#posted this as a rant and to tell y’all to be carful

[able-remedious]

Me going threw tumblr: Ah, todays a good day

*sees a blog with velvet and veneer fanart* huh, wonder what this is about? *sees this bitch ship velvet and veneer*

My day is tainted 🤮😭

[halforresterluvsford]

Okay since some of you want to know about my Stancest fankid, I will rant about her!

First thing, I have like a billion different AUs within this AU, but I’ll probably only share two of them with y’all.

So, without further ado;

Her name is Hadley Celia Pines, her birth year depending on The AU, but for my original timelines, she’s born February 18, 1973, about 4-5 months after Stan gets kicked out. There’s no conclusive date of when Stan was kicked out, but I’m pretty sure the year was 1972 and given how most college admissions happen in the first semester, I'm putting Stan being kicked out in September/October of ‘72, when they’re 17. And yes, this is an mpreg kind of scenario. I haven’t decided whether this is ABO, trans!Stan, or a “men can get pregnant” kind of universe. But either way, she is the product of both Stan and Ford. Since Stan was only about 3 months or so months when he got kicked out, he didn’t know, being naturally a little chubby and all. It was only after a couple months on the street, he made it to New York, when his belly firmed up that he figured it out.

He was so terrified, scared of giving birth on the streets and dying, from his baby getting taken away from him, from everything that could happen to his baby. Thankfully, he was taken in by a kind older woman, a retired midwife named Celia. Stan stayed with her for two years before he and Hadley left, Celia’s apartment was too expensive and she was moving in with a nephew of hers. She offered for Stan and Hadley to come with her, but Stan declined, feeling a combination of insecure, pride, and the want to prove himself to his father. Of course Stan still stays in contact with Celia, his and Hadley visit her every year for the Holidays and Hadley’s birthday

Of course since he’s been a father since he was kicked out, he never got into too much trouble like in canon. He still had to chew his way out of a car and still had bad dealings with some drug lords, but he never went to jail or South America.

Ford still sends him a post card when things with Bill got too much to handle, and Stan still goes, but he’s more cautious with Hadley in toe. Ford’s more cautious too, seeing a little girl glaring at him from behind Stan threw him for a loop. Stan’s much less likely to fight Ford with their daughter-Ford unknowing-present, so he just pushes and pushes until Ford explains everything.

So Stan sticks around to help Ford, and eventually Fiddleford, defeat Bill, subverting Weirdmaggedon. Stan and Ford grow close again over that period, and Stan tells Ford he’s Hadley’s other dad and cue family bonding.

Now in one AU, the portal fight still happens and Fors goes through the portal for 30 years. In this one, Hadley, once Stan lets her, helps with the portal, but she also uses the lab for her own personal projects, like a prosthetic for when a lab explosion causes Stan to lose a leg. Dark I know but meh. And instead of Dipper and Mabel being Shermie’s grandkids, they’re Hadley’s kids, Ford and Stan’s grandkids, so they grew up knowing all the weirdness of the town and about Ford.

Some things that stay consistent through the billions of AUs

-Hadley has partial heterochromia, central to be exact.

-Stan and Hadley both sometimes go by Lee

-Because they’re both “Lee”, they made their own language, “Leenglish” where it’s just the “Lee” pronounced with different tones and lengths

-Hadley takes after both Stan and Ford a lot, Ford’s intelligence (times like 10) and Stan’s penchant for showmanship and conman abilities.

-she graduated high school and college early (think kind of like Spencer Reid), getting multiple degrees as kind of a “Fuck you” to Ford, proving that he’s not the smartest man in the world as he likes to think (her thoughts) many of these degrees being physics degrees to help with the portal

-At first, she honestly kind of hates Ford, hates how he hurt her dad, hates how he abandoned them him, and most importantly, she hates how similar she is to him. How she knows that sometimes Stan looks at her and just sees Ford, even though he’s never once compared them (he does not, Stan’s just always amazed at his wonderful daughter, these are Hadley’s issues taking front). Oh yeah, she has a lot of internalized self hatred issues that she projects onto Ford for the longest time. She also has his anger issues and ability to hold a grudge for the longest time. None of these are my personal feelings towards Ford, I love his character, but I tried to draw upon my own personal feelings on feeling abandoned by a parent

-Surpisingly chill with her dads being Incest Twins, but telling them to not be too affectionate and mushy in front of her because ew, those are her dads and also ew they’re old.

Sorry for the rambling post! I just tried to fit in as much as I could in a small enough post! Please let me know if you want to hear more about her and the multiple AUs I have of her!

[1mlostnow]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞!!

Hi!! I’m Evan! This is Intro Post IV.

- Red text is primary information, things that I’d like to bring attention to, or just things I’d like to elevate above the others

I’m genderfluid, I only use he/him, I don’t have a label but I mostly like guys, and I’m a minor!!! If you’re 18+ feel free to interact but please don’t DM me or send asks.

[spotify] [insta] [wall of text] [tone tags] [ppth staff]

This intro post is incredibly long so I put primary info before the cut ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ I love using those faces

Apologies if the red or the Blinkies are hard on the eyes :<

Other Blogs ⇩

EvanRadio : @evan-radio

Poetry and Writing : @1mfoundnow

House MD [B. Corcoran] : @head-of-forensics

House MD [G. Kramer] : @plastic-surgeon-gabi

Blinkies below the cut and throughout intro :>

Table Of Contents ⇩

1. The Basics

2. Fun Facts

3. My Resume

4. Primary Music

5. Guide To Tags

6. Hobbies

7. Other Media

8. Kinnie List

9. Primary Fandoms

10. Cast List

11. Outro

[ The Basics ]

- I absolutely adore nicknames, feel free to call me anything you want; chances are I’ll be fine with it

- pretty basic DNI -> homophobes, transphobes, racists, xenophobes, proshippers (wincest ಠ_ಠ)

- feel free to interact or spam (the good kind), my notifs are off so you won’t be bothering me at all!! Feel free to do asks or anons as long as yr a minor, I love love love answering asks. I promise I’m not scary, I don’t bite (anymore lol)

- I would prefer it as a personal boundary that you don’t DM me unless you truly deem it fit, those 1 on 1 situations tend to be incredibly uncomfortable for me. If there’s truly something you’d like to speak to me about in private, go for it.

- I love my mutuals to death. Whether we talk every day or haven’t spoken once, ily :)

- I greatly appreciate tone tags!!! There is a list at the top of this intro with a tone tag guide!

- CDT timezone, typically active from 7 AM - 12 AM (this will change to 6-8AM and 5-11PM soon)

[ Fun Facts ] + notes

- my car’s name is TOMATER (all caps)

- im the ninth wonder of the world

- I love doing little drawings

- if you want one just ask (examples at end)

- once again I love love love my mutuals

- Richard Cameron defender for life

- theme changes often

- ADHD & severe social anxiety

- if you ever draw anything for me I’ll love u forever

- The Man Who Would Be King (6x20) is the best SPN episode and nobody can convince me otherwise

- if I don’t respond I swear I’m not ignoring you!! Chances are I said ‘I’ll answer later’ and then forgot—just @ me!!

- if you ever have any corrections for one of my posts (typo, incorrect facts, hurtful language) please please let me know whether it be public or private, as the last thing I’d want to do is upset anybody.

[ My Resume ]

- Professional Ghostbuster, Midwestern Cowboy, Supervillain (for the fits)

- Bug you put in a jar with sticks and leaves and a few holes in the lid so it can breathe kinda guy yk?

- Weird kid and loser for life (I’m happy this way)

- I believe I’m incredibly funny (tell me if I’m not)

- Most sentences have bonus sentences (for the thoughts that didn’t fit into the sentence right)

- hot feral scientist

[ Primary Music ] + fav song by each (‘m basic wtv)

- AJJ -> Getting Naked, Playing With Guns

- Cage The Elephant -> Spiderhead/Halo

- Car Seat Headrest -> Life Worth Missing

- David Bowie -> Rebel Rebel

- Radiohead -> Karma Police

- Seb Lowe -> The Man, The Myth

- The Front Bottoms -> Be Nice To Me / More Than It Hurts You

- The Smiths -> Pretty Girls Make Graves

- Vundabar -> Worn/Wander, Sad Clown

- Will Wood -> Memento Mori

[ Guide to Tags ]

- #evan speaks -> yapping time, applies to majority of my posts

- #evan rants -> I’ve got a lot to talk about!!

- #evan draws -> I draw :3 some art at the end

- #evan can’t vote -> US politics (doesn’t come up that often, but still)

- #evan loves his mutuals -> y’all are my best friends and ily sososo much

[ Hobbies ]

- Occasionally crocheting

- Reading and writing

- I play alto sax in marching band (never rains on the *redacted* 🫡🌧️)

- loveeee art so much, specifically pencil drawing and painting

- idk if music counts as a hobby (listening+playing)

[ Other Media ]

Shows -> Supernatural, Sherlock, House MD, My Babysitters A Vampire (Rory my beloved), Scooby-Doo, Over The Garden Wall

Movies -> Dead Poets Society, Ghostbusters, Velvet Goldmine, The Truman Show, Goonies, Stand By Me, Saw Franchise, IT 2017

Others -> Homestuck, The Secret History, getting into newer classics (highschool english class books tbh), I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream

[ Kinnie List ]

Steven Meeks (DPS), Castiel (SPN), Richie Tozier (IT), Truman Burbank (TTS), Egon Spengler (Ghostbusters), Adam Stanheight (Saw), Henry Winter (TSH), Will Graham (Hannibal)

[ Primary Fandoms ]

Supernatural, Sherlock, Dead Poets Society, Homestuck, Ghostbusters, House MD

[ Cast List ] <- y’all are like my family ily

@pingunaa @ghostboyhood @wordssricochet @poetsinnyc @meekspeaks @midwest-quill @yourfavvgal @alightelixe @lv3buzzz @craicapparition @asclexe @lefthandedspaghetti @notcatseatheadrest @wilsons-three-legged-siamese @de4d-poet-kisser @cherrishnoodles @blakenation1 @desire-mona @prettypinkbubbless @sesamie @hemlocksloadofbull @mighthavebeenmurder @tired-and-bored-nerd @neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies @sillyhyperfixator

^^ if we ain’t close like that lmk and I’ll take you off dw ♥︎ and if I somehow missed you please please tell me and I’ll fix it right away, there’s some people I was gonna add but I wasn’t sure if we were friends like that yet lol

Outro!!

If you made it to the end of this thank you thank you thank you so much it means the world to me.

I can’t add more photos, so I’ll make and link a separate post with my art, so you can decide if that’s something you’d be interested in!!!

[ art here!! ]

[ikykwkleeknoww]

Protectors ~ ot8

TW: abusive father figure, violence, verbal abuse, panic attack

wc: 0.6k-

an: it’s my first time posting here and I mostly wrote this for me, cause it’s based on a nightmare I had. I needed the comfort of skz and thought I would share this with y’all. This turned out kinda shitty, hope you enjoy reading it anyway.

________

“You know, if you’d actually lose some weight you could be looking pretty”

“Wow, thank you for such a heartwarming compliment”

“You deserve it, you’re worthless!” He replied angry, he was about to hit me. Before he got the chance to, I opened the car door and jumped out, in a matter of milliseconds. I began to slowly step away from the car, not even shutting the door on my way.

“Come back you little brat!” He got out of the car himself and stormed towards me. His head was red out of anger and I could swear his eyes were about to pop out of it. I backed away faster and turned to run but he held me back by my wrist. “Don’t touch me, get off me dad!” I tore myself off his grasp and tried running away for a second time.

I don’t know how long I’ve been running, but he was still a few feet away from me and catching up slowly. No one was there, the streets were empty at this late hour. I saw a group of people not so far from me and my guts told me to get help from them.

“HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!” I called, already tired and about to give up. They turned into my direction and before I knew it, I was hiding behind one of the guys. “Please protect me” I whimpered and collapsed onto my knees, my exhaustion getting the better of me. I glanced to the confused faces which looked quite familiar with me, but I could remember anything right now.

Some of them shielded and a smaller group crouched down next to me. As soon as I heard my fathers yelling, I covered my ears and shut my eyes in fear. I began to hyperventilate and tears started to stream out of my eyes. My hands and soon my whole body were shaking, “Please don’t hurt me, please” I whimpered out.

“Don’t touch her and get the fuck away before you’ll end up in the hospital!” A voice ringed through my ears. At this point, my body was violently shaking. A light pair of hands was placed on my shoulders, trying to stop its movements.

“I need you to take a deep breath for me”

I couldn’t do it, my mind had zero control over my body. My vision got blurry from the tears in my eyes and my head got dizzy. Before I knew it, everything went blank.

***

I woke up to something cold on my forehead, making me snap open my eyes. My head rested on someone’s lap, the person was caressing my face and playing with my hair.

“Oh, hey you’re back!” The person’s deep voice spoke and I could recognize it instantly, shutting my eye again.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” A British accent spoke, this can’t be real, right?

“I-uhm I don’t know, exhausted?” I slowly reopened my eyes looking at eight all too familiar faces starting back at me.

“You wanna tell us what happened?” Then it hit me again

“Where is he? Is he gone? Please tell me he’s gone-” I got on my knees and was almost standing on both feet, but a hand grabbed my arm firmly.

“He is not here anymore” the person, punctuating each word.

“I-I’m sorry, he’s my father and was abusive towards my mother. I made him angry because he was pissing me off and then he started literally bullying me a-and he was about to hit me so I stumbled out of the car and ran away. Then I-I saw you and oh my god, I’m ranting. I apo-apologize” I rambled down. I looked up from my lap, my gaze meeting the ones from the one and only Stray Kids members.

“No it’s okay, how about we go eat something? You must be starving”, Chan suggested. I smiled, “thank you”.

[kingkatsuki]

NO BECAUSE UR RECENT POSTS GOT ME THINKING ABOUT DIFFERENT KIND OF MEET CUTES W BAKUGOU…like imagine a car accident meet cute😝 not a common trope i know…but i just feel like it fits his character so much, your probably distracted more than usual because you had a bad day (like maybe u had a recent break up, or something happened at work etc) and you aren’t look where you’re going and change lanes at the exact same time as he does even if it was his right of way and obviously he blares his horn at you SO QUICK scaring tf out of you but it’s too late and y’all merge into each other putting a big ass dent into his expensive ass #2 pro hero salary bought car😀 you pull over and the big bad dynamite who towers of ur scared ass self is screaming swears at you asking if ur an idiot and makes it clear that he’ll milk your insurance out of every last penny to pay for his car and u keep apologizing, shaking in ur boots and what not but suddenly it’s all just too much for u and u just break down . he looks surprised by how you start crying out of no where and just awkwardly goes silent and stands there like:🕴️. and before he knows it he’s wrapped you in a stiff hug and is awkwardly patting your back. u exchange numbers and go to coffee to talk about the payments, coffee turns into dinner, dinner turns into dinners (plural) and suddenly you’re over at his massive house , laughing hysterically about who knows what and his big german shepard dog (who’s recently grown attached to you) sits in ur lap as bakugou cooks you the best meal you’ve had in what you think is ur entire life. and by the time you finally pick up enough shifts to afford the repairs of his car you excitedly call him and tell him the good news. he’s silent for a moment before he lets you off with a simple “it’s nothing, don’t worry about it, k?” and just like that what you once believed to be one of the worse days of your life, turned into the best, and a funny story you tell ur kids or family members during the holidays :D

This is so cute, Anon🥺

Just imagine your car is such an old banger and he’s off on a rant about if it should even be on the road or if you even know how to drive😭 and the way he’d just flip the switch inside him the moment you start sobbing ahhh🥺

And you know when you start dating he makes jokes about it all the time too, makes an elaborate show of putting his seatbelt on when you’re behind the wheel and pretends to pray for his life, jokes that you shouldn’t be driving because you’re a liability and that you better signal to change lanes. Like just imagine his banter😫

[davenportia]

let’s rant about everyone’s least favorite fictional billionaire, donald davenport

i know some of y’all are going to eat this up

TW

donald davenport abused his kids. i posted a tiktok about this and actually got so much hate for it wtf. people were asking what he did and saying he’s a good dad. you can protect your kids without depriving them of things like food and FUCKING GOING UPSTAIRS. they have NEVER left the basement. to them, that’s completely normal. and disney adds laugh tracks to these things like it’s funny? not everything on disney is comical and should be taken seriously. when leo asked “so you’ve never left this room?” chase answered with the fact that all they do is eat, sleep, and train, and then mentioned the shows title. when leo mentions school, bree chimes in and says she wants to go to school. at one point during the premiere, they say (c)”i want to go to the pyramids,” (b)”i want to go to paris” and (a)”i want to go upstairs.” what. the. fuck.

he wanted to send them off over one little mistake. when they went to school for the first time, they caused a bit of trouble. i understand getting mad, but he said they were to have no contact with the outside world after that. leo threw his party, and he decided to send them to the remote facility they almost went to in the first episode. dude, they have NEVER been outside. they’re going to make mistakes. instead of sending them off to fucking antarctica, why don’t you discipline and try to compromise. leo already loved them by then, and he was totally right to be upset. give your kids a chance. they’re like babies. would you send a baby to an offshore facility to be taken care of? exactly.

he is so fucking selfish. i mean chase went alaska (i believe) RISKING HIS LIFE to get davenport something he needed for his thermoblaster or whatever it was idek. when chase came back, he had a small reaction, don’t even remember what he said. when chase showed him whatever he got, donald got excited and went “MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY” and then went “sorry, thank you” and disney once again laughed it off. like tf? you gonna tell your son you’re glad he’s ok?

the entirety of ‘the rats strike back’ episode. think about it.

when douglas blew up the lab, leo mentioned the fact he’s completely broke, and he started crying. he said “i’m crying about the kids” which he obviously wasn’t. disney again put that as a joke. like your kids are missing, basically their room just blew up, and you’re worried about your money? then when the lab rats were receiving an award, he was working on an indestructible car so he could get some job from the president and therefore, money. “i might even share some with you” davenport teased. bree asked if he was serious, to which he answered no as if that were obvious. “so even though it’s OUR awards show, suddenly it’s all about YOU?” chase asked. “you know, for the smartest man in the world, it really took you a while to realize that” he responded. DISNEY LAUGHED IT OFF. this man. he’s a damn billionaire, why does he need more money?

every person he has ever met besides maybe tasha doesn’t like him: salespeople, krane, perry, people he has tried to sell his inventions to, and i understand why. he’s annoying, a narcissist, selfish, and not a good father nor a good person. you can say “he protected his kids” all you want, but he could have taken a different approach to it.

[aetherbound]

It’s been a week since I posted about turning off Discord notifications…and they’re still off. I feel somewhat better, but I keep fluctuating between barely functioning to having enough social energy to send a few texts over discord. Hopefully I can be more active again.

Thanks for being understanding, I love y’all <3

A wall of personal ranting text is under the cut, I just needed to let it out somewhere that isn’t my venting notes.

I worked 51 hours in two weeks and made $408. My half of the rent is $435. We’re okay, my partner makes good money to pay a few extra dollars, but he shouldn’t have to. I should be making more money, but I’m not. I don’t have enough leftover on any paycheck after bills and groceries to afford a car payment and car insurance.

And the best part is? I need a car to get a better job to make more money to pay on more important things. Right now my partner and his parents drive me to and from work, but I’m actively trying to get a license and car so I don’t have to rely on them. It seems impossible to buy a car with what I have left over from paychecks. I’d get laughed at if I said I could only put $20 down at a used car lot.

My managers are assholes and I’m told in a joking way “You suck.” “You’re slow.” “Shut up, no one wants to hear you talk.” I wish I was exaggerating and not quoting verbatim. Realistically, I’m not doing a bad job. My managers are just older men who like to use rude humor. My PTSD symptoms are still flaring up more often because they purposely slam things and laugh when I jump and cover my ears. On three separate occasions I’ve had to tell people NOT to use my deadname, and if it happens again I don’t know if I can keep calm and not scream.

In all my 24 years of living, of domestic violence, borderline homelessness and more horrors, I’ve only had 6 months of peace. Then that’s when the whole cancer fiasco started. I’m a year out from my last chemo infusion and my stress levels have been the same. Did I really just survive cancer to STILL be stressed? To go from a good job and shitty household to move into a better household and shitty job? My life is a fucking joke.

I’m waiting to hear back from a Filipino restaurant to see if their hours and pay are better, but I’m still looking at other places to work in case it doesn’t work out. I have an appointment next Tuesday to ask my doctor about getting medicated. Something to get my anxiety stabilized or something when I’m about to spiral into a panic attack.

Things will get better, when you’re at the bottom the only way is up. But I’m fucking exhausted man. I’m tired of coming home from work and feeling like I want to scream and break shit. I’m not a violent person, I’ve never even screamed at someone. I’ve not ever thrown things. When I’m angry, I just cry or be silent.

I just want things to be better before I completely break. I feel off, and that’s besides from my depersonalization/disassociation being heightened. I hate feeling irritable and numb. Maybe I’m being too sensitive and need to get over it.

But the sun will rise and so must I.

[i-hope-i-can-edit-this]

Hi tumble heads

what’s up uhh I don’t post as much as I said I would because yeah I don’t got an excuse but uhh whatever! Well uhh imma just rant about my favorite stuff at the moment to fill in the gap of content

I LOVE HELLO FROM HALO HEAD

best traumadyout there uhh I actually don’t know if it’s the only traumady out there be a I have a good feeling there’s a bunch more but uhh I can’t remember grahhhhhhhhh! Well besides that I like it, I’m 100% too dumb to understand the deep meaning behind it but i can tell it’s there somewhere so yeah READ NOW AND FOLLOW @\BATSHAPED ON TWITTER here’s a comics wait they have a tumblier woah Im so fucking fumb 😭 y’all prolly know it already fuck me grashggggg des sddrbjtgth

https://twitter.com/i/events/1271537882042269696

ok next

**MURDER DRONES**

I FICKINH LOVE MURDRET DRONES WASAAAAA LIAM VICKERS BANGER YET ANOTHER I LOVE MURDER DRONES RHEY SO COOLL YEAHHHH KUST WAYCH IT ALREADY P’ESSE IM BEGGING YOU

and finally

jelly car worlds

I’ve been playing it recently and it’s fun haha it’s cool game I played jelly truck when I was younger and had fun with it and yeah I had extra money and asked some discord people for for a random game and yeah someone recommended me it. It’s cool lol but it if you have money I guess uhh yeah I just realized this is kinda an ad but whatever lol

Ok bye that was my filler tumbler post bye see y’a on 672 months, if you see this reply please I like I wanna talk to y’all siliys lol deeya

[paracosmicparadox]

Hello, folks. If you've already seen my previous FFXV posts, you know I have some opinions on the game. That being said, I've decided to actually do things with those opinions instead of just rant about them. SO. I took the questionable route of logging onto AO3 and creating a fic. It's really just a personal enjoyment thing and a way for me to cope with the lingering effects of the game (it's road-trippy and wholesome and a little angsty---the works) But if you're interested, it's called I Miss Watching The Streetlights Go By With You, and you can find it here.

Yes, it does involve some Promptis fluff bc I gave in and decided they were cute. If you're interested, coolio. If you're not, coolio. For a little snippet to know sorta what it's like, continue reading below.

Their food didn’t take long to come out of the kitchen, and Takka presented it to them with a flourish. “I’m sure y’all are used to the fancy stuff up in Insomnia, so don’t judge our fast food too hard, alright?”

“Give yourself some credit, Takka,” Prompto said, “Insomnia’s restaurants pale in comparison to what you can get here.”

A grin split Takka’s face. “You flatter me.” He turned to Ignis. “Speaking of food, how’s yours coming along? You up and cooking again?”

“I think you’ll be pleased to know that I am.”

“That’s damn impressive. I know if I lost my eyes, I’d just give up and retire,” he laughed. “Glad to know that you’re stronger than that. Really.”

Ignis couldn’t suppress the smile as it grew on his face.

As they ate, Cid chatted about the influx in business that had resulted from the new roads and conditions around Lucis. Apparently Hammerhead was working its way towards opening up a dealership. “Cindy’s real hooked on the idea,” Cid said, “She’s been planning it all out for months now. It’s gonna start out small, but with the way things are lookin’, it’ll grow quick. Hammerhead-brand cars. Can you imagine?”

“I’d buy from you,” Gladio said.

“Well, of course! I expect you lot to be our best customers!” Cid guffawed, then fell into a coughing fit and had to take a moment to compose himself. “I’m real excited for what the future holds, I’ll tell ya. Just wish Regis coulda seen what this old pit stop’s become.”

Noctis’s eyes softened. “He would’ve been proud.”

“Yes. Yes, he would have.” Cid reached out and tapped Noctis’s hand. “Of more than just Hammerhead. You were his pride and joy, you know that? It nearly killed him when your mother died, but he had you to raise, and that was reason enough to stick around. Now look at you. All grown up and leading his kingdom.”

Prompto didn’t miss the way Noctis’s eyes shimmered, but the tears didn’t fall. “I think he was scared I wouldn’t make the cut.”

“Nonsense. You may have acted like an ass sometimes, but you were young. That’s what young folk do. Your father and I were worse about it than you were.”

He’s still young, Prompto wanted to say. We’re all still young. He turns twenty-one in fourteen days. Gladio’s the eldest of us, and he turned twenty-four this past April. Prompto said nothing. First he got upset over their eventual old age on the drive over, and now he gets upset over their youth? This was why he had Deirdre. He was a wreck.

[ontheblock]

Oh my GODDD! okay so its the same anon that sent in the request of ur new fic! I just read it and wow. It was AMAZING you totally nailed It! Like I was getting CHILLS! Also I was totally thinking along the same lines for the y/n being more psychologically sadistic than being like violent, so you totally nailed it! If you ever do a part two you could do it like about the y/n getting her REVENGE on Patrick. Total madness. Anyway, regardless it was such an amazing fic, you are seriously a very talented writer!

me?? posting again without taking my monthly break??? lmao, jk, i really had to dig in my inbox to find this request. i got a ton of work to do but i‘m glad i didn’t give up on this. turns out, when i‘m not actively stressing about a deadline, i actually have fun finishing a piece. :) i’ll come back to this to fix minor errors eventually, i just don’t wanna delay this post anymore. i hope you enjoy and thank y’all for the patience <3

steps ahead pt ii

•warning: violence/gore, smut, death (+animal death), a sprinkle of time appropriate misogyny?, dubcon

steps ahead pt i

Patrick absentmindedly stroked a hand underneath his shirt as he scowled down into the murky water. He ran his fingers over the scab that formed just under his right kidney.

Patrick stood hunched with his neck forward and head ducked - like a predator with its worldview narrowed down on killing whatever was before it. You had his knife. You took it and he didn‘t fucking notice with how hard he was giving into his urges. “Give me that, doll. You‘re gonna hurt yourself.“ His voice was hushed like a group teens flipping through a dirty magazine in the back of a corner shop. He could hear scrambling footfalls deep inside the house. There was no way your parents didn‘t wake up from it. He was supposed to be out already with you leaking the rest of your blood and his cum on your blanket for your daddy to find. Fuck.

Patrick reached forward only for you to slash his palm open and throw him to the ground. His head bounced off the carpet and his entire lung‘s content was pushed out. Fuck. If his spine wasn‘t jello from the best orgasm of his life he could‘ve caught you but his bones felt heavy. Patrick seized your shoulders in his hands, ready to shove you off of him, when a familiar sting on the side of his stomach turned into a burning sear flashing through his body. If his jaw didn‘t lock up he would‘ve yelled but it came out as a hard grunt. You stabbed him. You fucking stabbed him in the stomach and Patrick almost laughed at it like it was a hilarious joke.

The background noises were bleeding together in Patrick‘s ear. A radio was perched onto a rock with death metal playing because they only had Patrick‘s old cassettes in Huggins glove box today. Henry was pacing behind him, ranting and bitching like he always did and instead of engaging and poking the hungry animal with a stick, Patrick sat himself on the cliff on the quarry. Vic and Huggins exchanged looks at the odd behavior but didn‘t ask questions. They knew it was a bad day when Patrick slammed his front door with his angry father yelling after him and approached the car looking like hell for the third time that week.

Henry paused after telling them for the umpteenth that he was gonna ‘kill that motherfucker‘ and get out of Derry. Patrick heard him crack open a beer bottle with his teeth - Patrick‘s own held in his hand as he nursed on the alcohol like a newborn. “When are you done acting like a pansy, Hockstetter?“ Henry nodded his chin towards Patrick‘s back. Patrick‘s scowl deepened and the approaching footsteps let him know that Henry wasn‘t done. “How‘d you even stab yourself?“

Patrick took a lungful of his cigarette before blowing it into his beer and watching the glass cloud over. “I didn‘t do shit.“ He flicked the half finished cigarette off to the side. Patrick would rather die of sepsis than admit to anyone that a little girl did it - that his pretty murder victim pulled his own knife on him and broke him nose with the handle before Patrick could shove you off and get the fuck outta doge to avoid getting his brains blown out with your dad‘s handgun.

Even when he didn‘t look, Patrick could feel the pairs of eyes on him. He was annoyed. He was so annoyed because he looked pathetic with the bandaid over the swelling bridge of his nose and the butterfly closure holding together the cut on his jaw. Nobody mentioned it but they peered. For the past days, even Henry wouldn‘t mention anything. He was well aware that Patrick was sick in the head and his own back was tender from Butch‘s belt so he didn‘t want to fight. But he was sick of Patrick‘s sulking.

“What?“ As soon as Patrick‘s head snapped towards the three idiots behind him, Vic stared into his beer and Belch turned around where he stood by his car to casually put his arms on the hood and drum mindless rhythms into the warm metal. Henry didn‘t look away but he also didn‘t say anything. It pissed Patrick off even more. “Go suck your dad, Bowers.“ And Henry was on him as soon as Patrick turned away. One hand grabbed onto his greasy black hair and his head was craned back painfully hard. “Want to repeat that, Hockstetter?!“ Henry’s fist was already raised and any other day he would grin up at Henry‘s anger-flushed face, probably jerk of to it later in his bed because Henry was just so good when he was pulling his hair out. But not today. Patrick punched him in the face first, not hard enough to dislodge him in the position they were in. Both of them seemed to forget that they were at the edge of a cliff because when Henry punched Patrick hard enough to send him off the edge and the hand Patrick laced in his shirt pulled him with.

Vic and Huggins had to fish them out the water before they could drown each other that day.

—

The following days, Patrick steered clear of Henry. The days were hot enough to give Patrick a headache but he liked the swollen cheek Henry sported after their latest fight in the quarry. He knew Henry would come around and they would automatically find each other in a couple more days but Patrick liked flying solo sometimes - like now when he needed to get that slimy anger out his system because breaking shit in his bedroom and punching Trashmouth’s coke bottle glasses into his face wasn‘t cutting it. And instead of stacking paint free of charge for his dad, Patrick checked on his newest additions in his fridge. The door was old and rusted and it took a lot of yanking to get it to open these days. The stench always hit first but instead of the exciting arousal pooling in his stomach, his guts went cold and his hand squeezed the door until the sharp, broken handle opened the gash in his palm. The fridge was empty and the butterfly knife he abandoned at your house laid in the liquified remains of a cat‘s fur. He liked killing that one the most. It was the first cat that curiously approached him and demanded to be pet on the head.

Patrick pulled the knife out of the gunk and shook it off before slamming the fridge closed. He sat in the busted driver‘s seat of a car that was missing all doors and tires. Patrick inhaled the impossibly rancid smell around him, clutching the knife in his hand and just staring ahead. He was almost far enough to say that he regretted fucking you into the mattress and not just slitting your throat - no matter how good a pussy was, no slut was worth this trouble. He worked his little 12 year old ass off back in the day, just to keep adults from learning his little secret and making it harder to get away with it. Nobody knew about it.

He slammed his hands against the steering wheel until they were sore, smearing his blood on the car‘s interior and screaming until his head pounded.

—

It was a Sunday. Patrick was supposed to be able to sleep his hangover off after he stole a whiskey bottle from the liquor store. He hadn‘t heard from you since the night in your bedroom, not even from the cops. He thought he was through with you, get you alone sometime this week and finish what he started.

It was maybe 8am when his mother‘s shrill scream had him sitting straight in his bed and scrambling for his shirt. God, he never wanted to fuck with her prescription pills so bad in his life. Fuck her and fuck her husband for raising his gravely voice too. His head was killing him and throbbed hotter than the cut on his hand. Ever since his plan to even shit out with you backfired harder than the time Henry stole his dad‘s gun and damaged public property with it, his routines went to utter shit.

He ripped the pillow off his face he buried his head in and tossed it across the room with a tired grunt. Finally, he heaved himself out of bed to pull a pair of shorts over his boxers and he straightened the old ACDC band-tee out as best as he could. No way in hell that he let his hysterical mother see the nasty shame scabbing and oozing on his stomach, no matter how much the fabric stung on the wound.

He carried himself gracelessly down the stairs to see his mother with more expression on her face than she mustered in the last few years. One hand pressed a soft white handkerchief to her mouth and nose while the other clutched the cross necklace dangling against her bust. Shit must‘ve been hitting the fan hard this morning because once she took her morning prescription pills, his mom was sedated for a few hours top, leisure in her voice and laggy in her movements when she made breakfast and avoided looking at the baby-blue urn on the shelf. Patrick‘s dad went between ruffling his receding hairline and rubbing his wife‘s arms to calm her down before she would faint.

Patrick pushed past them, a breeze dancing around his bare calves from the wide open front door. His eye twitched when he saw what caused this shit so early in the fucking morning.

Old lady Davis‘ cat that went missing last year and found it‘s cruel grave in Patrick‘s hand and Patrick‘s fridge. He left her collar on, the name tag shining in the early morning sun.

—

For a whole week after the cat incident, Patrick was on his fucking toes every morning. His mother upped her medication, which he really did not mind. It meant that she sat in the living room most of the day that she didn‘t spent cleaning, cooking or baking for the church. It was nice to have her off his ass. But his dad didn‘t take well to what he read as a threat. His dad bagged the cat - and he was a bitch about it too, not touching the thing without using a stick from the yard while he made Patrick hold the trashbag open. Patrick was close to just grabbing the carcass and throwing it over the fence but he didn‘t. He offered to burry it in the woods after an hour of having his mother crying in his ear and soaking her tears with his shoulder and it consoled her a little. The hag had a soft spot for house pets after Avery died.

And so the cat stewed in its own juices for another two days before his father complained about the smell while he scrubbed his car. It was a good excuse to wrench himself out his mothers claws because he frankly had nothing better to do. Bowers‘ brat of a cousin was in town and while they made up by setting a mailbox on fire a few nights ago, Henry made it clear that he didn‘t want Patrick around the kid. Not that Patrick wanted to be a babysitter in the first place. And chasing Eddie Spaghetti and his faggy boyfriend Richie Tozier with his lighter and a nice aerosol can just wasn‘t as fun with a two inch deep, barely healing puncture. They could swear up and down that they were straight but he saw the looks Trashmouth gave the kid. It was a miracle Richie wasn’t scrubbing slurs off his locker with how obvious he was. But Patrick picked one day of boredom over eating shit in front of the two fairies because his wound fucked up his endurance so he took out the rusted shovel in their garage, picked up the trashbag and made his way into the woods. He could‘ve borrowed his dad‘s car but convincing him to hand him his keys was a battle Patrick avoided, not to mention Patrick‘s driving style mixed with an old piece of dead purée-cat sitting in the backseat and cleaning the smell out afterwards. The walk gave him time with his own thoughts - usually not the best thing for anyone in a few feet radius - and he imagined that it was you in that bag. You would be a lot heavier than what was left of the cat but it would be so much better. You would be so much prettier with maggots draining your eye‘s fluids and settling in the pockets of your heart. He couldn‘t hold in his smile as he dropped the bag with a wet little splat. So he started digging and digging and digging - and digging digging digging - way deeper than necessary but he lost track of time while you crowded his brain again. How dare you still fuck him over like this. His ribs ached with exhaustion because, god, it was getting hot. The sun stood high above the trees because he just had to take his sweet ass time to get here in the first place, even stopping by the general store for a drink and if the cashier noticed the pungent smell on him, she didn‘t mention it.

Patrick thrusted the pointed edge of the shovel deep as it went into the soft ground to crouch in front of the bag. It was mostly opaque but if he leaned in, he could see droplets of moisture on the inside and some movement if he really squinted. The bag was probably more parasite than cat. A warm tingle rolled in his stomach as he took out his knife and flicked it open - he spent the last couple days practicing butterfly tricks that left his hand looking like he stuck it in a wood chipper - and sliced the plastic open. He could‘ve just kicked the bag in, shoveled a little earth on top but he really wanted to see it again. “Holy shit-“ It‘s all he manages to choke out before he had to gag and lean away. He regretted eating the fatty bacon this morning and drinking the sugary pop on the way here because leaving the already decaying cat in a plastic bag out in the sun for a few days did a number. The fridge actually stood pretty nicely on that landfill. The sun didn‘t directly hit the thing but this was rancid. Patrick carefully picked up the bag - if he dared to drop the piece of shit now, he would personally come to your house and make this your grave instead - and dumped the whole thing in the hole. Retrieving the shovel again, he pushed the dug up dirt back in and flattened it by hitting it with the underside of the metal piece. Now that he was done with this bullshit, he really wanted to know what it would be like to burry a human.

—

Whenever Patrick wasn‘t sneaking in or out the house, he let momentum do its thing and allowed the front door to slam shut behind him. And he was tired. So fuck his dad if he tried to ride his ass about manners again.

“Patrick, honey, you‘re back just in time.“ He picked up his head from scowling at the healing scar on his palm. His mother smiled at him, hands a little shaky like they always were as she moved in to give him a kiss on cheek before recoiling at the smell and gingerly putting her hands on the sides of his arms. She was a short woman and well, Patrick inherited his dad‘s tall built. “Go take a shower, yeah? I made brownies. Gosh, I‘m so proud of my little boy, being so respectful and mature.“

Well, his mother‘s brownies did sound good so he dropped his tensed up shoulders and peeled her hands away. “Yeah, thanks, ma.“ He kicked of the badly laced combat boots at the entrance and went upstairs. On his way to the bathroom, he picked up whatever clean-ish shirt - pointedly not Vic’s because he once crashed at his place drunk off his ass and it was the weirdest awakening ever to find out Victor Criss slept without his shirt, at least for Patrick’s mom who let his little friend know that his ride home was downstairs - and shorts combo laid on the pile of clothes by the closet and fished a pair of boxers out his drawers.

The shower was 5 minutes maximum, most of the time was spent prodding at the scab on his stomach and looking for his dad‘s shampoo because the scent of lavender made him nauseous simply because it smelled like his grandma - may she rot in hell. He shook out his hair in the shower like a wet dog before yanking back the curtain and stepping out onto the cold tiles to towel himself off and nudge the dirty clothes into the corner beside the laundry basket. He pushed back his wet hair and got dressed, ready to let his mother praise him some more with her homemade double-chocolate and honey brownies for disposing of his own kill. What a moron.

Patrick had an easy grin on his face when he sauntered downstairs to the kitchen. The sound of a third voice distinctly punched the look out his face before he even stood in the doorway. His mother just pulled the baking tray from the oven and his father sat at the table with a coffee to his lips. And you - smiling, gently pushing a stray hair behind your hair - idly stood beside his mother and offered her the large kitchen knife. His eye twitched. Mrs Hockstetter turned towards her son after putting the tray on the stovetop and putting the oven mitts on the counter. “There you are, Patrick. Y/n came knocking at the door just minutes before you arrived. She was so sweet, asking if you were feeling better after you cut your hand on that glass. She‘s such a darling.“ Patrick retorted to gripping the door frame until his knuckles hurt. “Oh, Mrs Hockstetter,“ You giggled, waving his mother off with the sweetest fucking smile he ever had to see “it‘s the least I could do after Patrick helped me out.“ And honestly, Patrick had no fucking clue what stupid little story you told them to butter his mother up like this but he noticed the cross necklace conveniently sitting on your chest where your weird claw necklace used to be. You didn‘t even fucking visit church. He knew, because he stalked you so fucking long that he knew how long you took to do your stupid hair in the morning.

“Patrick, honey, why don‘t you sit down? I made these just the way you like.“ Patrick breathed deeply for a second before he let go of the chipping wood and sat at the table parallel to where his mother would sit next to his dad. He couldn‘t stop watching you through the strands of dripping hair that fell into his face and left wet patches on his shirt. You looked so out of place in his kitchen. The walls of their house were plastered with muted floral wallpaper and most of the design was swallowed up by the various variations of crosses and golden framed pictures of Mother Mary. You really shouldn‘t be here, helping his mother with cutting the brownies in perfect squares because her hands shake from abusing her medication so much, popping pills like candy to not think about the things people say about Patrick, to not think about why people in Derry steer clear from the Hockstetter‘s, to not think about Avery and why Patrick took boys home on rare occasions and they never saw around after one night spent in Patrick‘s bedroom. He didn‘t want this domestic bullshit and it made him mad that you still managed to disturb his reality like you actually existed the same way he existed. Patrick didn‘t even notice the way he bounced his leg and tapped his finger on the hardwood table until his father cleared his throat a little too obnoxious and Patrick let his hands fall into his lap. It was fucking embarrassing.

You looked like a damn housewife when you bent over the table ever so slightly to place the cut up brownies in the middle. His mother sat across from Patrick, leaving you in the seat next to him. His mother loved playing the role of the perfect housewife, the loving mother and the example for American hospitality - but it was just that. A role. Even his dad knew that his wife threw herself into little moments like this to tell herself they were the normal family she thought she would get after coming home with their second healthy baby but he also knew that after this act, she would go wipe of that make up and cry in the bathroom before she came to bed with her husband. With a spatula she placed the brownies on the four plates, poured juice in the glasses after asking you what you wanted to drink. And you. You were all smiles and polite mannerisms as if you didn‘t raid his fucking fridge that no one ever looked inside. But what if you didn‘t? What if this was like the fucking nightmares all over again? The uncertainty in his head tore the usual voice in his head in two and it drove him nuts. Patrick picked up a brownie, his father staring at him while everyone used a fork to break off bite sized pieces of the treat. He met the scrutinizing gaze and held it when he bit into it. His father liked to pretend that he was the authority of the house but underneath all that he was just an average fucking Joe slaving at his workshop and huffing paint fumes for a living and he couldn‘t make Patrick respect him. A shame. Avery probably would‘ve been their perfect little golden boy and that thought made Patrick smile into his still warm brownie once his father broke eye contact. Patrick never lost a staring contest.

Patrick chewed slowly, not bothering at participating in conversations but he almost bit his tongue when your soft hand stroked leisurely over his thigh just beneath his lose shorts. Patrick liked to think that he had his body under control but in a knee-jerk reaction - quite literally - his knee banged against the underside of the table, cutting through the conversation you had with his parents about faith in relationships. “Sweetheart, are you ok?“ His mother slid his glass towards him and reached out to cup his hand. Patrick avoided it by taking the glass and washing down the mouthful of chocolate, wary of your hand still lingering on him. “I‘m fine, mom.“ Your index finger traced little circles into his skin and the thought of wanting your hand around his dick for a quick dry hand with his mother‘s voice in his ear made him angry but his dick sent him mixed messages.

“Y/n should attend church with us. Son, you haven‘t come with us for months now. It will do you good.“ His father‘s eyes stayed on the cover of the newspaper that laid on the table. He didn‘t ask Patrick to go with them, he demanded and it left his son wholly unimpressed. “I would love to, sir. “ Because of course, you would.

—

“So your mom finally went- y‘know-?“ Vic‘s leg bounced up and down as he sat in the plastic chair in Patrick‘s garage, flicking ash on the cement floor. Patrick looked up from where he stood looming over the open car hood, clearly waiting for Vic to finish his question. “No offense, man. But everyone heard about the cops showing up here every other day. Henry‘s old man is more pissed than usual.“ Finally, Vic couldn‘t stand the unnecessarily wide goggle anymore and lowered his eyes to follow a crack in the floor by his shoe. Patrick just snickered at that. He couldn‘t do that with Henry. That‘s why he kept Vic around - he liked the tough guy act.

“I don‘t know.“ Patrick shrugged, reaching for the dipstick. “She‘s not taking her pills sometimes.“ The low tone Patrick used had his acquaintance shifting in his seat. Derry wasn’t big by any means, a tragedy like Avery Hockstetter went around like a maliciously set fire to a dry forest. Everyone knew it clearly was more than that but Vic hung around Patrick long enough to just let it be. “So, why do you need your dad‘s car? I thought he doesn‘t let you drive it.“ Patrick slowly pulled the dipstick from the engine to wipe it on the hem of his wife beater and put it back into its tube. “I told him I‘d check his oil if I can have it for a weekend.“ But Patrick knew that he could‘ve made any deal and have it turn out his way. The last week took all the fight out his father between dead animal remains showing up across the house and the cops being called by Patrick‘s mom or the annoyed neighbors because Mrs Hockstetter got lost in her hysteria. The only time Patrick got to see his old man this uncoordinated was after Avery mysteriously died the crib death - as the doctor officially called it. It was obnoxious to sit through the man‘s welfare check but the little bar of Benadryl was worth it. That night, Patrick slept like a baby.

Vic watched Patrick‘s bony hands in silence for a while. The edges of the bitten nails pooled with engine oil as he checked the level and color on the dipstick - black as tar - before wiping it on his shirt again. “You could‘ve just ask Belch to drive you if it‘s out of town.“

“I can‘t.“ Victor frowned, dropping the burned down cigarette by his foot. “Why though?“

“Don‘t even worry about it.“

—

Sunday rolled around too quickly. So quickly, that Patrick stood sulking in the parking lot by the local church in the early fucking morning, fumbling with the stupidly small button on the only dress shirt he owned. The sound of short, blocky heels hitting the gravel finally got his mother off his back and from adjusting and pulling at his collar.

You. Mr Hockstetter stood next to his son as the woman greeted you warmly. “Oh, you look lovely!“ She clutched her pearls before firmly placing her hands on your shoulders to get a good look at your sunday‘s dress. “Doesn‘t she just look beautiful?“ She turned her head, eyes dull and not reflecting the excitement in her voice at all, and clearly awaiting Patrick‘s answer. He definitely looked but beautiful wasn‘t the word he‘d describe you with. You giggled. “Thank you, ma‘am. I‘m glad you invited me here." God, the innocent church girl act didn’t suit you and with a resentful glare, he followed foot. His father at the front of the group, you and his mother by his side and Patrick observing from right behind your back - just like he preferred.

At the aspersorium, Patrick waited for your turn with baited breath. Almost as if the kiss of holy water on your skin would ignite your soul and burn you from within - like the demon you really were. Maybe your skin would finally rip open and reveal how you really looked with all your scales and hooves and forked tongue.

Mr Hockstetter harshly cleared his throat and Patrick snapped back to reality, quickly crossing himself and following to the benched aligned in the church.

Patrick wasn’t waiting for anything in particular, per se. But when you quietly excused yourself to the bathroom, his palms started to sweat and itch. Something told him that this was his only chance for something and he had to take it. He watched the clock, chewed out the time to about three minutes - women took ages in the bathroom, little sluts. He stood up, shuffling out the bench and leaving the great hall in favour for the bathrooms tucked into a silent corner in the church. Nobody really used them during the services, he knew that because nobody ever caught him pulling clueless idiots into the boys bathroom or sneaking a smoke. The girls bathroom though? He never went there, fully aware but not at all interested in the little girls attending. Usually.

He cracked the door open, peaking inside and his heart sped up at the sight of leaning over a sink, touching up your lipstick in the dirty mirror. He inched it open, halfway through the hinges groaned and complained.

"Patrick? What the fuck are doing here?" You frowned, brows knitted together but he just slammed the door close again. “Shut up.“ He stalked over to you, making you straighten your back. “You‘re not scary, Hockstetter. Not after I found your little hiding spot.“

“Yeah? Well, you got my attention. That‘s what you wanted, huh?“ He stood next to you, too close for comfort but this was Patrick. He knew no comfort or personal space after all. “Why would I want that?“

Patrick was tired of your act and on a tight schedule so he clamped a hand over your neck, ignoring your protests and bent you over the porcelain sink again. He pinned you like a bug in the mirror from behind you and enjoyed your attempts to wiggle out his claws. The jagged edges of his nails bit into the delicate skin on your throat, leaving crescent shaped indents. “Let go! You moron, you pervert, you-!“ Your struggling only resulted in your ass grinding into his crotch and your breath hitched. “Are you hard right now? You freak.“ His hand left your neck, holding your torso down by pressing his palm between your shoulder blades instead. The sound of a zipper accompanied your heavy breathing as you glared at his reflection behind you. His free hand carelessly bunched your skirt around your hips and that animated you to kick at him, entirely missing his leg and making him laugh at your fruitless efforts. “You can put on any dress you want. Because underneath you‘re just the same whore, right?“ He ripped your panties down your legs. “Holy shit, you‘re wet.“ Patrick laughed, halfheartedly smacking your hip and digging his thumb into your ass cheek to spread it open for him. You grunted. “Fuck you.“

“No, no. Fuck you“ Patrick thrusted in to the hilt, hissing at the tight heat. He stayed for a moment, gauging your reaction in the mirror - how your mouth hung open in a silent moan, eyes wide in surprise.

The hand on your back snaked into your hair, yanking your head back for purchase. His hips drew back, pulling out until just the head was still inside before thrusting back in. You yelped, rocking forward and almost crashing in the mirror if it weren‘t for Patrick‘s mean grip on your hair. “S-Stop-! You‘re crazy.“ He clicked his tongue, picking up a fast rhythm in his thrusts. You looked at him between choked off moans. His eyes stubbornly stayed down, watching you swallowing his cock like you enjoyed it. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He knew that you probably didn‘t have much time. “It‘s what you wanted, right?“ He roughly pulled at your hair. “Admit it, slut. You wanted this to happen.“ Patrick pressed in deep, pushing the moans right out of you as you met his eyes in the mirror. “Ngh.. Yeah.“ You mewled, high pitched and your eyes screwed shut. “I-I riled you up. Got you, ah, right where I wanted.“ His pace faltered, hips stuttering for a moment and you couldn‘t help but laugh at him. “What‘d you say? Stupid. Whore!“

You were laughing and it made his head spin . This wasn‘t how it was supposed to be. Patrick gritted his teeth, tightening his fist and driving your head forward. Your moans bled into pain, shards clinking to the floor around you, falling into the sink and crunching under his boots. “Not laughing now, huh?“ He pulled your head back, slamming your face into to broken mirror again and again until you were sobbing, body instinctively clamping down on him. “Fuck…“ He ground your cheek in the shattered pieces that stuck out from the frame. Patrick threw his head back as he shot his load inside you.

—

Patrick was thirty minutes from Derry, drumming on the steering wheel with one finger. It was eerily silent as he pulled up to the body of water in the middle of nowhere. He pulled the ignition key and leaned back with a sigh, head hitting the head rest with a thud. His hand ached after being cut to absolute shit earlier but it was nothing. It would heal just fine.

He looked to the side, looked at you in the passenger seat. His jacket slid off your shoulders, it was too big for you but he didn‘t put it on your for your comfort. It could‘ve passed as a romantic gesture.

If you were alive.

Patrick swung the drivers side door open, stepping onto wet grass and damp earth. If he was right, no patrol car should be around right now but he still needed to be as fast as possible. He didn‘t mean to go this far but he had to clean up just the same. As long as he wasn‘t seen around here, he would get away with this.

He rounded the car, nudging your door open and just taking a moment to stare down at you. Your head had rolled to the side while he was driving but save for a few strand of stray hair, your face was perfectly visible. Or what was left of it. Mirror pieces stayed imbedded in your skin, slashes across the smooth canvas, dripping down your chin onto your dress - some of it already clogged up and stopped bleeding. The biggest wound - a jagged cut across your trachea revealed white and yellow tissue stained with blood. It soaked his jacket through. He would have to burn it later. “Is she still pretty, ma?“ He snorted as he leaned into your space to scoop you into his arms. “Last stop, y/n. Shouldn‘t have fucked with me, baby.“ Your head fell onto his shoulder as he gingerly made his way down to the water. It was still, a slight breeze rippling over the surface and he looked at you one last time before walking into the cold water waist deep and lowering you until only your face was above the surface. He stepped back, waiting until you sank - out of sight, out of mind.

By the car, he grabbed his father‘s spare work jeans and stripped out of his wet pants, stuffing them into the trunk. His father‘s jeans pooled low on his waist but if would do until he was home. The feeling of going commando in denim was not ideal, especially while driving but it beat soaking the car. The next gas station was a ten minute drive.

“One pack Newport Regular.“

“Are you 21, son?“

Patrick stared at the clerk leaning on the desk. One hand already slipped into his pocket, feeling for his knife. “Look man, I‘m not from here. We‘ll never gonna see each other again.“

“Mhh. $2.23“

Triumphantly, Patrick slapped three dollars on the counter. “Keep the change, old man.“ He pocketed the pack of cigarettes and walked out, ignoring the grumbling and mumbling of the man putting his money in the register. Well, your money but did you really need it now?

Patrick sat in the car, finally pulling the hood off his head and lighting a cigarette for his way home.

—

“Fuck- Fuck… Where did they go? Henry‘s gonna kill us!“

Patrick waved at Vic to shut up. “I hear something.“ Vic stood very still while Patrick snuck through the rustling leaves. “You really think Kaspbrak went into the sewers, man?“ Patrick gave the hairspray can a shake, grinning at Vic. “Fuck no. Wheezy would piss himself but Four Eyes…“ Vic just nodded into the other direction, getting a shrug from Patrick before they parted ways.

“I know you‘re here, Tozier. We got your little boyfriend.“ He stalked into the tunnel that lead into Derry‘s sewerage, flicking his lighter on. “C‘mon, don‘t you wanna look at him one more time before we fuck him up?“ He looked around, rounding corners until he finally saw a silhouette but it didn‘t look like Richie or Eddie. “What the-?“ He approached the eerily still shadow of a person. Something wasn’t right and halfway there, Patrick still couldn’t make out a face or features at all. He backed up, back colliding with a brick wall that wasn’t fucking there a second ago.

“You found me, Patrick.“

You stood in the shadows but your face was illuminated nonetheless. Cut and gashes slowly slit your skin apart, turning red, to white and yellow until the muscle tissue was exposed - slowly twitching and oozing black tar. A flash of red floated in his peripheral vision until it vanished with the pop of a balloon.

“y/n?“

[theschizotypalsolilquy]

RANT TIME: NAUGHTY WORDS AHEAD AND MAYBE SOME MATURE THEMES DEPENDS ON HOW LONG I RANT SO WARNING WARNING DANGER WILL ROBINSON

First, full disclosure. Jimin is my bias, and I’m a 24/7 Jikook supporter. My opinion is that they are a closeted couple. Have been for years. They’ve shown us and told us numerous times, in subtle and not so subtle ways. 

That doesn’t mean I don’t love the rest of the members though. These are seven unique men who have created a bond that is gorgeous and we should all strive to have friends like them. 

Another full disclosure: I’m off my antipsychotics now, and boy, my bag of give o’fucks is officially empty. So that’s why I’m probably making this post because my ability to filter is GONE

Now, with that bit of info out of the way, time for some ranting. 

Look, I kept my mouth shut when all that BS with the car riding saga and the bridal carry “oh it’s just fanservice” started. I even stayed quiet when they took the words that came out of JK’s mouth and used them to fit their own delusional narratives. (If you know, you know). I didn’t say anything either when all those supposed OT7 accounts kept omitting Jikook content from their concert vids.

But then I got recommended a vid about a certain Vlive on YT. Why, when I’ve tried to block most of that absurd, imagined shit from gracing my timeline, I have no idea. And for kicks I clicked on it. Mostly because I’m a troll and love to read delusional comments. I’m a bit of a bitch that way, I admit. It’s the comments though that led me to make this post.

“Jimin needs to know his place and stop touching JK.”

“Why does Jimin intentionally try to make Tae jealous?”

“Tae, we love you, don’t worry, JK will make it up to you.”

“You can tell JK doesn’t like it when Jimin touches him.”

“He rarely touches Jimin, so why does Jimin feel the need to touch JK.”

“Free JK”

This man? 

This him? 

Yes, free JK from Jimin’s touch!!! 

YOU TRIED IT

JK is a GROWN ASS MAN. 

He’s not a damsel in distress who needs rescuing. Well, he does need rescuing...FROM DELUSIONAL SHIPPERS WHO SEE HIM AS THE MOST TOXIC BOYFRIEND TO TAE.

Fuck! FREE TAE TOO! He’s already told y’all to get out of your imagination when it comes to putting he and JK together as a couple yet people still don’t listen. And guess what else Tae said:

 “Jimin-ah, I like you the most.”  

This constant need to hate Jimin, to belittle his bond with Jungkook, regardless of whether you see them as platonic or romantic, is getting pathetic. It screams you see it, and it scares the shit out of you.

Look, I’m not telling you who to ship or that you have to support Jikook as a romantic couple. But support and love ALL seven of them.

Just make sure you are creating your own views and opinions when it comes to how you see the members dynamics with each other by watching original content, and not from edited vids that breed jealousy, toxicity and hate. And that includes all ships, Jikook content included. There’s bad apples everywhere.

I could keep going, but my white queens have kicked in and my brain is getting fuzzy, so I’m gonna stop here. This was just something I needed to get off my chest. Asks are open. Come at me.

Peace, Love, Dope!

Piper

[romiantic]

𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝒋𝒖𝒋𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒖 𝒌𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝒙 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓-𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒍!𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌!𝒓��𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ࿐ྂ

彡 ❛ 𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭 ❜

彡 𝗳𝘁. gojo, yuji, megumi, and nobara

彡 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff + crack

彡 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: language

彡 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: I didn’t post a single haitian content for haitian heritage month, mmcht lemme change that 💔💔 (even though I’m late, let’s not talk about that) trying a new format for my hcs, y’all like or no?

𐐂*·˚ ̗̀➛ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 :: THE STAR OF THE SHOW

⤷ This man came straight out the gate asking your family if they did voodoo...gojo babes. Even though everyone said no, he went on this long rant explaining how sorcery is better than voodoo. It went on till Megumi dragged him away, apologizing to your family, or one of your family members pretending to put voodoo on him to scare him

⤷ Gojo came in with some barbecue grill 2’s and thought he did something, trying to hit the two-step to sweet mickey and nu-look. Meanwhile, your aunts are in the back cheering him on (probably cause they wanna go home with him but you ain’t hear that from me)

⤷ You can’t look at Gojo and not tell me he ain’t one of the best domino players out there (fucking six eyes). He out here beating everyone at that cookout back to back and it would be surprising how someone hasn’t flipped the table yet

⤷ By the end of the night, he’ll be stuffed FULL of goat, griot, rice, any and everything that was cooked. Why are there barely any leftovers? Blame Gojo ass, he kept going back for the macaroni

𐐂*·˚ ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 :: ENTERTAINMENT

⤷ Poor Yuji got snatched by the little kids when he came. The kids were intrigued by him immediately and dragged him to entertain him. He was doing good actually...until Sukuna popped out of his cheek and said some out of pocket shit to scare them away

⤷ If Yuji didn’t get snatched by the kids, he got snatched by the aunties. The pink-haired boy was just minding his business, watching Gojo win at dominos then boom, he ends up getting called nicknames in creole with food in his hand. Including that they keep getting him so much food no matter what he says. Your aunts truly believe you’re not feeding him and give him food to take home with.

⤷ Part two of being snatched by the aunties, they tell him to that lil dance they be seeing their kids do or saw online. Yuji honestly have no clue what they are talking about but just went along with it anyway

⤷ He goes home learning some new words in Creole, of course, Sukuna learned all of the curse words. Why? It’s Sukuna. He talking in everyone ear in the car about all the new language he heard

𐐂*·˚ ̗̀➛ 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 :: BABYSITTER

⤷ *sigh* Another one that got snatched by the little kids. When he did, he was grumbling and complaining about how he had to take care of some ankle biters. The only way out of it was to summon his dogs and distract him.

⤷ After he gets away, he usually walks around and trails Yuji and Nobara, he couldn’t bear to be around Gojo. While walking around, he’s listening to the foreign language around him, intrigued by the way you switch up from English to Creole when talking to relatives or how you would react to something your cousins said

⤷ Though that don’t last long cause one of your little cousins ran up to him, calling him “Mr. Porcupine”, and saying that the dog disappeared. Megumi just sighed and summon his frogs and rabbits to entertain him with

⤷ When it came to food, Megumi didn’t grab too much, he didn’t wanna waste anything your relatives took their time cooking. He made sure to grab one of everything, or like a small portion of it. Though Gojo said otherwise and dumped more food on his plate (don’t worry he definitely that fried plaintains and macaroni UP, he even stole some off of yuji)

𐐂*·˚ ̗̀➛ 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐈 :: IT GIRL

⤷ Somehow, someway, Nobara became besties with all of your aunts + cousins. Either because of her including herself in the rant of men or they were interested by the way she carried herself

⤷ On top of that, your cousins, male and female, kept flirting with her. It got bad to the point where Nobara almost considered using her cursed technique to manipulate one of your cousins ‘till Gojo pulled her away

⤷ For someone who only knows the Haitian culture only from you and only heard the language around you, Nobara fits WELL. Especially when Haitian music comes, it only took her like two minutes to match the rhythm and WHEW, Nobara was GOING

⤷ Just like Gojo, Nobara was DEFINITELY going home was a bag FULL of Haitian dishes. She got sooo addicted to them once she tried and (including Yuji) begged for you to make it when y’all get back to school

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blackweebtrash @tsumusitadori @myhoodacademia @asaincy @morosis-haze @noirstoxin @r-raiinah @thechinadoll @mypimpademia

if you would like to be added onto the taglist, fill out the form on my navi !!

彡 mmcht I’m mad at how long these took me to make 💔💔

彡 but I’m finally finished so that’s good

彡 I realllyyyyy, do hope y’all enjoyed these, even if you’re not haitian 😭😭

bye babes, drink your water, stay hydrated, and remember that you are the baddest bitch on the planet 🥰 no matter what ANYONE says

𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐡 𝟐𝟗:𝟏𝟑 💗

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟣 𝗄𝗈𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗈. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[thestarsanctuary]

HOW BNHA CHARACTERS SHOW LOVE!

MIDORIYA

Midoriya shows his love for you with words as in writing. He’s always been on the shier side when it comes to public affection because he feels like he isn’t good with it, and so he opts to write you letters and leave them on your desk, or giving you little sticky notes with encouraging words on them. Once you’re in a more private space he’ll definitely choose to tell you how much he loves you and appreciates you himself.”

Sweetheart, I just want to say you’ve been working so hard lately, and I’m so proud for how much you’ve improved!

- Deku ♡︎

BAKUGO

Bakugo’s way of showing you affection is simply with gifts. He can’t find it in him to be like other couples and borderline cuddle you in class so he decides he’ll take on the financial status in the relationship. He pays whenever you go to get food or whenever you say you really want something, he’ll go and get it. Not silently of course, he’ll make a small fus but in the end he’ll go. No matter what he says, he’s definitely whipped for you.

“HEY! EXTRA! DO YOU STILL WANT YOUR USUAL FROM THE CAFE?”

“Oh yes, will you come with me ‘Tsuki?”

“You idiot I’m getting it for you, get back to the dorms.”

“Oh okay! Love you Katsuki~”

“.....love you too.” And that he does.

SHOTO

Shoto’s way of showing his love is affection. He’s seen the way relationships can be first hand, and he never wants you to shy away from him and maybe even leave him. So he’ll be with you all the time, he’ll be putting his head in the crook of your neck or just standing with his arm around you, anything to just touch you. He knows he can be clingy sometimes so he tries to leave you alone when you’re studying or doing work but he just can’t help himself, he loves you!

“Baby, is there a reason you won’t let me go right now?”

“If I don’t have to why should I? I want to be around you all the time because you make everything....better”

MONOMA

Monoma in the same fashion as Todoroki uses two things to show his love, and that is affection and words. Monoma will constantly follow you around and hold your hand, or simply trail really close to you enough to brush arms or something of that sort. No matter the situation Monoma needs some sort of contact. And when he can’t get it, he chooses the other route. Which is to praise you aggressively. It’s almost in his blood that him and class 1-B are the best, but you, you are much more than that. You radiate this energy that Monoma can’t get enough of, and the whole world needs to know how amazing you are.

“Did you all see my baby lift that car?! WOW, you’re quirk darling, is the best! Maybe not better than mine, but oh so good sweets!”

“Monoma please quiet down we’re in class”

URARAKA

Ochako is usually showing love with everything she possibly can use. She’s not shy because she knows how amazing you are and refuses to hide that in any way. So she encourages you everyday, writes you lengthy letters on special days, and hugs you tight with no intentions on loosening her grip. She’ll go get anything you ask of her, do any task you don’t want to do, all to show that she would do anything to please her s/o. That’s just how it simply is with her, no denying it.

“Uhh baby, did you want me to take over your chores for the day? You seem so tired!”

“No sweetheart I’m nust fine, you go rest okay?”

“....No I’m doing it anyways.”

“OCHAKO!”

JIROU

Jirou has never really encountered love. She’s dreamed of it for so long and now that she really has it, she’s basically clueless. She has tried every method possible to see which one you like and realized you like the mundane things. You liked it when she would buy a hoodie in your size and spray it with her perfume, or when she would buy snacks and you would have a night to yourselves with Jirou’s playlist playing for the thousandth time, while you both belt out the lyrics with ease from the amount of times you’ve heard it.

“Jirou are we on for movie night tonight?!”

“Obviously, it’s Friday! Come on baby let’s go buy snacks!”

Okay! Hi! I didn’t say this last time but I literally just kind of make stuff up so if you guys want some headcannons you can dm me and I’ll do them! I don’t really mind lol. I also really appreciate the love on my last post, I posted it at like- 4am so there wasn’t any expectations for such a big turnout! Like- 200 is a big number y’all. As usual tell me if there are any mispellings! Anyways yeah, I hope you enjoyed these headcannons. And with Jirou I said she buys you a hoodie because Jirou is on the shorter side, and not every is on the skinnier and shorter side, so it is simply easier to branch out for everybody! It’s no skin off my nose so yeah, if you found that weird that’s why, people never rly include plus size people so I realize how upsetting that can be, and as a black girl I encounter that disappointment of disinclusion everyday, so I understand. Okay, I’m ranting sorry- bye!

[xwendigox]

Guys I promise I’m working on some shit for y’all to read. Working 10hr shifts is taxing tho 😭 I’m also supposed to be working on updating my resume to get a job at a bank, via through my mentor. And then I promised myself I was going to go to the gym and start working out again this week too. My body dysmorphia is fucking through the roof rn. Like I don’t even know how to explain. Mental health is kinda like all over the place rn. Highs and lows. Yes, Im making sure to take my medication. Maybe it’s the stress. Like this past weekend I was fucking rocking it. Normally I sleep all day practically to recover from the work week. But this time, bro I knocked some heavy shit out. I deep cleaned my car. Y’all would think the 20+ year old is brand spankin new. I was so proud of myself. Wouldn’t let my sister drive her own car, because I wanted to show mine off. Then I deep cleaned my closet and dresser so now I can find shit. Like that stuff was so fucking lit. I felt so good.

My birthday is Friday and I told myself “let’s try to get a birthday bod goin”. At least I have Friday off to enjoy my birthday. 🤷 Like I’m excited for the weekend. Like Thursday, I’m going out to dinner with my friends. Friday is the actual birthday party…and then…my abusive parents have demanded my presence on Saturday for pizza and movie to celebrate my bday. I don’t fucking want to go. But I am, because I want to see my brother and know how he’s doing since he won’t talk to me. The only way I know what’s sorta going on in his life is through what they tell me and what he posts on his social media platforms. The shit I go through for this boy. Honestly don’t know wtf I’m doing. Why I even care anymore if he’s just going to act like I don’t exist even though he’s a victim to them too. My mentor says he’s just trying to play his cards right to survive and eventually get out. I hope it’s true. Y’all I’d like to talk and chill with my bro again like good ol times.

Sorry for the rant guys. Just a lot of my mind rn. Trying to stay positive. Love y’all 💕

[morizoras-cave]

Drink (Request)

Ryan Reynolds x teen!daughter!reader

Genre: angst, fluffy ending

Request Description: Could you maybe do a Ryan Reynolds x teen!reader where the reader maybe goes to a party and something gets slipped into her drink but she calls Ryan and says she doesn’t feel well and he gets her and looks after her? Only if this is okay for you to write and you feel comfortable doing it. I love you work so much🥺 Thank you!🤍

Warnings: attempted rape, drugging, language

(A/N): this is my first ryan reynolds post. v excited. reading this back, i realized that this could be taken as victim blaming. the beginning part where ryan is talking about how his daughter “shouldn’t wear that dress out” was more of a “awww look hes a protective and good dad”. i dont believe in victim blaming at all. (off topic here) also i wrote the last part of this drunk af. anyway i hope y’all still enjoy. now smell you later losers!! break begun!

“Y/n, you are not going to a party in that outfit!”

You glared at your dad, who was both shaking his head and wagging his finger in disapproval. 

“What’s so wrong with this dress?” you protested, crossing your arms. 

“The boys and the girls will be after you in seconds! I will not have some sweaty teen thinking something nasty about my daughter!” his voice was high (as always), as he squealed his argument. You rolled your eyes. 

Your mom walked into the room to grab something from the fridge, but stopped and looked at you. “Nice dress, N/n, you going to a party?” 

“Don’t encourage this!” Ryan hissed and you smiled scornfully. Blake’s laughter came throughout the room and she stopped beside you with her glass of milk in her hand. 

“Calm down, Ryan. She’s growing up!” 

“Nuh uh!” your dad looked away, still unsatisfied. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Y/n, just go to your party. I’ll deal with the grump lord,” your mom pushed you towards the entrance. Ryan’s face twisted into that of someone betrayed by his closest. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Grump lord? I have a code name? In my own house?” 

You skipped to the entrance room, sliding on your jacket and your shoes, smiling playfully. “Wait!” your dad yelled and footsteps nearing you, as he jogged to the entrance. You looked at him. 

“Just.. Call me if you’re in trouble. Anything at all,” he knew he was defeated. Although, you loved basking in the glory of victory, you couldn’t help but smile at your dad’s kind words.

“I will,” you promised.

The party was loud and booming. Every inch of the house was hot (in an uncomfortable way) and crowded, teenagers rubbing against each other and dancing. You found yourself with your friends in the living room, dancing to the sound of a Nicki Minaj song. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink!” you yelled over the music. Your friends, extremely intoxicated and doing ‘the stanky leg’, gave you a mindless thumbs up, and continued to dance. You giggle was drowned out in the music. 

You squeezed your way past different people, finally making it to the table with all the liquor. The boy who was hosting had miraculously bought enough for there to just be an all-you-can-drink table. 

The unnerving feeling of someone watching you became immediately clear. You looked around, finding the person fairly quickly. It was a boy, maybe a couple of years older than you, with a drunken gaze and tousled hair. He was smirking at you. You rolled your eyes and poured yourself a gin and tonic. 

The moment the drink was finished, someone poked your shoulder. You looked up. It wasn’t the same boy as before. This one was bigger and broader. He had the same knowing smirk on his face. You felt unnerved.

“Hey. Is this your friend over here? They look pretty smashed, you might want to check on them,” he pointed to somewhere behind him, taking all your attention from your drink to your idiot friends. You told them not to drink too much.

“Can you show me where they are?” you mumbled and the boy nodded, pulling you away from your drink. He led you to somewhere entirely different in the house, where a girl you’d never seen in your life was doubled over, puking on the poor host’s carpet. 

“I don’t know this girl,” you explained and the boy’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape. He sighed and then shrugged.

“Sorry, I thought I saw you talking earlier. Sorry to bother you,” then he walked off. You shook your head at the weird incident and walked back to you drink. You started gulping it down hungrily, deciding you were definitely too sober to be at this party.

 Almost immediately, you started feeling extremely drunk. Extremely. Which was weird, you thought, but it was hard to concentrate on it, when the environment was so loud and your thoughts were so blurry. 

Then, slowly, you realised that you didn’t usually feel like this when you were drunk. You tried to rationalise it. Maybe you just put too much gin in your drink? Maybe you had forgotten that you’d drunk something? Whatever the case, you started feeling weird. 

Everything was spinning. You wouldn’t have been able to find your friends if you wanted to. Then, in your chaotic state, your eyes passed someone else’s eyes, and you recognised them. It was the boy from earlier, the broad one, smirking at you. This time, his smirk felt alarming. Chilling. 

That moment was when the penny dropped. Your head snapped to the other boy, the one who’d just watched you. He gave you a grin. 

You were shaking, blinking away tears. You realised the position you were in. You were prey. And you were vulnerable. You took a few shaky steps, trying to make it seem like you hadn’t just realised you’d been roofied. 

When your back was turned to them, and you were stood behind a wall of dancing bodies, you pulled out your phone from your bag. You couldn’t tell if it was your vision, or if your hands were shaking, but everything was buzzing, unable to keep still. 

Your finger hovered over his number. What if you weren’t roofied? What if you were just drunk and silly? How embarrassing would that be? You felt tears prick your eyes. 

His voice echoed in your head. “Call me if you’re in trouble. Anything at all.”

You pressed down on his number, bringing the phone to your ear. You could hardly form a sentence. Everything was moving and it was so loud. 

“Hello?” Your dad’s voice was like cutting open this hellspace to some sort of heaven. It felt safe. You closed your eyes, a tear running down your face. 

“Hi, dad,” you had to yell, “can you- can you come pick me up?” 

There was a moment of silence from the phone, before he said: “Sure, why? You’re at Erik’s house, right?” 

“Yeah, Erik’s house. Let’s talk about this later!” then you hung up. It almost felt like your heart was shaking in your chest. It was too much, all of it. You could hardly walk, but you took a step towards the door, then several more. 

You feverishly grabbed the door handle, trying desperately to open the door, but you weren’t strong enough. It was a chilling realisation, that you weren’t even strong enough to open a door. 

“Do you need a help?” 

You jumped and shrieked, but it was drowned out by the music. No one noticed. You looked up and you had to stand there for a moment, before you realised that it wasn’t any of the boys you’d seen before. 

This boy looked concerned. You couldn’t even process how you must look, tear-streaked face, ruined makeup, shaking and helplessly grasping a door. You didn’t care. 

“Here,” he mumbled and opened the door for you. You whispered a ‘thank you’, and wobbled out on the street. You heard the boy leave, but you kept standing there, waiting uncomfortably for your dad to show up. 

Eventually, you saw his car pulling up in the distance. You breathed out in relief and dashed to his car, opening the door and sitting down beside you dad. He was looking at you, brows furrowed in concern. 

It was a scary thing. He was always afraid of seeing you like that. Seeing you scared and drunk and desperate. As you sat down his hand grasped yours. 

“Are you okay, Y/n? What happened?” 

You shook your head. You felt so unfocused. It was impossible to understand everything that was going on. You missed being sober. “My- My drink,” you mumbled senselessly, unable to speak normally. 

“What about your drink?” Ryan pressed, squeezing your hand. You were his child. He loved you. He was worried. Beyond belief.

“I-I think someone.. I think someone put something in it..” you mumbled, head swinging. You were far from the normal you. Everything was swinging right by you. 

“You think someone..?” Ryan trailed off. You saw his knuckles turn white as he grasped the steering wheel angrily. “Did they- Did they touch you?”

You shook your head. You saw your dad breathe out in relief, his hand never leaving yours. 

“Alright, I’ll just drive you home. It’ll be fine,” he mumbled (mostly to himself) as he started the car and drove away from the booming, partying house. “It’ll be just fine, N/n.”

He kept mumbling to himself, but you fell asleep in the car. Eventually everything was too much for you, so you just decided to close your eyes. It was a good decision. Sleep was so peaceful. 

Ryan drove you home, carrying you into their house and into your room. “What’s wrong with her?” Blake would yell, confused and scared, but Ryan would just focus on getting you to bed. 

“She was roofied. Someone put something in her fucking drink! She could’ve been- She could’ve been fucking raped!” he ranted to his wife, whilst you slept peacefully in the other room. 

Needless to say both your mom and your dad were much more overprotective after that, both with parties and with boys. But it was okay. You woke up safe and sound, and you were happy your dad had gotten you before something awful happened.

Honestly, you didn’t oppose their overprotectiveness, because after that night you felt like you needed it. No matter what way you twisted it, that night fucked you up. You weren’t as reckless or careless after that. And you got help from a professional, but still. It was an awfully traumatising experience. 

You were just happy your dad had been with you that night. And that he cared for you. Of course, he would. He was your dad. He loved you more than anything else in the world. You had no reason to worry, not when you had your dad by your side. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.