about how love is the center of life and the most important thing and that everything is meaningless without it. When you think of it that way...

Why were you fighting Strade so hard, anyway?

Okay, you decide, okay. This was good. This was great, actually. You've always wanted to die, wanted to commit suicide, but it's a sin. It's forbidden. All murder is wrong- taking someone else's life or your own is a grievous sin, so no matter how deeply you ached for it, no matter how many nights you picked up a kitchen knife and hovered it over your wrist, your throat, you could never bring yourself to plunge it. Because it's wrong.

But... if he killed you... it wouldn't be suicide. You'd be an innocent victim, and how could you be blamed for it? You'd be guilt-free. Sin-free.

This is the best thing that's ever happened to you.

The basement. The stench of rotting meat, rancid blood, and rusted metal flooded your nostrils as you took it in. Though you'd been unconscious when he brought you in, some part of you think that when the heavy door clanged shut behind you, the sound rung and echoed in the hollow basement as a knoll- final, like a death bell. You doubted you'd see the door ever open for you.

While the rational part of your mind, with its built-in survival instincts, panicked and twisted with anxiety, the deeply suicidal part was giddy, thrumming with excitement. You'd die. Your loneliness, your abusive mother, your dead end job- you'd be free. It would be over, permanently done with, and you'd never have to put up with life ever again.

Staring at the closed basement door, you almost wanted to thank Strade for being your saving grace. 

Maybe he was the answer to your prayers: "None of you should wish for death because of a calamity befalling him; but if he has to wish for death, he should say: "O Allah! Keep me alive as long as life is better for me, and let me die if death is better for me. ' "

It had been comforting, in a morbid sense. Even then, 1400 years ago, people had still wished for death, had still found a way to ask for it outside of committing it themselves.

Bizarrely, neither your arms nor legs are restrained. It's almost insulting that he doesn't see the need to tie you up, to ensure you don't escape. The wall is lined with wrenches and crude pliers, heavy-duty drills and hefty hammers, a circular, electric saw and a- mini fridge?

Maybe torturing made him hungry. 

When he stomps down the stairs, your shoulders jolt- footsteps are always the first sign your mom’s about to come and open your lockless bedroom door.

You almost want to laugh. Being forced to drug yourself to aid him in kidnapping you wasn’t what scared you, being locked in a cold basement where the concrete was stained with blood of victims past didn’t scare you, but footsteps did?

"Hey. What's in the fridge?"

"Human hearts. Want?"

“You’re sick." You observe idly.

He cocks a pearly white grin, eyes bright and eager to get started. “I prefer to use the word interesting.”

He ambles leisurely through the expanse of the basement- opening a drawer, pulling out a knife with a wickedly sharp point. One thick thumb lovingly caressing the black hilt, backing you into a corner- a pipe behind it you imagine you'll be cuffed to at your first sign of disobedience. 

You sink. Sit. Look up at him. 

Let's just get this over with, you want to say, and in that moment decide on the battle strategy that’s gotten you through the worst moments of your life: humor. "Scared?"

You shrug. "I guess? You're kind of hot, in a scary way. Can we make out a little before you-?" You make the quick slicing motion across your throat, universal sign for death. His laugh is a small, short, aborted thing- but it's like he peeled off a gold star and presented the sticker to you as a reward- good job, you're funny. Bonus points for being a cool victim. I am going to get a good grade in victimology, something both normal to want and possible to achieve.

When he dashes the knife across your cheek, you wince, but you're- not sure how to react. Like there’s static in your head, or the Wi-Fi’s gone out: there’s no service, just a pixelated dinosaur with too-small arms and a too-big snout, and you’re lagging. Loading. 

(When your mother yelled at you, you'd experimented with all sorts of ways to respond, trying madly to find what would be the appropriate thing to say or do to make it stop. You'd decided from a young age not to react. She'd call you robotic, scream until she was red in the face and hoarse in the throat that you're not even human, that no normal kid, no sane kid, would be so calm while their mother scrapes her nails into your skin until it bleeds. She gets the most satisfaction when she makes you cry, which is precisely why you never cried for her- even when it would've ended the fight, even when it would've been in the interest of self-preservation- you refuse to cry. To spite her, to prove that you really are coldblooded and subhuman.

But this is different. You don't want to make him angry, or hate you- just want to bore him enough to kill you quick and easy. You'd become so good at looking at someone, knowing what they want from you, and shifting all your pigments like a good little chameleon to suit them. One suicide caller wants you to sympathize with them, the other to talk like a friend, the other to talk like a therapist. Some days your mother wants you to hug her and others she wants you to cry.

You’ve been a performer your whole life. You can do this).

"It..." What would he like to hear? Have you ever spoken without trying to decide what the other party wants? "Hurts." You manage.

"It hurts? Well, I think you can take it."

The way one peels the skin off an apple, peeling it into little ringlets, he bullies the knife into your shoulder. You scream, because he looks like the type to enjoy screams.

But do you want him to enjoy it? If he enjoys it, he might make it last longer. You want a death as soon as possible, hadn't lived this long just to drag it on when it was so, so close. Just within reach.

You endeavor instead to glare at him.

"Don't give me that look, engelein.” He scolds, caressing the knife almost lovingly, “I'm doing this for your own good."

This gives you pause. "What?"

"You need this, the way I need this," the knife goes deeper. You wince harder, even let out a little groan just to please him (holy- you really are pathetic). "You're not built for love, for affection, for basic kindness. Like an animal that evolves to be most fit for its environment, you've evolved to take abuse, and take it well."

"That's literally not how evolution-"

"But aren't you? Made to take it- no protests, no complaints, just a pretty smile. You're the first kumpel I haven't had to tie up, did you know? And most I have to knock out against a wall or the floor, I’ve never gotten someone to do it for me before. You know how pathetic that is? Don't you at least value your life a little? "

“No, not really.” You shrug, keeping your voice a bland monotone. He plunges the knife into your shoulder again "Well, uh, this really hurts. considering I get all squeamish about getting a vaccine from a friendly nurse, this is like. Really bad. I hate it, actually. Can you stop?"

"I would... if you didn’t take me so well.” He twists the knife a little deeper, watching the hot blood gush with idle fascination. He was a little bored, you could tell- could see it in the pinch of his brows, the coil of his shoulders. A few more minutes, at worst, and like a petulant child tired of a new toy, I'll toss you in the dumpster and never pick you up again. Maybe you should scream louder, just to spice it up a little. He'll like that, you think.

Hm. You really are good at taking abuse.

"You're not reacting normally."

"Sorry." You blurt, instinctively. "I'm kind of just waiting for you to, you know, kill me. Though like I mentioned I wouldn't complain if we kissed. Wouldn't be non-con, really."

He tosses the knife to the ground- it clatters, blood splatters- and he returns to the Wall of Tools, plucking something else, turning it over in his thick fingers as he strolls back to you. "Teeth or nails?"

"What?"

"Should I yank out your teeth," he nudges the pliers at your lips, "or your nails?"

"Neither. That would take a while for me to die, like at least an hour from blood loss or- I don't know, can't you just stab me?"

"Only once I've come up with something more fun."

"Like?"

He ponders. Corrects himself. "Only once you've come up with something more fun."

You'd signed up to die- a guilt-free suicide that was technically murder so it's not a sin, really- not for agonizing, excruciating torture. You could lunge for the knife- stab him or yourself, but if you killed yourself, it would be suicide...

Why did this have to be so complicated?

"I think we should play a game."

"No thanks."

He leans in. "The louder you scream, the more I hurt you."

"But I'm not screaming?"

The pliers pinched your thumbnail. Strade grinned wide and wicked and white, eyes flooded with mania and, at your little pathetic whine as he pinched the pliers tighter, his face flushed pink with pleasure.

"Shhh... it's okay." One large, open palm cups the cheek he'd cut earlier, nails digging in to widen the wound. It's calloused and rough, as you'd expect, but the warmth it exudes is sickeningly, paradoxically soothing. "Be good and just let it happen- and don't hold out on me. I want nothing more than to hear you cry, so feel free to show me just how much it hurts."

Tears prickle your eyes- instantly, your mind switches to your dream apartment, your dissociative happy place, its twinkling fairy lights and warm sunlight and everything else you conjured to mind when your mother hit you. It was an almost Pavlovian response at this point- kept you from screaming, kept you from crying, kept you cool and calm even when you're bruised as a peach tumbling down the stairs.

"Scared yet?" You feel your nail fissuring, sickening crunching as the metal crushed the flimsy nail like thin chips.

"No. Disappointed since you've neither killed nor kissed me, which are literally the only two things I've asked for. Bit rude really."

("Stop whining or I'll give you something to cry about!"

You snort, "clearly, you already have.")

Yeah. Joking always helps.

He tugs at the nail, pulling at the cuticle, extracting the nail right from the root and it hurts. Actually, funnily, hilariously hurts. It's the awful pain of-

(She yanks your hair, slams your head against the wall- even when you crumple to your knees, she doesn't let up, keeps banging your skull against the wall until you believe she'll kill you, actually kill you, all these times she's threatened to kill you and she's finally gone through to it like she swore she would- your brain must be damaged, you're getting a concussion, it's all hazy and foggy and- the fancy apartment and its scented candles are destroyed, out of focus like looking through a bad camera-)

"Please stop- I'll be good- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You look so pretty when you cry."

You hiss between your teeth, sucking in a breath as he pulls and pulls at your nail and- he could do it nice and quick, like ripping off a bandage, but he's making it slow, making it hurt -

"Strade, please, I'm so sorry-"

"What are you apologizing for?" He says it so soothingly it takes you aback. You blink dumbly, seeing him blurred and doubled. "This was always going to happen. Whether you took the easy way or hard way, your fate was sealed when you walked into that restaurant. Nothing you said or did could've saved you."

"So it's... not my fault?"

“Well. I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t make it so easy." His contradictions are muddling your mind. A shard of your nail breaks off, separating entirely from your finger. He's baring his teeth like a feral dog, cornering a pathetic little rodent, going in for the kill- egging you on like a kid at a playground. “You know you deserve this. Go on, tell me you deserve it. I want to hear you say it.”

You don’t understand him. You don’t think you’re supposed to, either. He’s so caught up in his own ecstasy, as if drunk, as if high, nonsensical blissed-out words slurring together.

The other half of your nail chips off- the metal pliers soaked in oozing blood and- nails don't grow back if you remove them entirely, do they? Would the blood loss be enough to finally kill you, or will you have to put up with this nine more times? What if he really does go for your teeth next?

Bits of your nail still cling to your cuticles, stubbornly, desperately. He sets the pliers aside, cupping his palms under your gushing hand like a supplication, dragging it up to trace the pad of his thumb over your lips, like painting lipstick. He smears the blood along your cheeks, and smiles proudly. "Aren't you just the blushing bride, all dolled up? You should see how you look. Oh, how I want to preserve it in time. But, there’s this last stubborn bit of your nail that just-” tug, “won’t-” tug, “budge.” You don’t think that’s true. You know full well he’s strong enough to overpower some puny splinter of a nail, that he’s drawing it out the same reason you’d slow down a walk, turn it into a stroll, just to enjoy it a little longer. “Would you mind getting it out for me?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I would mind ripping my own nail out. Obviously. What kind of dumb question is that.”

“It-”

“Has anyone ever said they don’t mind? Don’t answer that: of course they have, masochism and all. Although this is horrendous BDSM etiquette since we haven’t established a safeword. We can do the traffic light system, if you’d like?”

“This isn’t BDSM.”

“Oh? You’re saying this isn’t blatantly Dom/sub?”

Strade lowers the pliers. “You’re sort of ruining this for me.”

“Really?” You lean forward, “I must be getting on your nerves. Wouldn’t it be nice just to pick a knife and kill me? It must’ve skipped from fun to annoying to infuriating. Maybe you should just finish me off.”

But he’s nothing if not relentless. He shoves the pliers into your hands. “Either rip out the rest of this nail, or I get started on your index finger.”

“How about we do literally anything else. Or, if your patience is wearing thin, why not just do what you really want and end me already? Come on. You know you want to.”

He cocks an eyebrow, but his smile's all gone. Good. “Tear off your thumbnail, or I have nine more to go. Now.”

It’s a forked road. You have to make precisely the right dialogue choice to ensure your death is as quick and painless as possible. He’s got to stop dragging this out. But nothing you do seems to be working, and while it might’ve been frustrating to him, it was nothing short of infuriating to you. You wanted only get it over with but he just won’t kill you.

Yet you’re pretty sure he really will follow through on his threat, and you’re quite literally attached to your nails, so you grumble and complain and rip off what remains of your thumb’s nail anyway.

He doesn’t praise you, like before. Doesn’t assure you or soothe you or even touch you affectionately, like earlier.

(Somehow, that’s the most upsetting part yet).

The knife he'd used on your face, on your shoulder, is still within reach. If you could just...

When he's satisfied, when he leaves you, you decide this wasn't worth it. You'll just- be homeless. Get shot by a cop for loitering. Quicker and easier.

Wildly, you grab for the nearest pressure point you can reach and push at it and it just doesn’t work. Your arteries are pumping wildly, blood gushing from your shoulder, from your thumb- where your nail should be, and- it’s not on the floor. You don’t see it. Did he take it?

Of course he did.

Your muscles and every vein and sinew beg for relief and in your haze of pain, of desperation, you manage to crawl to the stairs. Consider your chances. Maybe he’ll push you down the stairs, that’ll be nice.

Or maybe he went out and you can sneak into the kitchens and- and- 

The door, of course, is locked when you reach the top of the stairs. But there's... talking.

"If you really loved me, you'd understand why I have to do this." Strade's voice answers. "Prove to me that you're worthy of my love, and maybe I'll let up on you a little."

"I do! I swear, I do! I love you more than I love anyone-! How can I prove-?" 

"If you behave and do as I say, maybe I'll believe you." Strade's voice is- strange. Taunting, but the sort of affectionate patronization of a parent to a baby. "You'll earn my affection when you start acting like you deserve it. Until then, you're on your own." 

"I'm sorry, it's... just- well." The voice is walking on eggshells but it’s not at all the same panic you have: panic is new and in the moment, but his fear is practiced, familiar.

You press your ear against the cold metal door. "What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm the only one who'd bother listening to you anyway." 

"I just get a little bored, that's all. I would- I finished the manga you bought me, read it again and again- I'd just like something new to read. That's all." This voice is weak, almost indecipherable in its shyness. 

It's terrifying to think Strade would keep any of his victims alive. The thought of enduring one more hour- let alone weeks, months- of this, nearly pushed you to despair. To the knife that's still waiting to be put to good use. 

He sighs like he's all inconvenienced and put-out and you hate that sound, recognize it from your own life, how one breath translates to: you're demanding and entitled and your very existence is a burden to me, and to everyone, and how dare you be so ungrateful as to ask for more? You feel a fierce need both to help whoever is on the other side, and a scorching loathing for Strade. "You’re lucky you’re so special; wouldn’t tolerate you being such a spoiled brat otherwise.”

But after some more mutters and sniveling, Strade's strong, steady footsteps recede- he's going shopping, you think. An opening to escape from this maniac and get killed in a more efficient, painless way. You wait till you no longer hear him at all.

When the metal door opens, you startle- stumble, would fall right down the stairs and break your neck- when a frail hand catches you, steadies you.

"I could've died," you say breathlessly, 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle-"

"I could've died,” you repeat, furious, “quick, easy, and free- no torture, no suicide, just a tumble down the stairs- but you just had to save me."

“S- sorry? I think?” 

“You should be. It would’ve been such a good way to go.”

“Let’s uh, try again,” he clears his throat, “hi. I’m Ren.”

[ronearoundblindly]

WAIT jimmy + a kiss in public

Strange New World, a tale for Valentine's Day 2024

Jimmy Dobyne x professor!reader from Common Education

Summary: After years of this secret, on-and-off relationship with Jimmy (a student only a few years younger than you), he's determined to make it official before his graduation.

Warnings for a man who knows what he wants ⚠️woah boi⚠️, referenced smutty times, and Jimmy maybe turning me into a fan of the South g'damn. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 2k

You hate the habit and the smell, but at least James Dobyne’s smoking makes him predictable.

He’s a sculpted, contrasting vision in his crisp suit, something majestic about the billowing plumes pushed so deftly from his mouth. It warms you even though the breeze envelops your shoulders and flutters the black satin of your gown.

The Dean’s List party—a formal celebration for the upcoming graduates—is always a big deal for students and faculty, and it just so happens to be the only campus event where you both have had reason to attend.

Just not together.

None of these people really know about you. Jimmy is not a major in your field, and he hasn’t been in a class of yours for over three years now, but you’re still hesitant to ‘come out’ as a couple. This party doesn’t even involve plus-ones. It’s more taboo to be seen as a pair here than anywhere else.

Instead, you’ve found him outside with his vice.

 He sees you immediately, taking a long drag of his cigarette, blatantly undressing you with his eyes, not unlike how he left hot kisses up your skin while he zipped you up two hours ago.

You grin and swing the skirt of your dress playfully. “Wha’ch’doing?”

The searing tip dies out while Jimmy cracks his own smile.

“Tryna cover the taste of ya,” he husks, wiping the corner of his mouth.

You strain to hold your amusement though your thoughts are transported to when he helped you with the small clasp on your strappy heels and slid his hand all the way up your leg. He snapped the gusset of your panties for fun before moving them aside.

You have to clear your throat. “And the whole dinner you just ate couldn’t do that?”

“No,” he adds slyly. He’s natural and happy as he leans in, reaching for a hug and a kiss, but you panic.

“Jimmy, not here.”

“Why not? We came here from the same apartment.” He has the wherewithal to lower his voice, exhaling another puff of smoke. “I sleep at your’s most nights. That whole crowd is celebrating a bunch of kids graduating out of this system, so if not here, and if not now, when?”

You can’t resist pointing out his own word. “Kids…”

He straightens, stance defensive and eyes detached, the picture of a film noir character.

“If you had your way, you’d only acknowledge I exist once I’m good and gone, Teach—” he flicks ash off the cig “—tucked back away in Tennessee.”

“That’s not true,” you deflate at the mention of him leaving.

You want to hold him, you really do, but your whole body screams in awareness of the few others loitering outside the event for a minute of fresh air.

“Well, that’s what it feels like.” He stomps out the butt of his cigarette. “They do this every year, don’t they? Fair to say they expect us to mingle.

“Then let’s mingle. And you—“ Jimmy reaches out again, sure to tough your bare neck this time “—are gonna call me your boyfriend.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He uses the same finger to brush away one of your dangling earrings. “Introduce me as your boyfriend to someone here, right now.”

“People don’t need to know we’ve been…intimate,” you gulp back.

“Intimacies often end up in marriage. People’d know about that, wouldn’t they? Eventually.”

“Jimmy…”

You don’t know whether to run away or drop your panties at the dark look he pins you with, but that is the exact problem.

You’re worried about how the man who fucked you in the dress on your kitchen counter earlier—the one who called you greedy for desperately begging to come a second time before leaving the apartment—is going to behave in public to your colleagues. You’ve had to be so careful for years, and you fear the very real possibility that Jimmy will break. He might not care about his reputation, but you do; you have to care.

Quietly, you ask, “and what if I can’t do it?”

He looks around, clearly disappointed.

“Woman,” he huffs, standing within an inch but making no contact with any part of you, “I’m sayin’ if you can’t choose us, then we never existed.”

He has every right. You’ve been at war with your heart all these years, and it’s high time you declare a victor.

Jimmy Dobyne is twenty-eight years old, and he’s more than proven he adores you. It’s only at your insistence this has been secret for so long.

You give in.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” he beams, giddy and boyish, and you hope beyond hope that he’ll keep it together.

He offers his arm. You take it, thrilled at the substance of the thick sleeve. The moment does feel fancy and official.

As you pass beneath the archway inside though, you round on him.

“But under no circumstances are you to call me ‘Teach,’ got it?” Because that’s all you need to really blow up your life.

Jimmy holds your hand fast to the crook of his arm, bowing his head ever-so slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes but accept, stepping into the noisy, enormous ballroom, together, his hand still sheltering yours.

“Don’t worry. I’mma pick the stuffiest looking guy,” Jimmy muses, “someone so aloof ‘e won’t care a lick what you’re even saying.”

That’s when you see him—your ex.

The man who wrecked the flow of your life and trampled on your self-esteem is talking to a pretty, young colleague, and Jimmy is steering you right for them.

“Not him,” you hiss, savagely gripping Jimmy’s arm.

“Why not?”

“I’m telling you. Please, don’t—”

“Too late. I’ve made eye contact.”

Tyler is rarely at these function, and if it weren’t a university-wide event, he likely wouldn’t be here now. That was the beauty of polar-opposite departments; it served you well until the one only moment you needed it to serve you.

“Long time, no see.”

Bespectacled with salty streaks in his dark hair and a haughty expression that radiates superiority, you are not surprised Tyler fit the criteria for men-who-don’t-listen. You force a smile anyway.

“Tyler…it’s been a while.” Do not faint. Do not punch him. Do not tip that bastard’s scotch right into his face. “Jimmy,” you motion. “This is Tyler Brinwood.”

 “Doctor Tyler Brinwood,” he corrects, “and this is Giselle Whitley, my department co-chair.”

Of course. Of fucking course.

For a man so consistently belittling of your education, god forbid you forget about his.

“Oh, yes, Missus Whitley—“ whose husband is a well-known banker and about two decades older “—I’ve heard great things. You’ve been a wiz at securing funding.”

“Thank you. It’s a lot harder than it looks,” she says with a wink.

Jimmy makes it clear he doesn’t recognize either name, and he wouldn’t because you’ve never talked about it, ever.

You snap back to the point of this horror show.

“Tyler, Giselle, this is James Dobyne.” A sharp breath in flares your nostrils. “My boyfriend.”

Your ex chuckles in the most humorless way.

“Interesting. Certainly giving the term ‘boy’ a run for its money, eh, Dusty?” He takes a sip of his scotch and looks to Giselle and then you for validation.

“What did you just call her?” Jimmy asks flatly, a hard edge to his tone that implies volumes of distaste.

“It’s about the smell of old books, that’s all.” Tyler can’t believe no one else finds this amusing.

Jimmy is more shocked by this stuffy, tactless man than when he walked up. “Why would you call a lady ‘dusty’?”

Giselle makes a face. “I’m afraid I agree with Mister Dobyne.”

You hope it chafes Tyler that his own friend already remembers Jimmy’s name.

“Well…” Tyler licks his lips and waves his free hand dismissively. “Old friends have…inside jokes.”

You’re not laughing. You’re actually about ready to crawl into a hole and seal it with a boulder.

“Giving that term ‘old’ a run for its money, huh, Brentwood,” Jimmy rumbles in the most sincerely cruel voice you’ve ever heard from him.

If you could carry just one photograph with you for the rest of your life, it would be a shot of Tyler’s face right there.

“It’s Brinwood.”

Giselle discreetly covers her grin with a large swig of her white wine. The men continue to stare each other down.

“So Jaime—“ asshole, you think “—are you a history major?”

Jimmy lets that slide. “Business.”

“Ah yes, the most common curriculum at this prestigious institution. Plan to do anything with your degree?”

Boisterous, pompous mother-fucker, you internally rage. You have the urge to spin around and leave without another word.

“Actually,” Jimmy starts with excitement, curling his arm around your waist as if sensing your will to run, “I took over my family’s general store when I was fourteen—nineteen, if you looked at the official paperwork—and I plan to expand the parking lot into a permanent farmer’s market.” He waits for Tyler, but there’s no immediate response. “I’m sorry, did you follow that? What do you study again?”

“I teach mathematics.”

“No shame in that,” Jimmy adds easily. “Love numbers. Been keeping the books since I was in elementary school.”

“Pure mathematics,” Tyler specifies, bitterness souring his already puckered look.

Jimmy sucks at his teeth in mock admiration.

“Wow. You plannin’ to…do anything with that?”

The silence that follows is palpable.

Giselle snorts while you try to corale a runaway, bug-eyed expression. If you had a drink in your hand, you would have choked.

When Tyler continues to frown, Jimmy looks at you and smiles sweetly, no hint of judgment for your ex’s behavior to be found.

“Ready, beautiful?” He rubs the satin at your side, and Jimmy cannot possibly understand how comforted you are by his presence.

Then he turns back, his point made, the ultimatum complete.

“If you’ll excuse us, it was nice to meet you, doctor, ma’am, but we’ve got a lot of mingling to do before the night’s over.”

He kisses your temple, a gesture somehow more intimate than if he’d bent you backwards and made out with you. It implies you’ve already done that. He’s announcing this isn’t new. Jimmy’s showing that he is neither a boy, nor a recent addition to your life, and that Tyler is, in fact, an old-old friend no longer inside your sphere.

Tyler’s niceties are barely audible, but Giselle wiggles her fingers with a cute “tohdaloo.”

Jimmy guides you through a throng of faceless people. You realize it doesn’t matter who sees you because none of them matter to this: to you and Jimmy. This is the pair of you, a couple, a girlfriend and a boyfriend and no one else. 

Your boyfriend keeps you glued to his side until you stop at the bar. He releases your hip so you can face him, his crooked finger holding your chin high.

There’s a loving sympathy in his soft blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Jimmy whispers and gently kisses your lips, hardly enough to transfer your lipstick. Regardless, he checks the supple line with a sweep of his thumb. “Sorry I picked that guy though.”

Jimmy’s shrug of apology is plenty.

He might never understand, but that little interaction has soothed more fears than you could ever voice about how real what you have with Jimmy is.

Jimmy comes from a simple life. It’s straight-forward and without fuss. You do the chore; the chore is done. Rarely do social complications come up. Rarely would emotions derail the success of that work. New York is different, and it’s felt so wrong to expose a man brought up so simply, so wholesomely, to that complex and unfair game of egos. 

He deserves a simple love, but you do not live in a simple world.

And yet, you already love him.

Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt ⬅️ ➡️ Ransom Drysdale and a kiss out of spite

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts

[oracleact]

You can totally choose to look past this cuz it might be a lot (Tw trauma?) I just got Carried, you know when Carrie (from the movie) she gets a bucked full of blood over her head on prom? A guy asked me out and to my surprise, I was blessed with ketchup, eggs and flour by him and his friends, the subway didn’t let me in and no Uber would accept me getting in a car, so I had to walk home. No one asked me what was wrong

I’m still processing that actually happened,. I’m assuming it’s bc of my weight, I’m tall and overweight, I mainly keeps things to myself, am a introvert, idk what other thing could be a reason besides my body. Could you please write a comfort scenario with the tmnt boys? Or one of them, you can choose, Could be platonic, romantic, idk, just reader (who’s usually friendly but don’t talk much about their romantic life cuz they don’t feel like it’s worth investing time, and when they finally decide to change that, thst happens) crying as a mess in front of them for the first time, saying they are tired of living in a body that feels more of a curse than anything,

It’s a lot, I know, you can delete this if you aren’t comfortable doing it (I’m 100% serious)

Thank you Eitherway and hope you have a good day

first of all, I’m so sorry that happened to you. back in high school, I was doused after classes so I can definitely understand your pain here. they are absolutely pathetic for even thinking about doing that to someone; they are total assholes because they acted on it too and I wish for it to haunt them one day when (or if) they mature. you did amazing on your way home that day - I hope that, with time, things will get better for you. you deserve great things. I haven’t written anything with all of the boys before but I wanted to give it a try for you to cheer you up. I wish you well, and I hope you can find comfort in our wonderful turtles!

« got your back »

tmnt x reader / angst + fluff

notes: 1.6k words, all turtles included, platonic relationship, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used,) first person pov, I was thinking of 2012 tmnt while writing this but it probably fits with most iterations.

I can’t believe I’m walking home in the dark, completely covered in miscellaneous goop. I’m glad I didn’t tell anyone about the date that was supposed to happen tonight because, if someone saw me right now, I don’t know what I would do. no public transport let me on covered in eggs and flour, the same for taxis, so now I’m stuck dragging myself home by my own two feet. they are awfully heavy despite my hurry to get back which doesn’t seem fair at all - it’s like my body is laughing at me in equal measure to the rest of the crowd back there.

put your head down and keep walking, put your head down and keep walking, put your—

“hey guys, look!” I stop in my tracks as soon as I hear that voice echo through the night sky. it sounded too much like mikey to simply ignore it.

“mikey, for the last time, shh! ninjas, remember?” that was definitely leo. they all must be up on a roof somewhere but I don’t dare to look up. my feet won’t move anymore regardless, they’re refusing to pick up and run. my body really does hate me tonight huh?

“mikey is right though, look down - hey there!” I slowly crane my neck towards the sound of their chatters and am met with possibly the worst sight I could see at this exact moment: all four of my mutant friends standing on a nearby roof, just as I suspected.

“hi everyone,” I give an awkward wave as they stare down at me.

“want to meet up at the entrance to the lair to hang? we’re just heading back,” raph calls out.

I need a plan, and fast.

thankfully, they can’t see that I’m covered in mush from where they are, but if I go to the lair then that will change. however, if I say ‘no’ to hanging out with them then they’ll get suspicious anyway and follow after me. they’re my best friends, my favourite thing in the whole world is hanging out with them. even if I genuinely can’t hang out we still find a loophole to be together.

either of these choices leaves me doomed to talk about this disaster of a night eventually so…

“sure, you go ahead and I’ll be there in a second.”

…I go with option one.

I knew the boys would get there first so I’ve had more time to come up with some lame lie before I face them: one point to me. I slap on a brave face and a ridiculously wide smile in the hopes that it would distract them from what I have going on all over my clothes. taking a deep breath, I turn the final corner to enter the lair.

“hey bud!” mikey bursts through the rest of the guys and comes skipping towards me. I freeze and simply wait for him to see me in the light. “woah, what happened to you?”

after hearing mikey’s question, everyone starts to crowd in around me, thinking I had been hurt or something on the way here. to their surprise, I have no cuts or scrapes…just a bunch of different types of produce in my hair. they begin to mutter more questions but my mind is too hazy to hear them clearly, opting to stand there and stare into the space behind them. leo notices me zoning out pretty quickly and leads me to the seating area in the middle of the lair by my arm, the rest of the boys following with worry in their eyes.

I sit down on the couch; raph bends down in front of me, donnie sits on my right, mikey hangs over the back of the couch to lean on my left, and leo rests his hands on my shoulders from behind me.

“who did this to you? I’ll kill them, I’ll punch them into the ground I swear to god—“

“raph, calm down. we need to know what happened first before we start going haywire.” I’ve never seen donnie look so aggravated before. it looks like he secretly wants to join in with raph’s immediate anger instead of acting ‘rationally’ this time.

“no need for punching anyone or anything ha! I— uh— tripped while I was walking home and fell straight into a pile of garbage surrounding a dumpster. how clumsy of me ha! I’m so silly. I wasn’t watching where I was going and it was dark so…” my words trail off as I finally look directly at my friends. none of them are believing this story at all.

“tell us the truth, it’s alright. you’re safe here.” leo speaks with such a warm tone, it makes holding back my tears even harder than it already was.

“I’m fine! I promise I’m fine, really I just tripped!” I force my lips into a thin line, trying to twist them into some kind of smile, until mikey pokes at my cheek. I turn to him.

“please tell us what’s wrong.” is he giving me puppy eyes? damn it mikey…

I couldn’t push back my tears any longer and the flood gates exploded. I was in hysterics, sobbing so loudly it bounced off the walls of the lair. I couldn’t stop, each sob rippled through me and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. the boys cooed at me, all of them placing a hand somewhere on my body to ground me and to let me know that I’m not alone as I cried. they tried still asking me questions but I couldn’t get out any words, only heartbreaking whimpers left my mouth. they accepted their fate of silent sobs though and simply stayed beside me.

after a while, I’ve calmed down slightly, and I see the boys look at each other and nod in the corner of my blurry eyes. then, all of a sudden, raph and leo run off. they come back not long after with a basin of water, towels and some other things that I can’t quite see cradled in their large hands. my curiosity is answered in a split second though as the four begin to wipe away the dirt that covers me, still allowing me to ride out my cries in the meantime.

raph gets back into his bent position to gently clean my face, donnie and mikey clean down my arms, and leo starts to brush my hair the best that he can. it must be a brush that april keeps here at the lair, since I don’t think I’ve left one here before.

they continued like this - softly wiping and rinsing - until they were sure that they had done all they can do to rid me of this sticky mess, and until I was able to stabilise my breathing and speak somewhat clearly again.

“april is going to be mad that you got ketchup on her hairbrush,” I say lowly between hiccups. leo laughs and assures me that the brush is perfectly fine; no need to worry.

it is silent (apart from the sound of my sniffling) while they put down their tools and clear them away from the couch, until donnie speaks, “we don’t want to push you to talk but we are here to listen if you want to.”

maybe it is finally time to talk about it. as much as I don’t want to, I think I need to. I’m always the one with a bright smile and cheery attitude but I need to let that go for now. I need comfort, and I need to admit that to myself - even if it’s for this singular moment.

I begin to explain the story of the date and how it went terribly wrong - just the vital details to build the story rather than adding my feelings about it. being vulnerable like this isn’t my strong point so I need to prepare myself to talk about that part with truth and from the heart.

I can see the pure rage in raph’s eyes as he sits in front of me, his teeth grinding together and a low growl coming out of him. he goes to say something but donnie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. he gives red a pat and he seems to understand what he is signalling, inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed before fixing his posture to listen to me again.

“you know, I don’t know if I want raph to rough up him or rough up me at this point,” I let out a laugh to try and soften the atmosphere but the expressions of the boys tell me that it didn’t work. they look confused; sad. “a good rough up might fix whatever is wrong with me, because it’s obviously me. look at me! why else would he have made plans to humiliate me like that? what do I need to punch into shape - the way I look? the way I act?” I laugh again with the same intent as earlier despite knowing that it is going to do nothing to lessen the impact of my words.

“did he specifically make you feel like that?” raph says through gritted teeth, “that you’re not good enough?”

“no, I guess I’ve been feeling that way for a while. he just made it worse - a lot worse.” my eyes start to burn again with more tears. I’m surprised I’m not dehydrated yet.

mikey grabs my face in his hands, his eyes also look clouded with tears, “you are so beautiful. really, you are. I remember when I first saw you I was like ‘woah, they’re even prettier than the humans I see on tv!’ you don’t need to change anything about the way you look, I can tell you that for sure.”

“nor do you need to change anything about your personality or how you act,” donnie chimes in. “why do you think we like you so much? you’re awesome! you’re smart, kind, caring, plus you treat us like we’re golden and we’re literally in the sewers right now,” we all giggle at the last statement he makes.

leo pats me on the head, signally me to look up towards him, “you are the greatest friend we could have ever asked for, and if we need to remind you of that more then we will. you deserve to feel that you’re worthy and loved and I can tell you with certainty that you are when you’re here with us. there’s no need to hide from us, we’ve got you’re back.”

raph grabs my hand, “and seriously, if you want us to go and talk to that guy we will.”

“raph!” the others shout. I laugh at the slight panic hiding in their voices - it’s fully directed at their brother and his fists.

“what?! I said talk not bash into the ground so what do you want from me?!”

[hannahssimblr]

I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy. 

“How did it go?” I say. 

“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”

“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”

“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”

She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”

“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”

“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”

“I think so.”

“What if we don’t get in?”

“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Something else will work out, right?”

“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car. 

The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows. 

“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.

This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that. 

“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”

“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”

“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”

I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further. 

“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”

“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”

“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”

“Money? Money is not an issue.”

“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”

“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”

And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[majaurukalo]

To understand disability issues better there needs to be a serious talk about the link between disability and freedom of choice (or lack thereof).

Western society loves to brag about freedom of choice in terms of being free to do and say and think whatever (we have seen a lot of it during lockdown and regarding vaccine and such and from that it became clear that people don’t really know what “freedom” really means).

So let me straight up tell you that we, disabled people (not all but a lot of us) don’t have much freedom of choice.

First of all, if you consider inaccessibility, we are not free to go wherever we want or socialise or work wherever or attend any kind of universities or schools (yes, I know people who had to give up going to the uni or school of their dreams because they didn’t want/couldn’t provide accessibility).

If an able-bodied person has to find any kind of job to not end up homeless or starve they can do whatever minimum wage job that involves physical strain until they are back on their feet. This is not possible for some disabled people (like me). So this leaves me (us) out of some choices. And in a precarious financial situation.

Some disabled people aren’t free to go to certain shops or restaurants or bars or shows or events etc. because of inaccessibility.

Disabled people who need assistance to travel with public transport can’t choose to travel on their own terms or jump on a last-minute trip because assistance needs to be booked 24 hour earlier in most cases (and some require even 48 hours).

Disabled people can’t always choose the cheapest option because that is usually inaccessible for us so we have to spend more money and not because we like fancy stuff. Also, disabled people are the poorest community and in some countries you can’t have more than a certain amount of money in your bank account if you don’t want to see your benefits gone (benefits that, I highlight, are essential for our survival) so we cannot even climb the social ladder. Another layer of choice stripped away from us.

Disabled people can’t chose where to live or who to live with. Some disabled people need assistance and, since finding a PA is hard and they need to be paid, some of us have to live with our parents or family members and if they are abusive or the relationship isn’t working we can’t just decide to walk out. Because who is gonna help us then? That’s why a lot of abuse towards disabled people remains undiscovered. Some disabled people can’t even acknowledge it and report it.

Many of us can’t just move away from a city or a country because our well-being is tied to a supporting network that we wouldn’t find anywhere else. Not to mention doctors and medications that might not be available somewhere else. So if we complain about the situation of the place we live or that we don’t like to live where we live, it’s not so easy for us to leave everything and move somewhere else (for some it’s impossible).

Disabled people aren’t always free to choose to have kids. The medical system and society’s prejudices make it hard for disabled parents to have kids and there is always a lot of judgment towards disabled parents, especially mothers. Many of us risk to have our children taken away by social workers.

Disabled people don’t have the freedom to choose for their own bodies.

I’m sure I’m forgetting something else but these are the things that worry me the most, regarding my own life and the life of my community.

The only thing this society seems pretty happy to make us choose is assistive dying.

But please, tell me again that we are in it for the money. That we have benefits so we don’t have to work and lazy around all day. Tell me that our lives must be easy.

Even on my off days I’m not free to choose what to do because I might have a flare up, I might be in pain, I might have to go to the doctor.

Oh and one last thing: your freedom to not get your vaccine hinders someone’s freedom to go around. Someone’s freedom to live.

For some reason, this society is quick to judge and justify everything that keeps away disabled people’s choices.

Some able-bodied people think that it is okay to equal disability to a lower quality of life but that lower quality of life depends only on external factors and could be easily improved.

Fuck you!

[seasons-beatings]

Happy holidays, @melpomenelamusa!

Elafi groaned, feeling slightly like an idiot.

Warrick wasn’t home. He’d gone to some town for supplies or something- Elafi had been distracted by the fresh autumn rain and hadn’t listened very well. It was ten hours away, and Warrick had taken the pickup truck, and would be back in three or four days. That was yesterday.

Today, Elafi had gone for a walk. He’d found some berries that looked quite similar to the poisonous ones he’d eaten before. Not quite the same though. Confident that he wouldn’t get it wrong twice, and quite hungry, he’d eaten a ton.

Of course, after an hour or two, Elafi felt sick. Very sick. He’d stumbled back to the cabin before remembering that Warrick wasn’t home. Painfully, he’d tried to remember what Warrick had said last time. He’d only had a few then… didn’t Warrick say something about them being deadly in larger amounts? Or was it that they weren’t deadly? His mind had been foggy, and he couldn't remember. Somehow, in his nauseous state, he’d made his way to the hospital in the nearby little town.

Elafi looked around. His skin was still clammy, and his stomach felt weird, but he was definitely feeling better. He was on a rather uncomfortable hospital bed, in a hospital room with the privacy curtains drawn. He fumbled around a bit, looking for the call button, but two guys in white coats walked in before he found it.

“Oh, hi! Uh, can someone explain to me what.. happened, exactly?” Elafi’s excitement quickly dulled as the men entered the space. Something about them felt just slightly off. It was a feeling Elafi had gotten used to when in public, and living in the woods with Warrick had almost made him forget. His ears lay in his neck, and he imperceptibly shifted, slightly away from them. They might not be dangerous, but they probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

The two men exchanged a glance before one spoke, in a slightly condescending voice.

“You arrived here delirious, upsetting the patients, talking about berries. We pumped your stomach and did a quick check-up. Asides from the cut off antler, which seems to be an old injury, you’re in great health. Any other questions?”

Elafi slowly shook his head, indicating no other questions. “I’m dismissed?”

That wasn’t technically a question, right?

The other man, the one who hadn’t said anything yet, spoke up. “We’ve contacted the proper authorities and arranged for transport early tomorrow morning. We’ve also agreed to host you here for the night until the transport guys get here - “

“Transport? What do you mean, transport?”, Elafi hesitantly interrupted.

“There’s a suitable place for people like you. You’ll be transported in the morning. There is a guard outside your door, for your information. That’ll be all.”

Cold shivers fell down his spine as he realised what was said. Before he could process enough to respond or ask more questions, they left. Fuck, not again. Transport? What did that mean? Elafi silently resented the vague wording.

Warrick didn’t know where he was, he realised with a shock. He hadn’t left a note or anything. Would Warrick be able to find him? To get him back? Elafi didn’t wanna be transported anywhere. He wanted to live in the woods with Warrick. He enjoyed living in the woods with Warrick. Why couldn’t everyone else just leave him alone!?

He let himself drop to the bed he was sitting on, ears twitching as he quietly sobbed. Why did he have to eat those berries? He didn’t want this. Why did he have to go to the hospital! Why did he have to forget to leave a note for Warrick!? Wherever they were taking him in the morning, it would be at least a day before Warrick would even know he was taken. The cheerful tune stuck in Elafi’s head only served to increase his desperation.

The next morning, he warily eyed the fellows that had walked in. They were wearing overalls, with grime stuck under their nails, and a build that suggested trying to put up a fight would be futile. Elafi swallowed. He could try to run, or struggle, but… it wouldn’t help. He didn’t know where he was going… he would end up going even if he struggled or tried to run. Maybe it was better not to do something rash that might result in punishment later.

Even as all his instincts screamed at him, Elafi held still as they approached him with the type of disinterest and caution one would show a wild dog.

When they cuffed and collared him, it became much easier to hold still. The flashbacks running through his mind held him quiet and, mostly, compliant. He didn’t notice much of his surroundings, eyes glazed. Then, a sound startled him back into reality. He drew a sharp breath of air and blinked, ears perking up in alarm. A cage had been locked. A cage that he was in, elevated from the ground. Outside? No, he was… he was in the back of a van.

In a cage in the back of a van.

…

Shit.

“Yeah, it was more docile than expected, headed over to y'all's now, we should be there by nightfall.”

The low crackle of a walkie-talkie startled Elafi, and his ears turned to the source before his head did. His antler got caught on the top of the cage, so it took a second before he could turn to look at the man standing beside him, outside of the car. It was one of the guys from before, in overalls. He only got a glimpse before the man shut the back doors of the van with a resounding thwack. Elafi flinched, which once again got his antler stuck in the top of the cage. The back of the van had no windows, and he could barely see. The cage wasn’t very large, but luckily, neither was Elafi. After using his hands to figure out what was wrong with his antler and getting it unstuck, he carefully laid down sideways. He shuffled until his hooves hit the back of the cage on one side, so that his antler would be as far away from the other side as possible. Curled up, he sighed and sniffed, allowing himself a moment of-

The engine started, and a momentum that hadn’t been there before had his hooves pressing uncomfortably into the metal squares of the cage. His arms shot out to the sides of the cage as he yelped involuntarily. The van turned around before starting to drive normally, and Elafi squeezed his eyes shut. Not that it had much of an effect, just trading one pitch black for another, but it let him wish that he were back at home with Warrick. It was gonna be a long… however long he’d be stuck in this small cage.

It had been… hours, probably. Hours of the van driving, speeding up and slowing, even stopping sometimes. Had it been hours? Not days? Not minutes? Elafi couldn’t tell the time much, other than that he was hungry, and that his legs were cramping from being pulled up for so long, and his whole body was aching from lying on the hard wooden plank in the bottom of the cage. He was grateful that it was there, at least. Lying on top of the cage itself would have been worse. It had been hours and hours when finally, someone opened the doors again.

The daylight, all the sudden sensations & sounds, shocked him after hours in the dark with only the pur of an engine. He saw trees, people, a pathway, a phone- a phone, shoved into his face. Held by a hand that was attached to an arm that was attached to a girl, maybe about his age, with an overly cheerful voice and dark blonde hair. She was wearing some kind of green and orange uniform, like an apron but not quite. It had a name tag that he couldn’t read. She was speaking, he could tell, but it took a second for him to hear words instead of sounds. He looked at the other people. A girl and two guys, a bit older than him- early to mid twenties? And another guy, clearly in charge, about double their age from the looks of it. Clearly not their father, they looked too dissimilar. What then?

Suddenly, his eyes fell on the rest of the scenery. They were all decorated with natural elements, and rather large, so he hadn’t noticed them at first. His blood ran cold when he saw the smooth metal that had been left uncovered.

Cages.

The sounds coming out of the mouth of the girl with the phone sounded like words, now, and he tried to pay attention.

“As you can tell, he seems a bit nervous, but no matter! Here at the zoo, we have ways around that! We’d never want a chimera to lash out because it’s scared- TherianPaws42, your input is not appreciated, we do NOT abuse our chimeras. Each chimera has their own spacious plot tailored specifically to it’s environment. Which is why it’s so great that we’re getting a new deer chimera! As most of you probably know, we had our deer chimera die last year after six decades in the zoo. Her cage is still tailored perfectly to a deer chimera’s needs, so this little guy won’t have to wait for us to set up a plot for him! Okay hold on, I’m gonna see if I can coax him out of there…” The girl was animatedly speaking to her phone, holding it up like she was taking a selfie…. Was she live? Was she an influencer or something?

It was then that Elafi realised the cage door had also been opened. The couldn’t get out of the cage fast enough once he realised, worming his way out, cringing as he bumped his antler for the so manieth time in however many hours.

“Oh wow, look how excited he is! Now let’s hope he doesn’t kick up a fuss while we get him to his plot… luckily, D is up pretty high in the alphabet, so it’s fairly close to the entrance. Oh, have I never explained about the alphabet system here at New Jersey Chimera Zoo?” The girl- ‘Luella’, he read the name tag- was looking at her phone in between speaking, responding to things she saw on the screen. Comments, probably.

She continued to talk about how chimeras were assigned plots alphabetically in a U-shape after the entrance of the zoo. Elafi wasn’t listening.

He tried to keep himself from hyperventilating as he looked at the others. They were all, with the exception of the older man, wearing the same uniform as Luella. They each wore a slightly different shirt beneath it, though. The older man wore a casual brown suit, with plain dark jeans instead of… whatever type of pants people normally wear with a suit. The woman, the one that wasn’t Luella, seemed a bit older than he thought at first once he looked at her. Not old yet either, but just… early thirties, maybe? She might’ve been wearing makeup. She looked… kind. Elafi turned his eyes away.

The guy next to her definitely looked young. Maybe even Elafi’s age. He looked a bit… otherworldly. His skin was bronze, and his hair was longer than most mens’. There was a blue bandana in his hair, covering his hairline, that matched his striking eyes almost perfectly. He seemed… Middle Eastern, maybe? He had broad shoulders, and visible relaxed muscle on his thick arms. The glint in his eyes though… predatory, and far too intense. Elafi suppressed the urge to run away, breathing deeply. The fresh dusk air seemed to help.

The last guy wasn’t particularly remarkable. He was tall, and bulky, but he seemed like a relaxed enough guy that he didn't nearly worry Elafi as much as the other one.

It’s only when he instinctively stopped walking, because Luella stopped and he was following her for some reason, that he realised he was in a cage. ‘Plot’. His eyes widened, but he was a fraction of a second too late. Luella had stepped outside, and the gate closed.

The overstimulation reached a peak. Luella was still yapping at her phone, people were breathing, the air in his lungs was too crisp, too fresh and it was making him nauseous. The light had dimmer considerably once he got used to it but even just having vision seemed too much for him right now. He scrunched his eyes shut, reaching up for his antlers when one hand grasped air, and he fell down a hole of hyperventilation.

“Aww, I think the poor thing’s nervous… Don’t worry about him too much, we’ve got qualified zookeepers to calm it down, look- my amazing colleague is already working with it. I’m sure he’ll acclimatize to his new environment very soon! It usually only takes a few days. In fact, why don’t we ask the zoo manager about it? It’s a very rare occasion to find Mr O’Ryan outside of his office, but he came especially today to make sure our newest chimera settles in okay! Mr O’Ryan, you wouldn’t mind answering some questions for my followers, would you sir?”

His senses overworked themselves until they dulled to almost nothing, and Elafi felt like he was floating. It was peaceful, actually. A steady hand on his shoulder broke through the daze. He wanted to see who it belonged to, and whined when he realised he’d opened his eyes.

His ears turned towards a soft, calming shush. Following with his eyes, he found the other woman. The one that looked kind. She had large eyes, almost like him, and with one soft exhale, most of the panic left his body.

“Hi”, she whispered. “I’m Karessa. What’s your name?”

Elafi opened his mouth to respond, and found he couldn’t. Like something was blocking his throat. He realised slowly that the hand on his shoulder belonged to the woman- Karessa. Belonged to Karessa. She flicked her eyes to the rest of the zookeepers, and Elafi did the same. They were judgmentally staring at… him, or Karessa, or both of them. He couldn’t tell.

She nodded at him with those kind eyes, before retracting her arm through the bars and swiftly getting up and going back to the other zookeepers. Except for the older man, he was gone- and so was Luella. Elafi didn’t care much.

With that, all the people that had been staring left. As soon as Karessa had gotten up, Elafi had almost felt sick. He closed his eyes, imagining his little room at Warrick’s place. He focused on his breathing, deep and low. Tried to ground himself. He’d been surprised to feel dirt and earth, supple under his hooves. He brought his hands to his sides, feeling the ground. Wait, when had he sat down? During his panic attack? Had Karessa-

He banished the thoughts, and focused on calming down. He was okay. He had ground beneath him. There was a tree in the far right corner of the large cage, and grass to the left. A plant he didn’t recognise crept across the bars, disguising them. The feeling of being caged in was unavoidable, but the cage seemed pleasant at least. He had been in much worse situations, as little as less than an hour ago even. The vine-covered bars formed a space that was about the size of a small living room or a large bedroom. The cage included bars overhead and to all sides, but not across the ground, luckily. Past the bars, to his right, was another enclosure. Elafi couldn’t see who was in it, but it seemed to have some kind of water and dark sand. The bars of the cages were connected. To his left, beyond the bars…

There were bars, and they connected to another cage, but the cage wasn’t decorated like a habitat. Instead, there was something smooth, cold, transparent… Glass? There was more, but Elafi couldn’t see it. Curious, he eventually got up. He hesitantly made his way over to the left side of his cage, before a voice from behind startled him.

“You talk?”

It was an old voice, slightly raspy, like a well-working zipper that had rusted over the years without losing it’s ability to keep your things in your pockets. Elafi turned towards it, startled. His ears twitched when he forced himself to answer a small “Yes”.

“Well come over here, kid. I don’t bite… What’s your name, then?”

After a second’s contemplation, Elafi decided to temporarily abandon his exploration of the left side of his cage, and made his way over to the right side. In the last light of the evening, he could more clearly see the man that was talking to him. A chimera, with green scaled skin and a thick, fleshy tail. The palms of his hands and his head could almost pass for regular human, if it hadn’t been for the clearly inhuman green eyes with a slit pupil. He had some wrinkles, and bags under his eyes, and streaks of gray scattered through his beard and hair. His face matched his accent, something Arabic or another.

“Elafi”, he hesitantly offered. “You?”

“Faroon.” The man did something with his right hand as he spoke, before stopping. “Right. You still need to learn. I guess that’ll be my task this time.”

“Learn what?”, Elafi hesitantly asked.

Faroon smiled, not unkindly, in a somewhat nostalgic way. “Sign language. It’s how we talk to each other here. Uh, it’s kind of a tradition, I guess, to teach the new ones. Also, never talk out loud in front of humans. And try to limit the signing… you never know who might speak ASL. Although I’m not quite sure how much our sign still looks like modern ASL… one of the original three chimeras of the zoo was Deaf. I guess there’s some stuff for me to teach you, huh? It’s been a while. I’m sure you have questions, though.”

Elafi, overwhelmed with the new information, latched onto the first thing he’d been thinking. “Are you an alligator or a crocodile? I can’t tell. I’ve never really met another chimera.”

Faroon chuckled, crossing his arms. “Crocodile. Or at least, that’s what it says on the information panel outside my plot. If I was an alligator, I’d be closer to the entrance, over by.. heck, in front of Rini and Aleda and them, even. They’ve got the zoo on their weird type of alphabetical system- “

“Rini and Aleda?”

“Oh, some of the other chimeras here. I’ve never had a conversation with them, but we tell each other stories, cage to cage until it passes through the whole zoo. You can talk to the chimeras next to you, maybe even one plot over. And once you learn to sign, you can talk to the ones opposite from you, as long as no one else’s around. Which means sundays, early mornings, and late afternoons. There Isn't enough light to see each other at night. Well, early afternoons won’t be for long either, once the sun starts setting sooner. I think it’s almost wintertime.”

Elafi nodded slowly. “I.. am I stuck here? I mean, I know I’m in a cage… but, like.. has anyone ever..? Or do they… “

Faroon's face fell a little, taking on an empathic expression, like Elafi was discovering something he had already grieved for. He spoke softly, gently. “No, uh.. I’m sorry. This is.. this is your life now. I don’t think anyone’s gotten out, but.. it’s not bad. It can be.. a bit humiliating and stuff, but it’s a better alternative for a lot of people. You and I both know, chimeras don’t last long on the outside. In the zoo, we get to die of old age. It’s… it’s not all bad. It is what it is. Y’know?”

Elafi swallowed down his tears. He looked to the ground and nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed again. Still, he noticed a small shift in Faroon’s stance when the man spoke again, in a slightly enthusiastic tone. “Hey, look, your other neighbor just realised you’re here! Be a bit, uh.. She’s a bit young. Doesn’t really understand the world yet. It’s happened before, so… We’re all just waiting until she’s a tad older to explain things to her. She’s one of the lucky ones, though. Her parents visit, she’s even still in school.”

He quickly looked over to the left side of his cage again. He couldn’t see anything at all. Faroon’s crocodile eyes were probably why he was able to see while Elafi couldn’t. With his ears low, he hesitantly made his way over.

The closer Elafi got, the more he saw. Inside the cage was a huge, square, glass tank. Like for fishes. Behind the glass was a girl.

She looked young, barely a teenager. A bit long for her age. She had long hair, floating around her like a halo in the water. The lower half of her body was a tail, rather than legs. She excitedly waved at him. She made movements- ASL, Elafi realised after a second. He didn’t understand any of it, and it only took the girl a second to realise that.

She swam up, and then Elafi could hear her. “Hi! I’m Naia, what’s your name? You’re a deer chimera! Like Davina! How old are you?”

Despite himself, Elafi smiled softly. It was difficult not to get excited around such an excitable girl. “My name is Elafi, I’m eighteen, how about you?”

“I’m thirteen. And I get to live here all on my own! Did you just move out? My parents can’t get me a tank at home, so I get to live here. I’ve got a large piece of rock in the back though, for when I wanna be out of the water or for when I do school stuff on my tablet. I don’t get to have a phone though, which is so rude. And Arnelle said I can’t talk overday! That’s also rude. Anyways, I’m yapping… “ There was an implication in her silence, prompting Elafi to talk.

“That.. sounds very fun. Who’s Arnelle?”

“Arnelle is my other neighbor! She’s an eagle chimera, which is pretty cool. Although she can’t fly cuz there isn’t enough space. I like her though, she’s kind of like an auntie. I lowkey ship her and Faroon, but they can’t talk to each other directly because I’m in the way… but that’s okay! When I leave, they can talk through the empty plot, like I’ve been talking to Faroon!”

The conversation continued for quite a while, before Naia decided to go to sleep. Elafi didn’t quite know what to think of her. She seemed… happy, almost. There wasn’t a bed in his cage, but the tree in the corner had comfortable enough roots, and Elafi fell into an uneasy sleep soon enough.

The next morning, Elafi was woken up by the insistent shining of sunlight over his eyelids. He frowned, blinking. Overhead, he saw autumn leaves on hefty branches, and green-leafed vines wrapped around metal bars. Hmm. That was decidedly not his room.

The confusion dissipated as he sat up, remembering the events of the past two days. Great. He could see more now, in the morning light, than he had been able to in yesterday’s dusk. Looking to his right, he could see Faroon, still asleep, with the lower half of his body in the shallow pool of water that seemed to take up the middle of his cage, and the upper half of his body laid across the dark, dirt-like sand that took up the rest of it. He seemed at ease, lying on his stomach with his head resting on folded arms. Elafi had more questions, but.. they could wait until Faroon was awake.

To the left, the sunlight filtered through the water of Naia’s tank, leaving pretty patterns in Elafi’s cage. He could see some small fishes darting about, but the girl herself was… asleep. She was vertical in the water, with just the top of her head poking out. How on earth was she breathing? Her hair, floating on the top of the water like it didn’t care much for the head it was attached to, was vibrantly red. He hadn’t been able to tell her hair colour last night. Not that he’d paid attention.

Across from him, Elafi could see slightly larger cages. Some of the chimeras were even awake. The one directly across from him was asleep, curled up on themself. She almost looked like a regular human, if not for the eyes. He stared, watching as she woke up. She waved at him. He waved back. Her eyes darted to something he couldn’t see, and she straightened up, seemingly already haven forgotten about him.

Elafi got up and walked closer to the bars, trying to see what the snake girl had looked at. He couldn’t quite see any- Oh. He gulped. A young couple, with a toddler swinging from their arms, laughing, were walking along the cages. Visitors. Right.

He didn’t realise how erratic his breathing had gotten until something made the bars of the cage vibrate, loudly. Elafi startled back into reality, ears turning down to cover from the sound. To his right, Faroon looked at him with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, kid. It’s… it’s your first day, it’s overwhelming, but if you’re gonna have a breakdown or panic attack like that, don’t do it right in front of the bars. You’ve got a tree, go hide behind it. You can sleep through all of today if you want to. I’ll, uh”, he shot a look at the visitors, swiftly approaching, “I’ll teach you how to spell in ASL tonight, if you want. You’ll be able to talk more overday that way.”

Faroon moved away then, going to lie in his shallow bit of water. Elafi stared nervously at the giggling child and their parents, now in front of Naia’s tank. Naia seemed to have woken up at some point while he wasn’t paying attention, and was doing somersaults underwater, to the great amusement of the small child. And then they were in front of Elafi.

The kid waved at him. This was ridiculous- they were harmless. Elafi had no reason to be in such a flight-or-fight mode, absolutely frozen and feeling like hunted prey. And yet..

More visitors trickled in as the day continued. Most briefly paused in front of Elafi before continuing. Some didn’t look at him at all. Some stayed for a while longer, reading the little sign and taking pictures. Embarrassed as all hell, Elafi hid behind the tree after the first time someone took a picture of him, like Faroon had suggested.

He stayed behind the tree for a while. He couldn’t really tell time. At some point, he realised just how hungry he was. Elafi hadn’t eaten in.. three days, or so? The last time he’d eaten, he’d had his stomach pumped. Everything that had happened had put off his appetite, but.. surely the zoo would give him food? He peeked around the tree into Faroon’s cage.

Faroon was eating a chicken leg off of a plastic tray. Elafi’s breath caught for a second when he saw Faroon’s teeth- sharp like a crocodile’s. The question remained; Where had Faroon gotten food?

He got his answer quickly, when a loud knocking made him flinch. “Chow time!”, yelled an unruly voice. Elafi scrambled to the front of his enclosure, and was met with the sight of the two male zookeepers from yesterday. One had a cart with trays in it, like a flight attendant in a movie. The other- wearing a red bandana this time- was holding one of the trays, standing inside the cage. The door was open. “Hey, deer boy! Ain’t you hungry, newbie? I wouldn’t want this gross shit either.”

Elafi cast a nervous glance over at Faroon, who was sending a death glare at the two zookeepers, but not saying anything. Elafi took that as his cue to stay silent as well.

“Well? We could throw this shit out, yknow.”, he taunted.

Elafi was really hungry. Not knowing what else to do, he reached his hands out for the tray. They’d understand his meaning, right?

The guy laughed with a sneer, and dropped the tray right on the ground. Some things fell off of it, but most of it seemed fine. Elafi did his best to ignore the staring visitors and the way his cheeks heated up as he shuffled over to look at the food. It seemed like the type of mix that’s mass produced for pets, but a specialised version. Oats, all kinds of nuts, dried peas, some chunks of dried apple… Elafi hesitantly ate some. Loud laughter above him caused him to flinch.

“AWH, HAHA, LOOK, IT’S ACTUALLY EATING OFF THE FUCKING GROUND.”, he howled with laughter. Elafi’s ears drooped as he desperately wished for a hole in the earth to swallow him up.

Then, a sharp voice cut through the laughter. “Seth! Ethan! Don’t you guys have better things to do than bully the new chimera? Fuck off, go feed the rest.”

Elafi turned his head to the voice, slightly recognising it. It was the kind woman from yesterday. He’d… he’d forgotten her name. Seth and Ethan- he didn’t know which was which- left, muttering complaints. The woman crouched in front of him, and gave a quick nod to the right. “Faroon.” She acknowledged the crocodile, and Elafi spun his head just in time to see Faroon nod back at her. Bewildered, he looked back at the woman, then back at Faroon. Faroon noticed his confusion, and moved closer to the bars so he could speak quietly.

“Karessa is the only one you can talk to. She’s cool with us. The other two, Seth and Ethan, are assholes. Seth, the one with the hair covering, he’s Kemetic and thinks we’re some blasphemous imitation of his gods. Ethan just kinda goes along with whatever Seth does. Luella just makes videos, she’s pretty harmless.” He had a pained expression as he spoke. “If you’ve got questions you can’t ask me, ask Karessa. She also keeps us supplied with outside knowledge.”

Right, that was her name. “Hi”, he said quietly.

“Hi”, she answered. “Don’t mind Seth and Ethan. They’re idiots. Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. He was locked in a zoo. He nodded, signaling that he was okay.

Karessa grimaced like she knew what he’d thought. “I know. Crappy situation to be in, but I’ll help you make the best of it. The food, is it okay? It’s what the previous deer chimera ate, but that doesn’t have to mean that it works for you.”

He nodded. “It’s.. I think it’s okay.”

“Alright. I’ll come check on you later. If Seth and Ethan, or any visitors, bother you again, you make sure to tell me, yeah?”

Elafi silently nodded. Karessa set him at ease in an odd way that he hadn’t experienced before. It was nice.

The day passed. And then another one did, and then a few more. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into winter, and he stopped being able to tell quite how long he’d been at the zoo. Faroon taught him the ASL alphabet, and after some practice, he could fingerspell. He’d had some small conversations with the snake girl across from him, and learnt that her name was Lini. He’d had short conversations with Naia while she was underwater. He picked up on some small signs. Yes, no, have, I, you, that, thank you. Elafi’s vocabulary grew until he was comfortable with small conversations, still heavily relying on fingerspelling. The grammar came to him surprisingly easily. Naia, Faroon, and Lini told him about the other chimeras. He learnt their names, their stories. Gossip was passed along, chimera to chimera, down the line, like a bad game of ‘broken telephone’. In turn, Elafi told them about his life before the zoo. He told them about Warrick, and the woods. He told them about what happened to his parents, and how he missed his stuffed animals.

Sometimes, Elafi got overwhelmed. Like when there was a school trip at the zoo, or when Luella was filming him. Luckily, Faroon or Karessa, or even Lini, were usually there to calm him down. And he had his tree to hide behind. Half the time, he just took a nap when he didn’t feel like dealing with something. He didn’t really have any responsibilities in the zoo. Seth and Ethan bullied him sometimes, and generally behaved rotten. Karessa was sweet, helping out where she could. Naia’s parents visited her a few times a week. Faroon was gruff, but kind. He kinda reminded Elafi of Warrick.

He wasn’t happy at the zoo, not by a long shot. He wished that he could leave, return to his life before. That Warrick would come rescue him, like he had last time. But the more time passed, the more it felt like that just wasn’t gonna happen. It was a nice daydream, but that was all. Besides… Being a zoo exhibit was humiliating and overwhelming sometimes, but they got fed twice a day, and he had friends, and he was mostly left alone by other people. There were worse places to be. He’d.. kind of accepted it.

Winter was melting away into spring, and Elafi was grateful for the warmer temperatures. It was a monday. He could tell, because the zoo closed on sundays. No zookeepers or visitors yesterday, ergo, it had been a sunday. Which made today a monday. Elafi was wondering if he could keep track of the day for the whole week, vaguely staring ahead, when something quietly startled him.

He’d been staring at the crowd, looking at the people that were looking at him. Then he’d recognised one of their faces. And he’d frozen.

Warrick.

The man mouthed something. It took Elafi a second to realise what it was.

‘I’m getting you out of here.’

Elafi’s mind raced, but his body felt fixed in place. How would Warrick- But what about - but the others? And- How did he- WHERE would they..-

He sucked in a sharp breath. He tilted his head towards Naia, and carefully mouthed ‘what about them’. He saw Warrick’s eyes flit to Naia, then something next to her, then Faroon, before landing back at Elafi. He curtly nodded, and disappeared back into the crowd.

That Elafi was incredibly tense the rest of the day, and then the night. By morning, he started to doubt his memory. Had Warrick really just shown up for less than a minute? That didn’t make much sense. Elafi had already kind of accepted that he’d be at the zoo forever. Maybe he was just processing the loss of his old life with some kind of hallucination? He didn’t bring it up to anyone.

Tuesday passed, and so did Wednesday, and then Elafi lost track of the days again. He’d kind of come to the conclusion that he had somehow hallucinated Warrick. That is, until he was shaken awake at some unholy hour by two, strong hands.

That in and of itself was shocking, seeing as how the closest he’d gotten to human contact in months were the occasional pats or head scratches that Karessa would give him. Still half-asleep, Elafi turned around, only to be met with the sight of Warrick and an open cage door.

“Huh?”, Was the best he could come up with.

“Come on, kid. We haven’t got all too long. Sleep medication doesn’t last forever.”, said the gruff voice that Elafi had sorely missed.

“What? How are you here? How did you open- “

“There’s time for explanations later, kid. Gave the night guards some muffins they’ll be forgetting about. I’ve got the keys to help all of your friends too, but we can’t take them with us. Yeah?”

Instantly, Elafi was as awake as ever. “Alright yeah, hold up, let me… “ Looking around his cage, he realised he didn’t have anything to take with. “Yeah no, let’s go.”

Some had woken up from the ruckus, some had to be woken up. Faroon’s inhuman eyes were wide as he stepped out of his cage, bewildered. Some older chimeras, surprisingly, declined to go with. The zoo was all they’d known from a young age, the last thing they needed was to deal with microaggressions and taxes. Most were overjoyed to come along though.

Naia refused to come along. Warrick had brought a bathtub on wheels for her, and she eyed it suspiciously. Her caged tank was more comfortable.

Elafi hoped for her that, when she grew up and understood what the zoo really was, that she wouldn’t regret her choice too much.

“Tell Karessa.. tell her thank you?”

“I will”, Naia signed.

They all left in the dead of night. It was odd, seeing the chimeras he had heard about. Seeing so many chimeras in one place, many of them being older than most chimeras ever could be… Just, odd.

Warrick was just the best. For finding him, for breaking him out, for breaking out everyone else. Elafi turned to look at the zoo one last time.

He couldn’t wait to sleep in a bed again. It was gonna be weird, knowing a whole new language and not having anyone to sign to anymore. Elafi looked up at Warrick.

Of course he’d found him. He’d gotten him back last time he was taken by someone.

Elafi had been foolish to ever think he would be in the zoo forever.

[theblackfemininesociety]

A guy I’m just getting to know from a dating app but haven’t met yet we’ve just been texting said to me “let me take care of you” and I was like what do you mean? And he goes “just in general, you seem like you need someone to take care of you” idk how he would get that just from texting me…? The only thing maybe is I told him I don’t smoke weed because it makes me paranoid but?? Idk if what he said is a good or bad thing

Hey bestie!

First, we want to express our gratitude that you trusted us enough to share your thoughts and seek our advice. 💗 We truly love engaging with all of our sisters and this could not only help you but any others who seek this same advice and guidance.

Let’s talk about dating apps:

#1 Keep it real: use up-to-date pics, and don’t stretch the truth about whatever you decide to disclose on your profile. Set your limits on what you’re cool with—whether it’s chatting, dating, or something more. No pressure! Just make sure you profile sets the tone for what you are seeking !

#2 SAFETY FIRST: Don’t share your address, number, or workplace. If you want to meet up, pick a public place at a reasonable hour and take your own form of transportation (your car, uber) always! Be sure to ALWAYS share your location with someone you trust and make sure to check in.

#3 Ghosting is OKAY! : You don’t owe anyone a reply. If you're not feeling it, just unmatch and keep it moving!

#4 Listen to your intuition: If a convo feels off or gives you bad vibes, trust yourself. Your intuition knows what's up.

#5 Report Weirdos: If someone’s being sketchy or disrespectful, report them. You deserve to feel safe!

#6 Take Your Time: No rush to meet up IRL. Get to know them through texts or video chats first— we recommend you do this for about 2 months before you even consider meeting up. Again, safety and comfort over everything!

#7 Beware of the Games and Word-play: it’s a fact that a man is willing to say, act and do whatever he has to in order to enter the paradise we hold in between our legs. Be careful not to get easily persuaded and woo’d by a man’s empty promises and small gestures. While on dating apps you have to have a high sense of self-awareness, confidence and well, GAME (or rizz whatever you call it these days) dont be naïve and take what they say with a grain of salt.

——————

Our direct to you advice:

You haven’t told or shown this man any reason why you need to be taken care of. This may be the word play and game he gives to woman (reread #7 above) don’t read to much into it. We can tell you whether or not to accept his advances but please move with caution and stay safe!

Hope this helps ! 💋

[shanicenessssssssss]

Travel Tales Pt. 1

This thing started because I wanted to impress a man, yall.

Mid-December 2022, a few days after my birthday, I started flirting with a guy I knew for a few years and found fairly attractive, but never gave any energy to, and the first conversation we had was the spark that lit the match. The following is a snippet of said conversation:

Him - “I’m going to St. Lucia in a few days.” Me - “Make sure and visit Gros Islet and Rodney Bay, the marina is beautiful on a clear moonlit night. You see all the lights from the stars and the boats reflecting on the water and hear the waves slapping against the pier. It’s so calm and serene….” Him - “Hmmm… you’ve been everywhere, I can’t carry you anywhere new!” Me, intrigued - “I haven’t even scratched the surface on places I wanna go, especially in the Caribbean.” Him - “Where do you want to go next?” Me, thinking nothing of what I was saying, cuz I had no intention of actually going anywhere - “Jamaica maybe? Or Barbados, as it’s quite close to home (Tobago).”

Fast forward 4 months, I have my plane ticket to Jamaica in hand and am about to book my Airbnb in Ocho Rios. I am in no way encouraging anyone to do it this way, it is quite inadvisable to travel with someone who you have no real ties with. If you take anything away from reading this, it is that IT LITERALLY TAKES ONE DECISION.

I said yes that day in December. He intoxicated me with the idea of it being just a series of steps to get to the goal. No limits, no hesitation. Logistics would come later. It always seems impossible before you do it, before you take the first leap.

The last time I traveled was 2016 to the aforementioned St. Lucia, with my mom and daughter, who was a toddler at that time. If I’m not mistaken, the decision to go was somewhat similar, with me doing the convincing. Our saving grace was that a close relative was working on the island at the time, so accommodations and transportation was covered (and so expenses were lessened, hallelujah!). Basically, I think I’m due for a couple-hours long plane trip to a new place.

I’m making it sound rather click-bait-y, aren’t I? I haven’t said one thing yet about where the money being spent was coming from, and DUN-DUN-DUNNNN, if Mr. Mysterious is still my plus-one.

Let’s touch on the first part first - the finances.

I currently have a savings account in a local credit union with about $25K in savings, which was one of my savings goals. I am currently permanently employed, bringing in $50K a year before taxes, BUT I was living paycheck to paycheck until last year October, where I made my first official business investment that is bringing in an extra $2K a month, for at least the next year or so. While I have used some of that money to pay off the loan used to make the investment, some of that money was used to fund this trip. I also made the decision to allocate some of my salary towards the trip as well, instead of eating too much into the investment returns. More on this later.

I had identified the PERFECT travel time. I pat myself on the back every time I think about how this played out. In T&T, there’s a public holiday on the 30th of May, and another one on the 8th of June in 2023. Recall that I am employed, and obviously that means I would want to exploit all public holidays (anytime a holiday fell on a Thursday, best believe I was coughing on the phone the Friday so I could be home for 4 whole days…cough cough). I also did some preliminary research on the island and I realized that the island was bigger than home (i.e. I couldn’t drive around the entire island in a day comfortably while sightseeing), so a short 3- or 4- day trip would leave me wanting, or extremely exhausted by trying to squeeze everything into such a short time. After conferring with Mr. Mysterious, I decided that a week-long stay was the sweet spot - enough time to explore some of the tourist-y things to do, while allowing for relaxation and regular life as well. Put those two together, and we get a full 7 days in Jamaica, a prep day before and a rest day after.

Things are falling into place so seamlessly! That only gave me further confirmation that this trip was supposed to happen. Nothing can stop me now! ……..*crickets*

Mr. Mysterious, who has been talking to me almost every single day since that fateful December day, suddenly ghosted me March-month end. No explanation, just radio silence. Granted, we had had a bit of a tiff concerning something unrelated right before the ghosting, but I don’t think it was serious enough to warrant THIS?! I wouldn’t know though, cuz he’s a ghost 👻. I can’t ask. I waited a few days, and sent a follow-up “Hope you are well” text, expecting a response at least, but I've been left on read till this day. I was shook, cuz the safety net I was banking on with this trip was that I wasn’t alone, so the burden of solo travel would be at least lessened. And he also was a seasoned traveler, the exact opposite to me, so that was another thing that made me breathe a bit easier. He knew the ins and outs of international travel and could guide me along. For the first few nights after accepting the disappointment of the absolute curry duck (Trini stale joke) I had just experienced, the trip loomed in front of me, again gigantic and seemingly impossible once again. All the insecurities I had silenced with a proud middle finger at the start of the journey came back up, cackling in my face: Can you even afford to go on this trip alone? How will you get around? You will be stuck in Jamaica for 7 whole days…what were you even thinking? Are you even still considering going, after this shake-up? The nasty chatter got louder in my head. I admit, I looked up whether I could get a full refund of my ticket (no), and if I could ask somebody, anybody to take Mr. Mysterious’ place (also no, that’s unreasonable).

So, I pulled up my big girl panties and made the big girl decision to do my first solo trip to Jamaica in June 2023. I mean, it would have happened eventually - I had put traveling on my vision board, BUT I didn’t expect God to drop me into the deep end like this?!! Damn!

On a more serious note, what I won’t do is question how things are playing out. I have learned long ago that even if things don’t work out exactly how I planned it to, things always work out in the end. Maybe I would be so caught up in building my future career that I won’t have time to travel as much as I like. Maybe this is exactly what I need to build some more confidence in myself and my abilities. Maybe this is what I need to clear out the fuzz in my head - time away from everything, in a hammock, spending much-needed alone time. It will be revealed to me why this happened when it happened, how it happened, in due time. I’m not even stressed or pressed. Also, I am on the last leg of my degree, and having put blood, sweat and tears into the last couple years, I convinced myself that I needed to reward myself for sticking with it and completing it. While an international trip was not on my list of things I thought up of for the celebration (it was more along the lines of a celebratory dinner at a nice restaurant with a few glasses of wine), I sold myself on the idea, as I was intoxicated by Mr. Mysterious’ siren song. I deserve!

Let me touch on some of the things I had the good fortune of having and utilizing in this prep time, leading up to the actual flight dates. Remember, planning had started a whole 6 months before, so I had allotted time for procrastination and plan changes. We’ll discuss Google Flights, using a calendar in a specific way, and what I plan to do.

I’m on a tight budget, and so my main issue was allocating my limited resources in the best way possible to be able to cover every essential. Before the ghosting situation, my main expenses were the plane tickets, and spending money (Mr. Mysterious gallantly offered to handle the accommodation costs). Google Flights had come in CLUTCH! The site has a calendar to see when the cheapest flights were, compared by dates, as well as the option to track flights’ price changes. AS I had already outlined the PERFECT travel dates, I just scrolled down to the dates, and lo and behold, the prices I saw were among the cheapest for the month. I had used the price tracking  option, as I started accumulating funds for the purchase of the ticket. Things were chugging along well! No reason why something would go off-kilter, right? Right??

I remember vividly waking up one morning and seeing that the price of the ticket had become a few hundred dollars more expensive.

My heart dropped. I hadn’t gotten all the money at that time, and it was honestly discouraging to have to stretch my already-stretched budget to accommodate this extra expenditure. Nevertheless, she persisted. I had accumulated my $4k in cash, ready to buy tickets by early February. Sis was READY and DETERMINED. I had listened to a podcast that celebrated doing the Thing that involved one taking a giant step with no going backsies. That Thing for me was spending $4k on a trip. It seems silly and trivial now, but my heart was set on doing the Thing. My dreams were consumed by the fantasy excursions Mr. Mysterious and I were going to experience on this beautiful island. Then another confirmation that I was supposed to go on this trip - the airline I was planning to go with had a Valentine’s day sale:

This was it, yall. I was going to Jamaica. This was the sign from God I needed. And I didn’t even see it, it was Mr. Mysterious who sent me a screenshot from his IG feed. My heart sang for that entire week. I was going to Jamaica! I did the Thing, and bought my tickets on Valentine’s Day!

Going on in the background of all this was my 12-week planning on Notion. I had counted 12 weeks into the future from the week I decided to go in mid-December, and created a calendar with a task to complete for each week. These tasks included making a list of locations to visit when we got there, making lists of things to pack, things that I need to have organized before and during the trip, etc. This gave me the time I required to do any future-based thinking, grouped neatly into manageable segments so I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed when I sat and thought about things. I chose Notion simply because I had previous experience using the calendar when I was planning out semester tasks and due dates, and I had always found it to be very easy to use. Plus, you could decorate it. I had embraced my full “speak it into existence” self, and put up pictures and affirmations - a virtual vision board, if you will. Also, this 12-week spread would give me a couple ‘free’ weeks before the actual trip, instead of being exact with the timing. Maybe God knew what He was guiding me to do, cuz with this change in the plan, I would need some extra time to sort stuff out.

To be honest, I still don’t believe that Mr. Mysterious ghosted me. I keep oscillating between the reasoning that he probably has something major going on in his life and needs some time to himself, and the Bad Bitch alter-ego, looking down at him with a upturned nose, lumping him with all the other fuckboys I had the unfortunate luck of meeting and interacting with. The insecure baby girl inside of me has so many questions, mainly if I had done something wrong, but if I am to take my mental health and self-confidence journey seriously, I have to be okay with whatever happens around me, regardless of whether it is positive or negative in my perception. When I start overthinking about it, I stop and visualize myself being a boat in the middle of a vast ocean, in a thunderous storm. Waves as tall as houses are rocking me side to side, up and down, but I still stay afloat, above the waves. I stay confident that this storm will end, and I will complete the journey I planned to, in one piece. I am confident in God’s plan; when thing don’t go my way I stress a lil bit, then release my hold on the outcome I wanted, knowing better will come.

We have reached the point where we discuss the now. Yes, I lied about not being stressed or pressed. I am very much stressing and pressing. I now face some nail-biting, belly-hurting decisions. Best believe that I am not making light of the situation. I know it is so much more dangerous to be a female solo traveler. The decisions I choose to make have unknown consequences and repercussions that I have no clue is in my future. The travel blogs I’ve read seem to gloss over this fact, varnishing it with pretty titles such as “Do’s and Don’ts To Keep You Safe”, maybe because it is an ugly truth that danger is lurking no matter where you go.

Maybe I really do need the time away from the usual routine to view my life through fresh, new eyes. Maybe this really is the Thing I need to start off the rest of my life with. God knows I’ve been feeling hamster-wheel-y for the past few months. Maybe this will be the worst thing I will have ever done, a complete waste of money and time. Regardless of what the outcome is, if I am to experience it, I will. Being adaptable to change, instead of resistant to it may very well be the lesson I have to learn from this experience.

As of now, the most immediate pivot I have to make is that I have to tack on a few extra hundred US to cover Airbnb accommodations for the entire week, as well as more spending money as I have no ‘safety net’ in Mr. Mysterious anymore, per se. As I type this, I remember a quote I saw recently:

And with that, I bid you adieu. I will post an update when I get closer to The Date. Thanks for sticking with my dramatic ass till the end. I would LOVE to hear any tips for beginner solo traveling, and comment with more places that I can visit in Jamaica. I appreciate your love and support!

Kisses,

S.

[serioussideblog]

Let’s not give people an excuse to go after people that are already disenfranchised, okay?

“Trust your gut” is not good advice about how to know whether a person is potentially dangerous.

There is no such thing as a “suspicious person”.

“Bad vibes” are not enough reason to call the police.

Let me say it again, louder for the people in the back.

🗣️🎙️”Bad vibes” are NOT enough reason to call the police!

Also, jumping straight to calling the police is unnecessary, dangerous, and not logical.

Here are some ACTUAL safety tips, for people who REALLY need them (meaning not just “I aM rIcH AnD wHiTe AnD i SaW sOmEoNe WhO lOoKeD dIfFeReNt FrOm Me!”):

1. Suspicious activity is a thing. If someone is making threats, carrying weapons into places where they shouldn’t be, or acting hostile, this is something to take note of.

2. Do not assume you know everything in a situation. A person not making eye contact with you may be autistic, may be from another culture, or may just feel uncomfortable with eye contact. A person wearing a coat indoors may get cold easily. Many things that can be minor warning signs can also be explained by other things, and one or two minor warning signs is not all that suspicious. That said, if you notice many different warning signs, maybe get away from them.

3. Carrying a weapon is not actually a good way to keep yourself safe. A would-be attacker Can take your weapon and use it against you.

4. Again, suspicious activity exists, suspicious people don’t. An adult at the playground may be disabled and/or poor and/or just trying to relive their childhood. But if an adult is at the playground attempting to get children to come with them somewhere or to engage in a specific action, or if they seem to only want to interact with the kids and bristle at the attention of another adult, this is suspicious behavior. If a person is carrying a suitcase onto a bus, they may be on a trip or homeless. But if a person whips their head around to try to see if anyone is looking and then leaves a suitcase on the bus and it’s making a weird noise, that’s suspicious behavior. This is regardless of any other aspects of a person’s appearance. Black, white, brown, any hair color, tattoos, no tattoos, scars, no scars, freckles, no freckles, moles, no moles, whatever.

5. Even as an adult, it’s important to let someone you trust know where you’re going, who you expect to be with, when you think you’ll be back, and how to reach you. I’m not saying to let one person control your life (that would be bad) but someone needs to know so that if anything bad happens you can reduce the risk. Also I feel the need to stress that this should be someone you trust, that you know in real life, and that you can also easily contact should your plans go sideways.

6. Going into a secluded area with only one other person is bad. Try to avoid this at all costs.

7. Socializing is hard sometimes, but try to avoid being completely alone. You don’t even have to talk to people, just make sure there’s someone else around. Obviously this advice doesn’t necessarily apply at home. You can be by yourself at home if you want to.

8. In an actual emergency, try to direct specific people around you to do specific things. “Someone call 911” is not good enough sometimes. “You, orange shirt, call 911, and you, blue shirt, help me get this wound to stop bleeding” is better. (Also insert whatever needs to happen.)

9. Keep a first aid kit on you.

10. It’s impossible to anticipate everything, and many things are out of your control. Keeping that in mind, there are many good resources out there on what to do in the event that things go wrong. I’m not perfect. I know I don’t have all the answers. You don’t either. Accept that.

11. Always bring some money with you any time you are going to be farther away from your place of residence than you can easily walk/roll. Try to have at least enough money to board your local public transport.

12. It’s usually much better to get away from a situation that you think might be dangerous than to go towards it.

everyone needs to stop telling rich white women to stay safe by "trusting [their] gut" bc now theyre just attacking minorities