#sad white boy syndrome

[cowboys-only]

Sad white boy syndrome

In a show centered on a main character of color all of the fan related content will center on the depressed white side characters. The main character is often called boring in favor of ‘sad white boy” despite the fact that the show focuses on them and how they affect the people around them. Main character will have done nothing inherently wrong , or at least nothing worse than “ sad white boy” but will receive approximately 5x the hate for said action. Ao3, tumblr, tik tok edits, conversation and cosplay, all manner of things will be so focused on the boy that people outside of the fandom will be confused when you tell them that the main character is someone else.

Miguel Diaz - Robby Keene

Luz Noceda - Hunter

Sam Wilson - Bucky Barnes

Kamala Khan - Bruno

Reagan Ridley - Brett Hand

Honorable mentions - Amphibia, Miraculous, Teen Wolf

[gallusrostromegalus]

I haven't seen any dog stories in a while. How are Charleston and The Hanukkah Goblin doing?

Dog updates!

The first one is a little sad, but also how life should go. Arwen is 14 now and while she's still moving, eating, pooping and generally enjoying life, she also has canine dementia and sundown syndrome where she gets extremely nervous and her dementia gets worse after dark. She'll be with us for a while yet, but it's something we have to manage now.

One person who is very much helping her manage is Herschel. My parents are traveling a lot while they still have the knees for it so I spend a lot of time up at their house, and Charleston and Herschel come up too. Being a Corgi, Herschel likes to manage things, and Arwen would like someone to manage things for her so he's become her self-appointed guide dog.

When I call the dogs for food or outside, he goes and finds her deaf ass and herds her to the location. Normally she doesn't go outside after dark but when the boys are there she's willing to wait for Charlie to chase away anything that might be lurking out there, and then follow Herschel's ass around the yard at night.

Very literally.

She's also got cataracts forming and I think his bright white backside is easy for her to see in the dark, so she follows it around.

During daytime walks she sees well enough but neither she nor Charlie are fans of strange off-leash dogs running up to them (a regrettably common problem out here. I don't care if your dog is friendly MINE ARE NOT!), so both of them prefer to walk half a pace behind Herschel so his more socially adept and knife-filled face is out front to intercept any unwanted solicitors. This does tend to give people the opposite impression though- because he is so much shorter, Herschel gives the impression of a tiny, charming mafioso flanked by his two large and surly bodyguards.

Like, they absolutely would kill a bear for him.

But Charlie and Arwen would also try to kill a bear on general principle.

At night, when Arwen barks at shadows, Herschel runs up and stand between her and the alleged menace, and does his best to look large and intimidating and for as silly as he looks, he does have a very good growl. After a moment, when the alleged bear or congressman or other horror fails to appear, he will stick his nose into the offending shadow, and finding nothing, be satisfied that their joint effort has successfully chased the problem off, and report back to her. This, more than anything else, seems to alleviate Arwen 's fears.

I guess we all just need someone to take us seriously when we're frightened.

Charleston, meanwhile, has gotten into giving safari tours of the front range's small vertebrates.

After eight years of managing his exceptionally high prey drive, something clicked earlier this summer and instead of immediately lunging his whole face at any approximately bite-sized animal in an attempt to expedite it's journey into his stomach, Charlie has started *pointing* at things until I come look at them and tell him he's a good boy. This started with a mole, something he'd never seen before and that moves above ground in a strange way, so he wasn't sure about eating it, so he only alerted at it. "GOOD BOY!" I shouted, giving him all the cuddles. "GOOD SPOT! GOOD JOB NOT EATING IT!"

It's important to reward behavior you want to see.

Since then, he's been trying out pointing at small creatures in the grass and then making very pointed eye contact with me until I come look at them. This is a little tricky when walking both dogs because Herschel is still very much in his "inhale wildlife" phase, but usually I can lock the little gremlin's leash and go look at whatever Charlie has cornered while Herschel attempts to develop telekinesis to will the critter into his mouth.

So far, Charleston has found: a baby rabbit, several baby rabbits in a cluster, an adult rabbit with Jackalope virus, several voles, several moles, a fledgling owl, only the two mice, several mouse-sized grasshoppers and cicada, someone's pet rat (the person was searching within earshot and 'Socks' was collected forthwith), a beanie baby that had me fooled for a hit minute too, a marmot which I didn't know lived down here, a groundhog which I didn't know lived up here, a mink, so many toads, a wild turkey chick, so many more garter snakes and last night, an aquatic shrew.

I don't know if there's an Audubon Society for small things that scuttle around in the undergrowth, but I am inclined to join solely to get Charleston recognition for his service in surveying them.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡You're Gonna Go Far｡⋆.

Batsis!reader

We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

Warnings: older sister syndrome, angst, mentions of Jason’s death (seriously Lou not every fic), hurt/comfort, all platonic

Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever)

The letter in your hands felt far heavier than the small envelope of papers should have felt. You knew already what it said, what it meant and by god it was tempting to just shove it into your desk drawer and forget about it.

But you couldn’t forget, not when the words inked on those white pages meant that you could finally follow your dreams. Your thumb traced along the emblem at the top right corner of the letter as you read over the excited paragraph of acceptance yet again. It was a spur of the moment thing, a brief lapse into insanity when everything got to be too much and now, the consequences had come.

Could you go? Could you really leave all this behind and do the things you’ve always wanted to do? The seed of hope began to sprout in your chest, slowly weaving through the years of responsibility and obligation you had used to bury it as deep as you could.

But then, you heard muffled arguments through your bedroom door, seeping in like a thick fog. It brushed against your feet, sending a freezing chill through your body. It licked at your fingertips until you couldn’t stand the cold. 

Quickly, you shoved the envelope and the letter into the bottom of your trashcan and stood. “What are you fuckheads fighting about this time?” Your siblings responded with more shouting and as you left your bedroom, you doused that little bit of hope with the poison of your duty.

——————

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” The question hung in the stale air for a moment, looming over you as you worked on sharpening Damian’s favourite sword. Your father was sitting at the massive wall of screens, wearing all of his uniform except for the cowl. A pensive look on his face, he seemingly couldn’t meet your eyes.

“A dinosaur cowboy rockstar.” You snipped back. The letter flashed through your mind but disappeared quickly enough with another pull of the blade against the sharpening stone. Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You sighed heavily through your nose as your shoulders tensed with the blowout that was about to happen. His eyes pierced into you, watching you with that same bit of intensity they had the first time you donned the Robin suit. 

The leather hilt of the blade creaked with the strength of your grip and the cave settled into a tense silence. But you couldn’t feel that anger that you used to when he asked that question any time before, all you felt was that overwhelming, devastating sadness of what your life could have been.

The first time was when Dick left; Bruce wanted comfort, to know that what he had condemned you and your brother to do was right. You had swallowed down that anger, the urge to scream at him and blame him for everything in favour of telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I’ve always wanted to help people and being Robin was the best thing I could be.”

It was after Jason’s funeral when he asked next. Your eyes were still swollen with your tears, your shirt ruined from where Dick had been clinging to you and the bruises from the explosion that took your little brother not yet healed. You had refused to answer him, just telling him to get some rest and that the mantle of Batman would be yours until Alfred determined him fit for the field once more.

You supposed this time had been brought on by Tim’s departure to college barely a week ago. The house was noticeably dimmer without the boy genius and it had quite obviously been affecting your father. You nor Dick or Jason ever got the chance to go to college so it was a massive change.

The bite of your nails into the palm of your hand brought you back into focus where your father was watching you, unblinking. Bruce was a patient man, you’ll give him that.

“Why exactly does it matter? I have a job to do here- protect my brothers, protect the city, protect you in that order, just like you taught me.” His flinch was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye but you were far from untrained.

“Is that really what you want out of your life?” He was probing for something and you didn’t really care. The blade slid easily back into its sheath as you approached the wall of weaponry behind you. 

“What I may want isn’t relevant here, I’m doing what I can- is that enough for you?” With more force than necessary, you slammed the sword into place, turning your back on your father. “I have shit to do, call me if you need backup.” 

——————

You had been avoiding your room like the plague for three days now. Each time you stepped foot in there, all you could think about was the letter and how the deadline for the offer was drawing ever closer. The easiest solution would just be to throw it out or even calling the university to tell them that you were declining their offer but the easy way of doing things was not your style.

Instead, you started staying up all night and crashing on the couch whenever you needed a power nap. You weren’t dense enough to think that your family hadn’t noticed your change in behaviour but they at least didn’t mention it and you were grateful for that.

“Hey Dams, I need you for a second.” Ever eager to avoid his homework, your youngest brother perked up, his undivided attention now firmly on you. You chuckled softly. “Can you go grab my charger from my room, it should be on my desk.”

“Tt, so forgetful.” He muttered but obeyed anyway, leaving you smiling softly as you returned to your book. 

You hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until it was Jason that strolled into your father’s office. Still donned in his leather jacket, hair still damp from the rain that had only just started, he looked like a mess. “I thought you vowed never to come back.” You quipped. 

“Har har, you’re still annoying as shit I see.” But even with his harsh tone, Jason plopped himself next to you on the couch and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Are you ever gonna get outta here?”

Your eyes flicked to your not so little brother. “Why is everyone asking me that, I mean if you want me to move out, I can.” You brushed off with a laugh.

“You don’t have to stay y’a know, you can go if you want. No one would be angry at you.” Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. That little seedling of hope began to come back to life once again, tentatively putting out roots.

“Where would I go Jay-bird?” He shook his head, forcing his face into your neck just like he would do when he was little.

“Anywhere, somewhere far from here.”

“But then who would be around to protect you Robins hm?” 

“We aren’t little anymore, we can take care of ourselves.” You wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Before you could respond, the office door opened once more and most of the rest of your family filed in.

Each of them looked haunted and almost withdrawn, save for Damian who angrily stomped over to you, and shoved Jason off of you so he could crawl onto your lap. “Who died?” You let your youngest brother wrap your arms around him as you made eye contact with your father.

But it was Dick that stepped forward, a piece of paper in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice shook with that unique mixture of rage and heartbreak that it seemed only he could perfect. The paper trembled in his hands, making the embossment at the top visible.

You poked Damian on his side. “I told you to stop looking through my stuff, you little shit.”

“Couldn’t find your charger.” He responded indigently, his fingers curling into your shirt.

“This is a big deal miss, not just anyone gets into this university.” Alfred, ever the peacemaker, laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You should have told us.”

“It’s nothing, it was a lapse of judgement. I wouldn’t leave you all.” You brushed off but evidently, that wasn’t good enough for anyone. Dick and Jason scoffed while Bruce just looked like he was about to cry.

“You could go, leave this place and you’re giving it up for some idea that we need protecting? That’s fucking stupid.” Jason shoved himself away from you, angrily rising to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “You have a real shot here.”

“Is that what this is, some kind of fucking intervention? My life is my own thank you very much, I don’t need all of you telling me what I can or cannot do.” You tried to pry Damian from you in some vain attempt to get away from the conversation but that sneaky shit had dug his fingers into your shirt so tightly that there was no way you were getting him off of you without ripping off your shirt.

The roots were taking hold and it made you feel like shit. Who were you to leave this all behind when it could so easily be ripped away from you? You were needed here, your purpose was here not at some college where you couldn’t be there to protect your brothers.

“We’ll be ok, you can go.” You shook your head, biting back tears that were already building. Bruce came closer, taking your face between his hands. “I have put too much on you, I should have realised long ago. I’m sorry Birdie.”

“You haven’t called me that since I was 12.” Your father laughed sadly.

“Oh my girl, I haven’t been a good father to you have I?” His calloused thumbs wiped away the tears that you hadn’t realised were now steadily rolling down your full cheeks.

“You were never a good dad.” Jason scoffed which was quickly followed by a yelp as Dick elbowed him in the stomach.

“They’re having a moment.” 

“I put so much weight on your shoulders, it was my job to protect all of you but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job at that. This shouldn’t be your dream, you deserve to make a life for yourself without having to worry about all of us.” It was so strange to see your father laid so bare in front of you, freely admitting his mistakes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

You looked at your brothers as if they would give you some excuse to stay, to reject that offer but their faces remained stern if not a little sad. “You can go sis.” Dick nodded.

“You’ve done more than enough for us, I think it’s time that we pick up the slack.” Jason bumped him with his shoulder and gave you a big grin. “Besides, I think it would be nice for you to actually have a social life instead of nagging us all the time.”

Alfred spoke again. “I believe what Master Jason is trying to say is that we won’t hold you back from chasing your dreams. In fact, we are actually quite proud of you.”

A solid weight against your chest brought your gaze back down to the youngest of the group. “Damian?” You knew that boy was incredibly attached to you and would take some kind of issue with you leaving to go study somewhere else.

“If you don’t go, I will never talk to you again.” 

“Well I guess that settles it.” You said thickly, struggling to speak through the lump in your throat. “I’m going to college!” Bruce didn’t hesitate to scoop you into his arms in a hug so tight you felt your ribs creak. Damian whined a slight protest but made no move to slip out from your arms.

“Good because Tim already accepted the offer for you, you start in a couple months.” As your laughter filled the room, the hope in your chest blossomed, casting your guilt and pain into the shadows of its petals. 

[Verse 1] The only time I got to praying for a red light Was when I saw your destination as a deadline "This is normal conversation, babe, it's all fine" Making quiet calculations where the fault lies This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Verse 2] The college kids are getting so young, ain't they? They're correcting all the grammar on a spray paint And I even gave up driving after nightfall I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Pre-Chorus] It makes me smile to know when things get hard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll bе far from here And, while I clеan shit up in the yard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll be far, far from here [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creak The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever We sure will [Verse 3] We're overdue for a revival We spent so long just getting by That's the thing about survival Who the hell— who the hell likes livin' just to die? You told me you would make a difference Well, I got drunk and shut you down It won't be by your own volition If you step foot outside this town But it's all we've had For always [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creek The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever [Outro] You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far Yes, you are (Ooh-ooh) If you wanna go far Then you gotta go far

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @km-ffluv

DC

@snedhdh @kobaltdragon @blackhawkfanatic @8bookishworm8 @honkytonkbabe @certifiedhunter @qardasngan

[houpss]

STRAY KIDS DIED,WHEN PROTECTING YOU

I saw this on the Internet and it drove me hysterical. I wanted something super sad, so I'm writing this (💊))

I'm an empath and while I was writing this...oh, I was crying like the last bitch. Parts will be released by two members!

pt2;;pt3;;pt4

BANG CHAN

He covered your body from the bullet wound.

He died in the hospital on the operating table at 23:00...a beautiful time isn't it?

This happened when you and Chan were planning to go for a walk to the mountain parks, you had been wanting to go there for so long!

A murder was about to happen to you, because when the agency confirmed your relationship with Chan, a huge amount of hate was poured out on you.

That day you were in a beautiful white dress, Chan was also very handsome, your dear Chan.

Suddenly you heard a noise near the front door and Chris went to check, the next thing you heard was a scream: “Y/N, HIDE.”shoot.

You ran after him, saw only Chan’s body, you put his head on your lap and immediately called an ambulance, you could only whisper: “Don’t close your eyes, hold on, my love,” your hand was on his wound, he looked at so tenderly you.

You held his hand always, you refused to let him go, and his fingers weakly squeezed your hand.

Chan was taken to the hospital, and you immediately called the boys, your words were incomprehensible, and your tears were choking you.

You are all gathered in the hospital, the operation is already three hours, your heart is breaking, and the red spots on your white dress are drying up.

words: "Sorry, we couldn't save him"

The members were the first to enter his room... Felix and Jongin were the first to leave in tears... followed by Hyunjin hugging Jisung, then Changbin and Minho... Seungmin came out last.

When he died, you screamed heartbreakingly, there was scarlet blood on your white dress, the last symbol of love.

Have you lost track of time, how much did you spend near his cold body in the hospital? How long did you hold his cold hands and lean your forehead against his forehead?

You refused to let go of his body, please don't take Chris away.

You kiss his cold lips one last time.

The boys were heartbroken and you were killed, your soul died along with Chan.

You don’t remember the funeral, you don’t remember how long you sat at the grave, you don’t remember anything. Everything in your apartment smells of him, everything reminded you of him...

You always wear his big black hoodie and his hat, you wear all his things. Leaving the smell of Chan on you

Your eyes are always red.

You have Chan as wallpaper everywhere on your phone, you don't want him to slip from your memory.

The boys went to rest for an indefinite period of time, and you flew to Australia to visit Chan’s family, having previously visited the dorm and collected his things. You cried non-stop, your grief was unbearable.

You will remain living in Sydney with Chan's family, but will occasionally fly to Seoul to visit the boys...their fates are on the eve, their leader is dead, your sweet Channie is buried two meters underground.

Such a life will not last long, you will never be able to accept the bitterness of loss.

You will die exactly five months after Chan, the last syndrome of your love. I'll be back soon.

LEE MINHO

He died immediately, no one could help him.

You walked down a dark alley with Minho, he held your hand tightly so that you wouldn’t be afraid, you’re not afraid, are you?

In the distance, some men were beating a girl, Minho saw this and was consumed by anger.

The girl was saved, she ran away and he protected you from these men, but...

He was stabbed in the neck.

You were covered in blood, you were hugging his already inanimate body.

Minho looked at the sky with glassy eyes, he is now one of the stars in the sky.

A police investigation began, then the company released a statement... then a funeral, crying members, Minho's broken parents... how vague everything.

You immediately took Soonie, Doongie and Dori from Minho’s apartment.

You tried so hard to support everyone, but you yourself were killed from within.

You saw him in all your dreams, you fell asleep with the thought that in your dreams he would be nearby.

It's become an addiction.

You moved into the dorms and lived there so often, helping the members. Everything was easier with you.

With Minho's death, you promised yourself that no one else would ever take your heart. You are forever faithful to Minho.

You will definitely ensure that those who killed Minho are punished.

You will definitely achieve justice.

You've been sitting on his grave for so long... leaning against the tombstone with the name "LEE MINHO 25.10.1998-03.04.202*" such a beautiful name, such tender feelings.

You will help the boys return to the industry, you continued Minho's work.

You will continue his life in your heart.

[prettyinpink350]

Trailer trash

Dark Bucky x innocent reader. Dad Bucky x mom reader. Bucky is mean! 18+ don’t let me catch some kids in here reading this! I mean it!

Smut, mentions of previous hitting but nothing hard enough to leave marks. Yelling. cursing. Mentions of rough sex. Baby crying. Unprotected sex. Reader kinda has Stockholm syndrome. Bucky calls reader mommy like twice. Daddy kink

“I wanna get outta here!” She yelled after him.

“I know! I know kitten! Trust me I’ve heard ya bitch and moan about it for four years!” Bucky yelled back at her.

Y/n in a fit walked away from him. Going down the small narrow hall of their trailer, Bucky’s anger getting the best of him like it always did. He walked fast to catch up to her, then yanking her back by her hair.

“Owwww! Get off me James! Now!” She cried out

“Fuck no! You think I’m gonna let the love of my life and the mother of my child fuckin leave me! Your insane! I ain’t lettin ya get a god damn mile out of this town! Your mine.” Bucky said in her face, his nose touching hers. Tears streaming her face as little James came paddling through the hallway with his bottle in hand. The two year old crying from the yelling, him being able to sense the stress off his mommy.

“Let me go James” y/n said slowly to her husband. He let go of her hair, only taking a step back. His jaw tightened and eyes glared at her.

Little James came as fast as his little legs would carry him to his mother. Y/n bending down to pick him she began to soothe him with her voice.

“I’m here baby boy, it’s okay. I love you”

“Y/n if you leave me, I’ll hunt you down and you don’t want to know the rest” Bucky said, the two of them looking right in each other’s eyes.

“I didn’t say I was leavin ya, alls I said was I wanted a better life! With money and a better safer home and environment for our family” she said crying, little James now asleep in her arms his head resting on her shoulder.

Bucky’s eyes softened at the view of her and his son. He stepped closer, bringing them in his arms. He held her as she cried into him.

“I’m so sorry baby girl, I didn’t mean to hurt ya. I was just scared and let my emotions get the best of me again” Bucky did this quite often, he’d pull her, yank her, slap her, spank her, shove her on the bed and give her rough sex when he would get to angry. He never hit her hard enough to leave any marks or bruises though.

Y/n and Bucky met when she was 18 and he was 21. She was the farmer’s daughter young innocent and beautiful. They met at one of Bucky’s gangs parties, Wanda y/n’s best friend had made her come. It was her first ever party and when she walked in, wearing her little white sundress and sneakers and big doe eyes Bucky almost fell to his knees.

The small town didn’t see much of her because her dad and mother were protective of her. Bucky could see why because she was a play boy model with curves for days and a virgin. He flirted with her and smooth talked her all night.

After that they fell in love and they got married after being together for only six months. they moved into together in Bucky’s trailer. Him promising that they’d move away to the city and have money but then she got pregnant with little James and suddenly their savings for moving were used for a baby.

he was all she ever knew in the big world except her parents.

“Love you y/n Barnes, I mean that. I will die if I don’t have you or my son in my life” he said into her hair.

“I love you James, I just want out of here” she said

“I know, we’ll get there one day” he said in return “come on let’s go put the little slobber monster in his crib”

She giggles through her tears at what her husband said about her son because it was true he slobbered everywhere. They laid him down, watching for moment as he slept. He was perfect.

“Let’s go sexy mama, I wanna see my pussy” he whispered in his girls ear and slapped her bum. She giggled again now the sadness and hurt fading away because she knew Bucky would never hurt her on purpose he had problems and he didn’t mean to get rough it was an accident, that’s what he said all the other times. He would beg for forgiveness and little y/n’s heart couldn’t take it, she loved him and she couldn’t stand to see him hurt. So she took him back every time because to her it was normal. They both walked into their room

“Go get that lingerie I got you” he told her as he sat at the end of the bed naked. Cock in hand stroking in slow movements.

Y/n came out of their bathroom in a pink set of lace panties and bra, that were crotch less. Her soft pink bare pussy lips wet, her heavy tits looked so soft like pillows. Her nipples hard.

“Get your sweet ass over here” Bucky said his eyes filled with lust and love. She walked over to him standing between his legs.

He pulled her down on top of him, y/n now straddling him. He lined his hard 10 inch thick shaft with an angry pink tip leaking pre cum up to her tight hole. Pushing in, both moaned.

“God damn I don’t know how you’re so tight after taking me so many times and havin my baby” he said through a clenched mouth trying not be too rough with her.

“I love you James” she moaned when he stated to bounce her up and down in his cock.

“Love you too baby doll” Bucky flipped her over on her back, him now on top of her. His thrusts hard, he pulled down her bra sucking on her hard nipples.

“JAMMMMMESSS!” She moan loudly

“Shhhh honey, we can’t wake up the baby now” he said while he gave her a particular hard thrust as a warning.

“You’re such a good mommy baby girl. Feeding my boy with these tits and you’d save the the rest for me remember? I miss that” Bucky lifted her right leg up higher up to get deeper in her pussy. Y/n was so close to cumming tears were leaking from her eyes

“I’m gonna cum daddy!” She said breathy

“I’m close too, come on mama come with me” Bucky gave four more hard thrusts before they both were cumming

“Fuck yeah! I’m gonna get you pregnant again mommy. I’m gonna drink your milk and your gonna look so good pregnant with my babies again.” Bucky said well cumming making y/n moan at his words

“I want your babies Jamie! All your babies!” She cried out before at kissing him.

Bucky rolled over, both of them on their sides now. His cock still in her pussy, the two snuggled together.

“Love ya sexy mommy, you aint ever fuckin leavin me ya hear”

“I know daddy, I can’t live without you either. I love you too” she kissed his shoulder and then drifted off to sleep

[eternal-love]

FAMILY TREE

‘Give myself up to him in offering. Let him make a woman out of me.”

Feyd Rautha x Arya Atreides!OC

Summary: After Lady Jessica betrayed the Bene Gesserit by giving Duke Leto a son, she tried to make amends with the sisterhood by giving them a daughter— Arya. Turns out the sisterhood wasn’t so forgiving afterwards. Still, they went along with the marriage between an Atreides and the Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. Supposedly they would produce the Kwisatz Haderach. But, one can never find family blood and family cycles.

Author’s note: Listen. I haven’t read the books and I’m not too familiar in writing Feyd. Also, I have yet to discover how some things are called in Giedi Prime or Caladan. So pardon me about it.

TW: Incest (They’re literal cousins, but they don’t know), dub-con, abuse, Stockholm syndrome, violence. The time line is a bit messy since I want all characters to be older.

The minute Arya Atreides was born, her destiny and history was set in stone. Differently than her older brother, Paul Atreides, whom was born out of the love and passion between their parents, Arya knew she was born out of duty. She was raised to be the wife of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the Baron’s youngest nephew. He seemed better. At least better than Rabban, most commonly nicknamed ‘The Beast’.

At the age of fourteen, Arya left Caladan, with her heart broken and sad brown eyes. She traded the fresh and green Caladan for a polluted and gray Giedi Prime.

The wedding was nice in all its aspects, the Harkonnen were drowning in riches, but the atmosphere was black and white thanks to the black sun. Even there, she felt as an outsider still. Wearing a loose intricate black and white gown, with a huge headpiece in her hair. None of her family came. Not even for the dinner for the newlyweds.

What she didn’t know was how sadistic Feyd could be. She have had talks with her mother, Lady Jessica, about pleasing men, about how to make them feel desired but Feyd, he was different. You couldn’t tame him. No, it was impossible.

It didn’t take long before Arya got pregnant and had Feyd’s only child— a son. They were supposed to make the Kwisatz Haderach but Feyd did not want to listen to those damn witches, he wanted a son he could train to be just like him. History repeated itself.

Six years later, it was the coming-of-age ceremony of the Na-Baron, Feyd Rautha. Everyone in Giedi Prime was excited that their very own dear Na-Baron was turning of age. And which better way to celebrate than to have a fight in the Gladiator Arena?

Her servants helped her get ready. Over the years, Arya taught them how to do hair, since no one in Giedi Prime had hair but her. At first, Feyd wanted to force her to shave it off but once he ran his hands through that luscious auburn hair— he immediately got her another circle of servants just to care for her hair.

“Damn it.” Arya groaned as the servant pulled her hair. “Don’t you know how to brush hair?”

Arya stayed quiet, holding back a laugh— she forgot that she was the only woman with hair. The servant took a step back after another one shoved her, they continued doing the hairdo.

After a few minutes, the room door opened. It was the son of Feyd and Arya, Rabban. A sweet boy, long white hair, very pale, blue eyes.

“My dearest love.” Arya sensed her boy, but as she turned around, she saw her boy— beaten up and sad. She hurried to hold his face. “What has happened?”

“Father wasn’t there in my training. My trainer laughed, everyone did…” Rabban looked away, feeling ashamed. His father had raised him to be great! Not this weak and pathetic thing.

“You will be as good as your father one day, perhaps even better.” Arya spoke lovingly. Caressing her little boy’s face.

She may have not looked like him, but she loved this boy as if he was herself reincarnated. She pulled him in for a hug. Something rare in Giedi Prime.

“Go get dressed. We’ll have to be in the arena in a moment.” Arya said softly, her lips pressing together as she ran her hand through Rabban’s white hair.

Rabban listened and exited his mother’s bedchamber. Arya turned around and gave the servants a glaring look as they were staring at her like idiots, not doing their job of dressing her. The servants quickly rushed to her and started to undress her.

The next hour, they were already in the balconies of the Gladiator Arena. Arya was wearing an intricate dark green gown, with decorative chains by her collarbones and a hairpiece with a veil. She and Rabban were sat besides the Baron, sitting straight on her chair, her hands on her lap and a stern face, she used the small binoculars— there they were, Bene Gesserit. She could recognize their veils everywhere.

When Feyd entered, the arena roared. As if everyone in Giedi Prime was blood-thirsty. Arya was disconnected from it, but she had already grown used to it anyways. But her ears perked once she heard that the men he would fight— would be the last remaining of the Atreides. Her house.

She didn’t remember the last time she saw her family. The last thing she heard of them was that the Baron murdered her father. That they basically slaughtered House Atreides. That was her home once, but not now. The Baron looked at her with a smirk and she swallowed, her face still stern, her lips moving a little.

The fight was a blood fest, but she wasn’t thirsty for it. She just wanted her husband to know that she was here, that this time she didn’t hide in her chamber with Rabban. After the victorious battle, the celebrations for Feyd started— this time. He was not present during the feast of indulgence.

Arya knew this tactic. She knew so. So she left the feast and went through the castle’s corridors. She was quick enough to find the Bene Gesserit— Lady Margot Fenring.

“I know your plans, good sister.” Arya was quick to catch up to Lady Margot.

“Then you must know why of those plans. Na-Baroness.” Lady Margot stopped, calm as ever.

“My husband is content with our son. We do not wish to follow the crafted plan of you witche—“

“And that’s exactly why I am here, Arya. You’ve been useless to the sisterhood. You’ve brought nothing but anguish. And now you seem to not follow what we’ve been crafting for centuries.” Lady Margot turned around, facing Arya.

“I’ve done my duty here. I married Feyd, I bore him a child.” Arya spoke firmly.

“A son. A waste of time, a waste of cells. A useless child. We need a girl.” Lady Margot spoke coldly.

“My Rabban is the only child we’ll have. I do not wish to be a puppet in the sisterhood’s plans.” Arya said firmly as she held her head up high.

“You are not a Bene Gesserit. Look at you, not knowing how to use your powers. Powers you inherited from the greatest— our Reverend mother. And yet here you are. Weak.”

Arya rushed to find Feyd afterwards, she wouldn’t let this witch find him first and when she found him wandering around too, she took a deep breath and approached him.

“My darling…” Feyd called Arya.

“You are not in your feast. I worry for you, my love.” Arya spoke softly, reaching for her husband’s arm.

“I do not wish to be part of a spectacle. Not today, at least.”

“The spectacle was the one you out at the gladiator arena.”

“Watch how you talk to me, woman.” Feyd clenched his fist.

Arya scoffed, rolling her eyes before walking closer to him. “That fight it was a insult to me, to my house, to your son, to my blood—”

“Traitor blood, you say— my darling.” Feyd looked at Arya with his ever-menacing look in his eyes.

“Our son would’ve desired respect be shown to his blood.” Arya said, looking up at Feyd. He only smirked.

“Our son or you— Arya Atreides.”

Arya stared at Feyd, tears pricking her eyes. Feyd would often try to mock/insult her by calling her by her birth name. Atreides were considered traitors, disgusting, a dishonorable house— tow which it was slaughtered. But Arya, she would never be able to escape her very own blood.

“You out of all people, should not forget who you are. An outsider among us natives, my darling. It’s because of me that you have a place here. It’s because of me that you weren’t slaughtered too.” Feyd caressed Arya’s cheek, roughly yet gently.

That night, Feyd took Arya, one, two, three, four, five times before he actually grew exhausted. Arya stared at the ceiling. What if she were in Paul’s shoes? She would’ve end up dead but she would have been happy with her parents, not stuck in some foreign planet.

‘But this would all be worth if’ she thought to herself. She would find something for this to be worth it. For all these sacrifices to we worth something.

Perhaps killing the Baron would make it all worth it, if anything— she despised that fat man more than anything. The Baron was very jealous of her, because she took all of Feyd’s precious attention, because she was now Feyd’s motivation, because every kill, every execution, every battle— everything was for her. Not for him no more.

There is a reason why Feyd and Arya talked in whispers when they got near one of the Baron’s slaves.

A slave would say anything he heard if it meant getting their lives spared for one more day.

But Feyd had one goal in mind: be a Baron. He wasn’t a dirty Atreides or a weak Corrino, he was a Harkonnen— he was going to act the Harkonnen way.

Author’s note: This is kinda like an introduction, I hope to update frequently but because I’m in Uni, I’ll probably take long periods. Thank you for reading and I REALLY Appreciate comments! Love y’all!

[oshinohoshi]

Oshi no Ko Chapter 165 thoughts

At this point we're just suffering.

I cannot get on board with Hikaru as a villainous mastermind. The fuck were we doing for the entire movie arc where he was shown in a sympathetic light? Why in ch 155 did he supposedly have a change of heart only for a plot twist to wreck everything?

It's not that Hikaru would have been absolved of responsibility for Yura's murder because he was abused. It's just that before the stupid Nino twist he wasn't an undeniable monster

Akasaka created someone more interesting, human, and who was flawed in a way that wasn't over the top, and then yanked it away

You're telling me that sad boy Hikaru who blamed himself for Ai leaving him began to manipulate Ryosuke and Nino mere months after the breakup? Please

Anyway... grief is terrible. This chapter was miserable to read

Some people are using this as an opportunity to shit on Kana which is ridiculous. Is slapping a corpse in front of his family not great? Yeah. Does she have every damn reason to? I'd say so

Heartbreak is not just a phrase. It actually hurts. It can cause chest pain, headaches, shortness of breath. There's something called broken heart syndrome which can be caused by grief or stress. It affects the heart's ability to pump blood effectively

Point being that grief is physically and emotionally painful and a breakdown is totally normal

I agree with Gotanda's reasoning about releasing 15 YRL, however the film is now inextricably tied to Aqua's death

Where is Ai in all this? Why isn't she on this poster??? I thought this was a film about her life

Her name may very well never be mentioned again despite being the backbone of this story

This is why cult leader Hikaru is the best character. He's the only person who has remembered her since ch 155

Judging by her white stars, Ruby is probably going to pull through. While I don't want a nihilistic end, we have ONE chapter left. Can this really be earned?

And can it be done in a way that doesn't accidentally portray Aqua's murder-suicide in a positive light in the sense that Ruby living on and achieving her dreams reinforces what Aqua died for?

Next chapter: So here we are, very nearly at the end of all things. I am glad you are here with me, OnK fan community. It's been a journey.

Send your good vibes to marillust, a super talented fanartist, who is really sad about losing Aqua. They're cycling between depression and denial and I really get that.

I feel like I have to defend my dislike of this ending by talking about previously established themes, bad twists, etc. in order to not be shouted down by the "what did you expect? This was always a tragedy" crowd, but I'm just gonna say it.

I wanted Aqua to move on and be happy! I wanted Ai's wish for her kids to grow up healthy to be fulfilled. I wanted Aqua to call both his mothers "mom." I wanted him to value his life and see that the people around him loved him and needed him.

I didn't want Ai's death to be meaningless. I didn't want Ruby to lose her most important person. I didn't want Miyako to lose her son, Kana to never get to say "I love you," and Akane to never rebuild her relationship with Aqua.

I wish we'd gotten this and this and a spinoff manga about this.

All right, it's fine. Deep breaths. Time to stare at Ai art until I feel better. Here's a sketch Mengo did of her riding a dragon. Isn't that cute?

[carrot-felisidad]

VOTE FIRST BEFORE READING BELOW. REACH INTO YOUR HEART AND VOTE FOR WHAT YOU REALLY WANT!

Warning: I chose violence everyday and I'm your passive aggressive friend who cares for you.

I'm giving you White Head Ribbon because... My girl, my boy, my enby baby, my bothsie, treat this as a wake up call. You need restraint. You need to start creating a list of principles that you think would turn you into your dream self, and stop doing things based on short term pleasure. I know I can't stop you for most as you have ADHD and/or autism, but the more you cater to your short term whims, the more you hate yourself. You also need the silence and peace in the cloud recesses. You may not know it, but your soul has been craving for some alone time. Seclude yourself in Hanshi if you want, just let your soul rest for a while.

I'm giving you a clarity bell because... You've been empathizing with people for so long that I wish for you to get out of the muddy puddle that is other people's problem and get back to your own energy. My sad baby empath... it's okay to say no. You've been in the Empathy ritual for so long, and a lot of people have been telling you to get out of it, the friend that you have been empathizing with is long dead, just a walking corpse who only see you as a free therapist, nothing else. They don't even want to change. You need this bell, boo. Clang clang clang or whatever.

I'm giving you a Vermillion Mark because... I want you to be proud of yourself for once. Acknowledge your hard work and credentials, stop brushing them off as "only", because I need you to bag that promotion and/or RESPECT FROM EVERYBODY, as what you deserve. Oh, you think you're not actually that good? Your achievements are nothing?? Well, I want you to get over your imposter syndrome because Su She was out there creating his own sect by being a pretentious wannabe!!! He has no skills and is only a steve jobs fanatic! You?! You have real skills. Wear this vermillion mark and show them! Jin Ling was bullied all his life by mere nobodies but he knew from day one that he's the GOAT. And always remember that you have someone who will fight alongside you, who will break their legs if they hurt you.

I'm giving you a Fan with Paintings in it because... I want you to follow your dreams. You may be raised in a family or culture where you are assumed to follow a certain path. Be relentless that you are living your life. The point of life is to be enjoyed, not to be someone else's puppet, ain't no way! And don't worry about where your life will lead you. You are smart and scheming, you know your subject. You will lead a fruitful life wherever you go. Stop living your life to get someone else's validation. Actually do things that make you happy. You deserve a life worth living.

I'm giving you a Bamboo Flute because... You need to practice necromancy, lol. Use the dead for your own goals... Stop a war or plant some vegetbales... Haha i think, um, idk the agressiv spirit guide who was ghost writing through me just fled to get some pizza she ain't coming back haha. Research about shadow work (it's an actuall clinical thingy) and rise above the challenges. Come back with the coolest fashion statement. Stop being a people pleaser and start being an feared entity. OVERCOME YOUR MEASLY HUNAN CONDITIONS AND BECOME A DEMONIC CULTIVATIR! Wei Wuxian did not die and came back to life to orove nothing!

[tharrb]

“Sad white boy syndrome”

[obetrolncocktails]

Worry | Josh Kiszka X Reader

Warnings: Imposter syndrome, general insecurities, fluffy ending!

Word Count: 3.3K

A/N: I wrote most of this a few months ago after a televised charity event that GVF performed at, but I can't remember which one it was right now...I just remember the vibes being weird, and them not handing out roses, but they sounded incredible...so it kinda inspired me to write some angsty/sad stuff...don't worry, though. It ends on a good note.

Summary: An off-performance has pulled Josh into a depressive mood, and you're not sure what happened until you read his words off of the pages of his journal.

What if in the end, there’s no hands to reach for the white roses every night? No one singing our songs? Not a single tear shed from the meaningful experiences that tie us so close but so far from one another?

What if the stage lights dim and we wake up asking ourselves, ‘Where do we go from here?’

When will we know that we’ve stepped onto the final stage, and what will be the final utterance of those anthems that were once so intrinsically embedded within us? 

I fear…I fear that one day…

I fear that one day we will walk away, having spilled those last drops of determination for a door that ends up closing anyway. 

I never want to wake up to a day without you singing my songs back to me, your hands reaching out to me just to say, “I appreciate you–I love you–and we’re in this together…” 

It’s a painful burden that I carry…to even think about the possibility of it. But still, after performances like tonight’s, I just can’t help it. 

***

“Baby, you can’t sleep in all day. It’s literally almost one o’clock,” you whined, rolling over to rock Josh out of his seemingly impenetrable slumber. 

“Arggggh,” he grumbled, turning his body away from you, rolling back into the warmth of the comforter and pillows. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled. 

You should and would have been annoyed, but something in you softened, his body somehow beckoning for you. You crawled into bed beside him and wrapped your arms around his, leaning in to kiss his bare shoulder. You didn’t speak because you felt like you didn’t need to. One of his hands moved to drape over yours, squeezing your fingers lovingly. His head tilted slightly and he opened his eyes to groggily look at you. The sleep in his gaze, matched with the unkempt state of his hair made him look devastatingly beautiful in the natural light of the room. His amber eyes flooded into yours, and though he hadn’t smiled yet, you could see the love expressed through them. 

“Good morning, baby,” you said softly. 

“Afternoon,” he corrected, rolling over on his back and pulling you into his embrace to lay your head on his exposed chest. You laid there for a few drawn-out moments, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the warmth of his skin against your face. You enjoyed the tickle as his fingers ran through the length of your hair. He was particularly quiet today and you took notice, though you didn’t comment on it. 

“Usually you’re not such a late sleeper,” you spoke, looking up at him. You watched him as he stared straight ahead. You could tell that he was already so deep in thought when you spoke. 

“Hmm? Oh, well–just had to work the crowd a bit extra last night,” he said evasively. You knew he wasn’t telling the complete truth because he didn’t look you in the eye when he spoke–something he was usually very good at…He was far away today, and you weren’t sure why. You had mentioned going to the show last night to see them, but you had also made the trip to see the boys in three of their previous consecutive dates on tour. 

“It’s just for charity. We’re making an appearance–performing a quick set this time, shouldn’t be a big deal,” he had said as he sipped on his throat coat tea. “I know you’d prefer some time by yourself, baby.” He seemed nonchalant about the performance, but nonetheless excited to put on a show like any other day. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him again. You loved watching him and the boys perform. The charisma and talent was there every single night to a degree that left you constantly astonished at their endurance. It had to be tiring, but for Josh–he never seemed to let it wear him down. Yes, he had dealt with several health issues in the past, but he moved forward despite them, choosing to dismiss them as one of the sacrifices of being a touring band. It didn’t help considering how long the band had been touring over the last year. 

Today, however, he seemed especially distant–worryingly so. 

“I’m gonna go shower,” he said quietly, rolling out of bed and sauntering across the room. 

“Want me to join?” You asked with a hopeful tone, offering him a soft smile. 

“Oh, I won’t be in there long, baby. Just a quick shower. Love you,” he said, denying your offer. He leaned over the bed and pecked your lips quickly before turning and walking into the bathroom. 

You watched him turn and start the shower, and swallowed down the disappointment. 

Your eyes scanned the hotel room for a long moment, missing the look of his room at home, the comfort of the familiar and cozy space that you both knew so well. You pushed the sheets off of the bed and began to roll off of it, still feeling the warmth of Josh’s side. As you stepped off of the bed, you began to slip. Your eyes flew downward to regain your center of gravity. What the… you thought as you righted yourself, looking down to discover what you had slipped on. Josh’s journal. You bent to reach for it, picking it up, when a piece of paper from the hotel notepad slipped out of the pages and fell to the floor. The piece of paper had been extensively written on and it looked like it had been crumpled and discarded at first. You assumed Josh decided differently and decided to tuck it back into the book. Your eyes flitted up to the bathroom, hearing nothing except the water running and Josh humming a random tune. You didn’t want to invade his privacy, but something about this piece of paper urged you to flip it over and read it anyway. 

You sat at the edge of the bed, absorbing the words he had written on the page. You read them over and over, trying your best not to miss a single word. Anxiety wracked your body, both from the chances of being caught, and from the dense, emotional text. It broke your heart that Josh would even think about the fans not being there. From all of the shows that you had attended, the venues had gotten increasingly larger, the crowds louder and more dedicated–it just didn’t make sense that he would consider these things, let alone write them down. These feelings were very real, and he hadn’t told you about any of it. You gulped down your own feelings and slipped the paper back into the journal, setting it on the bedside table before reaching for your phone. You searched on twitter for any tell-tale signs that would tell you what the problem was. Admittedly, you didn’t watch the livestream last night. When you had told Josh, he had actually seemed relieved that you didn’t. At the time it had perplexed you. Now you wanted to kick yourself for missing it. 

‘Oh shit, let me tell you. I would claw someone’s eyes out for a rose from Josh. I wish he would have given them out,’ one tweet had said. ‘Bro that crowd was dead as fuck. They deserved better,’ another wrote. ‘They looked so upset while they played,’ read the third tweet. That was all you needed to see. You tossed your phone on the bed and got dressed. You and Josh needed to get out of these cramped four walls.

You got dressed within minutes and chose an outfit that Josh loved–a simple, slouchy pullover paired with jeans and boots. He had always told you that you made simple beauty look most exquisite because you didn’t have to try. That was the thing about Josh. He is who he is because of the amount of love that overwhelms his body, mind and soul. He wants nothing but the best for others, and most of the time he portrays the role of the cockeyed optimist. But today, you couldn’t help but watch his sparkle dim through the invisible storm cloud that schlepped above his head and into the shower.  

“Feel better?” you asked softly as he walked into the bedroom with a towel wrapped neatly around his waist. 

He nodded with a gentle smile. “I needed it, I think.” He looked at you. “You look beautiful, baby. Where are you going?” 

“You mean, where are we going?” You said, emphasizing ‘we.’ “We’re going on a walk. Let’s get out here. I’m tired of looking out from ten stories up, and I think you need a change in scenery.” You spoke lightheartedly. You knew he would attempt to stay in, but you wouldn’t let him. 

“Eh, well, I was just thinking about staying in, catching up on reading. I’ve been trying to finish that book for a week, you know,” he said, pinching the hair at the nape of his neck, indicating that though he wasn’t lying, the book wasn’t the reason he wanted to hide. 

“Josh. I am asking you to spend time with me. It’s not often that you have a day off with me, and I can tell you’re upset about something,” you said, stepping closer to him, taking his hand in yours. “Talk to me. A short walk. We don’t have to go to any stores…no cars…not even lunch. Just a walk. You and me,” you said, looking into his eyes, neutralizing your expression. “Please.”

Maybe you were being overbearing. Guilt tugged at you slightly, but you pushed it back down. You didn’t ever want Josh to feel like he needed to retreat emotionally, that he couldn’t speak to you. He hadn’t said much about the concert last night, anyway. So this would give you an opportunity to ask him. Surprisingly, he didn’t argue further. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, offering you a gentle smile that simultaneously filled your heart and broke it at the same time. 

The walk began quietly as you held hands, taking time to watch people and to take in the view of the busy city, watching so many people flit in and out of shops with armfuls of shopping bags. 

“No shopping,” Josh said with a grin, squeezing your hand. 

“I know,” you said, copying his expression. “But you can’t blame me for just looking,” you said, pushing into his shoulder playfully. 

“Can I buy you a coffee?” You asked. “I think we could both use the pick-me-up.”

“I’m buying,” he said. “Me paying it forward for waking up so late.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, you both stepped out with fresh drinks in hand, sipping blissfully on the liquid joy. “Worth it. So worth it,” you said, the words falling out in a sing-song flutter. Josh was already well into his beverage, having tipped his nitro cold brew at an almost gulp. 

“I got this while you were waiting for the drinks,” you said, lifting a croissant in the air. 

“Give me some,” he said, reaching for the pastry as you walked together. 

“No, no no. It’s for the geese,” you told him. 

“Geese?” He asked, his brow wrinkling. You couldn’t help but giggle at how his nose crinkled. The way the corner of his lips tilted made your belly flip. 

“Come on, I saw them before we got coffee.” You took his hand and led him into an urban park that served as an oasis away from the honking horns, industrial screech of construction, and shouting people. In the center of the park, there was a rectangular man-made pond installed. There were several benches lining the perimeter. Gaggles of ducks and geese waddled about, taking bread and seeds from passersby. You led the way, walking to an empty bench and sitting down. Josh pulled you lovingly into his arms, something that was so innate, he didn’t even have to think about it. You both sat quietly, tearing pieces off of the croissant and tossing them to the ground, watching the birds peck at them. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, breaking the silence as you flung a piece in front of you. He looked up from the ground at you. 

“Sure,” he said, tossing a piece of croissant into his mouth. 

“What happened last night at the concert?” You asked, immediately regretting even mentioning it. He turned rigid as soon as the words left your mouth. 

“Eh, it was just a concert, not that much to report.” 

“Please don’t lie to me,” you said slowly, your voice shrinking quieter and quieter. He stopped talking. His eyes told you what you needed to know. You looked up at him, matching his gaze.

“I saw something that you wrote–this morning, before we left. I shouldn’t have read it, it was personal–” You spoke, adjusting nervously in your seat. He looked like he was going to turn green. You continued. 

“Josh, are you seriously worried about the band because of some stupid charity concert?” 

“You read my journal? Why would you do that?” He asked, his face growing angry before calming slightly. “And It wasn’t a stupid concert. It was for charity,” he corrected pointedly. “But you weren’t there. You don’t know. It was fucking embarrassing.” 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have read it, and I’m sorry. But what do you mean it was embarrassing. What happened?” You asked, pulling your feet up on the bench to sit cross legged.

“No one sang our songs, no one swayed to light my love…no one even clapped, really.” He tossed more bread to the ground as he spoke. “We didn’t even give the roses away.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you knew very well. 

“I didn’t even pass out roses, Y/n. There was no one to give them to.” 

“Okay, but that was just one concert,” you said, trying your best to be encouraging. “And it wasn’t your show, you know. You weren’t headlining.” 

“You’re not making me feel better, babe,” Josh said, looking over at you with an ironically amused expression. He shrugged before speaking again. “I don’t really know why I feel the way I do. It’s stupid.” 

You placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s not stupid. Not in the slightest. There is so much pressure on all of you to do a great job every single night–and you know what? You’re also human. Did you feel this way the other night in Raleigh?” He shook his head. 

“No, that show was amazing,” he said, softly sniffling, looking ahead of you over the sparkling water. “This one just didn’t feel the same.” He shook his head. 

“You will play thousands and thousands of shows, Josh. Many of them will be strange, some will have technical difficulties, and others? Hell, you might forget the words or I don’t know, bust an ear drum?” You asked with a smirk. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Those were extenuating circumstances.” 

“My point is, you’ve got to shake this one off. You have millions of people out there that depend on your music to speak to them every night when you step on stage. You mean so much to so many people, and one weird show or performance can’t discount that, can it?” 

He shook his head. “No, not really. I just don’t want to disappoint them.” 

“You’ll disappoint them if you stop telling stories. You have a gift, Josh–and I’m not telling you this because I love you. The first thing I noticed about you when I first saw you play was the passion you have for music, and even more so, for your brothers. Jake, Sam, and Danny count on you just as much as you count on them,” you say. He picked at the seam of his pants while he listened. “I have an idea.” 

He looked up at you expectantly. “What?” 

“Why don’t you guys take some time during sound check tomorrow to play with something new? Something you love…literally anything. Take a break from this music for a second. You guys need to jam, you know?” You got up and decided you didn’t care about the way you looked. You began to play the air guitar in front of him. “Sing your favorite songs, right?” His eyes followed you as you pranced around in front of him, mimicking Danny and the way he plays the drums, and you tried your best to copy his expressions. Josh chuckled softly, revealing a row of sparkling teeth. “Sing with me,” you said, stepping forward to pull him off the bench. 

“You’re crazy,” he said, coming to stand beside you. You didn’t stop dancing. You’d do whatever you could to pull the sadness and insecurity from his body, even if it meant embarrassing yourself in public. 

“Not as crazy as you are. You do this every night for a living,” you fired back. He took your hands and danced terribly, his body lurching and tilting in ways that looked far more like interpretive dance. You cackled. Loudly. So loudly, your cheeks filled with warmth, and your gut began to pinch as your belly hitched with laughter. Josh reached for you again, returning to the pathetic dance routine. Eventually you both broke apart breathlessly, having completely forgotten about the rough start to the day. You both relaxed back into the park bench and you pulled yourself into his arms, laying your head against his chest. 

“You’re right,” he said after a long time, looking down at you. You flicked your eyes up to meet his gaze. “That show doesn’t matter, and I honestly feel like I did some of my best singing, too.” His fingers wound loosely through your hair. “It’s just all so precarious, you know?” He asked the question, but really, you didn’t know. You weren’t a musician by trade, you were just a good partner. His partner. “I don’t want us to fade into nothing. That just scares the shit out of me.” 

“Then continue to tell an honest story,” you told him. “You’ll always have someone listening if you remember why you all started this in the first place. It’s because you had and still have something to say. Do you think you’ve run out of stories yet?” You asked him. 

“Not by a long shot,” he answered. 

“Then, maybe it’s time to go back to your roots and write from the heart–introduce something new that feels nostalgic and special at the same time.” 

“I think you’re on to something,” Josh said, adjusting in his seat to cross his arms across his chest. “You know what? After the show tomorrow, I think we all need to get together and just play.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking of some lyrics, so maybe Jake and I could try some melodies and see what works.” You couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face. 

“And I’ll be there in the corner giggling while you argue with Jake. Maybe Danny will invite me to play minigolf while you two figure it out.” 

“I guess it’s all part of the…creative process.” Josh added with a grin. 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” you told him, taking his hand in yours. 

“Well, we’ve got a while until then. For now, let’s go do something fun,” Josh changed the subject, standing up and taking the lead. “Have it in you to risk your life for a crappy, creaky roller-coaster and a corndog?” You tilted your head, a bit unsure of what he had up his sleeve. 

“Come on, every large coastal city has some type of Coney Island knock-off. Let’s go on an adventure.” His entire mood had shifted to one of optimism and curiosity, and you weren’t about to say no to him. 

“Only if you win me a gigantic plushie.” You said with a bright smile.  

“I'll check another bag on the plane if I have to,” He said, leaning forward to kiss you gently on the lips. 

“Deal,” you agreed happily, returning the kiss against his lips, letting him take the first step forward out of the park.

____

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[thehauntedinfirmary]

Fic Rec Friday Edition 24

Welcome to Fic Rec Friday! We're in the mood for some longfics for this cozy December evening, so settle in and read along!

Hell for the Holidays by ma_malice Complete | 23k words

“There will be no sacrifice,” Shane said for the third time since they’d landed in Illinois. “Not so much as a chicken. Stop being weird.” Shane takes Ryan home for the holidays. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Santa Daddies by drunkkenobi Complete | 3k words

“I really think we should just tell her,” Shane argued. “Kids find out anyway, might as well have our girl be ahead of the class.” “Shane, she’s three!” Ryan shot back. “All kids should believe in Santa at three!” Or: Ryan and Shane vs The Santa Problem

The Young and the Hopeless by mccxxvi Complete | 54k words

He lifted the towel to wipe his small mirror, when he saw it. There was writing on the mirror, a single word wiped into the condensation, written with a finger, a set of tidy, straight letters. Alexander. Ryan almost screamed. The ghost wanted Ryan to find his murderer and bring him to the light. Alexander must have been whoever murdered him. Ryan sighed, resigned to be the detective responsible for it. “Fine, I’ll find this Alexander you want. But I don’t know what to do afterwards,” he said to his empty room. A 1960s Professor!Shane/PhDstudent!Ryan gothic novel flavored AU fic, because i know a market gap when i see one.

A Ghoul's Guide to Life, Death & Afterliving by MercurySkies Complete | 70k words

'Shane was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that, to quote ‘the’ Charles Dickens with an emphasis on the 'dick'. They didn’t tell you the great Victorian novelist was also a grade A asshole in high school but then again what do they tell you in high school? Shane Madej was dead, as dead as one disembodied soul standing seemingly above his own corpse probably can be.'

The Last Days Of The Bergara Gang by PhyllisDietrichson Complete | 41k words

“Plus,” and he smiles with all of his white teeth, “if we’d left you there much longer to cardsharp that crew, likely your night would have ended with a knife to the throat.” He reaches out as if to graze his fingers over Shane’s clavicle, then remembers himself at the last minute. His hand hovers in the air. “And what a shame it would be, to mar that throat.” “Do you—what do you want, Bergara?” Shane stammers out. He winces at the waver in his voice. “You,” he responds, his eyes sweeping up to meet him with a gaze that pierces Shane between the ribs.

hey boy, take a look at me by weakspots Complete | 18k words

Ryan is 27, for Christ’s sake, and he’s not exactly hideous, so there’s really no reason to spend his money on a dude — a dude — whose face he’ll never see but whose livestreams he’s been jerking off to for roughly 4 months now. He should be going out and partying and fucking random chicks. Or a guy, whatever, just to get it out of his system and confirm to himself that he really is 100% straight. Because he is. This is morbid curiosity, if anything.

Whatever The Opposite Of Lesbian Sheep Syndrome Is by orphan_account Complete | 9k words

Shane was the one who kissed, not the one who was kissed. Shane was the one who did the holding, not the one who was held, and that was fine.

made it so far in time by addandsubtract Complete | 12k words

“I’m, uh. I’m pretty sure the you I’m friends with is older,” Ryan says, and then winces.

use somebody by bodhirookes Complete | 10k words

“You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met,” Shane says over the sound of Ryan’s workout noises, which are equal parts distracting and hideous. “Why can’t you just be a lazy asshole like the rest of us?” “I have a figure and reputation to maintain,” Ryan grits out, not even pausing to look at him. “Can’t be a big, bad ghost hunter without my guns.” Or, Shane has a thing for Ryan's muscles and Ryan has a thing for Shane having a thing.

a child's answer by deerie Complete | 2k words

“You know, it’s kind of sad about the Queen Mary,” Ryan says as they make their way to the mess hall. “That’s where I saw a ghost for the first time.” Shane stares at him incredulously. Ryan can tell that he wants to say something, but is refraining. He’ll have to find the video of the tube of toothpaste being knocked off the counter as proof to show Shane. Ryan remembers the panic he felt in that moment: the revelation that something existed outside of the realm of what he understood. It’s the same feeling that he had when the Kaiju first appeared, thrashing and tearing and ripping buildings and bridges to shreds.

A Symptom of Time by fightingfuries WIP | 12k words

"Sure," Shane says easily like he doesn't believe Ryan for a second. "You're living out the plot of the 1993 Bill Murray vehicle Groundhog Day. Now where does the kissing factor in, exactly?" "You were all like 'I'm Shane, I don't believe in magic but you should find a tall brunette to kiss.’" Shane laughs again, helplessly. "I'm the tall brunette? I obviously meant Andie McDowell." He catches himself. "If I had said that, which I didn't, because time loops aren't real."

Want to learn more about The Haunted Infirmary? Check out our pinned post!

[partywithponies]

Glossary of media discussion terms I invented myself and then bring up casually as though you should know what I mean (AKA Tash Translation Guide):

The Inherent Eroticism of Solving Crimes Together:

the simple fact that the kinds of common character dynamics between the two leads of any given detective or mystery or police show (i.e. trust, devotion, talk of being "partners", sneaking around together in the dead of night) are often very easily read as romantic or sexual to fandom-brained people, even if that obviously wasn't the intention. Even if one of them's already married. Even if there's a 30 year age gap. Doesn't matter

The Holliday Grainger Effect/Holliday Grainger Syndrome:

Named for the actress Holliday Grainger and the MULTIPLE TIMES she has been cast as the less attractive/less desirable narrative foil to the more conventionally attractive and desirable female lead, as though we're all supposed to pretend Holliday Grainger isn't also an incredibly beautiful woman

The Milton Keynes Conspiracy:

Named for my joke conspiracy theory about the teen soap Grange Hill, in which I claim that within the Grange Hill universe, Milton Keynes isn't actually a real place, and that whenever a character disappears suddenly with the only explanation given being that they "moved to Milton Keynes", that was just code for them having been disappeared by the government for getting too close to The Truth™️, and every time something odd or unexplained happens or something major is just brushed under the rug and forgotten about, that was all just shady alien-related government activity and all part of The Milton Keynes Conspiracy. I tend to bring up The Milton Keynes Conspiracy whenever a show's canon, continuity, or geography makes absolutely no sense under close scrutiny and the only "logical" explanations left are things like time loops or aliens or cracks in space and time or government conspiracies.

Bastard Man (Affectionate) and Bastard Man (Derogatory):

A very important distinction. The sparknotes version is that a Bastard Man (Affectionate) is a Card Carrying Bastard who does it all with charm and charisma and confidence, knows they're a bastard and takes a twisted pride in it, and is at least funny about it, while the Bastard Man (Derogatory) is just whiny and sad and won't actually admit to being a bastard man, and usually the narrative won't admit it either and keeps treating him like a tragic hero no matter what. Has a tendency to just get away with stuff with no payoff and isn't even funny about it. Shares a lot of DNA with:

Sadboy:

My absolute least favourite character archetype, though that's purely subjective and there are still SOME Sadboys I like. I know that my opinions are not universal because part of the reason I have such a visceral dislike for them is because they're often tumblr sexymancoded and I cannot escape them in the show's tags. They're wet. They're pathetic. They're miserable. And they're pretty. Usually played by a skinny pale white boy. (Like I said. Tumblr sexymancoded). And because of this, the show and the fandom alike will expect you to ignore the fact they're an awful person and excuse everything they've ever done wrong. Look, you can't be mad at them, look how sad they are about it. Look at their big wet puppydog eyes. In fact they haven't done anything wrong at all and you're crazy for saying they have. It's everyone who was mean to him who is wrong and his wife/girlfriend is a bitch for getting mad at him. He's just a sad wet little meow meow. Ugh. Disgusting. When will [REDACTED ACTORS HERE] answer for what they and their characters have done to me.

[blackberry-s0da]

Not an ask idk how to just say something so I’m using the ask box-

Hi! I think your style is very pretty, always love seeing more styles like this, it’s so soft and helps me learn anatomy better.

When I first saw your art I was a bit confused but after actually taking the time to look at your asks before commenting “yOuR ArT lOoKs LiKe CaNiSaLbUs” I realized “this person actually learned a lot of their style from the same artists that inspire mine”

And I’m sure you’ll be added to the many artists that make me excited to art!

I hope this didn’t sound rude. I think your style looks uniquely you! Also I love how simplistic but recognizable Mercy(? Dog thats white and blackish grayish sad boi) is!

Have a lovely day thank you for sticking with it <3

Thank you, I appreciate it and don’t take offense on any of it.

While on it I don’t think I’ll give much space to this topic anymore. Recent event plus the small comparisons that snowballed into straight up harassment has taken a toll on me at this point.

I immensely appreciate all the support, I struggle with some self esteem issues and impostor syndrome in many occasions, so the whole mountain of support last month was hugely welcomed but also hugely overwhelming as I sometimes feel it’s undeserved. It doesn’t help that it was all a direct consequence of hateful/rude asks, I felt very conflicted listened to both sides but always appreciated the positivity .

I try to think I’m (to an extent) different on my own way like every artist, not out of a feeling of specialness but because I think we all are, but a couple days ago something happened and it has taken a huge toll on me, on how I feel as an artist. I’ve worked very hard to come out of my negative views regarding what I make and it took years to get better, but I feel like I’ve fallen back a bit and I’m trying to recover for the time being.

At this point I think I’m rambling too much, but I wanted to say that since I left out of the blue. Thank you and anyone that supported me.

[xoxiu]

twinkle - ot7 x reader

chapter 09 table of contents masterlist join the taglist

summary: she had just wanted attention, that’s why she kept texting the strange number, updating him on everything in her life. little did she know how dangerous this relationship actually was. it had been jimin’s idea to kidnap the girl, but the ability to travel across the world to actually do it had been all hoseok’s doing. convenient how some things work, right? they knew that they were destined to have their baby with them, whether she wanted it or not.

tags/warnings: kidnapping, forced age regression, spanking, noncon, mafia au, drug use, stockholm syndrome, caregiver!bts, little!reader, nonsexual, diapers, panic attacks, fluff and angst, sickfic, referenced child abuse, unrequited love

No matter what they tried, Ophelia always fought it back. A week passed and everyone felt like they made no progress whatsoever with their little. To be truthful, they were being very passive and lenient with Ophelia solely because they hated seeing her so panicked and stressed. She would scream, squirm, pinch, and, her new favorite, bite until she could escape whoever was holding her, and the boys just let her. Scolding her was useless, and typically ended up with her giving them an 'are-you-serious?' look with her eyebrows raised, a look of amusement in her eyes because how dare they think she's five. Time-outs now were a 50/50 chance of her either running away and hiding, or with Ophelia thinking too much, and the caregivers not being able to refocus her attention even hours after her corner time had ended. 

All of this was different for Yoongi. While the rest of the boys shied away from punishments, Yoongi used them liberally. Ophelia refusing the take her bottle? A few swats and she'd bolt straight onto whoever's lap, typically Jin's, and have the bottle halfway gone in mere seconds. Throwing a mini tantrum in her caregiver's arms? A stern look from Yoongi and she'd calm down immediately. It almost was comical how obedient and compliant Ophelia became once the short-tempered blonde came into question, yet sad once the others thought about how she did it out of fear. 

But, it worked. Yoongi had cracked the code to getting Ophelia to listen. Once they all could get the girl under control, they would be able to turn her into their perfect little girl. 

Their plan was set in place on a day that Ophelia woke up extra crabby. Jimin knew it was only because the poor little one stayed up all night coughing, so she was more than overtired when Jimin woke her up. She even fell back asleep when Jimin laid her down to change her.

The whining and scratching began once Jimin picked her back up after she had been changed. At first, Jimin could barely feel her small nails digging into his skin (they just trimmed them the night before), but as Ophelia woke up she put more power and pressure into the assault. Jimin gave her a clear warning, telling her to stop and maneuvering her hands so he held them behind her back. This only angered Ophelia more, and she dug her nails into the hands holding hers. 

Wordlessly, Jimin walked towards the dresser and grabbed a pair of white mittens with a pink heart on the inside of the wrist and pink string to tighten them. As he attempted to put them on Ophelia's hands, Ophelia violently squirmed, trying to get away. Jimin didn't want the girl to accidentally hurt herself, so he sat her down on the rocking chair so she wouldn't fall out of his arms. 

Ophelia tried to run, but Jimin was blocking her path. He was still trying to put the mittens on her hands, but Ophelia quickly hid them behind her back. 

"Lia, give Mommy your hands," Jimin said with a sigh, feeling his annoyance rise exponentially.

"Fuck no," Ophelia's voice dripped with attitude and sass- probably not the best tone of voice, the girl realized soon after, but there was no way she'd wear those stupid gloves. 

Jimin grabbed Ophelia by her upper arm, pulling her up and into a corner of the nursery. He returned back to the rocking chair and sat down; he was just a step or two away from the girl if she decided to bolt out. "You can leave the corner when you decide to put on your mittens."

Like usual, Ophelia tensed up at the harshness of his voice. The tone wasn't something she was used to- at least from her kidnappers. Her parents always spoke to her in that threatening, spiteful tone of voice, making her feel as if she were walking on eggshells. While the men never reached that extreme, she still associated it with the shitty, scary feeling of her parents' wrath and disappointment. While she'd never admit it, she absolutely loved when the men spoke to her with terms of endearment, no matter how strange or weird it felt. It just felt nice to be spoken softly and kindly to, and it made her chest feel soft and her mind fuzzy. 

Oh God, Ophelia thought with a mental groan. That's the Stockholm Syndrome setting in.

Ophelia was torn from her thoughts by Jimin reminding her of the stupid fucking mittens. Deciding it was best to get it over with, Ophelia turned around and walked towards Jimin, her eyes staring at her sock-clad feet. Jimin took her hands and slipped the mittens on, tying the ribbon so she couldn't take them off easily. Ophelia ignored the smile Jimin gave her, keeping her attention on the mittens. 

Ophelia flinched when Jimin picked her up again. "Do you want to go eat breakfast? I think everyone's downstairs already." Jimin felt her shake her head 'no' from the crook of his neck and reached a hand up to rub her back. "Awh, little one. Why not?"

Over the past week, they've noticed a lot of Ophelia's little quirks. There was always a moment's hesitation whenever she was cuddled, almost as if she wanted the comfort but purposely fought against it. Nap time always made her much more compliant ("Do this and then it's nap time" was perhaps Ophelia's top motivation). A habit they've been trying to get Ophelia out of was how quiet and shy she was. The girl could spew off as many curses and insults as her heart desired, but getting her to actually tell what she wanted and express how she felt was near impossible. That's why when Jimin received only a shrug in response, he wasn't very concerned nor offended. Her quietness was only a cute quirk.

Nevertheless, Jimin carried the girl down into the kitchen, Ophelia kicking and screaming the entire time. The commotion caused all eyes to be on the two entering the kitchen, and Jin immediately reached his arms out to take the fussing baby. 

"What's gotten you all upset?" Jin asked, rubbing her small hands through the mittens. He didn't expect a response other than her continued screams of 'let go' and violent squirming. Wanting to try something different, Jin removed Ophelia from his lap and sat her on the floor next to him. The boys around him gave him curious gazes, and Jimin reached down to pick the girl up before Jin put a hand out to stop him. 

Almost as soon as she touched the ground Ophelia scooted herself against the wall, wanting to distance herself from the men. Looking back up at the table, Ophelia didn't know whether she felt relieved or offended by how no one paid her any mind- they continued eating their breakfast and talking as if she wasn't even there. 

Hoseok looked over at the girl after a few minutes had passed. She sat curled in on herself, her lips pouted and casting a pitiful look towards the table. Hoseok cooed at the sight and held out a piece of melon for Ophelia. "Do you want some?"

Ophelia glanced at the fruit, not sure whether or not to take it. She looked at everyone else- they weren't paying much attention to her currently, so Ophelia deemed it safe to accept the offered fruit. She gave a nod, still not moving from her position against the wall. 

Hoseok chuckled at her enthusiastic nod. "You have to come get it, silly," Hoseok noted how Ophelia looked towards the others, almost as if she was fearful of approaching the table while they were watching. Nevertheless, Hoseok continued to hold out the melon with a comforting smile. Ophelia was just about to come to him when Jimin glanced her way, eyes curiously drawn to her by her movement. She immediately shrunk back down, avoiding the now sad smile on Hoseok's face.

Grabbing the bowl of mixed fruits from the table, Hoseok excused himself from his own nearly-finished breakfast. "Why are you stealing my fruit, hyung?" Jungkook playfully whined, mouth full of the fruit in question. 

"I'm going to feed Ophelia in the living room," he said, sending a quick look towards the girl in question before continuing, this time in a whisper, "I think all of us at once overwhelms her a bit too much."

[creepypast-stories]

Toby "Ticci Toby" Rogers

Disclaimer: This is not my story, nor my art.

The long road home seemed to go on and on. I hope the road isn’t a metaphor for this story. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle endlessly.

The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns, every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes. “This lead to multiple car crashes.” The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. Yeah, this forest is going to get torn down to make way for a strip mall. The only sound was the sound of the cars engine as it traveled down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling.

Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of ‘nice’ for both passengers. “They both hated each other, and were stuck together due to wacky twists of fate.” The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat short brown hair that fit her complexion quite well. She wore a green v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond stud earrings decorated each of her ears which partially showed from behind her hair cut. She had deep green eyes which were brought out by her shirt, and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. Everything here is so green. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any ‘average mother’ that you’d see on TV shows and such, but one thing for sure made her differ from those ‘average mothers’ and that was the dark bags under her eyes. Have you not met mothers?

Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot. “Of course, the reason she smiled was because she was pulling the wings off of butterflies.”

She would sniffle every once in a while, and occasionally glance back in the rear-view mirror to look back at her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, his arms held tight around his chest, and his head pressed against the cold window.

The boy lacked any normal appearance, anyone could blandly see “Blandly see?” Yes, I see so blandly, it’s kind of boring. that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way, and his pale, almost gray skin was brought out by luminescent lighting. Hey, don’t hate on him. He just sits inside and plays video games all day. Nothing wrong with that. His eyes where dark, unlike his mother’s and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital. Well, that was nice of the hospital. The clothes he had worn before where so shredded and blood stained, that they weren't ‘wearable’ any more. “He had been playing ‘Knife Twister’.” The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with his split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged up all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shattered glass. That must’ve been a pain the glass. Yeah, sorry.

His injuries appeared to be painful, when really he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. “Except an urge to become the greatest interpretive dancer the world had ever seen.” That was just one of the glories about being him. IT’S SO GLORIOUS TO BE TOBY! One of the many challenges he had to face growing up, was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Novacainism? Never before had he felt himself get hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. Well, he wouldn’t have felt anything from that arm, at least. That and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nick names in the short time he attended grade school, before he was moved to home schooling was his Tourette Syndrome, which caused him to tic and twitch in ways he couldn't control. Ok, am I the only one who has that South Park episode in their head? You know, the one where Cartman pretends to have Tourettes? You know what, Cartman should be the voice of every Creepypasta character. That would be perfect. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Ticci-Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. And, of course, the teachers did nothing about it. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking, or more like stabbing fun at him. Then why don’t you stab them?

Toby stared blankly out the window, his face was empty of any depict-able emotion, and every few minutes his shoulder, arm, or foot would twitch. “Son of a twitch!” he yelled. Every bump that the car tires hit, made him stomach turn.

Toby Rogers was the boy’s name. Mr. Rogers procreated? I guess there was more going on in the neighborhood than I thought. And the last time Toby remembered riding a car, was when it crashed. That’s got to be awkward when driving around.

That's all he thought about. “That, and why they were in a forest. Wasn’t their house the other way?” Unconsciously replaying everything he had remembered before he blacked out, over and over again. LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAAAAAAAAAIN!

Toby had been the lucky one, when his sister hadn't been so lucky. When the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't help but let his eyes begin to tear up. The horrible memories replayed in his mind. Her screaming that had been cut off when the front of the car was smashed in. It all went blank for a moment before Toby ope ned his eyes to see his sister’s body, her forehead pierced with glass shards, her hips and legs where crushed under the force of the steering wheel, her torso pushed in from the late inflated air bag. This was the last thing he had seen of his dear older sister. Um, can I make a joke here? Um…yeah…moving on…

The road home continued on for what seemed like forever. It took so long to get home due to his mother wanting to avoid passing the sight of the crash. Are there no other routes outside of car crash area and the wilderness?

When the surrounding gave into a familiar neighborhood, they had both been more then ready to get out of the car and step back into their own home. Ah, home sweet home. And considering this a Creepypasta with a young protagonist, it’s probably going have an abusive parent or two.

It was a older neighborhood, with quaint little houses all next to each other. The car drove in front of a little blue house, with white window panes. So they live in a neighborhood from the 50s?

They both quickly noticed the old vehicle that was parked in front of the house, and the familiar figure who stood out in the drive way. Slender Man? No, wait, that’s later in the story. Toby felt automatic anger and frustration take over him at the sight of his father. His father who wasn't there. Wait, he’s angry at the sight of his father, but his father isn’t there? I’m confused.

His mother pulled the car up into the driveway beside him before turning off the engine and preparing to step out and face her husband.

“Why is he here?” Toby said quietly as he looked back at his mother who reached to open the car door. “Because he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s rather annoying like that. If you ever go batshit insane, you should totally kill him.”

“He’s your father Toby, he’s here because he wants to see you,” His mother responded with a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky.

“Yet he couldn't have driven up to the hospital to see Lyra before she died,” Toby narrowed his eyes out the window. So, this is number three on the “Weird names from Creepypasta stories that start with ‘L’”. We got Liu, Lonnie, and now Lyra.

“He was drunk that night honey, he couldn't drive-” Why not call a cab or something? 
“Yeah when is he not,” Toby pushed open the door before his mother and stumbled out onto the driveway where he met his father’s gaze before looking down at his feet with a stern expression. Wait, his father is Tony Stark?

His mother stepped out behind him and met her husbands eyes before walking around the car. His father opened up his arms, expecting a hug from his wife, but she walked passed him and put her arm around Toby’s shoulder and influenced him to begin walking inside. Rejected! “Connie,” her husband began to say under a raspy voice, “What no welcome home hug huh?”

“No, and no welcome home fuck either.”

She ignored her husbands obnoxious words and walked passed him with her son under her arm. Other obnoxious words he says: fasbender, egregious, rectal exam. He’s weird when he’s drunk.

“Hey, He’s 16 he can walk by himself,” his father began to follow them in. 16 AND LIFE KEEPS COMING!

“He’s 17,” Connie glared back at him before opening the door to the house and stepping inside.

“Actually, I’m 25.”

“Shut up, Toby.”

“Toby, why don’t we get you in your room to rest okay? I’ll come get you when dinner is ready-”

“No, I’m 16 I can walk by myself,” Toby said sarcastically, and glared back at his father before stumbling up the small stair case and turning into his room where he slammed the door violently. “Also, your cooking sucks!”

His little room didn't have much in it. “Just the heads of his enemies. They make good decorations.” Just a small bed, a dresser, a window, and his walls had a few framed pictures of his family, back when they where a family. 
Before his father became an alcoholic, and acted violently towards the rest of his family. Before his father became Tony Stark and started rounding up unregistered superheroes. Toby remembered when he was arguing with his mother and he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor, and when Lyra had tried to break it up, he pushed her and she hit her back on the corner of the kitchen counter. Oh, ouch. Toby could never forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister. Never. Has anyone called the police on his father? Have they tried kidnapping him and sending him to AA? Toby didn't care how much his father beat him down, he couldn't feel it anyway, what he did care about was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about. Shaq and Bob Marley? And when he waiting in the hospital, where his sister took her last few breaths, the only person who didn't rush there, was his dad. Well, he was drunk, and didn’t think to take a cab, or ask for anyone to drive him there, or…

Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw things out of the corner of his eye, but quickly blamed it on the medication he had been put on. Side effects include hallucination, violent tendencies, minor spelling and grammar errors, and the embracing of an insulting nickname. Consult with your Operator to see if Proxicen is right for you. When dinner time had come around and his mother called up to him, Toby came down the stairs and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father, and in between his mother and an empty chair. The real reason he didn’t want to be there is because his mother was serving broccoli.

It was quiet as his parents picked at their food, but Toby refused to eat. Instead he just watched his dad with a blank stare. “I’ll make you uncomfortable, if it’s the last thing I do!”

His mother caught onto his stare towards his father and elbowed him slightly. Toby looked over at her slightly and look down at his uneaten food, in which he didn't touch. “Instead, he stared blankly at that too.”

Toby laid in bed, he pulled his covers over his head and stared at the window. Oh, that was random. A transition might have been nice. He was tired but there was no way he would fall asleep. “Jeff the Killer could bite him.” He couldn't, there was too much to think about. He had been debating on whether or not to follow his mothers directions and forgive his father, or continue holding a grudge with his boiling hatred. “On the one hand, there’s forgiving him and moving forward. On the other, there’s holding a lifelong grudge that will consume me until I go insane or die. Yep, totally going with grudge.”

He heard his door creak open, and his mother padded into the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Honey, Clockwork won’t be the only story with incest.” She reached over and rubbed his back, which had been turned to her. “I know its hard Toby, trust me, I understand, but I promise you it will get better” she said softly.

“When is he going to leave?” Toby said with a innocent tone in his shaky voice.

“When we banish him back to the 6th Dimension. That might take a while though.”

Connie let her gaze fall down to her feet. “I don’t know honey, he's staying as far as I know,” she replied. Couldn’t you get a restraining order or something?

Toby didn't respond. He just continued to look forward at the wall, holding his damaged arm near his chest.

After a few minutes of silence, his mother sighed, before she leaned in to kiss his cheek and stood up to walk out of the room. “Good night,” she said as she closed the door. 
The hours passed slowly, and Toby couldn't quit tossing and turning. I TOSS AND TURN, I CAN’T SLEEP AT NIGHT! I USED TO RUN TO YOU. NOW I RUN FROM YOU. THIS TAINTED LOVE YOU’VE GIVEN, I GAVE YOU ALL A BOY COULD GIVE YOU. Every time he let his imagination take over, he heard the screeching of tires, the screaming of his sister, and he could uncontrollably jerk in bed. Well, the jerking is from the Tourette’s, which has not really been mentioned at all since the beginning of the story. He threw off his covers, laying on his back, he pulled his pillow over his face and cried into it. He could feel his chest rise and fall as he let out each shaky breathe as he cried. He could hear his own pitiful weeping. He would have been screaming and crying if he didn't press his pillow over his face. “However, putting the pillow on his face had the unintended effect of smothering himself.”

After a few seconds he threw the pillow off his face as well and sat up, hunched over, holding his head and breathing roughly, tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't help but cry. He tried to keep it in, but he couldn't help but whine and whimper as he sat there shaking. He inhaled before he stood up and walked around his bed to the window and peered out, taking deep breathes trying to calm down. He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the group of tall pine trees across the street. “There he saw a flash mob.”

He stopped suddenly, and his gaze slowly centered on something standing under the street light. He heard ringing in his ears and he couldn't look away. The figure stood beside the street light, about 2 feet shorter then it, long arms draped at it’s sides as it stared up at him with non-existing eyes. That is probably the dumbest description of Slender Man’s face I have ever read. The figure had no features what-so-ever. Except for, you know, the suit. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, yet it held Toby’s hypnotized stare, seemingly peering into his very being. Slender Man watches you at night, Toby. He knows what you do in the dark. He sees you masturbating. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder each second he stared before suddenly it all went black.

The next morning Toby woke in his bed. He felt different. I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He wasn't tired at all, and when he consciously woke up, it felt like he had been lying there, awake for hours. He had no thoughts flowing through his mind. “A slight breeze went through one ear, and out the other.” He sat up slowly and stumbled over to the wall, but when he stood up he automatically felt dizzy. So he can feel nothing except for different and dizzy? He stumbled to the doorway and walked down the stairs. His parents where sitting at the table, his father was in-tuned with the small TV that sat on the counter top, and his mother reading the newspaper.

“Damn this Kenyan-Muslim-Satanic-Communist-Terrorist President. We need better presidents, like Ronald Regan! Yes sir, he was the reincarnation of Jesus, and did everything right! ‘MURICA!” Toby’s father said.

“Oh, don’t mind him, Toby. He’s just been watching FOX News.”

She quickly looked over when she felt Toby’s presence looming behind her.

“Well, good morning sleepy head, you’ve been sleeping forever,” She greeted him with hesitated smile. “Seriously, we had to get a prince to grope you while you sleep to get you to wake up.”

Toby slowly looked over at the clock and noticed that it was 12:30 p.m.

“I made you breakfast but it got cold, I was going to wake you, but I felt you needed sleep,” her expression fell from happy to worried as her son resisted responding to her. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel…anything.”

Toby stumbled over and sat by his father. He felt as if he was on idle, and had no control over his actions. “Or at least that’s what he said at the trial after he killed his father.” He was seeing everything he did, but it didn’t seem to register in his brain properly. He reached out to to his fathers arm, but his hand ended up getting slapped. His father turned to him abruptly and pushed his chair over with his foot. That’s a dick thing to do.

“Don’t touch me boy!” He yelled. Ok, either he’s telling someone not to touch his kid while he speaks in a Scottish accent, or he’s telling his kid not to touch him. I personally prefer the first one, but that’s just me.

His mother stood up, “Alright knock that off! I wouldn’t say that, Toby’s father might take that too literally. That is the last thing we need!” The days went by, and things continued on as they where. That was an abrupt change. It went from, “Stop abusing the kid” to “things continued on as they where.” (By the way, “as they where”? Come on.) Connie spent most of her time cleaning up the house, and her rude husband spent most of his time ordering her around. “But all of that would change when Connie was bitten by a radioactive spider.” It was just how it used to be before the crash. So nothing changed except for the loss of a kid?

Toby never really left his room. I do the same thing. He would sit by his bed, and tremble. TREMBLE, MORTAL, BEFORE THE GREAT FOUR WALLS! KNEEL AT THE DÉCOR! His mind would wonder, but his thoughts changed too fast to be remembered. He would pace around his small room like a caged animal, or stare out the window. The unhealthy cycle continued.

Connie continued to be pushed around by her husband, being way too submissive to him So she’s not a dominatrix, I’m guessing, and Toby remained in his room.

Before he could think twice, he would begin to chew on his hands, tearing the flesh from his fingers. Compulsory cannibalism is a thing, apparently. He would gnaw his hands until they bled. When his mother walked in on him while he was doing so, she reacted horribly. “Young man, stop chewing on your hands this instant!” She rushed him downstairs and grabbed the first aid, wrapping his hands in it. She demanded that he wouldn’t leave her side from then. “And that’s how Toby became a mama’s boy.”

He isolated himself so much that he grew to hate being around others. I feel you, man. His memory grew glitchy as well. He’d start missing memory of minutes, hours, days, and so on. Apparently he has Alzheimer’s too. He would begin talking nonsense, about things completely unrelated to conversations he would have. “I need scissors! 61” He’d go off about seeing things, sharks in his sink as he washed the dishes, hearing crickets in his pillows, and seeing ghosts outside his bedroom window. That’s got to be annoying. Wait, twitching a lot, hallucinating about bugs…is Toby a meth addict? All the nonsense landed him in a counselors office. His mother grew too anxious about his mental health, she decided it would be good for him to talk to a professional about what he was feeling. Well, he can’t feel anything.

Connie walked Toby into the building, holding his hand and guiding him in. She walked him up to the front desk and began talking to the lady who sat behind it.

“Mrs. Rogers?” The lady asked.

“Yes that’s me,” Connie nodded, “We’re here to see doctor Oliver, I’m here with Toby Rogers” 
“Oh, good, you have the virgin sacrifice. Right this way. Cthulu will be very pleased with you.”

“Yes, right this way,” The lady stood up and lead them down a long hallway. Toby looked at the framed artwork down the halls and tuned in to the sound of the lady’s high heels on the hard wood floor. The artwork is from Rob Liefeld, by the way. Talk about inappropriate décor. 
She opened the door to a room with a table and two chairs. 
“If we can get him to sit in here for a few minutes, I’ll get the doctor, “Matt Smith, your 10 o’clock is here!”" She smiled and held the door open. Toby stumbled into the room and sat down at the table. He looked over at his mother and the lady before the door slowly shut behind them. He looked around the room before he held up his tightly bandaged hands and began to bite at the bandages to unwrap his hands, but was interrupted as the door swung open and a young woman in a black and white spotted dress and light blonde hair stepped in, holding a clip board and a pen. “Crap, can’t be a cannibal in front of the hot chick,” he thought. 
“Toby?” she asked with a smile.

Toby looked up at her and nodded. He didn’t mean to nod; it was just a twitch.

“Nice to meet you Toby, my name is Doctor Oliver.” she put her hand out for him to shake but hesitantly pulled away when she noticed his bandaged hands.

“Oh, “This is awkward.”" she smiled nervously before clearing her throat and sitting in the chair across the table from him.

“So I’m going to ask you a few questions, try to answer then as honestly as possible okay?” she placed her clip board down on the table. “First, are you a bad enough dude to save the president?” Toby nodded slowly and held his restrained hands in his lap.

“How old are you Toby?”

“Old enough to have a good time with you.”

“17” he responded quietly.

She wrote that down on the paper that was clipped to the clipboard.

“What is your full name?”
 “Fluffy, the Destroyer of Worlds, Jr.”

“Toby Erin Rogers.”

“What is your birthday?”

“June 6, 1966.” 
“April 28th”
 “Who is your immediate family?” 
Toby paused for a minute before answering her question, “My Mom, My Dad, and…” he stopped, “M-my sister. “Well, not my sister anymore.”"

“I heard about your sister dear… I’m really sorry,” her expression faded into a sad, pity-filled look.

Toby nodded.

“Do you remember anything from the crash Toby?” 
Toby looked away from her. His mind went blank for a moment. He looked down at his lap, and in the surrounding, he heard a faint ringing sound. “His Tinnitus was acting up again.” His eyes widened and he froze in his place.

“Toby?” the counselor asked.

“Toby are you listening?”

“What?”

Toby felt a shiver go down his spine until he froze once again and slowly looked over out the little window through the door, where he saw it. A dark feature-less figure, peering in at him. “Yoooooo, Toby, wassup?” Slender Man yelled. He stared, eyes widened, the ringing growing louder and louder until suddenly the loud voice of the counselor broke his trance.

“Toby!” She yelled.

Toby jumped and fell sideways out of his chair and back up into the corner. Doctor Oliver stood up, holding her clipboard to her chest. A surprised look in her eyes. Toby met her eyes again, his breath hitching as he twitched. Oh, there’s the mention of his twitching. It took quite a while.

That night Toby laid in bed. His eyes dazed as he stared straight up at his ceiling. He could feel himself begin to doze off, when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the doorway, his door wide open. “His mom never closed the door when she left his room.” There was no light, everything was lit by the luminescent blue glow of the moon through his window, leaving a cold lighting. So there was light. He stood up and slowly made his way towards the doorway, when suddenly the door, which was previously wide open, slammed in his face. Slender Man, stop trolling future proxies. He gasped and fell back.

His was out of breathe I think you mean “out of breath.” I could be wrong, I mean, what do I know? when he hit the ground AND NOW I’M LYING ON THE COLD HARD GROUND! TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE. and he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back up on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle How did he know it was cold? I thought he couldn’t feel anything with his bandaged hand and creaked it open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness with blue moonlight as he padded his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him, and faint giggling let by the pitter patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him, giggling and running around. Ugh. I hate small children. The hallway was a lot longer then he had remembered. It seemed endless… like the ride home from the hospital. You know what else seems endless? This story. He heard a door creak in front of him.

“Mom?” he called out in a shaky voice.

“Oh, I’m not your mother. I’m Satan. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”

Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around. Behind him he heard a long eerie groan from behind him, that sounded to croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other then his dead sister. “Yo, Toby, join me. The after life is awesome!”;; Her eyes where clouded white, her skin pale, and the right side of her jaw only dangling on by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead, and black blood leaking down her face, her blonde hair pulled up back in a pony tail as it always was, wearing her grey t-shirt and athlete shorts which where dirty and spotted with blood. Wait, is she…a zombie goast? Oh god, it’s “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” all over again! Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn’t be. “At 90 degree angles.” She stood, emitting a long croaking noise, only an inch away from Toby’s face. Toby yelped and fell back.

“AW!” That was a weird thing to shout. he started to crawl backwards away from her, not able to break the eye contact he held with her, blank, dead eyes. He dragged himself backwards until he backed up into something. “That something was his father.” He stopped for a second. Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall dark figure that stood over him. Behind the tall dark mass where rows of children, looking to range from 3 to 10 years, their eyes completely black and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets. “Behold, Toby! The children of Eyeless Jack!”

He screamed and stood up as fast as he could only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankle. “Tell me, Toby, have you ever seen hentai?” He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of his chest. He tried to scream out but he couldn’t make a sound. He wheezed out, before it all went black.

Toby woke up with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breathe. He wheezed out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream…. just a dream. That was a weird ass dream. He laid back down on his bed and rolled over on his side. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest as he took in deep breathes. He stood up and padded over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts. No figures. Nothing. No, Toby, the zombie goasts are still there.

He heard the rustling and coughing of his father out the doorway. His door was closed. He walked over and opened it. Looking out into the hallway once again. He padded down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Wow, an alcoholic and a smoker! At this rate, he’ll kill himself before Toby does!

Toby waited a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning feeling started deep in his chest. I thought he can’t feel anything. Also, you took the “weird feeling” thing from “Jeff the Killer.” Shame on you.

Deep, boiling, anger took over him. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head.

“Collect string in boxes! Kill the president! Coocoocachu, Colonel Sanders!”

“Do it, Do it, Do it,” they chanted.

He turned away and held his arms. He felt like he actually had control over himself, unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. Well, don’t say that at your murder trial. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before they where clouded by the chanting of the little voices in his head. Those little bastards wouldn’t shut up.

“Kill him, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, kill him, kill him,” they continued on. Well, if you kill him, he won’t be there ever again. Toby trembled. No. No he wasn’t going to do it. Pussy. What, was he going crazy? Well, yeah. No. He won’t kill anyone. He can’t. He hated his father, but hated no way he was going to kill him. That sentence made sense up until the comma. That was it. The last thought he had before he fell into an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. See, this is the problem with having voices in your head. They make you kill people and stuff. It’s very annoying.

He began to silently walk up behind his father. “Prepare your anus, father.” He reached over the counter to the knife holder in the kitchen and pulled out a the largest knife that had been resting in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt a sensation take over his chest. Again, I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He let out a snicker.

“Heh… heheh… hehehehehe! HAHAHAHA!” What’s so funny? he began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breathe. There is a difference between breath and breathe. Breath is a noun; breathe is a verb. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the hair was knocked out of him. Where will you be when baldness strikes?

“What!” he looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand. “What what what what. I’m gonna beat some kids, got twenty dollars in my pocket. I’m a drinking, getting drunk off my ass. This is fucking awesome.”

“Toby what are you doing!” he went to sit up and put hand arms out in front of him in self defense but before he knew it Toby was on top of him. He went to grab at his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hand by grabbing onto this wrist.

“Stop! Get off of me you little fucker!” he yelled and with his other hand he threw an off center punch towards Toby’s shoulder, but he didn’t stop.

The look in Toby’s eyes was not sane. “It was crazier than Charlie Sheen and Jenny McCarthy combined.” It looked as if a demon had taken control over him. Mephisto: screws up marriages and kills abusive parents. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father’s chest but he blocked him and grabbed onto his wrist once again. Toby, you suck at murder. He went to shove him back, but Toby kicked out his feet in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cuff his face, but Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder. “I now pronounce you man and knife!” 
His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out, but before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face. FALCON PUNCH!

He began to pound his fists into his head, laughing and wheezing. Ha ha ha, patricide is funny! He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his shoulder. He drove it deep into his dad’s chest and repeatedly stabbed into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. This is overkill, man. Literally. He didn’t stop until his father’s body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. “The douche in dead! Long live the douche!” He stared at his smashed in face and sat there twitching, until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her eyes.

“Toby!” she screamed, “Why did you do that!?” she cried.

“You’re welcome.”

“W-why!?” She screamed. 
Toby stood up and began to back away from his father’s bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. Run, Forrest, run! He ran into the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door. Before he ran out his father’s two hatchets that had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars, filled to the brim with old rusted nails and screws. That sentence made no sense.

One hatchets was new, it had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, the other was old with a wooden handle and a old dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table and his eyes met a box of matches, and under the table was a red gasoline tank. RED GASOLINE TANK, I LIFT YOU UP! LET’S HAVE A PARTY! PROCEED TO PARTY! He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed the matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street. As he approached the street light that he could see out his own bedroom window he heard police sirens in to distance. I hope the justice system makes more sense here than it did in “Jeff the Killer.”

He turned around and the red and blue flashing lights came rushing down the street. Toby stood for a second, before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street, spilling gasoline all over the street after him and he turned to run into the trees. “He also spilled some on himself, which he would end up regretting.” He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached in his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. In an instant, flames burst out around him. The fire caught onto the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. Smokey the Bear is going to be pissed. Also, to finish off the “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” joke: “so he blew up the house and killed the zombie goasts so they were at peace.” The silhouettes of police cars where visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest around him. He looked around but his vision was blurred, his heart was pounding and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end. No, there’s still a few more paragraphs left.

Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long boney fingers that rested on his shoulder. That’s not the only part of him that’s bony, if you know what I mean. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a towering dark figure. It appeared to be wearing a dark black suit, and it’s face was completely blank. It towered over Toby’s small frame and it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from it’s back. This is getting dangerously close to yaoi territory. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and he was surrounded by the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank. That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died. Oh. I did not expect that.

A few weeks later Connie sat in her sister’s kitchen. Her sister, Lori sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee.

About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband, and her son, and a few weeks before, she lost her daughter to a car crash. “And then she found out she had cancer, and a long lost sister. Except that sister died long before Connie could meet her. Connie’s life sucks.” Since then she moved in with her sister. The police where keeping her busy, they had just finished cleaning up the case, and the story had been released two weeks ago, and the focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories. Yeah, that’s the news for you. Lori switched on the T.V. to a news broadcast. On the T.V. the news reporter began introducing the new headline.

“Breaking news: Marvel Studios acquires Spider-Man. Fanboys everywhere go into catatonic states of orgasmic bliss and hype.”

“We have breaking news! Last night there has been a reported murder of 4 individuals. There are no suspects yet but the victims where a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been ‘bludgeoned’ and stabbed to death. “Investigators think the kids might have been ‘killed’ with ‘sharp objects’. The investigators had discovered a weapon at the crime scene which appears to be a old, dull bladed hatchet, as you can see here” No I can’t. This story has no pictures. The pictured changed to show snap shots of the weapon exactly as it was left on the crime scene.

“Investigators had pulled the name of a possible suspect, OJ Simpson Toby Rogers, a 17 year old boy who a few weeks ago had stabbed his father to death and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and the forest area around the neighborhood. Great way to cover up your escape: create more attention on the fact that you’re leaving. Although they had believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect that Rogers may still be alive, due to the fact that his body was never found. “And now to Bob with the weather!””

[indianajonessadhats]

This is a sad hat.

But this is more than a sad hat, this is a bad hat, and I will tell you why.

First, allow me to say that I have no idea who the artist is; but that, for the time being, is irrelevant to the rest of the discussion, and I'm not here to rag on what amounts to fan artists. I do have opinions about hats and illustration, obviously, but my personal policy has been that if you're not claiming it to be a labor of professional output, it's not a fair target.

Why, then, is this hat perhaps an exception?

On a purely structural level, this hat suffers from Freddy Kreuger syndrome.

For comparison, here is a screen-used Freddy Kreuger hat:

Note along the back edge the small chunks of brim that have been torn or cut off the edge; this is a distinctive feature that shows up in costume reproductions of Freddy Kreuger, and, for some reason, in lots of sad Indiana Jones hats. I've never once in my life seen this feature crop up on a real Indiana Jones fedora, unless you want to count the foam costume hats that Rubies/Disney has put out in the past 16 years, which I absolutely do not. My theory is that people see Indy get beat up and having rugged adventures and think the hat must be a wreck; but aside from getting wet and some bad CGI, it's really more of a mythological figure than anything else. Even getting falling over a cliff with nazis in a blown up tank doesn't do much:

So, the hat is sad. But why is it bad?

Well, if you're going to be a weird eugenicist—

—maybe don't put yourself dressed up as a Nazi in your Twitter header:

Now, we can get into a discussion here about Elsa and how the family is also dressed as Indy and Boy Scout Young Indy (these hats are also bad). But it's important to recognize that if you are a fan of things like Indiana Jones, you're going to run into people who are there only because it lets them "get away with" dressing as a nazi. You learn to recognize this fast and to learn the signs and keep a wary eye.

And— surprise! Here's a good thread about why their brand of nonsense is still chock full o' white supremacy:

Maybe they're not Nazis. But they're not not nazis, and they are self-admitted in their article to befriending lots of nazis, so. If it barks like a nazi, and it goose-steps like a nazi...

But, you know, as if the nazi label dodging weren't enough, the other area where these philosophies tend to coincide is that they think they really are, truly, deep down, genetically, superior to everyone else in every way. They think they have better brains, better health, better skills, better knowledge, better culture, better land, and better fashion. And so, it is very important to let them know this— utterly aside from the mind on which it sits—

Hey, man. Your hat is bad.