#Also also Nice to see that the Queue FUCKIN STOPPED FOR NO REASON

[tubifexx]

Guess who got sick as shit and made another rp blog?

#outtaslithers+ooc #tbf i still manage to like making blogs #Despite everything in me brain turning to mush #Also also Nice to see that the Queue FUCKIN STOPPED FOR NO REASON

[missmonsters2]

Taste of Candy

Requester: @thatgirlwholikesgirls 💘

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader/OFC

Prompt: Kiss me again, like you mean it.

Note: You heard the girl, kiss wanda again like u fuckin mean it. God, I kind of want to do a series for this? Like in full detail of their adventures. (Also dw bby i have your other request in the queue too)

Warnings: screaming? Fangirling? Crying?

Genre: Fluff

Count: 3438

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It starts with an umbrella and sour cola candies.

If there's one thing that Wanda can say with certainty is that she hates the small town she lives in. She hates her conservative parents, who are both lawyers. She hates that they only expect her to win, and if she isn't winning, then she isn't anything.

So, she was the student council president, the cheer captain, and they're naming her prom queen right now in her senior year.

She's got the hottest and most popular guy as her boyfriend and prom king, and even though he's a kind of an annoying know-it-all, he likes her.

It's supposed to be the best night of her life. This was supposed to be everything she wanted. Her parents were proud of Wanda because, after this, she's supposed to get married to Vision and be a housewife like her mom.

That's supposed to be her happily ever after.

So, why is it that while prom is ending, she's sitting outside on the bleachers in the rain crying?

And when she feels the rain stop pelting her on the head, she looks up. It’s you.

She’s never talked to you during all the entire years of high school because you’re not popular.

You’re not unpopular, either, but she can’t be friends with people who aren’t popular. People say you’re kind of weird as you don’t conform to any social norms or expectations, but you’re nice and smart, always willing to let people copy your homework, so they don’t bully you either. 

And you’re always eating sour cola candies.

You’re standing with her on the bleachers, coincidentally close enough that she’s under your umbrella. You’re not even looking at her as you offer her a bag of those sour fucking cola candies. 

Wanda can’t help but snort because it’s prom, and you’re not even wearing a prom dress. Just there in your ripped jeans, shirt, and a leather jacket.

“Get lost,” Wanda sneers in her mean popular girl voice because she doesn’t need you here while she’s fucking having a breakdown. 

But all she gets is a yawn as you sit down next to her, making sure she’s under your umbrella as you shove the bag of candy more obnoxiously towards her. 

Unsure what else to really do, Wanda reaches in the bag and pulls out a piece of candy, putting it in her mouth. 

It’s way too sweet, Wanda thinks. The first bite makes her jaw tingle as saliva rushes to her mouth due to the sourness.

But she likes the sweet aftertaste when all the sourness is gone. 

And for the moment, she’s not crying. 

The two of you sit in silence, watching the empty field as it continues to rain. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m out here and crying?” Wanda asks, not looking at you still. After all, she’s the most popular girl in high school, wouldn’t this be the most amazing news to spread.

“No,” you quietly reply, popping another candy in your mouth. Wanda thinks your voice is soft, not at all how she thought you’d sound (which is gruff for how you look). 

“Why? Aren’t you curious about why the student council president, cheer captain, and prom queen is out here crying on what’s supposed to be the best night of her life?”

You hum, “Don’t care.”

Wanda’s jaw drops a little. 

“Well--what--why are you here then?” Wanda demands as she half-sputters in disbelief. 

Wanda watches as you lull your head side-to-side and can’t help but agree with people you’re weird. 

“Well, you were crying, and you were getting wet. I have an umbrella, and I have candy. You’re under my umbrella, so you’re not getting wet anymore. You ate a piece of candy, and you stopped crying. So, your reason doesn’t really matter anymore,” you reason with her, but that doesn’t really explain to Wanda why, but she suspects that within your answer, you really meant to say there was no particular reason. You saw she was crying and getting soaked, and you had the means to stop it. So, you did.

“But,” you continue, dragging Wanda out of her thoughts, “I have other things to do that I can’t put off anymore, so...”

Wanda sighs, not expecting the slight disappointment that you had to go. She’s not even sure she understands this entire interaction. 

But suddenly, you’re shoving your umbrella in her hand, dumping the candy in her lap, before you take off your leather jacket and putting it around her shoulders. You get out into the rain, letting yourself get soaked. 

And for a moment, Wanda has a passing thought that you’re beautiful.

“That’s my favorite candy and last bag, so stop crying,” you tell her, but then pause.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t cry in the rain,” you finally say as if to soften your command of her to stop her tears.

And then you’re gone.

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Prom ends without any further incidents, and after drying herself off in the washroom, she goes back to her friends who didn’t even notice she was missing, and her boyfriend, who only had a mild concern about the leather jacket and candy she brought back.

Wanda can’t explain why she didn’t share one piece of candy with anyone who asked.

And then school starts again, and she sees you in the halls, but you don’t even look at her.

It’s like you don’t even remember being out in the bleachers with her while she cried.

And somehow, with everything else in her life, it makes her feel worse. Graduation day comes, and Wanda can’t help but feel like the end of her life is coming closer.

She’s valedictorian, and she’s giving her speech, looking in the crowd only to realize you didn’t even fucking show up to graduation. 

Wanda has her diploma in hand, her parents take two photos with her before they flitter off to network with other people. Her boyfriend is fooling around with his friends as they take pictures and throw their football around for one last time.

And Wanda...Wanda just feels like the world is closing up on her as she stands there frozen.

But then a bag of sour cola candies comes into her view. Stunned, she looks past the bag to see you again. 

Perhaps because Wanda stands there too long without doing anything, you end up taking her empty hand out, dumping a couple candies into it. Without saying anything else, you turn to leave.

“Wait--” Wanda softly calls out, and you turn back with a brow raised.

“I’m not giving you the whole bag this time,” you frown slightly.

Wanda ignores the comment, even the little sting that you won’t give her the entire bag like last time, but maybe there are rules to getting an entire candy bag from you.

“Why are you here? You didn’t show up to walk the stage,” Wanda asks instead. She’s not even sure what she wanted to ask in the first place when said asked you to wait.

“I’m not interested in walking the stage, but I want my diploma,” you say, waving the piece of paper slightly around to show Wanda in your other hand.

“Why?” Wanda emphasizes because everyone else doesn’t care about a stupid flimsy piece of paper that said they’ve graduated from high school. They just want to walk the stage in front of their peers. 

You tilt your head, holding it up better for Wanda to see.

“The font is hilariously terrible. I wanted a copy to remember.”

The reason is so stupid, Wanda thinks, but she can’t help the chortle that comes out because it’s true, the font is awful.

Wanda finds you staring at her and clears her throat from the laughter. 

“So?” Wanda asks, “Now what for you?” 

You lick your lips, an action that Wanda thinks she was entirely too fixated on, and then nod your head outside the arena. It’s a clear sign for Wanda to follow you.

At first, she hesitates because she really shouldn’t leave the arena when her parents are bound to come back soon. But then you shake your bag of candies like you’re fucking trying to lure her out with you and Wanda makes the split decision to go.

She goes outside and sees your car out in the front. A well-kept convertible Mercedes Benz that you didn’t have before. 

“Nice car, how’d you get it?” Wanda asks, inspecting the rest of the car and finds a suitcase in the back.

“I won it in a street race,” you say so offhandedly even though Wanda whips her head towards you. You don’t offer any other explanation, though.

“What--when did you even--” Wanda doesn’t even know what to ask. Should she ask why you were street racing? Where? How did you even know?

“Prom,” is all you offer, and Wanda is in disbelief you left her because you were going to go street race.

“Okay,” Wanda breathes, “So, where are you going?” 

She saw the suitcase. 

So, you’re getting out of this shitty small town, and Wanda can’t help the stab of envy that comes.

Maybe it’s a university far away that you’re going to. University that Wanda didn’t even get a chance to apply to.

Because she has to go back.

Wanda’s going to get married and then follow the footsteps of her mother.

“Anywhere,” you say, looking at Wanda seriously. 

“You don’t have a plan?” Wanda can’t help the shallow laughter. 

“Sometimes having no plan is the plan,” you say.

“That’s stupid,” Wanda says hollowly.

“It’s better than following a plan you don’t want,” You comment, and Wanda whips her head to look at you.

“Excuse me?” The mean popular girl tone comes out.

“What now for you?” You ask, ignoring Wanda. 

Wanda doesn’t answer because everyone in this stupid small town knows what her plan is. 

And she wants to scream. 

“Come with me.”

The words hit Wanda like a freight train, and she’s staring at you as if you sprouted three heads.

“What--no, why would I--”

“You know, for the 4 years I’ve known you, all you’ve ever shown was that you were the top of the hierarchy gunning for prom queen like it was the only thing that existed in the world. And then the night you were crowned, you were crying on the bleachers. Now you’re here, graduating, and you look like you’re going to vomit.”

Wanda flares because she’s well aware of that night. Like something ugly spilled over and now won’t stop spilling.

“What would you know--” 

“It’s okay to want more than what’s planned for you.”

The words make Wanda breathless. 

Because maybe that’s the deep-rooted secret Wanda has been carrying underneath the perfect girl her parents groomed her to be.

But...

“I can’t,” Wanda’s voice cracks. 

Because this is all she’s ever known is everything that’s in front of her. How could she turn back, abandoned everything she’s done so far to get here? Her parents would never speak to her again. 

And so, Wanda turns around and goes back into the stadium, leaving behind a possibility of what could’ve been.

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That night, Wanda’s family hosts a dinner with Vision and his parents. Everyone’s laughing and enjoying themselves. Her brother is joking around with Vision, and their moms are already talking about wedding plans.

It’s just so overwhelming. 

They’re talking about coral flowers, white tablecloths, and being in a church.

They talk about Vision going to Harvard and taking over his father’s company. They talk about how Wanda’s going to have the cutest children, and it’s making her stomach churn.

She feigns sickness and excuses herself for the rest of the night to go to her room. 

It’s probably hours that pass, and the house is dead silent, signaling everyone has gone to bed.

She lays in the dark, facing the ceiling with her hands folded gently together over her stomach. 

And then she hears something hit her window gently.

Tap tap

Wanda gets up, walking over to the window and looks out confused. She sees you standing there, convertible parked out in the front, and throw pebbles at her window.

She opens it and hisses, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wanda already said no to you. Why would you come again?

“I came to get my leather jacket,” you say, blinking. 

And it occurs to Wanda she never gave back your jacket from the night in the rain. 

She huffs, stalking back in to grab the clothing before appearing again at the window and throwing it down to you.

You catch it with ease and look back up at her.

“Wanda,” you call softly, garnering her attention, “come with me.”

She frowns.

But instead of no, she asks, “Why?”

And it’s quiet, and Wanda thinks it was dumb to ask because there’s no reason she needs to go and leave the life she has now.

“Wanda, you’re always going to be more than this small town. You don’t belong here.”

And Wanda left breathless again by you. It’s like the words ring in her ear and make it to her heart because maybe that’s what she wanted someone to confirm all along.

Of course, she wants more, but is she enough for more?

And then you pull out a bag of candy from your jacket pocket and offer it to her. 

And suddenly, Wanda turns back into her room, grabbing her small suitcase and shoving in all her clothes and belongings she’ll need. She pulls all the cash she has and her passport and then sneaks out the front door. 

It’s insane, she thinks as you take her suitcase and throw it in the back. 

It’s doesn’t make any sense at all as she gets into the car with you, someone she’s never really even spoken to, and watches her house get smaller in the side mirror. 

It’s a little scary, and she’s worried that her family will absolutely lose their shit.

But she doesn’t know how to explain the absolute fucking euphoria that’s spreading through her when she sees the sign they’re leaving their small town.

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Months pass. 

Her parents did immediately freak out when she was gone. All she had sent was a simple text to Pietro that was she doesn’t want to get married to Vision and become a housewife. She wants more. 

And her parents won’t even talk to her and don’t want her to come home anymore, and while it had gutted her and took her months to get over, she was still happier out here.

Wanda feels the wind in her hair, a feeling she thinks she can’t live without now and looks over to you subtly. 

You’ve got your sunglasses on and playing the same song the two of you have been listening to for weeks now, and she thinks back to everything.

You’ve taken her to so many places now. 

She’s been to Washington to California, Arizona to Texas, Florida to New York, and now they’re on their way to the airport to go live in Hawaii for a little while. 

When going state to state, the two of you always picked up jobs here and there, saving up cash for your next trip, and Wanda’s just never felt so free.

She’s never laughed like she has now, sang like does in the morning, joke around with anyone like she does with you. 

Wanda’s not sure what any of it means. 

But sometimes, she’ll put her hand on the shift stick and likes when you place your hand over hers.

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They’ve been in Hawaii for 2 weeks now, and Wanda thinks she likes Hawaii the best out of all the places they’ve traveled to.

It’s a wonderful vacation spot, and she loves living on the beach every day. 

The two of you are working at a hotel, and Wanda managed to get off earlier than you. Tonight, they’re hosting a luau and Wanda’s sitting on the beach again with a paper and pen.

She’s been working on her admission letter to Princeton with your encouragement. 

“Hey,” Wanda hears and looks up to see you in one of those ugly Hawaiian shirts that you claim will be all the rage in a few years.

You take a seat right next to Wanda, your shoulder bumping gently as you sit down, and hand her a drink in a pineapple cup.

Wanda hums happily, seeing the tiny umbrella and takes a sip from the straw. 

“How’s your admission letter going?” You ask with your sour cola candy bag. 

Wanda doesn’t understand how you can eat them so often. She really stopped having them after that night you whisked her away in your car. Wanda doesn’t like the sour part even if she likes the sweet aftertaste.

“Going,” Wanda sighs. There’s so much she can write about, but it just seems like word vomit on paper at this point.

“You’re doing wonderfully, it’ll be amazing,” you reassure her with an ease that makes Wanda’s heart flutter. She doesn’t understand how you always seem to say the words she wants to hear. 

Wanda sets the paper down, holding it down with a pile of sand on top as she resigns to just enjoy the rest of the night with you. 

The breeze feels good against her skin, and she loves hearing the sounds of the waves against the shore. 

She’s sipping her drink and leaning her head on your shoulder as she listens to the music of the luau in the background. 

Suddenly, she feels you fiddling something in her hair. Her hand comes up to feel a flower resting against her ear. She pulls out her phone to see a red and yellow hibiscus in her hair. You’re looking to the side as you chew on your candies, and Wanda smiles.

“Where’d you get it?” Wanda asks, resuming lying on your shoulder.

“I saw it in Mr. Kahale’s backyard. I thought it would look pretty on you, so I asked him for one,” You explain as you look back at her.

“And he gave you one?” Wanda asked in a surprised tone. Mr. Kahale was known for being stingy with his flowers.

“No, so then I took it when he wasn’t looking,” you grin as Wanda slaps your arm with a laugh.

“He’s going to notice, you know,” Wanda tells you, and you shrug.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me like the last 7 times.”

And suddenly, Wanda feels a wet drop on her cheek. It starts to drizzle, not enough to cancel the luau, but she can see people in the distance, making their way back to find shelter.

She hasn’t been in the rain since the night on the bleachers. Wanda straightens herself and looks up at the rain. 

“This sure brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Wanda laughs a little, and she sees you looking up as well, the finished bag of candy forgotten. 

“You must’ve thought I was crazy crying out in the bleachers,” Wanda comments offhandedly.

“Not at all,” You say, looking over to Wanda, getting her to look at you too.

Wanda snorts. “Alright, what really made you come over to a girl crying in the rain.”

Even after all this time, Wanda still can’t believe you came over for the sake of coming over.

You sit up, brushing your hands to get the wet sand off.

“Same reason. Pretty girls shouldn’t cry in the rain,” you smile, and Wanda laughs again.

“Alright, what do pretty girls do in the rain?”

You lick your lips, and Wanda suddenly has that feeling she’s been often getting when she’s with you. 

“They get kissed,” you lean over and press your lips softly to Wanda. 

All Wanda can taste is the sour cola candies, but she’s getting the best part of it, the sweet aftertaste. It’s soft and quick. But it’s still better than any kiss she’s ever gotten from the boys she’s dated.

It makes her skin hum, and her stomach explodes with butterflies. It makes her sigh when you part from her.

Her head is swirling, and she opens her eyes to see yours staring back at her so seriously.

It’s too quick, Wanda decides. 

“Kiss me again,” she husks, “like you mean it.”

And when your lips descend on hers again, Wanda decides that she likes the candy as long as she can taste it like this.

And as long as Wanda gets her way, she’ll be the only pretty girl you’ll ever kiss again.

#mm: my fics #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x OFC #wanda maximoff #Wanda Maximoff Imagine #scarlet witch x reader #Scarlet Witch Imagine #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers reader insert #modern avengers au #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel au #genre: fluff #genre: soft angst

[thessalian]

Thess vs Adulthood

My half-day off was ... both more and less stressful than I might otherwise have figured.

Somehow, for some fucking reason, the deluge of typing we’ve been having dried up. When I left, there were seven items in the queue (and I admit to some schadenfreude at being able to put off doing one by this one consultant who’s been working the more complicated cut-ups for like a month and so all his dictations are like ten minutes and full of bullshit minutiae like giving the exact width of every single tissue slice, which I know for a fact that you don’t have to do because various of his colleagues just give an average, and his block keys are fucking ridiculous and also while I get his accent well enough, his issues with singular vs plural and his other grammatical foibles kind of drive me bonkers after awhile so I’m praying the nine-minute monstrosity that I saw before I left is done by someone else this afternoon so I don’t fucking have to). I mean, yes, I worked like a fucking demon this week and have the muscle aches to show for it but daaaaaamn. Anyway, meant I got to head out without guilt.

Took a slightly roundabout way home because it was a nice day and I wanted to see some other bits of the city from the window of a double-decker bus. That was nice. Stopped for groceries. I needed decent shampoo and they were having a sale on the Aussie shampoo I like, and I have plans in the direction of burgers.

After that, an hour or so on hold with my bank as I tried to fix a long-ago cock-up and get my option to set up direct debits for paying my bills restored. It wasn’t a good idea for a long time because of my iffy financial situation. Now that I have a permanent job? Bring on the automatic bill-paying. They solved my problem better than the entity I got on online chat (who I suspect was one of the rather controversial outsourced staff in ... I think India was where the news reports mentioned back in the day) who just said, “I don’t see a problem; try again”. To that entity’s credit, it did take some digging to find the issue. However, it’s not like they seemed to try ... or maybe they just didn’t have full access to the notes on my account, I dunno.

Anyway, now that that seems to be resolved, I can loaf. I am very very tired. I could nap. Thing is, I don’t want to mess up my sleep patterns worse than they already are. Also ... video games. I mean, I have many. In fact, I have more now because yesterday involved one of my besties lobbing the PC version of Horizon: Zero Dawn at my head. Seriously, video games are too big now and there’s never enough time to play them. I still haven’t done much with Odyssey yet (mostly because I’m still a little intimidated by the mechanics, at least after a long day at work and attempts at recovery from same), I have The Outer Worlds to poke at to see if I’m right and the new glasses help negate the “first person perspective causes migraines” issue... I know I require enrichment but it would help to have the energy to take the opportunities at it that I’m offered. But nope; worked too hard for that. Even when I have free time, I’m generally too fuckin’ tired.

Not that I look it, apparently; apparently I don’t look half as worn out and dragged out as I feel, which seems to translate in the eyes of most as ‘not looking old’. It would appear that unless you’re kissing close, the white in my hair is easy to mistake for blonde, and in fact mixes in with my natural blonde highlights that come out when there’s more sun. Between that and the mask, apparently I reeeeeeeeeeally don’t look my age. I mean, I’m 44 years old. I do not expect to be asked for ID in a Challenge 25 situation. However, it has happened twice this week. Both clerks looked absolutely dumbstruck when I handed over my ID (obviously mine, because it’s too complicated to fake and the picture - taken when my hair was long, without being allowed to wear my glasses, and when I hadn’t slept in over 36 hours - too appalling to carry around willingly) and they checked my birth year. I grumbled about this to Bubbles and (after the usual thing of, “How old are you, anyway? ...No way! You don’t look anything like that old!”) got questions about my skincare thing. Which ... is nonexistent. I wash my face once a day in the same kind of anti-blemish scrub I’ve been using for about thirty years of my life. I take multivitamins because my dietary options are incredibly limited and I don’t fancy osteoporosis, worse anaemia than I already have, or scurvy. I do not in any way get enough sleep. I probably do drink enough water, so there’s that, but still, people ask me what moisturiser I use and I’m like, “No, dude, my oily-ass skin doesn’t need more moisture. That’s what the anti-zit scrub’s for”.

Apparently I’m supposed to be happy about this and want to be carded forever. But I don’t mind looking 44. That’s how old I am. There is nothing wrong with being older, and there is thus nothing wrong with looking older. I mean, I guess I have a different perspective on it because I honestly don’t give a shit about anyone who says that a woman’s life is more or less over when she stops being able to pass for 25 because a) that’s total bullshit, b) I don’t entirely count myself as a woman, and c) that ‘life being over’ thing only seems to apply to things like attracting a man (which is supposedly women’s only purpose, which is also total bullshit but that’s another rant), and even if I had any interest in doing that, I don’t want them to want me for my body because I’m ace and thus have no intention of sharing it with them anyway. If someone doesn’t want to be involved with the 44-year-old with the white streaks in their hair and the nerdy-ass T-shirt, they don’t get the 25-year-old with the blonde highlights and the nerdy-ass T-shirt either.

Besides, the white in my hair looks good and the laugh and smile lines around eyes and mouth respectively? Those are medals of honour. The life I’ve had, the fact that I’ve smiled and laughed enough to get those is a fucking miracle.

#Thess is a motherfucking adult #Thess has a day job

[babza29]

Flying With Losers

Hello, amazing people! This is the second bit of this series, I created this moodboard and therefore it’s mine :) I’m not sure how far this will go but I have a third one that I’m going to write soon :) Hope you enjoy. 

Summary:  The Losers Club have reunited once again after 27 years. The gang sees two guys with a baby, Eddie doesn’t want a nanny and Richie has his eye on a golden gong.

Warnings: Bad Language

When Eddie and Richie got the call from Mike that he was getting the losers club to come back for a reunion in their hometown, Derry Maine, they both were very hesitant. Eddie, with the persistent memory of his mother’s constant worry that the world was a bad place and that he needed to stay inside with his mummy where she would keep him safe. But the drugs that he carried in his fanny pack turned out to be placebos which finally gave him the courage to stand up to his mum and be free from her torment.

Richie had one memory in particular; the arcade. The arcade was where he was brutally outed in front of so many children and with a small town, a small community, word had travelled fast of that one word that was a sin to be. Bowers words had struck him hard and he would never want to experience that again. But he was glad to have such an understanding and loving group of friends. Of family. Of losers. And now they are about to show their world to the people that they both trust the most.

Eddie parks their car in front of the Chinese restaurant, Jade Of The Orient, gets out and waits for Richie to put on the baby carrier to his chest, unstrap Birdie from her car seat and lay her carefully in the carrier where she gracefully sleeps against Richie.

As they walk towards the restaurant Richie hears Eddie groan beside him, “Shit, I left the baby bag in the car, you go on ahead I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything you would do.”

“Oh cmon Eddie, we’ll be just fine.”

“I sure as hell hope so, whatever you do, don’t wake up Birdie.”

“I would never. Now go fetch her bag fine sir, she will need it once she wakes from her slumber” Richie explains in his slightly better British accent from when they were kids.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too”

Richie walks towards the entrance, with his hands on the back of the carrier where his sleeping Birdie’s back is and asks the lady at the counter for the reservation ‘Hanlon’. She directs him to the room at the back where the setting seems to be a nice private area; as no one has caught his tall lanky figure yet, the golden gong catches his eye and without thinking he picks up the stick, hits the gong and says, “This meeting of the losers club has officially begu- oh no no no sweetheart Papa didn’t mean it, shit, don’t cry, don’t cry, shhh it’s okay.” Everyone at the table snaps their necks to the disruption at the entrance showing a shaggy black-haired man with big framed glasses trying to quiet down an upset baby.

Beverly Marsh, the only girl in the losers club was about to say something when they all heard a scream coming from the other room, “Richie I swear to fuck if you have woken up Birdie! – give her here you piece of shit” In comes a more familiar man that takes the baby from who they now figured out to be Richie Tozier, the comedian of the group.

“Why didn’t we get a nanny, then this would have been much easier.”

“You know what happened on the news last week, how that nanny almost killed those kids and thankfully got arrested. No fuckin way.”

“What did I say about watching the news.”

During their little argument, the losers all put together Richie and Eddie’s relationship at different moments. Beverly caught on straight away that they were together and grinned as wide as Cheshire the cat. Stan also knew but whilst rolling his eyes, his face had a ‘meh, they’ve been together since we were kids’ look. Mike and Ben were a little slow but gradually had smirks on their faces, listening to Richie and Eddie’s arguing never seemed to change from when they were children. Bill, on the other hand, had a dumbfounded ‘What?’ Look on his face causing Stan to chuckle beside him.

The surprise wares down and Beverly jumps up and goes straight to Eddie who was soothing Birdie, trying to stop her now quiet whimpers by swaying her side to side. “Let me hold the baby, oh my gosh, when did you adopt her, what’s her name, how old is she?”

“Forget that, my concern is how old she’s gonna live for with Richie as her dad,” Stan says immediately after Beverly,

“Fuck you, man.” Replies Richie with a joking tone but mixed with a hint of seriousness. Their daughters’ safety and life mean everything to Eddie and Richie.

“Well losers, this is baby Birdie, funny name but it fits her perfectly. We’ve had her for a month and a half now, she is three months old and she is our world.” Says Eddie, carefully handing her to Beverly.

As everyone sits down and orders their food, Stan moves next to Beverly who begrudgingly hands her to him after a while but leans over his shoulder with Ben, keeping her full attention on Birdie. Stan, who secretly loves her even more because of the fact that her name resembles his love for birds, is holding her with the most adoring look on his face which catches the attention of Richie,

“Stan the man, how come you like her but not me bro, I made her.”

“No you didn’t, she’s adopted you idiot.”

“Didn’t you hear what I was doing to your mum 12 months ago?”

“Hey, that’s not funny!”

“Nah I’m just kidding. It was Eddie’s mum, so that means that she’s basically blood-related to the both of us.” The last comment of Richie and Stan’s banter causes Bill to choke on his drink making him cough and breathe for air and for Eddie to hit Richie on his shoulder in annoyance.

As their food arrives, the conversation and bonds that they shared when they were kids immediately fall back into place. Many laughs and jokes are all that can be heard from everywhere in the restaurant, turning a few heads at attention by how loud they are.

Sitting in silence, Mike has a slightly frustrated look on his face as a baby was getting all the attention when he was the one who put this event together and no one has had the decency to give him any conversation. This does eventually catch everyone’s attention and to make matters worse, they kept on pushing Mike to hold Birdie. With a little more persuasion Birdie ends up sitting on his lap which is stiff and still as he has no idea what he is doing, but he is immediately softened when he feels a small pressure clinging onto his finger. A tiny hand that doesn’t even reach the entire way around.

Eddie looks in pure wonderment as Mike brings her to his face and kisses both of her cheeks, then lays her gently on to his chest. He has never been happier in his life with his annoying yet caring husband and beautiful baby girl.

As Birdie is constantly shared around to each and every one of the losers, it starts to stir her up from the frequent movement. Not seeing her Daddy and Papa, the only familiar faces she knows, starts to unsettle her and that’s when the tears once again start flowing. Instantly in dad mode, Eddie gets up from his chair whilst Richie starts ‘attempting’ to make a bottle, hands it off to Eddie who in turn directs the nipple of the bottle to Birdie who starts eating with such eagerness you would think that she hadn’t had a meal for months.

“So is that all she eats?” Says Bill with curiousness. And before Eddie can respond, Richie replies,

“Yea, only milk at the moment, Eddie here is still breastfeeding, but we don’t do it in public and that’s why we have bottles.”

For some reason, with belief, the losers turn to Eddie in question. With a massive glare towards Richie that says, ‘you’ll hear about this when we get home’ he faces the rest of them, “What the hell are you looking at!?”

Everyone bursts into laughter, with Eddie joining in at the end. But with one tiny yet adorable yawn, that is Richie and Eddie’s queue to leave. Everyone gets up and hugs one after the other – giving Birdie a small kiss on her forehead too – and as they drive home with their hands clasped together over the gearstick, they both would have never guessed that 27 years later they would be married and have the most loving group of friends with a baby that would end up becoming their world.

Their baby Birdie.

#Reddie #Parent Reddie #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #Beverly Marsh #Ben Hanscom #Mike Hanlon #Bill Denbrough #Stanley Uris #No Pennywise au #Baby Tozier/Kaspbrak

[itsakpopalypse]

Lee Jaeyoon (SF9)  Astrology:  How He Loves

“Thank You again for the ,,astrology - romantic breakdown with Lou! Can I request another one for SF9′s Jaeyoon, please?”

A/N Absolutely !!! I hope you like it !!! thank you for requesting! 🌸😍🌹🌹

this is cute!! why are all his other gifs so RUDE

let’s get into it

his chart is 3 earth,3 water, 2 fire 2 air

Sun in Leo, Moon In Virgo, Rising (maybe) in Scorpio

this is an interesting balance

because tbh Leo’s are outgoing, charismatic, a bit self absorbed and incredibly confident

But Virgos are meticulous, detail oriented, and diligent

both are pretty pleasant signs

Scorpio are easily misunderstood and  “quiet” or mysterious at first

here’s the thing, that will literally just be a first impression, because Leo’s are not those things. 

They are ruled by the Sun for a reason, so solar Leo’s are full of life and love and want to better the world around them

Sooooooo when you meet him you might think he is quiet or reserved, he might watch you with sharp eyes

but once he has a read on your sense of humor he will likely open up

expect FIERY FUN

loud and joyful, FLIRTY 

okay Leo’s LOVE attention. they love to GIVE it they love to get it

so he is going to hand out compliments constantly

you will probably be REALLY confused, because this is a COMMON Leo trait. 

Don’t fall for it. With a Virgo Moon he will be shrewd about who he lets into his emotional spaces

he will only actually pursue you if he has decided you passed those tests

Probably a lot more logical than he seems-almost to a methodical degree, especially with his feelings.

So once you’re close you may not REALLY know if he likes you because he may even be a bit distant for a while as he figures it out

this is normal, let him work through it

his Venus is in Libra... so when he has decided he knows what he wants

 I KNOW  you’re thinking flirting gets cranked up right??

here’s the thing. Libras are flirty by nature- but that’s like, just part of their charisma. 

once they LIKE LIKE someone  they basically forget how to person a self call out? maybe👀 

He is looking at this point for the person he trusts most and he is like “wait what a flirting and how do I do it.”

queue suddenly awkward bean

probably tries to show off though tbh 

like if he can get you to come to HIM then he doesn’t have to figure out how to flirt properly

will talk himself UP

he wants you to compliment him pls he is begging

His mercury is Leo so he is very straightforward

can be really stubborn but LOVES if you ask him for advice and help

might offer it without you asking,

in fact this poor boy will probably think that is flirting

why are Libra venus’s such a mess

anyway once he has all that figured out for himself he probably won’t wait to see if you like him back

all that Leo is like... well duh, why wouldn’t they ?? HAVE you ? Met me?

so he will be very confident and direct in his approach

Leo’s also really love a grand romantic gesture so it’s probably something really sweet but personal to you, since that Virgo moon will D E T A I L D E T A  I L  D E T A I L  until it’s perfect

Once he has you OH MY GOD HE IS HEART EYES EVERYWHERE

Libra is ruled by venus and tends to be even more romantic in this position

so just staring at you like you are the entire sunset and sunrise and just 

GUSHING to everyone around him to the point they are SICK of hearing about you 

cute dates that are somehow both well planned and spontaneous??

like how???

 V E R Y physically affectionate

ah don’t you know his lap is for sits??? 10/10 yes? so sit

gentle romantic affection

suddenly silly affection

nose rubbies and forehead kisses and giggles into your lips

tells you how much he loves you by kissing each one of your fingers and then placing your hand on his cheek with closed eyes

he loves affection tell him tell him tell him

if you compliment him back prepare for FALSE EGO followed by ridiculous giggling 

but you have started a war

after that you are going to start doing bigger gestures back and forth that get increasingly more cheesy to show affection

its cute but also gross

one of those couples everyone kinda hates but more often envies

honestly he will be incredibly loyal and devoted, and really excited all the time that you are his how fuckin cute i 

SPICEY TIME BELOW 18 + You know the drill

*softly but with feeling,* fuck

okay here listen

Leos are passionate

Virgos are PRECISE and in control

Libras are GIANT TEASES

this combo is deadly

I hope someone prepared a nice eulogy for your lady bits 

they are in for IT 

So think about this, Libra is teasing, but not super controlling

since this is the venus, one might expect some.. switch energy

okay but how pretty would his whines sound just throwing it out there

👀👀👀👀

Leos’ talk a big game but are actually pretty soft, so I actually see him leaning a bit on the topping from the bottom side

hear me out here

I’m definitely calling big SWITCH energy

he wants to watch every detail of your descent into pleasure

so it will start with slow sensual kisses romantic and sweet

that trail all over and make your knees shake

Libras get off on you getting off on them soooooooo

expect dirty talk to be centered around your pleasure

“You like that?” “Does that feel good?”

“How bad do you want to come for me?”

BODY WORSHIP

tells you how much he loves to see you fall apart

sometimes sex is romantic and slow

he wants to see every detail and memorize it for future reference

very caring and gentle on those times, probably strokes deep and grinds into you until you clench around him,

he’s gonna hiss and warn you not to do that again but he loves it

Probably

Okay, he won’t ask you for it, but 

Probably wants you to tie him up 

LOVES TO TEAS AND BE TEASED REMEMBER

wants to see everything so if you happen to blindfold him after the tying up......... 

good luck he will have revenge

but while he is at your mercy...

pants and moans

cannot catch his breath and cannot keep quiet

will be threatening you about what he is gonna do when he gets out

listen he loves it as much as you do 

i hope you did a good job on the restraining

he means it 

when he gets out ... good luck?

like flipping a switch it’s daddy time.

yikes even i am shook whaaat

what was that you thought you could get away with it?

nope

I am not okay what is this

He’s a tease too

expect orgasm denial until you are positively weeeeaping

and then when you are allowed, you aren’t going to get to calm down

nope. 

expect him to extend that for.. at least 3-4 more orgasms

He warned you

probably will want you to beg and beg and beg, beg to be touched beg to come and beg to stop coming.

aftercare is going to be pretty basic but very sweet

is a huge fricken cuddler

probably grabs your legs and hauls one over his lap and tucks you into that spot between the tiddy and the arm

oooof that’s the good sleepin spot you know the one

giggles like a little as you’re about to drift off and you’re like what....

and he just raises an eyebrow and is like

you should have seen the face you made on number 3. 

maybe next time he’ll film it so you can

HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT I HAVE SINNED

hope you enjoyed the FILTH

I have a few more coming within the next day or so !!

#sf9 scenarios #sf9 smut #sf9 #sf9 fanfiction #lee jaeyoon #lee jaeyoon smut #lee jaeyoon scenarios #kpop astrology #astrology asks #kpop astrology asks #hey this was fun but also deadly

[inkedsevans]

seeing red. | solo

WHO: sam evans (with mentions of others)

WHAT: he should have expected this. sam runs into an old, unfriendly face.

WHEN: 2/8; evening.

WHERE: the maggie

WARNINGS: mentions of alcoholism; and also violence.

In hindsight, Sam realized maybe, he should have expected this. Perhaps not subconsciously, but part of him was at least prepared for the talk. After all, it was all anyone in Castleport ever fucking did. And growing up the son of the town’s most infamous bar owner (and notorious drunk), he was used to it. The looks, the whispers, the same snarky comments from the people who’d mock his father but still find their asses on The Maggie’s bar stools on any given night. 

And maybe, that was the reason he never got as angry as he could have, should have. Make no mistake; he was plenty angry at the overstepping and invasion of his family’s privacy. But these people would talk their shit while lining the tills though that was barely enough to keep his temper leashed. 

Until that blog interfered. Once again, putting his family’s business on blast for all the town to see...and for what. What was the reason for bringing the attention to his father’s whereabouts? Sam wasn’t sure what irritated him more. That it happened or that if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have even known the name of the facility where his father was currently drying out. 

He’d discarded the paper with the information Quinn had given him, pushing it back towards her after their fight. And true to his word, he hadn’t mentioned his father to Stacy. He didn’t know if she’d gone to visit James, choosing instead to maintain his icy silence where their father was concerned. It wasn’t his money paying for this overpriced excursion and he wasn’t about to dig deeper. 

That attitude had obviously not been extended to the rest of Castleport. The antics of some anonymous asshole had once again put a spotlight on his family and their issues. The mean-spirited, callousness of it all called to mind the weirdness from last year. The pranks inflicted on him and others he knew. It wasn't completely off to think it was connected, the anonymity and hyper focus just as irritating as being locked in a freezing shed, but Sam couldn't connect the dots. 

Maybe the only thing it all had in common was his anger. It was harder to push aside now, though. The strain of it visible in the hunched line of broad shoulders and his jaw, clenched so tightly it gave him a headache. Hiding away wouldn't do. He couldn't do it; he had hours at the shop, clients to see and he was thankful the distance between Castleport and Portland was significant enough that he could work in relative peace, dodging looks and questions. 

It lasted until he reached The Maggie. 

The new bartender Natasha was a recent transplant to Castleport, from an even smaller town in upstate New York and Sam was glad to have her around. She was funny, good at her job, and Sam wouldn’t have to worry about replacing broken glasses. Really, all he needed to do was come in occasionally whenever office work was required. 

It could have waited until the next morning, when the bar was empty and he didn’t have to make small talk with anyone outside of the AM cleaning crew. But Sam told himself it was just a quick check-up. He parked around back and entered through the back exit, ignoring the sounds of clinking glasses and the din of voices that came from the bar. 

The office was spotless, everything in order, just the way his father had left it. At least there was some semblance of business as usual, the bar chugging along smoothly, even with the months-long absence of its owner. Marie, angel that she was, had even managed to take care of the liquor orders and the other business particulars, leaving Sam well and truly free for the evening. 

He turned to leave, this time going down the hallway, past the bathrooms and into the bar. It was packed, just like he figured. It was karaoke night and he could already see Wade, their usual MC gabbing on the microphone and getting the crowd hype in between the list of singers. 

Wild how even something like gossip wouldn’t stop people from coming in. Or maybe gossip was the reason, despite his very public opposition to it. He didn’t miss the furtive glances in his direction as he shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar. Sam barely acknowledged people with nothing more than a passing nod, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation that would no doubt bring up whatever that gossip rag had to spew. And he was nowhere near drunk enough for that. 

Not that he wanted to drink. Sometimes, he thought about it, being so bombed out of his mind that thinking was made impossible. But the idea of it, the visions of cleaning up his father’s messes, and the glassy-eyed stare of nothingness stopped him from ever going too far. He couldn’t remember the last time he was wasted. Buzzed, maybe. But getting past any point beyond that terrified him. He was already dealing with enough shit as it were, no need to add a drinking problem to the list. 

Thoughts swirling, he let them take a backseat when he approached the shiny bar top, greeting Natasha with a smile and nodding at Danny, the other evening bartender. He was a good guy, graduated two years behind Sam and coached little league baseball in his free time. 

Sam shrugged out of his leather jacket and leaned on the bar top at the very end, blocking any drunk random from coming around and into the employee area. Olive eyes scanned the room, taking note of the mood. It seemed no worse than usual, but the night was fairly young and everyone wasn’t as deep into their cups just yet. He winced as the opening notes of some stale classic rock song filled the space, followed by a voice that could only be described as ‘godawful’ singing the words off-key and loud, seemingly spurred on by the raucous cheers that rose up. 

Natasha dropped a beer in front of him with a sympathetic smile, and Sam figured his displeasure must have been evident if she was placating him with a pilsner peace offering. Long fingers gripped the tall glass, watching the white foam settle into the golden lager before he lifted it to his lips for a tiny sip. 

One beer, and then he was out. The day’s exhaustion and bullshit drama had worn him out and Sam was tired of being ‘on’. He was ready for a quiet night of sweats and clearing out his streaming queue. 

Twenty minutes and four singers later, he was still nursing his beer and surveying the action. As much as people eyed him, they seemed more interested in staring him down than actually approaching. And he wasn’t sure which annoyed him more. Being treated like some ticking time bomb, some sideshow spectacle to take it at a distance, as if his feelings were unimportant. Whatever. Soon as his beer was finished, he was leaving, anyway. He was still weighing the options of going out the back way or taking the less crowded route through the front door when the smell of sweat and cheap beer hit him suddenly. 

He glanced up, nose wrinkling slightly at the sight before him. Rick ‘The Stick’ Nelson. Former hockey captain at Castleport High and forever a jackass. Sam had never liked the guy, not since their days in youth hockey, when Rick had swiped Sam on the ice, nearly fracturing Sam’s wrist with his stick and Sam returned the favor by smashing Rick into the Plexiglas. 

Last he’d heard, Rick had been in some front office job with the Bruins, no doubt bought and paid for by his father, who owned several sports equipment stores in Maine. So it was a surprise to see him lingering around town, and hovering around Sam, no less. 

“‘Sup, Samantha” Rick offered, thin lip curling into a cocky grin as if he’d delivered the best joke ever. 

“Rick the Dick. Least that hasn’t changed. Nice to see you lost the mullet, though.” Sam shifted back slightly, needing to get away from the overwhelming smell of the other man’s cologne. “Why are you here? In my bar, and in my face.” 

“Just passing through, checking out some possible recruits. Can’t believe this shithole’s still open. Gotta be tough to keep the place running when the owner’s drinking half the profits.” Rick’s grin slipped into a sneer, one Sam knew so well when it came to a particular tax bracket in a town like Castleport. Those types who always enjoyed reminding everyone else just how beneath them they really were.

Sam turned, elbows resting atop the bar to keep him from clenching his fists as outwardly, he attempted a look of bored indifference. “Shouldn’t you be moving along? There’s no jockstraps you gotta collect back in Boston? The Bruins must miss their best errand boy.” 

Rick laughed, the sound of it chipped and hard like ice and it only stoked an ugly feeling in Sam. “Nice. You were always a funny guy. Guess you gotta be, balances out the fuck-up. But hey, I hear congrats are in order. The old man’s in rehab. What’s that, first time sober in a decade?” Sam felt the hand come down hard on his shoulder and the smell of Rick’s boozy breath hitting him hard as the other man leaned in. “Shit, Rock Harbor. Gotta draw a lot of shitty tattoos to make those payments.” 

“Get your fuckin’ hand off me.” Sam didn’t bother turning to face him. He knew baiting when he heard it, knew it wouldn’t take much more for him to react, and he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at Rick or himself. 

Nah, it was definitely at Rick. 

He could see the look of concern that Natasha sent his way but he brushed it off with a minute shake of his head. He wasn’t going to drag anyone else into this shit. Rick was looking to be an asshole, and Sam didn’t want to play that game. 

He jerked out of the other man’s hold, his elbow clipping Rick’s bottle of beer and Sam winced when it slipped and dropped to the floor, smashing in a mess of glass and beer. 

“What the fuck, man!” Rick sputtered, loudly, drawing the attention of a few people sitting around. “It was just a joke, no need to smash my drink.” 

“That was all you,” Sam replied simply. He was in no mood for the show Rick was clearly gearing up for, especially as more people seemed to be paying attention. “You talked your shit and now your drink’s gone. Time to call it a night.” 

That didn’t sit well with Rick. His face, as ruddy as his rust-colored hair, contorted with anger and he glanced around at the growing audience before replying, raising his voice dramatically. “That’s how you treat a paying customer? Shit, everyone in here knows you need the money. Your daddy’s rehab bill ain’t gonna pay itself.” 

There was an audible gasp at that, and Sam exhaled, slowly. The ugly feeling rose, churning hotly in his gut and he could feel the twitch in his fingers. It grew watching Rick, who now that he’d gotten some attention, decided to kick it up a notch. He pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills in Sam’s face, the crowd’s reaction louder as the bills fluttered to the floor. 

“Better pick those up, Evans. That’s at least three therapy sessions for your drunk ass father. Better yet…” More money followed, landing right on the others but not before clipping Sam in the collar and his fingers flexed before curling tightly. The nails dug into the flesh of his palms and his peridot eyes were hard and flat as Rick fixed him with that stupid fucking sneer. “That’s for you. Just in case. ‘Cause it’s obvious fuck-up runs in the family.” 

Sam didn’t even know when he reached for the other man. But it was only when he felt that first punch connect with Rick’s cheek, and heard the exclamations did he realize what he’d done. 

It didn’t stop him, though. 

Something inside him snapped, the throb in his knuckles jolting him into the moment, focused and steeped in a hot fury that shook his hands but they were steady when he delivered another blow. It was so satisfying, seeing the blood, Rick’s lip already swelling before he managed to even hit Sam back. 

Sam barely registered the right hook to his eye, ignoring the pain of it and busied himself with busting Rick’s nose. The crunch of cartilage and Rick’s pained groans as Sam delivered another blow was the only sounds he could register, ignoring the way the music stopped and how people clamored out of their way, the noise of voices and shouts fading while he pummeled Rick, not even bothering to dodge the other man’s wild defensive swings. He didn’t feel anything, only that angry, ugly heat burning in his belly, letting his blows land hard and fast. 

Rick was on the ground when the bouncers finally managed to make it through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. Sam stood over him, chest heaving. He licked his lips, tasting the blood and the sting of an already swelling cut on his bottom lip and that only made him angrier. He watched the bouncers help Rick to his feet, cursing and swaying and Sam stepped forward,ready to bust him up again but was met with a hand to his shoulder from Kevin, one of the bouncers. 

He looked around, at the various reactions from the crowd. Stunned, impressed. Disgusted. 

Fuck them. 

Fuck this. 

“Get him outta here,” he told Kevin, who simply nodded and led the way while Rick shouted back at Sam, the words inaudible over the chatter of the crowd. 

Adrenaline pumped through him, his hands shaking with it as he grabbed his jacket from the bar top, not even bothering to look back at the bartenders as he stepped over the small pile of bills on the floor and moved toward the back door, finding it easier to get through the crowd with nearly everyone giving him a wide berth. 

He made it to his truck out back, and slid inside, the tremble in his hands still going strong, and the cold had done nothing to ease the hot anger roiling inside him. His gaze fell to his knuckles. Stinging and slightly bloody. Barely able to grip the steering wheel. Sam didn’t know how long he sat there, waiting for the shivery feeling to leave him before he finally pulled away and drove towards home.

#para.all #para.solo #para011

[footbaliimagines]

New Years Kiss (a Jesse Lingard imagine)

Hello!!!!!! It is me, returned from the dead (I can’t find the gif but insert the bitch thought u saw the last of me gif from American horror story gif here)

Idk what this is really these bits and bobs are NOT chronological they are just like fragments if that makes sense?? So even though the 3 words bit is when they were together its like a ***flashback*** but I wasnt sure how to make that v clear also the chapters are like numbers counting down from ten like at midnight ygm??? Okay I am rambling so will shut up hope u guys like it and hope you have a wonderful nye <3 I hope and am sure 2019 will be wonderful for all of you <3

TEN minutes after you meet him, you realise that you’re kind of fucked.

(And by kind of, you mean completely, overwhelmingly, catastrophically fucked.)

It happens quickly, in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

So quickly, as a matter of fact, that when he locks eyes with you for the first time, and when he grazes your arm when brushing past you to grab his drink, it’s like a switch has been flicked inside of you that you were never sure even really existed.

You put it down to the bubbles from your prosecco that you’d downed just before chatting to him, and that the tipsiness and the buzz of alcohol is the only reason you could be feeling the way you do right now.

Now he’s a face that you can put a name to, instead of just viewing him as Marcus’ other footballer friend, that familiar grinning face you’d spotted at gatherings who always offered you a shy, awkward smile whenever you shared eye contact but someone who you’d never actually found the balls to speak to.

(Sure, as a regular human being with functioning eyes you knew that he was attractive, but he was way out of your league.)

(The constantly grinning, elusive, life of the party Jesse Lingard, who Marcus had raved about to you pretty much since the day they’d met, with his 5 million Instagram followers, ridiculous dance moves that no self-respecting 26 year old man should let the world see, and that smile- God, that stupid, infectious shit eating grin, when his eyes crinkled and made everyone else look mediocre in comparison to him.)

(He wouldn’t look in your direction even if the world was about to end.)

It’s New Years’ Eve, and his Christmas jumper smells like Baileys and cinnamon, lasting remnants of the festive period. “Nice to meet you.” You practically have to shout over the music. “I know Marcus.”

“You what Marcus?”

“I know Marcus.”

“You know who?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, dismissing his question. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“I said.” You shout. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods and smiles again, leaning in, “I don’t want to be weird or anything, considering we just met,” his gaze is hazy and clouded with the effects of the beer he’s clutching in his right hand, “but you’re really fucking pretty.”

You can feel your face flush, a blush superior to the one your red wine had already given you, and the next thing you know it’s nearly midnight, and you’re drunk and giggling and he’s flirting and tracing between the gap between your jeans and jumper with his fingers, and you’re both leaning in and your friends are counting down from ten, and he kisses you, amidst cheers and shouts and fireworks.

And you tell yourself, what’s the worst that could really happen?

“Only NINE stops.” 

You trace your finger over the plastic Metrolink sign, running it up and down the line connecting the two tram stations, marking your place and his. “Nine stops to get from me to you.”

He snakes his hands around your waist, pressing his chin into your shoulder and kissing the exposed skin of your neck. “Stop.” You laugh, voice breathy. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in Manchester city centre on a Thursday night.” He pulls away, leading you towards the platform and laughing loudly, his voice booming throughout the cold night. “There’s no one fuckin’ here!”

He’s had a few pints, and he’s tipsy, handsy, flirty, silly Jesse, one of your favourite versions of him, kissing you breathlessly and grinning, hands running up and down your tight jeans and hooking into your belt loops and murmuring in your ear about how excited he is to pull them off of you later.

“Nine stops, you know,” He hums as the tram pulls away and you lean into him, watching the city pass you by, “is pretty far.”

“You’re such a city boy now.” You roll your eyes. “It’s like, 20 minutes. If we went back to my hometown, you’d be lucky to see a bus more than once every half an hour.”

“You wouldn’t have to do the whole 9 stops if you moved in with me.”

You crinkle up your nose and quirk an eyebrow at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Laughing, you prop your feet up on the empty seat opposite and lean into his side, as he flops an arm around your shoulder. There’s no one else with you two and your voices and shared laughter echo throughout the empty carriage. “I’m serious!” He holds his hands up and looks at you with wide eyes. “Do it. Move in with me. You can cook me breakfast every morning, and make me my tea for when I get back, make me a brew whenever I want one… you’ll make the perfect little housewife.”

“Now that you’ve said that, you can fuck off.”

And you both brush it off and don’t speak of the topic again, but when he leaves for training the next morning, there’s a spare key for his flat lying on a post-it, with a hastily scribbled note.

You don’t have to properly move in – no pressure or anything like that. But I had a spare key lying around and wanted you to have it. Jess x

(When the breakup comes, you don’t work up the courage to give it him back, and it’s still lying in your bedside table draw, post-it long gone, gathering dust and eventually added to the pile of his things you swear you’ll get around to giving him back one day.)

(There’s a strange feeling in your stomach every time you pass by his stop.)

It’s EIGHT in the morning.

You’re sat in the coffee shop equidistant to your flat, Marcus’s house and United’s training ground, where every Sunday without fail, the three of you would meet up for breakfast.

(Well, where you used to meet up every Sunday.)

(Minus that one time you were too hungover to leave the house without projectile vomiting on your own feet.)

For the first time since the breakup, Jesse had appeared, the sleepiness still drooping over his eyes and his hair mussed by his pillowcase. Your mind flashes to the image of him sleeping face down in his pillow, a position that made you nearly piss yourself laughing every time you saw him, but you suppress the memory quickly.

“Everyone can see it except the two of you, you know.”

Marcus tips his chin upwards and nods matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes and huff. “You’re a prick. And not just for saying that. But for inviting him out for our thing, our tradition, again, when you know it’s just going to be fucking awkward. He didn’t have to be here.”

“I’m only saying.” He raises his eyebrows and holds up two hands, as if to say, not my fault, I’m not interfering in the slightest, I’m just telling you that I know you’re still in love with your ex, and I know he still feels the same, and that even though there’s a very high chance things could still go catastrophically, terrifically, hugely wrong, I’m going to tell you and mess with your head anyway?

You reply snappily, huffing and folding your arms across your chest, “You’re messing with me, and it’s pissing me off. Fuck off. Tell him to fuck off too while you’re at it.”

He barks out a laugh and you roll your eyes. “I’m trying to reunite my two best friends, that’s all. Get the gang back together and all that!” He whines and shuffles closer to you, flinging an arm around your shoulders loosely. “Let me live. You both know you’re both being stubborn. Just talk to each other. It’ll all work out.”

“I don’t even like him anyway. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It’s a lie, a stupid, threadbare, slap you in the face lie. Marcus knows it too, and snorts. “Yeah, sure. I believe you. It’s not like you’ve been pining over each other for the past 3 months and you’re giving the girl he’s talking to at the moment daggers.”

You pull away your gaze sharply. Jesse’s in the queue- well, he was in the queue, now he’s loitering by the serviettes - and he’s been pulled to the side by a beautiful girl. They’ve been chatting amiably for the better part of the last ten minutes and you can feel your blood temperature rising steadily. “I’m staring,” You begin, and your head starts whizzing at a million miles an hour to come up with a decent excuse. “Because Jesse has our coffees and I don’t want them to get cold just because he’s in the middle of a stupid conversation.”

“’Stupid conversation’,” Marcus air quotes your words and smirks. “Jealousy isn’t a very attractive trait, you know.”

“I’m not jealous.” You scoff. “I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Fuck you.”

A few minutes, and plenty of glares and continuous teaching jabs from Marcus later, Jesse approaches and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that.” he chuckles, and hands you your mug.

Your fingers bump and it’s so meaningless and tiny but you kick yourself for still flinching when your skin made contact. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

(See, he cares about you. Maybe it’s not all just in your head!)

It’s an instinct to smile back at him, a repressed reflex to not pat the empty space next to you and rest your hand on his thigh, but you gulp as he sits opposite instead, far away from the table, from you. “Make conversation.” Marcus hisses.

You can feel your face blossoming cherry red, feel the discomfort in the air rise, feel your palms grow sweaty, and you shoot him a dirty look, mouthing, “Stop making it obvious.”

“You’re the one making it obvious.” He hisses back.

“Hm?” Jesse looks up from his phone to across the table.

He’s wearing that stupidly adorable, confused look on his face again, and you want to kiss him, you want to throw your boiling hot coffee in his face, you want to slap him, do something, do anything that would be less unbearably awkward than the three of you making small talk about the new Kenyan variety of coffee beans Marcus was trying out.

“Hm what?” You gargle.

“I was just asking what you guys were mumbling about.” He leans back, hands gripping his mug.

“Nothing.” You interject, before Marcus can start up again. “Marcus’s just being a dick, that’s all.”

You kick yourself for acting like such a lovesick, pathetic idiot, because you’ve never been like this before, you’ve constantly sworn to yourself that you’d never going be like this, but now he’s in the picture and it’s like everything that you ever held dearly to you has gone straight out of the window. Marcus pipes up, “So, who was that girl?”

(Now he decides to fucking speak.)

“Which girl?”

This time, you’re not quick enough to interrupt Marcus from piping up. “The girl you were flirting with before, Jesse, who you might go out with, who seems really nice and wasn’t a baby by actually talking to you about her feelings instead of hiding behind her emotions because she’s so scared of rejection and open communication, that she’d be willing to sacrifice the possibility of something really great?”

(You’re this close to chucking your cappuccino over his head.)

Jesse side eyes Marcus, opening his mouth to reply but then shaking his head and exhaling instead. “She’s right, you are being fucking weird today.” He shakes his head, tipping his chin upwards slightly and shrugging. “Besides, she’s not really my type anyway.”

(She was beautiful.)

(She’d be anyone’s type.)

He’s looking at you dead in the eye this time, ignoring Marcus’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, and you venture, “What is your type, then?”

He pulls a face, like come on, are you really asking that, you know what my fucking type is and you know it’s not that girl I was talking to strategically 2 foot in front of you so you’d see and get jealous, and when he doesn’t answer, you take it as a silent victory for #TeamYouWereRight, not #TeamJesse.

“That’s for me to know, isn’t it?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

You let Marcus fill the silence of the rest of your breakfast, and when you leave you’re too much of a coward to even look Jesse in the eye.

It only takes him SEVEN days to move on

When the cover of Ok! on your best friend’s coffee table catches your eyes, you can almost feel your wine and the tequila shots you had knocked back rising back up your throat. Your vision is hazy and the bitterness, the anger, the hurt surges through your veins as you pick it up and throw it to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. You were right, the featurette screamed out at you, he wasn’t, isn’t worth it, isn’t worth you crying over. 

It only took him a week to find someone else to fuck and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to go out tonight with the same intentions.

Deep down you know you’re being childish and if you were sober you’d probably never have sunk to such a level, but the tequila is buzzing in your blood and you can’t stop thinking about that fucking photograph.

(A photograph of Jesse revelling in a post-Boxing Day victory glow, crowded with Paul and Marcus in some swanky inner city bar, with his hand on the thigh of a beautiful woman whose Instagram account you made a mental note of to stalk when you were in a soberer state.)

There’s a tranquil voice somewhere in the back of your head telling you to step back and be rational. You’d been friends with Marcus and the boys for far too long to trust the split-second capture of a loitering paparazzi over his word.

It was probably just a one-night stand, that rational voice piped up again. Plus, he’s single now. Give him a break. The boy is gonna need to get laid eventually.

(But he’d told you he didn’t want to be with anyone else, that he’d rather have quiet nights in with his teammates to celebrate, probably just PS4 and takeaway, that he wouldn’t enjoy going out if it wasn’t with you.)

(That rational voice in your head could go fuck itself.)

You shrug off the worry at the back of your mind and post the picture to your Instagram story regardless.  

Your phone buzzes 2 minutes later.

Who is he?

You hate yourself for revelling in his jealousy, but the sense of satisfaction you gain overrides any rationale that sober you would have considered.

?

Who the fuck is that guy?

Can you reply?

I can see you’ve read these messages, you know.

Are you fucking him? Is he your new boyfriend?

Fuck you.

Happy SIX months, babe. Love yaaaaaaaa!!! 

is what the balloon reads, as the delivery man comes by Jesse’s house with a bunch of flowers almost the size of him and a handful of personalised helium balloons.

“Delivery for Mr J Lingard?” The postman reads off his phone, before handing Jesse the assortment of romantic gifts and offering up a screen for Jesse to sign.

He smiles tiredly and nods.

(He swore he had remembered to cancel this order after you’d broken up.)

“Ta mate,” He replies, taking the flowers inside and dumping the balloons behind him in his hallway.

“Anniversary, eh?” The delivery man smiles. “She’ll love the presents.”

(He’s going to throw up.)

Jesse attempts to smile and brush it off with a laugh, but it’s not convincing. “Fingers crossed, yeah.”

“Best of luck.” He walks back down his drive. “Have a nice day.”

“And you.”

He’s alone again in his hallway, the gifts surrounding him, a flurry of red and pink bows and yellow roses, your favourite, your name written onto the balloons.

He imagines you in the kitchen with him, you, being your typical over-emotional, dramatic self probably welling up at the card he’d written, tactfully arranging the balloons for an Instagram photo, talking about inhaling the helium and taking a video for his Snapchat speaking in funny voices, getting stressed out about doing your eyeshadow for your dinner later that evening.

He can imagine looking at you from across his kitchen table like you just hung the moon in the sky, the thought of being with you, eating breakfast with you, talking to you all making his stomach churn. Because the breakup hadn’t been formal nor had it been official, and it was only after you blocked most (well, all) of his social media accounts, and your face no longer appeared, grinning and slightly flushed, in the stands of Old Trafford, that he had realised the severity of what had happened between the two of you.

And Jesse kicks himself over it every day, he could have done more, could have turned up to your house or your office and demanded an answer or at least a conversation, but his stubbornness and obstinacy had prevented him from doing so, and your unwillingness to communicate had landed you both at a stalemate.

(If he could go back in time, he would.)

He leaves the anniversary gifts in his spare room upstairs and doesn’t even open the door.

05:02 – Are you up?

05:14 – Lol of course you won’t be

05:14 – Soz for texting. I can’t sleep and I think I’m just getting a bit caught up in own head

05:16 – I just

05:16 – I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind

05:16 – I just don’t know why this is still so fucking difficult. It’s been like 3 months and I still can’t sleep because I’m thinking about you and how everything went wrong

05:19 – I’m sorry if I pressured you when I told you I loved you and I’m sorry for not fighting more

05:20 – Didn’t meant to rush you. Just wanted to be honest.

05:20 – And now I’ve fucked everything up. And I’ve fucked it with Marcus too, jt’s always awkward and I know he’s taken your side and everything is just shite

05:26 – Fucking hell

05:26 – I can’t do being just friends and I can’t do platonic. Maybe we just should just cut if off completely

05:27 – Please come and see me so we can talk it over

05:27 – I just can’t do this, this in between

05:28 – I love you and I know you still love me

05:28 – Is that not enough???

It’s FOUR in the morning and Jesse’s regretting even leaving the house in the first place.

His head is pounding with the deep bass coming from the speakers behind him, as he gingerly sips at his lime soda, thoughts of his alarm ringing at 7:30am tomorrow morning looming in the back of his mind, thoughts of what his Mum would say if she knew he wasn’t getting a healthy 8 hours of sleep before a game, thoughts of you in that little black dress, swaying to the beat, standing far too close to that short-back-and-sides-probably-a-fuckboy idiot whispering something that Jesse doesn’t want to imagine down your ear.

(Thoughts of what he’d like to do to you in a dress like that.)

You eventually shrug the other guy off when he gets a little too eager, a little too handsy, and pull your hair loose from its ponytail, eyes scanning around the club and pausing when the land on Jesse.

He’s stood in the corner, not speaking to anybody and hardly moving, and that’s when you know he must be in a bad mood, because the DJ’s just started playing Sicko Mode and he’s not even flinched. Then one of his mates appears by his side, hollering down his eardrum, and Jesse doesn’t even respond with a smile or a laugh, he just shrugs him off and walks towards the doors.

You’re not sure why, but you follow him as he heads towards the smoking area.  You lose him eventually in a sea of drunk people, and exhale, the wind suddenly sobering you up. 

Fucking typical, you think, lighting a fag and leaning back against the brick wall, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

You open one eye and there he is, stood there in front of you, looking at you with a mixture of fondness, annoyance and disapproval. Looking at him dead in the eyes, you lift it to your lips and inhale. “I must have a tendency for going back to things that I know are bad for me.”

He looks at you, and you can tell he wants to bite, to start another fight, but then he bites his tongue and exhales. “How have you been?”

“I’m alright.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Good.”

“Jess?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

(The next thing you know, you’re in a taxi togetther and he’s telling the driver his address and your hands are all over him and his are all over you.)

(And you fall into bed with him again, like always, like you know deep down happens every time, as if its a habit, and when you wake up the next morning in his shirt you tell yourself that this time really will be the last time.)

You hadn’t anticipated saying those THREE words to Jesse so soon.

God, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of things lasting between the two of you for longer than a few weeks, but now here you were nearly 6 months later, lying on his sofa with his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. “Hey,” Jesse speaks and sits up, switching the volume of the telly down to zero.

“Hm?”

He looks away, before turning almost as red as the United shorts he was still yet to change out of, then gulping and shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He cuddles back into you and though your heart melts, you wiggle him off and jab him with your elbow.

“Talk to me.” You whine. “You’re no fun when you’re being weird like this. What’s up?”

Jesse heaves a sigh, and for the first time during your conversation, looks you in the eye before burning bright red again and glancing away. It’s like he can’t bear the sight of you, and his determined avoidance of both a proper conversation and sharing eye contact with you makes you feel slightly nauseous.

A few moments of silence pass before he looks at you again. “I, well- I feel weird right now.” He stumbles. “Because, um, I-“

“Jesse, what is it?”

Your pulse begins to race as your mind inevitably wanders, and the pessimist in you instantly leaps to the worst possible thing. Was he breaking up with you? Things had been going so well, and surely Marcus would have called to give you a heads up if he knew something weird was going on with Jesse.

(Then again, you had cancelled on date night for the past 3 weeks to binge the Great British Bake Off.)

(Still, would that really have warranted a breakup?)

(And plus, Jesse was the Bake Off’s second biggest fan, after yourself, naturally.)

It could be something smaller, something to do with his family, or his career. But he never felt uncomfortable discussing football with you, despite your feelings towards his club, and his relatives treated you like one of their own.

(Your mind does eventually wander to the possibility of him cheating, or him finding someone else, but due to your own stubbornness and for the sake of your sanity, you’re quick to expel any ideas like that straight out of your head.)

“I love you.”

His voice is soft and cracks at the end, and it’s so, so far from what you had been expecting, and so unlike the usual confident, grinning Jesse that you were used to that a lump forms in your throat. “Oh, Jess-“

“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to scare you off.” He mumbles. “But I’m finding it way too hard to not have those stupid fucking three words replaying in my mind every time I look at you. Because that’s what’s happening, I swear. I’m trying to play it cool and casual but all I can think about every time you smile, or speak, or laugh is the fact that I’m in love with you.”

A smile pulls on your lips and you immediately scramble forward to wrap your arms around him. He laughs and you feel his chest rumble underneath you. “You don’t have to be scared.” You comfort. “Trust me, I was shitting myself way imagining the worst just now.”

Jesse laughs. “Cos like, it terrifies me, it fucking scares the living daylights out of me, because I’ve never felt like this about, well- anyone before. And I was petrified that you didn’t feel the same way.”

You grin, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his with force. It’s a hasty, reassuring kiss, and your teeth clash and you murmur in between kisses, “I love you.”

(Months had passed since that night now and those three words hadn’t lost any meaning.)

(And you just wish you could say them to him again.)

“I know we said it the last TWO times, but we really need to stop doing this.”

His voice is soft, breaking the silence you were lying in.

(You’re grateful that he was the one to speak first, but you’re not so grateful for him bringing up that wretched conversation yet again.)

He looks across at you, the dim light from your lamp illuminating the side of your face, your knotted hair and smudged lipstick, and then at your bedside clock, reading 01:23. Jesse sighs and you can feel your heart sinking into your stomach, as he reaches for his boxers and pulls them on. Your bedroom is a mess, cushions and throws tossed to the floor, and he speaks up again, “I mean it, this time.”

“Okay.”

He continues, though he really doesn’t need to. You’ve got the message loud and clear. “I think it’s just good for our, er, healing. Isn’t like, not sleeping with your ex like the number 1 thing not to do after a breakup?”

“Probably, yeah.”

You hug your duvet up around your body protectively, before reaching for your bra and t-shirt that had been tossed to floor just two hours earlier, when the expected texts had come, the are-you-awake, the got-plans-tonight?, the I’m-horny-and-I-miss-you-let’s-not-waste-any-more-time texts.

(Leading to the exact opposite of what was good for you after the breakup.)

(For fucks sake, you tell yourself.)

(Dua Lipa did not write New Rules for you to be this pathetic, this needy, this easy.)

“Fine, then.” You say, blasé, casual, giving off an air of nonchalance and indifference that couldn’t be further from the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “You don’t have to spend the night. Can you see yourself out or do you want me to get up?”

The way he looks back at you after you speak is enough to break your heart all over again. It’s a pleading look, and he’s willing you with his eyes to try and communicate for once, for the first time, but you refuse to meet his eyeline.

“I can see myself out.”

“Right.”

He dresses in silence, grabs his stuff and stalks out your flat, slamming your door on his way out. You scramble out of bed to watch him walk down your street, the way you used to when you started dating, when he used to blow you kisses as he ambled off your drive, or when you used to watch him run to a taxi on mornings when he was late for training.

This time, for the first time, he doesn’t look back at your window.

It’s been ONE year to the day since you met him, and you hate yourself for noticing the parallels as you walk into the living room at Marcus’s NYE party and he’s the first face you can recognise.

It’s like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy and it makes you want to die.

(Fortunately, he doesn’t quite spot you yet, and you’re free to make a beeline to the kitchen, in peace and quiet with an unopened bottle of Chardonnay as your company.)

(It lasts about 15 minutes.)

“Hey.”

You turn around and you see him, smiling at you in that same, stupid, garish, adorable Christmas jumper, holding out a Quality Street chocolate. It’s a peace offering, an olive branch, and you take it with a nod. “You alright?”

Jesse nods and takes a seat on the sofa behind you. “So, what are your New Year's resolutions, hey?”

You settle on the sofa next to him, knocking your knee against his accidentally, cursing and looking at him from over the rim of your glass of wine.

Jesse chuckles then shrugs sarcastically. “Can’t improve perfection.”

Your instinct is to let out a cackle, and you do, you burst out laughing so dramatically your drink nearly projects out of your nostrils, because he’s not even wrong and there’s not much about him that could really do with changing.

(Scrap that, he should learn to cook.)

(And definitely how to use a tumble dryer.)

(And call time of death on those dances he insisted on doing every time he scored a goal.)

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“What are your resolutions then, hey?” He knocks his knees with yours.

“Eat more fruit.” You fib.

Stop being so stubborn and accept that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Stop bottling up your emotions. Don’t be afraid to let people know how you feel. Stop being such a fucking coward all the time.

(Resolutions that Jesse of all people didn’t need to know about.)

“Boring.” He hums.

“Drink more water.” You add, nodding. “Start going to yoga again.”

“That’s so generic.”

“Fuck off. It’s called self improvement.”

“It sounds like every basic 23 year old girl I’ve ever met.”

You peek at your phone when he looks away: 23:58.

Fuck. How the fuck had it got so late already?

Your friends begin to gather in hordes in the kitchen, the TV broadcasting the fireworks in London has been switched on and drinks are poured and held aloft. Jesse jumps to his feet and offers you his hand as you do the same; his hand feels warm and familiar and when he lets go it suddenly feels like there’s acres of space between you again.

10

“I think I’m getting déjà vu.”

9

You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smile. “Déjà vu to when?”

8

“That night. The first time we met.”

7

Jesse tips his chin backwards, and someone behind him trips, bumps him forward, and he stumbles into you, by reflex finding your waist and your free hand pressing up against his chest.

6

He’s inches in front of you, and you can feel your pulse in your eyeballs and his breath across your face.

5

You splutter out, “I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

4

Jesse laughs. “What the fuck are you on about now, mad woman?”

3

“I’m sorry. About it all. About everything.”

2

He shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay, stop apologising, we haven’t been this close without wanting to kill each other since the break up and I don’t think we should even tempt the possibility of us arguing again.

1

And he’s leaning in, and you can smell his cologne and it’s comforting and reassuring and confusing, and makes your head spin but grounds your feet, and you’re closing your eyes as your friends begin to shout.

Happy new year!

And he’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you can feel his hand gripping your waist, holding and squeezing you and you can feel your stomach fizzing. When he pulls away he’s looking at you softly, gaze mellowed by tequila and the closeness between you two. “Happy new years, Jess.” is all you can muster, as he leans in and smiles again.

“Happy new year.”

#My writing #jesse lingard #jesse lingard fanfiction #jesse lingard one shot #jesse lingard imagine #england nt #england nt fanfiction #england nt imagine #manchester united imagine #cant believe i just typed that i feel DIRTY #footballer fanfiction #footballer imagines #footballer imagine #footballer one shot

[feel199x]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ VI

gang!au, gang member!han jisung, band member!han jisung. florist! reader

I  II  III  IV V VI VII VIII IX X masterlist

a/n: oof man. this and the next chapter will be the heaviest chapters. but! this series is coming to a close soon! also this chapter made me mad even though im the writer so uh good luck

warnings: themes of abuse and kidnapping, swearing

                                 ┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

His hand was on your thigh, tracing circles on your knee as you drove. Your hands were clumped together, held together by zip ties that dug into the bone of your wrist. You’ve been here before, in this position. You had woken up suddenly and you didn’t know where you were. You had been very careful to not stray too far from your block, the farthest you’ve ever been from your shop being the time that Jisung brought you to meet your friends.

Jisung.

You were crying again, not caring about how you looked. You felt so guilty, so burdened by your own existence. You hadn’t meant for Jisung to make that decision, it kept replaying in your head like a broken record. His face, his shaking arm. You wanted to tell him you were alright, that he didn’t have to worry. It wasn’t his place to, it wasn’t his burden to uplift. But you knew how Jisung was, how he just felt more. You were one to tear up during sad movies, but rarely would you cry. But Jisung was different, every time without fail, he would end up crying. He would hold you, claiming that you needed to be comforted as he rambled about how much he liked you. Your cries were muffled by the cloth, but it was still noisy.

He squeezed your thigh.

“You know it took me a while to find you,” he said, anger building up in voice, “But I did. When I saw you with that bastard. What was his name? Jisung?” You looked at him, seeing his face become tight as he tried to maintain his composure. “I couldn’t believe it, I wanted to kill him right then and there. But I had to wait, and it was hard, it was hard,” he squeezed the part just above your knee hard enough to leave a bruise, “And you’re such a hypocrite, breaking up with me because I’m in a gang. But know you’re with him?” You knew what he was implying, and you couldn’t help but yell muffled protest. He pulled down the cloth, “Use that pretty mouth properly, baby.”

“Jisung wouldn’t. He would never. He’s leagues better than you.”

He laughed, grabbing you by the hair. “You’re lucky you’re pretty huh? Wouldn’t get anywhere with a head like that.” He pulled your hair tighter, “And you should shut up, huh? What a waste of a pretty mouth.”

“Jisung is a good person,” you argued, refusing to believe that Jisung could ever be in the same field as him, “He’d never hurt anyone. He’s not like you.”

“You don’t use your fucking head do you?” He tapped the side of your head, “You don’t think it’s fuckin’ weird that he has a gun even though he’s like 19? How his friends have guns? How he goes off the grid and won’t even text you, the one he loves?”

“He’s,” your voice wavered as you stuttered, “He’s in a band. He’s busy. He’s popular. I’ve heard him sing. He’s good.”

“You’re so annoying when you talk. You really are only good for one thing.” All you heard before you passed out was the cracking of the window glass.

You awoke in a room, all dark. There wasn’t anything in the room, no furniture, not even a bed. You got up, hoisting yourself up from your legs. But you were weak, no strength to carry them, and you fell. You stayed there, nose bleeding as you cried. You felt weak, overwhelmed. The only reason you were able to escape them was because the feds busted his house for drugs. Someone would think that he’d be arrested, put away for life. But they found no drugs, and even though you fought in court- having to face him again, you lost the case. They said you lead him on, had never really said ‘no’, and that you were into this sort of thing. And you cried, you completely broke down in the courtroom, the entirety of the jury witnessing your weak moment. They didn’t have any proof, no evidence, but he still wasn’t put away. He had told lie upon lie, and he had gotten away with it. You coughed into the carpet, using it rough texture to wipe your face as you finally sat back up.

The only other thing you could think about was Jisung and your flower shop. Things were adding up in your head, even when you didn’t want them to. Jisung may have been in a gang, but Jisung was still better than your captor. You thought about the flowers he brought you, the daisies and you wish you could see him again. You wished to feel another daisy petal in your hand, You wanted to slow dance in the kitchen with Jisung again, you wanted to sleep in the same bed with limbs entangled. You missed him. You wanted to hear his voice again, hear him sing you to sleep again. You had just gotten your flower shop back again, and you missed the mixture of all their aromas, the feel of the petals. You wanted to reverse time. You wanted, wanted, and wanted.

You might’ve felt helpless, but you were no damsel in distress. Even as you continued to cry, you tried to break the zip ties- to no avail. But you had practiced, you had trained for this even when you didn’t want to. Because you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you again, and even though it hurt to have to relive that memory- you did. Even though it was nearly no fucking help. He must’ve heard you hit your hands against your back in order to break the zip ties, because he burst in.

“I see you’re awake.”

You didn’t respond, moving to the back corner of the room. You were terrified, shaking and trembling like a dog. You could feel your face getting messy again, and you were starting to hiccup. “Why can’t you be good for me?” he yelled, pulling your hair and dragging you as you fell, “Why can’t you just be a good girl for me?” He dropped you on the kitchen floor the cold tile against your face as it hit the floor. He sat at the kitchen table and ate, watching you as you watched him.

“You gonna be good?” he asked lowly, “You gonna behave for me?

You wanted to curse at him, yell at him. You wanted, wanted, and wanted. He smiled at you, pleased with the lack of your response. “Good girl,” he cooed, placing a plate down on the floor, “Good girl.” You needed time, to gain his trust. You were going to escape, going to go back to Jisung and your flower shop, but you needed time. If you didn’t time this correctly, then you had no chance. There was no way to gain his trust ever again in hopes of being able to exploit it. But you felt humiliated, having to eat your food like a dog. You were hiccuping now, your head throbbing and you couldn’t even rub the pain away. So you didn’t, you backed away and sat back up, leaning against the kitchen’s island.

You were in his home, you had to be. It was nice, sophisticated and large. The kitchen itself was bigger than your shop, and you hated every part of this house. It was built on blood money, and you knew it. He didn’t deserve any part of this house, he deserved to be behind bars.

You felt the type of anger you had felt before again, the type that would leave faster than it came. And even though you were a crying, blubbering mess, your body was as hot as a furnace, heating up and only getting hotter. He had wronged you, he had ruined your life. He made you feel scared and utterly alone, and the only two things that were helping you, your flowers and Jisung, he was trying to take it away. And it made you hot with rage, it was the type of anger that would give you courage.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he slammed his fists on the dining table, making it shake, “I got it made just for you. Why won’t you eat it, baby?” You were snapped away from your blank stare at the food, and with it simmered your anger. He stabbed the table with a kitchen knife, letting it stand alone as his fork clattered on the table. “I’ve done everything for you! I spent almost two years looking for you! And you won’t even stop crying!” You were sniffing, trying to rub your face against your shirt. He rose from the table, hitting your head against the underside of the kitchen island. “I’m gonna feed you this food, okay?” he hit your head again, “And you’re gonna eat it, okay, baby?” You nodded weakly, lip quivering. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

So, he did. Slowly feeding you the food and threatening you if you took too long. The both of you sat forever on the tiled floor and you felt like you were the only one to blame again. It felt as though you must’ve done something because this doesn’t happen to good people. You knew you were wrong, and that Jisung would scold you and then pepper your face with kisses, but it still felt that way. “Good girl,” he cooed again as you finished, “You’ve been so good. Let’s watch T.V hmm?” He stroked your hair and watched you as you struggled to get up, laughing as you forced yourself up. Your head was still spinning, and you felt a throbbing pain ripple through your skull but you were excited.

He always fell asleep during movies.

He chose a romance movie, and all you could think about was Jisung. He loved these types of movies, always eager to watch another and would’ve probably only picked those types of movies if you hadn’t urged Jisung to pick within different genres. You watched him intently as he sat next to you, arm around your shoulder. His attention was beginning to waver, and eyelid beginning to droop. Your hands were still tied behind your back, but you knew that if you hit your back a couple more times- it would snap. You were doing well, being able to quiet down your crying, and even though your heartbeat was fast and unrelenting, you were calm and getting calmer. You were watching him, as he fell in and out of sleep, his snoring jerking himself awake. It was almost an hour until he had shut his eyes, completely dozing off but you waited until the queue played the next movie to move. You only had one chance, and you were determined to make it count. Slowly, you moved away from his embrace, eyes widening in horror as he moved. But remained asleep as you stepped away. You started running, clumsily as you snapped the zip ties off of your wrists. You rubbed your indented wrists, nearly flying down the house’s large spiral stairs as you made your way to the ground floor and out the front doors. It was his mistake not to have anyone around, his mistake to not expect you to run. You were out the doors, feeling the summer rain on your skin and being able to breathe. You ran and ran, even after you heard him calling after you. You didn’t turn back when you heard the gunshots, you could feel him gaining on you but you couldn’t stop, you wouldn’t stop. You felt his hand over your mouth, and another around your throat. He flinched as you bit him, as you thrashed in his hold. But as your vision faded, you decided that darkness never looked so dreamy.

-

Jisung was bleeding again, and from his thigh like last time. The guy was a lousy shot. Jisung still ran though, even with the pain he was feeling. But the man held the gun to your head, threatening to shoot if he heard any gunshots coming towards the car. Jisung had never felt so entirely helpless, watching him drive you away, passed out in his arms. The first thing that Jisung had done was call Minho, he couldn’t help you if he was bleeding out on the sidewalk.

                              ┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #skz angst #stray kids han #skz imagines #skz fic #skz han jisung #han jisung #han jisung fanfic #han jisung imagine #han jisung imagines

[ubercharge]

Do you solo queue a lot in overwatch? got any advice for it?

i primarily solo queue in competitive. i think i do better that way, but i occasionally group with people i meet in game (usually only for a night, though). i play qp/arcade with my friends in a big loud discord call. this would be bad in comp because i don’t use ptt on discord; i’m very chatty and i’ll be making calls into the disc instead of the game’s team comm.

solo q’ing means you don’t have to compensate for the sr difference between yourself and a lower sr groupmate, or make up for the difference between yourself and a higher sr groupmate. i’m barely good enough for my own rank, so it’s less stressful to play alone.

ok so. i’m going to assume that by asking me this, you’ve already looked into the topic. if so, stop reading this and go look up some other resources of ow comp and solo queueing. there’s good info on /r/OverwatchUniversity, /r/Competitiveoverwatch, youtube, and all over the internet because ow is so big. use it. i guarantee i forget a lot of important things when i make advice posts (which doesn’t happen often anyway, because a lot of good advice already exists in easy to digest guide/video form!)

this ended up turning into more basic tips and less stuff just for solo queueing but feel free to take a look below the cut anyway

i have a fairly diverse hero pool and usually tell the team i will fill (99% of the time this means going heal/tank) and let them pick first. if you have few heroes you’re comfortable playing in a comp match, pick them first. ask to switch if necessary.

switch if you need to. if you’re doing poorly on a hero, switch or ask to switch if someone’s playing the role/hero you want to switch to. don’t let yourself get hard countered or picked off constantly before you think ‘hm, maybe i should switch’.

get in the goddamn team voice chat i don’t know why this is so hard to understand. it’s a team game. communication is key. if someone’s tilting, mute them. if you’re tilting, stop talking. take deep breaths. listen to the team’s calls and group/ult % requests. don’t be a dick. everyone’s mental state is influential on the outcome of the game. you don’t have to be excessively nice, but be polite and courteous. mute the assholes, don’t engage them. and trust me, not queueing with a group means there’s a higher chance you’ll encounter asshole strangers.

the basics matter regardless of whether or not you’re solo queueing. be mindful of your positioning, ult %s and enemy ults, all that shit. pay attention to the game. my team got fucked over on anubis pushing point b because the enemy torbjorn got behind us on bridge and i don’t want to expatiate but it was bad. we lost because our overall awareness of surroundings was bad, nevermind the mechanical shortcomings our team might’ve had.

if you play for sr, the rule of thumb is to stop after 2-3 losses, and definitely stop if you’re tilting. i don’t do this because i play for the gold gun points (i’m an asshole, i know).

fuckin. uhhhhhh. it’s been a goddamn bitch of a mercy-heavy meta. she’s one of the most annoying heroes to play with and against because you seriously have to keep track of her if she’s on your team and if she’s on the enemy team. pick the goddamn mercy. keep track of her ult %, when she might have rez, when she uses it, etc. in a lot of cases you really do have to play around her and her ult because of how influential it is, being one of the most influential ults in the game. as with some discussion from earlier, you CAN bait her rez then follow up with another ult combo, but that shit’s situational. just remember to keep her dead. if she’s picked, you need to follow up fucking quickly. take your time and she’ll be back in time to rez.

also be mindful of the enemy’s tp/shield gen. an active tp pretty much functions like a rez, and the shield gen gives the enemy team a decent extra chunk of shields that makes them much harder to contend with. it’ll also be harder for hog to combo.

try not to get too cocky after doing well (pat yourself on the back and be proud, though). don’t wanna let your guard down mid-game. your wipe on most of the enemy team can easily turn into a wipe of your team when the enemy mercy flies in and rezzes. this is part of the reason you should not expend more ults than necessary in teamfights. you may very well need them again soon or in the next fight.

most of these are just basic tips. i can’t think of much that really only applies to solo queue. doing well with the basics will carry over regardless of whether or not you’re solo queueing. part of the advantage with group queueing is that there is generally more synergy and communication within the group. this is a huge advantage because ow is team-based with communication being a very important element. if your group is non-communicative or doesn’t work well together, you lose that advantage. by communicating with the team even if you’re solo-queueing, you’re bringing that advantage back on the table.

please for the love of god don’t trickle this is so simple (unless absolutely necessary to extend overtime, in which case you don’t have much choice), don’t feed (stop walking in front of your rein’s fucking shield), know when to retreat. despite being a heal main, my K:D is my best stat (seriously? top 9% on masterow in both qp and comp? it’s not exactly because i’m getting 50 elims every game as ana/luci). i didn’t get that until pretty recently, watching my idiot teammate DPSes going solo against the enemy deathball on oasis. don’t ask me what they thought they were going to achieve, because they sure as fuck weren’t getting picks before dying. it just meant we had to wait for them longer by spawn. backing up and not dying is helpful. you might be able to charge like 10% more ult by poking but if you die you’re feeding the enemy’s ult % and, again, wasting your team’s time.

when i say retreat, i don’t mean hang back a little, continuing to poke the enemies. if you don’t have the shields/heals/numbers for sustain and you get picked off when you could be backing up, you’re wasting more time for your team. back up. retreating means getting out of the enemy los; you should not be able to pick at them because you should be safe in cover as you wait for your team.

ok there’s probably more i can say but i need to go to bed real soon, check out resources on other sites (the ones that are actually useful, because tumblr isn’t great for this stuff) by more knowledgeable people, see ya

#overwatch 89 #mine #anon #ask answer

[cass-burger]

RTX Sydney: An Experience

Ok so now the verbal part right? (This has taken so long to write I’m so sorry jfc it’s not even relevant anymore BUT THERES IMPORTANT STUFF OK)

Before the first day even started we were introduced to Sydney in RTX time by running into both Lawrence of Funhaus and Ryan of AH in the first day of being in Sydney. • We happened to be in the same group as Lawrence that did the walk around the top of the Skytower in Sydney’s CBD. • Ryan later that day organised an impromptu meetup in Hyde Park so we ventured there and gawked at his realness before taking a photo with him. He is amazing.

The second day was the first day of RTX • Our day started with a massive queue out the front in the sweltering Sydney heat. We didn’t mind that much. We were too busy being excited. • They opened the doors and we eventually got into the show floor. More waiting. • The atmosphere was great in the crowd before they Opened™ RTX to the public. A weird square inflatable was tossed into the crowd and bounced around. • As soon as they opened the doors I immediately made my way to the exit and ran to queue up for my first panel: Always Open. • We get into the panel and I’m so close it’s amazing. • Barbara, off stage, announced her presence and introduced the show by shouting in her Aussie accent “What’s up yer fuckin cunts!” • I have never cheered more loudly in my life • Always Open was an amazing panel with so many great moments with even certain (embarrassing) shout outs from yours truly. • Once the panel was over we made our way back through the halls to the show floor. On my way through the hall I slowed to see if my friend’s panel had finished yet - and saw Lindsay Jones walking towards me. • I was like “Oh hey Lindsay!” and she was like “Hey man!” I joked that I would walk with her as part of her group back to the hall and was like “Yeah man! You’re part of the gang now!” • I only died a little bit inside. • Barbara was right behind her and before I knew it she was walking alongside me. I awkwardly and nervous was like “Hey Barb” and she was like “Hi!” The following conversation went something along the lines of: Me: “I’m just gonna pretend that I’m not nervous as fuck that I’m having a conversation with Barbara Dunkelman” Her: “Nah man you’re doing great!” Me: “Oh ok cool. Well I’m totally not ok right now. And the rest of the conversation was a blur to me but I was so so so happy guys it was wild. • Me and my friend idled around the show floor for a while and then went to Ryan and Jeremy’s Streaming 101. •On the way to the panel I passed Gus and Geoff. I was too in shock to comprehend. His is fucking giant and Geoff is surprisingly tall. •My friend who was right behind me was too busy weaving through the crowd and weaved right past them, not realising who she had just brushed past as she kept her eyes to the ground. She was understandably pissed. • I didn’t let it go the whole weekend. • The panel was amazing and hilarious. Rimmulous Timmulous quickly gained a lot of followers. Good to know he’s a local. • I witnessed a live Ryan flub. I am blessed. • We rushed from the panel once it was over back to the show floor to line up for the autograph session with Jack, Michael and Lindsay. • Lindsay remembered me from earlier. Again, I only died just a little. • We gave Lindsay and Michael a baby present so look out for that. • Jack was unsure whether he was in Volume 3 of RWBY when I offered for him to sign my Tugg Screening poster from last year. • Lindsay quickly corrected him. • There was so much to take in and honestly I don’t think I talked with Michael that much which I regret because he is my fav. • After the signing we wandered around the show floor again and waited for the next panel: Off Topic. • There was a slight problem. Off Topic began at the same time I had a signing with Barb and Elyse. • My friend went to line up for Off Topic while I lined up for the autograph session. The plan was she was going to save me a spot. • I made some great friends while waiting for the session to start. The banter was great. • Barb and Elyse finally came out and luckily I was second in the queue. I insisted that Elyse signed the RWBY poster which she wouldn’t. I also said she should totally be in future volumes. • I talked with Barb, again, and I was a nervous and awkward wreck, again. • We got a photo with my Yang plushy and it was great but I’m pretty sure I annoyed Barb with my nervousness. • Then again I’m totally looking into that way too far so on the upside: Barb told me that there was no reason to be nervous and I was doing fine and to chill. • As soon as the autographs were done I rushed to Off Topic - only to be stopped by my friend right outside autographs to be informed that it had capped and there was no more space, AND that she had missed out on the cutoff by literally 3 people. • We were both equally bummed. • I tweeted the pic of me Barb and Elyse, and Elyse liked it!!! I was so happy. • We moped around the show floor for a bit and made a plan to go extra early for the line to the RWBY finale screening to secure our place there. • However the RTX queues twitter, with an hour before the screening, said that there was no line for the RWBY screening yet. So we leisurely made our way to start a line - only to find a massive crowded line going down the length of the hall. For RWBY. We barely got in to the unplanned matinee screening. So thank you for that twitter page. • After RWBY we rushed to Theatre Mode Live and due to us being late got a place right up the back. It didn’t stop our enjoyment. • Theatre Mode Live was the best experience of the day by far. And we were there for RTX history: Jeremy going to the bathroom live! • After that we left and wandered around the harbour for a bit. Somewhere in there I lost my wallet. My source of money and ID and transportation. So that was great. • In our retracing our steps and searching for my wallet, we accidentally stumbled upon the Kinda Funny meet-up with Tim Gettys and Greg Miller. We quickly got away from that for fear of intrusion. • We went home bummed, me riding off my friends charity which I hated. It was a real shitty end to an amazing day.

Our third day in Sydney: Day 2 of RTX • I didn’t sleep the Saturday night. We got home around midnight and I had been chosen to be an extra in an RT shoot the Sunday morning. That required me getting up at 5 in the morning, so I just didn’t bother sleeping at all. • The shoot was fun but exhausting. It was just running back and forth in the morning heat in torn clothing. I got a really nice view of the harbour and skyline at dawn though. • As the morning got later I realised the shoot would be going later than planned - and that if I stayed I would be late to the first panel • I still can’t believe but yes I snuck away from an RT production, one that I was in. • I then ran to the ferry that would take me across the harbour to the convention. I was still poor so public transport was the only way. • On the other side I had the option of waiting another ten minutes for the slow-as-fuck ferry to make it from one side of the very small bay to the other side, where the convention centre was, or to jump off on the other sides dock and run the length of the bay to the convention centre. • I ran the length of that bay. • Miraculously, somehow, I got into the RWBY panel on time. • The RWBY panel was alright, if not a bit disappointing, but that was expected. • I was unable to get my question asked, (so sorry to the people on here that would have liked to hear the answer, I’m equally as bummed) but the panel apparently preferred to hear shout outs and get hugs from fans. • After the RWBY panel me and my friend met up in the expo hall and hung around there for a bit, but ultimately decided that lining up for the AH panel early was the best plan so that we wouldn’t repeat the Off Topic incident the previous day. • We queued up an hour in advance and it was the best queue I’ve been in. Everyone for the full hour were just shouting Achievement Hunter references at the top of their lungs. • The Achievement Hunter panel was great but I was still bummed we missed out on Off Topic. • After that panel we went back into the expo hall /again/ and decided to hang around there until the end of the day when Gav and Michael played the Nintendo Switch. • We wandered around and looked stalls which were all very cool, but eventually we resigned to sitting down and chilling for a while. It had been an exhausting few days. • We chose to sit down next to the exit and it happened to be the best accident we ever made. • We happened to be situated right next to where all the RT people would come down from their chilling space upstairs to go to their panels and signings. • We saw many people walk past which was pretty cool, one of them being Geoff again (who waved at me mind you, yeah I’m totally fine) and I made sure my friend didn’t miss him this time. • We eventually made our way over the centre stage to watch Gav and Michael play the Switch and it was great and funny to watch, however I could feel my exhaustion getting to me by then. • By that point I had now been awake about 34 hours. • After the Switch the convention was officially over. We wandered around the hall a bit more but it felt so surreal that it had actually finished. It felt so quick. • We were leaving the centre but my friend wanted to stay on the odd chance that RT would be out in the foyer. I insisted that it was over and that we should just go. • Just as I said that Barbara walked down the steps for signings and photos. That's probably the best time I've been proven wrong. • I got a photo (and another fucking signing) and then apologised for seeing and talking to her so much jfc. She must have been sick of me by the end of the weekend smh • After we got the photos and finally felt concluded as complete at the end of the convention we headed into the city and hung for a bit, waiting for the meet-up with Jack and Caiti • We found the group waiting for the meet-up outside a very small pub. If this was where they were gonna hold the meet-up I was pretty sure it would be very crowded. • The crowd didn't actually end up being too big and there was a nice small but lively atmosphere. We made a lot of friends. • Jack and Caiti showed up and started making their way around to each table and having a decent conversation with each person. • On one hand it was quite surreal but on the other hand it was so nice and goes to prove my point that Jack and Caiti and the purest cinnamon buns on the planet. • Somehow I ended in a conversation with Caiti and about 6 other fans that devolved into very deep philosophy and talking about the way the human mind is programmed to work and at this point I had been awake about 38 so I was having my mind blown repeatedly. • I would think that's what being high would be like. • Somehow I kept up with the conversation and inputted with points but I can't remember what we talked about now. I was too tired. • Somewhere in there I asked about whether Velvet would be back in RWBY anytime soon and she said she didn't know, but that she would push for Velvet to be put back in ASAP on my behalf. That may have been the alcohol talking lol. • Towards the end of the night I got to talk with Jack and he is a funny and great dude to talk to let me tell you. • The meet-up lasted until about midnight. • Jack and Caiti personally said goodbye to each person that had showed up. I even ended getting a hug from Jack. • We made our way home and ended up in bed by about 1 in the morning. I finally got sleep after 42 hours awake. • Our RTX Sydney weekend experience was finally over.

So yeah that's my very important points about the best weekend of my life. And if you're still reading, first of all why, second of all WHY. Love yourself. This just droned on jfc. Thanks for wasting your time reading 😄

#burger rambles #rtx sydney #rwby #rooster teeth #achievement hunter #always open #off topic #barbara dunkelman #lindsay jones #michael jones #jack pattillo #geoff ramsey #ryan haywood #lawrence sonntag #long post #caiti ward #velvet #velvet scarlatina

[twisted-petal]

Death Continued: Part 2

I need to be up in 4 hours, and the only reason why I am even up writing this so late is because my roomie is still gaming and I can’t eVER GET SLEEP. Which is about as much as I will speak of him because what if he finds this or something and I don’t want to deal with shit, I would rather just bottle all this shit up and deal…

There is just so much to say about this lady and everything that happened, but I’ve already dragged on more than anticipated, and I am so freaken sleepy… Gods he chews his fucking food so loud I can hear it through my headphones don’t even get me started on him slurping all his remotely moist food… I also just need to forget it all.

Now… Moving in was a bit strange, and looking back now I should have taken what I first experienced as a million signs: She didn’t have the room cleaned up as she had told me, she didn’t have a key prepared as promised and so took the key from a friend who visited nearly daily, I was told by my partner that she would drink at night and he would catch her dancing in her room, she often didn’t notice him (or me) come in later in the day, and she wouldn’t respond to messages often and would forget plans/times.

Day and night she would blast country music through two radios, and after I got internet hooked up it was 2 radios and YouTube playing Country and Adele…

She would smoke weed all day, then anywhere between 2pm and 6pm she would break out the gallon of whiskey. Didn’t matter who was over (which included children she would watch), she would start dozing off in her seat or shuffle to her room, then wake up between midnight and 3am to make a mess in the kitchen making food. I needed to stay up to be sure she wouldn’t burn the place down… I’ve woken up to smoke from her forgetting food or not paying attention.

I started taking up watching the girl she was “hired” to watch as things got worse. Her father paid me a couple of times because of this. An 8 y/o girl should not have to go to someone to say they found shit in their babysitter’s underwear that was left on the bathroom floor. I despise children, but I will care for them when need be…

Her financial problems were discovered to be caused be her excessive smoking and alcohol addiction. Random people would show up at the house for mini parties, walk in unannounced, throughout the summer she was just leave for a week or more without word to stay with her 20-30 y/o boyfriend and left me to care for her two dogs, cat, and millions of plants, and I had to stop searching for a job because she would have a freak out and her drinking would get worse. I am too nice for my own good.

The agreement was that we weren’t going anywhere until spring. I was not informed until some time after settling in that she was selling the house. This was not the first time I was left in the dark… She was separated from her husband (still married) who lived elsewhere with his bitch of a girlfriend. He owned the house.

As time went on, the move date kept fluctuating and growing ever closer. The father of the girl I would watch over eventually moved in after running into housing trouble, but barely stayed a month as he over heard our “landlady” talking with her husband and head him say that the two of us leaving by the end of the month was too soon.

He found a place close by and was able to move.

Now let’s throw some vague numbers around: Landlady was getting $450 from the both of us (and soon she would be getting rent from another dude that I will bitch about later), $20 whenever she “watched” his daughter (even when he lived with us), her husband paid a couple bills that I forget, as well as gave her a check each month of $500.

That’s roughly $1,500 a month, as well as food stamps (and saving $50 on the internet I paid for, which she needed for her phone). She admitted to only spending a hundred or two on bills, and $30 for her phone. What of the rest of the money? Mysteryy~

[(I done did fuck. Had these in Queue and I was going to rearrange them later, but I forgot and so it’s just going to show up once a day in order how I wrote it. It was a busy-ass day… Yesterday. It’s 1am again. Wanted to proof-read more, though. I suppose this will show up the 3rd day, soooo… Whatever)]

Shortly after the father left, the old shit-stain moved in… Gods I want to just rant about this disgusting, lazy asshole. Obnoxious, overbearing, couldn’t listen,wouldn’t, wouldn’t stop touching me or insulting because he was SOOOOO funny. Fuckin’ hated that unappreciative ass-wipe. Seriously. I gave up my king bed so he didn’t have to sleep on an air mattress at the new place, and he return the favor by complaining it was too big, leaning the king mattress against the wall for a shelf, stacked the two twins that served as the box frame, then set the air mattress on top. I slept in my closet on a pile of blankets and pillows; Granted, I did make it pretty damn comfortable and warm. Still hated him.

Continuing at the first house: I was back with Corey again. Our fights were increasing, and so was his kindness and heart. As well as his demands… He was more accepting and encouraging of who I was, a bit more respectful, but he was also more scarce in his visits. We also had the greatest day ever hiking Table Rock: Taking hours to buy him some damn shorts, running up the trail, his astonishment in the world around him (he hadn’t done anything outdoorsy since he was young, aside from taking his son to the beach or some shit), watching him face his fear of heights and stress at my boldness to stand closer to the edge, rushing from whatever set of eyes he apparently saw and we made our dark decent down (I tried to warn him…), finding a break in the trees just as the largest orange moon we had ever seen emerged from behind a mountain - standing together in complete awe… *ahem* I shouldn’t be reminiscing on such fond times… I shouldn’t be trying to defend the good in him… Maybe I just feel it makes me more an imbecile to not express all that was positive? There is no excuse…

His existence gave me a distraction from the world I was trapped in… We were completely different in so many ways, fought constantly, connected so well, shared special interests, and of course, my bleeding heart held him close.

He was cruel, impatient, full of Italian anger and old-fashioned judgments, and, again, sexually demanding. He often made it seem unintentional, played innocent, and claimed restraint, but I knew what he was trying to do. A part of me wanted to be, well, wanted. At 18 I was taught that the only way I could earn love, the only way someone could love me, is if I pleased my partner. This increases with each partner, as I feel more and more obligated to please them and that is the only reason I exist to them.

I believe my only purpose in life is to serve others in one way or another, and if I have nothing left to give or if I need any little thing at all, I am a complete waste of existence. What makes this worse is that I enjoy seeing people happy; I enjoy knowing that I have help bring a smile to someone, from a lover to a stranger.

He took full advantage of this… More so than any other…

Every Holiday throughout 2016 was ruined because of him, including my birthday, and from July to March the landlady intensified. Save for Halloween… She was a part of this, but he ruined it two days before… In my next post I with paste the vent post I made on my alt FB account that goes into further detail and is also fairly vague. I just went into some detail about Corey here to get it out of the way, and I cut contact with him after I moved.

Recap after side rant: I had nowhere else to go, needed to stay home to help landlady deal with her shit and help keep her from further spiraling while trying to encourage progress in her .ordeals, she kept changing our move month and wouldn’t work with me in actually finding a new place to live or even look on her own, she kept changing which town she wanted to move to which left me without any idea of where I was going to live or where to apply for work, and she wouldn’t even pack her stupid house.

In order to spend my birthday with someone I had to offer to pay for their meal; thankfully, the father from earlier worked where we went to eat and he paid for the drink I ordered. He’s a fairly nice dude, just a complete dweeb. And ho-bag. Bro could learn a thing or two. Find some structure. He’s a bit of a mooch, but he’s not an ass; He’s a fairly caring goat.

The friend I went to lunch with ended up buying us tickets to see the Grumps live in Portland, and we were able to stay a night with my favorite asshole… Gods… He will never leave my heart… Despite everything, he is the one I will never let go of. I hate him so much… My love for him will never die, no matter how far we grow apart, or how many I love after him; We never had the chance to be together (which makes me sound eVEN MORE PATHETIC I KNOW), and it crushes me to know he doesn’t feel as fondly for me. My Puppu… Words…

A few days before we headed up to Portland my friend got into an accident and after mulling some options over, she decided to rent a car for a couple days. I offered to help her out, and she agreed that I help with gas and maybe a part of the payment.

I wasn’t feeling too well from all the anxiety at home and Corey yelling at me again (especially knowing I “used to” share feelings with Puppu. We were barely back together, technically not. Didn’t even tell me he was going to be out of town for my birthday… So much drama…), I wasn’t exactly eating, and the morning after the show I was in excruciating pain, shaking uncontrollably, fairly delirious, and vomitting/dry-heaving.

This was really a bummer after enjoying the Grumps live and… Making out with Puppu in his bed while after my friend fell asleep on the couch. c.c; Just a few smooches…

I miss him so much…

The “friend” who took me to the show made me feel like absolute garbage for making her stay an extra day and call in to work, and spend money on my meds (As Puppy insisted on taking me to the Emergency Clinic). She later wanted me to pay for her rental - or at least a decent portion of it.

([And continued on tomorrow! Maybe I’ll change it to a more frequent update…)]