#regardless. i hope you all are well!

[plasticsandwich]

survived...!!

[pokituu]

had a dream the newest slang was "squid situation" in reference to how minecraft squids will beach themselves and then just shit and die. those squids get themselves in situations they can't help it. so ppl would use it in situations where where someone just really can't help but fuck themselves over, with or without realizing they're even doing it. all this to say i think we're collectively in a bit of a squid situation lads. many such cases

[fjordfolk]

every time someone in a discussion about breeding for BOAS reduction in pugs says to 'look up this program called Retromops' i slip a little arsenic into the produce section at the grocery store

[mayordea]

“go on, praise me like a god!”

[kitamars]

I wanted to experiment on after effects so i made a mock oyozure-bito animatic with my oc toru :3

[helios-two]

cindy + studcoms compilation

[randombon]

Funky butterfly orb.

[starwikia]

suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am. 

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions. 

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT. 

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

[crazymecjc]

shuake week day 2 - new game plus

plus, bonus!

[mothwingwritings]

Chance Encounter

F!Reader X Strade (BTD)

It's my birthday today! This was not the fic I planned on posting for it, but it was the one I had most completed so that is how it all worked out.

I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for reading!

DUE TO THE SUBJECT MATTER OF THIS FIC 18+ ONLY PLEASE!

Warnings: Imprisonment, physical/mental abuse, reader getting stabbed and hurt, mentions of sex, language, light editing.

Life was wrought with mistakes, one simple slip up holding the power to irrevocably change the course of your entire existence. It was impossible to get through your day to day without some form of blunder bogging you down at some point, vexing you at every turn to make the trials of life that much harder. But while inevitable, most of life’s fumbles are minor, silly little things that, though annoying, are easy enough to shrug off and live with, causing no major impediment to your existence.

That’s the kind of error that this instance should have been- a nothing moment causing seconds of agitation at best. As the cold, slick water bottle tumbled from your loose grip, the noise it made as it collided with the floor seemed blaring and dramatic, as if it were trying desperately to tell the whole world you had made an error. The bottle gained just enough momentum from the fall to roll out of your sight, disappearing into the main hall, hopefully coming to a stop before reaching the main door. After a brief sigh you chased after it, grumbling at the nerve of the inanimate object to try and make a run for it, eluding your grasp. Casting your eyes to the floor, you thought of nothing more than securing your drink as you followed after the trail of moisture it left behind.

Luckily it had not traveled far, and your eyes were quick to hone in on it as soon as you entered the adjoining hallway. Hunched over, your hand had once more clasped around its slippery, frosty surface, this time a bit more securely. Bottle now firmly in hand, you began to raise yourself, eager to slink back into the depths of the house where you would (hopefully) be left alone.

“Oh? And who do we have here?”

The sudden recognition stopped you dead in your tracks. An unfamiliar voice rang through your ears, sounding like an alarm in your head. Confusion gave way to fear, causing a several second delay before you could force your slumped form to even glance up and acknowledge who the words had come from. A cold sweat began to coat your body, mirroring the perspiration of the water in your hand.

Obscured by several strands of messy hair, your eyes fell to the front door at the end of the hall, scanning the area where this mystery voice had come from. A few minutes ago you had thought you could make out Strade opening it, but since you had heard nothing further you figured he was just checking the mail or something and he would be back in within a matter of seconds (if he wasn’t already back inside, which is what spurred your hurried supply gathering to begin with).

So when your water bottle slipped from your hands and rolled out into the hall, you didn’t think twice before chasing after it. Despite how the hall seemed a bit brighter than normal and that a slight breeze accompanied that light, you never would have imagined collecting your fumbled bottle would lead you to a confrontation with a complete stranger.

There was a strict rule about keeping yourself hidden away in the house, out of sight and mind for any and all neighbors and passersby. Whether you meant to or not, you had just broken that cardinal rule and now had to deal with the fallout.

The front door was flung wide open, flooding your vision with a blinding ray of sunlight. You squinted as your eyes adjusted, honing in on two silhouettes that appeared in the doorway. One was undeniably Strade, while the other belonged to a slight elderly woman. As your eyes grew accustomed to the light, you noted she wore a surprised, albeit pleasant, expression on her aged face, denoting that she was just as shocked to see you as you her.

You slowly straightened your posture, crinkling the plastic bottle in a tightening grip as you pivoted your body to fully face both individuals. The woman took you in with a steady mix of confusion and amusement, no doubt hankering to know more about this new woman who had entered her midst. Strade, on the other hand…

When your eyes flicked to him you had to bite back the desire to instantly flee. Outwardly he had managed to keep his cool, his posture remaining lax as he faced you with a peaceful grin on his lips and a slight twinkle in his eye. To an outsider, his expression could easily be misconstrued as a look of amused fondness, as if seeing you show up randomly was natural and welcomed. But you knew Strade and his tells well enough to know just how much danger you were actually in. It was in the way he gripped the doorknob a smidge too tightly, found in the dangerous gleam that shone beneath the sparkle of his crinkled eyes, apparent in the imperceptible way he tapped his foot. He had made his displeasure of your arrival crystal clear, needing no further assurance of just how severely you had fucked up.

“This is (Name),” Strade’s response was effortless, his face and demeanor completely devoid of any hints of worry, “Don’t be shy, come introduce yourself!”

You saw him fiddle with something in his pocket, no doubt the controls to the large, overbearing collar that hugged your neck like a noose. He gave a quick jerk of his head, alerting that it was alright to come towards him.

After several slow, shaky steps, you arrived at his side. Standing at the cusp of the doorway, the sun was so bright it was nearly blinding. You basked in its glow, feeling refreshed the moment the warm rays and fresh breeze came in contact with your skin. You took a deep, shuddering breath as you stared up into the impossibly blue sky. Fat, fluffy clouds meandered by, carried ever so slowly by a gentle breeze.

For a moment, you felt the sweet embrace of freedom.

“Oh my, Sweetheart you look awful!”

A concerned voice brought you crashing back to reality, a cold dread clawing its way back inside you. You looked towards the woman who could now clearly see you in all your glory- open wounds, old scars, fat bruises, thick collar, everything. The horror in her eyes reflected her inner emotions, a deep frown highlighting her pity and concern.

Though her reaction was to be expected, it terrified you. Strade’s meticulously kept secret was being laid bare and that couldn’t mean anything good for either yourself or the woman that discovered you.

“Impressive, isn’t she?”

You both whipped your head towards Strade, responding to his nonchalance with puzzled stares. Strade chuckled in response, “(Name) here is a stage actress by trade, and recently has been dabbling in her own makeup and special effects. It all looks pretty convincing, doesn’t it?”

A wave of relief washed over the woman at his on the spot explanation, “Dear me, you almost gave me a heart attack! It certainly fooled me!” She turned her attention back your way, staring with squinted eyes at the marks that littered your form, taking them in with a newfound appreciation. “It’s strange to compliment something so garish, but it is quite impressive that it looks so realistic. You did a great job, sweetie.”’

Your body slightly jerked as Strade’s hand clasped on your shoulder, giving a squeeze. You didn’t have to look at his face to realize he was no doubt pleased by the sick, fallacious compliment he had just second hand received.

“T-thank you,” you took the initiative, figuring it was best to act on your own then wait for Strade to prompt you. The more convincing this all looked the better. “I have been practicing a lot so I am glad they look so… natural.”

You choked on the word, disgusted by your own insinuation. Natural- Is that what this had all become?

“Well, you sure fooled these old eyes,” the kindly woman laughed so deeply it shook her frame, “But even with all the makeup it’s easy to tell you are quite lovely,”  a knowing smirk crossed her wrinkled lips as her eyes darted to Strade, “Am I right in saying you’ve finally found yourself someone special, Strade?”

It took all you had not to wretch on the spot, disgust gripping you so violently it was a miracle you were able to keep your expression neutral at her insinuation.

“Ahhh, ya caught me!” Strade laughed, slinging his arm around your shoulders, jostling you a bit in the process. “I was planning on introducing her a little later, but no time like the present, eh? (Name), this is Mrs. Schmidt, my next door neighbor.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled, giving a small nod. You didn’t want to attempt a hand shake, worried that your grasp would be far too sweaty and quivery for someone who didn’t actively fear for their life simply by being in their ‘boyfriends’ presence.

“Well it is very nice to meet you too miss (Name). It warms my heart to know Strade has such a pretty young lady to keep him company, we’ve been worried he’d be a lonely bachelor for life!”

She gave a tinkling laugh and you forced yourself to respond in kind. You realized her suggestive prodding and compliments on your looks were just her attempting to be polite and chummy, but you couldn’t help but find the interaction exceptionally grating. You knew you looked exactly how you felt, chewed up, spit out, dragged to hell and back again. No amount of flowery praise could ever convince you otherwise. That, coupled with the cutesy way she interacted with Strade had you considering slamming the door in her face, effectively ending this surreal hell even if it meant willingly barricading yourself inside to be alone with Strade again.

“You know, we were all trying to marry off our neighborhoods most eligible bachelor,” she mused, reaching over to lightly touch Strade’s arm. The familiarity made your hair stand on end. To think someone could so casually touch him, staring up at him with such soft reverence, made you want to gouge your own eyes out to not have to witness the blind adoration a moment longer.

“Ah come on now, I’m not that hopeless!” You felt his laugh as he clutched you to his side, reverberating through you as he tightened his grasp. Without the threat of the collar, was he worried you would bolt? “I mean, I found (Name) right? I was just waiting for the right person!”

“Well she sure is lucky,” the old woman directed her focus back towards you “I’ve been his neighbor going on five years now and I can’t tell you how many times he has helped us out. In fact, just last week we were having issues with that old hunk of junk we call a car and it seemed that no matter what shop we took it to, it wasn’t getting fixed. We were about to scrap the thing when Strade came over and took a look at it, found the problem, and fixed it up good as new! It runs better now than it has in years, and Strade wouldn’t even accept payment! He just took a cold beer and went on his merry way.”

A wave of nausea washed over you as she continued to animatedly speak, a shine in her eye as she droned on and on about how much she adored the monster beside you. As she droned on, an intrusive thought began to creep in your head. What would she do if she knew the truth, you wondered? If she was made privy to the fact that the same hands that fixed her car have choked you, stabbed you, and beat you to the point of near death multiple times, how would she respond? If the man she idolized was laid bare before her, how vastly would her opinion of him change? Would she even believe it? Would she try and help you, or would she continue to live in her happy bubble of ignorance?

“And it’s not just us either, the whole neighborhood adores him! I don’t think there’s a person on this street this man hasn’t helped. He’s a true angel!”

An angel. This mass murderer, this menace to society, this cold blooded killer, was her angel.

Quivering with tremors, your body began to tense up. Whether from disgust, anger, or fear you were uncertain, but the uncanny nature of this entire instance was making your skin crawl and you desperately wanted to retreat back in the house and curl up in some shadowy corner, far removed from the situation.

You cursed yourself for dropping the bottle and ultimately subjugating yourself to this woman before you and the eerie words the continued to spew from her lips, fueling the revulsion that wracked your gut. The realization that the man who mercilessly assaulted you day after day, spiriting you away from all you ever loved and knew to be kept as his personal ‘pet’ and punching bag, was the block’s own personal hero, hit you like a ton of bricks. Since you had been imprisoned you held on to the secret hope that someone was on to him, that maybe a local neighborhood hero would one day report him and the police would storm the place, ultimately saving you from your nightmare. Now it was abundantly clear that was just a pipedream and an incredibly stupid and naïve one at that.

After being subjugated to this cruel revelation you decided that if Strade didn’t kill you, maybe you would just give up and find a way to do the job yourself. Was the tiny amount of hope you clung to worth it? Would you ever make it out of this alive?

Strade chortled sheepishly beside you, “Please, you give me too much credit! I just like to tinker and have a bad habit of sticking my nose in other people’s business, as (Name) can probably attest to.” He shook you back to reality, bringing the attention back to you, “Speaking of, we interrupted you didn’t we? You can get back to work if you need to, sweetheart.”

The neighbor seemed to pick up on the hint, her eyes widening as she quickly glanced down at her wrist watch.  “Oh my, look at that! The time just slipped away from me! I am so sorry to keep you, especially when you are in the middle of something important.”

“I-it’s OK,” finding your voice once more, you regarded her with an uneasy smile, “It was nice to take a little break from it all, and it was nice to meet you too.”

It wasn’t a lie. Despite the immobilizing anxiety, offensive annoyances, and ever present fear that was weighing you down the entire conversation, this chance meeting was like finding an air pocket in a sinking submarine. It rejuvenated you in a sense, treating you to a taste of ordinary life. You didn’t know what was going to come after this moment. Whether you would survive the pending punishments you were sure to receive or if you would ever see this woman again after Strade shut the door was anyone’s guess. But those worries were for the future, for now, you basked in the brief normalcy of it all, relishing the feeling of almost freedom that was only a few taunting steps away.

“I would say I’d love to see your creative project once it’s done, but it looks like it may be a little much for me. “ She giggled airily, giving you a kind smile, “But regardless, I hope it is a success! I don’t know how it couldn’t be, what with all the love and effort you have clearly put into it!”

“Yes, you can really see the passion reflected in her work,” Strade remarked jovially, making you cringe, “Seeing her like this really inspires me to work my hardest too.”

He smiled down at you, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned over your shoulder, “She’s really helped teach me that all the time and energy you pour into your work and hobbies is well worth the reward.”

This time, you were unable to stop the shudder his words elicited.

“Well, this pesky lady won’t take up anymore of your evening,” she started to turn away, giving a small wave as she did so, “It’s always a pleasure Strade, and it was very nice to meet you (Name)! I look forward to seeing you more in the future!”

Time seemed to slow as you felt Strade leave your side, offering his support to her as she hobbled her way down the stairs. It all felt unreal watching the two-the cheery expression that lit up Strade’s face, the pleasant aura that surrounded the woman he spoke to, the smile that you had forced upon your face as you waved her goodbye.

The sluggish, serene nature of it all made it feel like you were caught in a dream, one that would very shortly turn into a nightmare.

After Strade had made sure she was secure, he made his way back up the stairs, giving her one more cursory wave before shutting the door and bolting it closed. He pressed his face against the peephole, placing his hands on either side of the door frame in a white knuckled grip. For several drawn out seconds he watched what you assumed was his neighbor making her way back to her house, tapping his foot impatiently until he had confirmed she was back inside of her home.

Strade took a step back, slapping a hand over his eyes. He massaged them a bit before slowly dragging his palm down the length of his face. Releasing a groan of irritation, he slammed his fist down hard against the front door, rattling it against the wooden frame. It rattled you as well, fully drawing your attention back to your impending doom.

 “Scheisse,” he grumbled after a lengthy sigh, shaking his head derisively, “That old bitch just HAD to come at the most inopportune time, didn’t she? Even after I told her to not come over unannounced, she waltzes over here like she fucking owns the place! What a pain in my fucking ass.”

Now that Mrs. Schmidt was out of the picture, you felt her absence profoundly. Without her obtrusion barring its closure, the door was once more locked tight, effectively cutting you off from the fresh air and sunshine you were relishing moments prior. The outside world that had been dangled before you was gone nearly the moment you experienced it. Gloom replaced azure skies, your pending punishment looming like a dark cloud as you were once more reminded that while in his grasp, you were nothing more than a caged animal.

The future you had avoided thinking about had become the present- all that was left was to face Strade. How would he deal with you for causing such an inconvenience? What fresh hell awaited you now that you were alone?

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

The apology came as a jittery squeak, choppy breathing bouncing the words that tumbled from your pouty lips, “I’m so sorry Strade, I-I should have been paying more attention! If I didn’t drop that bottle, if I would have kept a better grip on the stupid thing, she never would have seen me. I am so, so sorry! This was a dumb, stupid mistake and it will never happen again! I won’t go in the kitchen or near the door at all, I’ll stay away from windows and I’ll peek to make sure no one is outside when I move around the house. I’ll be more careful, I promise! I’m sorry… Please…”

At some point during your babbling, you had started to cry. Your voice becoming such a blubbery, quavering mess that your words were now a slurry of unintelligible noises, the message you were trying to relay just barely recognizable over the sobbing. Tears stained your vision, making the world appear as wavering as your body felt, like any moment you would topple over and never stand up again.

In attempt to compose yourself, you moved to hastily wipe the tears from your eyes. Desperately rubbing away the signs of your outburst, Strade’s large hand landed atop your head. Curling his fingers into your hair, you flinched at the sensation, stiffening as you braced yourself for the inevitable pain that was to follow.

Any moment he’d clench his fist, latching onto your tresses in a death grip before roughly jerking you to the ground.  Your tormentor would then drag you down to the basement, amped up and ready to do god knows what to you to alleviate his tension and punish your transgressions. These very well could be your last few minutes alive, all because of one stupid mistake. Your breathing became even more erratic as his hand lingered, the anxiety of it all so overwhelming that your vision began to spot. Darkness was quickly consuming you, your heart pounding so violently in your chest you wondered if it would give out before Strade even had his chance to destroy you.

“Hey now, it’s not your fault that old bird doesn’t know how to mind her own goddamn business!”

In stark contrast to what you were expecting, Strade chuckled blithely. Instead of grabbing a hold of you, his hand began to rub your head, tousling your hair playfully. Confusion kept you planted firmly in place as you hesitantly looked up at Strade’s face, finding no trace of the immense anger you expected in his expression. If anything, seeing your response seemed to melt his mild annoyance, replacing it with a look of mirthful amusement while he scrubbed at your head like a dog.

“It’s fucking obnoxious though, isn’t it? How one person can come over and mess up your entire day?”

Doing your best to ignore his leering smile, he continued to speak, “That woman just doesn’t know how to shut up, if I let her flap her mouth too much the whole goddamn neighborhood will be up my ass about this. I guess I’m just lucky that she’s old as sin and starting to lose it, if she harps about you too much I can brush it off as signs of onset dementia. Should be easy enough to get people to believe, and besides that, at her age she’s knocking at deaths door so I probably won’t have to worry about her for all that much longer anyway.”

As he guffawed at his own cruel flippancy, you found little assurance in his callous words.  Shivering slightly, you had a hard time convincing your brain that you had made it out of the woods, that all was forgiven and soon to be forgotten. He felt you shiver beneath his hand, garnering his attention. He shot you a bemused glance, “What’s the matter, (Name)? I thought mein Mädchen would be thrilled to be off the hook right now, but are you actually disappointed? If you really want, I can conjure up some disciplinary action right now-“

“No,” you cut him off, desperation flooding your voice, “thank you Strade. Truly, thank you for understanding, and I promise it won’t happen again!”

Strade shot you a brief smile before releasing a breathy sigh, his hand falling limply from your head to rest on his hip. His eyes darted back to his neighbor’s house, a pensive frown forming on his lips.

“With all that said, I should probably still have a backup plan in place to cover my bases. Now that the neighborhood has a new darling to gossip about, we can’t just pretend like she doesn’t exist.” his eyes traveled back your way, causing unease to blossom in your chest, “I wonder what the story should be. We could ‘break up’ I suppose, but I feel like that would cause a shit show in its own way…”

His voice trailed off as he mulled it over, a spark coming across his features when a new idea donned on him.

“Or maybe… Maybe you could make the rare appearance every now and again, at one of our block parties or a cook out or something?”

Your brain struggled to process what he was saying, his suggestion so outlandish you were sure you had hallucinated him speaking it. “… What?”

His piercing eyes stayed locked on your petrified state, wearing an indecipherable expression as he mulled over his words. Without his typical cheekiness padding the suggestion, you couldn’t easily decipher if this was another sadistic attempt at feeding you false hope or something he was actually considering. To add to the uncertainty, you also couldn’t decide which option would be better for you in the long run. The suggested intimacy of posing as his public girlfriend made your skin crawl, but you couldn’t deny the joy rising within you at the thought of getting out of this house and being around other people. The idea of interacting with the outside world was too tantalizing to ignore, and you found yourself fixating on it the longer the quandary persisted. Would it be worth it, you wondered? Could this be your opportunity finally, after so much abuse, to find a little reprieve?

Excitement surged inside of you, your heart fluttering in your chest. Hope. For once in a very long time, you began to feel tangibly hopeful.

After several long seconds of silence, Strade’s face bloomed into a huge grin. He snickered as he closed his eyes, cocking his head to the side as if he had just witnessed you doing something he found truly adorable.

“I’m joking (Name), no need to look so distraught!” His smile grew as he gave you another firm pat on the head, “Didn’t get your hopes up, did I? Sorry, but it would require a lot of training to get you to the point where I could trust you not to cause problems in public, and as much as I would love to devote the time to that intensive training, there are just too many outliers that pose major problems for our current arrangement.”

He leaned forward, encroaching on your personal space so that he could look you directly in the eye. He cinched his brow, a look of mock sympathy displayed on his features as he cooed at you condescendingly, “You understand, right mein Schatz?”

Unsure of how else to respond, you gave a quick nod to confirm that you at least heard his words. Your brain felt like soup asyour new found hope fizzled and died, just as it seemed prone to do. All the flip flopping, uncertainty, and dread of the last fifteen minutes left your mind muddled and hazy, exhaustion creeping over you from the mental and emotional gymnastics. At this point, you weren’t even sure any of what had occurred in the past twenty minutes was even real so much as it was just some weird, unfortunate hallucination your mind conjured to further torment you.

“Good girl!” He gave your cheek a few light smacks to punctuate his compliment, before straightening himself to his full height, stretching as he did so. “You catch on quick (Name), it’s one of the things I really like about you. Thanks for seeing things from my perspective!”

Giving a slight sigh of relief, you figured this would mark the end of the conversation. He’d tell you to step back from the door, turn your collar back on, and go about doing whatever the hell he was about to do, leaving you in relative peace.

But as his beady eyes continued to linger on you, you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. They trailed the length of your body, methodically taking in every inch of you with a gaze so intense it nearly burned. You desperately wanted to shrink in on yourself and cover yourself in any way you could, hide away to escape the assault of his stare. Though you were fully clothed, his attention made you feel naked, exposed and bare as he openly ogled you. If there was one thing you had learned while being trapped with Strade, it was that his undivided attention was never a good thing.

“Maybe it’s conceited to say” he positioned himself so that his body was facing yours, taking a step to close the small gap of distance that separated you, “but it really is nice work. What I have done to you, that is.”

His voice was low and rumbling, an edge to it that hinted at something you didn’t want to ruminate on. Unable to stand the intensity any longer, you folded your arms across your chest, hunching your shoulders to conceal yourself the best you could. It was a weak defense, but the only one you had.

Strade’s hands shot out like whips, grabbing hold of each of your arms in a unyielding grip. Yanking them away from your chest, he tugged you roughly towards him, spinning you around so that your back was flush against his chest and stomach. Once in place, he took hold of your arms once more, pushing them up so that they were in front of your face.

“Keep them there.”

Warm breath tickled your ear as he loomed over your shoulder, his cheek pressed flush against your head as he gave his command. He slowly released his hold on your arms, his hands hovering for a moment, testing the waters to see if you would continue to obey. Without his support the limbs shook violently, but you dared not move them.

As you kept your arms in place, Strade languidly dragged his fingers down their length, sighing wistfully as they traced over the scars that littered them.  Admiring his own handiwork, you felt his breathing growing labored. Your body moved in time with each rise and fall of his chest as he remained plastered behind you, his course fingers gingerly ghosting the length of your arms at a hypnotizingly steady pace.

He remained this way for several minutes, unspeaking as his fingers danced over the past wounds he had inflicted upon you. The gentleness of his touch was shocking, eliciting goosebumps in the wake of his caress. In an attempt to calm yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut. If you could focus on only the sensation of his touch it was easier to pretend it was not his arms you were nestled in, that it was not his calloused fingers tracing you so delicately. If you could not see him, if you could will his presence away, you could curb some of the self-loathing you felt in admitting that this exceptionally rare moment of tenderness felt good.

Once he was satisfied with surveying your arms, his hands trailed to your shoulders. Balling into fists, he took a shuddering breath as he latched on to the fabric of your shirt, using his grip on you to drag you farther into the house. “I want to see more, “he growled behind you, his composure slipping as you awkwardly stumbled backwards, “I want to make more.”

The moment you reached the living room he shoved you to the ground, ordering you to stay still while he made a hurried side trip into the kitchen. Though your panicked brain screamed at you to run, your body refused to budge, the sheer terror this new turn of events caused paralyzing you, halting any form of action.

It wasn’t long before Strade returned to the room, massive kitchen knife in hand as he stalked towards you. He wasted no time in mounting you, straddling your stomach between thick, muscled legs. With his weight upon you, cinched between his thighs, there was no hope of escape. Even if your numb limbs finally decided to listen to you and take action, it was far too late to escape. Whimpers creaked from your throat as he took hold of the collar of your shirt, placing the sharp edge of the knife against the fabric as he began to cut.

“You really are a good girl, (Name),” he panted over you, his knife nicking your skin as it erratically sawed through your shirt and bra, causing sharp, pained gasps to be squeezed from your throat. Strade’s smile grew with each sound you made, the excitement of it all driving him into a frenzy. “You’ve done everything I’ve ever asked, listen to everything I say. But you’re problem is that you’re just too irresistible, mein schatz. Es macht mich wahnsinnig.”

With your top now completely shredded you started to squirm, softly pleading for him to let you go as you maneuvered your body in any way that may loosen his hold on you. Tears stung your eyes as he clamped his legs tighter, your act of resistance causing a growing bulge to press uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Making a man lose his composure like this is enough to warrant a punishment in and of itself,” he released a shaky sigh as he pointed the tip of his knife over your exposed chest, pressing down until it had pierced your skin. Crying out, you wrapped your hands around his and began to pull, tugging as hard as you could in an effort to try and pull the blade from your body. But he was far stronger, and it seemed that the more you struggled against him, the deeper he plunged his blade.

“Aw come on now, don’t be like that,” he mocked, his voice dripping in lust, “I just want to play around a little bit, but you’re making it really hard not to lose control (Name).”

He abruptly pulled back, wresting his knife wielding hand from your grasp to raise it higher in the air. As he reared back, your arms folded across your chest in a pathetic attempt at protecting yourself. Scrunched up as much as you could, your arms and hands guarded your face and chest as you waited, bracing for impact. And instant later you felt a rush by your head, followed directly by a searing pain that emanated from your shoulder. Your wide eyes flicked over to see the thick knife stabbed into the plush carpet, inches from your head. The blade had ripped into you on the way down, tearing into the flesh and muscle of your upper arm. You screamed as blood flowed from the deep gash, seeping into the carpet beneath you.

“Uh oh,” Strade’s sing-song voice called above you, “That’s probably gonna leave a stain, huh? That’s why I do this kind of shit in the basement. It’s much easier to clean up my little ‘projects’ down there!”

He gave a throaty laugh as he ripped the knife from the carpet, the violent withdrawal of the blade sending a fresh wave of agony through you. You flinched as Strade clasped his hand over the open wound, whimpering loudly as he applied pressure. It may have been an attempt at quelling the blood flow, but as you felt him jab his fingers deeper into the wound, it became clear he was deriving immense enjoyment from the act, grinning from ear to ear as you winced at the stinging sensation.

“Hey now, don’t be too upset! This sort of thing happens during the creative process, right? Things get messy, it’s the price you pay for creating works of art,” your blood ran cold as his beastial eyes bore down on you, the rest of his face offputtingly serene as his wide grin continued to spread, “And YOU may just be my magnum opus! It’s such a treat having you as my own little personal canvas~”

Releasing your shoulder, he moved once more to grasp his knife with his bloody hand. He licked a stray drop that began to creep down his wrist, shuddering in pleasure as he tasted you, taking in your horror and butchery with great fervor. With a flick of his wrist, the blade slid across your chest, leaving an angry trail of crimson in its wake. You screamed once more as blood poured from the pulsating wound, streaming down your chest until it washed your breasts in gore. Strade groaned at the sight. Driven by his craving for carnage, he readied his blade once more, a crazed smile on his face as he gleefully considered his next move.

“Be careful not to tease me too much (Name), or I may accidentally take this too far.”

[feygaleh]

This is a genuine question because I'm trying to understand your side and not get involved in internet fights.

You keep saying you pray to Eretz Yisrael and not Medinat Yisrael. But if you're praying and the prayer yearns for a return to Eretz Yisrael, how do you interpret that? How is that not about returning to the Land of Israel (country there or not)? You say Eretz Yisrael specifically, not Am Yisrael (you did say a few times you were praying to the People of Israel so maybe it's a miscommunication, assuming not though). I'm confused how you reconcile [praying to return to the land of Israel] with [being against the return to Israel].

If you can't explain that I understand but that's my sticking point with this whole thing. This is why I'm personally having trouble taking your arguments seriously. Hope to hear back, have a nice day/night.

i mean i pray to eretz and am. but to answer your question, medinat has no reason to exist. the geographical location of our holy land will always remain. we don’t need a jewish state to make it so

jews who yearn for the holy land have every right to want to return and to return. we don’t need medinat yisrael to do so

the other side of my argument points out a lot of the antisemitism in the palestinian charters. which yes they did go back on that, and yes there are still several antisemitic flaws in certain structures of their government as well. but that is something we could have pushed harder for. that is something we could’ve gotten the UN involved in. dividing up the land and expelling people was cruel and unnecessary to the people presently there

i hope that makes sense…

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part one | rated t | 1270 words | cw: parental death

all my thanks and love to my beloved @fragilecapric0rnn for beta-reading 💜 you're a rockstar and your feedback was so so helpful

Eddie was born under a bad sign. That’s what his momma always used to say. Friday the 13th, and in October? He never really stood a chance and neither did anyone else he got close to. He was like a black cat walking across their path. 

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

His momma was first, of course. Cursed by the fate of Eddie’s birth from the very beginning. And if he hadn’t dawdled on the way home from school that day, if he had gone straight home just like he’d promised, if he hadn’t stopped to pick a bouquet of ditch weed wildflowers for her and got distracted by caterpillars and rollie-pollies— Well, maybe he would’ve been able to tell the 911 operator she was still breathing when he found her.

His daddy was next, not much long after. Eddie worshiped him like a hero in one of his fantasy stories, the charming, devil-may-care, down on his luck protagonist who stole from the rich and gave to the needy. But the first time Floyd brought him out on a real job, just the two of them, when all Eddie had to do was hot wire the getaway car after he heard the signal (three hoots like a barn owl), Eddie panicked. Did he say barn owl or barred owl? Was that two hoots or three? Why did the wires all look the same in the dark?

When the police cars painted him in their flashing red and blue lights, he dropped the wire cutters and ran. Floyd went down in a hail of bullets behind the car Eddie had been trying to steal, and Wayne got his own life sentence when the State dropped Eddie on his doorstep.

Uncle Wayne got the worst of it, obviously. Working himself to the bone, nights and weekends, to put Eddie through school. Not to mention senior year for a second and third goddamn time.

It was too late by the time young Eddie figured it out. By the time he decided to keep everyone at arm’s length.

It’s safer that way, for everyone.

Chrissy was just the latest in a long line. And he’d only lowered his guard an inch, a millimeter, when he saw someone just as lonely and desperate for a friend. He’d only barely started to let himself have an inkling of what an actual friendship with her might be like when—

This is exactly why Eddie doesn’t have friends. He has minions. He has little lost sheepies, he has twerps and shrimps. And that’s it. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

But all that changes the day he dies.

Or maybe it’s the day he finally wakes up. His new birthday, welcomed to the world once again in a cold, bright, sterile hospital room.

And really, the way he sees it, it’s all Henderson’s fault.

The little shit wanders in every day at visiting hours and makes himself right at home. He props his cast up on Eddie’s bed, and steals the remote to change the channel on the ancient, minuscule tv over to cartoons, and then he just… camps out! All day!

The kid will not leave him alone, no matter how cold a shoulder Eddie tries to give him. He even broke down and explained everything to him. How he’s bad luck, he’s bad news. And people who get too close to him end up dead.

But maybe the painkillers they’ve got him on scrambled his brain as bad as the bats scrambled his guts, because Dustin steamrolls right over him.

“If curses were real, which they aren’t,” he posits in his professor voice, “Your dumb curse can’t try to kill me again. It already took a shot and it missed, and the worst I got was a busted ankle.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Dustin that’s not how curses work but—

“And what was its goal anyway? To get you alone and friendless, dead in a ditch? Well then, mission accomplished!”

Which is… weirdly comforting when he puts it like that.

Dustin brings with him a rotating cast of the rest of the fellowship. Eddie finally gets to meet Baby Byers and finds out he’s already been recruited to Hellfire before Eddie can even say hello.

More often than not, Steve tags along too since he’s already ferrying them all between the hospital and home. Usually after he’s spent some time with Red and the other kids in her room, he’ll drop by. To check on Dustin of course.

It’s not because he likes Eddie. Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know him.

All that… before… it was just some harmless flirting to keep himself from completely losing it while he was on the run from homicidal bible-thumpers. And Steve was just humoring him.

So he hides behind stupid flirtatious remarks, easy to brush off when it’s always undercut with sly winks and salacious expressions. Enough to keep everything surface level. Keep him at arms length.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes still seem to linger on Eddie, even when he hasn’t said anything for a while. Or that he brings Eddie extra pudding cups from the cafeteria. It doesn’t mean anything when he stands in the doorway trying to finish one last story or joke, until the kids almost literally have to drag him out when visiting hours are over.

Because it turns out Steve is an incorrigible gossip. And Eddie’s not about to be the one to corrige him. Not when he brings an extra dr. pepper for Eddie every time he stops by the vending machine for a coke and gleefully tells Eddie which of the doctors, nurses, and shady government agents are sleeping together.

A can of coke he taps on the lid with a peculiar rhythm before he cracks it, every time.

“What’s up with that?” Eddie finally has to ask one day, when it’s just the two of them and the Price is Right.

Steve hums this confused little sound at him, tilting his head with furrowed brows as he takes the first sip.

Eddie repeats the pattern, tapping it out on his own can.

Steve blinks a few times, first at Eddie, then at the can in his hand.

“I didn’t even realize I did that,” he huffs out a laugh. “It’s uh… something my grandpa taught me when I was a kid. Y’know just for luck.”

The blood in Eddie’s veins freezes and he’s stuck like that for a painfully long moment. Propped up against the lumpy hospital pillows with his mouth half open, staring at Steve.

“For luck.” he says flatly.

“Yeah, so the fizz doesn’t explode when you open it.”

“And has that ever happened to you?” Aiming for flirty, aiming for scathing, aiming for anything that’s not desperation.

“Well no,” Steve says with an easy shrug and a conspiratorial smile, “that’s why it’s lucky. It’s like picking up a coin that’s face-down on the sidewalk.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s face-up, darlin,” Eddie says coyly, like every alarm bell in his head isn’t ringing a deafening cacophony.

“Nah see, you gotta leave those ones for someone who really needs the luck.”

“But then you get the bad luck.”

“Nah, doesn’t work that way,” Steve says, and fucking winks at him.

Eddie wants to shake him. What is wrong with him? He’s got it all backwards and it’s dangerous. How is he walking around like this?

Whatever, it’s not his problem. Steve can do whatever Steve wants. Eddie doesn’t need to protect him from himself. It’s not like they’re friends. And really, that’s the best way to protect him.

[ part two ]

[ also on ao3 ]

[pretentiouswreckingball]

hi new friend 🥹🍒

omg hello 🥹 so nice seeing you here!!!

[valleymyristica]

will there be any scenes involving near death experience?

Hehehe

Oh yes

Sadly, for now it's quite a ways till we get there, for ark 1 won't really have much. Heh. Unless you count the 'fix', though the only one who really takes note of the change is Dev. Don't worry, it's not that bad.

Heh, hey, it might even be a good thing

Peri is a good fairy after all

Dale is a bad dad

Someone has to fix that, right?

[here-there-were-dragons]

i'm seeing three times as many people bitching in the tag about the very idea that someone might not like this breed than i see people actually expressing unambiguous dislike for this breed