#motherfucker nothing needed to be cleared up you just have to listen to me

[marsixm]

tried out being more assertive at work today and just bluntly stating things and i def was helped a bit getting things done by my dept head being there all night but! i think it went good! i def feel a lot better about my ability to do my fucking job and run a tighter ship.

[msklassickilla]

Jealous a short fic

Summary: OC sees a video that has her teeming with jealousy..

Pairing: Roman Reigns x OC (Imagine it’s you)

Warning: This fic contains harsh/foul language, minor asphyxiation

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Author’s Note: A short fic I wrote based off the song “Jealous” by Ester Dean. Nothing too serious. Listen to the song for the vibe I was going for. Hope you enjoy ❤

(Jealousy's a motherfucker And I'm a jealous motherfucker..)

That third double shot did it. I didn’t even feel the burn. I needed to relax but I couldn’t. As soon as he came out the bathroom, I was gon’ show my ass.

I probably shouldn’t have been scrolling through Tik Tok, but I needed something to do while I waited for him to finish showering.

And that’s when I saw it.

He holding hands now. Getting personal and up close. Making hoes happy.

I couldn’t have that.

The pitter-patter of flowing water stopped. I poured another shot. He had a routine, so I had time to sip this one slow. He’d dry his hair first with a clean towel. Wrap another around his waist. Exit the bathroom looking for me to greet him so I could finish drying him off, rub the shea butter into his skin, and put his hair into a bun.

But nah, none of that tonight. He can have ole girl do that. She probably already did that.

The door opened just as the empty glass met table. My sable toned legs bounced at an even pace as I prepared to ruin his peace.

“Baby, why you over there?” He questioned with a confused look.

I sucked my teeth.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. You don’t hear me? Agitation clear in his tone as he realized something was amiss.

I folded my arms, not meeting his eyes.

He shifted from his left to right leg. He’d either say something or just come snatch me up. I was prepared to snatch back.

“Oh, I see what this is? What’s wrong with you, huh? Tell Big Daddy.”

Did he tell her that? Does she call him Big Daddy, too?

My fist tightened. The lighter was close to my match. If he said what I thought he was about to say, I was gon’ be on fire.

He sighed, seeing I was choosing to stay mute. He didn’t approach but instead sat on the edge of the bed.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I need that shea butter on my skin before I completely dry,” he informed.

Boom. There it is.

“Have that bitch do it since y’all holding hands and making eyes with each other,” I lashed out.

He did that face where he scrunched it up like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. I was on my feet now, pacing like a lion in a cage.

“Wha- What are you even talking about? You been drinking, huh?”

He think I'm a joke.

“Leati, don’t play with me. Not right now. You know what I’m talking about. I saw the slick shit okay! How long this shit been going on, huh?” I shouted.

He was up on his feet now. Towel still wrapped dangerously low around his waist. His hair was starting to dry, and he disliked it when that happened as he would have to wet it again.

“Leati? You calling me by my government name now? Is this what we’re doing?” He growled.

I rolled my eyes, “The only Joe I acknowledge right now is Michael Joe Jackson so yes Leati is what you will be called.”

My words provoked something. He approached me faster than I could compute due to the mental lag. The effects of the alcohol were clouding my logic but so was my jealousy.

“I'ma give you one more chance. Tell me what the hell you talking about so I can fix it before I have to fix yo’ ass,” he ordered.

I stumbled out of his reach, grabbing for my phone. The video was still on the screen. I pushed play, shoving the phone in his face.

“That’s what the fuck I’m talking about, Leati. You know her? Y’all got something going on? You holding hands and shit like y’all go together. So, it’s fuck me, huh?”

My phone was thrown across the room, hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud. He descended on me until my back was up against the wall. I had nowhere to go.

“First off, I’m Big Daddy to you. Remember that! Two, who the fuck do you think you talking to? Three, what you see should never confuse what you know,” he scolded, tapping my temple.

Hmph. I was still feeling defiant. That liquid courage fueled my need to push, push him further.

“Lea-

A large hand was around my throat before I could even utter the rest of that. He shook his head at me in a disapproving manner.

“Try that again,” he dared.

His grip tightened slightly as if he could still see remnants of defiance in my eyes. Something dangerous lurked in his brown orbs but I wasn’t ready to play nice just yet.

I let out a frustrated breath, giving him hope. In turn, he gave me an expected look. One that hoped for or rather anticipated obedience.

“Did you wrap your hand around her throat like this? Is that why you were looking at her like that, touching her like that?” I goaded.

The disappointed “Dad” sigh and look he gave me sealed my faith.

The lean in was slow, methodical almost. His warm breath sent tingles down my spine. And the resonance of his words killed any desire to push or provoke any further.

“Who am I here with right now? Who did I leave that arena with? Who do I work so damn hard for to take care of besides my kids? Who do I come home to and lay under? Who do I go outta my way to communicate with about everything I’m feeling, I’m thinking so we never have an issue? Who? You! I don’t wanna hear shit else about you thinking I’m doing anything with anybody but you. Everything I do is proof that I’m all about you.”

From my ear, he pulled away, looking into my eyes. My knees faltered but his grip on me did not.

“Now I want you to erase all them fallacies you concocted in your pretty little head. And then I need an apology from that pretty little mouth. After that I need you take this pretty little lingerie off and get naked. And then finally I need you to drop to those pretty little knees to do what you do best with that mouth that had so much to say just a minute ago. Is that understood?” he commanded.

I nodded.

“Un uh baby, use your words,” he said, tapping my lips.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Yes, what?” he grinned.

“Yes, I understand, Big Daddy.”

(I swear to god I don't know how I got like this (oh, no) The last nigga that I had, I didn't give a fuck (oh, no) Maybe it's the way you let me ride that...(oh, oh) So I won't let nobody break it up, oh no (oh, no)

[boxofshadows]

How Pro-Heroes would react to y/n getting attacked by a villain and ending up in the hospital

✦Includes: Midnight, Eraserhead, All Might, Ms. Joke✦

A/N: sfw!! requests are open if your fav isn't here! I'll write for anyone~★

Midnight

Midnight is incredibly good at hiding her emotions, I believe. Shes used to wearing a mask 24/7 in her hero role, so when she finds out you'd been hospitalized by a villain, she puts on a mask of levelheadedness. She would feel guilty if you had to comfort her after you'd just been traumatized.

Course, you aren't used to this side of her, so you assume she doesn't care. You end up breaking down and asking if she even cares.

"Of course I care, love, did I make it seem like I didn't?" "I'm so sorry baby, I just didn't want to stress you more."

After that, things smooth out. If you don't mind the eventual scar, she'll make it into a joke and flirt about it. "Y'know, I always thought scars were attractive~" and similar things.

If you don't like the idea of a scar, she offers comfort, and a way to hide it until you're more comfortable. "If you want, I can help you hide it and minimize it."

Shes very affectionate the entire time, she doesn't leave the hospital until you basically force her to go check on your cat and get some actual sleep.

Secretly blames herself for not being able to protect you.

After you get out of the hospital she doesn't treat you like glass, persay, but she does NOT let you do anything against your doctor's orders.

She also helps you sign up for therapy and reminds you that whatever happened wasn't your fault. (Hypocrite much?)

Kisses you and reassures you 24/7

It takes a bit for her to stop blaming herself, but you work together:)

Eraserhead

Most emotional man I know of. "logical" my ass.

Aizawa is immediately at your side. Like he will run across rooftops to get to you. He has NO chill. Part of me believes he gets to the hospital at the same time as you.

Clingiest motherfucker alive. Every ten minutes in the waiting room it's "Can I go in yet?" To the nurses. He doesn't sit down once.

Once he gets to you literally nothing is capable of getting him away from you.

He comforts you whenever you need it, deep down he knows there was nothing he really could've done to get there sooner. He's completely and totally focused on you.

When your other friends get the clear to see you, Joke takes pictures of you and him sleeping in the most awkward position

Brings your favorite blankets and foods

Makes you a playlist of classical music to help you sleep

Anything you need, bro is on it immediately

Once you're released he refuses to let you do anything strenuous. He opens the car door for you, helps you get buckled, etc etc.

He does take the hint when you ask to shower alone, and backs off a bit after that.

He offers to ask Recovery Girl to heal you, and brings you painkillers when you need them.

He understands your paranoia after the incident and helps you learn basic ways to keep yourself safe.

All Might

Would get to the hospital as soon as he could, but knows that you'd want him to stay and finish any responsibilities.

If he's in the middle of something, he finishes it as fast as he can and then gets to the hospital.

He gets there just as you're being taken to a room

Instantly asking if you're okay, if you need anything. The second you say you need something he's on it.

Also a clingy motherfucker

But he knows how to distract you from whatever hurts with dumb jokes and pictures of his student's progress.

Knows how to fill dead air basically. Doesn't really ask about the villain unless you bring it up, just to make sure he doesn't potentially trigger anything.

Listens empathetically when you tell him about what happened.

Offers to get you food, but you're both indecisive so it's just a back and forth of:

"what do you want to eat?"

"idk, I'm good with whatever, what do you want"

"you're the one in the hospital bed, what do you want?"

"you have to go get it, so-"

"fine, (food you hate) it is."

"..."

Won't treat you like glass, he knows what it's like and fuckin hated it.

Still offers to help you though, he just doesn't want to suffocate you

Takes you on drives across the coast to get a break from the city

Ms. Joke

Tries to act like she wasn't worried and knew you'd be fine the whole time

She didnt

She had to call Midnight to calm her down

Makes jokes about you "being apart of the club now" (having been attacked by villains) and then apologizes for what happened

Brings you treats and things to make you smile (comfort items, silly things she saw at the store, etc)

Has Nemuri smuggle your guy's tiny dog in and out like twice

Sits in silence and watches you sleep

Brings you headphones to drown out the annoying beeping

A little over protective afterwards

Clingy, but not Shouta clingy.

"you should go home"

"why, is something wrong?"

"you haven't left the hospital in a week, you clown."

"oh yeah. Oops!"

"..."

"ok ok I'm going!"

Showers, but also washes the exact same clothes and rewears them just to fuck with you "you didn't say I had to change"

"tell me you washed those, em, or you're on the couch and the dog gets your pillows."

"Of course I did!"

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Toad

Debut: Super Mario Bros. 2

Sit your ass down and listen the fuck up. We need to talk about the most badass motherfucker in the Mushroom Kingdom. We need to talk about

mother

fucking

Toad.

I can already hear you with your “but toad was in the first game he says your princess is in another castle” NO he fucking isn’t. These are just Toads, not THE Toad, and you will put respect on his name. I don’t give a shit if it’s confusing that he shares his name with his entire species. It’s raw as hell. It’s him just declaring himself the best out of his entire species, and they all go along with it, because he’s fucking Toad, understand? Good.

Super Mario Bros. 2 is where Toad made his REAL debut, and immediately made it clear what’s what around here. Not only is he the fastest, leaving those other assholes in the dust, he’s the STRONGEST. This little shit is pure POWER. He’s also all blue in this game, just to prove that he can do whatever he wants, it’s not going to change the fact that he’s fucking TOAD.

Mario Kart wouldn’t be shit if Toad wasn’t in every goddamn installment, and they know it. TOAD knows it. In Mario Kart 64, he is not only voiced by the legendary Isaac Marshall, but he’s known for proclaiming “I’m the best!”, because of course he would. Anyone else saying this would sound like a fucking asshole, but when Toad says it, it’s a fact. Are you going to argue against that? He has his own fucking turnpike. But that’s nothing compared to some other tracks.

You KNOW Mario Kart 7 is not fucking around when the first track it throws at you is TOAD CIRCUIT. That’s right, not Mario Circuit or Luigi Circuit. Toad Fucking Circuit. This track’s layout is deceptively simple, but then you see the massive Toad balloons all over the place, and holy fucking shit this is badass as hell. No other starting circuit comes close.

Then they brought it back for the Booster Course Pass and oh my fucking god. Toad Circuit, in HD. They went out of their way to model the goddamn HANDS on the Toad balloons this time. They did NOT need to go this hard, but they did, and you just know fucking Toad himself must have pulled some strings with the higher-ups to make his course really stand out compared to the others from the wave, which frankly look like shit.

What more do you really need me to say about Toad? The fucking body horror implications of his attack in Smash, where he sprays spores as a counter? Imagine inhaling that and having thousands of little Toads growing in your fucking LUNGS. Jesus Christ.

I’ll just leave you with the fact that Toad has become more popular than ACTUAL TOADS. Holy shit.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Merlin

The Walls of Camelot by spqr

"Camelot will fall tomorrow,” Arthur says, on the first day of the eighth month of the siege.

DC

IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio

Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle:

The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. - (01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin-

(01:25) Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood-

(01:25) Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious.

(01:25) Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route-

(01:25) Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up.

(01:25) Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

we shall be free; we shall find peace by mediant

Clark has accepted what it means to be Lex's prisoner - the pain of the Green, the experiments, the hands on it. The long years buried in its containment cell, let out only to act as Lex's weapon, as Lex's tool. It had fought back at first, but years have ground it down and away to almost nothing.

Then Lex hands it a baby. And Clark realizes that while it may have hurt humans, and lied about what it is, and it may deserve to be locked away - Kon deserves to be free.

Untamed

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (+ podfic)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

-- In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

Clone Wars

patron saint by spqr (+ podfic)

Funerary practices? Master Ti writes back. I’m not sure what you mean, Master Kenobi. Used biomass is the property of Kamino and thus is recycled into the cloning process.

So that’s how the revolution begins—with dead brothers, but not the way you might expect.

Miraculous Ladybug

drowning (in plain sight) by buggachat

Everybody had expected Monarch's defeat to be a moment of triumph. Nobody had expected Gabriel Agreste, unmasked and mind frayed from continual abuse of the miraculous, crying out to all who would listen and making Paris certain of one thing:

His son, Adrien Agreste, is one of his sentimonsters.

And now he's missing.

Nobody can find him— not even the superheroes, and not even his closest friends. But Marinette, Nino, and Alya aren't ones to give up so easily. They'll find him, no matter what it takes.

(But, geez, would it kill Chat Noir to lend a hand?)

[novasdarling]

Hii🌹can i ask "It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that?"

with yandere Chrollo please? Thanks🌹

HEHEHEHE this motherfucker would. He's delusional in the scheme of him being like "Yeah my darling is better than me than anywhere else." but also he knows it's just a lie he makes so he doesn't feel too ad when you cry about being with him

Dangerous Out There

TW: Kidnapping, Yandere Behaviour, Mentions of death, Mentions of punishment

The walls were plain and cold. Made of old cement bricks, leaving little room for any warmth or comfort. Any feelings sparking joy or tenderness were missing. Cold, bland, cruel. This jail cell represented the jailkeeper well. A void of happiness and delight was exactly what Chrollo was. Just this blackhole that took and took, destroying everything it touched and devoured.

However, no amount of sadness or begging changed his mind. Nothing let him declaw himself from you. No matter how much you begged these last few weeks, he refused to let go. Rather it seemed like your tears and pleas just made him dig deeper. Made him pull you closer to him, made him add more locks to the doors and windows. Like the more you begged and craved for freedom, the more he held onto you. The more he denied it. The more he felt like he needed to keep you locked away, keep you hidden. But you couldn't help the hope that pooled inside you. Hoping your begging would chip away at him. Make any sort of difference, cause him to feel any kind of remorse and let you go. A hope you would always hold onto.

Chrollo had made his way into the living room. Standing in the doorway, observing from behind as you watched one of the few movies he had provided when he first took you. You could recite it line by line.

"I know you're there."

"Your senses are getting better. Before you wouldn't have noticed me until you could see me."

Chrollo made his way forward, kneeling in front of you. Placing himself between your legs. It made your skin itch. You didn't give him an answer, even as he waited there. Starring up at you. You ignored him. Starring at the dumb movie in front of you. His hands squeezed your thighs.

"Most people say thank you after a compliment."

"Most people don't kidnap."

Chrollo laughed. Finding your response humorous. He always found your rebuttal funny and pleasant. Making it clear he enjoyed the bit of resistance you had. The wit that came with it. Your snappy remarks. It was fun for him, as long as you never went too far.

"Touché." Chrollo rubbed his knuckles over your cheek.

"Don't touch me."

Flinching away, you pushed him. Trying to create some distance from him. Trying to get the man you hated as far away as possible. He tried again, lifting his knuckles up to caress you, but you moved again. Denying him what he wanted twice.

"Enough."

He grabbed your arms. Trying to keep you still. Keeping himself between your legs and you caged.

"Let me go."

Chrollo held on. Dismissing your words as he wrestled you still.

"I want to go home."

Tears were forming in your eyes. You hated this, hated this man. Despised everything about all of this. How the hell did a charming stranger you bumped into one day turn into the man who was holding you captive? A man that killed and hurt people to get you. A man who had no boundaries.

"Let me go. I just want to go back. P-please. I won't tell anyone. I-I promise. I want to-"

"Stop it. Stop it now."

"Go to hell."

You lashed and kicked at him. Trying to get him away. Trying to make him let go. To understand just how much you hated him. How much you wanted him dead. That this wasn't home. That he wasn't what you wanted.

"I said stop it. Listen to me." Chrollo was raising his voice at you. Not yelling, but still enough to try to demand you listen to him. "Listen to me, just listen sweetheart." One hand now held both of your arms as the other made its way to hold your face still. Forcing you to look at him. "I'm trying to help you, my dear. Trying to keep you safe. It’s so dangerous out there. Can’t you see that? Can't you see understand?"

He sounded angry yet, worried. It was a lesson he was trying to push into your mind. Trying to teach you with him was better than elsewhere. Yet, even as his words sounded sincere. You couldn't help, but laugh at him. Laugh at his words. Dangerous? The danger out there? He was fucking deranged. Worse than you thought.

"Whatever is out there, sure as hell can't be worse than being here with you."

Leaning in, close to his face so he could hear your words. Understand what you were saying. Understanding you meant it. That you would rather be out there with whatever he was worried about than with the monster that was pretending to be your saviour.

The look on Chrollo's face had changed. Like he was hurt and angry. Disappointed by your words. You knew that look, you had hurt his little fantasy. Ruined the image of him being your little hero. The look that meant your behaviour needed to be "corrected". That your wit and back talk had crossed the line.

"Seems like you need some reminding why you're here."

"What, another couple of days locked in the closet? I'll take that if it means being away from you." You spat in his face with the last sentence. Showing him you were genuine.

"See, I was thinking something different." Chrollo grabbed your upper arm. Pulling you up and making you follow him. "If you think I'm such a monster, perhaps I should leave you alone with a colleague of mine. Someone who doesn't care about your safety. Someone who doesn't love you like I do. Remember Feitan?"

You had made the worse mistake since he had taken you. Not only had you been resistant to him, but you had made him the enemy. Not just in the scheme of kidnapping, but in the idea of being with him. You told him how you saw him. Now he was going to correct it. Make you see what is worse than him when there is no love to give.

[highfantasy-soul]

omg this tension with Evan and his character arc this season is sooo juicy!!!!

spoilers for episode 9 of mismag season 2

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

At some point, the tension is going to break and I really really hope the entire pilot program sits Evan on his ass and, since he's so concerned about people being plain with their speech, gives it to him like it is. How he's being so SHIT to his friends and at every opportunity spitting in their faces and calling them liars.

My jaw was on the GROUND when they went back to piss-berg and he accused the Quoli (spelling - who knows spelling??) of being purposefully obtuse about why he gave Evan the book and what his sad expression meant. Evan took it as "Evan's life will permanently be so sad and pathetic" and when confronted, the Quoli explained that wasn't the reason, Evan wanted answers and the book has what Evan had wanted when last he came to the island - but the whole reason the Quoli looked sad was inappropriate to tell Evan.

Like, the Quoli straight up said 'Evan, your emotional healing and self-realization has got to come from you - you can't get that shit handed to you by an outside force' and Evan threw a little tantrum.

What really made my jaw drop was when in response to Evan claiming the Quoli thought his life was all super sad and pathetic, the Quoli LOOKED TO THE OTHERS to ask if they thought Evan's depiction of his life was accurate. The others staunchly and firmly said 'no, we don't see Evan's life as just a sad, pathetic never ending cycle of depression - that's not who he is' - the Quoli looked to Evan and asked 'Do you really need ME to explain to you what your friends already know? (and just told you) or do you trust that with more time, you'll understand it for yourself?' (again, telling him - yo, you can't fast track emotional healing, but you got a whole ass support system here for you. To quote Bo Burnham: the love has got to come from YOU)

And EVAN'S RESPONSE WAS: "I don't like you. There could be clarity here and there's not. I'm not sure if that's your fault or just the nature of the world but either way, I don't have to be in a good mood about the imposition of mystery on someone who's just looking for answers."

My jaw DROPPED

Evan just heard his friends give clear and direct answers to the question he was asking and he TOLD THEM TO SHUT THE FUCK UP - THEIR THOUGHTS MEAN NOTHING, THEY DON'T KNOW SHIT AND HE WANTS A GOAT TO TELL HIM WHAT TO FEEL!!!!!!

He's claiming there's mystery and a lack of clarity but EVAN IS THE ONLY ONE OBSCURING HIS VISION!!!!

You can bring a horse to water but you for sure can't make him listen to his friends when they tell him point blank the answer to his question!

If I was Jammer, I wouldn't have just asked Evan if he was ready to go, I would have grabbed that motherfucker by the collar and drug his ass out of there and he'd be getting the cold shoulder for A WHILE

I really hope that's where his character arc is going because I get heated every time Evan insists his friends are shit and liars and 'no, no, they don't understand, I'm the most specialist boy in the whole wide world and my sadness is everything that defines and and I'm going to pretend to hate it, but every time my friends counter it, I'll ignore them and tell them they're stupid liars and retreat back into my comfortable sad boi aura that makes me feel special.'

Like, at some point, something's gotta break, right? I know K has the most to lay out for Evan in that department, but I kinda hope Jammer is right there with them because I don't think Evan will listen to K at all - he'll dismiss her as just a jilted lover who's opinion is the least among the group.

I know it's an improv show and there's no guarantee everything will pay off, but I think it'll be really good if they're able to fit it in.

---

Obviously, this isn't me dogging on Brennan and his choices while playing the game - it's a very VERY compelling and realistic look at the difficult healing journey that people who have gone through (or gone through similar) what Evan has might take.

What I will say though, on a serious note, is that if you find yourself in a relationship with someone who behaves the way Evan does, take care of yourself. Just because they've suffered unimaginable trauma doesn't mean it's ok for them to abuse you. Even if that abuse stems from their trauma, you do not have to accept being treated like that.

You cannot help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You cannot force them to drink the tonic you offer them, accept the help you give, or believe what reassurances you give them.

You cannot tell them how to view themselves - even if you think it's helping them see themselves how you believe they truly are. The belief HAS to come from them, you can't do their emotional labor for them (though many will try to make you and then have you blame yourself when it doesn't work).

Of course leave room for love and meeting people where they are, but trauma does not excuse abuse - you are not a bad person for stepping away from someone who is hurting you even if they're hurting, too.

[captain-mj]

I have an idea.

Werewolf 141, except Soap who is a Wulver. This does not get discovered until Soap starts leaving fish on Ghosts desk.

Listen... Listen... Wulvers are one of my favorite creatures (ignore that I have a ridiculous amount) and I fucking love this. Also wrote this super sleep deprived and I did not edit so good luck y'all

Ghost stared at the fish on his desk for a stupid amount of time.

Was this a prank? It was a weird prank. Maybe if he was a cat shifter, it would make sense, but this was... odd. He didn't even get the joke.

Slowly, he knocked the fish into the trashcan.

Alright, just gonna... ignore that.

He grabbed the paperwork and went back to work as normal.

The next time, Price was with him. They both just stared at the fish.

"Why is there a fresh caught carp on your desk?"

"I don't know." Ghost was now angry. It was annoying, gross and made the room smell awful. He didn't fucking like fish normally, why the fuck would he want it RAW and WET on his desk. "Do you want it?"

Price grabbed it immediately. "Yeah. I'll give it to the cooks or something... Who did you piss off?"

"A dead man." Ghost growled. Whoever was doing this was going to keep a chunk taken out of them. Maybe lose a leg too. He staked out in his office for a while but caught nothing.

Ghost didn't bring it up to anyone else just yet. The culprit might get skittish and stop.

Instead, Ghost shifted and sat under his desk one day. He was a large wolf, but he had made sure he could fit under his desk when he got it. At the time, it had been for if he wanted to take a break from paperwork, not hide out in an attempt to catch a criminal. His insomnia would keep him up forever anyway.

When he woke up to a fish, now placed right in front of his nose, he almost went ballistic.

The nerve.

The audacity.

How had they managed to not wake him up? He woke up at everything! A FNG sneezed on the other side of the base and he woke up!!

Soap noticed something was wrong. "You alright, Lt?"

"I'm fucking fine." He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Soap.

Soap winced. "Aye..." Ghost shoved down the feeling he got from that. He didn't have time to feel bad!

"Have you seen anyone acting weird lately?"

"How so sir?"

"Coming in with wet hands. Going near where my office is. Lingering."

Soap looked confused. "No. I can't say I have. What's going on?"

"Nothing." Ghost grabbed his tea and escaped into his new room. Luckily, there's no fish to deal with. His room is clear. Thank goodness.

His office... His safe space... No longer safe...

Okay, a touch dramatic there. Ghost drank his tea and told himself that he needed to focus on work, not his tiny mystery.

He woke up again. Head down on his desk. Tea cold. Was there a fucking gas leak? Since when did he sleep so much?

Soap was there.

With a trout.

"You motherfucker." Ghost threw himself over the desk, watching Soap jump back and start sprinting down the halls. He chased after him. Soap tried to shift to get away, but that was ineffective. Ghost slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground before he got his arm around his throat.

"I don't care if you look like a mutt, I'll still kick your ass. Now shift back and explain yourself."

Soap did not shift back, instead wiggling to try to get away. Ghost tightened his grip until Soap stopped fighting him. He slowly shifted back, clearly embarrased.

"Hey, Lt. Fancy seeing you here."

"Why? Just why?"

"So... ya see... I am not a werewolf."

"You turned into a wolf, did you fucking not?"

"Actually.... I am a wulver."

"A wulver?"

"I uh... bring people fish."

"Why me?? Why did you bring me fish??" Ghost sounded accusatory.

Soap stuttered.

"Don't wulvers do that for people who are poor? Or can't feed themselves?"

Soap looked panicked.

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry!" Soap yelped. "I don't know. i just wanted to... do something for you."

Ghost glared but dropped him. "Don't do it again."

Soap shakily gave him a thumbs up.

"I like mugs. Give me those next time."

"Yes, sir."

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (byler): 3

word count: 6,996

warnings for this chapter: none really, ngl. just very honest and open conversation. but same as all the other warnings in previous chapters, just be cautious if you see anything that may trigger you. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

The world buzzed with static around him, each second feeling like an eternity. Time stood still, just like the day Mike took off his watch. His hands were shaking, the anticipation inside him about to explode like fireworks. He balled his hands up into fists and put them in his sweatshirt pockets, but immediately pulled them back out because he could feel his palms getting sweaty.

Mike glanced around, and saw the nextdoor neighbor taking her dog out for a walk. He raised his hand in an awkward greeting, and she smiled back at him. He watched her run further and further away until they were out of his line of sight; a minute had definitely passed by now. He turned his attention back to the door, and lifted his hand again, going to knock one last time.

But then, before he was able to, Will opened the door.

Mike froze, his hand still in the air. He lowered his arm slowly, and took a mental photograph of Will’s awestricken face before he was met with a faceful of door. He should have seen that coming. He leaned his head against the door, exhaling with a shaky breath. “Will… I know I’m the last person you want to see. I just…” he hesitated, digging his nails into his palms. This was likely going to be his first of many fumbles. “This is going fucking splendidly already, Jesus Christ.”

There was no response on Will’s end, but Mike figured he might as well get everything off his chest, even if Will wasn’t there to hear it. Saying it out loud could probably suffice. “Uh… I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you with my words, with my actions, for being so fucking reckless with my life. I’ve accumulated a lot of regrets over the past few years, but…” here goes nothing, “loving you will never be one of them.”

Mike closed his eyes with his head still on the door, but jumped back a bit in surprise when he felt a light thump right next to his face. “... Will?”

“I’m listening.”

The faint sound of Will’s voice was music to Mike’s ears; low and velvety, with a hint of rasp. His stomach nervously flipped as he cleared his throat, continuing on. “I’ve been a mess without you. I don’t know who I am without you. This is me trying to say…” Mike trailed off. What was he trying to say? How could he reduce his love for Will into a single sentence? How could he explain himself in a concise, yet bold form that wouldn’t scare Will away? He couldn’t. He was doomed regardless of how the conversation would unfold. He asked Will the first thing that came to mind: “... You ever been to a college party?”

“Yeah, a few.” Will replied.

“Well, I just failed out of school because I went to way too many of them. I just drove here directly from my last one, actually.” He tried to add a bit of humor to his voice, but it ended up coming out sounding pathetically broken. Fumble number two. Fuck it all. Everything was going down in flames. Mike set his hand on the door, caressing the painted surface as if it were Will’s face.

“But here’s the thing— it’s hard to be at a party when you feel like an open wound. You’re all I think about, and it’s like I can’t… I can’t let go. It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. And even though you don’t love me, and even if we can never be friends again, I need that closure, Will, and I need you to understand that I won’t move on if that never happens.” Mike felt the doorknob click below, and he lifted his head up just as the door opened again. Will emerged, tears lining his cheeks. Motherfucking fumble number three. When Will and Mike were little, they functioned as a unit. When Will was happy, Mike was happy. When Will would cry, Mike would cry with him. Now, Mike felt like he was five years old again, getting choked up at the sight of Will crying, and mentally cursed himself. “Fuck, now I’ve made you cry for the umpteenth time in our lives. What else is new?”

Will crossed his arms across his chest, and looked down towards the ground, still on the defensive. But his voice betrayed him when he said, “No, please don't worry about me. It’s fine. And I…” his voice wobbled, “I’m sorry for slamming the door. I was just so…”

Mike nodded in sorrowful understanding. “Yeah.”

He took a good look at Will, noticing how Will’s hair had finally grown out of the bowl cut, falling into his eyes in loose copper waves, ending just above his strong jaw. His eyes, even obscured with tears, looked green as ever. Mike wanted to drown in them.

“You changed your hair,” Mike heard himself say. Will let out a small smile at that, brushing some of his bangs out of his eyes, along with some tears that had attached themselves to his eyelashes.

“Yeah, the bowl was kind of… archaic.” Both of them began awkwardly laughing while still crying. Mike had to refrain from thinking too much, because if he did, he’d get all sentimental about how this was the first time he’d laughed with Will in… he couldn’t even remember. 

“You like it, though?” he asked. He still sought his approval, after everything. Of course Mike liked it. Mike liked Will’s hair no matter how it was cut. But this style that Will was sporting currently had Mike falling flat on his face; and not literally, for once.

“Yeah, it really suits you,” he told Will, who was flattered at the compliment.

“Thank you. I mean, Mom’s skill set with scissors was… limited, but she tried.” Mike thought of that one time he’d walked into the Byers household unannounced back in junior year of high school. Will was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a literal bowl on his head as Joyce shuffled around her son with a pair of kitchen shears. Joyce was an incredible mom who loved both of her boys unconditionally. Which reminded Mike…

“How’d you get my number?”

“Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

“She shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry for letting her give me your number,” he apologized, picking at the nails of his index fingers with his thumbs. “And I’m sorry for calling you on your birthday. I should’ve respected your space.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Will replied quickly, eyes wide. “I was being a total asshole that day. I know this doesn’t excuse what I said to you, but I’ll have you know I’d just failed an English test–”

“Did you not read the material?” Mike smirked, and Will smiled back up at him, their eyes fully meeting for the first time. 

“You know me too well,” he said, and Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “But then, when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, my boyfriend at the time broke up with me.”

Mike gawked at that, his eyes narrowing. “On your birthday? That’s ass.”

Will leaned against the doorframe. “Mike Wheeler, everyone: ex-English major, literary nerd, and author.” Mike ignored the not-so-subtle roasts in favor of Will’s muscles, which were even more defined than he remembered. Will had obviously become well-acquainted with the gym. His gaze trailed along the divots of his biceps, and his mouth went dry when he realized that Will was wearing… the blue sweatshirt Mike had sworn had gone missing during senior year.

“But yeah,” Will continued, “leave it to Matt Winters to ruin the one day of the year where I don’t feel like shit. So when you called, I’d just gotten back home. And I felt so guilty for snapping at you and hanging up that I didn’t call you back after the fact, because I was afraid you’d be mad at me.”

“Are you kidding? I could never be mad at you. Ever,” Mike emphasized. “And we both know I’m not a good person when I hold grudges.”

Will’s strong eyebrows furrowed, and Mike feared he’d said something wrong, but Will rose up onto his tiptoes, lifting his hand up to Mike’s forehead in mock-concern. “Mike, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Yes. If Will was going to act all flirty and cute and tiptoe-y and forehead touch-y, then they’d need to call an ambulance. Because Mike was down bad.

“Haha. You’re funny,” Mike deadpanned at the joke, despite himself.

Will retreated back to his spot in the doorway. “But seriously, I just told you that I have a real live ex, and you’re not mad?” How could Mike be mad at Will for that? Why would Mike be mad at Will for that? It wasn’t like Mike had any right or say as to who Will dated, and if Mike did so much as judge Will for any romance-related decisions, he’d be the biggest fucking hypocrite to ever walk the earth. He figured he’d come clean to Will about this one. It was the whole reason why he was here, after all.

“Will, I hooked up with four guys…” Should he say this next part? Sure, okay, whatever– “And all of them had the initials ‘WB’.” Mike’s focus shifted down to his shoes, too humiliated to see Will’s reaction. But he didn’t even have to see it, because Will giggled. Like, high pitched and adorably. Mike’s head snapped up and Will, having gotten caught laughing at Mike’s biggest shame, slapped his own hand to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle it.

“No way,” Will said, his voice still suppressed with his hand.

“Way,” Mike quipped back. He decided to try something new then, reaching up to Will’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. His beautiful lips were curved into a shy smile.

Will shook his head, crossing his arms again, but not in hostility like he had before. “I don’t believe you.” And all of a sudden, it was August 1989, and they were back in Mike’s basement again. Those were Will’s last words to Mike before he’d stormed out, never to be seen again. And a year and a half later, Will became thoroughly aware of the aftermath, where Mike tried and failed to fill the Will-less void with–

“Wyatt Bowman, Wes Butler, Walker Brooks, Warren Blakeley,” he listed off what he’d endearingly dubbed The WBs™, but now in retrospect viewed as fucking pathetic, and watched as Will exhaled sadly. He tacked the only thing he could think of onto the end of his list to lighten the mood: “... And there was a guy named Elvis.”

Will snorted. “Like Presley?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” Will whispered, running a hand through his hair. Mike wished it was his hand instead. As he took in Will’s jarred reaction, his world went cold. It made more sense when Mike shivered, looked up, and felt a few snowflakes land on his eyelids. He lowered his gaze back to Will, avoiding the impending guilt with lighthearted bluntness.

“Yeah,” he concluded unceremoniously, “so, you have an ex-boyfriend, and I have a disturbingly high body count. I think that makes us even.” Will’s lips formed a line, and Mike diverted his eyes back to the ground. He watched Will’s feet, clad in fuzzy socks and slippers, shift backwards. The moment was finally here; this was the end. They were not, in fact, even; Will was shutting him out for the last time, giving Mike the closure he’d practically begged for. Mike lifted his head so he could at least say goodbye properly, but saw that Will was… waiting for him?

“Wanna come inside?” he asked, and Mike raised his eyebrows in shock. Well, that was a plot twist if he’d ever seen one. He took a deep breath, muttering a slow “Yeah… sure,” and followed Will into his house. Mike took off his mud-caked shoes at the front door, remembering how much of a neat freak Will was, and imagining his reaction if he tracked the past seven or so hours into the house. He expected it would probably begin with “Michael James.”

Once situated, he took a look around the living room. There were multiple swirly, wooden furniture pieces that Mike knew Will wouldn’t have picked out in a million years, but he’d still managed to make the apartment his own. Framed movie posters, a black couch, and a few bookshelves were sprinkled modestly amongst the otherwise very feminine decor. Mike walked over to the bookshelves, which were fully stacked with comic books and picture frames. He peered at one of Will posed with Ivy and Hannah, who gripped onto either side of a metal pole that Will had perched atop his shoulders as he lifted them in a white muscle tank top. He knew he’d started working out. God, Will was attractive. He smiled to himself, moving on to look at the next photo. It was the exact same one Mike had on his desk, the photo that Jonathan took of Mike on Will’s handlebars. Mike felt like crying again, so he looked away before that could happen. His attention was drawn to the ceiling, which was lined with Christmas lights. He guessed the passage of time had thankfully worked in Will’s favor, as well.

“So Kate’s at work?” Mike asked, and Will whipped around from where he’d been organizing one of his other bookshelves, like he cared about what Mike thought in regard to his preference of alphabetical versus publisher order.

“How do you know about Kate?”

Mike hesitated, expression sheepish, “I… I ran into your friends Ivy and Hannah on campus. They’re how I found you.”

Will blanched. “Oh God. What did they say to you?”

Mike shook his head in reassurance, taking a step towards Will. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I think they were just worried about me, because I was… kind of lost.”

“You didn’t think to get a map?” Will, the little shit, teased as he took a step of his own towards Mike.

“I had one, Will!” Mike tossed a hand up in exasperation. “I just… couldn’t read it correctly?” He phrased the last part of his sentence more like a question, which Will must have thought was funny, because he moved a few inches closer to Mike in order to poke his chest.

“Okay, that tracks,” he grinned, and Mike feigned offense as he felt Will’s fingerprint burn a hole in his sweatshirt, the fire expanding to scorch his entire torso. Will was close enough that Mike could hear Will breathing lightly through his nose, and could see the freckles scattered like constellations across his neck. His eyes traveled up a bit to land on the one mole above Will’s lip, and he fought the urge to kiss it.

“Ivy and Hannah said to tell you they said you’re welcome, by the way, whatever that means,” he breathed, and Will processed what Mike had just told him before bringing his hands up to his own face as he turned beet-red.

“Of course they did.”

Mike observed Will’s reaction, pushing down the bit of hope that bubbled up inside of him. He hadn’t a single clue of what Will had told his two friends, but the way he reacted made him think that maybe it wasn’t all terrible.

“Wait,” Will brought a hand up to lightly smack his forehead, “I’m so stupid, I should have asked when you first came in.” You’re not stupid at all, if anything I’m stupid, but go on, Mike thought. “Do you need anything to drink or eat? You look like shit.”

“Wow,” Mike said as he glared back at Will, giving away his joking nature with a small lift of his lips. “But sure, water is fine, thank you.” Will stood there for a moment in contemplation. Mike gulped, feeling incredibly anxious as to what Will would say next. 

“I’m gonna make you pancakes,” he told Mike, ambition in his tone. Mike wasn’t even supposed to be there, yet there Will was, taking on the role of hospitable host. Mike shrugged, leaving the option up to Will as to if he really wanted to be that kind to him.

“You don’t have to.”

Will was the one who shortened the distance between them this time, taking Mike’s much larger hand in his own, intertwining their fingers and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “But I want to.” Mike felt lightheaded.

“Well, I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mike glanced down at their connected hands as Will spoke again, but he didn’t hear what he was saying. He blinked, pulling his attention back up to Will’s face. How was he supposed to concentrate on what Will was saying when their palms were brushing together with intentionality? And of Will’s own volition, no less. 

“Wait, sorry, what?”

“I said, I’ll have some too, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Well, now Mike had to say yes. He gave in, and Will nodded in approval before letting go of Mike’s hand. Those few sweet seconds would have been enough to last Mike for another year and a half without him, but now Will was making him pancakes. There was no turning back after this. Will headed to the kitchen, turning back when he noticed Mike standing in the middle of the room and gesturing for Mike to follow him, chuckling to himself.

Damn Will for being so aware of the effect he had on Mike.

They made it into the kitchen, and Will headed to the pantry while Mike hopped up on the counter like when they were kids. Old habits die hard. Will eyed him from where he stood, grabbing the box of Bisquick. He ritualistically walked around the kitchen, grabbing eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and a bowl before setting them all down on the counter. He paused in what he was doing to reach over to his coffee pot, pouring a mug, grabbing the sugar bowl and dumping whatever was left into the mug before handing it to Mike, who took it with gracious hands. He’d remembered the way Mike took his coffee. Black, no cream, and a diabetes-level fuck ton of sugar.

“Thank you.” That didn’t even begin to cover how Mike felt about it.

Will hummed in response as he got to work, cracking an egg into the bowl and whisking it around. “So what have you been up to? I mean, besides hooking up with the entire male population of Indianapolis and failing out of school,” Will asked, and Mike died a little on the inside. The truth hurts sometimes, Wheeler. Deal with it.

“Jeez, Will. Harsh. Warn a guy next time,” Mike frowned, sipping his coffee. “I’ve been working on a novel.”

“Ooh, do tell!” Will exclaimed, turning to Mike as he stirred the batter, the sweatshirt he wore— Mike’s sweatshirt— stretching as his muscles flexed underneath the fabric of the sleeves. Mike set his coffee down next to him and shifted so his hands were squished under his thighs. That way he wouldn’t be able to do what he truly wanted to, which was to grab Will by his waist and shove his tongue down his throat as he ran his fingertips over Will’s arms.

“Um, it’s a mythological coming of age, with a bit of a twist… the protagonist is gay.”

“Ohhh my god,” Will grinned, all teeth. “That is great. I love that.”

I love you, Mike thought, but held his tongue. “Right? But yeah, I’ve been working on that, and… journaling. A lot.” Well… journaling was a synonym of writing dozens upon dozens of love letters, right? But Will didn’t have to know that.

“Mike Wheeler using a therapist-approved coping mechanism? I’m proud of you,” Will said. Mike preened at the praise as he pulled one of his hands out from under his leg to pick up his mug.

There was a beat of silence, and Will stood there, his eyes fixed on Mike for a strangely long time as the pancakes sizzled. Mike watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. He was either hallucinating, tripping, or Will was checking Mike out.

“But what about you?” Mike asked, effectively snapping Will out of his trance, “Any groundbreaking endeavors I should be caught up on?”

Will shrugged as he plated the perfectly congruent, golden pancakes he’d made. “I’ve been working on this new painting for a while now… it’s a watercolor piece, so it’s kind of out of my comfort zone,” Will explained, turning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of Canadian maple syrup. Mike nodded at what Will was telling him, but something else dwelled  in the forefront of his mind.

“Yeah, you’re more into oils on canvas, right?” Mike asked, and Will’s eyes snapped up to meet his, establishing an understanding between the two of them. “I saw the painting,” Mike remarked slowly, trying his best not to freak Will out or make him feel ashamed of it. “I’ve gotta say, you flatter me, Byers. I am not that attractive.”

Will couldn’t hide his smile. “Shut up. Yes you are.”

Will handed Mike a plate, and Mike thanked him as they dug in, the two young men standing at (and sitting on) the counter as they ate. Mike cut into his pancakes, stabbing a bite-sized piece with his fork and swirling it around in the syrup on his plate. He looked up when he heard a similar scratching noise and saw Will doing the same thing. Will met Mike’s gaze, light smile gracing his face as he lifted the fork up and popped the piece into his mouth. Mike blushed when he realized he’d been staring, and quickly focused back on his own plate. He chewed the piece of pancake he’d cut and confirmed to himself only after one bite that these were the best pancakes he’d ever had. These were pancakes of reconciliation.

He turned towards Will to compliment his culinary skills, which would inevitably be shot down with a humble, “they’re just pancakes, Mike,” only to see Will staring at Mike already. Will’s eyes jumped from Mike to the floor to the kitchen cabinet to the floor and back to Mike all within the span of five seconds. Mike held his attention this time when he licked his lips, and Will watched intently as the syrup disappeared.

God, Mike felt like he was in high school all over again; those four years had felt like a romcom movie montage of staring, quick touches, and flirting back and forth. The only difference between those movies and real life was the reserved, cautious nature behind every single stare, touch, and flirtation. But this time around, Mike noticed, Will seemed more confident in himself, more purposeful in the way he carried and expressed himself. Everything lingered for longer than normal, than acceptable, than usual. It was a promising sign.

Once they’d finished their pancakes and put their dishes in the sink, Mike and Will headed to Will’s room. There was something intimate about entering Will’s space like this; something sacred, something previously unattainable. That was the dresser that held all of Will’s clothes. That was the desk Will drew at. That was the bed Will slept in. That was the phone Will had used to break Mike’s heart.

Mike admired the dark blue walls, decorated modestly with a few more posters, before he came across Will’s framed Hawkins High School diploma. Mike remembered that day vividly; after everyone in the Party had walked across the stage and gone back to Mike’s house to celebrate, Will had brought their friends into a secluded area of the house and told them he was gay. Mike, who had been head over heels in love with his best friend for over five years at that point, was having a crisis, because oh my God, Will was gay, and the flirting might not have all been in his head. Maybe he had a chance. But every interaction between them following that day was strictly platonic, and Will made sure Mike knew it. So Mike withdrew after a while, not wanting to keep stringing himself along like he had been.

“Little did I know that everything would change,” Mike said more to himself than to Will, but Will walked over to stand next to him, close enough that their arms brushed.

“Why, because I came out?” he asked, looking up at Mike, who didn’t reciprocate the action, but instead kept staring straight ahead at the diploma, as if it were a portal that would take him back in time to before his world imploded.

“No, not because you came out. Because��� because then, I fell under the delusion that I could finally have you.” He looked down at Will then. “But then I fucked it all up in August.”

Will turned his body so he could fully face Mike before saying, “Okay, I’m confused. I’ve gotta ask. What’s your recollection of that night?”

Mike didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember it. Hell, he didn’t want to think about it. But Mike took a second to reason with himself, because Will was standing beside him, Will was asking something of him, and the least he could do after everything was oblige to Will’s one request. So Mike told him.

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space. He always loved when Will came to his house unannounced; there was a certain element of familiarity, of family, of domesticity.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk,” Will said, his voice a bit edgier than usual.

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. Fuck. How on earth did he find them? Mike thought he’d hidden them well enough. Apparently, he was sorely mistaken, because Will held Mike’s letters, all twenty-six of them, all addressed to Will, in his shaking hands. Mike couldn’t even begin to explain, mouth hanging wide open.

“Dear Will,” the boy with the bowlcut began with a snarl, “when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Dear Will, why does loving you feel so wrong yet so right? Dear Will, I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.” Mike wanted to die. “I don’t know what to… Why the hell are these addressed to me? And why… Why are there so many?”

“Because…” Mike squeaked out, eyes wide with intimidation, “they were for you. You were never meant to find those, I swear to God.”

“Are you making fun of me or something?” Will snapped, and Mike flinched. He’d never seen Will this angry before. He stood up then, his face on fire with inferiority from when he’d been on the couch as Will towered over him. Now, Mike was the one looking down at Will, whose chest was heaving with unadulterated rage.

“Come on, Will! I’m your best friend, and you really thought I’d make fun of you for being gay?” Mike kept his tone soft, what the Party called his Will Voice™, trying to calm Will down. It worked, at least a little bit, because Will’s breathing became more regulated, and less metaphorical smoke escaped his ears. But his eyes were still a menacing shade of green, his pupils blown wide.

“Well, no,” Will’s voice was lower this time, laced with venom, “but that does not mean you get to fuck around at my expense.” Will could not have been more wrong. Mike was anything but fucking around. Malice was the last thing on his mind when he thought about Will. When he thought about Will, he felt safe, he felt hopeful, he felt valuable, and he felt worthy. What he felt for Will was pure love, and he’d say it out loud… if he didn’t hate himself so much.

“I poured my heart out in those letters,” Mike told him, taking a step forward. Will stepped back. “I didn’t write them for shits and fucking giggles, they were genuine,” he continued, following Will as he backed away, stopping only when he had Will caged in between his arms, back against the wall of the basement. Will held onto Mike’s wrist, their watches positioned side by side. Mike closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, collecting himself in preparation for what he was about to say next. Confession time. “I wanted to send them so badly… I just didn’t, because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Mike opened his eyes, drinking in the expression on Will’s flustered face. He blinked slowly, lashes fluttering, and fuck, he could hear Will’s heartbeat. He licked his lips. Afraid of what? I’m afraid of the world. I’m afraid of our country. I’m afraid of this town. I’m afraid of my family. I’m afraid of your dad. I’m afraid of myself. But I’m not afraid of you, Will. I’m not afraid of you.

And with that, Mike leaned down and kissed Will.

Those were the best five seconds of Mike’s life, by far. Will’s lips were smooth, yet firm. They were warm. Mike wanted to kiss Will forever. He allowed himself, for once in his life, to take what he wanted, and moved his hands down from the wall to Will’s hips, gripping them with all of his pent-up passion, holding him close. He felt Will’s hands meet Mike’s shoulders, and… he was pushing Mike away. Oh no.

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?” What was it with Will thinking everything was so fucking funny to Mike? He’d just bared his soul to the love of his life, but Will had interpreted everything as simply cruel humor. That was what Will thought of Mike. He wouldn’t stand for it.

“No, Will, I’m in love with you,” he said in full earnest, grabbing Will’s hand, just like he’d always done throughout the years whenever Will felt angry, alone, or scared. In turn, Will aggressively shook Mike’s hand away like it burned him.

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” What the hell?

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“I just… you’re…” Will forced his words out in a state of panic, ducking out of Mike’s reach as he headed for the stairs. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

“Please don’t go. Hear me out,” Mike pleaded, getting desperate now. “Will, you’ve got to believe me.”

Will turned around from where he stood, halfway to the basement door, his gaze ice cold. “Well, I don’t, Mike. I don’t believe you.” Mike took back what he’d thought about not being afraid of Will. He was terrified. He watched Will stomp up the rest of the way, slamming the door behind him. Mike put a hand up to his mouth, muffling a sob.

What had he done?

Mike stopped his pacing for a moment to breathe. He’d gotten it all out, and by some miracle, without breaking down. He looked over at Will, who rested his chin on his palm as he sat on his bed, staring into space. “I never got the chance to explain myself. You just… shut off.” Will blinked a few times, looking up at Mike with that same blank expression, and Mike wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He didn’t have the energy.

Will breathed out hard through his nose, getting up from his spot on the bed and meeting Mike where he was at, and placing a hand on his arm. Mike didn’t move; all this talk about Will abandoning him caused some of the resentment to return. But Will took Mike’s chin and moved it so their eyes could meet again. He looked sad.

“Because I had convinced myself that you could never love me the way I loved you. But all of a sudden you were telling me that you loved me romantically and wanted to be with me forever! How can you blame me for being thrown off?”

Mike shrugged, resigned. “I can’t.” And he meant it; he couldn’t blame Will for being thrown off, because Mike had gone through the complete opposite, having felt led on and let down. “But you also can’t blame me for waiting so long to say something. I literally hated myself for years for being gay.” Will’s hand that held his chin lowered down to the space between his neck and his shoulder, and he went to reply, but Mike spoke faster. “And when you came out, I thought maybe I could, too. But then, another part of me didn’t want to say anything, because coming clean about my true feelings for you would’ve destroyed everything we worked so hard to build back up after California.”

“Well, I didn’t make it any easier by keeping you at arm’s length after I came out,” Will said as he ran his thumb back and forth along Mike’s sweatshirt sleeve. “I tried to convince myself I was okay with being just friends in order to protect myself, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mike’s tone was rough as he crossed his arms, and Will pulled away. Nice going, Mike, you fucking asshole. “I mean…” Mike softened his voice, “I get your thought process. I just felt so… rejected. And after August, it felt so final. Like, I really thought you had zero feelings for me, and that I had severely misread things.”

“You didn’t. Believe me, Mike. You didn’t,” the words tumbled out of Will’s mouth, startling both of them at once.

Mike looked down, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking his eyes. “I’m trying to.”

Will reached out to Mike and pulled his hand up into his own, his fingertips gently mapping out the veins that spread out beneath Mike’s skin. “Do you still hate yourself now?” he asked, and Mike looked up slowly.

“I’m not gonna lie, yeah, I do,” he admitted, playing with Will’s fingers as he spoke. He was not proud of the person he’d become. He relived every single one of his mistakes on a constant loop, with each day bleeding into the next. The shame devoured him like a hungry beast. Every waking moment without Will felt like suffocation. Mike slowed his movements before confessing something else, something he never thought he’d ever be able to. “But I hate living my life without you even more.”

Will let out a small sniffle at that, and Mike was quick to comfort him, his hands flying up to cup his face and swipe his tears away. Will leaned into the touch, his voice breaking. “I hate living my life without you, too.”

“Can I…” Mike hesitated, uncertainty flooding his thoughts, but he swiftly pushed it away. “Can I hug you?” he asked. Will nodded, laughing wetly as he said, “Yes, of course.”

Mike pulled Will into a tight embrace, warmth filling his body instantly as Will’s head fell against his chest, right over his heart. He could only imagine what Will was thinking, granted the fact that his heart was thrumming at record speed. Will ran his hands up Mike’s back, pulling him down slightly by his shoulderblades. Mike nestled his nose in Will’s shaggy hair, breathing him in. He still washed his hair with the coconut shampoo he’d always used. In order to avoid the temptation to inhale Will’s scalp like a vacuum, he opted to place a feather light kiss there, so light that in the future, only he would remember it happening. As they stood there, their bodies flush against one another, Mike knew he didn’t need a watch to tell that time as an entity ceased to exist. Mike and Will held each other tightly as the rest of the world fell away. This was what Mike had been waiting for. Just this. He finally felt whole again.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been clinging to each other, or who pulled away first, but he was sure of the fact that both of them were crying. Again. “Goddamnit,” Mike laughed, practically slapping his sweatshirt sleeve up to his face to absorb the tears that fell there.

“Since when have you been a Frequent Crier?” Will teased, and Mike remembered that Will had never been exposed to the outcome of his emotional revolution before.

“What can I say?” Mike continued the bit, “Their loyalty program has really good perks.”

“Can’t argue there,” Will laughed, leaning his forehead onto Mike’s chest again as Mike’s hands ran up and down Will’s sides. He memorized the feel of Will’s improved physique, trailing his hands upwards until his hands met Will’s chest.

“Also,” Mike said into the silence, causing Will to twitch slightly, but not enough to remove his forehead from Mike’s chest. “The Heart? Didn’t know I was still held in such high esteem.” Will’s hands, which had been resting on Mike’s hips, moved forward until they were wrapped around Mike’s lower back. 

“You’ve always been my heart, Mike,” Will told him, voice steady and sure. “You never really stopped.” Mike felt his jaw drop, barely able to process what he was hearing. The words that left Will’s lips ricocheted around Mike’s brain, and he might have forgotten how to breathe for a minute. He needed Will to pinch him, so he could wake up from this… if it wasn't real, it would be a nightmare. Instead of asking Will to do it for him, he pinched himself, and felt butterflies erupt in his stomach when he didn’t snap his eyes open to the sight of his bedroom back in Indianapolis. He was still here, in Will’s room, and Will was holding him rather sensually, and Mike felt so fucking alive. 

“So… where do we go from here?” Mike whispered, and Will lifted his head, an unrecognizable look in his eyes. Mike backed away, fear slowly entering the peripherals of his mind, all possible worst-case scenarios threatening to cave in on him. He’d gone too far, been too forward, taken Will for granted, given off the impression of an ulterior motive.

“Sorry,” he said, almost a reflex at this point in his life. He always had something to be sorry for. Something to make up for. Something to–

“Me too,” Will whispered, grabbing Mike’s wrist before he could get too far. He pulled Mike back in sharply and grabbed him by the back of his neck, tugging him all the way down until their lips collided. Mike let out a little noise in absolute shock, but not wasting any time as he shoved his hands into Will’s hair, raising his head as he leaned into the heat of Will’s mouth. While Mike’s hands remained pretty central to Will’s upper body, Will’s hands roved Mike everywhere they possibly could. They lifted from Mike’s lower back, up his torso, past his chest, around the back of Mike’s head to brush the nape of his neck, through Mike’s long hair, then back down to grope Mike’s ass. Mike squeaked into Will’s mouth, and he responded with a low hum of a laugh that sent vibrations through Mike’s body and set him ablaze. Mike lowered his grip on Will’s shoulders to his biceps, squeezing them the way he’d wanted to since Will opened the door earlier that morning. Will broke the kiss then, smirking up at the taller man. “You really like my arms, don’t you?”

“Yeah, how’d you notice?” Mike tried to be sarcastic, but ended up sounding breathless. Will pressed a chaste kiss to Mike’s lips, turning them around and backing Mike up until his calves hit the base of Will’s bed. Mike was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

“You wouldn’t stop ogling. You were being so fucking obvious, it was hilarious,” Will teased, and Mike whined a little in embarrassment, but Will was having none of it, so he pushed Mike backwards until his back hit the mattress. “Don’t worry, babe, it was cute.”

Babe. Mike had thought Will would only call him that in his dreams. But this wasn’t a dream. Mike watched as Will climbed on top of him, one leg on either side of his waist, and leaned down to kiss him, nice and slow. Mike ran his tongue along Will’s lower lip, and he let Mike in immediately. They continued like that for a few minutes until Will lifted Mike’s arms up so they were pinned above his head, and Mike quietly moaned as Will began to kiss down his neck. He smiled at the ceiling. Mike Wheeler loved Will Byers, and Will Byers loved Mike Wheeler. All was right with the world.

But Mike would have a lot to explain over Christmas.

previous part

homepage

[theconstantsidekick]

no because, supernatural is absolutely a train wreck. it's a colossal accident that is happening in front of you that you can't look away from. it is homophobic and non-sensical and downright laughable at times but you know what? I love it. I absolute love it.

season 1 was absolutely beautiful. you don't understand, really, you don't. they had a piss poor budget, you can see that in every frame. but does that stop it from being fucking beautiful? no. it is stylised and ambitious and a fucking visual treat.

and this is like the first fucking episode. the shots have so much character! and that's nothing to say of the characters themselves. from the first fucking scene you can clearly distinguish sam and dean's character clear as day. their motivations, their dreams, their hopes, all of it. it's established so well. their dynamic is unmatched. does it also have a lot of garbage? yes for sure. because what in the name of hell was that episode with bugs? what glue were they sniffing when they green lit that one? no seriously... I wanna try some.

but then they recovered, cause they did faith. my god, what an episode. WHAT AN EPISODE. that motherfucking reaper haunts my every waking hour

like yeah, I love me some baby dean and baby sam going on their small scale ghost hunts while learning deep lessons about who they are as people and what they want from life.

also that 'laugh I nearly died' needle drop? where sam sees jess? god tier editing, GOD TIER.

then they came back with season 2. and here is my most controversial opinion that should not be controversial at all, season 2 is the best season of supernatural to ever supernatural.

what is and what should never be, hollywood babylon, heart, nightshifter, and the whole fucking season actually. not a single miss in my humble opinion. and that finale? THAT FINALE. beautiful, magnificent. ground breaking character writing, everything comes full circle while simultaneously opening up new plot lines to explore.

and my god, yellow eyes is an epic villain. he is a very viciously written villain like, he's... my god. it ain't a walk in the park writing villains, believe you me patient readers, villains are harder to write than the protagonists, always. well, at least the compelling ones are.

now season 3 suffered because of the writer's strike, but didn't miss much either. like yeah some of the hits don't hit as hard as the season 2, but hey, mystery spot, time is on my side, ghostfacers, bedtime stories are nothing to laugh about. those episodes are fucking solid, like most of the season. and there is so much raw emotion is sam's need to save dean, it just makes my weak winchester brothers loving heart throb a little too hard. also...

need I say more?

does the show did look little more washed out and boring? yes. but it's cool, cause we're moving on to season 4.

listen, I kinda just wanna leave all my season's critique at this. i mean, yeah this. this is it. this is the long and short of it; castiel. i don't think i need to get anymore into it

so season 5 is just—

i'm kidding. obviously i'm gonna talk about season 4, at length.

listen, being able to introduce angels this late in the game and then have them be a such perfectly hidden players is a masterstroke of genius. it just is. i am a writer guys... apart from the relentless fanfic as well lol. and when i tell you, introducing a new big player which is also (not so) secretly the next big bad and playing it off as smoothly as they did in season 4, is beyond hard. but the biggest home run these fuckers hit is castiel and the best part is they weren't aiming for a one lol. and oh oh, the way they use their very VERY limited budget to show wings with just flashing the fucking light? CINEMA! that's fucking cinema right there man. i work on film sets, i am telling you, this is the smartest filmmaking choice they make on the entire show. it adds so much visual intrigue while being so awfully easy to execute. BRILLIANt.

now i cannot talk about supernatural without talking about the deancas romance of it all, which i understand not everyone can see or wants to, which is fine. to each their own. you consume art the way you want to, i don't care much as long as you can acknowledge that castiel and dean's friendship was just some of the best written television that mankind has ever seen. is that too grand a statement? yes. does that make it any less true? no.

they even brought back the moody lighting.

and then there's the episodes this season, most of which are home runs in their own regard. just like beautiful writing, the character development for cas, for dean, for sam, even the late john winchester is wild. anna is a wonderful addition, so is uriel, and alastair? they don't make villains like him anymore, they just fucking don't. AND THAT GODDAMN PLOT TWIST AT THE END? man! the finale was just... too good. Chuck's introduction is absolutely wonderful, even if they ruin him by the end but that happens a decade later so wtv, who cares? But,,,, Jimmy. Fucking. Novak. That's all. that's the tweet. yeah. i'm gonna end the season 4 fan fair with jimmy.

moving to season 5.

subjectively speaking, this is my fucking favorite. this season is a writer's dream while also being their goddamn nightmare. so many WONDERFUL characters to play with and such a grand plot but you get to see it all on a very small, consumable scale which is just... it's too smart for me to not mention. i won't start naming the plot points and neither will i name my favourite episodes because what even is the point? all of it was fucking perfect. you don't understand how hard it is to develop characters to such an extent that they become so familiar to the audience that they know their next move before you even put it on the screen. and supernatural had that. they tied everything together with so much care and consideration, just... AAAH so good.

a special shoutout goes to endverse!cas, crowley and death this season. you all know it in your bones that those three were just the absolute scene stealers. especially death's introduction... immaculate.

they did lose a few points for not being as aesthetically pleasing as the past few seasons but hey, gabriel was enough to make a smooth recovery.

but this... this is the end of the road for me people. season 5 is where it should have ended. in no way shape or form am i saying that there aren't a few good episodes here and there after this, because there are. i think season 5 was so fucking solid, tied up so many goddamn lose ends and then just put a cute little hell shaped bow on top and i just... yeah. this was and should have been the end of the road. do not get me wrong, i love me some jack kline, charlie bradbury, kevin tran, rowena macleod and eileen lahey but were they worth the bullshit ending i had to sit through? not really.

i absolutely think if there weren't more episodes of supernatural I would never have become a destiel fan, because i started shipping them when dean made cas a mixtape in season TWELVE! but my god, the good times were so scattered amongst the horseshit that even when i found those hidden gems, they were so fucking drenched in the stink that they lost their value.

the worst of it all is that, i cannot explain to you what supernatural means to me in a million words, because it is a part of me, heart and soul. i fucking AM castiel. i am a gay little angel you hear me? i love this show. i do. i'm glad it went on for however long it did but i feel like once in a while i need to write shit like this or read shit like this to remind myself of the show that it used to be. of it's beautiful cinematography, of it's clever little storytelling techniques. of it's wonderful cast. of how epic their song choices used to be.

FUcking RENEGADE? iconic. wanted, dead or alive? cannot hear the song without hearing sam's off tune goat bleating that he called singing along.

i need to remind myself of how afraid i used to be of lucifer. of how much i cried while watching dark side of the moon; when dean and sam burst the crackers, and how i learnt the lyrics to knocking on heaven's door just because of that scene.

sometimes i just have to walk through memory lane and look back at gabriel's death, the good one, the only one. it was so fucking meaningful. i have to think of "we are making it up as we go" to be able to breathe properly because those moments were so fucking beautiful.

fuck the big ones, i even remind myself of the small ones, of dean's handwriting being in all caps, just like him. of sam's fucking huge laptop with that weird blue black sticker in the middle. of castiel's tie, that just was the right shade of blue, and hung all wrong but just naturally enough to add so much more to his character than any fucking dialogue could. every small little detail of supernatural that made it so damn supernatural. i miss it all.

idk. i'm rambling. whatever.

[bubblin-trouble]

Furioso.

TW: strong language below the cut. mentions of harming someone. calypso inflicts no real injury or bodily harm. this time.

“CROWLEY! YOU MOTHERFUCKER! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Calypso was unstoppable at this moment. She couldn’t be stopped. Not when every student who saw even a glimpse of her murderous, fury filled glare went running for the hills as she stormed down the halls towards the Headmage’s office.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! OPEN THE FUCK UP!”

“Calypso! Wait up!! Slow down, you’re going too fast!”

Calypso wasn’t listening to Grim’s pleas. She couldn’t listen, not when she was this mad. The audacity of that no good, deadbeat, lying, slimy, duplicitous, good for nothing son of a —

“OPEN SEASAME, PERRA!”

With the force of someone at least twice her size, Calypso was able to break open the door. Somehow. It was inhuman, the way her chest heaved with each breath. The way her irises swirled with a typhoon of built up rage and resentment.

She’d had enough.

“YOU.”

“No-Now, now, Miss Xaymaca…let’s not be too hasty—”

“YOU’VE HAD TOO MANY CHANCES! I ASK YOU TO DO ONE SIMPLE FUCKIN’ THING, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN DO THAT? WHAT KINDA SORRY ASS EXCUSE FOR A HEADMAGE ARE YOU!?”

Crowley was hiding behind his desk, at this point. Like the coward he was. Spineless.

Now, her fangs were bared. She was seething. Her day had already started out not so great, with the ghosts disturbing her yet again. She put her initial annoyance at that aside for a moment, and had tried to move on with her day like she normally would have.

Classes weren’t that great either. Calypso hadn’t had much time to doll herself up, so she had barely put on some mascara and brushed out her hair. Safe to say some students took notice, and were so “kind” as to let her know. Getting wads of paper thrown at the back of her head wasn’t helping, either. What were they, third graders?

The constant nagging, the teasing, sometimes just flat out bullying, it had been dragging her down, as one would imagine. So, at first, she went to Crowley about it. He was the Headmage, he’d do something about it, right? He had to.

But, no. He hadn’t. What was she thinking, really? Trusting someone like him. He had just expected her to somehow fit in perfectly in this alien world.

Today was her last straw. Walking down the stairs, as she did often, she had dropped something. While bending down to pick it up, someone had “accidentally” bumped into her, sending her tumbling down the last few steps.

Her only physical consequence for that was a nasty black eye, a bloody nose, and a sore ass shoulder, but that one incident made her snap. As soon as she caught sight of the culprit, she had half a mind to knock them clear out where they stood, but she held back. There was time later.

So, then she stormed (quite angrily) to Crowley’s office, and here she was now.

“Miss Xaymaca, Ca-Calypso, please just listen for a moment! I didn’t mean—”

“OH, YOU DIDN’T MEAN FOR ME TO GET PUSHED DOWN THE STAIRS, HUH? IF I HADN’T WALKED MYSELF DOWN HERE, WOULD YOU HAVE DONE ANYTHIN’?”

“Well, I—”

“NO! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE! BECAUSE YOU NEVER DO ANYTHIN’ HERE BESIDES SIT ON YOUR ASS AND LOOK PRETTY!”

“I’ll have you know that is obviously false! I have done many things for this fine institution—”

“CUT YOUR BULLSHIT!”

Her shriek rang through the room, making Crowley take a momentary pause as well as Grim, who was cautiously floating just a few feet behind her.

Her hands twitched. Her fingers itched. She needed to crush something. Throw something. Anything. A skull, maybe? Preferably Crowley’s, at the moment.

Then, a smile spread across Calypso’s lips, and a soft laugh came from her throat.

“Oh, silly me! I don’t know why I’m yellin’ like this! Don’t wanna strain my voice, now do I?”

Crowley and Grim exchanged confused, and concerned glances for a brief moment. What had just happened???

“Calypso…?”

“What.”

Her eye twitched. Her nose started to bleed again. Her smile turned into an ear to ear grin. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Grim seemed to sense it, as he backed up even further almost immediately.

But Crowley, oh Crowley, the dense man he was, wanted to poke the bear. Couldn’t resist.

“Mi-Miss Xaymaca, I ask that you put a stop to this…this…behavior of yours. I won’t tolerate it, and if you can’t accept that, then you can leave my office!”

It was like she hadn’t heard him. At least, it didn’t look like she had, given her lack of acknowledgement or even a simple response.

Her eyes seemed to don a manic look. She twitched more intensely. One could compare her to a bomb counting down before explosion, and they’d be spot on. She did look like she was about to explode.

Crowley came to that realization as well, but unfortunately a little too late.

A loud, banshee like shriek could be heard from across the entire campus, startling the student body out of whatever they had been doing the moment before.

Then, it was silent for a minute or so. Everyone thought it was over. Whatever it was, it had gone, now. But, that’s when the singing began. Oh, it was so beautiful. Hypnotic, like being dragged under the ocean’s waves…

But whatever had caused it, it wasn’t good. And it might just be the newest, biggest problem the students have to deal with.

Quick FYI, this is the last post before the event itself is starting!! You don’t have to respond in character just yet, just sit back, and watch the flames grow. For now.

Tagging everyone who’s doing the event here!! <3

Taglist : @nrc-asteryn-crew @night-raven-miscellany @nrc-ramshackle-prefect @nrcsfavoriteshrimp @grimthegremlin

@floyd-leech-thing @poiison-apples @tea-cup-tyrant @hello-from-nrc-infirmary @readsrandomstuff67

Also, be on the lookout in those inboxes of yours. A certain message might appear soon, which could potentially help keep you out of harm's way. Just a heads up~ Also, if you are a multimuse blog (or, if you have more than one blog), you can choose the muse(es) that interact with this version of Calypso, even if they never have before! Yes, you can use more than one muse with this event! :3

[flame-cat]

hey fellas so @boyswillbeboxes and I have been cooking a fun concept for a few days and I thought I'd share it with you along with some Images I doodled. the post we're talking about at first is this one right here but if u don't feel like looking at it tl;dr its kim glaring at jean and being possessive of Harry. synopsis under the readmore! tws for suicide baiting and suicidal actions

rat: THAT FUCKIN COMIC WITH KIM GIVING JEAN THE SIDE EYE I'M SCREAMING

GET HIS ASS KIM

me: DLFJFKFKF IM SO GLAD U SAW ITTTT

rat: I JUST DID

me: thought of u makin that

rat: 😭😭

I'm so honored

God lmao you're right tho

Listen listen if Harry fails the check for the karaoke and Jean is there and doesn't clap for Harry, Kim swears a VENDETTA

That's CANON

He brings it up at the tribunal he's so petty

The second one

He says some really backhanded shit I don't remember the specifics but he's basically like Enemy Sighted

me: he took one look at this man and went "is anyone gonna become harshly overprotective of that" and didn't wait for an answer

rat: NO FOR REAL

IT'S INSANE HOW QUICKLY KIM WOULD DIE FOR HARRY

I LOVE IT I LOVE THEM

me: like in my head it literally is just. jean is minding his business. he doesn't even do anything. and Kim is just glaring daggers at him from across the room. in my head it's a sitcom bit where every time Harry leaves the room with Kim and Jean left Kim threatens Jean's life and as soon as Harry comes back in hes Normal again and jean is like GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH

rat: Nobody ever believes Jean when he says this is happening

"No he's so even-tempered he's really polite maybe you just misinterpreted?"

Or even worse it makes Jean look crazy

me: like jean comes back to his desk and there's his mug which is now filled with dirt and a sticky note that says "bitch"

he looks over at Kim's desk and Kim is staring directly at him with murder in his eyes

and then a couple seconds pass and he looks away like nothing happened and jean is like "oh its ON motherfucker" (it is not on. jean can't hope to fight back against the wrath of kim kitsuragi)

jean fills Kim's coffee with salt? Kim just drinks it all. completely straight face. doesn't flinch once

kim comes over later and is like "thanks for the coffee" even tho jean was SURE no one saw him do that

he goes to fucking pryce about it eventually and he's just like "I don't appreciate you spreading rumors about the newest member of the 41st. he's done exemplary work. far better than you. maybe you need to go through that sensitivity training again?" and he blows his fucking LID over that.

challenges kim to a fucking brawl in the middle of the bullpen and Kim is just like. officer you're embarrassing yourself *eyebrow*

his reputation never recovers. even more of a joke than Dick Mullen now

rat: Kim being so so SO careful never to do this when anyone else is around. But then one day Jean is in the bathroom, and then the door opens, and it's Kim. And Kim just stops. Looks at him. Smirks a little. Then reaches behind himself and locks the door

And Jean feels FEAR

Kim never actually touches him. But it's very clear he's more than capable of following through on his threats.

Getting in his space and grabbing his chin to make sure Jean is Paying Attention

me: jean starts looking over his shoulder on his way home. one time Kim tails him just to fuck with him. jean thinks he loses him but when he gets onto his street kim is standing outside of his building, having his one cigarette

jean is stood frozen. Kim locks eyes with him as he puts out the cig on his boot. walks away

jean i think starts to try and play dirty as well but idk how he'd go about it. he's too... hm. stupid

rat: Yeah yeah yeah for sure like. He tries to "trick" Kim into a fight but Kim is five steps ahead at all times, he never takes the bait

And god help him if he tries to antagonize Harry to get to Kim

That's when Kim gets SERIOUS

That's when Kim finds him in a dark alley outside of work

Grabs a handful of his hair, smashes his face into a brick wall, puts him into a hammerlock hold

Whispers in his ear if he ever catches him trying that shit again, he's not getting a warning next time

me: I think it'd be hilarious if Jean tried to threaten suicide and it just. doesn't work. I think it'd make sense for him to bait kim like "okay well what if I killed myself and framed YOU for my MURDER" and Kim is like officer don't be dramatic get over yourself please

rat: Kim just staring at him like "Okay then. Do it. Right now."

Maybe Kim even hands over his gun

Jean trying to turn the tables by pointing it at Kim

Kim never flinches

"Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Unlike your idiotic plan, I'll be missed. And we both know Harry never stops."

me: I just think that scene in the alley could end up with Harry intuiting whats going on, that an officer is in danger, so he goes to stop it and- hey JEAN IS POINTING A GUN AT KIM??? AND KIM ISNT??? STOPPING HIM????

rat: HARRY PUTTING HIMSELF IN THE WAY OF THE GUN

Jean having to reconcile the fact that Harry is no longer his, insofar as he was before

me: after a tense second of not moving. jean actually considering doing it.

rat: GOD Jean being like I could just do it. Shoot him, maybe have time to reload and shoot myself after. That might be the only way to truly Hurt Kim

me: kim catches on to that. and for the first time he IS afraid

hes fine losing himself. but losing Harry? he couldn't bear it. he would sooner die

then. all at once. jean drops it

he can't do it. too much of a coward. "GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU!!" punches the wall etc. definitely crying. meanwhile kim GRABS Harry by the shoulders. he's shaking with fury and also something else. "what the FUCK are you thinking-" and Harry cuts him off with "what are YOU thinking? what the fuck was that? what HAPPENED to you?"

Harry means "you two" but kim feels that in his soul

they leave jean to talk after that. and that conversation is not a pretty one

smth smth "I was trying to protect you" "that was too far" "he went too far first. he was hurting you" "so your solution is to hurt him back?" "he wasn't going to STOP" "then let me deal with it!" etc etc

no idea what jean does from there. maybe he actually fucking thinks and reconsiders things and idk grows as a person

anyway after that we get the dinner from hell

harry invites them to a get-along dinner. christ

GOD. THE TENSEST DINNER EVER. TO RIVAL ANY FAMILY DINNER

im just imagining them trying to throttle each other on top of some takeout

harry is yelling TIMEOUT TIMEOUT

composure failure

rat: Harry like "can't we all just get along??" and Kim and Jean say NO at the same time

me: they both point at each other at the same time and go HE STARTED IT

harry actually passes an authority check and scolds them and they both realize how petty this is and its all very embarrassing and Harry is treating this very seriously. fully goes "do you have anything to say?" and they grumble sorry and he's like "not to me. to *each other*"

rat: He only passed Kim's authority because Kim hates seeing him sad

me: slow look at each other. jean holds out a hand. Kim grabs it so tight you hear joints snap.

they still hate each other so so much but Harry is Determined to make them friends

its like. harry is their get-along shirt

rat: Harry like the power of love and friendship will prevail and Kim tries he really does but every time he sees Jean he hears the Kill Bill sirens in his head

He makes an honest effort to threaten his life less but that's all he can manage

me: I do think this could get resolved eventually tho. like harry being put in some sort of crisis situation where his life is on the line or something

rat: Wouldn't it be funny if the situation was something Harry put himself in though

Like getting himself kidnapped by a gang

Like "wow this will really bring Jean and Kim together! ♡"

Meanwhile he's literally tied to a chair with his face bloody and nose broken

And Jean and Kim HAVE to team up. They can't take on a gang ALONE

Jean pretends not to care but he cares so much it makes him look stupid

If Harry actually dies what the fuck is he supposed to do

me: it works but not in the way he intended cause it actually touches on the heart of the conflict is that Jean wants to blame Harry for everything ever and also he does care so much it makes him look stupid so when they find out it was actually sort of on purpose they BOTH GET MAD AT HIM FOR THE SAME REASON

a horrible, deadly pact is formed. harry is now in grave danger

rat: Harry wanted them to be friends. And now, unfortunately, they are

He's never getting let out of their sight again

me: I like to think eventually they do chill out and become friends about it. like outside of all that. maybe jean finally gets over himself and Kim and Harry have a talk about being posessive- lol I'm just kidding those two are codependent to the fucking grave. but still I think they could end up being civil and the death threats just become banter

the competitive streak never dies tho. constantly trying to one-up each other. functional kismesistude

[mikavlcs]

ok I got so late here I swear I got so caught up I'M SO SORRY. Also I read your last Wens piece! I ADORED IT TOO QWJEJWQ AND THE WHOLE CRITICISM PART ABOUT THE POEM? JDJQWJEQJWE I burst out laughing like a fucking idiot and ended up almost throwing my computer to the floor don't ask how. I've been a bit busy but I'll comment and fill your notif thingy with 9219292 notifs soon!

This is to the mf spamming your ask box cause I get lost a few days and when I come back these bitches just-

Listen to me you little motherfucker. You spam again mika's ask thingy trying to be rude or say anything that can be relatively, just slightly offensive or harmful, and I'll locate your little annoying ass all the way to the hellhole you're from, open your chest with my bare hands and use your ribs to carve your insides. And once I'm done, I'll open up that thick, little skull of yours, take your brains out and use them to make a written apology for Mika on your name before I dissolve your body with hydrochloric acid and burn your clothes and stuff. You wanna know something funny? It would only take me a week, at most. With that, there wouldn't be even bones left thanks to the acid. Not a single piece of your little annoying ass left to recognise. We clear bud? we cleAR? because I can be more spECIFIC AND GRAPHIC YOU LITTLE-

(don't take me seriously. not too much at least-)

JQWEJQWJE just kidding. I would never do that. Or would I now? MUAAHAHHAHA

Out of jokes, there's no need to be rude, man. You never have to intend any kind of harm of offense to anyone, especially someone in the internet who hasn't bothered you at all. The worst thing is that you don't even have the face to send the asks personally, you just go full anon, like the little coward you are. Hope whoever you are you stop bothering Mika, put it together and go do something productive instead of wasting your time trying to be an ass, pal.

Btw, howdy! how are things going home? are your electronics still out of danger? I hope they are! c'mon c'mon I feel like I've been away from tumblr for tons of time now, tell me tell me something. Has anything interesting happened in your week? have you eaten something today? what did you have? how was it? how's your writer's block?

PS: the threat above goes for anyone who bothers you aRE WE CLEAR ?????👹👹👹👹👹

(I'm so sorry that meme was just there and JDJQEJQWJEQJEJ I JUST COULDN'T STOP MYSELF FROM DOING IT SORRY)

the way i read this while you’re spamming my notifs 😭🤚 also you threw your laptop on the floor??? lmfao??

SKDHDKEDJDK NOT THE HYDROCHLORIC ACID 😭😭 that’s such a specific and crazy threat…laughing so hard rn (also that whole paragraph had real ghostface tara energy) but thank you<33 they have still not returned so it’s chill 👍

and yes my stuff is still out of danger! nothing explicitly interesting has happened, i’ve mostly been studying for finals next week 💔💔 and i had cereal today, it was good<33 i hope you’re doing good as well despite being busy!

[zdogswife]

OMG hiii I see you've never written a blog so can I just give you a starter? Smut with all of the boys please 🥺😭😭 I hate that emoji but yeah you don't have to (aged up if your doing younger boys as such as aonung, Loak, neteyam rotxo,)

OFC MY LOVE GIRL YKNOW I GOT YOUUU ITS GONNA BE A LIL ANGSTY BUT THAT SINT NEVER HURT A SOUL??

Song to listen to

|

V

Warning: Slightly hard smut, cheating, choking, yandere basically, emotional, Angst, nOt making up, loak is a hoe, pregnancy , getting back together, fluffy at the end, language

Summary: You and loak have a nice life or so you thought 💭

You're a moaning mess your loincloth thrown to the floor loaks too he's rutting into you at a fast pace "Loak my god don't fucking stop yesss," you moan out "wasn't planning on it your to good f'me " he says wet squelching sounds can be her heard from his fast pace " damn baby yessss" loak says he feels you clenching knowing your at your limit he gives you soft slow hard thrusts "CUMMM" with that your body shakes around and you squirt all over his abdomen " stay baby I'm not done yet " he flips your body around plays with your clit with his tip and gently slides in "to much damn daddy" you speak " he starts throbbing inside you but before you can pull him out warm stick thick cum fills your womb he plants kisses all of your face then begins to clean you up.

***********

You wake up and suddenly feel weak you feel the need to scream and throw up you start to call loak over to help you but he's not there "Damnit loak I think I'm sick" you get up to throw up only to realize loak never came back the yesterday when he left you to go play with his friends you grab your bow and get ready to call your ikran thinking something happened to him "Please be okay" you whisper taking off with your ikran to his family marui which would usually be empty due to there schedules you land and began to get ready to charge but you hear sounds "damn you loak calling me another bitches name no your motherfucking girlfriend name who the hell are you" She storms out and you hide when she's officially gone you walk back in realizing he did something he shouldn't have done he cheated " you cheated on me loak?' you asked knowing the answer " baby yes I'm sorry I thought of you the whole time I said your whole fuckin name y.n " He yelled when he is the one that should be getting yelled at " LOAK AFTER EVERY I'VE DONE FOR YOU YOU GO OUT AND DO THIS AS IF I'VE DONE NOTHING" You yelled you walked out you weren't leaving him you needed space.

**************.

Guilt guilt is what you thought when you found out you were pregnant you needed to reconcile with loak you needed to but you couldn't see him he should've never ever cheated on you, you needed him to apologize to you. You decided the least you could do was tell him and hope for the best you hop off of your ikran going to his family marui you open the makeshift door , you walk in to all eyes on except loaks ahem you clear your voice " I'm pregnant." You state and all eyes turn on loak but loak at you with widened eyes you walk out with your head dropped low not wanting to make eye contact with anyone else but you didn't know loak had followed you but you did when he tugged at your arm "what the fuc-" you spoke or tried to but you were interrupted with loaks words " I'm sorry day and night I think about what we should've been your the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me I cannot bear not being with you," he spoke with his ears flattened "Lo what you did to me wasn't right at all you hurt me and cut me like a knife I tried to make it right and avoid you but I can't I love you ," you say with tears as you press your forehead onto his 'Can I kiss you?' loak asks and you nod your head in agreement he pulls your face in and cups your cheeks in both hands he places his lips onto yours and grazes his tongue over your lips before sliding into your mouth before breaking the kiss he gives you a smirk. "loak don't do that ever please I was wrong leaving you alone to suffer but you were wrong to let's make it right for our baby " he nods and rubs your still flattened stomach .

********************"

"Ready for our date baby?" Loak asks, you two promised each other to take each other out every week to keep your love going and growing " Yes dear I it will take awhile He keeps growing making my life harder each day" you giggle at what you said but you didn't get a response from loak next thing you know he's right beside you "He?? Baby we're having a boy omg little loak Jr omg" you stop and burst out laughing at the thought of little loak running around skipping and hopping on your marui pod loak takes you out finally you walk around the ocean to see bioluminescence everywhere he pulls out his hand for you too hold to get inside the water "loak were are we going?" You question, he doesn't answer and calls for his ilu your in awe as you arrive it was a secret no private cove hidden inside the forest part of the ocean you stood there mouth propped open you were taken from reality itself until a hand pulls you out of the trance he pulls you into the small pod he attacks your face with kisses he pulls yo both onto his ilu and you start moving as the ilus pace increases you hold on tighter. swimming in circles you feel the need to breath but you're having to much fun, but finally you two have to come up and you do so! " Loak I love you and your son to the end up time" you speak and he smiles as happy tears trail down his face " I love you ma itan I love you yawne" he says and you both kiss passionately before you both say ''oel ngati kaimie''

Hii hope you enjoyed it (: I can do another part if need be love you sweet dear

[senor-plume]

Shovel (a short story)

  He called his wife on the phone. There was nothing else to do.  He had masturbated two times already that day. Not a thing on the television and besides it was raining out. Nothing inside, nothing outside.   She picked up and said hello. The second he heard her voice he regretted calling. He could have gone out and stood naked in the freezing rain. He could have swallowed a fist full of sleeping pills and unplugged the phone. He could have tried to get it up one more time and go for three strikes on hid belly. But he didn't. He called his wife and now it was too late to turn back. "How are you doing Marie?" A loud and long sigh came from the other end. He heard her suck in her breath and he braced himself. "Well, you know the guy downstairs is supposed to shovel the walkway. The motherfucker pays less rent than I do because he's supposed to help around this shithole apartment. I got home from work to find that not only was the sidewalk not done but the son of a bitch never got around to the driveway. I had to park on the street with all the other assholes who live on this godforsaken road. So I went to his apartment to find out why nothing had been done. You know me, Vince, you don't want to piss me off! So I go and bang on his damn door. Blam blam blam blam! His wife answers stinking of booze. That lady is fucked up. Do you remember the time she came up to my place when you were over fixing the sink? She started screaming at me to keep the banging down and I was like "listen lady, my fucking husband is over here fixing my sink and if you don't like the fucking sounds you can kiss my big fat clogged up sink of an ass!" Holy shit that was a riot! Anyway, she opens the door and I ask her why her fucking husband has not shoveled the sidewalk and all. I mean he had 24 hours to get the damned job done. Of course, I didn't say that! I just said: "hey, is Frank around? He was supposed to shovel and all." And then, you know what she said to me? You are not going to believe this. She said that Frank cut his fingers while slicing a fucking ham and got 66 stitches on his left hand! I almost shit myself! So, of course, I asked her how he was doing. Just to be human, you know? She said he was in the tub relaxing with a drink. And you know what this means? Don't you? This means that no one is going to shovel the fucking snow! I'm going to be parking on that street for weeks! Jesus Christ. Why me? Of all the places I could be living, I live in this stink-hole place with a sloppy meat cutter as the handyman idiot." "Why don't you call the landlord and let him know the walkway is not being cleared. I'm sure he would want to know."

"What do you think I am? An idiot or something! I called him. Of course, I called him. Jesus! I called him the second I got my boots off. He said that as long as Frank is laid up...that's what he said! Laid up! What a moron! As long as Frank is laid up that maybe I could shovel for a while. He said he would knock off 30 bucks from the rent. The fucking gall of that fat bastard! Who the fuck does he think I am? Some lesbian butch? I told him to cram it. I said he could stick that rickety old shovel up his over used asshole. That's what I said Vince. So help me, that's what I said. He couldn't believe it! He went silent. Then I said, "No way, Jose" and slammed the phone down. I nearly busted the fucking thing! Haha! So, hell, I don't know what to do. Hey, hold on for a sec."

He heard her put the phone down on the table. He knew that table well. He bought it about 5 summers ago at the local Kmart. He carried the damned thing stuck in some cheap box up two flights of stairs in a horrible heat. Dragged it into the kitchen and put it together by himself. Alone. A very big accomplishment for a man who needs instructions for a hammer. This was supposed to be a surprise for Marie. She had been bitching about the old table ever since she had moved in. She came home that night. Put her keys on the table and without even looking at Vince who was sitting in one of the chairs said: "Jesus, Vincent, where the hell did you dig this nightmare up? Kmart?"

But still, to this day the table sat there. In his old apartment. A testament to his failures. He lit a cigarette and as he placed the match in the tray he heard her cough into his ear. Then curse and then, much to his dismay began to speak again.

"My God. I finally got out of my dress. I don't know why the hell I still, wear this ugly old thing you got me. I do know this though, I have to shave my legs. They are getting mighty hairy. Hey, you still like my legs, Vince? You used to go on and on about how much you adored my legs. Back in the early days. Before it all went to shit. Ain't that right Vince? So, you still like them? Do you think about them when you try to fall asleep on that bed of yours? Do you?" "Yeah, I guess I do. I don't know. Sometimes, I guess." "You guess? You guess? What kind of answer is that? Jesus, Vince. You are and always will be a real twit. You know that don't you?"

"Yeah, twit with a capital T."

  An hour later they hung up, or actually, she hung up on him. Pissed off about something or other. He stripped out of his sweat soaked shirt and decided to have a beer or two. Topless at the kitchen table, Vince sat with the bottle of Miller and stared out the window. The rain had turned to a very light snow. The street lights were just coming on and soon he would have to get ready for work.

  What the fuck happened to me Vince thought. How the hell did I become a third shift jackoff with an insane soon to be ex-wife and a car in danger of being taken away by the bank? It was too much for him apparently as he stood up and with the bottle in his hand, went to the bedroom where he fingered through a stack of books on the floor. In fact, the room was surrounded by books. Like ropes in a boxing ring. All four walls tattooed three feet high with books of every color and size. In no particular order, one could see. He grabbed Albert Camus's 'The Stranger' and flipped through the pages. He put it down and turned around. He put the bottle on the nightstand and walked over to the corner by the window. He kneeled down and searched. After a while, he picked the book he wanted. Terry Anderson's memoir 'Den Of Lions'. He opened the book and found the bent corner and read:

"Prayers in the night hurled fiercely at an absent God; plea's, promises, bargains offered, but no answers."

He picked up a shirt laying on the bed and put it on.

  Eating a bologna sandwich alone at work, Vince sat reading the paper. More bad news. Unemployment up. Riots in Germany. Bombs in the Mideast. The president is still a moron and worst of all the paper yanked Doonesbury from the funny pages after a controversial strip. Garfield is not funny, it's downright depressing he thought to himself. What is this world coming to? He gathered up his empty paper plate and coffee mug. Walked over to the garbage can and threw them in. Shit was rumbling. His stomach felt ill, so he headed off towards the men's room.

On his way, he ran into Marcella. She just lifted herself up from the water fountain and spotted him charging down the hall like a moose. "Vince! Hey hey, you, Moose? How are you?" He slowed down. Stopped actually and greeted her in return. "Marcella. Fine. I am fine. Did you hear about Doonesbury? The paper axed it, man." "I know. I read about it this afternoon when I woke up. It's an outrage! It was always the first thing I'd read when I got the dumb old paper. Hey, you in a hurry? Got time to grab a smoke outside? I'm dying for a cigarette."

His bowels churned. Bologna and depression do not mix. His belly was bursting, screaming for relief. And yet, he said: "For you, my friend, of course. I could use a dose of Turkish gold myself. I just ate."

Marcella smiled and pulled at his arm. "Ok then, Mr. Moose, let's go smoke."

 Outside they stood on the truck delivery station. Pallets laid around them in the snow among the discarded cigarette butts. Just a sliver of moon hiding behind the clouds made it a dark evening. Or morning.  It was around 3 AM and it had stopped snowing. They stood there silently smoking. Vince looked up at the sky. He wanted to see stars but it was impossible. It was too cloudy. "I wish we could see the stars but it's too cloudy." Marcella exhaled a puff of smoke and laughed "What is it with you and the stars? Every time we come out here you always talk about the stars. Just why is that Vinnie?"

Vince flicked his camel into the air. It landed with a suicide grace. He watched it as it slowly went out in the snow. "I don't know. I think I just like things that are far away."

"Interesting Mr. Mooseman. What about me? I'm right next to you. I bet you don't like me, eh?" She smiled and poked her elbow into his side. She laughed. "Well, out with the answer Moosey!"

He stood there silent. He reached into his pocket for another smoke. Lunch break was almost over but there was time for at least one more. He would have to wait two more hours before he could use the bathroom though.

"Marcella, may I ask you a question?" "Sure...why not! It's Friday and I'm in a good mood! But you're not ducking my question are you?" "I'm glad you're in a good mood, Marcella."

He lit the cigarette and put away his lighter. His fingers were getting cold and he wished he had brought his gloves from the car. His head tilted up as his lips opened. "Marcella, do you shovel your own driveway?" She laughed. "No, no. My son does. He's good at it too. Every time it snows, he's on the job! What a silly question, Mr. Moose. Why do you ask?"

He took a drag from his smoke and flicked the half done thing onto the ground. He turned away and began walking back to the building. No reason, he said. Just simply curious.

He opened the door and felt the heat hit him hard. He had a minute left to punch back in. He walked quickly to the time clock. There really was no time to do anything else. --------------------------------

[the-love-of]

Ok.

Hekate has been calling me.

To the point where I see her in everything.

I was listening to a podcast. It ended.

I expected the next episode. No.

A podcast I stopped following came on next.

The episode was about Hekate.

I've always loved keys.

One thing that ... keeps me going.

Is that my favorite person in all the world.

Still has my key.

Ok.

So what do you want Hekate?

Tell me what I need to do to end the storm.

Tell me what to give up and I'll do it.

I want one thing. One fucking thing.

Something I never knew that I wanted till I had it.

So. Guide me then.

The message I get from her is

"Wait. Just wait. Do nothing."

And I hate that so fucking much.

But...

My lesson is patience.

Can you imagine a motherfucker like me with patience?

I used to have it. I think when youre a kid. You remember more clear. "Yes! Ok I'm here for this. I'll do so good! I'll do it perfect." Then you do it perfect for a few years. And then things start getting thrown at you. And you forget.

I assume she's reaching through my speakers to bitch slap me because I get impatient.

Ok. Ok. Ok.

I'll do it perfect.

I'll grow my garden. I'll clean my house.

I'll make my art.

And I will wait patiently.

And I will stop fucking crying all day.

I saved my brother and sister from a house fire. I screamed for help as my everything burned. I beat my hands bloody on the pavement when no one came outside to help the screaming children begging for help. I cried out "why won't anyone help us"

I was beaten. Abused. Sexually and physically. Emotionally.

I was used. Discarded. Over and over again.

I was blackmailed by my therapist for things I didn't even do.

I've been the target of hatred from people I don't even know.

I have fought every fucking day of my life to just exist. While it gets harder every day.

But this. Waiting. Patience. Is The hardest thing I will ever do.

But I will. For you. I will. I will always.

And that's all there is to it.

I'll build paradise in hell.

Let's see them try and take that from me.

Put me in a smaller and smaller box.

See if that will stop me.

Nothing will stop me.

I am endless.