#made some for myself so figured i'd share
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Some best girl portraits to spice up your phone screen â¤ď¸âđĽâ¤ď¸âđĽâ¤ď¸âđĽ
#made some for myself so figured i'd share#i love her so much#karlach#bg3#bg3 photography#bg3 screenshots#karlach wallpaper#gonna miss all my notifications cause i'm too busy staring into her eyes
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
for whom good omens is being written
Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:
The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.
And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:
'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: âListen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, âOK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."
'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. âTerry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'
He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'
(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. âIt was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, âNoâ. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'
And, finally, this paragraph:
"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"
I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.
Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")
Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)
#good omens#neil gaiman#sir terry pratchett#good omens show#good omens fandom#good omens mascot#weirdly specific but ok#asmi
15K notes
¡
View notes
Text
So my mom's birthday was this week and I flew down with Patches to visit her for a few days. Patches, while a verified hater of the airport, really loves my mom's place because there are so many more closets to explore and birds to watch and cobwebs to dust with her stupid little face.
My mom also goes to bed earlier than anyone I know, so for the evenings it was on me to monitor Patches' activity. And she's very good. She's 99% good. She's 1% "could use improvement" good and the 1%, which I'd forgotten about, is tomatoes.
Patches will leave most things alone. (And by "alone" I mean she'll absolutely bitch slap them onto the floor, but they will leave the ordeal with just as many or few surface punctures as they had before the encounter started.) Not tomatoes. Patches has it the fuck out for tomatoes.
So when I noticed her batting something around on the ground I realized that my mom had left a sole, roma tomato in the fruit basket on the counter and it was now experiencing the life cycle of a pingpong ball between Patches' paws.
I take it away from her, like a fucking evil woman, and now I'm like "okay actually, where do I hide this." See at home I have an anti-Patches cabinet, which is for things that have no business living in a cabinet but which WILL have business dying at Patches' hands if left accessible. And this is WEIRD to have such a cabinet but it's my own home.
I'm scanning my mother's cabinets going "is this weird here? can the tomato go in my mother's dish cabinet?" And I briefly consider sticking it in the fridge, as a normal location, but the audacity of altering this tomato's ripening process is an audacity I do not possess. So I go with cabinet. I go with the first eye-level cabinet, which is the coffee mug cabinet, which is perfect because the tomato will not be lost to cabinet purgatory there, since my mom opens it every morning for her coffee. I will simply tell her in the morning that the tomato is there.
Next morning. Seeing as my mother goes to bed at the butt-crack of dusk she ALSO gets up at the ass-crack of dawn. This means I trail down like 2 hours after her with my work laptop and Patches. This is also now her birthday. I'm sharing the sofa with her for a good 15 minutes when I think to myself I'd like some coffee, and I remember I put a tomato in the cabinet. I tell my mom as much. I put the tomato in her coffee mug cabinet.
And the look I get is one I can't really figure out on spot. But she says "Chrissy this is the best birthday present you could have given me" which is a very weird response to the already weird statement "Oh you probably saw, but I hid the tomato in the coffee mug cabinet because Patches has it out for tomatoes."
So I do not at all know how this makes for a good birthday gift. My mom tells me how a week or two ago, she came home unloading groceries. At the end of putting everything away she could not for the life of her find her phone. Absolutely nowhere. She pinged it from her iPad and it started singing. From the fridge. She opened her fridge. Her phone was in the fridge.
A couple days later she lost Ash's collar. Spent three days looking for it. Couldn't remember where she'd taken it off or what she did with it. Showed up in the grass when she remembered she took it off to let him play fetch in the lake.
And then this morning, her birthday morning, she came into the kitchen, made her pot of coffee, opened the cabinet to fetch her coffee mug, and found... tomato. Singular. Tomato in the cabinet. Tomato she had no memory of placing in a cabinet. Tomato she could not possibly fathom having a reason for being in the cabinet.
She was like Chrissy I cried. She was like this is it, time to send her to pasture. She's a harebrained old lady now and there is no coming back from this. She's the lady who accidentally puts tomatoes in the cabinet. Awake before God, standing in the kitchen, signing her life away over this tiny roma tomato. (Roma tomato with little cat vampire teeth marks in it).
I was like oh. No. I put it there. Because Patches was going to commit war crimes against it. I put it there because I did not stop to consider "Will finding a single tomato in the coffee mug cabinet somehow be the very specific thing that undoes my mother this morning?" I put it there out of careful consideration for the life of this tomato, and with no consideration for the extremely esoteric way that a tomato in the cabinet could be received like a horse head in the bed, Godfather style.
We made a salad with the tomato. Happy birthday Mom.
4K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Popping on to say sorry for the extended absence once again and that I'm not sure when I'll be back in full capacity. To paraphrase that one old newspaper clipping about life being one damned thing after another being an understatement, The Damned Things Are Overlapping, quite a lot right now. Miss you all and I hope to catch up at some point but I don't know when exactly. One would hope soon, but everything feels like shaky ground right now, so no promises. Love you though đ
#my dearest friend is in a dismal situation at the moment and thus so am I because we may as well be joined at the hip#despite being on separate continents#I was so worried I was sure I would give myself stress hives the other day before I'd heard back. still worried now but#it was not knowing what was up that made it That bad#things at home are a little rocky atm too but that's peanuts in comparison to the other thing#also some hats I ordered after mulling over the decision all year hit Out For Delivery 3 days ago then entered some nebulous tracking state#been stuck on Alert - Awaiting Delivery Scan ever since. mysterious. are they in a limbo realm? lost? destroyed? no clue lol#and the gradual decline of twitter is a looming background radiation as well of course#my priv there used to be my comfy space where I could mournfully wail like an alley cat and feel a little less alone#and share my little project development art stuff for a pick me up. but it's a ghost town more than ever now#what's a man to do when he's too shy to original character art post in discords but too concerned with privacy to do it on tumblr#science has not yet found the answer#anyway ramble ramble this has gotten excessively long huh#thank you if you read it. and sorry for the downer#but considering what I've just said above about worrying myself sick from Not Knowing I figure maybe it's worth letting people know#puttin my money where my mouth is... eheh :')#I hope things start looking up soon. for me and you#personal pulse#maybe delete later etc
0 notes
Text
The first time I saw a trans woman was in porn. I was pretty young then, in early middle school I think. My first thoughts about trans women only existed in a sexual context, since that was the only place I saw us mentioned
The next time I saw trans people mentioned was a TV show presumably about trans people and transitioning. I didn't watch it, only saw the description because even as a kid I had already internalized the idea that it was taboo and I would get in trouble if my parents walked in and I was watching it
Eventually I saw enough TV and cop shows to see an episode with the dead trans hooker trope. It further reinforced the building idea that trans women were something else, separate from "normal" people and always on the outskirts of society
And then Caitlyn Jenner came out. At my Catholic middle school there were few kind things said about her and plenty of nasty comments, but this was the first time I saw trans people being publicly talked about
In high school my views on trans people started to fracture. On one hand, I was being pushed the idea that gender was about what's in your pants, that if you've got a dick your a man and there's nothing that can be done about it. On the other hand, early high school me had stumbled across some gender change erotica and quickly became obsessed with it. While it wasn't great representation, it was still pretty positive about transitioning. The people in those stories were always happier afterwards
I struggled to reconcile what parts of society were saying about trans people with my daydreaming about what I'd do if I woke up the next morning as a girl. Eventually I decided that it was just a fetish. I just thought it was hot, there was no way I could be trans because I was just a normal person. I wasn't weird or a spectacle for others to gawk at, I was just a person
Around that time I also met a trans person in passing for the first time. One of the trans guys at my high school was in one of the musicals that I went to because some of my friends were also in them. When I was talking to my friends about it after someone mentioned the trans guy and that he was trans. I wasn't really sure what to think so I kinda just didn't think about it. Thinking back, there were a few trans guys at my high school but I don't think there was a single out trans woman
Eventually in college I actually met some trans and nonbinary people. In some classes we introduced ourselves on the first day with names and pronouns which was my first exposure to people using pronouns other than just he/him and she/her. I had a few classes with trans and nonbinary people, including a survey of transgender studies class I took in my last semester. I had plenty of excuses for why I was taking it (I needed a few more credits to graduate. It still had room open. It fit with my other classes. It seemed interesting. I'm trying to be a good ally.)
Around this time as well I found some trans creators online like ContraPoints and Philosophy Tube (whom I had watched before she came out as trans). I was weirdly excited and interested when Odyssey Eurobeat came out as trans and I went to go listen to some of her music right after I heard. I was starting to have examples of trans people just being people. Not just porn stars or public spectacles, but people
Later I met and befriended a few trans women, one of whom was extremely open about her transness and happened to share a video which started the initial steps of my egg cracking and figuring out who I am now
If I had actually known any trans women, if the world had been kinder to trans people, if representation of trans women as people existed and was well known, I might have been able to realize who I was sooner. I would have been able to exist as myself for more than a tiny fragment of my life so far
Representation matters, both in media and in daily life. Trans people being out and open about who they are made it possible for me to realize that about myself. Please never stop being who you are
2K notes
¡
View notes
Note
hello mr wil wheaton when you were my age (like exactly i think) you were filming stand by me
I turned 13 during production, so if you're about to become a teenager, I hope you'll let me offer some thoughts that I wish an adult had shared with me, then?
I know this is a wall of text, and giving someone this much of your attention is a HUGE ask. Maybe bookmark this for another time, if you're not into hearing an old man talk.
I wrote this a few days before I turned 50. Thank you in advance for listening, and I wish you a life filled with joy, unconditional love, kindness, and adventure.
Hey everyone! An old man is talking!
In seven days, I will be 50 years-old. This is ... weird. I do not feel the way I expected I would feel when I was approaching 50, nor do any of my friends. The only time I feel like I'm middle-aged is when my body does some bullshit that takes me down for hours because I had the nerve to stand up quickly. And I really hate it when I have to use the flashlight on my phone to see a menu. I mean, at that point, I may as well be dropping my pants for free and singing the Old Gray Mare.
Anyway. This has been on my mind for a little bit, so I had something to say when someone used my tumblr ask me thingy earlier this week:
Q: I hope I'm as cool as you when I'm 49. I'd like to think I'm taking the right steps towards that version of myself. A: So I'm not sure I'm cool, but I do know that I don't suck, and that it's a choice I make every day. I desperately wish someone in my family had told me, or shown me by example, that getting older doesn't mean getting stupid and boring and stuffy and extremely uncool. I wish I'd known that, because I spent all of my life until I was in my 40s feeling like there was this day coming very soon when I would have to stop listening to punk, stop playing video games, put on a suit, and start yelling at kids for no good reason. I didn't know that you don't have to suddenly stop being who you are and become something or someone you hate, just because of a certain age. I know that's super obvious, but to young me, it was not. My dad was an asshole, my mom never showed up for me. Directors and people on set had been treating me like a thing for my entire life. I got yelled at for no reason from adults who knew better almost every day. Most of my elementary school teachers were authoritarian, evangelical assholes. All of these different adults, consistently, shut me down and made me feel like I didn't matter, the things I liked were stupid, and my opinions were invalid because of reasons I didn't understand because I was a dumb kid. So I presumed that when you got to be a certain age, that's what happened. I didn't want to be that, at all, and I was sincerely afraid of the day it would happen. But as I got older, I discovered that all that stuff I hated about adults doesn't automatically happen. Those adults I just mentioned all made a choice to be an asshole. I just didn't know it. I was in my early 20s when I did a movie with a cinematographer who was, I think, 45 at the time. He was the coolest, kindest, most artistic dude I'd ever known. He mentored me and we had epic fun making great art together. I remember telling him, "I'm not afraid of being in my 40s like I used to be. I didn't know you could still be cool." It's sad, that I grew up in such a toxic environment, and didn't know any of these things. So, 9 days before I turn 50, here are a couple things I have figured out: You know who sucks when they hit 49 and 50? People who sucked when they were 20 and never grew up. You know who is an asshole at 49 and 50? Yep. Someone who was an asshole as a kid and never experienced consequences for being an asshole. Hitting middle age has been awesome for me. Other than the aging of my body and its reluctance / refusal to do what I want it to do, I love everything about it. I wish I hadn't spent so much of my life being afraid that, when I hit 50, it was all over. Because honestly it's kind of just starting. The coolest stuff in my life to date has all happened in the last ten years, and I'm so grateful that it coincided with me figuring out a lot of shit so I could enjoy it.
The best part of getting older, by several thousand light years, is the part where we figure out how to stop putting up with other people's bullshit, and we contract our social circle until it's only populated with a VERY few people who deserve us. And I am incredibly grateful for these occasional opportunities to be a 49 year-old dad who can say all the things that would have been reassuring for 19 year-old me to hear (he wouldn't have understood, but 29 year-old me would have remembered, and he would have understood. I think.) I sincerely hope someone hears it and finds it helpful. Anyway, you're gonna be fine. Just remember that being cool, kind, honest, honorable, reliable, listening and showing up ⌠they are all choices. If you want to be cool when you're 49, make the choice and set the example for someone to follow you. Treat kids the way you wanted to be treated when you were young. Listen to them when they offer you the privilege, because that means they trust you, and you have credibility with them. Be a mentor. Be supportive. Show up. Make a choice to be the person you need in the world, and never stop being that person. Start today, and when you're nearing 50 like I am, hopefully you'll remember who you needed right now, so you can be that person to someone else in the future. You're already asking the right questions and taking the first steps. I believe in you. You've got this.
Okay, if you've come this far, perhaps you'll follow me a little bit more, and read a thing I wrote about talking to students just a tiny bit older than you, which contains my core values.
Be honest. Iâm a very old man, relative to yâall, and Iâve learned that the only currency that really matters in this world is the truth.
Be honorable. This dovetails with number one. You attract to yourself what you put into the world. Dishonorable people will take everything from you and leave you with nothing. Do your best to be a person they arenât attracted to.
Work hard. I donât mean, like, at your crappy minimum wage job you hate. I mean do the hard work that makes relationships work, that gets you ahead in your education, that gets you closer to your goals. Everything worth doing is hard. Everything worth doing requires hard work. Sooner or later, youâre going to run into something in your life thatâs really hard, and youâll want to give up, but itâs something you care so much about, youâll do whatever you can to achieve it. Itâs going to be hard, but itâs going to be less hard for someone who has practiced doing the hard things all along, than it is for someone who doesnât know how to do the hard work because theyâve always chosen the easy path.
Always do your best. Even if you donât get the result you wanted, doing your best â which will vary from day to day, moment to moment â is all you can ever do. We tell athletes to leave it all on the field. Whatever your version of that is, do it.
This is the most important one. This is the one I hope youâll all hear and embrace. This is the one I hope youâll share with your peers: Always be kind.â
When I read number 5, I looked up at them. I was so happy to see a classroom filled with teenagers who were all listening intently, even the ones I thought had tuned me out. âHereâs the thing about being Kind, versus being Nice,â I said. âI have interacted with lots of nice people who are incredibly unkind. Why is that? How do you choose to be nice but not kind?â
I pointed to my head. âThis is where nice comes from,â I said. Then, I put my hand over my heart. âThis is where kind comes from.â I put my hands out, like, âget it?â
There was this collective gasp of realization that I did not expect, at all. One kid said âOh damn!â I saw a few kids look at each other like the trick had just been explained to them. They heard me. They really, really heard me. And it was amazing.
Okay, that's all. If you're still here, thank you for giving me so much of your time and attention. I hope you'll come back in a few years, and let me know how you're doing.
658 notes
¡
View notes
Note
not sure if your requests are still open but I'd devour your take on how rdr characters would react to you giving them a hot lunch while they are hunting. Like they are sitting at the top of the hill with a hunting bow in their hands and you sneak up to them, handing them a hot meal prepared for them.
preferred characters are javier, sean and kieran but you can add your favourites as well, I will gladly read your take on that about any character! :)
also don't feel pressured if you don't feel like writing it! much love anyways, have a nice day :))
- đŚ
hot n' ready đ° various rdr2 characters x gn! reader
!! divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more ⥠!! hi sweetheart ! i hope you're doing amazing today ! ⥠this is my favorite request i've gotten in ages ! it's so cute. thank you so much for sending it in. ⥠i'm so so sorry it took me so long to write, i've had like.. 0 motivation to write lately, and this is just to get back into it. i'm also very sorry if this sucks and if i didn't portray any of your favorites right, i'm only really used to writing a few characters. synopsis:bringing your dearest some good lunch you made just for him while he's out hunting. pairings (in order): ⥠charles smith ⥠arthur morgan ⥠javier escuella ⥠eagle flies ⥠sean macguire ⥠kieran duffy ⥠john marston ⥠the boy warnings: none, this is just fluff !! mentions: @pursuedbyamemoryy @deaddoedonoteat
charles smith:
he didn't expect it. at all.
although, that doesn't mean he didn't appreciate it.
when you crept up to him, his focus was entirely on the doe, whose head was tipped down to nibble at the grass beneath her hooves.
as soon as you prodded at him with the tip of your finger, he jolted and made a discontented, uncomfortable sound.
he was quick to whip around to see who it was, gripping his bow a little tighter, but when he realized it was you he visibly relaxed almost instantly.
he greets you and asks you what you have in your hands, disregarding the doe immediately. you were more important.
"a warm lunch, just for you. i know pearson's meals aren't so satisfying to eat, especially since they lack seasoning and any variation, so i made something of my own. i also made myself something, that way, we could have some lunch together.
when you say that, he feels his face go warm.
he has to clear his throat before attempting to tell you that you didn't have to do this for him and that he didn't want to be a waste of time, but you were quicker, promising him that he deserved a break from low quality food and that he deserved something nice.
so, now understanding you were absolutely sure, he takes his warm lunch from your hands with a smile, and you eat together underneath the shade of a tree, sharing conversation and warm, loving smiles.
arthur morgan:
he was a bit frustrated.
he had tried to get his hands on this damn buck for so long, but every time he'd try and shoot, the thing would get spooked off by quickly passersby.
so now, here he was, sat atop a hill, grumbling to himself about how irritating the prey was, fidgeting with an arrow and trying to calm himself down.
he had heard hoofbeats on the grass and quickly turned to see who it was, and as soon as he saw your face, all of his anger was gone. he put the arrow he held down onto the grass with his bow, and watched you approach. he noticed you had something in your hands.
"hey, darlin'. what's that you got in your hands?" he asks, watching you sit down beside him with a bit of a smile present on your features.
"some lunch for you. made it myself." you say, smiling bigger. "i figured you'd like something that isn't as bad as pearson's cooking... so i made that something."
arthur was a bit shocked, taking it from your hands when you held it out to him. he looked from the box up to you, unsure. "i don't deserve this, darlin', it's.. you didn't have to."
"i wanted to."
this makes his face go red, because he wouldn't really figure someone would want to do something like this for him. but it made him happy, and he really enjoyed your cooking. who knew you were so good?
javier escuella:
he's more of a fishing guy, so that might make it a little harder for you to reach him, but that doesn't deter you.
he went down to the dakota river to do some fishing, and he asked you to tag along, but you initially said no. he was a little sad about that.
however, when he was in the middle of wrapping a smallmouth bass so he could return it to camp, you prodded at his shoulder, causing him to yelp and drop the fish.
you apologized quickly, but he was quick to put the apology down. he wasn't mad at you, he could never be. plus, he insisted he should've been more aware of his surroundings.
after that, you handed him the lunch you made.
"querida, what's this?" he asks, inspecting it closely, as if unsure. it wasn't like you'd give him something that'd kill him, so he stopped his looking.
"a lunch i made for you, since pearson's cooking tastes like shit."
"it has a few of the meals you told me your mother used to make you, and i wanted to sorta give you some sense of home. i hope my cooking is as good as hers, and that i captured the flavors right."
his heart warms, and he feels a bit of a hitch in his breath. you took the time out of your day to make him one of the dishes from home? oh, you were just the sweetest.
he holds the lunch carefully as he brings you into a hug and kisses your cheek, thanking you before quickly sitting down to enjoy what you picked to make him.
eagle flies:
today's hunt had been very successful, and he was proud of that.
he had managed to shoot down some rabbits, and he wanted to finish off a deer as well. he found it most refreshing when he did this.
when you came over the hill, he was poised to shoot, rough fingertips pulling back on the string of his bow.
you decided to stay quiet, watching him release the string and puncture the unaware doe's neck. you smiled when he released a pleased sigh, standing to go collect the arrow and the fresh kill.
"that was a good one," you say, spotting him turn and smile right back at you. "thank you." he replies. he'd known you were there, but he had already gotten the opportunity for a perfect shot, so he didn't greet you despite how bad he'd wanted to.
you watched him pluck the arrow from the carcass and hoist it over his shoulder, bringing it back to his horse before helping you down from yours.
"so, why'd you come?"
"made you something." you say, handing him a small box lunch. "you deserve a treat for all of the hard work you've been doing lately. i know it's the least i could do for such hard work, but i was in a rush."
eagle flies smiles at the gift, his heart fluttering. "thank you, my love. i appreciate this a lot. i've always liked your cooking." he says, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to your temple, before sitting down to eat the meal you made specially for him.
sean macguire:
he didn't know why he came on this hunting trip. hunting irked him.
he wasn't even all that good at focusing on the prey, let alone shoot it in a vital spot to kill it. he wouldn't admit that, nor the fact that he'd rather be doing something more entertaining.
he just about tossed away the bow, but you twined your arms around him in a hug and gazed up at him, a smile on your lips.
"hi honey." you say gently, "i brought you something to eat. hunting isn't your forte, and i know you like my cooking. maybe it'll calm you down."
sean stared at you for a moment, his expression flat before it grew a bit embarrassed, "i can hunt just fine!" he snapped, and you laughed. "i saw the anger in your face, honey, you hate it. here."
you pushed the box meal into his hands, and he wasn't going to deny this. as you said, he loved your cooking. he'd never say otherwise... even if he didn't like the flavor of something, he was the biggest fan of your meals and would eat up the whole plate.
he was quick to slump down underneath a tree with you, blabbering on about his day with you leaning against his shoulder. he didn't have any manners when eating, but that was fine. at least he was back to being happy.
kieran duffy:
he prefers being back at camp with the horses, let's just say that.
he didn't like the idea of hurting animals, preferring to take care of them. so, he purposefully made this a bad hunt.
he didn't even know why they asked him of all gang members to go out and hunt... although, he'd still try. he wanted them to trust him at least a little bit more. he wasn't just some o'driscoll..
he sat crouched behind a bush, expression a bit worried as he aimed the bow he borrowed at an unaware rabbit.
when he let go of the string, he jolted back, the squeaky, high-pitched sound from a pained bunny not meeting his ears. only the sound of panicked scuttling and the small thud of an arrow.
"oh..." he sighed, a bit displeased with himself. although, he sorta preferred that he didn't kill something so innocent.
"kieran?"
the sound of your voice caused him to jolt once again, and he looked up at you. "o-oh, hey, darlin'.. um, i uh.."
"i see you haven't caught yourself anything."
"nope.." he mumbled, gaze straying elsewhere. he listened to your soft laughter as you sat down beside him. "that's okay," you promised, earning his eyes on you again, "don't worry. i'll catch something later. anyway, i brought you something."
when you handed him a box, he felt the warmth seep into his palms. he looked at it, then at you. "what's this?"
"some lunch. i made it specially for you, you deserve a break from all that harassment they give you. even though it's not much, i thought you might like it."
kieran blushed at this, putting the box on his lap and managing a small-voiced "thank you."
you made him feel so dizzy, so stupid in love. but he liked that. he liked it a lot.
john marston:
he was pretty self confident in today's hunt.
he'd managed a few kills, a deer and some birds. nothing too big. but he was still pretty proud. and with this confidence, he felt he'd be good with another kill.
however, as soon as he plucked an arrow to shoot with, he noticed you coming up the hill. he was quick to smile all dumb, shoving his bow and arrow away.
when you came over the hill, you halted your horse, looking to him as he made his way over to you and pulled you from your horse.
you noticed quickly that he was in a good mood, as he began to swing you around when you were in his arms. "there's my angel! how are you doing?" he asks, nuzzling you as he sat you down, listening to your giggles.
"great! i don't think i have to ask you how you are..." you tease, before stepping slightly back from him. "made you a little something, by the way.
this caught his attention, and he raised a brow, "what's that?" "made you a lunch, with your favorites." you said as you handed him the lunch. "i figured you'd like it. you've told me about two million times that my cooking's your favorite." holy shit, was this day going good. john was through the roof now.
john grinned like the idiot he was and took the box from you. "thanks, my angel. always did like your cooking, you do it real good. i always wonder who taught you." he admits, wrapping you up in his arms again, careful not to spill what he has in his hands. you giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw, "i try, and i'm glad my hard work is met with a good product."
"mmmhm. now, wanna sit down and share?"
the boy:
he wasn't usually the type to hunt.
however, today, he went out hunting, and it wasn't going so good. he ended up pouting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree.
"honey?" you call out, which distracts him from his moping. he looks like he lightened up a bit, but not as much as you hoped. you sighed when he looked back to his hands.
"not much of a result, huh, love?" you ask, dismounting your horse and approaching him. you squatted down beside him, putting a hand on his cheek and tipping his head up. he grunted a "no."
"huntin's stupid. i'm the best 'round here, but these damn animals.." he huffed. you only smiled softly, leaning in close to him and pressing a kiss to his temple. "will this cheer you up?" you ask, putting a small box in his hands.
he looked at you, confused, blue eyes searching your face and waiting for an explanation.
"it's lunch i made for you. i know you're not the biggest fan of hunting, so i decided i'd make you a lunch to cheer you up... and before you ask if there's any watermelon, yes, i put watermelon in it."
he grinned dumbly, his face growing warm and dusting with a rosy color, leaning in and giving you a quick peck on the nose. "thanks, i always did like your cooking... makes me feel better 'bout this."
"oh, i know. you're blushing all silly."
"i ain't!"
here's this! i hope this suffices for my first post in 8 centuries. i hope you enjoyed, have a nice day! love you guys âĄâĄâĄâĄ
#rdr2 x reader#rdr2 fic#charles smith rdr2#charles smith x reader#arthur morgan rdr2#arthur morgan x reader#javier escuella rdr2#javier escuella x reader#eagle flies rdr2#eagle flies x reader#sean macguire rdr2#sean macguire x reader#kieran duffy rdr2#kieran duffy x reader#john marston rdr2#john marston x reader#the boy rdo#the boy x reader#・ nut's rdr2 headcanons âď¸#・ nut's fulfilled requests âď¸
414 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Permanent Solution | S.R.
cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesnât get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise
no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all
"None of us like you."
The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.
First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.
Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.
"��none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.
"Youâ," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.
"You'll have to excuse me, please,"Â I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.
"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.
Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.
I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "Iâ th-thisâ," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.
"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Whyâ wh-whatâ I don'tâ where is this coming from?"
"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.
I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.
Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.
"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.
"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.
"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.
As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.
5 minutes and 29 seconds.
That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.
Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.
"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.
"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like thâ"
"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.
"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears.Â
âReid, Iâm sorry,â she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. âI should have stopped him,â she continued, shaking her head. âI shouldnât have let him talk to her like that.âÂ
âWhat did he tell her?â Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject.Â
âI told her the truth,â Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia.Â
âGarcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?â Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread.Â
âHeâ he told her nobody wanted her around,â she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, âwhich of course thatâs not the case! I love (Y/N) like sheâs my own sister...â Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed. Â
âBut?â Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued.Â
â...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,â JJ finally spoke up. âWe havenât seen you in ages outside of work! If sheâs keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?â She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him. Â
He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. âShe hasnât kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,â he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone. Â
âSpence, I just meant thatââ JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling.Â
âIn fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I donât drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didnât realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,â he bit back before turning to leave.Â
âWhere are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!â Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something heâd regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriendâex-girlfriendâhe figured theyâd find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.
When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia.Â
âWhat do you want, Garcia?â He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression.Â
âIâ Iâm sorry, Spencer,â she whispered. âI should have told Derek to shut up, Iâm so sorry! I justâ I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down andâ and I know I should have stood up for her but I justâ I just froze like a coward andââ her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off.Â
âGarcia, itâs not your fault,â Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. âDerek was drunk and belligerent. Youâre not responsible for his actions.â He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. âI just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. Sheâs so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldnât have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks.Â
âSpencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,â Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. âIâm so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.â Garciaâs own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms. Â
âWhâ what do I do, Penelope?â He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. âI just want to help her feel better.â Thatâs all heâd wanted since heâd first laid eyes on her. Heâd never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them. Â
âEveryone, Iâd like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt sheâll be an excellent addition to the team.â
Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one)Â who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasnât feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if sheâd want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.
He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. Sheâd slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.
Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.
It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (âa left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!â), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.
Or at least he had thought so, until tonight. Â
âGive her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,â the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. âShe loves you more than anything, and we both know that.â She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks. Â
âYouâre right,â he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. âPlus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know sheâs a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!â He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob. Â
âIf I were you, Iâd just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.â Â
âRight. Yes, youâre right,â he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. âThank you, Penelope.âÂ
âIâm always here for you, Spencer,â she smiled at him before adding, âboth of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.â She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. âCall me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?â He nodded quietly. âUh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? âA promise doesnât count unless you say it out loud,â right?âÂ
âI promise,â Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N). Â
When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail. Â
âHi, youâve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I canât come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, Iâll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!â Beep.Â
âHi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,â he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. âIâm so sorry that I wasnât there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that Iâd call her once you made it home safely.â He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, âI love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.â And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears. Â
He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off.Â
I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldnât give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times Iâd made this trip. Â
I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, heâd take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadnât even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black...Â
#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds fanfic#spencer x reader#spencer reid#heavy angst#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fic#angst
335 notes
¡
View notes
Text
i've found myself in a bad situation. the tl;dr is i have to move, but i can't afford to. i'm a disabled student and just do not have the funds required to rent a truck, hire movers, and cover deposits. so, i'm offering various services on my kofi, but if you don't need those you can also donate there or via paypal. my cashapp and venmo are both erinshelley91 if you'd like to donate on those platforms (i couldn't figure out how to link to those)
if you can't afford to commission me or to donate, reblogging this post and sharing my twitter thread is a free way to help me out and is so appreciated!
more context and stuff under the cut, i just don't want to make a long post on ppl's dashboards
my landlord has been cheating on his husband, and their relationship is rocky. he also has a massive spending addiction according to his husband. his spending addiction is making him not want to perform the actual duties of a landlord, because investment costs are cutting into his shopping spree funds
ex, he is illegally not fixing a leak in the shower of the upstairs tenants, and claims the costs are more than their rent. he told them to "figure it out, or get the fuck out." (verbatim.) he also told me it would be cheaper for him to not have tenants at all bc his utility bills would be smaller. he then left it to ME to inform another tenant to leave (then gaslit me and denied it in front of his husband when his husband questioned it)
in his words, we have 90 days to leave. i am disabled and a full time student and have been living on my fafsa returns, and the last job i had made one of my disabilities worse to the point i've had intensive physical therapy (several hours several times a week) and am likely going to have to undergo surgery
i'm also mi/nd, so even on a good day i'm not very well equipped to handle things, and the recent stress has also caused my therapist to see me several times a week in lieu of institutionalization
all that said, i'm not in a good spot physically or mentally, hence the best i can do right now is offer some of my skills on kofi
i'm currently working with my state's vocational rehab to try and find a suitable job until i can get my degree, but even then i simply would not be able to afford the costs of a sudden move in the timeframe i've got to work with
UPDATE MARCH 25, 2024: i want to invest in a scooter to do gig work like doordash. this will let me work at my own pace, and earn towards the move myself, then i'll have some more independence to continue doing that after as well
they require 50cc or under, which means i could get a scooter for under $1,000. i'd also need to cover fees to renew my license (i let it lapse since i haven't had a vehicle), get a helmet, and get insurance (roughly $100 annually)
i also made some amazon wishlists for folks who would like to help but prefer to know exactly where their money's going. i have one for housewarming stuff here, and one for necessities here
update as of april 5: my cat peed on my bed, and since it's a memory foam mattress it soaked all the way through and ruined it
update as of april 7: she did it again. this time there's blood in it
update as of april 14: i still haven't been able to take her to the vet, but i've been trying to do at home remedies
520 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Oh Haz -W2S
words: 0.8k+
warnings: angst, commitment issues.
summary: Harry freaks out and bolts when you tell him that you love him, so he has to figure out a way to make it up to you.
notes: hello loves! I have a few requests to write but I thought of this fic all by myselfđ (for onceđ
). I hope you enjoy!!đđŤśđź
"So you told him that you love him and he just... left?" Talia asked in disbelief as we ate lunch. I nodded. "What a prick! Did he say anything?" "No. He stuttered for a second then got up off the bed, grabbed his coat and made a b-line for the front door." I replied. Me and Harry have been seeing each other for almost four months now and I've known that I love him for over a month. I decided to wait a little while because I didn't want him to freak out but it seems I should've waited even longer.
That night, after talking things over with Talia, all I could think about was him. Worried in case I'd completely fucked everything up. Eventually I decided that it wasn't my fault. If he wasn't ready to commit after a whole four months then maybe he didn't like me as much as I thought he did. I just wanted him to text me because I wasn't sure what was going on. The last time I spoke to him was the night he left, I've heard nothing since then.
The next day I got up and got ready for work. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, pinned my hair back, applied a little bit of makeup then got dressed into a matching skirt and blazer suit along with tights and some black heels. After quickly eating some breakfast I grabbed my bag and drove to the building in which I work.
The day dragged on and so I couldn't wait to get home, get into my pyjamas, order a takeout and watch some trashy tv. Once I was finally finished I said good night to my boss and headed home.
My heels clicked on the tiled floor as I walked towards the front of my apartment. My brows furrowed as I noticed something on my doorstep. Once I was a close enough I realised what it was. I picked up the bouquet of white flowers then unlocked my apartment door and went inside.
I set the flowers on my kitchen counter and walked into my bedroom to change into some comfy clothes. Once I was finished I took a closer look at the roses. A note was placed inside. I pulled it out then opened it. The note read: "I'm sorry about the other day. Can I make it up to you with dinner tomorrow night? -Harry x" I smiled. He could've just sent me a text but this was way cuter and meant a lot more.
I sent him a quick message: "thank you for the flowers. Do you wanna meet at our usual spot at 7 ish?" He replied quickly, "yeah, that's perfect. See u then." I set my phone down and enjoyed the rest of my night but not before I called Talia to tell her about what had happened in the past twenty minutes and she also thought that the flowers were adorable.
After getting a good sleep I woke up in a great mood. Thankfully it was also my day off so I went to run some errands before I came back and began getting ready for mine and Harry's date. I took a warm shower, took time to do my hair and makeup then slipped into a cute dress that I had brought earlier that day. Once I was finished I left my apartment and drove to the restaurant me and Harry always go to; since we both love it and it's where we had our first date.
I parked my car then headed inside. I was quickly met with a waitress who took me to a quiet table at the back. Harry hadn't arrived yet so I sat patiently on my phone while I waited.
"Hey." I looked up to see Harry. "Hi." I stood to greet him. We shared a quick hug before both sitting down. "How are you?" He asked. "Good. You?" It was awkward, which is what I expected. "I feel awful, you know- because of the other day. I owe you an explanation." He began seriously. I smiled lightly at him since I could tell he was very nervous.
He took a deep breath. "I uh- my last relationship was really fast and it ended quickly as well. I think I freaked out because I um- I didn't want the same thing to happen with us 'cause... I love you, like a lot." He didn't look me in the eyes until he said the last sentence. My features softened. "Oh Haz, I understand. We can take it as slow as you need. And I'm really relieved that you feel the same." I replied.
The mood changed quickly and we enjoyed our night like nothing had even happened. Harry invited me over to his apartment afterwards and as we lay together on his bed, my head rested on his chest and his fingers gently playing with my hair, I felt so happy.
#w2s#wroetoshaw#harry lewis#harry w2s#harry wroetoshaw#w2s x reader#w2s fic#w2s imagine#wroetoshaw x reader#wroetoshaw oneshot#harry lewis x reader#harry x reader#youtuber x reader#sidemen x reader#british youtubers#fanfic#image#oneshot#x fem!reader#x female reader#x y/n#x you#x reader#angst#fluff
268 notes
¡
View notes
Text
jealousy, jealousy!
(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)
a/n: hello! welcome to my first bout of writing! feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy! there isn't much rust content on here so i figured i'd create it myself lmao
warnings: cursing, steamy scenes but nothing too crazy, sorta sexism, marty hart being himself, rust being pigheaded, mentions of sex, etc etc let me know if i missed anything (minors just don't bother interacting regardless thank you!)
word count: around 5.8k
Never did you think that sitting in the passengerâs seat of Rustin Cohleâs red Ford pickup could have you seething as it did now. This wasnât at all how your night was supposed to go and the culprit of said unsavory evening was sitting right next to you, cigarette pinched between tense fingers and eyes set hard on the dark highway ahead. The stubborn bastard had made no move to turn on the radio to save you both from the borderline unbearable silence. All you had was the humid Louisiana air from his rolled-down window flowing into the truckâs cabin and you couldnât quite find it in you to be grateful for the fact he seemed to have kept in mind you detested the smell of that sour burning tobacco.Â
Just who the hell does he think he is?
The question that repeated itself a mile a minute in your Coors-addled brain as it fought to catch up with all that just occurred not even a mere hour prior. Rust, as you already well knew, did not bother himself much when it came to others unless it strictly involved the endless trials of his work. That was the line he drew on a daily basis. Nothing could be clearer than the fact that Rust had little to no capacity for getting truly personal with most who existed in his orbit.
It was something you dealt with a bit better than the likes of your other partner Marty day in and day out at the CID. Though he may be one mystery wrapped in a more or less fucked up enigma, Rustâs way of functioning stayed relatively consistent. You didnât dig often given that he wasnât up and ready to offer much in the first place. He was sharp and strong-minded. Possessing most qualities that make well for a good investigative partner. Lines didnât get muddled. It was how you preferred it. Up until recently, that is.
You didnât have much nerve or will to go down that route right about now.Â
Earlier in the dayâŚ
Your fingers were cramping at the end of typing the last dregs of the dayâs reports. This recent case was starting to weigh heavier and heavier as an influx of countlessly cryptic details revealed themselves with each milestone of the investigative process. Something about this being darkly occultish as it was made it all the more daunting. There was a sense of underlying dread that this was something bigger than all of you. A sentiment you found yourself sharing with at least one of your partners: Rust. Marty on the other hand was still on the fence, not totally in the business of believing this was more than just some twisted piece of shit who had nothing better to do with his time. You wish you had half the mind to reduce it down to something so simple.
Strange things were not that of an irregular occurrence around these parts. Though said strange things didnât have the habit of making it to the limelight as the Dora Lange case had. This wasnât the type of case where one could be fine with just leaving it at work and picking it back up when they returned the next day as normal. Its disturbing details twisted themselves into every fiber of your daily life since that poor girl was found posed in Erath. It was better to eat, sleep, and breathe this case so that it may be solved all the more quickly.Â
A world with one less monster like the one capable of committing a murder such as this is was a world where you could maybe sleep a little more soundly.Â
Rolling your shoulders back, you twisted your aching neck side to side, resounding with an aching series of pops. God, I need a drink. You thought to yourself as you leaned back into the roller chair at your desk. The clock on your floorâs wall read 6:02. With all the work on your part done you figured you could slip out with much complaint. Stiffly rising from your spot, you started to pack away any necessary belongings into your well-loved messenger bag. Marty glanced up from his notes with a small quirk of his brow, âYou headinâ out?â
Throwing your hair up to save yourself from the impending humidity from outside you replied, âYeah. Need to wash the day off me and go grab a drink or somethinâ. Beinâ out talkinâ to them church folk in the heat nearly all afternoon then witnessinâ Rust make that one boy shit himself was enough for the day.âÂ
Marty snorted to himself at that while Rust made no move to acknowledge your statement from his spot as he analyzed his comically large ledger. The blonde sipped his evening coffee as you finished gathering your things, âDonât get too crazy tonight now. Lots to do in the days to follow I reckon the more this case stays befuddlinâ as is.â
You scoffed lightly, âI donât doubt that. Iâll probably just head to that Blue Gator joint off the highway. Grab a few beers. Maybe a dance should one be willinâ. Needâta let loose is all.âÂ
âIâm sure any fella would be delighted to spin the night away with the likes of you, darlinâ. Leave it at just dancinâ will ya?â Marty snickered a bit as you scowled and flipped him off idly. You notice in your peripheral Rust go still with a pen in hand but he didnât make any move to look up or participate in the conversation.Â
Continuing, you fix Marty with a half-hard look, âIâm sure you have your extracurricular activities beyond the job so it ainât a sin to have my own. Anways, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have betwixt coworkers, Martin. Keep your nose outta it.âÂ
Marty let out a surprised guffaw and placed an offended hand over his heart. Rust still hadnât moved an inch from his position. When you let your gaze drift over towards the silent half of the duo you were met with that cold blue stare of his. The mere instance of contact left you feeling funnier than youâd prefer as of late. Things were starting to blossom into something a little different between you two after the few months of being in each otherâs presence. He had been starting to open up in a manner he hadnât bothered to when he first transferred to the CID here in Louisana. His presence had been quiet but no less intimidating, leaving you and Marty at a loss of what to do to prompt him out of his self-imposed shell.
Now, as this new case unfolded it seemed to trigger a sudden release of the deepest tidbits of hisâŚintense opinions and values that went on within the inner workings of his mind. Marty often found himself wishing that Rust never bothered to open his mouth at all. Anything coming from the brooding Texan seemed to offend Hart on some deeper level one way or another.
For you, while it was not all that pleasant to constantly hear how fucked up we as a collective were and how life had little to no meaning, were intrigued nonetheless. You believed that Rust was just as human as everyone else despite him pushing himself as far away from that narrative as possible. He was just broken in a way that couldnât ever be truly reversed. So while his infinitely dismal ramblings left you feeling more defeated about life than anything else at times, you couldnât find it in you to really hold it against him.Â
When it came to your dynamic, he seemed to have more of an unspoken respect for you than most of your colleagues did within the department. It wasnât some radical declaration made by him that clued you in on the matter. He mostly just treated you the same as everyone else. Not inherently negative nor too positively outgoing where others could accuse him of giving you some form of special treatment. He listened to you and took your input into genuine consideration which was more than you could ask for when it came to working alongside any of your other male counterparts. However, there were these little instances within the recent weeks that had your mind (and heart) taking another route when it came to how Rust Cohle just might regard you.Â
First, it started with fresh coffee materializing on your desk by the time youâd be strolling in at morning time. Two sugars with one cream and always in your favorite green mug ordained with hand-painted daisies. Very specific and not at all a detail that Marty ever bothered himself with remembering about you in the time youâd known each other. Not that you ever really cared. No one else here would ever think to offer you a damn thing unless it was maybe the lovely receptionist up at the front.
It wasnât until one night you had forgotten your keys at your desk and made your way back inside the assumingly empty department only to find the Rust Cohle with sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the small office kitchen cleaning your daisy mug that youâd left haphazardly in the sink before leaving. You watched in silent awe as he had set it gently aside after drying it for what you assumed was for the next morning where heâd be the one who dutifully made your memorized coffee order in secret before your arrival. To him, the act was probably meaningless.Â
To you, the simple scene made your heart squeeze in a way you didnât think was possible.Â
Next, it occurred when he started offering you rides to and fro after your car suffered a nasty rear-ending thus needing to have it sit in the shop for the time being. At first, it was a little nerve-wracking to be in close proximity without Marty present to break any drawn-out silences but after a while youâd found yourself in a rhythm you could call your own. Sometimes youâd talk, sometimes youâd sit and listen to whatever old country cassettes he had stowed away in his glove compartment. It was never dull to you.Â
Each car ride had you piecing together factoids that unfurled into the evergrowing idea that was your new(ish) partner. You still found yourself sharing more about your own life than he did more often than not but you were okay with that. Even if he wasnât the most reactive of men, you knew he held on to every word. Anything he decided to sparingly share had you doing the same with a reverence you werenât sure you carried for anyone else. Â
After getting your car back and no longer needing his chauffeur services a silent agreement had followed. Neither party was completely ready to let go of the pleasant thirty-three minutes permitted to be spent together outside of work. It was decided that heâd drive you home on nights you happened to leave late, deeming it too dangerous to be traveling home at odd hours in the night although you had already been doing so plenty before he manifested into your life.
Eventually, he even found himself at your house one day after having determined that your porch steps needed fixingâŚor that your gutters should be clearedâŚor that the lawn was looking a little too overgrown than what was acceptable. Small acts where you felt that maybe he wanted to be in your presence a bit longer than normally desired when it came to his usual limits of socialization.
Seeing him working around your property with that sweat-soiled wife beater of his and those lithe, god-given arms made that squeeze in your heart reach new heights and your tongue feel like lead. Who knew such pictures of domesticity could have this intense of a hold over you? You usually prided yourself in not being so easily affected by men. Though it wasnât necessarily news that Rust was his own brand of a striking handsome that stood out against most men youâd come across. The sweet tea youâd supply for the dreadful heat when heâd carry out his projects ended up being more for your own benefit than his.
You caught yourself feeling greedy for more of his presence as he made himself an increasingly present fixture in your life. Which realisticallyâŚcouldnât lead to any sort of good.Â
Bringing yourself back to now, his gaze held an emotion you couldnât quite place. Hell, most times it was hard enough to know exactly what he was thinking unless he outright declared it. Maybe it was disapproval? Judgement? It wasnât likely that he wanted to hear about your potential escapades. You probably wouldnât want to hear of his either (not that he ever does speak of it if he even engages in that sort of activity) but youâd be coming from a different place on that matter. He returns to the pages of his ledger after deciding to break the staring spell, âI donât see what sorta grand company could be found at an establishment such as the Green Gator.â
 His tone came out a bit too passive for your liking. Bordering the ugly lines of judgy which was something that rubbed you wrong entirely, âItâs the Blue Gator-â
âOh hush up, Mr. High and Mighty. Not every man is as intellectually driven as you find yourself. Most men want fun and ainât gonna pass it up when itâs in front of emâ. They donât need nearly as much as you do to get their rocks off.â Marty angles himself towards Rust in his chair, already willing to bat for you in his more than unhelpful way.Â
Rust just scoffed and shook his head slightly, âWouldnât expect a thing from anyone in this vast shitholeâŚbuncha ignorant shitheels with no sense of fuckinââŚâ He muttered the rest of his ramblings detailing the severe lack of intelligence that the people of Louisiana seemed to hold while bringing his attention back to his ledger.Â
His shoulders were set in a harder line than usual. Marty got a kick out of it all, reducing Rustâs distaste to not being able to participate in normalcy like anybody else in the world could.   Â
On your end, it struck a nerve that he clearly found your plans more than dissatisfactory. It left an unpleasant taste in your mouth to be on the potential receiving end of Rustâs ruthless judgments.
âYou forget him, y/n. You have yourself a good olâ time with whatever strappinâ young man of your choosing should he be lucky. Donât let grumpy guss piss on your parade.âÂ
You find yourself grimacing at how much focus on you and the prospect of potentially getting laid has been put. You look back to Rust but he seemed to be no longer interested in your presence, back in his own world and on the case. Patting Marty on the shoulder you finally make your way to head out, âGânight. Iâd love it if we never brought any of this up again. Page me if anythinâ comes up.âÂ
âYâgot it, darlinâ. You stay safe.â Marty points at you a bit more seriously and you nod in slight exasperation with a soft âgot itâ before officially leaving. Rust hadnât said another word which left you feeling all sorts of confused. Relieved he didnât further insult your plans for a night out? Disappointed he didnât put up much of a fight when it came to you maybe trying to avoid any of your current problems with the company of another man? You donât know what you expected but you did know that you needed to get it together and just let this shit go even for just one night.Â
And what a night it would be indeed.Â
Night at the Blue GatorâŚ
The night was proving to be a bit more than uneventful. Perhaps uneventful was just about the only thing your mind could handle at the given moment with everything else going on. The lingering feeling of Rustâs disapproval had also left you more affected than desired. With a few Coors in your system, you find your gaze a little hazy as it passes around the kitschy establishment.
Some George Strait song filters through the bar on top of the active chatter of the patrons taking up a surprising amount of space for a Wednesday night. The cute little black dress you managed to find in your closet and squeeze into was becoming less than ideal as you found yourself hearing the siren call of just calling it quits and crawling into bed back home. Clean sheets and reruns of something like The Golden GirlsâŚabsolute fucking heaven right about now.Â
Briefly pressing your perspiring bottle to your forehead, you soon enough were roped into a dance as some lively Brooks and Dunne tune came on. The fella who managed to drag you on the dancefloor was decent enough. A bit short and plenty bald⌠with maybe a tad too eager of hands for your tastes that left you feeling a bit removed from the experience as a few more songs went on. You weaseled yourself out of the crowd after âpromisingâ baldy (named Rex or Tex but whoâs to really care) youâd make your return after grabbing a refreshment.Â
Making your way to the bar your legs come to a sudden halt at the sight of a familiar figure slouched on a stool. After your brief shock shifted into a brewing irritation, your feet found themselves mobile again as you sidle next to Rust and order yourself another drink. He put out his cigarette as soon as you were near his side but made no motion to speak so you find yourself shooting first.
âFor a place you couldnât bother gettinâ the name right of you can color me surprised to see you here.â
âA man ainât allowed to drink after work?â Is his flat reply.Â
You put your hands up in mock defense, âNo need for my permission. Just didnât think youâd grace the simpletons âround here when you can have a drink for free and in peace in the comforts of your own home.âÂ
Rust didnât have anything to say to that, instead lifting his own drink to his lips, âThat man sure had a grip on ya. Doesnât seem the type youâd to give the time of day to. Lessâ youâre that compelled to blow off steam.âÂ
The thinly veiled nonchalance of his insult didnât go past you. Instead, it caused you to bristle only in the way you could when you had a few drinks in you, a bit more sensitive and a helluva lot more confrontational. Who was he to judge how you spend your time? Let alone who the hell you spend it with? You set your new drink down with more force than necessary and felt your face starting to get hot.Â
âI can dance with just about anybody.â
âThatâs been made clear.â
âAnd why in godâs name do you care exactly just who it is I dance with?â
âDon't remember ever givin' the implication that I quite cared.â Calculated blue flitted over you as if bored. But you knew better.
âIâm sorry, did you just come here to make me out to be some desperate whore for drinkinâ and dancinâ when Iâm a grown-â That got his expression to fall with something closely resembling alarm.Â
âThat ainât-â
âLast I checked I can do whatever I so fuckinâ please. Do not go insertinâ yourself in the aspects of my life in which you are not fuckinâ concerned. Some of us are lonely and tired and canât take comfort in stupid murder manuals or severe stretches of solitude. Call it my shitty programminâ but thatâs just how it is for most people. If I wanna drink and let a greaseball feel me up then thatâs entirely up to me! Shit, it might be dumber than hell but itâs not like Iâm gonna sit and wait around for you to make a move! Thatâs if you even feel a speck of the way Iâm startinâ to towards you. Knowinâ you youâve probably noticed and just like to see me embarrassed or somethinâ.â
 Everything was coming out like one big bout of word vomit. There was an even deeper change in Rustâs demeanor but you were too tipsy and too angry to pay much notice. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger as you threw up a finger to jab at his shoulder,
âIt is not up to you to judge people for the shit they do that you deem is beneath you every chance you get. Youâre not perfect yourself and I know you know it. But thanks anyway for making me feel like a fuckinâ stupid loser-â Your heated rant was interrupted by a fat mitt of a hand making its way around your waist.Â
âThis fella botherinâ you, honey?â The hot whiskey-riddled breath of Tex or Lex or whoever the fuck immediately made your nose wrinkle in disgust. Your patience had run its due course for the night as you roughly shoved him off you,
âOh come off it, Dex-â
âItâs Rex.â
âI donât care no more Iâm leavinâ.â You threw a couple bills on the barâs surface before making your move past both the offending men. Rex had different ideas and made the choice of gripping your arm tightly without much remorse despite your loud protest.Â
âYou still owe me a dance, bitch. Where dâya think youâre goin-â
âYou best get your hands off her, boy.â Rustâs glare was off-putting even to you. Rex was either too stupid or too drunk to really care as he attempted to yank you back towards him. With your heart racing, all you could think to do was take your heel-adorned food and stomp on his booted one hard. The short bastard yelped as he let you go, giving you the room to skirt past him far enough just in time for Rust to take him by the collar and send him reeling with a swift punch.  Â
Rex surprisingly regained momentum and took his chance to get a lick back at Rust but his opponent was already plenty steps ahead of him. Rust took Rexâs fist, twisting it behind the shitheadâs back, and slammed his head into the bar countertop with a sick thud. A commotion had well enough formed by now and it was your obvious cue to start hustling your way out. Rust spit on the man who now had made a home on the sticky floorboards before turning to you. Your chest was heaving as you made way to open your mouth but he wouldnât hear it as he grabbed your arm and started leading you out.Â
The bar doors slammed open and the persistently thick air of the South drove you further into rage. You yanked your arm a few times until finally freeing yourself from his clutches. He didnât stop to acknowledge you, instead making his way toward his truck as if expecting you to faithfully trail behind.
âWhere exactly do you get off?!â You demanded, struggling to keep up in your heels which then had you electing to nearly fall over yourself trying to rip them off.
No answer.
âIâm talkinâ to you! What the hell is wrong with you?â Your feet were finally free on the warm pavement of the parking lot. You still received no reply.
âRUSTIN.â Your throat nearly felt raw at the volume of your hollering. He stopped at his truckâs passenger door and opened it. The blood in your veins thrummed while your head and heart felt like they were going to burst out of their respective places.Â
âGet in the truck.â
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
âYouâre drunk-â
âYou ain't one to talk. Donât think I ainât seen those bottles of cough syrup in your car or them pill bottles you got! Iâll make it just fine-"
âY/n.â His low baritone left no room for argument, nor did his hard stare. You felt like a petulant child staring back at him with your arms crossed.Â
Your will to break was unshakeable but you had the inclination that if you pushed him hard enough heâd have you in that passenger seat even if you came kicking and screaming. Huffing out a harsh breath you half stomped your way over and climbed in. Grabbing the handle for yourself you slammed the door before he had the chance to close it for you. You felt a lick of petty satisfaction when you saw his shoulders drop and a hand come up to squeeze the back of his neck. It wasnât often you could catch Rust off-guard, let alone see him visibly exasperated.
After a moment or two, he rounded his way to the driverâs side and got inside with noticeably less ruckus than you did. He lit a cigarette as he pulled out of the parking lot, but not before rolling down the window in consideration of you. Bastard.Â
âMy car better find its way back into my damn driveway come morning.âÂ
He remained silent for the rest of the way.
Back to the presentâŚ
Pulling up to your house, the truck hadnât even made a complete stop before you unbuckled and hastily hopped on out. You only stumbled a bit as the old Ford squeaked behind you in what was probably the harsh fashion in which Rust mustâve slammed on his brakes at your sudden escape. You heard the truck get thrown into park and a heavy slam of a door shutting as you quickened your pace up the pathway to your front porch. Your heaving breaths were drowned out by the frogs and nearby cicadas that created their own little symphony on your property. You knew Rust was following you but you naively hoped youâd make it up to shut the door in his face just in time.Â
'Fuck, I forgot my shoes.â Was your narrow thought as you fumbled for your key ring in the endless depths of your purse. Rustâs footsteps grew closer causing you to whip around and shove him back with a clumsy force much to his surprise.Â
âDonât you come followinâ me! Iâve had just about enough of you!â
âListen-â
âNo you listen! Never have I been more embarrassed than youâve made me tonight. Never have I felt more stupid and small all because you decided today was the day Iâd be on the shit end of your scathing criticisms! You can fuck right off with that mess. Iâm goinâ to bed.â You turned to start your trek before he spoke up again,
âMy intentions were not to come by and make you feel stupid.â
A near-jarring laugh clawed its way from your system, âOh, so thatâs your twisted way of makinâ a girl feel cared for. Is that it?âÂ
He let out a frustrated sound, âWhatâd you mean by startinâ to feel a certain way towards me. Back at the bar.â
Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass just then. Did you really blab on about that somewhere in the middle of your tirade? God, you could just about go feed yourself to the gators right now. Work would no doubt be complete hell after this nightmare of an outing.
âTake it how you want it. I know with you being as perceptive as you are it shouldnât come as a mystery what I might feel. You do plenty towards me thatâs had me foolishly thinkinâ there could be a one in a million chance of somethinâ but no dice. So what I want to know is why did you follow me out. Why did you come all this way to ruin my night.âÂ
The silence was biting as he offered up no explanation. He seemed to be trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead of the petty satisfaction you felt from seeing him at a loss earlier, he seemed well and truly bothered now which left a sinking feeling in your gut. The thought of the immovable force in front of you being this bothered when it came to matters involving you just made you all the more disoriented. There was only one other plausible explanation as to why he went through all this trouble to insert himself into the mix.Â
You could almost fall to your knees laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of your creeping realization. It couldnât be. There was just no way. But given the miserable look of Rustâs obvious inner battle on what he should decide to say to you had you gawking.Â
The man was jealous. Rustin Cohle, feeler of nothing and believer of none, was jealous. A fit of giggles made their way out of you before you could help it. It mightâve been in poor taste during the seriousness of the moment between you both but you couldnât stop. Rust seemed all the more distressed as if heâd been caught red-handed. Stripped bare in front of you despite no real accusation of his behavior being made quite yet.Â
âIf I knew any better Iâd say you were plain jealous, Rust. Canât say I see you beinâ capable of actinâ so irrationally. I thought entertaininâ such primal notions was too beneath you. Especially should it involve lil olâ me.â
But he was indeed more than susceptible to all the irrational factors of his so-called programming when it came to you. You were beautiful. Mind, body, and soul. Your presence brought things to the surface he didnât believe he could ever have the experience of feeling again. It scared him shitless. Having to face what was making his old tired heart beat into a lively rhythm again after convincing himself things of that nature were abysmally futile. Even as you stood in front of him now, with eyes and hair looking something fiercely wild, feet bare and dirtied from your lack of shoes in that high-cut black ensemble you had on. He absolutely knew that he couldnât bring himself to deny what his programming was demanding of him when it came to the unknowing hold you had over him. Flexing his shaking fingers as if to render them steady he took a slow approach to you.Â
This was a moment where you had neither the sense nor the imagination to anticipate what heâd do next. It was as if your heart had forgotten how to keep itself beating. This was the closest you had found yourself in his proximity. Being able to see every fine detail of the tragically beautiful man in front of you could have left you speechless for the rest of your days.
A large, calloused hand came to cup your jaw then the other followed. Both nearly took up the entire sides of your face, and their warmth made you feel as if you were on fire. His grip was firm⌠more so intenful if you were to put a name to it. Eyes searched each other in the most tortuously bated moment youâd ever found yourself being victim to. If you were to move an inch or look away the spell might be broken forever and you think you might just collapse if that were to happen. When had you gotten this dramatic?
Kiss me. God, kiss me. Just kiss me. You thought over and over as if willing it into his mind. Then, as if he heard you through some unspoken link, he did.Â
It was like being let in on one big universal secret that couldnât be fathomed by most. Never had you thought a kiss could wield as much power as Rustâs did. For being such a hard and withdrawn individual, the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your plush ones felt nothing short of soul-bearing and endlessly warm. Trailing your hands up his broad chest, the quick pitter-pattering of his heart didnât go past you. Drawing your palms up further you reach to lace deft fingers into the sandy waves that youâd secretly been aching to touch for a while now. His breath faltered as you pulled back for a brief moment. It wasnât long before the invisible magnet between you both had you returning for more.Â
The kiss turned more intense, bodies pressing and molding into each other as if you could become one entity. His tongue traced the seams of your lips and you had no qualms with letting him invade your senses further. The need for air was becoming harder to ignore but no force on earth could rip you away. The desire for him was something youâd not felt for another person in youâre not sure how long. If not ever. His breath held traces of the Lonestar heâd been cradling and the cigarette heâd deeply pulled on the way here and it had you absolutely hooked as it curled into your mouth. You didnât know how long the pair of you stood on your porch necking like a bunch of desperate teenagers but by the time he pulled away you felt dizzy at the sight of his flushed complexion and swollen lips. Possessiveness gripped your being at the thought of being able to have such an effect on him. You. No one else.Â
Rustâs grip loosened on your heated face as he planted one last sweet kiss on you before stepping away entirely. It was a shock that you had any remaining strength to keep yourself upright. His expression seemed a bit more relaxed, a bit too casual for what just transpired. There was a brief pause.Â
âDonât go out dancinâ anymore.âÂ
With that, he turned and made his slow descent back to his truck. Snapping out of your daze once the words sunk into the crevices of your Rust-drunk brain you quirked a brow,Â
 âIf thatâs your odd way of layinâ claim on me I think Iâm gonna need to ask for a more straightforward redo, mister.âÂ
You saw his shoulders shake slightly in amusement as the night found itself ending on a more playful albeit confusing note, âGânight, y/n.â
âIâm beinâ serious, Rust. You canât just kiss a girl like that then waltz on out. I have questions.â You pointed.   Â
 âIâll see ya tomorrow.â The cowboy gave a slight wave and then got into his truck. Oh, you could wipe that subtly growing smirk right off his stupid face. His dry sense of humor made its presence known at what you thought was the most inopportune of times. You stood there watching his truck disappear into the night, the ghost of him sticking to you like molasses. Your fingertips graced your buzzing lips and you couldâve started giggling again like some schoolgirl. How ridiculous indeed.Â
You were so not letting any of this go when you got into work tomorrow.
#rust cohle#rust cohle x reader#true detective#marty hart#true detective imagine#rust cohle imagine#true detective season 1#matthew mcconaughey
560 notes
¡
View notes
Text
From Chaos to Comfort Pt1
George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader
Summery: George becomes acutely awear that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Freds pranks.
Warning: enemies to lovers(?) George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol. Also, Y/N is a little mean to George Ngl
Word count: 2.5k
Notes: I have almost 12k words written already xD But after my 5k Neville fic, I figured I'd take this one a little slower and give myself time to proofread and make adjustments, for now? Chapter One!!also georges face in this Gif omfg
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
----------------------------------------
The quiet halls of Hogwarts were where Y/N felt most at easeâespecially in the dimly lit corners of the library or the serene grounds at night, where the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees or the occasional hoot of an owl. As a reserved Hufflepuff, she preferred these moments of tranquility, keeping out of the spotlight and far from the bustling excitement that so often dominated the school.
Unfortunately for her, Fred and George Weasley didnât share her preference for peace and quiet. In fact, their favorite hobby seemed to be drawing attention to those who tried to hide from itâparticularly Y/N.
On this particular evening, Y/N had settled down in the library with a stack of books, hoping to get some quiet reading done before the day ended. The library had a hushed atmosphere, with only the occasional whisper or the soft turning of pages to disturb the stillness.
But that all changed in an instant.
One by one, the books she had carefully chosen began to glow faintly before bursting into songâloud, off-key, and echoing through the entire library. It started with the first book in her stack, a thick volume of Transfiguration spells, which suddenly belted out a shrill tune:
"⏠Iâm a magical tome, filled with spells and rhymes, cast a charm on me, and I'll sing for all times! âŹ"
The next book joined in, followed by another, until her entire pile of books formed a chorus. Y/N could feel the eyes of everyone in the library turning toward her as the cacophony grew louder and louder. Laughter rippled through the students around her, and even Madam Pince, the strict librarian, seemed too flustered to immediately react.
Y/N's face flushed a deep red as she frantically tried to shut the books, but they wouldn't stop singing no matter how many times she slammed them shut. The laughter and whispers grew louder with each failed attempt. Her humiliation only deepened when she spotted the identical grins of Fred and George Weasley from across the library, clearly enjoying their handiwork.
That was the last straw. Furiously shoving the singing books into her bag, Y/N stormed out of the library, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could still hear the faint echoes of the enchanted books singing behind her as she hurried through the corridors, ignoring the amused glances and hushed snickers from passing students.
"I swear, Iâm never speaking to either of them again," she muttered to herself, her fists clenched in anger. She couldn't even tell Fred and George apart half the time, which only made it worse. It was easier to avoid them both altogether, and that's exactly what she intended to do.
But deep down, a part of her wondered if it would be that simple. After all, it was Fred and George Weasleyâmasters of mischief. Avoiding them might prove to be an impossible task.
----------
In the days following the library prank, George couldnât shake the memory of Y/Nâs reaction. While Fred had laughed it off, pleased with how the prank had turned out, George had noticed something differentâsomething that stuck with him more than he expected. He had seen the hurt flash across Y/Nâs face, the way her cheeks flushed, not just with anger, but with humiliation.
At first, he tried to brush it off. Pranks were what he and Fred did. They brought laughter, lightened the mood, and sometimes, yes, embarrassed a few people in the process. It was all in good fun, wasnât it? But George couldn't quite convince himself this time. For some reason, the image of Y/N storming out of the library, her fists clenched in frustration, kept playing in his mind.
Fred, on the other hand, barely gave it another thought, moving on to plotting their next grand joke. George, though, found himself paying more attention to Y/N in the days that followed. It wasnât something he did consciously at first. Heâd catch a glimpse of her in the corridors, her head down, her pace quick, always avoiding eye contact with others. In the Great Hall, she often sat at the very edge of the Hufflepuff table, picking at her food while quietly observing the lively chatter around her, as if she were a part of the scene but always apart from it.
The more George noticed her, the more his curiosity grew. Why did she keep to herself so much? Why did she seem to go out of her way to avoid peopleâeven more so after their prank in the library? And why, of all things, did her quietness intrigue him?
During one particular afternoon in the library, George found himself sitting a few tables away from Y/N. She was engrossed in a thick book, her brows furrowed in concentration. He watched as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her finger, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. There was something peaceful about her in those momentsâa calmness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of his own life.
Fred, of course, remained blissfully unaware of George's growing fascination. He saw Y/N as just another target for their pranks, and to him, the twinsâ antics were a way of livening up the mundane routines of school life. But George found himself torn. The more he observed Y/N, the more he realized that there was something about her that went beyond the surfaceâsomething he admired. She didnât seek attention, didnât thrive in the spotlight like so many others did. She seemed content in her own little world, even if that world often seemed lonely.
But Y/N, still furious about the library prank, had no interest in any of the Weasleysâleast of all George, who she still couldnât distinguish from Fred. As far as she was concerned, the twins were a package deal of trouble and mischief, and the less time she spent around them, the better. Whenever she caught sight of George, she would quickly turn the other way or disappear down a different corridor, determined to avoid them both at all costs.
George, however, wasnât ready to give up just yet. The more Y/N distanced herself from him, the more he found himself wanting to understand her, to know what lay beneath that quiet exterior. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was curiosity, or maybeâjust maybeâit was something more.
----------
The days at Hogwarts had grown increasingly tense for Y/N. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed impossible to escape the pranks that followed her like a shadowâpranks she was certain came from both Weasley twins. Whether it was her quill turning into a puff of glitter mid-essay or her robes suddenly sprouting a cascade of flowers, Y/N felt like a constant target. Every laugh that echoed in the hallways after a prank only deepened her frustration.
And George, always nearbyâwatching her, noticing herâwas no exception in her mind. She never saw him without assuming he was plotting alongside Fred. Every time he appeared, she would tense up, bracing for whatever prank theyâd cooked up next. To Y/N, they were the sameâpartners in crime who found amusement in humiliating others, especially her.
Unbeknownst to Y/N, George had slowly started pulling away from the pranks, his growing guilt making it harder to join in on Fredâs antics. He had tried to distance himself, letting Fred take the lead while he hung back, watching Y/N more than participating in the mischief. But to Y/N, it didnât matter. She saw him as guilty by association, and every time she spotted him, her resentment flared.
The tension between them simmered under the surface, waiting to boil over. That moment came one afternoon when Y/N, in a hurry to get to her next class, rounded a corner and collided with someoneâGeorge.
The impact was sudden, and Y/Nâs heart leapt into her throat. Her body tensed, and she flinched instinctively, taking a step back as if expecting an explosion of fireworks or an instant prank to follow. Her breath caught in her chest as she braced for whatever humiliation would come next.
But nothing happened.
George, equally surprised by the sudden collision, raised his hands in apology. âIâm sorry, I didnât seeââ
Before he could finish, he saw itâthe way Y/N had recoiled at his touch, the way her eyes flickered with distrust, her whole body stiffening as if she were preparing for yet another prank. His stomach dropped at the realization.
âY/N, Iââ George began, but the words faltered. He could see the wariness in her expression, the way she avoided his gaze, the way her shoulders remained rigid, ready for disappointment. His chest tightened with a pang of guilt. She saw him as no different from Fred, no different from the pranks that had made her the center of unwanted attention.
Y/N didnât give him a chance to explain. Without a word, she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his as she hurried away, her head down.
George stood there for a moment, frozen in place, watching her retreating figure disappear down the corridor. Her reaction stung more than heâd expected. He hadnât meant to scare her, hadnât meant to make her feel like this. But how could he undo all the pranks that had come before, all the times she had flinched at the mere sight of him?
Fredâs voice echoed in his mindââCome on, George, itâs all in good fun!ââbut it no longer felt like fun to George. Not when he saw how deeply it had affected her. He clenched his fists, determined to show Y/N that he was different, that he wasnât what she thought he was.
But for now, the tension between them lingered, thick and unspoken, a rift caused by misunderstandings and misidentificationâone that George desperately wanted to bridge, even if Y/N wasnât ready to see the difference yet.
----------
It was another dreary Monday morning in Potions, and the last thing Y/N wanted was to be paired with any of the Weasley twins. But, as fate would have it, Professor Snape announced the pairings, and her heart sank when she heard Georgeâs name called alongside hers.
Y/N shot a glance at George, her lips pressed into a thin line. He walked over to her, offering a tentative smile. "Guess we're partners, huh?"
Y/N barely looked at him, focusing on gathering the ingredients from the shelf. "Looks that way."
George rubbed the back of his neck, sensing her reluctance. "Listen, I know you probably think Iâm going to mess this up somehow, but I promise Iâll be serious about this. No pranks."
She finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. âIs that supposed to be reassuring?â
George chuckled, trying to ease the tension. âWell, considering my track record, yes. I really do want to help.â
Y/N sighed and handed him a few ingredients. âJust donât blow anything up, and weâll be fine.â
As they started brewing, the conversation remained minimal, but George kept trying to break the silence.
âYou know,â he said, stirring the cauldron, âIâm actually pretty good at Potions. Donât tell Fred, though. Heâll never let me live it down.â
Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, clearly skeptical. âRight.â
âSeriously,â George said, trying to sound casual. âYouâd be surprised.â
Y/N couldnât help the small smirk that tugged at her lips, though she quickly hid it. âIâll believe it when I see it.â
As the potion bubbled away, George continued to sneak glances at her, noticing the small expressions she tried to hide. There was more to her than her quiet demeanor, and it only fueled his curiosity.
âIâm not as bad as you think,â he said after a while, his tone more sincere this time.
Y/N didnât respond immediately, focusing on measuring the next ingredient. âYou still think this is all a game, donât you? Even now.â
Georgeâs smile faded, and for a moment, he looked unsure. âNo,â he said quietly. âI really donât.â
Y/N paused at his words, glancing at him again, this time with a hint of surprise. But before she could say anything more, the potion bubbled over, and they both scrambled to fix it, their brief moment of connection slipping away in the chaos.
----------
Later that week, Y/N was sitting in the library, trying to concentrate on her studies. The library was her refuge, a place where she could escape the noise and chaos of the schoolâand, more importantly, avoid the Weasley twins.
But just as she was getting lost in the words on the page, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
âMind if I sit here?â
She looked up, annoyed to see George standing there with an uncertain smile. âThe libraryâs big enough,â she replied coolly. âIâm sure you can find another seat.â
George hesitated, but instead of leaving, he sat down across from her. âI wasnât sure if youâd talk to me after Potions.â
Y/N scowled, clearly frustrated. âDid it ever occur to you that I donât want to talk to you?â
âI figured as much,â George admitted, leaning back in his chair. âBut I also figured it wouldnât hurt to try.â
She huffed, focusing on her book again, though she wasnât really reading. Georgeâs presence was too distracting. He wasnât like Fred. There was something quieter about him, something that made her defenses waver ever so slightly, though she hated admitting it.
After a few moments of silence, George spoke again. âIâm sorry for everything. I know Fred and I have caused a lot of trouble for you, and...well, youâre probably sick of hearing it, but I really didnât mean to make things so awful.â
Y/Nâs eyes flickered up to him, and she could tell from his expression that he was being sincere. But she wasnât ready to forgive so easily.
âYou think an apology will fix everything?â she asked, her voice sharp. âYou and Fred donât get it. You donât care how it affects people, do you?â
George frowned, sitting up straighter. âThatâs not true. I do care. Fred⌠well, he doesnât think before he acts, but I see what it does to you. And I donât like it.â
Y/N narrowed her eyes, skeptical but slightly softened by his words. âThen why havenât you done anything to stop him?â
George hesitated, looking away for a moment. âI guess I didnât realize how bad it was for you until recently. But Iâm trying now. Iâm not like that, I dont mean to be. I want to be better.â
Y/Nâs expression softened, if only slightly, as she studied him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, but she wasnât ready to let her guard down yet.
âThen prove it,â she said, her voice quieter now. âStop making excuses and prove youâre different.â
George met her gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. âI will.â
They sat there in silence for a few more moments, the tension between them palpable. Y/N finally returned to her book, and George didnât push the conversation any further. But something had shifted between themâa tiny crack in the wall Y/N had built around herself, and George had noticed it too.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
#fanfic#harry potter#hogwarts#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley x you#george weasley x y/n#George#harry potter fanfiction#george weasley fanfiction#hp#hp fanfic#hp fanfiction#harry potter fanfic#hp fandom#Puff's Writing#x reader#x y/n#x you
128 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Yuno's Birthday TL convo 2024
Shidou: Thank you for always being there through Shiina-kun's treatments. You're doing us a big favour. Both her and me. Even if something happened to me, it gives me some peace of mind if you're there.
Yuno: It's not like that. I can't really do anything by myself. All I can really do is be your helper. I'm only playing nurse, that's all.
Shidou: No, really Kashiki-kun, you've got the right aptitude you know. You're observant, you keep your composure, and you're courageous. If you haven't already decided what you want to do with your life, how about going into healthcare?
Yuno: Really? âŚ.haha, shut up. I don't want to think about the future. And after all, one where I'm involved in something like whether a person lives or dies⌠Don't make me laugh.
[I've not been in the tags so someone else might've already posted a translation, I just figured I'd share the one I made too. No TL notes this time other than it seems even if Shidou is incapacitated, they're implying Mahiru will be ok as long as Yuno's around]
173 notes
¡
View notes
Text
To come home - Kageyama x Reader
for @writingsofanomnivore - Haikyuu Taglist: @lees-chaotic-brain
Coming home is both the best and the worst part of your day.
There's no free seat left and your feet ache from the shoes you thought were cute in the morning. You're tired in a way no coffee can appease but you still have to get through half an hour train ride before you're remotely close to your bed.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out, stress lifting just from the sight of the message.
Because coming home also means coming home to him.
It's not that hard to find him in the crowds, the last drops of evening sun caught in the shadows of his dark hair. His eyes are closed and you'd assume he's falling asleep standing up if you didn't know better.
"Hey," you link your arm with his and lean into him, "I'm here."
Ever since Hinata introduced him to it, Tobio has been trying to meditate. So far with limited success.
"Hey," he presses a kiss to your lips. "Welcome back."
"How was your day?" You ask, hand in his as you cross the street. There's a Konbini not far from your shared apartment and you listen to his recollection of today's training as you fill your basket with fresh produce.
"Blueberries?" You ask, holding up a box. He nods, loading his arms with milk, cheese, and some yogurt. "Buy two," he says, "You'll probably eat one on your own. Anyway, while I was practicing my jump serve, Hoshiumi-"
Arms heavy with groceries you make the short trek down the street and up the stairs to your apartment. It's your turn now to tell him about your day and you're in the middle of explaining something when one box of Blueberries slips from your grasp.
You can see it fall, dread the moment it will hit the ground and catapult its content everywhere but Tobio is a little faster and picks it out of the air like he's receiving in a match.
"That was close," you gasp but he snorts, clearly insulted by your lack of faith. "I'm sorry," you lean in to kiss him again, your hands still occupied, "You're my hero."
-
Coming home with him is still your favorite thing in the world. You love coming home earlier and getting everything ready, surprising him with his favorite meal ready to eat and seeing his eyes light up on the doorstep. You love coming home to him, hair damp from a shower, his figure drowning in the comfiest clothes he owns, the one and only meal he's perfected making bubbling on the stove.
But coming home with him just hits differently.
How you giggle in the doorway, somehow always in the way of the other person, stumbling over and around each other, pressing kisses to every speck of skin you can reach just to annoy, distract, confuse.
Tobio loves playing Tetris with the Fridge and you don't mind getting started with Dinner, inspiration overflowing after you've spent picking out ingredients at the store. There's the chitchat that flows into each recipe, the jokes he remembers from last week or how you suddenly remember that Yachi invited you over for the weekend and you still need a present to bring along.
Tired feet stretched out under the table when Dinner is finally ready and the satisfied hum at the back of your throat when it's exactly the thing you'd been craving all day.
-
"What are you doing?" Tobio asks, towel in his hands. He finished doing the dishes while you freshened up a little and grabbed your Tablet on the way back.
"I wanted to do some online shopping."
"What are we in for today?" He slips onto the couch, curls around you like the world's cuddliest snake, chin hooked over your shoulder. "You didn't buy the shoes you picked out last week."
"Yes, because I told myself if I didn't think of them again on my own I'd take them out of the cart. Now you made me think of them."
"Oh," he grins, "So I get to buy them for you?"
"No, I get to buy them for myself."
"But I wanna spoil you," he tries to grab the Tablet from your grasp but you've learned to defend yourself against Tobio's bouts of generosity. It's not that you don't like it when he does it, but he's yet to learn a healthy balance. And sometimes, you don't really wanna buy the stuff you put in your cart, you just want to look at cool things and put them away for later consideration.
"Not those shoes," you beg, "Let me find some other ones."
"Fine," he eventually relents, huffing as if this is a great sacrifice for him. Not that he falls silent, though. He's got an opinion on everything.
"They're too brown. Ugh, not brown enough. What even is that strap? Trying to strangle your ankles or what? No... This dress reminds me of Hinata in our orange jerseys, that's not the connection I wanna make. Oooooh, this one!" He interrupts your scrolling and taps the screen violently, opening another tab.
"The dress, the purse or the jewelry?" You ask, a little confused. It's a nice fit, you suppose, but you're not sure what he's getting at.
"Neither. She's wearing a hat and you need one for the summer. You always get sunburn on your ears."
-
There's a certain type of coziness that can only be reached when you're ready for bed, curled up in the comfort of clean sheets, waiting for your partner to step out of the bathroom.
You can hear Tobio brush his teeth and just the sound of it, so well-known you could probably pick him out of hundreds of others, lets you relax just a little bit more.
By the time he slips into bed with you, your eyes are already closed and you manage little more than a "Love you T-" before you slip away.
-
Tobio drops a kiss on your forehead, checks if you're really asleep by snipping his fingers next to your ear, and when he's satisfied with the results, picks your Tablet from your bedside table. The password is the day you two got together so he doesn't need long to find what you had been looking for not long ago.
He might not be the smartest guy in the world, but at least he knows what he's getting you next...
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#my writing#haikyuu x you#haikyuu!!#hq x reader#haikyuu drabbles#kageyama x reader#kageyama tobio#kageyama fluff
270 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Magical Healer animation
⨠Tumblr apparently can't handle video uploads because it keeps crashing, so you can view the video here. â¨
This is a very basic animation that I made for my story a few months ago, depicting a seated spellcaster performing a healing spell on a seated Sim who is speaking/shifting uncomfortably. Animation is not my forte and I only made it for myself, but a few people have asked me for it so I figured I'd share it publicly in case it's useful to anyone else. Please be kind, I'm learning!
To use, just place each teleporter where you want the Sim to sit. The Sims do not need to sit close together. The Sim performing the healing must be seated in any dining chair; I'm using the antique wheelchair by @lilis-palace, but it should work with most chairs. The Sim being healed must be seated on an ottoman; I'm using the basegame Captain Rodrigo De Pablo ottoman here, some others might clip!
You will need: -Â Pose Player -Â Teleport Any Sim - any dining chair - ottoman - not required, but might be useful for your spellcaster: Igor's FX bracelet
Download (always free!): SFS | Patreon
TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.
I'd love to see them used! You can tag me on Twitter, Instagram, or Tumblr. I repost. â¤ď¸
You can easily browse more of my posepacks using my Ko-Fi gallery. Have a request or want to make a commission? Details here!
@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc
#ts4 poses#ts4-poses#ts4 posepack#sims 4 poses#sims 4 posepack#sims 4 animations#ts4 animations#sims 4 fantasy#occult sims#sims 4 spellcaster#herecirmposes#herecirmanimations#always free cc
163 notes
¡
View notes
Text
my experience with lupus cerebritis đ§ âĄ
I was reading about lupus cerebritis (cerebritis= brain inflammation, lupus cerebritis = brain inflammation caused by lupus) trying to figure out if that's where my stutter could have come from. I stumbled across some stories from people who have experienced lupus cerebritis and it inspired me to try to share my own
a big part of cerebritis is memory loss, short term, long term, everything just vanishes. it feels so normal when it happens. that's a big thing with cerebritis for me. my mental state was very altered, everything that happened felt as if it had always been that way. sometimes I could logically acknowledge that it hadn't been this way, that it was new- sometimes I was bluntly forced into this knowledge over and over and over again as I normalized it in my head. other times my brain justified it in warped ways. I was living in a different reality.
I know that at the time there were gaping holes in my memory, things I shouldn't have forgotten. I remember one thing that stuck out- my graduation. I tried to remember my highschool graduation and I just couldn't wrap my head around it. it was as if it was hidden behind one of those bathroom you can't see but the light comes in windows. I could see the vague blur of what happened but I couldn't grasp it. just out of reach. I regained this memory later, I don't know if all of them came back. that's the problem with memory loss, you don't know what's gone.
this memory loss left some very permanent holes in my memory of that semester of brain inflammation. I am missing a lot. this recounting is going to be inaccurate on account of what's gone and what's warped.
the biggest feature of my cerebritis was psychosis. cerebritis drove me deep into a psychotic break.
it started off gradually, a creeping fog that shrouded the world. I don't remember where it began, I don't think it's possible to put a dot on the timeline and say "here! this is where I became psychotic!" it turned into a nightmare that would result in a failed semester of university. what started with mild delusions that people were following me and that I was on a watchlist turned into hiding under my bed with my blinds closed living off of ramen I had stockpiled because I thought the FBI was staking out my dorm room. I heard whispers coming from the corners of my dorm room. I isolated myself from my friends because I thought they were part of a mind reader society that would kill me if they knew that I knew about mind readers.
anxiety & paranoia are part of cerebritis
my writing ability was heavily affected by both my psychosis and cognitive issues. when writing essays I'd get the feedback that my writing was confusing, hard to follow, and made no sense. I once was one of the top writers in every class but now I was falling behind into last place.
lupus cerebritis is not just psychological and cognitive, though. I had gotten a wheelchair about 5 months before my cerebritis really kicked in. I ended up using it nearly full time, in part because of pain and fatigue caused by my untreated lupus but also because I would have bouts of severe balance & coordination issues. I would have trouble standing, I could not walk to the bathroom down the hallway. my body did not want to move the way I told it to.
eventually I got a diagnosis of lupus and was able to start treatment. after failing the conservative treatments I was put on a biologic. within a week I started returning to reality. my balance issues started to fade, my memory started to return. it took a total of 3 months to truly come down from the flare. it took a while to fully realize what had happened. I wasn't diagnosed with cerebritis when I was initially diagnosed, it took a follow up appointment where I explained what happened to be told that cerebritis was likely the cause.
I still live with some of the effects of my cerebritis and my immune system still loves to go after any part of my nervous system. I still have balance issues, I have peripheral neuropathy and a cranial nerve disorder, I still have brain fog and memory loss. brain inflammation leaves a lasting impact. it doesn't just go away and there's always a risk of it coming back.
reblogs welcome
#physical disability#physically disabled#chronic illness#chronically ill#systemic lupus erythematosus#neurological disability#neurologically disabled#wheelchair user
95 notes
¡
View notes