#through gritted teeth: know it's for the better

[guess-my-next-obsession]

so disappointed and absolutely gutted that this is the reality of the land that made me. i can feel the weight of every woman’s grief who came before me and fought and sacrificed and pled for a better future—one that meant equality and safety and peace, in a world that has never viewed us as anything more than a body to use and exploit and disregard and destroy. my heart breaks for every little girl in this country who has to grow up knowing that more than half of this country does not see her, has chosen to prioritize their own monetary gain over her right to autonomy and security, has selected a rapist and a misogynist to govern over her. my heart breaks for every gay, bisexual, queer, lesbian, trans, gender-questioning person who now has to watch their back, who feels they have to return to the shadows after finally being in the light. this is unfair. this is unforgivable. this is america—selfish, greedy, idiotic, and vile as ever. history will tell this story one day, and i hope that it will tell it true. that while so many of us gave our all, fought the good fight, and dared to hope for a better future for our sisters, friends, and children, the voice of those who choose hatred and division was louder.

to everyone who is in fear today, who’s in shock and anger and grief, you’re not alone. we’ll get through this, with gritted teeth and clenched fists and voices that cannot and will not be silenced. hang in there, keep close to those who see and value you, and we will get through this. i love you, and i’m sorry.

🤍

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Fem!Reader gets the wrong number, but she REALLY needs a driver.

Part two here.

It hadn’t been a bad night—she danced, drank, laughed with her friends... But now, she was alone outside the club, searching for that Uber contact her friend had sent, fingers shaking as she tried to type the number correctly.

She nearly let out a dramatic little cry when she checked the time; it was freezing.

The vibrations of her phone in her hand came like a lifeline in the disorienting haze of neon lights, loud music, and a few too many cocktails. She blinked as a new text popped up from “Uber???” Well, that’s what she had saved him as anyway.

She squinted at the message, trying to process the details in her tipsy state. A mask? What kind of Uber driver wore a mask? She brushed it off, assuming he was just another eccentric in this city full of them. But a masked, mysterious stranger in a black truck? Right now, that sounded way better than the alley she was stuck in. Besides, she could take care of herself. Probably.

And then she saw it—a figure lurking across the street, watching her from the shadows, eyes flicking from her to his phone, and then back again. She swallowed, nerves prickling. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it lingered, crawling up her spine.

Suddenly, her fingers flew across the screen.

No reply.

She clenched her phone tighter, looking up and down the empty street, then glanced back at her screen. She could feel the rising urge to text him again and again, each message tinged with a touch more urgency.

Somewhere miles away, Simon glanced at his phone, his thumb hovering over the steering wheel. He’d put himself through hell and back in countless battlefields, facing down horrors most men would never imagine, but this? Being spammed by a random, drunk girl with a barrage of panicked messages? It was almost… comical.

What am I doing? he thought, irritation flickering under his mask. He was almost 40, practically ancient by some standards, and here he was, playing the knight in black armor for some stranger who probably didn’t even know her own last name right now.

Yet there he was, pressing down harder on the gas pedal.

The next text buzzed as he turned a corner.

The words ignited something in him, a familiar protective instinct that refused to let up. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing as he watched the road blur past. When he’d agreed to pick her up, it was because he didn’t trust her to make it home in one piece. He could tell she’d been drinking, and he had no patience for the kinds of creeps that lingered around clubs at this hour. But now…now it felt like a mission.

The final turn brought her into view—a small, unsteady figure with her back against a wall, clutching her phone like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to safety. And standing just a few feet away from her was the guy. Tall, with a slick smile and hands shoved in his pockets, like he had all the time in the world to wait her out.

Simon’s truck screeched to a halt, the dark engine purring like a beast as he glared through the windshield. He didn’t even need to get out; the guy’s eyes widened the moment the headlights hit him, and he took a few steps back, muttering something before disappearing into the shadows.

Simon killed the engine and got out, his towering figure partially hidden by the black mask over his face, and for a second, she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Uh…Uber?” she said with a drunken giggle, half-nervous, half-relieved.

“Get in,” he muttered, shooting her a look as he opened the passenger door.

She clambered in, her expression melting from shock into something warm, a little playful as she buckled herself up. “Mr. Uber Driver… you’re my hero,” she slurred.

He grunted, barely acknowledging her. “Text me like that again, and I might just leave you next time.”

She smiled, eyes heavy-lidded, safe and sound in the passenger seat of his big, black truck.

[This is a first part]

[Part two here]

[daily-airimomoi-vitamins]

[Oh my god]

[oh my. god.]

[Those photos]

[The photos on the ground. Who knows how long ago. The first time you came to the back]

[The names you didn't know you did]

[Those faces, filling you with painful nostalgia]

[Those people]

"Min...ori.."

[You choked on your own tears. Tears? nono why were you crying?? no no stop that]

"oh..ohh my god.."

[Those eyes]

[The pharmacist's eyes]

...

[your tears stopped]

You..remember, don't you?

[you were shaking]

[you coward]

[in an attempt to spare yourself, you've hurt the people who needed you the most]

[you selfish coward]

"y-you...h..her.."

I must say, I'm quite envious of you. Being able to remember your origins...where you came from..

[the pharmacist trailed her fingers along the bar table]

..why you're here.

...It was never meant to be like this. You were never meant to remember but you were and so was I and I don't know what I'm remembering but it hurts and..gaah...

..damnit this hurts.

[She covered her face with her hands, running her fingers and pulling through her hair]

[Her hands were shaking]

[...but you're a coward.]

[you can't do anything]

[....you're feet slowly stepped backwards towards the door, your breathing heavy.]

[you hadn't taken into account just how big things were. Because of you, you selfish prick.]

[Minori was dead. More More Jump could've stayed together, no..]

[you could be surrounded with the people you love]

[stop please I don't want to think about this right now stop stop stop]

[you left them]

[you wouldn't know love if it were standing right in front of you.]

[just...just out of reach. On the edge of death you let your love dance and still she it is gone.]

"You...k..kept me..here..? To...'help'..me? Y..you.."

[...you didn't have the guts to face her. Not anymore. The real you is gone. She's dead...gone. You killed her...]

[...You killed her when you met Atoji Higan. When you told her your name and she gave you a new one.]

[..When you considered the unthinkable and let her take your place.]

...Coward.

[huh?]

If you're gonna leave, do it. Run, like you always do. Don't be so caught up in this, so cowardly that you can't run, even if you wanted to.

[She approached you, eyes dim, narrowed]

You. You would rather stay here and die, wouldn't you? That's what got you into all of this in the first place. You wanted to stop your feelings, shy away from your responsibilities as an idol, as a friend.

[Her voice started to break, her finger pointing towards you]

You left them. You ruined everything. You couldn't even be a coward properly! You chose this life and you couldn't even keep it.

I-Its your fault, Peachy- No no fuck!

[The pharmacist grabbed at her hair, gritting her teeth, her arms practically shaking]

s-stop it shh..shut up..shhut up..fuckk gah-!!

..Y-...You ruined everything.

nono you didn't peachy, I'm sorry, please don't go

if you had just stayed.

please don't leave me

if you hadn't had been so.. selfish..!

I did this all for you, was this not enough?

then maybe you'd still have a chance to live! But nooo, you had to throw it away...how ungrateful are you!?

...you...you've done it..you've gotten what you wanted..

Are you happy now? Hm?

"I-I'm n-"

This took more out of everyone else then what it did for you.

In an attempt to rid yourself of a burden, you provided everyone around you with tenfold.

..

[Clap. Clap. Clap]

Congratulations.

[Clap. Clap. Clap.]

[The door was right there, why didn't you run?]

[...because you were scared.]

[what would you even do then..? After all this damage you've caused, wouldn't it be inappropriate for you to go back? It'd be better for you stay and hide here. For everyone, right?]

[What...what were you even planning to do, when you figured this all out? Who on earth were you planning to tell?]

[...you want to move on.]

....

[you need to move on]

[The door was right there.]

[Now that you've decided to be a coward, you only have two options left for yourself. You feel like you weren't even choosing for yourself. A puppet controlled by the hands you made for yourself...maybe it was you, the entire time...]

[The death of your personification of grief, should she be considered as once a living thing as well?]

[...her.]

[and yourself.]

[...so you did know how to fight, huh? Just in all the wrong ways.]

[docholligay]

So, the true and glorious story of my own failure in the face of knowing how my own body works, despite having lived in it for 38 years.

Last night, I expected to be at least moderately on edge. I pretty reasonably decide that I would be better served to fall asleep and find out what life looks likein the morning. i'm not young any more (my wife worked for the Kerry campaign, I've been volunteering politically since the first Obama campaign. To date ourselves) and so, i don't stay up for results anymore.

Very reasonable.

So I take a pot pill. Great. i take it about two hours before i want it to hit.

I make the mistake of checking the results right before I head to bed, and while everyone is embroiled in hope, I see that I was exactly right about my initial impressions, months ago. That i got in trouble for! Anyhow.

Anxious, i go, "I gotta take something else" I have a bottle of .5 mg pills of lorezapam I've had for a decade, and I take one.

A pot pill, for me, is a quarter of a gummy. That's 2.5 mg. You may notice that between the two of these things, the dosages are very small. This is because my brain is wired bizarrely, and some things have a tendency to hit me harder than they do normal people. I know this. I know this!

Neither of these things have ever caused me any unusual symptoms. I just go to sleep.

But I am stupid. i have never met me, apparently. This body is new to me! I combine them.

My brain is so fucked that I have to do a patch test any time I try a new drug like I am VINTAGE CHINESE SILK. I know this, very well. That very night, I told Mike and Teddy I wasn't really going to drink because pot and alcohol can make me go full, "The Senate is lying to us!" So I know I have to watch it with combining stuff.

And y'all know me! I am not a teetotaler! I have sampled many fine drugs over the course of my existence. DARE made me think, "Wow that sounds cool." I am not a square. I am not suggesting straightedge behavior. This song did not work on me.

So I, forgetting the very makeup of my body, take this tiny, ridiculous lorazepam on top of my pot pill. It is the dosage my wife gives a twenty pound dog. it is a thing I have taken before.

But not together.

I crawl into bed, and I begin to get sleepy. Fantastic.

I roll over.

Oh. No.

My skin is alive, all of a sudden. I can feel every inch of it beneath the covers, where it touches on each individual wrinkle of the comforter.

"fuuuuuuck." I whisper between gritted teeth. Because, you see, I've done this to myself before. Not with this specific combination, but I have mixed things before, or just taken things, that make me aggressively aware of my surroundings. I am SO AWARE. There's nothing to do, once it reaches this point.

I have to wait it out. I pull myself up, and thump my twenty pound blanket on top of my body--which does help--and spend the next five hours riding each wave of hyperawareness, breathing through it, because it will end, like most hard things, and I am trying not to laugh at myself while it's happening. I know better! I know better!!

Finally it does wear off a bit, in just enough time for me to realize that I was right all along and the election has not gone my way.

38 years and I've learned nothing.

[babygirlwritessmut]

♡︎ part6. soccer game

MINORS DNI!

・❥・pairing: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

・❥・ summary: you couldn`t sleep and accidentally you woke Vi up, so you decided to confront her about fellings

・❥・ genre: smut + kinda friends to lovers

・❥・ word count: 2.8k

✎ warnings: 18+, homophobia, panic attack, blood, mention of smut, fight, abuse, swearing, violence

WHEN I NEEDED YOU masterlist

on the way to the soccer game, you messaged Trish, eager to share with her what had happened.

"hey, are you coming to the game today? I want to meet up," you typed and hit "send". the reply came almost immediately.

"I wasn’t planning to, but alright. meet you there in 10 minutes :)" you slipped your phone back into your jacket pocket and headed toward the entrance.

the stadium was already packed. you could see students from the other school finding their seats, and the cheer squad warming up. it brought back memories of your own attempts at dancing, and you felt grateful to be sitting down instead of bouncing around on the field. when Trish spotted you, she sat down beside you, and you hugged.

“so, how’s it going, gorgeous? what did you want to talk about?” Trish looked at you intently.

you leaned a little closer so the people around wouldn’t overhear. “I wanted to tell you about last night. about me and… Vi,” you said with a smile.

Trish squealed and grabbed your hand. “NO WAY!”

“shhh, Trish,” you whispered, noticing a few people glancing your way. “I don’t want everyone to know!”

“okay, okay, sorry," she said, unable to sit still. “start from the beginning. and I want all the details!” she winked at you.

you laughed and took her hand, pulling her away from the seats. once you were alone in the hallway, you began, “we spent the whole night together,” you whispered. Trish squeezed your hand, clearly wanting more.

“last night, I woke up thinking about us. I think she wanted to kiss me when she came in and gave me this,” you pointed to your neck, “but she didn’t, since you all called us into the living room,” you explained, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“my mouth! it never shuts up on time!” Trish slapped her hand over her lips. “sorry!”

“it’s fine…” you bit your lip. “when we were watching the movie, she put her hand on my knee. it felt like I was burning up inside. then we held hands, and she even kissed my neck.”

“I told you a movie was a good idea,” Trish laughed. “go on.”

“all evening, I kept catching her looking at me. it made me feel so good, knowing she was watching.” you smiled. “then when we went to bed, I touched her…” Trish’s eyes widened with excitement.

“and then what?” she could hardly wait.

“well, we finally kissed, one thing led to another, and… we had sex,” you said, blushing.

“AAAH! YOU DOG!” Trish started jumping up and down, holding onto your hand.

you both laughed, and you shared some more details, making Trish nearly faint.

“I can’t believe it… you guys had sex once, and you’re already glowing like this,” she said, clearly thrilled for you. her sincerity warmed your heart, and you felt grateful to have someone to share this with.

“who said it was only once?” you winked, making Trish squeal even louder. as you laughed and gossiped, the music at the stadium got louder.

“this conversation isn’t over - after the game, you’re giving me all the details from the beginning,” she said, pulling you toward the bleachers. as you turned the corner toward the stands, you saw Troy leaning against the wall. your stomach dropped when your eyes met.

“what are you doing here?” you asked him. Troy’s expression was unreadable, though one thing was clear - he was angry.

“I’m playing today, babe. but that’s a better question for you.” he started walking closer. “I thought I wouldn’t see you here again.”

“keep your distance,” Trish muttered through gritted teeth as he got too close.

“shut your mouth; I’m not talking to you,” he sneered at her and turned back to you.

“don’t talk to her like that! and don’t call me ‘babe,’” you spat, disgusted. “you lost that right when you shoved your dick down someone else’s throat.”

Troy just laughed. “maybe I wouldn’t have needed to if you’d given a better head,” he shrugged.

“you’re disgusting,” you said, deciding to walk past him and end the conversation, but he grabbed you by the elbow. a cold wave of fear ran through you, and suddenly, you couldn’t move.

“not so brave without your new girlfriend around? from what you told before, sounds like you enjoyed having a tongue shoved down your cunt. maybe that’s why you’re so terrible in bed,” he laughed in your face. you felt a lump form in your throat again, but you fought hard to keep the tears back.

"I’ll be taking this," he said, letting go of your arm and roughly yanking the necklace from your neck.

“no! give it back!" you tried to grab his hand, but he shoved you, and you fell.

“you’re such an idiot! get out of here!” Trish shouted, but her voice was barely audible over the music. she knelt next to you, asking if you were okay. you couldn’t answer, only clutching the spot on your neck where your pendant should have been.

“I’d ask you for a good luck kiss, but knowing where that mouth has been…” he laughed again and walked away.

tears streamed down your face as you struggled to process how someone you once trusted could act this way. all his insults, everything he said, built up into a panic attack. the walls around seemed to close in, and you couldn’t breathe. the only sound was your own heartbeat. Trish tried to comfort you, but nothing helped. you wanted to leave, but couldn’t even lift yourself off the floor. your mind raced, and the pressure in your chest grew with every second. in desperation, you hugged yourself, your fingers brushing against Vi’s jacket. finally, you took a deep breath; it felt like she was holding you as Trish gently stroked your back, and you slowly calmed down.

when you finally managed to stand, you glanced at Trish, who looked at you with deep concern.

dusting yourself off, you asked her for a tissue. after composing yourself, you said, “I’m fine.” Trish was about to protest, but you continued, “I want to watch the game. let’s talk about this later.” she nodded, and the two of you headed back to the stands.

your seats were taken, so you had to sit a little lower down. you didn’t like these spots, as they often ended with a ball flying into someone’s face, but you didn’t have a choice. you’d missed the cheerleaders’ performance but arrived just in time for the teams’ entrance. when both teams took to the field, you finally spotted Vi, she was like a breath of fresh air. she looked incredible; the soccer uniform accentuated her muscles, and her pink hair stood out beautifully among the other players. you saw her scanning the crowd, searching for you. you were relieved she hadn’t spotted you yet; you didn’t want her to see your red, tear-streaked eyes.

bright floodlights lit up the field, surrounded by rows of trees and bleachers filled with students, teachers, and parents. the stadium buzzed with excitement, and both teams looked ready to burst with energy before the starting whistle.

the opposing college’s team, known for their coach’s strategy of short, sharp passes, immediately focused on controlling the ball from the first seconds. their captain, a tall guy with a constant grin, confidently directed every movement of his teammates. they moved like a well-oiled machine, exchanging passes almost wordlessly. but your team lacked that cohesion: Josh was a rock, blocking their attack attempts, but with little success.

at one point, the midfield turned into a true battleground. when Troy intercepted the ball, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers of support. he sped forward, looking unstoppable, but as a defender from the opposing team closed in, Troy was supposed to pass, but he didn’t seem to see anyone around him, dribbling as though he were the only player on his team. when that same defender swiftly caught up and cleanly knocked the ball out of bounds, your team began yelling things at Troy - they were clearly frustrated.

the suspense was building. players from both teams took occasional sharp shots on goal, but the goalkeepers showed impressive reflexes, saving their nets. the spectators in the stands were relentless, cheering for their teams. the opposing side tried a shift in tactics, opting for long passes. finally, in one of these moments, a player from the other school found himself perfectly positioned and struck a powerful, precise shot into the corner of the goal. the ball floated mid-air, but Vi deflected it to the opposite side, saving the goal. you smiled and clapped.

you watched as someone from your team intercepted the ball, and with incredible speed, Vi was already open near the opposing goal. receiving the ball, she dribbled toward the goal, and here was the moment of truth - Vi was about to score. while all the fans watched closely, you saw Troy barreling toward the ball.

“what is he doing?” you saw him kick the ball out from under Vi, causing her to trip, and the whistle blew. “no!” you shot up from your seat, watching Vi try to get back on her feet, and the entire bleacher section went silent. when Vi finally stood, she stormed over to Troy.

“what the fuck are you doing?” she demanded, but he only smirked and walked away.

a minute later, the game resumed. the opposing team felt the advantage after what had happened, and their coach decided to go on the offensive, rearranging the players. their forward took a golden opportunity, entering the penalty area and, deceiving the defenders, struck directly into the corner of the goal. cheers, applause, and celebratory embraces followed on the field for the other team. you saw Josh talking to Vi; she just shook her head and walked away. as she made her way to her position, Troy waved to her, his face twisted in an ugly grin. you saw Vi tense. she wasn’t looking at him but at his hand - he had hung your necklace on his wrist. your eyes widened as Vi stormed over to him, grabbing his arm. amid the cheers from the crowd, you couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you saw Vi’s face redden with anger as she yanked your necklace away from him. she pushed him hard in the chest.

Vi began scanning the crowd and finally, your eyes met hers, her expression softening. you tried to smile, but tears started streaming down again. as you looked at each other, Troy leaned in and said something to Vi, making her turn sharply to him, grabbing his jersey.

“no, no, no,” you whispered, “Trish, this is exactly what he wants. she’ll be kicked off the team,” you said frantically, turning to your friend, but the coach stepped in just in time, pulling them apart and speaking to each of them. the game continued.

the game reached a new level of intensity: both teams played to the very end, fiercely defending their positions and waiting for the right moment. finally, your team had possession again, and when the pass went to Vi, she took control confidently. Troy no longer tried to interfere, and you thought maybe the coach had reprimanded him. a minute later, the ball was in the other team’s net, and you all erupted in cheers and applause. almost the entire team ran up to Vi, though she only nodded, not looking very pleased.

when the referee’s whistle signaled the end of the match, the field filled with applause and cheers from the spectators. both teams were exhausted, but everyone exchanged handshakes and hugs, knowing this was one of those games that would be remembered.

after the game, you said goodbye to Trish, promising to catch up later. you waited for Vi by her car in the parking lot, feeling restless.

“cupcake?” Vi called out to you. you turned to her and ran into her arms, sobbing. after today, there were no tears left in you. you held her tightly, and Vi wrapped her strong arms around you as you finally exhaled.

“it’s okay, don’t cry,” she said, cupping your face in her hands and wiping your tears. “what happened today?” she asked, worriedly. you told her everything, about your conversation with Trish, about how Troy had overheard you, pushed you, and taken your pendant. Vi stroked your hair, but you could feel her body tensing, her eyes blazing with anger.

“I’ll kill him,” she whispered, clenching her fist.

“oh really?” it was Troy.

“get in the car,” Vi handed you the keys and stood in front of you. across from her stood several guys - of course, Troy wouldn’t come alone; he was a coward.

“Vi, I don’t…” you tried to protest, but she just repeated herself.

you took the keys and did as she said. sitting inside, you watched what was happening.

“I just want to talk, Vi,” Troy raised his hands, “seems like you’re taking something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“belong?” she replied. “she’s a person, not a possession,” Vi’s fists remained clenched.

“alright, alright,” he started walking closer, and you tensed, grabbing your phone to call someone if needed. “but let’s be honest, used goods are never as good as new, right?” he glanced at you with a grin.

“if you’re talking about yourself, I agree,” she shot back.

“watch it, there’s more of us here!” he shouted, offended.

“it’s strange that you need half the team to meet with me,” Vi didn’t move an inch. “last time you were flat on the floor with a broken nose. want a repeat?”

Troy almost spat with rage as he lunged at Vi, but she grabbed his hand and shoved him away.

“does she still open her mouth when she cums?” the unexpected question rang in your ears, freezing time, and it felt like everyone stopped breathing. when an enraged Vi tried to lunge at Troy, the others grabbed her and held her back.

“let her go!” you shouted from the car, fear evident in your eyes.

“oh, don’t worry, babe, I’ll take care of this problem and then give you my full attention.” with those words, he started beating Vi with all his strength while the others held her.

you realized it was time to call for help, panicking as you dialed a number, not even sure whom you were calling, until you heard your dad's voice on the other end. you were so relieved to hear him. “daddy, Troy’s gone crazy, they’re beating Vi, and he’s threatening me. we’re in the parking lot. please help." you didn't catch what he replied because you were terrified by what you were seeing.

you looked back at the scene, watching with horror. you’d never witnessed such aggression in your life; Troy was hitting Vi with such force that his hand was red after just a few punches, hitting her head, her face. when he finally stopped, Vi muttered, "is that all you've got?"

infuriated, Troy swung again, but Vi dodged, and he ended up hitting another guy right in the nose. taking advantage of the moment, Vi broke free and landed a hard punch to Troy’s stomach. as he doubled over, she grabbed him by the shirt and slammed her fist into his cheek, throwing him back onto the pavement. he collapsed like a sack, writhing in pain.

“you idiots, is this what you wanted?!” Vi shouted at the others. they glanced at each other nervously. “get out of here while you still can!”

the guys scattered, not even checking on Troy. Vi finally turned to face you, and you gasped. her face was covered in blood, her lip split - it was horrific. you leapt out of the car and ran to her.

“you're safe, cupcake,” Vi whispered, reaching for your hand, her eyes unfocused. she handed you the necklace, and you started to cry.

“Vi, how are you feeling? can you hear me?" she swayed, and you realized how badly she was hurt.

“yeah, I just... feel a little...” her voice trailed off as she started to collapse, but you caught her, and you both sank to the ground.

“Vi!” you screamed, holding her bloody, unconscious form in your arms.

[benevolentcalamity]

Once a Father, Never a Daddy [Abusive!Doflamingo & Fem!Child!Reader][1/2]

I do not know him enough so I'm not at all confident in my ability to write him, so I apologize in advance. So I'm very happy accepting criticism/tips. (I'm just after Thriller Bark btw.)

Disclaimer: This fic contains graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect and may be considered triggering. Please do not read more if you cannot handle these themes. If you or a loved one has gone through this, you're absolutely not alone, and help/better days are always there.

Also, this is split in two because when you get fics too long, Tumblr just starts lagging and that REALLY annoys me. So I apologize in advance if pacing's not as stellar as most of my stuff. I'll make it up to you.

CURTAINS!

"DADDY, LET ME OUT!!!"

Your little hands bang on the impossibly still door until the skin splits on your knuckles. With all your might you scratch, slap, and pound on the wood, feeling it press a little stronger against you with your resistance. Tears pouring down your cheeks your hair stands on end as the darkness behind you settles in; a punishment you know too well.

"PLEASE DADDY, I'M SORRY!" You scream, hands already raw from struggle. "DADDY, PLEASE, LET ME OUT! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, I PROMISE!"

A harsh pound that rattles the door, resounding through your room, sends a piercing chill through your stomach and sends you to the floor. Scooting back and hurrying to your feet, you prepare for the doorknob to twist, for him to come barging in and demand you not make any more noise. But this is enough to scare you into silence - and he seems to know that now.

Softly you sniffle, reaching out as the all-too-familiar sound of the knob being secured and locked clicks. Wiping away your tears you stand, reaching and just barely wrapping your hand around it. With all your might you grab and attempt to twist; it doesn't budge an inch.

"... Please let me out..."

There's a sound like feet retreating from the door, and the loneliness finally hits as you back up, defeat weighing your shoulders. Slinking away, you turn back towards your room. First thing to catch your attention is your nightstand, bereft of the lamp Uncle Rossi gave you to cut through the dark. It had a smell to it, somehow, and you really liked it.

Without it you can't stand the dark - and as punishment for not doing what daddy said, it's gone. Wiping a stray tear from your cheek you grab your stuffed lamb Cuppy, putting him on the bed before pitter-pattering to your wardrobe.

creak

Your eyes shoot to the door, back stiffening as your hair stands on end. Every limb freezes, and your heart leaps into your throat. Swallowing, your hands go up to prepare to shield your head, lest your noise have bothered anyone. As your fingers chill to the bone, your knees lock and the darkness creeps back into your senses.

The doorknob twitches. Your hands fly to your mouth to keep from shrieking. Tears revived and leaking, you await on bated breath... It does make daddy especially angry, after all, when you try to hide from him.

You still have the scar on your arm.

A lump forms and engorges, threatening to choke you if you don't make a sound. You learned better from screaming "Go away" or "I hate you", so that's simply not an option. Gritting your teeth you step more into the open, hoping that an effort not to hide would let you get your lamp back. Hiding, running away... all of it is pointless.

After an eternity it jimmies and then turns after a few small clicks, and a familiar black and red lit up by the hallway relaxes you into relieved elation.

"Uncle Rossi-!" You whisper-yell, him putting a finger to his lips and looking behind him.

With quick movements he beckons you forward, and you rush to him in the time it takes to put a plate full of food on the small chair near the door. Kneeling down he pats your cheek and kisses your forehead, giving you a toothy, reassuring grin.

"Don't forget to eat out the window, and drop it once you're done. It's okay, dad won't notice one plate being missing," He whispers, ruffling your hair. "I'm not letting you go to bed hungry." He's done this every time. "... It's going to be okay, little cutie. I promise."

You nod. "... Does daddy still love me?"

For a moment he's quiet. His expression falls solemn, head lifting to look over his shoulder again. With a sigh, his hand ruffles your hair one more time, before suddenly he smiles again.

"I love you!" He chirps. The words wrap around your heart, like a soft fleece blanket, and like a charm, your sorrow is calmed, and your tears finally stop. "Don't forget that, okay? Uncle Rossi loves you."

Nodding, you finally manage to smile. "I love you too, Uncle Rossi."

His head snaps up again, and he pats your head and hurries out. The doorknob again is secured, and his feet fade out quickly. Swallowing, you grab the plate, carefully bringing it to the window. Unlatching it you crouch as the panes swing over your head, setting the plate of food - bouillabaisse - on the ledge and chowing down.

The moonlight peers out from the clouds like your only friend, and peace returns again to your heart.

"... It'll be different tomorrow..." You tremble. "I won't be bad again, I promise..."

Finishing with urgency, you drop the plate and fork into the sea, pushing the window closed and locked. Crawling into bed, you listen to the footsteps above your room, to the sea calming outside. Yawning, you drift into the now placated shadows, hugging Cuppy close to your heart.

___

A sound like something dropping to the ground above you wakes you with a start. Swallowing harshly you're quick to climb out of bed, little time to spare, and wipe your mouth as you rush to your wardrobe. You're just quick enough to grab one of your favorite cotton shirts, a pair of shorts, and a clean pair of underwear as the doorknob is unbound and unlocked.

You swallow, harshly, rushing towards the center again as dad's blond hair peeks atop the door. As he straightens back up, his head doesn't need to look long to find you. Feet planting in place, you watch, hands clenched to keep from shaking and lip wobbling, as he approaches.

"Behave, maggot," He hisses, holding his hand out.

Eyebrow quirked at you managing not to flinch, he impatiently taps his foot as you reach up to it. Harshly he grabs it, yanking you forward. His large pace forces you into a jog, matching his pace with every third step. At first you're staring up at him, waiting for him to even turn his head your way, to ask how you slept, or even just what you want for breakfast. Or maybe, just maybe, that he loves you and today it'll be different. Better, even.

None of this happens. Your bottom lip wobbles as the familiar doors to the bathroom appear past the corner.

"Take a damn bath." He shoves you to another crewmate, not even giving you a glance. "Watch it, keep it away from me."

Your hand reaches for him as you're guided into the bathroom. "Daddy?" Without a glance or gesture, your lip wobbles further, heart tying in knots. "DADDY!"

A dark cloud weighs on your shoulders again, guiding you to the bathtub as said crewmate puts some soap beside it and a towel. Patting your head in pity, he kneels down to murmur in your ear.

"Disobedient children aren't rewarded." The words are an icy dagger in your stomach. "... If you want your daddy to love you, maybe you should be a good child that deserves to be loved."

With that you're left alone, breath hitched in your throat as your heart runs cold. Staring at your reflection in the water, you cast aside your dirty clothes, stepping into it and sitting. The lukewarm water manages to chill you to the bone, to where you need to hug your knees to feel warm. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance at the door, waiting... and waiting...

You sigh, pinching your nose and turning sideways to completely submerge. Curling up, your [h/c] hair waves out in tendrils as your legs minutely twitch in unease. As your lungs slowly grow sore, you momentarily wonder if it's even possible to be good... What did you do? Why won't dad look your way?

Sitting back up, you gulp down air as the answer to your question comes from the red syrup of your shampoo.

"... Just do what daddy says?" Would that make him happy? Will he love you? Do what he says without complaining... Yea, it's as simple as that, isn't it? "... I'll be a good girl. I won't complain about daddy's work."

Yea. It's as simple as that.

Rinsing your head clean, you comb the conditioner from your hair under the running water. Reaching you grab the towel and brush, drying off and putting yourself together, painstaking as the process of brushing your hair is. All the same you finish, tying it back. Sliding back into your shoes you jump up onto the knob, it turning in your hold, and let the door swing open, taking you with it. Lowering back onto your feet, you turn-

"Get your ass to the poop deck." You're shoved into a pace, which you continue with a nod. "Captain's orders, help out with scrubbin' if you want breakfast."

"I understand."

__

It's unbearably hot.

Dunking your brush in the cold, soapy water, you wince at the glare of the sun on the sea, washing away dirt and scum. It takes a few swipes, being as small as you are, but you manage. It's a process that sees you biting your lip so hard in concentration that it bleeds, but you do your best, scrub until your arms are sore, and repeat.

"-and as I was saying, Rosinante, it's complete bullshit."

Dad's voice makes you perk up, and you turn a bit to see where he's coming from. A big smile is what you present as he and Uncle Rossi ascend from below deck, waiting for him to look your way. Dad doesn't but Uncle Rossi gives you a massive smile and thumbs up before dad jabs him, regaining his attention.

"We've had issues with this same supplier awhile now. The frequency of our visits is starting to annoy me."

Standing up from scrubbing, you take a deep breath. Pittering over to him you find his leg, swallowing. Rearing, you take a small leap, wrapping your arms around it like a peach tree.

"Daddy~!" You let out, hugging him tightly-

A harsh kick to your stomach, sending you all the way back to your bucket and straight onto your ass.

...

... Oh.

I'm not doing enough... You turn back to the bucket and brush, biting back tears. Just keep going... Do your best. Daddy will love you if you do.

All the same, your tears keep falling onto your hard work.

A hand on your head, ruffling your hair, tugs you from your sorrow. Looking up, Uncle Rossi crouches down beside you, pointing at your bucket. Now it's too cloudy and dirty to clean efficiently. Managing a nod, you wipe your tears with your arm, standing up and dumping the bucket.

Keeping a tight hold on it, you pause just as you're at dad's side, gaze turning from below deck to him.

"... Do you love me?" You ask.

Not even a glance. You raise up on your tippy-toes, tilting your head.

"Daddy?" You ask again. "Do you love me?"

Lowering, you wait, staring and waiting for what... really has to be forever. Before long though tears blur your vision, and you bite back a sniff as you rush below deck. Not good enough - you're just not good enough yet. If you work to the bone, if you're so to-the-letter it's painful, that's when he'll look your way. You just have to remember that.

Be perfect, and nothing less; push past your limits; endure and don't cry. It'll be unbearably hard, but if you manage to do all of this, dad has to love you.

It's not a long walk to where there's more water by any means. Operating the pump, that's the real test, but you manage just by jumping up onto it. It pinches down on your wrist every time it comes back down, but it doesn't hurt long. Rubbing the red marks it makes, you begin the arduous task of carrying the bucket.

Sloshing and rocking against your body, you stiffen your legs anytime you feel yourself wobble. When the water reaches and touches your chin you wince, staying still until it stops. Every maybe three steps and you're losing your grip, but still you try.

Something swipes the bottom of your feet, and your shrieks are drowned by the water pouring onto your face as you fall onto your butt. Bucket landing perfectly onto your head to hide your face, the cruel laughter of passing crewmates resounds through the rotting wood.

"Better mop that up, kid! You made that mess!"

For a moment you're stuck, legs too heavy to move. You try to move your arms, but there's no feeling. Swallowing, you try to open your mouth to complain, but the lump in your throat takes the sound before you make it. A mix of tears and water pours down your face, your jaw starting to wobble. Biting your lip harshly you force yourself back to your feet.

The bucket slides off your head, falling harshly to the floor. For a moment your gaze turns back to the steps leading above deck.

... Mop first.

Clutching your shirt tightly, your shoes squish against the floor as you go to find the mop, usually near the bathroom. Sniffling harshly, you wipe your face, shaking your head like it'll get rid of this horrible lump. Still your lips purse, and still everything hurts when the supply closet door opens. Reaching, you take the mop in your hands and take a deep breath.

Do your best...

'Watch it, keep it away from me.'

It. You.

... Get out of the way. Maybe that's what he wants.

As much as you want to go back, to try again, maybe it'll just be better to put yourself away. It'd be... a nice reprieve, maybe. And maybe they'll have something good to eat for lunch, seeing as you might not get breakfast after all. That's just what happens sometimes, after all.

You want to puke; to cry; to scream; to just run to Uncle Rossi. Everything and anything feels more like a dead end the more you think, until you've come up blank on what else to do.

"... I hate this..." You whimper, rubbing your arm as you pitter-patter back to your room. I don't know what's wrong with me...

... Someone, please...

Tears well up in your eyes.

Someone tell me what's wrong! Tell me what's bad! Please tell me, someone-!

Your pace picks up, eventually zooming past countless doors and shapes.

Just... How much longer...?

In what must have been a blink you're safe back in your room. For a second you turn back to the door, cheeks waterlogged and red, waiting for footsteps. Wanting someone to just scoop you up and hold you, tell you what's wrong with you - or that maybe nothing is... Is there?

Meandering to your window, you crack it open, and dad's voice is the first thing you hear.

"... Where's the problem?"

"What do you mean, Doflamingo sir?"

"I mean, where's the fucking maggot." Your heart feels a sharp, cold sting.

"She- it went back below deck. I can fetch it so it can keep scrubbing-"

"I didn't give it an order to do chores, I gave you an order to keep it away from me. Looks like it knows what that means. But enough about it. We're arriving to Foam Town shortly, for the supplier. Don't forget the orders."

"Get the Devil Fruit, and kill him, right?"

"Mhm. I don't take kindly to someone holding out on me. Especially when I've been so kind and generous. That won't happen again, though."

"Do you need Corazon to keep an eye on the kid?"

"Tch. It won't be an issue. Just as long as it doesn't get in the way of our business, I don't care what it gets up to... Ugh, but I'm going to hear it cry at some point today. Have someone get it some food."

"Understood, sir."

Backing up once you hear the sound of heavy footsteps, you meander to your shelf. Tugging a worn book from it - a collection of fairytales dad let you get when he looked at you - you hurry to your bed, jumping to get onto it without a hitch. Swallowing harshly you open it to a page with a family of rabbits stealing food from a mean old farmer's garden.

You like these stories, very much. But the pages are falling out, and you can't ask for a new one right now.

Just when you're absorbed enough to where the lump in your throat is gone, there's a knock at the door.

"Got your lunch, kid." That's not Uncle Rossi or dad. The door opens a crack and a bowl is haphazardly dropped on the small table. "We're landing soon. Be on your best behavior."

"... Thank you," You manage, the door slamming your reply.

Putting the book down you slide out of bed, going to receive the meal. It's a lobster risotto, dad's favorite. Tears well up again as you take the bowl back to your bed to eat and read. Dad doesn't care that you do so, you've been told, but you're still careful.

"... Foam Town. Okay." You mutter, something lighting up in your chest.

... This time, it's different.

[honorhearted]

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about." Emma affected a look of faux innocence, her eyes wide and imploring. "Your friend is quite the catch. Especially compared to you."

Benjamin snorted. "No argument. But perhaps it is you who brings out my alleged loathsome side."

Emma's eyes narrowed at the unspoken challenge. "Tell me, do you think he's the marrying sort? You couldn't possibly marry a woman who's already engaged, now could you?"

Benjamin bristled. "I told you to leave Finnegan alone. He's married to the bloody sea, so you can drop this charade whenever you're finally ready to admit this is merely an attempt at proving your point."

A darkness shrouded Emma's eyes, stark and chilled akin to a deadly ocean. "Are you threatening me, Mister Bolton?" She stepped forward, crowding his personal space.

"When it comes to my friends and loved ones, then yes, I suppose I am," Benjamin fired back.

She simpered. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous." Smug in her amusement, she raised a challenging brow. "Don't tell me you're actually starting to take interest in me. I'd hate to break your heart."

Benjamin gritted his teeth. With vindictive fanfare, he curled his hand around the back of her neck, then yanked her forward until their lips were clashing in a fierce, almost painful kiss that rolled through him in needful waves. Even with her smug mouth otherwise detained, she was so damnably infuriating. His goal was to stop her sneer, to make her regret her decision, and yet with their tongues tangling and his hand twisting through her hair, it was difficult to ignore his own mounting want as he groaned into her mouth and gently bit down on her bottom lip.

This was the kiss that had haunted him -- baited him, tortured him -- and breathless, he finally broke away from her in a huff, his eyes glittering as he warned, "You leave Finnegan alone. I don't think it will be difficult to prove to him just what kind of woman you are." Wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he coolly gestured her onward. "After you."

She knew she ought to be pleased that her plan was working thus far, but the pained look in his eyes caught her off guard. She expected him to be flustered or embarrassed. Upset that his target was turning her affections elsewhere. But he looked angry, betrayed, as though he had expected her to only look at him.

"Yes, I'm sure that's why the ladies steer clear." And absolutely nothing to do with his wretched behavior and arrogance, she thought to herself. If looks were all that mattered in a courtship, he might be a catch, but Emma knew that there was only so much his soft lips and pretty eyes could excuse when it came to his personality.

As carefully as she tried to maintain an even facade, the man's brash comments triggered a sincere smile from Emma, enjoying the boyish nature of his jokes. A part of her was genuine in her offer. She liked his energy, the carelessness of his aura made her feel at ease, while John only made her feel tense and unsure of herself.

"No, no, I'm rather enjoying hearing about your conquests." Crossing her arms over her chest, she beamed. Although she wasn't as interested in hearing about the women he had seduced in his life, Emma was utterly intrigued by the way his face grew red with each passing remark. He was off-balance and it would only make it easier to knock him off his pedestal. She turned back back to Caleb and nodded. "I think we are going to get along quite well, Mister Finnegan. It's nice to know not all men have lost their touch."

His words were short and clipped as he requested a private moment with her. She regarded him with a feline sort of curiosity, hoping he was close to giving up on his quest to conquer her. As Caleb made his way outside, Emma watched with a smile, just in case he happened to shoot a glance back at the pair. When he was finally out of sight and the barn doors swung closed, she allowed the corners of her lips to falter as she rose a hand to her cheeks, gently massaging the sore muscles. Playing the role of a coquette was far more tiresome than she'd remembered it being.

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about." She lifted her chin, wearing a haughty expression. "Your friend is quite the catch. Especially compared to you." With a venomous tone, just to spite him, she added in addendum, "Tell me, do you think he's the marrying sort? You couldn't possibly marry a woman who's already engaged, now could you?"

She was sure he knew exactly what she was trying to achieve with her deceitful tactics, but Emma wouldn't let him think he had an upper hand. He knew nothing about her, despite what he thought. Emma could flirt with whoever she wanted. She could act like a harlot if she wanted to, especially if it meant ruffling the feathers of the man she disliked the most. Sure, she felt bad that she was aiming her empty affections towards an innocent man, one that surely wouldn't have gained romantic attention from her in any other regard, but all was fair in love and war. His only crime was being friends with John Bolton, and despite feeling guilty for the possible collateral damage to come, she would use whatever leverage she could get.

"Are you threatening me, Mister Bolton?" She narrowed her gaze and stepped forward, a glimmer of amusement in her eye. If he wanted to threaten her, she would welcome it, but Emma wasn't fond of vague threats. If John Bolton, the man who was so determined to marry her had the audacity to threaten her, he might as well make his intentions clear.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous." Emma snorted, taunting him with raised brows. "Don't tell me you're actually starting to take interest in me. I'd hate to break your heart."

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

In the end, the ending is not so tragic, so dramatic or destructive at all. The trick succession pulls, has always pulled, is making it seem so, making you feel about it the way its characters do.

But when the script (and i'm not the biggest fan of refering to something outside of the actual show) says there's something here, maybe it's okay, calls Ken a man followed by his particular history- that's just it. Or, to rephrase: it just is.

[timberhearths]

please draw nthad make out 🤤🤤

Dude

[bredforloyalty]

am i a sadist or does everyone keep asking themselves that

[honorhearted]

Sarah grew almost girlish in her glee, her eyes glimmering as she pressed, “And if I command you to ravish me? Would you still do as you’re told?”

"Yes." The word tumbled free before he could stop it, and breathless, Benjamin nodded before reaffirming, "Yes. Whatever you need."

Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. As her elder, he should arguably know far better than this; he should be guiding her towards common sense, not this reckless freefall over the edge.

“You’ve thought about me.”

Benjamin's stomach flipped, his pulse skipping like a stone across a still lake. With Sarah's eyes on him, bright and all-encompassing, a wave of arousal throbbed through him and he swallowed, nodding as his cheeks pinkened beneath her probing gaze. "Yes," he affirmed again. "Nearly every day, every moment since our last encounter..." Shivering, he confessed, "I've gone to bed with a hand curled between my legs far more than I wish to recount. You are maddening."

His words seemed to embolden her. “Show me,” Sarah entreated. Tightening her hold on his weskit, she whispered, “That is your command: Show me all that you’ve imagined doing to me.”

Mouth dry, Benjamin's head spun at all the varying ways he'd envisioned her -- on her back, on her knees, crying out for him as he filled her with his length -- and trembling, he took her hands before encouraging her to lower with him to the floor.

"I've had you in far too many ways," he whispered, a mixture of shame and arousal staining his cheeks. "But I...I wish to have you in this way first, if I may..."

Eager and restless, Benjamin reclined against the hardwood floor and started hiking up her skirts, his palms smoothing along the backs of her thighs as his breath hitched.

A desperate, impatient ache throbbed through his cock, and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to grind into her as he pleaded, "Come up here, love... Straddle my shoulders."

It undoubtedly seemed like an odd request. No lady would sit upon a gentleman's face, and yet with a pleading, nettled heat, he gave her waist an impatient tug, all but begging her to acquiesce.

“Yes, well, you have to admit that some of the things that were coming out of your mouth were frustrating, but," Flirtatiously, she moved to straighten his clothes, just to give her hands something to do. "Thankfully for you, I’m quite fond of what else your mouth is capable of.”

His words were perfectly wicked and she thrummed with excitement as his lips pressed against her neck. Sarah gasped softly as his hands found her breast, the sensitive skin beneath her clothes hardening at his touch. A shudder ran through her, her limbs trembling with want and need, a sensation so overwhelming that she nearly forgot the shame she ought to be feeling.

There is nothing proper about this. Sarah shook her head in agreement, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. Nothing that had occurred between the two of them had been proper and she doubted their actions on this night would change the course of such a trajectory. If anything, she prayed that impropriety would take place tonight and such wishes were the closest thing to holy that she dared get.

“No, there certainly is not.” With a girlish giggle she looped her arms around his neck. Whatever the lady commands. The words sent a chill up her spine, goosebumps flourishing across her skin as she weighed all the possibilities. There were so many things she wanted, so many things she could command him to do. But, in reality, Sarah’s knowledge was rather limited and with her judgment heavily clouded by desire, there wasn’t much she could think of other than 'touch me', 'take me', 'make me yours'.

In a breathy string of words, she moved to look him in the eye and asked, “And if I command you to ravish me? Would you still do as you’re told?”

Her words were undoubtedly braver and more brash than she felt. But the swelling of warmth beneath her skirts was growing stronger by the moment and Sarah knew it was only a matter of time before she lost all sense of control. If she wished to remain a semblance of dignity and self-composure, she would have to act fast.

“You’ve thought about me,” It wasn't a question, but instead a statement, a fact that she dared to assume with a grin. If she had been bewitched enough to dream of him and his body, then surely he had been affected in the same manner. Or at least she hoped he had thought of her. The idea that he conjured her face in moments of loneliness made her giddy and she wanted to know, to experience all of his true thoughts.

“Show me.” Sarah continued, breathless as she uttered each word in a puff of air. “That is your command: Show me all that you’ve imagined doing to me.”

[theclaravoyant]

trying not to spiral over every single detail but since this is the spiralling over every single detail website how bout when Ed tells those kids “now don’t bother stabbing, chances are they’ll survive. you want a good slash.” is he telling us how to defeat the plot armour . is he telling us what the non survivable injury is .

[a-dream-deferred]

watching my younger siblings behave in the same self-sabotaging ways that i did when i was their age like

[russilton]

Wow! If I had a nickel for every time an upcoming female face of motorsport said something offensive about one of my identities, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird infuriating that it happened twice. Right?

[waloeders]

AND I DONT KNOW WHATS GOT ITS TEETH IN ME BUT IM ABOUT TO BITE BACK IN ANGER!!! NO AMOUNT OF SELF SOUGHT FURY WILL BRING BACK THE GLORY OF INNOCENCE!!!!!

[martyrbat]

win or lose at least i can always count on the pens to have one of the worst powerplays in existence <3