#my pissy tortured muse

[autumnblooms]

Fuck off

[theemporium]

[3.6k] sometimes home is a place. sometimes it's a person. sometimes it's a bench that holds more memories than mat can fully handle, memories that are slipping through his fingers.

based on 'coney island' by taylor swift for the eras tour hockey fic challenge created by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston!!

.

Present – November 2024 

Never in his life had Mat Barzal felt as pathetic as he did sitting on that bench in Coney Island.

It was cold as fuck, for one, which should have been expected on a day in late November in New York. The temperature was likely below freezing, the chill was starting to seep into his bones, and the jacket he had haphazardly thrown on was doing little to battle the weather.

Yet, it was barely a blip on his radar as the last few weeks properly washed over him. 

Despite the holiday season, there were (thankfully) not many people around to see Mat in all his pathetic and embarrassing glory. Most people were probably sane inside their warm homes, enjoying dinner with the people they cherish the most. It felt stupid to be envious of a city full of people but that is exactly what he was.

Because as Mat sat on that bench, staring out at the near empty beach, he felt like he was choking. 

On his feelings. On his memories. On his bitter resentment that, once upon a time, he was like those people.

That Mat used to have a warm home where he ate dinner with someone he fucking loved and cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world, but now he had lost that person. 

That he didn’t know where his person was or what they were doing, but they were doing much better than him as he sat on the same fucking bench where he first met them.

Where he first met you. 

…

August 2021

“You insist on this every year!” 

“Because it’s fun every year!” 

“And yet you still get pissy when you get beaten by a carnival game.”

Mat glared at him from over his shoulder, not faltering in his steps as he shot his cackling friend a look. “It doesn’t beat me—”

Beau snorted, giving the boy a fond shove as he pushed his way through the crowd to catch up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder again. “Dude, it’s a stupid game that you try every single time. And you fail every time.” 

“It’s rigged,” Mat huffed.

“Yeah, that’s the whole fucking point,” Beau deadpanned. “They are all rigged.”

“But I’ve beaten them all,” Mat whined, sounding young and bratty. “The ring toss is rigged more. It’s made to torture one’s mind—”

“Your mind.”

“—until they are driven insane and haunted by those stupid rings,” he continued to grumble, muttering an apology after he almost walked straight into a lady pushing a stroller.

“All for an arcade ring,” Beau mused, shaking his head. “Dude, you need to let it go.” 

Mat turned to glare at the boy. “No. I have won every single one of these stupid games. I am gonna win this one too.”

Beau opened his mouth. “Mat, dude—”

“And I am gonna get that stupid ring and I will wear it every single day of my—” 

The noise that left his mouth cut him short, something between a scream and squeak of surprise as he found his body hitting someone else instead of the clear path down the pier like he had assumed. He managed to stay on his feet, considering he was a six foot hockey player whose job revolved around being slammed into by other six foot hockey players. 

His victim? Not so much.

“Fuck.” 

It came out like a wheezed, as though the person was winded. Mat quickly spun around, the apologies already leaving his lips as he offered his hand out before he even took a look at the person he accidentally knocked over. And when he did, the apologies died on his tongue as he stared at you, his expression stuck between awe and something else that Beau would spend the better part of the next few years teasing him for.

“Do you even watch where you are going?” 

“Yeah,” Mat replied dumbly, staring at you like he was lost in a daze.

“Clearly not,” you murmured but still took his hand, giving him an odd look when it took longer than a few seconds before he realised and helped you up.

“I’m Mat,” he blurted out before he even let go of your hand. “And I’m sorry.” 

Your lips twitched. “I accept your apology, Mat.” 

“And your name?” He asked, not even trying to be subtle about it (if Beau’s snort was anything to go by). 

Mat feld winded himself when you smiled as you told him your name. 

…

February 2022

“So, let me get this straight.” 

“I am tired of repeating myself.”

“You’re taking her out on Valentine’s Day—”

“Not for Valentine’s Day!”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad. You are taking your friend who you are desperately in love with out on Valentine's Day. How silly of me to take that the wrong way.” 

Mat rolled his eyes, even if Beau couldn’t currently see him. He tucked his free hand into his jacket pocket, the other one curled around his phone as his eyes continued to wander over the pink and red decorations dotted all over the place. It made his nose scrunch up.

“It was the only day we both had free,” Mat insisted, his cheeks tinting pink for a whole different reason other than the cold, nipping weather of winter in New York. 

“No denial about the ‘in love’ part.” 

“Shut up,” he gritted through clenched teeth, as if anyone else could hear Beau except him.

“It’s just a little pathetic—”

“I didn’t ask,” Mat deadpanned, trying to ignore how hot his face now felt. “I don’t even know why I called you.”

“Because you needed a pep talk to finally make a move.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Mat grumbled, ignoring whatever protests he received on the other side as he quickly pressed the red button before shoving his phone into his pocket with a huff. He was so lost in muttering to himself under his breath that he hadn’t noticed you approaching.

“Woah,” you laughed, hands up in mock defence at the way he jumped out of his skin. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I just—” He waved it off, an easy and genuine smile on his lips as he took in the way you were bundled up, an Islanders scarf around your neck. “Ready to have your ass kicked?” 

Your lips twitched. “Ready to cry over the ring toss again?” 

He did not, in fact, cry over the ring toss but he was undoubtedly grumpy by the time the two of you settled down on one of the benches looking out towards the beach, huffing as he took an aggressive bite from the pretzel that definitely didn’t fit his diet plan.

“C’mon,” you laughed, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s just a game.” 

“It’s a stupid game,” Mat retorted.

“Beau was right, you take it way too seriously,” you commented, playful and lighthearted with a gleam in your eyes. Like you were so unaware that the comfort you shared with his friends made his chest tighten in the best way possible.

“You have a little—” He cut himself off, gesturing to the side of your lip.

Your brows furrowed, your thumb attempting to swipe the brown sugar away just to miss completely. “Did I get it?” 

“No, I—here, let me,” Mat murmured, reaching over to gently swipe the brown sugar away. But his thumb lingered, his eyes locked on your lips before glancing up at you. He waited for you to pull away but you just stared back.

For a moment, Mat wondered if you were going to suddenly pull away and pretend the small moment never happened.

For a moment, Mat’s stomach dropped at the thought this would be as far as he got with you.

And then you were leaning forward, your lips pressed against his and the pretzels long forgotten.

His body reacted faster than his brain did, kissing you back as the sweet taste of cinnamon and sugar overwhelmed him. The pretzel was left on the bench between you, his hands cupping your face as he sunk into the kiss, as he sunk into your embrace.

And only when you pulled back to smile at him did his brain seem to realise what had just happened. 

And only then did he grin right back at you. 

…

May 2022 

“God, hockey is brutal.”

Mat paused, raising his brows. “Just realised that?”

“Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about hockey after—” You cut yourself off, wincing a little as you stood in his kitchen, just dressed in one of his shirts (ironically, an Islanders one with the number thirteen above your heart) with a mug of coffee in hand. “Ignore me. Watch the eggs don’t burn.” 

Mat snorted. “What has made you realise hockey is so brutal?” 

“Just kinda thinking about it,” you shrugged, your gaze on the rim of your mug rather than his face. It made him frown a little. “Like, I know it’s a part of the sport but, fuck, all it takes is one bad hit and—”

“Woah, hey,” Mat’s frown deepened as he reached for you, the stove turned off, the eggs forgotten and his hand reaching to place the coffee mug on the counter. He took your face in his hands, his thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, but it sounded a bit wet and weak to his ears. He tilted your head up, his lips pressed together when he noticed how glossy your eyes were. “I guess I just never realised how brutal the sport was until I met you. And you guys play through so many injuries and I know your season is over now but the idea of you pushing yourself even more is just—”

“Come back home with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come back home with me for the summer,” Mat repeated, a soft smile on his lips. 

You blinked again, your confusion only growing. “Did you not just hear me—” 

“I did,” Mat interrupted, nodding his head with the look of adoration still written plainly across his face. “And all I could think was, ‘wow, how lucky am I to have this amazing girl care about me so much’ and I just…I am lucky. So lucky. And I wanna show other people how lucky I am. I want to show my family how lucky I am.”

Your face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mat murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered before leaning in, a soft and lingering kiss left on his lips before you pulled back. “And I’m lucky you care about me too.” 

“I’m really glad I bumped into you that day in Coney Island,” Mat confessed, something warm and comforting bubbling in his stomach at the sight of your smile. 

“Yeah, me too,” you hummed, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “And I love you even if you can’t win the ring toss—”

Mat groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

…

March 2023

“You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Mat blinked, his thoughts torn away from him as he turned to find you settling down onto the bench next to him, two pretzels in your hand. He murmured a small ‘thanks’ as he took one of the pretzels from you, staring at the sugary cinnamon sticks with little appetite. 

“Hide what?” Mat asked. 

“Mat,” you said his name in a way that made his chest tighten, so soft and gentle, like he was some scared animal you were slowly approaching. “Baby, I know you miss him. You don’t have to pretend.” 

His eyes dropped back to the pretzel in his hands. 

Because it was true. He did miss Beau. He missed Beau more than he cared to admit. And it was stupid because he knew this was how hockey worked, he had friends traded and sent away multiple times before. It was a part of the sport. 

But he just didn’t think it would ever hurt this bad, even weeks after the trade had happened. His focus should have been the season and the playoffs approaching. He should have been focused on the team. 

But every time he went on the ice, he couldn’t help but feel like a part of him was missing when he lifted his head and didn’t see Beau there, ready to accept his pass.

“There was this small part of me that just thought—” Mat paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “That we would be on the same team forever, you know? That it would always be me and him. That we would win the Cup together and…yeah.”

“I know,” you whispered, soft and soothing as you placed your head on his shoulder and let him lean his head against yours. “You never know. You two will find your way back to each other.”

His lips twitched into a sad smile. “Maybe.”

“You were always meant to find each other in this life,” you told him, sounding so sincere and genuine over the distant cheers and screams and buzzing noise of the amusement park behind you. “Just because you don’t live minutes away anymore, doesn’t mean that ends. He is always gonna be there for you, just like I am.”

Mat pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Always, Mat. Always.” 

…

July 2023

“Home, sweet home!”

Mat winced a little as his voice echoed through the empty apartment, the walls bare and the place a little dusty. But it was yours and it made it perfect, it made the keys in his hand feel heavier and more special than his last set. 

“Fuck, we have so much to unpack,” you commented but you sounded happy. You both did, despite the state of exhaustion the last few days left you, attempting to pack up both of your apartments and moving into your new shared place. 

“That is a later problem,” Mat waved you off, reaching towards you so he could wind his arms around your waist and pull you closer. “We have a mattress and takeout menus, what else do we need?” 

“Preferably some sheets,” you teased, not even attempting to pull yourself out of his hold. You were content exactly where you were. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure you put them in the wrong box.”

“Blame the pretty one,” Mat huffed, cackling when you playfully pinched his hip. “Kidding, baby, you’re obviously the pretty one in the relationship.”

“We can both be pretty,” you rolled your eyes before laying your head on his chest, smiling when you felt him lean his chin on top. “Can’t wait to make this place ours.” 

“It’s gonna be so pretty so it can match us,” Mat murmured, grinning when you laughed in response. 

“It looks so plain right now, it’s freaky,” you commented, half-hearted with no real heaviness to your words. It would take a few days for you both to make it feel homely and you were looking forward to it. 

But Mat was already untangling himself from your hold, grinning as he began tugging you towards the kitchen. “We can put our first proper decoration up!” 

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “What? But the boxes are—” 

You cut yourself off as you watched Mat reach into the pocket of his sweatpants, grinning widely as he pulled out a small magenet and slapped it on the middle of the very bland fridge. He looked at the magnet with great pride before turning to you, his smile only growing.

You let out a laugh at the sight of the Coney Island magnet on the fridge. “Perfect.”

“Our first home,” Mat grinned, pulling you back in so he could smack a kiss on your lips. “The first of many.”

“I’m not moving for at least another few years,” you joked, smiling against his lips. “This whole thing was exhausting.” 

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t really care.”

…

January 2024

“I need your help.” 

“Oh god, what have you done?” 

Mat frowned at his phone for a moment, forgetting about the bundling nerves that had left him on edge for the last week. He was sure you were starting to pick up on it, even if you hadn’t mentioned as much—thankfully. But after a week of waiting, he finally had the perfect opportunity to call his sister whilst you were out of the house. 

“I have done nothing. Yet.” 

His sister sighed. “Mathew—”

“No full names needed,” he murmured, his cheeks burning as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with determination that was quickly dwindling the longer the call went on. “I just…I need your help.”

“With?” 

“A ring.” 

His frown deepened when Liana laughed. “If this is about that arcade game Beau told me about—”

“What? No,” he sighed, his blush only deepening. “I need help picking a ring. A real ring. An engagement ring.”

His sister was silent for a few moments before she spoke. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna do it?” 

Mat couldn’t even bite back his smile. “I want to. This summer, maybe. But I need a ring and I was thinking you could help while we’re up for All Stars and—” 

“Sold. Done. I’m not letting you pick an ugly ring for my future sister-in-law.”

“She might still say no,” Mat reminded her, even if his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Of course she won’t,” Liana retorted, sounding so confident that Mat almost wanted to believe her wholeheartedly. “Especially if you let me help pick a ring.” 

Mat pressed his lips together. “I really want to find the perfect ring.” 

“We will. She is going to love it, Mat. She is going to say yes.” 

“Good,” he murmured, grinning. “Because she’s it for me. She’s the only person I wanna give a ring to.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up.”

…

October 2024

He couldn’t even remember what started the argument. 

If he was being honest, the tension had been brewing for a while. It had been a combination of things and none of them had made the atmosphere around the apartment much better. Small, silly things that shouldn’t have been that bad but felt like the end of the world as they were thrown at you both, one after the other.

Mat knew it was bad.

He just didn’t think it was this bad.

It felt like the two of you had been at it for hours, and maybe you had. He couldn’t tell anymore, he didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours the two of you had stood on opposite sides of the living room, yelling and screaming and crying. It all felt too much, like it was getting bigger and bigger, just waiting to pop. 

And then it fucking did. 

“I-I can’t do this anymore.” 

And Mat felt like a deflating balloon, the air escaping his lungs as he found himself staring at you, his mouth unable to voice any of the thoughts he wanted to say.

“Maybe,” you let out a bitter laugh, pained and hurt and weak. “Maybe we just aren’t forever, Mat. Maybe you’re not ready to let anything but hockey be your forever.” 

And you were wrong. 

Deep down, Mat knew you were wrong and his brain was screaming for him to tell you just how wrong you were. Because the fight had escalated and spun out of control and he should have grabbed the wheel with both hands to stabilise you both.

But he was hurt and he was petty and he felt his mouth saying the exact opposite of how he felt. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

The way your whole body deflated and your face fell would haunt his nightmares for nights to come, along with the sound of the apartment door slamming shut as you left and never looked back. 

…

Present – November 2024 

Once upon a time, the biggest challenge Coney Island provided him was the damn ring toss game. It had been like that for years. 

But now, he sat on the bench, the plastic ring between his fingers feeling as heavy as the other ring in his pocket. He didn’t feel victorious, he didn’t feel anything but emptiness. Because neither ring meant anything when he was here alone, when he had failed to give you both.

The ring toss was barely a challenge compared to returning to this damn bench almost every day since he had pulled from the lineup with an injury that just felt like a mockery on top of everything else. 

But he did it. He came back every single day because it hurt and he deserved it. He deserved to sit there and think about just what he lost. Because he had no idea where you were, he hadn’t heard a single word from you—not even Beau would tell him if he had heard from you.

Mat had let pride and something else just as stupid get in the way of his forever.

The least he could do was bear the cold, winter weather on that stupid bench until his fingers were too damn numb to hold the stupid arcade ring. 

The least he could do was spend the rest of his days wondering if there was a universe where things were different, where he still had you, where he was able to see you one more time.

The least he could do was let his own thoughts about losing you forever haunt him. 

The least he could do was hope the universe would give him one more fucking chance to fix everything with you, to at least give you the stupid arcade ring he once promised he would win for you.

The least he could do was apologise for not making you his centrefold like he knew you deserved.

Mat stared down at the phone in his hand, pressing your contact before he could talk himself out of it. He had to try. For you, for him, for the forever he knew you two could have. 

He had to try. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

.

[demonsfate]

anonymous sent . . . I remember one of the girls I used to be friends with in high school kept mercilessly hating on Jin Kazama and she always called him "selfish", "war criminal", and "autistic n*zi". She was an insane Ragna the Bloodedge and Sasuke Uchiha fangirl who got pissy that someone on twitter/reddit/youtube dare compare two characters she loves to a character she hates. She one day went on a tangent saying something like "Sasuke Uchiha deserves better than being compared to Jin!!! Sasuke risked his life to save Naruto's ass in the Land of Waves arc, Sasuke only killed like what 3 people (danzo, orochimaru and deidara are bad ppl anyways), and Sasuke loves his beloved Uchiha family and wants to avenge them. Jin is a selfish sociopath who wants to kill his entire bloodline because of 2 people and he showed no remorse for killing Jinpachi and millions of people!!! Jin doesn't give a shit about Hwoarang, he would let Hwoarang die like how he left Hwoarang to rot after Hwoarang risked his life to save him in Tekken 7!! Jin never suffered in life as much as Sasuke, Jin got to live a normal childhood with his mom for 15 years, got to live in some fancy rich ass mansion with his grandpa, and his mom was actually alive all along and came back anyways!! Sasuke was a child abuse victim who was tortured by his older brother when he was only 7 years old, lived life alone in an abandoned home where his parents died, and Sasuke's dead Uchiha clan never got revived they're still dead. Ragna erased himself from existence to protect those he loves and give humanity a good future!!! Ragna should not compared to Jin either!!". She fucking drew poorly drawn fanart of Sasuke decapitating Jin Mortal Kombat fatality style, and then making out with Kazuya in front of Jin's corpse. Don't worry, I'm no longer friends with her. Sadly this girl and other ppl hating on him saying "haha emo edgelored"/"war" jokes for the billionth time gave me very negative first impressions of Jin back then. Now after I finally started getting into Tekken playing Tekken 8 and the older games like Tekken 2, 3, 4, and 5 and learning that it's Harada's fault for fucking up his character in Tekken 6 to prop up Lars and Jin was OOC in that game compared to his character depiction in previous games - he's now my second favorite character in Tekken behind Lili. It pisses me off too, he's not selfish because he saved Hwoarang in Tekken 4 and he is shown to be supportive of people (supportive of Xiaoyu in her Tekken 4 ending, and he's also supportive of Phoenix Wright in Project X Zone 2).

Honestly hearing stories like this makes me glad I was homeschooled lol. Like OKAY I def knew ppl like this as a teenager, but only online, through the interwebs!! I've been blessed to have never known other teens like this irl LOL. And honestly, maybe it's just me but... I never get viciously hating FICTIONAL CHARACTERS to the point of drawing hate art of it or whatnot. Or to those nasty rpers who will actually follow the character they hate, just to have their muse be cruel to that character or even kill 'em or whatever. It's just... I can't imagine doing it! I don't think I have any characters in mind that I legit hate. Not even the bad ones that I don't like. I just don't like them and that's it lol. And I know these were high schoolers, but like... I don't even remember being like that during my teen years either. I might've been a lil like that as a kid as I was more annoying as a child (we all were lol) but... I still don't really remember haha.

Also Jin didn't want to kill his ENTIRE bloodline lol. Like iirc, even in 6, I don't think he's ever tried to seriously kill Lars? (Could be wrong about that I legit don't remember lol lol) Like Jin wanted to kill Heihachi and Kazuya because at the time, he legit thought they were the ONLY ones of the bloodline (along with himself) and well... they were time proven to be EVIL, therefore... yes, Jin was right, his entire bloodline (except for himself) was evil at the time lol. That was before Jinpachi and Lars were properly introduced in the series.

AND LIKE. LIKE. Some ppl do talk about how it's weird that Jin never showed remorse for killing Jinpachi but LIKE. I am pretty sure it's CANON that JINPACHI IS GRATEFUL TO JIN. Much like how Jin wanted to kill himself in TK4 to stop his Devil from taking over, Jinpachi wanted to be killed to stop the monster / demon possessing him from destroying the world. Like canonically, it was something both Jin and Jinpachi knew had to happen.

I get tired of those acting like Jin never "suffered." It's like yeah, Jin DID have a good childhood up until he was 15 years old. Jin still spend most of his teen years being abused by an old wrinkly fuck, only to be killed by said old wrinkly fuck. Of course, the stupid game's writing did ruin a lot of Jin's suffering. (His mother isn't actually dead, so like... yeah. But I guess he still grieved her and she's been missing for years. His devil isn't actually bad so he was rejecting something that was actually beneficial LOL LOL LOL) But... that's just Tek writing for you. If we forget a lot of the stupid retcons, we can say Jin had a good amount of suffering. HELL, he was created TO BE a tragic hero.

I'm not gonna go on to explain, but I have stated on this blog many reasons why the "Jin is selfish / doesn't care about anyone" has always been a misconception, even prior to Tekken 8 where he gets a lotta friend buddies. But I am glad he's one of your favorites lol. Really, I feel like MORE people would love Jin if they actually looked at him with critical thinking, rather than just... accept the rancid writing of Tek6 and be like "yup, he's a bad character!" Like Jin's a REALLY damn good character prior to Tek6. And when ppl actually look back on those games, play his stories, really pay attention to his character, they would know that.

[aclosetfan]

Lunch Break Blues

The wind whipped Blossom's hair as she tried wrestling it into a top knot. It had been raining on and off all day, and no doubt it would start up again soon, but while the rain had momentarily ceased, she and her sisters took advantage of the rare sunlight pouring through the broken clouds. It was the first lunch in a long week that they took perched atop one of the skyscrapers far from any prying eyes. Usually, a weather report full of rain made Townsville dull and would drive Buttercup crazy, but this week's unprecedented downpour had done little to stop Townsville's villains. Blossom suspected it was because they were feeling a little stir crazy too.

She didn't know what was worse, staying home and doing nothing or flying around soaked to the bone each day. Her hair was a frizzy mess, and she was pretty sure a nasty cold was on the horizon. The rain was such a nuisance that Bubbles had begun to forgo her tennis shoes or steel-toed boots for her daisy-print rain boots. Buttercup had busted out her rain repellant windbreaker. And Blossom had personally opted for her ugly yellow polka-dotted raincoat and matching hat, which yes, she knew looked ridiculous, but she dressed practicably not for fashion. She didn't care who laughed (her sisters and a choice selection of villains); at least she was staying reasonably dry!

The skyscraper they were at was far too windy for her hat to stay on, so she had shoved it in her pocket and went to task on taming her hair. An awful frizzy mess. She pouted and sighed, dropping her hands from her mangled top knot. Generally, the wind did very little to bug her, having the capability to fly and all, but it kept spraying rain droplets and puddles into her face and her hand itched towards her rain cap once more.

A dejected sigh from her left pulled her attention away from her own problems. Glancing over at Bubbles, whose pigtails had gone limp, stabbed absentmindedly at her salad. Her sister took a sad, miserable bite and chewed slowly as she watched the next round of clouds blow in with watery eyes. Bubbles had seemed to be feeling blue (har har) for the last few days, and it wasn't because of the rain. What for though, Blossom didn't know. Bubbles hadn't decided to pour her heart out just yet. However, that didn't deter her from trying to pry the problem out of her sister. Blossom was a problem-solver after all—it was one of her core defining traits.

"Bubs?" She asked with a tilt of her head, "You okay?"

"Oh, Bloss," Bubbles sighed, putting her salad down in favor of ringing out the water from her pigtails, "I'm just feeling a lil crummy. Don't worry."

Blossom snorted, "It'd be easier changing the tide."

That tugged a small smile out of Bubbles.

"Is it the rain?" She asked, already knowing it was the wrong answer.

Bubbles sighed, "No, it's not the rain—it's just, well, it's kind of silly actually."

"I could go for a good joke about now that isn't about my raincoat," Blossom shrugged.

"It's an affront to fashionable society, Blossom," Bubbles sniffed, "You look like a drowned clown!"

"On the outside!" She huffed, "But I'm perfectly dry, thank you, unlike some people."

"I look cute, rain or shine. Jealousy isn't a good color on you." Bubbles blew a raspberry at her before going back to stabbing her salad.

Blossom rolled her eyes and muffled an annoyed groan, "So you're not going to tell us what's up?"

"You'll just tell me it's silly."

The response stung a little, but Blossom shook it off, "Come on, I promise I won't—" she held out her pinky, "—I swear!"

Bubbles regarded her hand for a moment with a thoughtful look before linking their pinkies together. Simultaneously, they lifted their hands and sealed the deal with quick kisses to their fists.

"So," Blossom tried again, "what's up?"

Bubbles sigh was loud and dramatic as she brought one leg up to wrap her arms around, resting a cheek on her knee.

"It's my art," her sister complained, "I wanna make something big, you know, like real profound, but all I ever draw is cute stuff!"

Blossom felt her eyebrows furrow, "But you love cute stuff?"

"Van Gogh didn't get famous for drawing fluffy bunnies, Blossom!" Bubbles whined, "Real artists have really thoughtful ideas! They mean things, and anytime I try to do the same thing, it comes out stupid!"

"Van Gogh drank paint and killed himself. So I don't think he's someone you should be comparing yourself to."

"But he was a genius!"

"He was sick." Blossom counterpointed, "And couldn't find the help he needed. I prefer you sane and alive. Everyone does. The world doesn't need another tortured artist."

Bubbles pouted, "Yeah, but they don't need another goofy doodlist either. I want to make stuff that means something to people."

"They do mean something." She smiled, nudging Bubbles' shoulder with her own, "Your drawings always make me smile. They're happy and fun, and even if they're sometimes silly, that doesn't make them any less valuable to me. That counts for something, right?"

Bubbles smile brightened, and she giggled, "That's really sweet, Bloss, thanks. I think I needed to hear that, but—" there was another dejected sigh, "—I dunno, I just feel so uninspired and bored, and I really want to make a statement. I know there's something great inside me—"

"Because there is."

That earned her another smile, "—yeah, but I can't get it out! It's like all my hand can do is silly cartoons!"

Blossom nodded, "Well, I'm no artist myself, but I'm guessing there's nothing better than practice."

Bubbles flopped back onto the wet concrete, and Blossom cringed in sympathy as she imagined the water soaking its way through Bubbles' shirt.

"Bubs don't lay on—"

"I need to be more introspective!" Bubbles interrupted, "More in tune with myself and nature and the world! I need more life experiences, ya know, so I have stuff I can really pull from when I draw."

Outside of Bubbles probably being the most "self in-tuned" person Blossom knew, it was "life experiences" that threw her the most.

"Bubbles, life experiences? You're a superhero. You face the most depraved of society every day; you met people at their lowest moments. You've faced adversity larger than most will ever dare encounter!"

"But none of that has affected me! I need to get sad! I need to get in touch with my blue period!" Bubbles waved her hands around in exasperation, "I need to be relatable!"

"You've faced the worst and have come out better because of it," She scowled, "and you don't want that? Do you want to be emotionally scarred? To be relatable?"

Bubbles groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I knew you wouldn't get it!" Then came a muffled whine, "This is why I didn't wanna tell you!"

Blossom tsked, "I certainly don't see how being a beacon of hope as opposed to a cesspool of depression and self-pity is worse."

"It's not like that!" Bubbles shot up, "I don't want to be dark and depressed, but that's like what all the great art is!"

"Great art is the art that makes you feel, Bubbles; it doesn't matter what emotion that is, you know that. And if your art makes people feel happy, then what's the big issue?"

Bubbles deflated, "I dunno. I just want to make something that'll make people remember. Centuries from now, I want it to inspire people! Go, oh, I want that! Whatever that is." Bubbles looked up back at the clouds, "And that means I've really got to come up with something good. Something meaningful, but I've got zero ideas."

Blossom considered what she was saying for a moment before nodding, "Okay, I think I understand what you're saying. It's like you're in an art block."

"Yeah," Bubbles nodded, "I'm on creative hold. Everything I make, I don't like."

"Well, this weekend, why don't we go to the art museum, look at the stuff you want to emulate, and try to get into the head of the artist, you know?"

Bubbles perked up, "That's a good idea! You'd really wanna come with me?"

"Of course. We'll drag Buttercup along too. You know she needs some sophisticating." Blossom murmured, shooting their other sister a sideways look.

With the hood of her windbreaker still partially up and wet dripping hair curling in every direction, Buttercup sat perched on the ledge of the building a few feet away, hunched over her sandwich. She chewed mechanically in what looked like deep pensive thought. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she seemed to study the cars far below. She had been mostly quiet this afternoon, happy to be outside but pissy about the rain, and had spent much of their lunch hour shooing away a group of hungry pigeons that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. The pigeons, however, seemed to be appeased at the moment with the few chunks of bread and potato chips Buttercup had relinquished to them.

Blossom expected Buttercup to snap at her for the comment, but it seemed she was so lost in her own little world, watching the cars whiz by, that she hadn't heard them talking.

Bubbles giggled, "Actually, Bloss, I was thinking I needed to be a bit more like Buttercup."

She gave Bubbles a look, jabbing a thumb towards their sister, "Buttercup?"

"Mm-hmm," Bubbles nodded.

"Our sister?" Blossom asked again for clarification, "Buttercup?"

"Ah, come on! Look at her!" Bubbles grabbed her by the cheeks and swiveled her head back towards Buttercup, "She's got the look down."

"What look?" Blossom asked, but because her cheeks were being squished, it came out like, "Wa'ok?" Bubbles understood her regardless.

"That dark, introspective look." Bubbles explained, "Ya know, mused hair, dark under-eyes, stained fingers. The look of a moody artist!"

Generally, Buttercup's hair was mused because she refused to brush it since it was "short for a reason, Blossom." Today, it was also because of the rain. Furthermore, Buttercup had dark under-eyes partly because she insisted on wearing dark eyeliner that smudged halfway down her face every day without fail, and also because she had stayed up until 3 a.m. last night playing video games. And finally, Buttercup's fingers were stained not because of any artistic endeavor but because she had stuck her whole hand into a vat of black and mysterious sludge this morning. She had done so because Blossom had explicitly told her not to stick her hand in the vat of black and mysterious sludge they had been investigating, which had been a mistake on Blossom's part. She knew her sister couldn't resist doing something after it had been brought to her attention, so why she had decided to tell Buttercup not to mess with the vat of sludge was beyond her.

And while Buttercup was often quote-unquote moody, it wasn't because she was broody or introspective. It was because she was either hungry or bored or sometimes both. Bubbles was actually the moody and overly sensitive one, but Blossom knew better than to say that out loud.

"She looks like she needs a bath." Blossom huffed, pulling her face from Bubbles grasp.

"Don't focus on that." Bubbles waved her off, "Look how deep in thought she is! Buttercup isn't much for talking, is she? I bet she's got a lot going on in that head of hers."

"Buttercup?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion once again.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and gave her shoulder a playful wack, "Don't be mean! I'm serious. She's been sitting like that for half an hour now, looking, thinking—"Bubbles tapped her chin in thought, "—I wonder what she's thinking about. From the looks of it, it must be important."

Blossom looked back over at Buttercup, tracing her eyes over her sister's face once more to look for something she may have missed. Her look was pensive. And it was admittedly artsy even if it was on accident. She supposed that even if Buttercup tended to evade artistic endeavors in favor of more physical hobbies, she could still be a poet at heart.

Buttercup was done with her sandwich now and handed off the crumbs to the birds. She still seemed lost in thought. However, she had moved her attention away from the hustle and bustle of the city to the clouds above. She didn't smile, but when a beam of light broke through the clouds and landed on her face, the stress lines on her forehead disappeared, and contentment passed over her features. Blossom couldn't help smiling at the sight of it. It was nice to see her like that. Maybe she was thinking about something profound and meaningful. Bubbles was right. Buttercup wasn't one to share her every single thought unless she was pissed, annoyed, or pressed for an answer. When Buttercup was in a good mood, she simply vibed, enjoying the quality time.

Blossom hardly thought she was mysterious, though. Buttercup's body language was more than enough to determine her mood. If she liked a song, she'd bob her head to its beat. If she liked a certain food, she'd inhale it without breathing. But now that Bubbles had said it, what was Buttercup actually thinking about?

Suddenly, Blossom felt guilty for never asking.

"Hey, Butters?" She called out to their sister, snapping a few times to get her attention.

Buttercup blinked back into reality and turned to face them, "Mhm?"

"What are you thinking about?" She asked.

"What am I thinking about?" Buttercup tilted her head, giving them both a look, "Why?"

"Don't worry about it." Bubbles spoke up, "Just tell us, right now, what you're thinking about."

Buttercup shrugged, looked away, smacked her lips a few times, and looked back, "Lizards."

"Lizards?" Blossom heard herself echoing as every kind, and warm thought she had regarding Buttercup came to a crashing halt.

Buttercup shrugged again, picking at her teeth, before looking back up at the clouds, "They're cool as shit, dude."

Blossom blinked once and then twice before turning back to Bubbles, who looked a little bit dumbstruck. 

"Well, you're right when you're right, Bubbles. She's a real Van Gogh in the making," She snorted dryly.

"Ah, shut it," Bubbles huffed, crossing her arms.

"Wait," Buttercup spoke up over the wind, "why you dumbasses talking about vans?"

"Face it, Bubs," Blossom smiled, ignoring Buttercup, "you don't give yourself enough credit. If there's someone here proficient in artistic musings, it's not the pigeon whisperer. It's most definitely you."

Bubbles uncrossed her arms and sent her a warm smile, leaning her damp head on her shoulder, "Maybe you're right, Bloss, but could we still go to the art museum?"

"Yeah, duh." Blossom smiled, leaning her head on Bubbles, "You know I love museums."

"Hey!" Buttercup shouted, hands on her hips, "Seriously, which van are two laughing about, and where is it going!"

[midnightcindy]

The Maiden’s Tale: Chapter 10

My eyes were shut, my hand slipping against my cheek as I dozed on the tabletop. The world was all blurred color and distant echoes as my mind napped. Eventually, a hand rocking my shoulder caused me to lose my grip and almost slap my face against the table. I snored lazily, propping myself upright as I rubbed my eyes.

“Sarah,” Lettie said, her voice scratchy. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I mumbled, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Late in the afternoon,” Lettie answered, kneeling in front of me on my stool. She pressed a hand to my forehead. “I heard you up all night. Are you feeling any better?”

I reached out to the glass of water in front of me. “I feel all right,” I answered honestly. “I just wish I could sleep.”

Lettie sighed, resting her hand on my knee. “Well, we don't need you right now. The laundry is nearly finished, and the other girls understand you haven’t been feeling well this week. For now, you can rest in our kitchen. Let me get you something to eat.”

I shook my head, covering my mouth. “No, no, I can’t right now-”

Lettie rolled her eyes, pulling on my hand. “You have to eat or else you-”

I grasped at her hand desperately. “I don’t really feel well,” I said honestly, clutching my stomach. “I think I’m…”

Lettie’s eyes widened, and she quickly grabbed a bowl from the counter. Without warning, I puked a fresh batch of bile and what little breakfast I could stomach into the container. Lettie brushed my hair out of my face and shushed me, rubbing my back as I quaked with sickness. Sitting back on the stool, I gasped with disgust as I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. “Ugh,” I groaned, watching Lettie clean the bowl in the wash bin. “Normally it’s only at night. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I feel fine any other time…”

I rested my hand on my stomach, and Lettie’s movements slowed. “Sarah,” she said slowly. “Can you be honest with me?”

I stared at her in silence, watching her as she neared my seat. “Y-yes,” I said nervously. She fiddled with her hands as she spoke. “When did you last see Nico,” Lettie asked, staring at my hand.

I shut my eyes tightly. “Four weeks ago,” I said softly. Long enough.

“Sarah,” Lettie said seriously, glancing from my stomach to my shaking hand. “Did… you and Nico…”

My lip quivered, and I nodded. I knew what she meant. I had suspected for days after the first wave of nausea hit.

Lettie pressed her fingers to her mouth, and looked up at me with big eyes. “Do you think…”

I covered my face in my hands, starting to cry. “I am. I’m almost sure of it.”

Lettie’s arms reached out, wrapping tightly around me. “Oh my God, Sarah. It’s going to be all right. Nico said he would come back, you won’t be alone…”

“You don’t understand,” I said through tears. “Nico said there was going to be a war. How can I be… How can I do this in the first months of a war?”

“I,” Lettie tried, rubbing my back. “I don’t know, but you certainly won’t be alone. I promise.”

I cried softly, hiding my face in my hands and burying myself against her chest. “I’m so sorry, Lettie. Now you’re worrying about me.”

“Well of course I am!” She said, pulling me back. “You’re my best friend! I’ve always worried about you.” She smiled thinly, and hooked her finger under my chin. “Please don’t cry, Sarah. I’m going to get you some food.”

I shook my head. “Lettie, we’re not the only ones starving. We need to take our rations seriously.”

“Then have mine,” she said, reaching into the cupboard. “God knows you need it more than me, now.”

When she pulled out an apple, I tried to refuse. “Lettie-”

“Eat it or I will mash it up and shove it down your throat,” she said brashly. Then, softer, she said, “Please, eat it, Sarah. It may be all we have for the day.”

I shut my mouth tightly, and sheepishly took the fruit. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Lettie nodded, a pleased expression lighting up her face. Then, she plopped down at the table across from me, her grinning face resting on her fists.  “Sarah,” she said, suddenly excited. “You’re going to be a mother!”

I took a bite of the apple. It was bitter and grainy, but the feeling of food going toward my stomach was a relief. I pressed a finger to my lips as I chewed. “Hush, Lettie. I don’t want anyone to know.” 
 Lettie closed her lips, but she still smiled. “Very well. I understand. Still, I wonder why Nico left so suddenly. Did he say anything to you?”

I paused, chewing slowly on my meal. I stared down to my knees, and shook my head. “No.”

Lettie pursed her lips again. “Fine, but when I see that boy again he is going to get a piece of my mind.” She folded her arms grumpily. “I can’t believe he would do that and then just-”

Lettie couldn’t finish her words before the door to the maid’s kitchen slammed open. A familiar looming figure stood shadowed against the hall. Lettie immediately stood in front of me. “What do you want, now?”

Ornulf chuckled, his thick steps clunking forward on the wooden floor. “Yes, the pissy maid returns. Do not think I cannot break you of that attitude, young miss.” He leaned in toward her, but she held her back straight.

“That’s what you’d like to think,” she huffed. “Now either state your business or leave.”

“I look forward to the day I get to teach you a lesson in obedience,” he said, reaching to pinch her chin. “But today, I am fetching her once again.” He glanced toward me, holding the half remaining apple.

I shook nervously, but Lettie covered me faster than I could answer. “You’ll never take her again, you beast!”

“You’re a feisty bitch,” Ornulf mused, voice deep and rocky, “but you do not get to decide whom the queen wishes to speak with. Now, either your wench friend follows me, or I drag her out screaming like last time.” The madman leaned forward, his stank breath reaching me as he peered around Lettie’s side. “And please, do feel free to choose the latter. I find it so satisfying when you writhe in my arms.”

I pinched my cheek between my teeth, grabbing Lettie’s arm before she could say anything more. “It’s all right,” I said softly, handing her the remainder of the fruit. “I’ll go.”

Ornulf grunted, and turned toward the door. “Follow me.”

Lettie opened her mouth, but I kissed her cheek to silence her. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for the food. Please,” I said, thumbing her thin cheek, “eat the rest. You look pallid.”

Without bothering to listen for her retort, I followed the monstrous advisor out into the halls.

———

“I hated this dress,” snickered the queen. “It’s a disgusting color. I wanted to burn it the moment that tasteless seamstress brought it to me.” She tossed it to my lap. “Now I am glad I held onto it. It will fit you perfectly.”

I was staring down at the frilly pink bundle on my knees, but the queen’s words made my face turn upward as I stared at her. “Fit me?” I gripped the fabric nervously. Ornulf had left me at the door and hadn’t said a word, and the queen had barely spoken to me after that. She simply started rummaging through her closet, until tossing the gown I held into my arms. “Your Majesty, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Do not be a stupid girl and argue,” said the queen bitterly. “Just put the damned thing on and shut up.”

I swallowed, but nodded obediently. Standing, I shook as I began removing my clothes, remembering the last time the queen had seen me naked.

And she did not bother to hide her amusement as my clothes fell to the floor and her eyes roamed my skin. She hummed delightedly when I removed my corset and turned my back toward her. “You’re still so fresh, my dear,” she snickered. She reached out, dragging a hand over my skin. My lips fell apart in a gasp when she leaned toward me and brushed her lips over my shoulder. I dared not pull away, but every cell within me begged me to. Serena laughed at my reaction, stepping back to let me step into the new gown. “I wonder what you would feel like,” she mused, seating herself on the edge of her sofa. “So tight and raw. I myself remember the first time a man let himself into me,” she chuckled, but it seemed distant. “It was so painful, I never thought I would feel pleasure from such an act.” Licking her lips as she watched me cover my chest with the corset, Serena smirked. “I was wrong, of course. But such things take time. It’s a shame I wasn’t able to be a part of yours; I could have helped show you the cruelty of men.”

Before I could stop it, my fists tightened in anger, remembering the way she tortured me and Nico that night.

The queen noticed. “Now, now, my dear. Let’s not get fussy. After all,” she said, swaying over to me as I faced her, “I was only trying to help.”

“Help,” I whispered, the word sounding far more heated than I should have allowed it to be.

Serena narrowed her eyes, but she still smiled, languid and positively venomous. “Turn,” she ordered, and reached for the lacings of my corset.

I breathed hotly, but allowed her to tighten the strings. We stared together at our reflections in the mirror. Serena synched the first lace, and I flinched at her roughness. As she laced me together, she met my eyes in the glass. “How lovely,” she said, tying a bow at the base of my spine. “You look almost like a princess.” Combing her fingers through my hair, she nodded to herself. “You make the perfect damsel in distress, Sarah. You will work perfectly.”

The way she stared at me, pupils large and unfocused, it caused me to stir. “For what?”

Serena kept smiling as she pulled away from me, and I whipped about to face her. “For my leverage, of course. You’re going to make Nico surrender himself to me.”

“Nico,” I breathed, clutching my chest. “What could you possibly want with Nico?”

“Nothing much,” she replied merrily, waving about her room on her heels. She danced to her wall, where a set of fighting swords rested in a decorative rack. Taking the rapier in hand and tossing it between her palms, she laughed. “Just his head.”

I gasped, staring at the weapon. “I would never help you kill him,” I exclaimed. “He’s done nothing wrong! He’s-”

“The prince of Stein,” she said cooly.

I froze, just as my heart raced in my chest. I backed away from her, tripping awkwardly on the thick fabric of my skirts. “H-how did you-”

“You think I would not know?” Serena laughed wickedly. “My stupid child, I am this castle. You think I do not have ears and eyes to tell me exactly what happens in the darkest corridors and deepest cellars?” She reeled back, clutching her gut and waving the sword in her hand wildly. “It’s incredible how dull all you servants can be. You think your fellow maids are so loyal? When people are starving they will do anything for a bit of extra rations. One of your friends was all too happy to tell me exactly what had happened between you and our little spy, who snuck out into the forest in the early morning nearly a month ago. A few more scraps of food and it didn’t take much for others to confirm it either.”

I shook my head in disbelief, my eyes filling with angry tears. “You’re wicked,” I seethed.

Serena laughed. “If that is what you like to think,” she said, flipping her sword with flare on either side of her body. “I like to think I am strategic, if nothing else. And if there is to be a war waged without my consent,” she teased, swaying forward with the sword. “Then I shall have my leverage.”

She held the sword out toward me, wavering it wildly over my figure. It drifted over my eyes, down my neck, above my chest- but then, she laid it against my stomach.

Something inside of me snapped, and I pulled away madly, clutching at my abdomen and turning toward the door. “Don’t!”

Serena stopped, her eyes narrowing. “What…” Her eyes suspiciously followed down my body, to where I laid an anxious hand over my stomach. I shut my lips tight, and cowered away from her further, holding both of my arms to cover what lay inside. Suddenly, her face stretched into a pained and angry glare. “You… You let him…”

Eyes wide and scared, I backed toward the door. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t hurt me…”

Serena dropped her sword, her empty hands shaking furiously. “You… You’re carrying the child of that… that pig… he… he left me for…”

She watched me as I reached for the doorknob. “Please,” I said gently. “Just let me go…”

Her face snapped. In a rage, she threw the nearest object- a vase sitting on a corner table- at me. I dodged, and it smashed against the door. “GET OUT!” She screamed, “GET OUT YOU WHORE!”

I yelped in panic, but as quickly as I could muster, I picked up the skirts of the ballgown and sprinted out the door. I was barely able to slink past Ornulf, who seemed more shocked at the queen’s reaction than to my escape. Running wildly down the halls, I kept tripping over the heavy dress. I was unused to so many layers, and with the fear pulsing through me, I could feel angry tears pooling in my eyes.

I rounded a corner, and fell into another body.

I heard a scream, and two soft arms held me. “Sarah?”

I looked up into my friend’s eyes. “Lettie!” I grappled onto her shoulders, pulling her with me. “Lettie, we have to go.”

Lettie patted my cheek, searching my frenzied expression. “Sarah, what happened? Why are you crying? Sarah-”

“No!” I cried, tugging away. “Lettie come with me or they’ll kill us both!”

Lettie’s eyes swelled with fear, and she nodded. “Sarah, we need to get you safe.” She hurried along with me, leaving the pile of towels she was carrying on the corner. “Where are we going?”

I ran along with her, checking behind me for anyone who might follow. “To Stein.”

Lettie paused, pulling me into a doorway. “Stein?” She shook her head. “That’s a day’s journey! You’ll never make it in your condition! Perhaps we can go into the town-”

“She’ll find us there,” I whimpered, shaking my head. “Nico is the only one who can keep us safe.”

“Wha- Nico? Why is Nico in Stein?”

“I don’t have time to explain right now,” I pressed, pulling her back into a jog. “Please just trust me, we have to get out of-”

A bark of orders from behind us made us both fall silent. “Grab them! Guards, grab the traitors!”

I gasped, “Oh God, Lettie run!”

Lettie didn’t argue this time. She sprinted alongside me, grasping onto my hand as we fled down into a servant’s passage. The hall was dark, but we didn’t waste time getting a candle. Lettie pulled me down the steps, her guiding me in my costume in the low light. I knew where she was taking me; it was the exact same place that Nico and I had escaped from weeks before. The queen’s words came back to me just as Lettie’s hand touched the knob. You think I would not know?

“Lettie,” I gasped. “Lettie no!”

It was too late. As Lettie pushed open the door, we were met with a pair of arms. She ran directly into the guard who was waiting for me by the door. “Hey!” Lettie cried, kicking madly as the armored guard held her to his chest.

“Lettie!” I screamed for my friend, trying to wrestle at the man’s arms.

“Guards! Guards! I’ve found them!” The guard held fast to Lettie, who was still fighting.

“Sarah,” she cried, pushing me off. “Get out of here! Go!”

I heard the footsteps of the others getting closer, and I panted furiously. “But-”

“GO!” Lettie growled in fury, and was able to set her feet on the ground for a moment to elbow the guard in the face. As he fell back, covering his eyes, she pointed toward the woods. “Before they see you! Run!”

I did as she said, my adrenaline channeling me into obedience. When I reached the edge of the branches, I turned to see Lettie throwing fists at a group of knights. But before I disappeared into the brush, she was consumed by them and they held her to the ground. I fell behind a thick bramble, staring out from between the thorns. I could see Ornulf round a corner, followed by an angry Serena. The guards brought Lettie forward, and Ornulf snatched her up easily in one arm. Serena shrieked angrily at the guards, before pointing at Ornulf and stomping back to the palace entrance. Lettie struggling furiously, but Ornulf’s hold was too strong. She was taken with them into the palace and the guards followed suit.

I covered my lips angrily, feeling the hot pants hit the backs of my fingers as I cried. “Lettie,” I sobbed. “What have I done?”

[princessorganc-archived-blog]

☠ ♥ ☀ ☢

SALT MEME » SELECTIVE, BUT ACCEPTING

☠ what does someone have to do for an instant unfollow from you?

post or reblog a call out, && i’m gonna unfollow i’m here for relaxation not for drama, if i want drama i’ll watch reality shows at least they’re entertaining unlike this bs. my only exception is if that said person called out does something illegal that is a threat. otherwise, solve your problems privately there’s tumblr staff, block buttons, blacklist, the police, etc etc. if we’re friends feel free to rant to me privately… otherwise don’t try to play the hero in public bc ngl idgaf if someone’s been mean or horrid or you disagree. just solve it privately like i don’t fucking care. call me a bitch i don’t care, but i lose interest && sympathy after you behave like a child. 

romanticizing abuse or toxic relations… now i said romanticizing not rping, i’ve seen people rp toxic ships without romanticizing then w/e i’m okay with that bc i don’t believe in being sheltered from the bad parts in life. however, there is a difference. i don’t wanna see it romanticized, i understand the victims may romanticize it but as a mun… you shouldn’t.

rping pedophilia just no fuck off.

rping incest unless there is an incestuous relationship in the source material or it’s a norm in their culture && not romanticized… then again, no thanks 

too much drama, negative vagues, etc. i no likely. i no care.

putting people down for their headcanons, interpretations, viewpoints, opinions, etc. grow up && unfollow. idk go rant about it in private if you like can’t stop you there but otherwise, i’m guilty of it too… but, don’t be a fucking knob && let people have their fun. if you don’t like unfollow. honestly it’s like with call outs, talking shit about people’s headcanons in public makes you look a right knob. criticism of fanfics/source material is one thing imo, but rpers ??? 

writing shit like “THIS MUST IS MY CHARACTER && INVENTED THIS” or “I WAS THE FIRST PERSON RPING THIS MUSE”… bla bla bla no one gives two shits that you were the first person rping that muse, again, you look like a pathetic little child.

thinking you’re better than anyone. i’m all for privacy && selectivity, fun groups etc etc. but fam you ain’t better than anyone bc of your graphics or the fact that you have the energy to look up a thesauras in between every word you type or your followers. like shit in my old fandom one of my blogs has 2.7k followers && am i better than anyone ??? definitely not.

this isn’t a dig at anyone it’s more personal, but people who use such decorative prose to the point i have to reread a bunch of times. look i’m all for pretty prose, i use it myself when i’m not lazy or i try to, but idk i don’t have time to try to calculate my replies i’m lazy && dyslectic. but saying that, you do you, boo, if you like decorative prosing go ahead! i ain’t here to tell you how to write c: honestly a lot of it is beautiful i’m just lazy

♥ what’s the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

i know this means drama-wise, but drama is too boring for me to care about lol. so ima say when tumblr crashes && closes my reply down… so rude.

☀ what’s your rp pet peeve?

people who get pissy when you deviate from certain parts in canon. if you don’t like, don’t follow && stop mocking people, there are worse things in life. it’s just an opinion, darling, everyone has them. like personally ??? i don’t fuck with t.fa’s bs “bad mum leia who only cares about work bc women can’t care about work && raise their families !!!11111” characterization, which is an opinion people get so whiny about. nah that makes no sense to me that she’d neglect her child. if you don’t like that fact, don’t follow. as simple as. 

BC TRUST ME DARLING LIFE WILL GO ON EVEN THOUGH I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF LEIA BEING A NEGLECTING PARENT OR LONGING TO HAVE HER SON BACK AFTER HE’S TORTURED && MURDERED INNOCENT PEOPLE. WOW STRANGE RIGHT ??? :DDDDD YOU CAN UNFOLLOW && BLOCK IT’S ALL RIGHT NOTHING WILL HARM YOU.

☢ what fads/trends are you so over?

i don’t really get bothered by trends graphic && writing-wise, even ones i don’t find too appealing you know ??? let people have their fun m8

no wait.. i know of one…

CALL OUT POSTS !!!!!!!!!!!1111111111111111111111

[blissfullylostinarabbithole]

Hey, Man

Pairing: Crowley x Reader (gender unspecified)

Word Count: 199.58π

Summary: Your boyfriend hates how you greet him on the phone.

Warnings: None, I think.

A/N: I don’t do it on purpose, it just slips out. It’s a very difficult habit to break.

Crowley had asked you to help his mother out with a spell. You weren’t a witch, but that didn’t matter. What Rowena needed was an extra set of hands. You’d asked him why he couldn’t do it, but he just gave you his usual, ‘The King of Hell is a busy man’ spiel.

Everything about the spell dragged on, and it was hours before you were finally heading home. The ingredients needed to be just so, and there were at least 4 or 5 series of incantations before the spell resulted in something useful. You texted him when you were finished as you were walking to your car. You were starving and wanted him to meet you for dinner. You were about to start your car when your phone rang.

You smiled, seeing Crowley’s name on the screen. You quickly answered it. “Hey, man.”

There was a pause. “Hello, Darling.” he said in his smooth, sexy voice. “How’d it go?”

“Well, I think. Anyway, wanna meet me? I’m hungry.”

“For?” you could practically see the smirk on his face.

“Food, you perv!” you laughed. “Maybe that pizza place with the really good jalapeño poppers?”

“Sure.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

At dinner, Crowley told you about his day. You didn’t mind. You didn’t really want to talk about yours. You were sick of magic, and you just wanted to eat. In the middle of describing his favorite of the day’s torture sessions, his phone rang. You gave him a look of mock offense. You had turned your phone off, because you were courteous like that.

“It’s just Moose.” he muttered before declining the call. He was about to resume his story when the phone started ringing again. He took a calming breath, and looked up to meet your annoyingly amused face. “Give me a minute, will you, Love?”

“It’s probably urgent.”

“What?!” he answered harshly. “Are you-?!” he took another deep breath and offered you the phone. “He wants to talk to you. He’s been trying to reach you, but your phone’s off.” he said dryly.

You laughed softly, taking the phone from him. “Hey, man.” You greeted Sam, noticing the way Crowley shifted in his seat. You looked over at him and raised a brow at his mild glare and slightly jutted jaw. “Yeah, sure.” Crowley’s glare didn’t let up. “Ok, I just need a shower and I’ll head on over… Ok, awesome. See ya tomorrow.” you hung up and handed him back his phone. “What? Why are you looking so pissy all of a sudden?”

He looked like he was thinking whether or not to respond. “Why do you answer the phone like that?” he finally asked.

“What? What do you mean?”

“‘Hey, man.’” he imitated you. “You always answer like that.”

You shrugged. “I dunno...I’ve always done it like that. What’s wrong with it?”

He looked down at his plate for a moment, then looked back up at you. “You answer the same when I call you.”

“Riiight…” You’d just established that. Now he was just confusing you.

“It’s just… when you call, I say ‘Hello, Darling’. What if I answered everyone that way?”

You had to bite the insides of your cheeks to stop from smiling. “So, you want a special greeting?” he groaned, and you couldn’t hold back your giggle anymore. “You want something different? ‘Hello, my honeybun, my goomba, my king!’”

“‘My king’ has a nice ring to it.” he mused.

You shook your head. “That’s not special. All your demon cronies call you that.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You shut off the shower when you heard your phone go off. You smiled seeing it was Crowley calling. “Hey, man.” you winced as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Really, Y/N?!”

“Oops. Sorry, Goomba.” you apologized sweetly.

[sugasgrowl]

Things Never Changed

Group: Got7

Member: Mark Tuan

Pairing: member x reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2739

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

Okay so I’m slowly becoming Got7 trash thanks to @fortheloveofsuga (fuck you for giving me “feelings”) so I was compelled to write something for them. I just kinda wrote this at like 3am on my phone and debated on whether not to post it, but I decided I would. :) 

@seokvie @gotsinvn @mark-myass (i know y’all appreciate Got7 so here ya go *insert side eye emoji*)

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

There’s an old philosophy that says “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. The sentiment seems beautiful. Poetic, even. The thought that your absence from someone’s life will be an ever-present hollowness that makes it nearly impossible to complete simple daily tasks--the constant memory of the one you love dancing along the edges of your mind, just barely out of reach from your shaking and nostalgic fingers. The deep and meaningful love a connection that is blatant and comforting and unwavering, even with thousands of miles of ocean separating you. Poetic, indeed.

But it's just not realistic.

Mark rested his forehead against the cool glass, the earth an inky black top spinning in slow motion below him--twinkling gold and blinding white flecks of city lights flickering meekly in the never ending tar-like expanse of sleeping civilization that was creeping painstakingly slow underneath the plane. To no avail, he tried to still his shaking leg, to relax his muscles and sleep, but his body was completely indifferent to the fact that he hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep in the past two days. He sighed deeply and adjusted the earbuds shoved carelessly in his ears. The loud and percussive drum beats stitched together in the song that played at a volume far too loud to be healthy going unnoticed for the third hour in a row, his racing mind too clouded with her and his belly too full of nerves to give a damn. He was so ready to get home to her.

Four months. That's how long it had been since he’d held her. Since he could let his dark irises, heavily lidded and glazed with the haze brought on by countless rounds of passionate sex, drink in her every detail and attempt to commit every blemish, freckle, scar, and pore to memory. Four whole months since he could reach out and brush the tips of his fingers along the seam of her kiss-swollen lips without the harsh screen of a phone or laptop getting in his way. Since he could hear her loud, genuine laughter without the crackle of a phone speaker rudely interrupting.

It was fucking torture.

At first, they did their best to squeeze phone calls and late night FaceTime sessions into their (well, his) busy schedules, determined to do everything in their power to make it a functioning relationship. The calls were filled with lazy smiles and bursts of high pitched hyena laughter as he would retell his tales of touring, most of them involving Jackson’s shenanigans. She would always stare at the pixelated version of him on her phone screen, her smiling eyes twinkling brightly. More often than not he would attempt to continue with his stories and try to ignore the way his heart beat just a little faster at the weight of her gaze.

He would get distracted by her half smile, losing his train of thought and his ability to form a complete sentence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he’d muse, his piercing laugh and the faint pink dusting of embarrassment blooming on his cheeks made her smile grow in size.

She'd shrug and shake her head, her smile nearly blinding.

“I'm just really proud of you.”

But all too soon one of them would be mumbling incoherently, drunk on exhaustion.

The frequent calls lasted about a month before the reality began to set in that long distance relationships are hard, the real world marching forward to yank them out of the honeymoon phase by their toenails.

Reality wasn't whispered sweet-nothings and hours of sleep lost due to the giddiness brought on by hearing each other’s voices. It was one of them--usually Mark--barely able to keep his eyes open, regardless of the time of day they found time to talk. It was him forgetting to let her know that he wouldn't be able to get in touch, and her waiting for hours until anger burned her throat like acid. Or her hearing a rumor that he was seeing someone else and calling him in tears, desperate for reassurance. Or simply both of them missing each other so deeply that they questioned if the pain was worth it in end.

The triggers almost never changed, regardless of the country he travelled to.

There were time zones, really fucking crazy time zones. There were drops in service. Hours and hours of radio silence, one of them almost always busy with their lives and responsibilities. Neither of them were strangers to misplaced anger, the bitter words and sharp comments climbing from deep inside them like a beast that had been lying dormant while Mark had been staying at her apartment like a semi-normal boyfriend.

Opposed to never ending patience and understanding, real life wormed its way into their hearts. But despite the ridiculous strain that came with a long distance relationship (and an idol relationship on top of that), there was faith that they could make it. There was the hope that they could last, the brief and fleeting moments of happiness a flickering candle flame. A beacon of light to lead them through the fights and frustrations.

Reality was hardly hearing from her, or her from him, in two and a half weeks aside from the argument they had three nights before. Reality was him sending her a text saying My flight should land around 2:30 and having two letters stare him blankly in the face, speaking volumes more than she did after she hung up on him for snapping at her all those days ago.

[10:45pm] Ok.

He was unsure at what point during the flight he fell asleep, but Mark awoke with a start, Jaebum’s warm hand firmly shaking his shoulder. Mark squinted up at his leader dumbly, red marks temporarily marring his lean face from the way he had rested his cheek against the sill of the tiny window. Still dazed and confused as to what city and time zone they were in, it wasn't until Jaebum uttered a sleepy “C’mon. Let's go home” that Mark realized they were back in Seoul. He jumped up so fast that he slammed his head on the low ceiling as he scrambled to gather his things, a low and gravelly swear escaping his lips.

The journey through the airport felt like he had lived that particular moment in his life nine hundred and seventy four times already, all the previous tours and fan meetings and times he had to travel for work swirled together like some sort of lethal cocktail--the likeness of it all making his legs grow wobbly and his head spin. People blindly scurried through the terminals like disgruntled ants with the hopes of making it to their flights. Some were sprinting with huge grins on their faces to meet loved ones halfway after being apart for an unknown span of time. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark watched the emotional moments take place with jealousy simmering in his chest.

I wish we could do that.

He took a deep breath through his nose. If he attempted to share such a loving moment with her in public, there would be drops in sales. Thousands of angry comments directed toward her. They didn’t try to hide their relationship, necessarily. The two of them would go out for coffee or to dinner, occasionally holding hands, but never venturing further than that--partly because of the fear of hate, but also because they weren’t into PDA anyway. They didn’t feel the need to express their feelings for everyone else to see. They found their own language of expressing feelings through gentle brushes of his hand against hers, or the slight quirk of an eyebrow.

God, he missed her so much.

After four months, sixteen whole weeks, he was going to be able to kiss her again. Their plane had touched down a little early. He quickly glanced at his watch and processed the numbers reading 1:45am in blunt white lettering.There was no way she was asleep at that hour. She had always found solace in the way the silver moonlight blanketed her whole universe at night.

She probably waited up, he thought to himself, desperate for his nerves to ease up. His thick brows furrowed. But what if she didn't bother?

The possibility made his stomach feel like it housed a den of snakes, all the excitement of seeing her and the worry of what would come of them after so long apart slithering sickly in his gut. He’d spent so long wishing he could be with her.

What if she decided this isn't worth it? What if she forgot my personality and she's disappointed when I’m still quiet?

He shoved the worries deep down until he could no longer hear them echoing inside his head.

Whatever happens is for a reason. You can't make her stay if things have changed.

When he finally walked up to the door of her apartment, his heart floundered helplessly in his throat. What if she doesn't love me anymore? The thought begged to be coddled, but he immediately snuffed it out.

He didn't need to be worried, because things between them never changed. Deep down he knew that. Or at least he hoped.

Carryon bag thrown over his shoulder and suitcase gripped tightly in hand, he pushed his way through the entryway. Shuffling inside and accidentally closing the door a little bit too hard behind him, he flinched. Back home for twenty seconds and he was already coming off as pissy.

Before he even had the chance to take a step inside the apartment, the bedroom door was being flung open. And there she was.

Messy hair piled on top of her head, not a stitch of makeup on her face. Threadbare and faded t-shirt with her old high school mascot cracked and peeling off the front. Batman pajama pants just a hint too short and exposing the skin of her ankles.

It was her.

Mark almost stopped breathing. He wasn't a sappy guy. He really, really wasn’t. They were the couple who usually poked fun at each other and acted more as best friends than anything else. But seeing her there, staring at him with a sheen of tears glistening in her eyes and a look of utter bewilderment etched into her features, he was in love.

He had known he loved her. He had told her he loved her almost every day, even if that was all he said. But it wasn't until his body acted on instinct and dropped his bags to the floor as she practically flew across the living room and jumped into his open arms that he knew and he felt with every fiber in him that he was madly in love with that girl.

He let out a strangled huff when her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and her arms slung themselves around his neck. She was happy to see him, too. Thank God.

They stayed like that for hazy length of time, the only movements being the way her back quivered as she cried into his neck and the gentle way he swayed their tightly tangled bodies back and forth.

“I’m sor-” Mark’s voice cracked as he muttered the sentiment into her neck, bringing him to the realization that the shame he felt was escaping him in a trickling of hot tears.

“God, I'm so mad at you,” she almost growled. “I missed you so much, you bastard.”

Her words were borderline furious, but her actions were tender and needy--her hands gripping both sides of his face and roughly pulling him into a bruising kiss. It was deep and a full on clashing of tongue and teeth, the both of them willing to do anything to try to convey their feelings without bothering to use words. The taste of her was so overwhelming, warm and slightly sweet with just a hint of mint. She must have just brushed her teeth--he could taste the icy cold flavor of her favorite toothpaste on her lips. He had to bite back a groan of satisfaction when he felt her lick into the heat of his mouth and lightly trace the underside of his tongue with the tip of her own. His grip around her tightened, a sinful sigh rushing past her lips at the closeness, and he seized the opportunity to capture her bottom lip between his teeth and tug.

The way her fingers wove themselves into the hair at the nape of his neck and her nails dug into his scalp drew a sound that was a hybrid between a grunt and a whine from his chest. Any other day and Mark would have probably either laughed at himself or been somewhat embarrassed, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. His feet began moving on their own accord and carrying them both in the direction of the bedroom, praying to god that he didn't somehow trip and drop her on her ass in the middle of trying to be good to her.

He gently lay her on her back, the mattress dipping even more when he pressed himself flush against her, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her thighs, her ass, her waist, feeling every part of her that he had been deprived of for four months, until both of his hands cradled her face in his palms and his thumbs were frantically brushing her cheekbones.

Mark forced himself to disconnect from the kiss, a whine of protest falling from the dorky goddess that he was undeniably head over heels for.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathed, forcing himself to look her in the eye and ignore the way her pupils were dilated so much that he was on the edge of falling into the velvety blackness that threatened to swallow him whole.

With every syllable, his lips grazed hers in hopes that the closeness and the way his breath fanned across her face would satisfy her in a minuscule way that he couldn't while he was away.

He reconnected their lips, unable to be without her taste any longer than he had to. Only half in control of his brain, a half-drunken chorus of “God, I’m so sorry. I love you so fucking much. I'm sorry” was mumbled into her mouth, her neck, her shoulder, peppered across her cheeks. He wanted to paint the apology across every inch of her in hopes that the message would somehow sink into her skin and lave at the gaping wound on her heart.

After a few moments, their kisses slowed until they were simply curled up together on her bed, their soft whispers loud enough for only their ears but still under the heavy protection of the pale light of the moon. Her face brushed against his with every expressive scrunch of her nose, and her leg was thrown over his narrow waist--wishing to be close to him in the most innocent and pure way possible. She peeked at him through her lashes, unable to deny the feeling of comfort that swelled in her chest as he traced the seam of her pajama pants, losing himself in the path going from her knee to her hip. A small, tired smile tugged on the corner of her lips.

Mark felt the subtle raise of her cheek and pulled back a bit more to evaluate her expression. His heart stuttered in his chest when he noted the warmth in her gaze.

Things never changed.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” he whispered, a sly smile breaking out across his handsome features.

She placed a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth before a genuine and heart wrenchingly warm smile nearly split her face at the seams.

“I’m just so proud of you. I love you.”

Mark beamed, his eyes scrunching up at the corners.

“Let's go to bed. We can pick this,” he playfully squeezed her ass, “up tomorrow. I just want to hold you and get some good sleep for once.”

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Mark was unsure if that were true. But he was positive that no matter where in the world he was, no matter how far from her he had to be, the love pooling in his heart belonged to her. He was hers. She was his.

And that never changed.

[colpapabear]

5, 17,18

Dark Munday Questions

5) What is the darkest or scariest plot you’ve ever written?

That’s easily the plotline I wrote with @bossasbatch where Hogan gets taken in and tortured by the Gestapo. That was some heavy stuff, specially his nightmare and subsequent panic attack. I loved it, though.

17) What is the most disturbing aspect of your muse’s storyline?

Hmm difficult question if we go by normal verse because he’s had a pretty good life, really…. okay you know what I’ve been staring at this question for 15 minutes and can’t come up with a satisfying answer. There probably is one but I can’t think of it right now, I’m sorry.

18) What’s your favorite negative quality about your character?

How manipulative he is. Like, sure, he uses it for good but there’s something dark about how can so convincingly pretend to be someone’s friend only to screw them over completely behind their back. 

Also (and yes, I’m naming two to make up for the unanswered question) how much of a control-freak he is. He cannot bear to let someone else take charge. Which is why the episode Is General Hammerschlag Burning? is one of my favourites because I find it absolutely hilarious how pissy he gets that Kinch is in charge of their mission. He spends the whole episode complaining and whining, I love it.

[ashtonfinryder]

if u wanna listen to me ramble | task11

how long have you been rping?

About 5-6 ish years? but I only started on tumblr like 2-3 years ago uwu

any idea how many rpgs you’ve been in?

 i think this is the big 10 \o/, i’ve been in like the hunger games, a divergent one and half blood ish one on forums, then on tumblr with thekillingrp, some dragon age one i can’t really rmb called the safehouse or something, half blood institution i think, a spy one called hudsonhq, a post apocalyptic one called the hub, afterfourminutes, and bloodwars!!

fave genre(s) or type(s) of rpg?

murder. i mean. i like anything dark, always up for utopia/dystopia, apocalyptic and post, myths and magic and anything that my friends do tbh i’ll always be there. <3

how about your least fave(s)?

..prolly celeb rps, unfortunately :c

do you, or have you, played any canon characters?

none at all, it’s too stressful for me to play canon characters ahah a h , like what if u get it wrong yikes.

have you ever admined or created a rp? do you want to in the future?

nope none on tumblr that is, i helped admin the hunger games one on a forum (bc I loved being able to be game master and torture people in the games ammiright?), it was loads of fun being able to plan out the deadly arena \o/ but of course my crappy gmt+8 timezone might’ve just drove that into its grave rip, so prolly never again. i like low key helping out so like doing little video trailers and helping with codings and stuff like that <3 but prolly not really admin one, i’ll prolly be too soft as an admin c’: but always here and ready to be all in for an rp \o/

any fcs you’ve wanted to use but haven’t gotten the chance?

sigh. Emmy Rossum def, Harry Shum Jr what a bae, Matthew Grey Gubler, Ishihara Satomi,  and Christopher Larkin? and if u know anymore doormat pushover faces give me a ring, u know my kinda style of ocs

introduce us to a fave muse of yours that you haven’t brought into the rp!

gotta give props to my first two ocs that’s for sure, my lovely twin duo Amaya and Skye Walker that are my dancer-pianist fun team that always balanced each other out based on their energy levels and somehow both tragically died in the hunger games (i was 15) also gotta give props to Dominic Hughes, (whose skeleton was actually made by the lovely jen) bc he’s my adorable spy grandpa that has a career in being a disappointment, but is also overly a gentleman and too much of an old soul. <3

do you have a writing blog? feel free to link it so we can all follow each other!

absolutely tho lately it’s been ded, yeah thanks pinterest. http://shantelchiitriestowrite.tumblr.com/

ok be HONEST do you believe in aliens? ghosts? cryptids? why or why not?

... absolutely. aLIENS? deffo, the universe is way too big and scary, and we’d be too egotistical to think we’re the only ones here \o/ ghosts maybe i like the idea of reincarnation tho, i wanna be an otter.

if you had to choose between being stuck in an elevator for a week with matthew mcconaughey or danny devito who would you pick

well, probably matthew mcconaughey if we’re gonna survive and climb out of that damn elevator you know. though if we get hungry i’m prolly gonna die.

yo if you could have any one superpower what would you pick?

yo, i’d love to fly ty \o/ #saynototransportationcapitalism

list 5 things that you associate with yourself

too much tv production, too much dance and musicals (rip my body and vocals), astronomy, a good cuppa tea, and story driven games

what is the last dream you can remember having?

yikes. I was really stressed out over my last project in jan (bc i carried four lazy asses which i just got back my results today and its surprisingly fab) and it’s a two day critique and my art installation’s crit was done on the first day and i crashed right after sleeping at like 5pm bc i didn’t sleep at all for like a week for it, and i dreamed that i overslept for the next day (bc not going means u fail) and i got so pissy about it and somehow ended back in Singapore complaining about it and eating ice cream with the fam. weird. then i woke up and saw the clock at like 1am and I thought it was 1pm and I freaked again. GOOD TIMES.

do you have any pets? TELL ME ABOUT THEM and feel free to add pics

aw I once had a lil mutt pup when i was a kid and we wanted to name it shaggy and my mum was yelling the spelling over to my dad and my dad heard shappy, so that’s my lil pretty boy!! <3

[ask-sweetest-devil]

Wait shoot, I got muns mixed up, sorry. But seriously, who set you off to post the improv thing?

//Ugh get ready for drama

//Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since they’re gonna be butt hurt and super fucking rude about it, I was discussing possible future rp stuff with someone who I am not going to directly name, and I said “You can beat up gilbert but he’s not gonna scream or beg or anything” and they got pissy about it and posted this

and I got upset about that and (admittedly this is pretty dickish of me) I posted this (along with the improv thing as a not so subtle hint, again pretty dickish of me)

I didn’t want to say anything in the private chat because I was scared they were gonna yell at me or something and I get SUPER triggered by being yelled at.

then they said in the chat “I know you're talking about this chat and you should just say it privately.”

and I responded with “no thanks” and then they blocked me.

so now they posted this

and as you can see they are shit talking me directly, and deleting their blog, which I feel bad about, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want them torturing my muse.

So yeah, long story short I’m having a massive fucking panic attack right now.