#help I didn't grow up with cable so i had to look a lot of these up

[strawbeelemonade]

ROMANTIC IMAGINE: Miguel O'hara visits you when you call in sick

i know how to write things other then headcannons i swear. theyre just so EASY. you can request actual fics lmao. promise! This was intended as romantic btw, but you can interperate this however you want!

WARNING: descripion of wounds/blood, description of burns, overprotectiveness,

Miguel lands on your balcony with a heavy thump, his landing was a little awkward from trying to swing with only one hand, but he managed well enough. The Tupperware in his hand looked a little worse for wear, though.

Almost every fibre of him wanted to turn around and forget about this, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to, he needed to know you were ok.

You had called off sick from work yesterday, and you didn't show up today either. In all the time you were working at Alchemex you’ve never done that before. The secretary had told him you sounded like you were in a lot of pain over the phone, so it was obvious you were unwell in some way or another. He’s been worried ever since.

This felt stupid. Over dramatic, even. But he’d gone to his brother for advice, and this is what he had given him: Their moms classic Pozole recipe, The same recipe him and his brother ate while growing up. Obviously Miguel protested, adamantly. he hadn’t cooked for anyone in a very long time. He wasn’t even sure if he’d still be able to… His brothers response?

“Do you want my help or not?”

So Miguel scrounged around the kitchen for what he needed. He squinted to read his mothers old chicken scratch from all those years ago. He put in the work, as uncomfortable as he felt, And He packaged it and come all the way here.

And now he didn’t know how to go forward.

He had never felt more out of his element in his life. As he Stood outside your window with the soup in his freakish claws he realised he didn’t know where to go from there. He hadn’t thought further than this point. What would he say when he gave it to you? What would he even do after that?

He had to awkwardly shimmy through the window with the Tupperware in one hand, almost stepping on a cable stretching across the floor. “Fuck—“

the hinges creaking offensively as he pushed down your open window and he cursed, shutting it as delicately as possible. When he heard your voice ring out from behind him he tensed.

“Uh, Hey Miguel!” You call from the bathroom. He breathed out the puff of air he was holding in. No turning back now.

“…Hey,” he called, not knowing where to begin. “…I brought you a little something.”

He makes his way to where he heard your voice coming from, and pauses briefly by your kitchen counter. He looks down at the soup in his hands.

…He could just leave it here, that would be less humiliating for everyone, wouldn’t it? He knew you were ok, now. He heard your voice, so you were alive. He did what he came here to do. He could turn around right now and escape while you were still in the bathroom.

But something stops him. A little smell wafted by his nose briefly. It was brief. It was faint. But it was there and it made him pause.

So he sits the soup on the counter quietly, but he doesn’t turn around. He walks further down the hall and takes a deep breathe. The smell is clearer now. Miguel gets a bad feeling.

He picks up the pace and pulls off his mask to get a better whiff, and suddenly he’s hit with the all too familiar stifling stench of blood.

No.

NO!

“Y/n!” He runs up to your bathroom door and starts rattling the handle, but the door is locked. He pauses when he hears your voice on the other side, clearer and more effective at preventing him from tearing the door off its hinges—.

“D-Don’t come in!” You yell. “I’m... ngh- I’m a bit busy in here!”

“Y/n, what do I smell?!” He doesn’t need you to tell him, He already knows the answer. It’s pungency rings clear from his side of the door. The tanginess was so prominent that even someone with normal senses could pick up on it.

“N-nothing!” You stutter. You always stutter when you’re nervous. And when you're lying.

“Are you bleeding? Where’s it coming from? Open up!” He starts banging on the door again, his fist unintentionally rattling the frame.

“You don’t smell anything- stop that!” You snapped, annoyance ringing clear. But there was a certain strain to your voice, a painful whine that made his heart drop. “I-I’m just, uh- changing! will you give me a minute? Please, Miguel.”

“Don’t lie to me! What’s wrong, can you not get to the door?” He starts backing up to gauge the frame of the door and… Yeah, he could kick that in, easily.

sensing what he was getting ready to do, you spring up from your spot hunched over on the side of the bath tub and amble to the bathroom door. “No no no!” You lean against the door, heaving. “Don’t do anything drastic, I’m right here!”

He paused and waited for you to open it, but your hesitation makes him start losing his patience. “Y/n-“

“I’m ok, Miguel. S-seriously. I just took a little tumble on the way home.” You swallow back a painful grunt as you lean on the door frame for more support. “Look…” you started. “Now’s really not a good time—“

“Y/n.”

You shut your mouth. ‘Oh, shit.’

the tone of his voice hid a warning. Miguel knew what you were going to suggest even before you said it, and he refused to let you finish. The fact that you were bleeding as much as you were for him to smell you across the house, And you were trying to hide it from him? It must be bad, there was no doubt about that. His brain began racing for answers, for explanations, for names. He didn’t know where you were hurt, god what if it was somewhere vital? Who did this to you and where? Why were you trying to hide it? Did they threaten you? Something must of happened. there was no way he would leave you here, No. There was no getting rid of him now.

“Open this door.” He says one final time. And you can tell it’s the final time from the tone of his words. His voice quaked with fury at even the mere insinuation that he’d ever leave you when you were wounded. That you were even wounded In the first place.

“Now.”

...

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything. And for a second he thinks he’s going to have to break the door open inwards just to avoid plowing over you to get it open. But then he hears you apprehensively turn the lock and he almost breaks the handle from how fast he rips it open.

You stumble a bit, reeling at his strength. and then youre taking a tumble from being thrown off balance, but before you can even yelp out a cry he swoops in to catch you in his arms before your body can even comes close to hitting the floor. “Lo si—! Sorry! Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

from being so close he could tell immedietely that you were running warm, did you really have a fever too? He perches you on to the toilet seat and you wince at the ache washing through your body. God, your back was killing you... and Miguel's hands were all over you. you tried pulling your arms out of his grip, but he wasn't budging. he scoured your front for bruises, cuts, anything.

"what happened, where does it hurt, Y/N, please." he lifted your arms, checking your sides. nothing there... You couldn't bring yourself to answer, all the jostling around was making you go really dizzy... so much so that his words seemed to bounce off your ears. you squint at him. were there two of him before?

"Oi, mami/papi. focus for me. tell me where your hurt." he pats your cheek, snapping you a little out of your stupor. you blinked. his faced was pulled taught with worry, lines creased his skin in places that looked almost painful. and his eyes...

"Miguel... hhhave... your eyessschanged?" you weren't sure if it was the delirium from the pain finally setting in, or if your bathroom light just highlighted the underlying hues, but his tired brown eyes had shifted to a shade of... dare you say red.

they flicked back to your face, they had this wild look in them, like he was angry. but his voice wobbled like he was scared. "tell me where the pain is."

"... M' back.." you mumbled. he tugs on your shoulder to twist you around, making you whine. he apologizes quietly, before turning back to the red stains that were crawling up the back of your shirt.

you both descended into a tense silence. Miguel looked cramped, hovering over you in your tiny bathroom. he had to draw in his arms to not knock into your shower. not the most ideal place to play nurse... but he would manage. Miguel unshealthes his talons and cuts open the fabric like its warm butter. all you feel is a cold draft hit your back, and you shudder.

when he gets a good look at the state of your back his heart drops, what he finds isn't what he was expecting. your lower back is marred with an explosion like mass of burned skin. the center of the wound is deeper and more bloody then the rest, like something fast, blunt and burning hot struck you there.

God.

"Y/N, what the hell happened?" he glances at your bathroom bin and spots your old, scorched shirt lying inside. so you really were changing... that explained why the shirt you were wearing didn't have a massive gaping hole in it.

"Lyla. whats the aetiology for this." she flickers into view next to him, screening your back, and she winces.

"the lascerations have been caused by 1st and 2nd degree burns, the wound has become infected and needs to be treated immediately. the depth of the wound is telling me that the collision was hard and fast, likely a projectile."

"they were shot?."

"most likely. not by any normal weapon though, obviously." she confirmed, "it... doesn't look like the infection has interfered with the spinal collum." she optimistically added.

"will it scar?" he tilted his head towards her, but didn't take his eyes off the wound.

the Ai assistant didn't respond, calculating the most nerve settling response to his question. her silence told him everything he needed to know. "yeah, don't answer that." a snarl was building in his throat, fighting its way to the top.

he spots the first aid bag and its contents sprawled across your counter. most of it was over the counter painkillers, light ointments and bandaids. nothing in there that would help you.

"ok." he drags his hand down his face looking around the room. "Hijo de puta-!" his fist banged against the wall in a burst of anger, the pathetic thin walls rattled underneath the force. "Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?!"

you were stuck in this apartment by yourself, barely able to move or, jesus, even think. the fact that he could have never come… No, that he had come but couldve left here without knowing you were going through this on your own... the thought made him sick. why did you let it get this bad? what had happened?

you don't answer his question, your breathing has started to grow heavier, fevered. the sheen of sweat on the back of your neck had grown thicker as well. miguel reaches out to hold you steady. his mind racing. you can't stay here.

he knows he has to make a call. literally. he lifts his watch to his face.

"Jess, get someone on the medical team to prepare for my arrival." he picks you up carefully and fights to keep his voice from rising, he wasn't thinking clearly. all he could think about was getting you somewhere safe.

it wasn't common for miguel to ask for medical assistance, even at times when he probably should. he didn't like calling for help, he prefered to do things on his own, even to his own detriment. the idea that something could shake miguel up like this, making him ask for assistance, was new. Jessica could hear the tension in his throat as clear as day.

"whats your condition." she responded, concern shining through in her voice.

"no, no. i'm fine." he answered. "i've got an injured with me, they've been shot and need first aid immedietely. its a second degree burn that been left for over 24 hours, its infected."

"...done." she answers. "are they a new recruit?"

"they're a friend."

Pozole: a traditional soup or stew that is made from hominy with meat, you can put in things like shredded lettuce/cabbage, chilli peppers, onions, garlic, radishes, avocado, salsa or limes. (this sounds scrummy ngl i'm so hungry bro)

"Lo siento": i'm sorry (this is when he goes "Lo si-" but cuts himself off)

"Oi, mami": hey, Mama (i learned that mami or mamita can be used in a lot of different ways. native spanish speakers can use it to adress parentel figures, friends that give motherly energy, or it can even be used as a funny nickname for kids. i've seen a lot of people use it sexually in fics, but apparently thats not always the case!)

aetiology: kind of like a diagnosis, but different. its the cause of a desease or condition. idk if it's applicable to wounds, though.

"Hijo de puta-!": son of a bitch-!

I put these here so if anyone has any corrections i could make to the terms I’ve used to be more accurate then I can change them accordingly. I used online translators and articles… if anyone has any good websites for translating languages let me know! i'd be really interested.

#love is stored in the pozole #across the spiderverse #spider man #spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 99 #spiderman99 #into the spider verse #hurt/comfort #gender nuetral reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #angst #fluff #fanfic

[happy74827]

After Hours

[Billy x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You never fully believed the saying, “wrong place, wrong time…” until now {GIF credits: moviebuffs on tumblr}

WC: 4,392 (whoops)

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Melinda, threats, mention of drugs + blood, lots of cursing}

I watched this two nights ago with my friend (love you @yoursacredqueenmother) and now here I am… obsessed. The ending was lame ngl but I highly recommend this movie if you like messed up situations (and Josh looking spicy 🥵).

『••✎••』

You hated driving at night. All the darkness outside and the light reflecting from the headlights, it all gave you a headache.

Your eyes darted over to the passenger's seat. It was empty and you were glad. The road was bad enough, you couldn't imagine trying to deal with someone else's conversation while driving.

The only sound was the soft rumble of the car, the whirring of the engine, and the sound of the tires rolling over the rough pavement. Your hands were tense on the steering wheel as you squinted in an attempt to see a few feet ahead of you. There were no lights out here, no street lights or traffic lights, and you were starting to think there wouldn't be any towns, either.

It would be the last straw if you ran out of gas out here.

You didn't even know where you were going, you were just following the GPS's directions and praying it would get you out of this desert and somewhere safe.

You sighed and shifted in your seat, tapping the steering wheel anxiously. You hadn't seen any other cars for a few hours now, which wasn't unusual, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to be driving out in the middle of nowhere.

But of course, as all nightmares go, suddenly, your car made a strange noise and started slowing down.

"Shit!" you hissed, smacking the steering wheel. "Shit shit shit!"

The car sputtered and then finally came to a complete stop, the engine dying. You slammed your hands against the wheel, feeling tears of anger and frustration welling up in your eyes. You were completely and utterly screwed.

You sat in the car for a while, letting the silence and darkness envelop you. The heat had faded quickly as soon as the sun had set, leaving behind an eerie chill that seeped through your clothes and into your skin.

You took a deep breath and looked around, but you could barely make out the landscape around you. It was pitch black and you knew if you tried to leave the car you would lose it immediately and end up getting hopelessly lost. You weren't sure what to do.

You looked over at the empty passenger seat, now wishing more than anything that you had someone with you.

You sighed and laid your head back, trying not to think about how scared and alone you felt.

As you sat there, staring up at the roof of the car, you decided you needed a plan. You couldn't just sit here forever, and if you were going to get anywhere, you were going to need help.

You grabbed your phone from the cup holder and held down the power button, watching as the screen lit up. You had service, thankfully, and a decent amount of battery left. You unlocked the screen and opened the maps app, waiting as it searched for your location.

You watched anxiously as the small circle spun, feeling a pit of dread growing in your stomach as the minutes ticked by.

After what felt like an eternity, the screen finally lit up. You sighed and put a hand on your chest, feeling relieved.

Zoomed out on the map, you looked for the nearest town. You didn’t find one, but you found a gas station… they were sure to have a jumper cable, right?

You plugged the coordinates into the GPS and started the car again, hoping that it would start.

It didn’t, of course. The whole point of getting stranded was that your car wouldn't start. So, you had no choice but to walk.

You grabbed a bag from the back seat and threw a few necessities inside, along with your wallet, your phone, your charger, and a small pepper spray bottle that your best friend had insisted you carry.

You were glad she'd been so insistent, you'd never have thought you'd need it.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and opened the door, stepping out into the chilly air. You shivered and closed the door, locking it, and then turned away from the car, setting off into the dark.

The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and the wind whipped around you, kicking up sand and rocks that stung your face and hands. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

You wished you'd had the foresight to bring a thicker jacket or something, but you hadn't planned on getting stranded.

The walk was slow, the uneven ground and lack of light making the journey difficult. You could hear the wind howling around you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You kept walking, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the shadows, watching your every move.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, you spotted a light in the distance. You picked up your pace, your heart racing. As you got closer, you could see it was the gas station, just like you'd hoped.

You jogged up to the doors, pushing them to open but finding them locked.

You groaned and knocked on the glass, looking inside. There were no lights on, and you couldn't see anyone.

"Hey!" you yelled, pounding on the door. "I need help!"

There was no answer, and you were starting to think no one was inside.

You sighed and sat down on the concrete, putting your face in your hands. You had no idea what you were going to do now. The stupid location said it was open twenty four hours a day, so where was the damn staff?

You were about to get up and try the door again when you were startled by the light above the doors flickered on. You looked up and saw a woman standing behind you, her dark hair flat and dull. Her clothes were a mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

She looked exhausted, and when she spoke, her voice was strained but polite.

"Can I help you?"

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled to your feet, trying not to look panicked. But when you noticed the name tag pinned to her shirt that read ‘Melinda,’ your fear melted away and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god, I thought no one was here," you laughed.

She didn't laugh with you, her face remained emotionless.

"Sorry, I was in the back," she explained. "What can I do for you?"

"My car broke down… honestly, I don’t remember where. It was really dark, and I don’t know this area." You shook your head and continued, "I was hoping I could buy a jumper cable or something? Just enough to get me out of here."

She nodded slowly, her expression never changing.

"Yes, they should be near the back with the other supplies." She paused, eyeing you warily. "I would offer coffee along with it, but… we're out of stock at the moment."

"That's fine," you said. "Just the cable will do."

She nodded again and stepped past you, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. She stepped inside and motioned for you to follow her. You did, and the moment you entered, a rush of cold air hit you, making you shiver.

She walked to the counter, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. She stopped at the register and began pressing buttons, her movements slow and methodical.

You couldn’t really care at the moment, as your eyes roamed the store, searching for the cables.

You walked down the first aisle, but didn’t see them. You kept walking, and when you came to the second aisle, you spotted them. You were about to grab them, but then you noticed the hall with the bathroom sign hanging from it.

Suddenly, the bottle of water that seemed so important earlier became a major regret. You hadn't gone to the bathroom since before your car broke down, and it was starting to catch up with you.

You took a step towards the bathroom, glancing back to the cashier. You could see her staring down at the counter, her fingers pressed to the keys, not really typing.

You didn't want to interrupt her, so you decided not to ask. You hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You flipped the lock, and then turned to face the mirror.

You grimaced at the sight of yourself. Your hair was messy and your face was dirty. You splashed some water on your face, and then grabbed a paper towel and dried yourself off before doing everything you had to.

You left the bathroom, planning on returning to the aisle, but then you heard a noise.

A small sound, a whimper, like a puppy in pain.

You looked down the hall, trying to find the source. It sounded like it was coming from the storage room.

"Uh, hello?" you called, taking a hesitant step towards the door. "Are you alright?"

There was no response, just another small, pitiful cry.

You bit your lip and pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness.

"Hello?" you said again. "Is someone there?"

The door creaked behind you, and then closed. You spun around, panic rising in your throat. You reached for the handle, but before you could grab it, something moved in the darkness.

You jumped back, a gasp escaping your lips.

Something moved in front of you. You couldn't tell what it was, or where it was, but you knew it was there.

You took a step back, trying to stay calm. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty.

"Please, I just need help with my car," you pleaded.

A low, guttural growl came from the shadows. It sounded like a wild animal, and when it moved again, it was close enough that you could see the outline of its form.

It was… not tall. Not in the slightest. In fact, it probably was only taller than you by an inch, if at all. It was hunched over, its shoulders curved inward, its spine protruding slightly.

It took you a long minute to realize that it was just a guy in a chair. Man, you were blind.

He had on a denim jacket, and it hung off his small frame, the sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was trembling slightly. That’s when you noticed the bundles of red tape around his eyes, mouth, arms, and legs. He also seemed to be bounded to the chair, strapped down and unable to move.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You stepped towards him, reaching out a hand, but he jumped out at you, attempting to attack. Though, it was pretty much useless on his end. He couldn’t move more than a couple inches in any direction.

He started to speak afterwards, but the tape had prevented it from being coherent, and all you could make out was a low, angry rumble.

"No! No, no, no!" You stepped back, putting your hands up. It was rather pointless and stupid of you too, because the tape had also covered his eyes, you just looked like an idiot. But, still, you kept them up. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need some help with my car!"

He growled at you, a low, threatening sound, but then he stopped, seeming to realize that you were telling the truth. He was breathing hard, and his chest was heaving, and then he mumbled something under the tape.

"What?" You asked.

He mumbled again, but you couldn't understand him. It was like talking to a brick wall.

You hesitated, but then moved forward, reaching up to take the tape off. If you had to guess that was probably what he was mumbling about.

He flinched when you touched him, but then relaxed. You peeled the tape away from his face, both the strands across his mouth and the one over his eyes, and dropped it to the floor.

He was breathing heavily, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised by how young he looked. His face was pale and his lips were dry. His hair was greasy and tangled, and the side of his head was badly burned and bruised. There was even dried blood on his temple.

“Jesus, what happened to you?"

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Get me the fuck out of here, and I'll tell you," he hissed.

His voice was surprisingly smooth, despite how rough he looked. His words were short and sharp, like he was angry.

You weren't sure what to do, but then he started moving.

"Please," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Just, please. Please get me out of this fucking chair."

"Did that… lady put you in here?”

"Yes, Melinda," he spat. "She's a nutcase psycho. Drugged me and… and… whatever the fuck. Just get me out of here!"

He sounded more frantic now, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

"Well, I-” You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Well what? What’re you waiting for?!”

“I- I need a jumper cable. My car broke down outside… somewhere. I'm not from around here, and- I don't know where I am. I can't exactly go anywhere until my car's fixed."

He looked at you with the most exasperated look you'd ever seen. It was almost comical, how exaggerated the expression was, but then he seemed to relax.

"Alright, how about this…” he said, his voice low and soothing. "You let me out of this shitty chair, and I'll help you fix your car. How's that sound?"

You didn't know what to say. He didn't seem like he was lying, and he seemed to be genuine about his fear. But could you really trust him? You still had no idea who he was or where he came from.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, and his expression softened.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "But I can't really help you unless I can get out of this stupid chair. And if we stay here, Melinda's going to find us, and trust me, you do not want to deal with her."

"And if she finds us, what will she do?"

"Look at Sheila over there wrapped up like a fucking Christmas tree," he replied, jerking his head towards the woman's corpse.

You gasped, covering your mouth.

"Oh my god, I didn’t even notice," you mumbled.

"Yeah, well, she's been dead for about an hour now, so," he said.

"And- and you've been sitting here, tied up the whole time?!"

"Yeah, it's fucking awful," he grumbled. "Now, will you help me, or not?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." You looked down at the remaining tape, trying to decide how best to go about it.

"Just, hurry up," he urged.

"Ok, ok." You reached for the tape, and he leaned forward, letting you pull and tug on the strips.

After a minute, you had all the tape off that was pinning him down and he was able to stand up. Again, he wasn’t that tall, maybe a five to six inches above five feet, but that didn't stop him from moving fast. He darted around the room, looking around frantically, and then grabbed a crowbar from a nearby shelf.

"Where did you even-"

"Not the time," he interrupted.

He turned towards you, his expression hard. He was pretty intimidating, and it wasn’t just because of the crowbar. He was skinny, but muscular, and the way he moved was fluid and agile, like a predator.

Though, you couldn’t help but noticed how attractive he was, with his expressive eyes and the way his hair was pushed back from his face. He was gorgeous.

"Hey," he snapped. "You listening?"

You blinked, and nodded.

"Sorry," you said, shaking your head. "This has just been a very, very strange night."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "That’s why when I’m done with her, we are getting the fuck out of here."

"Done with her?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. We're not just gonna let her get away with this shit."

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea? She's, like, a million times your size," You smiled at the small joke, but he didn’t seem amused at all, so you added, "Not to mention, hurting people seems like a bit of an extreme response."

"Hurting people is kinda her thing," he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

"Look, are you coming with me, or not? Because, if not, then just leave. You're already making this way more complicated than it needs to be."

"I can’t leave, not until my car's fixed," you protested. "That's why I'm here in the first place.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"Ok, fine, fine," he relented. "Whatever. You can come with me, but just don't slow me down, alright?"

"Right," you said, nodding.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He just started walking, motioning for you to follow. You did, and soon the two of you were standing outside the storage room, the door open and the hallway beyond shrouded in darkness.

"Alright, the plan is, I'm going to distract her and make her pay," he whispered. "While I'm doing that, you're going to grab the keys to her car or whatever and get it started. We'll meet up outside and drive off, and that'll be the end of it."

"You're… very confident for someone who was tied up to a chair five minutes ago," you had another attempt at lightening the mood, but he just gave you a pointed look.

Again, he didn’t seem amused. "Yeah, well, she's a bitch, and I don't appreciate being treated like a goddamn lab rat."

He has an odd way of speaking, you noticed. His words were short and clipped, and he never used more than he needed. It was a little intimidating, but mostly it was just kind of interesting.

"How’d do you even end up like that, anyway?"

He gave you another one of his annoyed looks. It was weird how much he could convey with just his eyes, but the look was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Don’t ask stupid questions,"

"Well, it seems like a reasonable question, considering the circumstances," you retorted.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, of course,"

"Then stop asking stupid questions and focus on the task at hand. You get the car, I'll take care of Melinda. Simple."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded. He seemed pleased with your response and began to lead the way down the hall, moving quietly and staying close to the walls.

You followed him, keeping your footsteps light. As you went, you thought about the situation.

Melinda, in the five minutes of knowing her, never struck you as the violent type. A little socially weird, yes, but not violent. It seemed out of character, and you wondered if she had a reason for acting the way she did. Or maybe she was just crazy, like the guy had said.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw him hold up a hand. You stopped, and he pointed to the corner. You looked, and saw Melinda's form moving past the entrance to the hall, a flashlight in her hand.

The man motioned for you to stay put and moved silently towards the entrance. You watched him, unable to do anything else.

When he reached the opening, he paused. He was still, and for a moment, you thought he had lost his nerve.

He didn't hesitate for long. In one quick motion, he darted out of the hall, his crowbar held high.

Melinda jumped back, the light from her flashlight swinging wildly as she tried to regain her footing. She swung her flashlight at him, and the metal bar made a dull clang when it collided with her temporary weapon.

He stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet. He lunged at her again, but this time she was ready. He had stopped fast when she pulled out a gun, pointing it at his head.

I guess he was telling the truth.

“Just stop, okay? You can leave now, I'll let you go. Just don't-"

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to a word you say," the man interrupted, his tone low and menacing.

She stammered, trying to think of an answer. She didn't get the chance, though. Her eyes had caught sight of you, and she had noticed that you weren't where she had left you.

"Oh, oh god," she whispered, her voice filled with horror. "No, no, no. No, you weren't supposed to-"

The man swung the crowbar, and the gun flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor.

He moved in quickly, swinging his arm again. She dodged, and the metal bar hit the wall, creating a large dent in the plaster.

Melinda backed away, her hands raised, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she cried, backing away from him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry?! You… you drugged me and tried to…” He paused, stopping momentarily before pointing the crowbar at her face. “The point is, sorry isn't going to cut it, you bitch."

He swung at her again, and again, she dodged.

She was fast, and he wasn't, and soon, he had lost his balance. She shoved him hard, sending him flying backwards.

He landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't move, and Melinda stood over him, panting and wild eyed. The gun found her hands again, and she pointed it at his head, her hand trembling.

You had to do something. You couldn't just stand by and watch him die.

You did the only thing you could think of.

You went into your bag and took out the very same pepper spray that you had been carrying since the start of this nightmare, and fired.

The stream hit her right in the eyes, and she screamed, dropping the gun. It hit the floor with a loud thunk, and you dove for it, picking it up and pointing it at her.

"Don't move," you yelled, your voice shaking. "I'm warning you. I'm not afraid to use this."

Actually, that was a lie. You were absolutely terrified, and your hands were trembling so badly that you were barely able to keep a grip on the gun.

But you couldn't back down now. Not after everything you had been through.

She had stopped screaming, but was still clutching her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She was moaning and stumbling around, trying to find her way back to the wall.

She finally found it, and leaned against it, her eyes closed.

"Please, please don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt me."

You glanced at the man. He was staring up at you, his expression unreadable.

"I should take that gun and shoot you right now," he said. "After what you did, I should kill you."

"Please," she whimpered.

He stared at her, and for a moment, you didn't know what he would do. Then, he got to his feet, picking up his crowbar as he did so.

Before she can even react he took a swing, hitting her right in the stomach. She gasped and fell to the floor, curling up into a ball.

He took another swing, this time aiming for her face.

You stepped forward, about to tell him to stop, but the blow didn't land.

Instead, he stood there, the crowbar held high. Melinda was looking up at him, her face red and streaked with tears.

"I just needed money," he spoke, his voice low and harsh. "That's it. Money. No one was supposed to get hurt, just a simple robbery with no one getting hurt."

She said nothing, just stared at him.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in shock. Robbery? He was robbing the damn station?

He sighed and lowered the crowbar, shaking his head.

"It's not like I wanted to do this, okay? I needed the money, and it was just an easy target. But you couldn't just let me get away, could you? You just had to make it difficult. Now look at the mess we're in."

"You were robbing?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it still cut through the tension like a knife.

He didn't turn, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

"Look, it's not what you think, okay?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I was in trouble, probably still am, and I needed money. Lots of it. That's why I picked this place, because it was an easy target. I wasn't planning on anyone getting hurt, I was just going to rob the place and get out. I wasn't expecting this crazy lady to come along."

He gestured to Melinda, who was still curled up on the ground.

"I was just trying to rob the place," he repeated. "It was nothing personal. And look, you helped me, so I guess I owe you one, or whatever. So, let's just call it even, and we can go our separate ways. Deal?"

“Even Melinda?” You asked, your voice shaking.

He paused, and his eyes flicked over to the woman on the ground, a slight grimace crossing his face.

"Of course not. She was a psychopath who tied me up and threatened me, and I'm not about to just let her walk away after all the shit she's pulled."

Melinda looked up at him, her face contorted with fear. He didn’t seem to care though, but what he did was tell you to leave, and that he'll take care of things.

So, you did, but not before grabbing your bag, and not before snagged out those car keys of hers. The odd thing you did notice though, while leaving the store, was how the entire floor seemed wet. It wasn't until about an hour of just simply waiting in the dark that you figured why.

And you realized as you saw the sudden rise of flames, the smoke billowing from the open door, that you indeed did not have that help from that mystery man after all.

Your car will remain broken.

So, I wrote this long piece of work because I went searching and found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (which honestly it’s a crime given how fine he was in this movie — at least people realized it with Mike lmfao) so I wrote what I wanted to read.

I hope that this becomes a Rhys Montrose type of situation (For those who don’t know what I mean, this character Rhys from Season 4 of the show, You, had no fanfics on here and I basically jumpstarted it by writing like 4 of them lol) because I feel this character and movie deserves more hype and attention. Just look up edits of Billy from the movie and you’ll see what I mean.

Anyways if you’re actually still reading, thank you for coming to my ted talk. Hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🫶✨

(Also, if you see any more fics of this man… pls tag me. I’m desperate lmfao)

#josh hutcherson x reader #billy burn #billy #burn #burn movie 2019 #billy x reader #billy burn x reader #burn 2019 #billy x female!reader #josh hutcherson #reader #fanfiction #fnaf movie #fnaf #michael schmidt x reader #billy burn x female!reader #billy burns #burn x reader #mike schmidt x reader #michael schmidt #fnaf x reader #fnaf mike schmidt #five nights at freddys movie #five nights at freddys #hurt/comfort #plot driven #mike schmidt x female!reader #female reader #fnaf x y/n #michael schmidt fanfic

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 20: FILMED

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

The following day, just as Danielle had planned, Max went to Cillian's apartment to let the cable company inside, telling them to close the door behind them once they were done.

"Will do," said the contractor engaged by Danielle before getting to work and installing cameras and sound equipment in the master bedroom and living room. 

He hid them securely behind paintings on the wall and furniture, while making sure that they were connected to a secure server online.

"There, I think that should cover most areas," he said confidently, tightening the screws one last time, attaching the final device, before finally calling Danielle and giving her the access codes.

When he provided the information to her, he reminded her again that she was breaking boundaries by installing surveillance devices in her own home to spy on her husband, but she did not seem to care.

"You get paid well for this kind of job, don't you?" she chuckled over the phone, rolling her eyes and brushing off his concerns. "So, don't worry about me," she said. "I'll handle the consequences," she insisted before hanging up on him. 

The technician shrugged in agreement, but the conversation lingered in his mind long after he left the apartment.

Luckily for him, he also left just in time as, on the way out, he saw Cillian enter the building. 

His shoot had been cancelled and he arrived back home much earlier than expected. He had done some shopping on the way, intending to cook dinner for you before you were set to arrive at his place between seven and eight. 

***

As usual, you were right on time, arriving at Cillian's apartment just after seven following a long day at work.

Expectedly, by this point and following your sudden departure from his apartment last night, the anticipation of seeing him had grown significantly, and your nerves were starting to show signs of weakness.

Just last night, you admitted your feelings to him after he had done the same and whilst you had lots of talking to do about how you might be moving forward with this affair, for now, you were simply desperate to be close to him.

You had been fantasizing about Cillian all day after last night's rendezvous was being cut short and hoped that, tonight, you would not be interrupted so unexpectedly again.

You wanted to be completely lost in each other without any interruptions and that was all you could think about when stepping into the elevator, taking you up to Cillian's apartment where he was already waiting for you. 

***

"You cooked?" you asked with surprise soon after he opened the door for you, causing him to nod apprehensively. 

"I did," he replied softly before giving you a quick kiss as if to say "hello", following which you smiled gratefully, appreciating the effort he put into preparing dinner for you.

"I hope you are hungry," he then said and you nodded eagerly.

"I am starving," you responded sincerely. "Although I thought that we could start with dessert first," you continued teasingly, playfully batting your eyelashes as you eyed him flirtatiously. 

"Well, did you bring dessert? Because I didn't make any," he winked, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. He knew exactly what you meant by dessert but played along nonetheless. 

"What do you take me for? Of course, I did," you grinned back as you slowly unbuttoned your coat, beneath which you wore nothing but a set of black lingerie that left little to the imagination.

As you let your coat slide off your shoulders and onto the floor, leaving you only in your lingerie, Cillian couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Well, that looks quite delicious," he chuckled, feeling himself grow increasingly aroused.

"Thank you Cillian, I tried my best," you winked before pulling him in for a kiss.

In response, his lips met yours gently, and you could feel his body stiffen slightly beneath his clothing. As you pulled away, you noticed the hunger in his cerulean gaze. His hands found a hold of your waist, pulling you closer until there was hardly any space between you two. The scent of freshly prepared food filled the air around you, mingling with the scent of cologne that hung in the atmosphere. It was intoxicating.

"Do you need to turn the oven off or something?" you gasped, feeling his erection press against your lower stomach.

"No," Cillian murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. "Dinner is sitting on the bench. We can heat it up later. Now, all I want is you," he whispered heatedly, his grip tightening around your waist.

In response, you leaned in close, pressing your lips against his. The taste of passion swirled between you both, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart thumped faster, matching the rhythm of the growing tension between you. As you kissed, Cillian pushed the strap of your bra aside, exposing one breast. He took it gently in his hand, grazing it with his thumb before sucking on your nipple. You moaned softly, arching your back, inviting more.

"Hmm," you gasped. "More," you then demanded. Cillian obliged, his tongue tracing circles around your nipple and then trailing downwards across your chest towards your navel. Your breath hitched, and you clung onto his arms tightly, not wanting him to stop.

"Lets take this to the bedroom," Cillian suggested huskily, breaking the spell of pleasure that seemed to envelop you both.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom for what would undoubtedly be a night of intense passion. Once inside, Cillian closed the door behind you, locking out the world for just you two. You stood near the bed, gazing intently at each other. The fire burning within you both grew stronger.

"Take off your clothes," you told him firmly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"As you wish," he responded cautiously, already halfway undressed. You watched as he removed his shirt, revealing his lean freckled torso.

His muscles rippled slightly as he reached for his belt buckle, loosening it before sliding his pants down to reveal his black CK briefs. He paused momentarily, meeting your gaze, a smoldering intensity igniting in his eyes. You felt a growing warmth pooling between your legs, and your nipples hardened under the thin lace fabric of your bra.

"Let's get rid of these as well," he murmured, reaching for your bra clasp, gently opening it before allowing the garment to fall of your shoulders. The sensation of your breasts bouncing free sent a jolt of excitement through you.

You let out a soft sigh as Cillian cupped them gently, running his thumbs over your nipples, causing you to arch your back in ecstasy. He leaned in close, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he teased you with soft kisses. His fingers slowly slid down your stomach, tracing lines across your belly button. You felt a shiver run down your spine and a throbbing need begin to build deep within you.

He then hooked his fingers into the lace hem of your panties, gently easing them down over your hips and thighs until they pooled around your ankles. The cool air caressing your most intimate parts caused goosebumps to break out along your skin. His gaze locked onto you as he lifted his head to meet your eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"I've been looking forward to this," he admitted softly, his voice thick with lust. You swallowed nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from his. The room suddenly felt hotter, and you knew it wasn't just the fire blazing in the fireplace.

"Now lie down for me and let me taste you," Cillian commanded, his voice low and seductive. You obeyed without question, eager to feel his skilled touch.

Your heart raced as you lay down on the bed, your pulse pounding in the silence of the room. Cillian kneeled beside you, his eyes dark and full of desire. He moved closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"God you are beautiful," he whispered as he traced light patterns along your inner thigh, drawing ever closer to your center. \

Your breath quickened, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. When his finger finally touched you, you inhaled sharply, biting your lip to suppress a moan. Cillian licked his lips, watching your reaction closely.

"You're so wet," he observed, his voice hushed yet insinuating. "You really want this, don't you?"

"Always," you nodded, too nervous to speak. He dipped a finger inside you, testing your readiness.

You cried out softly, your muscles clenching around him. A small smirk played on his lips, and he withdrew his finger, licking it once before repeating the process. This time, he added another finger, stretching you open.

"Oh God!" you whimpered, squirming beneath him. "Please, Cillian!"

He looked up at you, his eyes shining with lust. "Please what?" he taunted, smiling wickedly.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded. 

"I want you to kiss me," you groan, unable to resist anymore.

"Kiss you where?" he asks, his voice dripping with sultry confidence.

"Right here," you plead, motioning towards your throbbing core.

Cillian smiles devilishly as he lowered his face between your legs. You gasped, arching your back as his hot breath washes over your sensitive flesh. He paused just long enough to tease you before diving in, kissing and licking every inch of your sweet spot.

"Fuck, yes!" you screamed, digging your nails into the bedding as Cillian's mouth hungrily worked on you. His tongue darted in and out, expertly flicking against your swollen clit. Each flick brought you closer to the edge, your entire body quivering with anticipation.

"That feels so good," you panted, throwing your head back and forth in sheer bliss. 

You felt his tongue pause for a moment, the tip lightly grazing your engorged clitoris.

A surge of raw desire coursed through you, your pussy clenching spasmodically around his fingers. Cillian's eyes sparkled mischievously as he dragged his lips up your inner thigh, kissing the sensitive flesh just below your crotch.

"You're so fucking sexy," he breathed heavily, his voice vibrating against your trembling skin. "I've wanted you since the first day I saw you," he admitted, causing you to moan even louder. 

"Oh god, Cillian, please!" you begged, thrashing around on the bed. "Don't stop now!"

With those words, Cillian's tongue resumed its assault on your pussy, plunging deeper and deeper inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself rapidly approaching orgasm. Your breathing became ragged, and your body shook uncontrollably beneath him.

"I'm gonna cum!" you screamed, gripping the sheets tightly. "Just like that, Cillian! Yes!"

The room filled with the sounds of slurping and groaning, punctuated by your desperate pleas for release. Cillian's talented tongue danced around your clit, making you writhe helplessly on the mattress. You wanted to come so badly, but he kept edging you, refusing to give you the satisfaction you craved.

"Fuck, please!" you screamed, clutching at the sheets beneath you. "I need to come!"

Cillian's eyes gleamed mischievously as he shifted his attention upwards, planting soft kisses against your inner thigh. With each new sensation, your need for release intensified, your body craving satisfaction like never before.

"Not yet. Not until my cock is buried deep inside you," Cillian growls against your skin, his tone thick with lust. His words send a wave of electricity through your veins, causing your heart to race and your pussy to clench. 

"Are you ready for me?" he asked, his voice rough and commanding. Before you can even respond, he pulled away, leaving you panting and begging for more.

He stroked his cock, slick with pre-cum, before aligning it with your entrance. "Look at us," he murmured, guiding your head to look down at the sight of you both. "We're perfect together," he then groaned, watching his cock tease your wet pussy. 

His words drove you wild, and you bit your lip to stop from screaming. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, letting him know how much you wanted him.

"God, I want you inside me," you moaned, the anticipation building within you. " I want you so fucking bad right now," you whimpered, his fingers slipping easily inside you again, reminding you of how incredible he made you feel.

"Then beg for it," Cillian teased, his fingers moving in a tantalizing rhythm before withdrawing them again. 

His cock then pressed against your wet folds, almost penetrating you, but stopping just in time to maintain the exquisite torture.

"Cillian, please fuck me," you pleaded, your voice barely audible, strained with desperation but Cillian simply chuckled, his voice dark and husky, filled with raw lust. 

"I need your cock, please," you begged, reaching out to grab his shaft. "RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

"Fuck you make me so hard Y/N," Cillian rasped, his voice husky with longing. 

You heard yourself moan, the sound echoing in the room around you. Cillian was a master of control, and he knew exactly how to draw out your pleasure. You arched your back, thrusting your pelvis upward, silently begging for him to fill you.

But Cillian continued to torment you, sliding your lubricated juices over his cockhead.

"Ah," he groaned, pumping his dick, coating it with your slick essence. He was determined to make sure you were ready for him. And oh, you were. More than ready. Your whole body yearned for him. But still, he refused to enter you.

"You're driving me crazy," you moaned, clawing at his arms, trying to pull him inside you. "Please, stop fooling around and just fuck me!"

Cillian merely chuckled again, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Alright, alright," he cooed before slowly pushing his cock inside you. You gasped, biting your lip, as you felt yourself stretch around him.

"Oh, fuuuuck," you moaned. "Yes, yes, yessss... That feels so good," you sighed, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of being filled by him.

He responded with a low, guttural growl, squeezing your hips tightly. His cock pulsed within you, filling you up completely. You could feel the steady throb of his member, rubbing against your most sensitive spots. It was pure bliss.

"You're so tight," Cillian whispered, burying his face in your neck. "I can't believe how good you feel every time we do this," he moaned before he pulled out slightly, only to thrust back inside you with force.

You gasped sharply, your nails digging into his arms. By this point, neither of you knew that you were being recorded, the hidden camera in the corner of the room capturing every passionate moment.

"God, I love you," Cillian murmured, his words muffled by your skin.

"I love you too! Fuck!" you moaned, reveling in the feeling of his cock pulsating inside you.

"Harder, Cillian," you begged, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling him closer. "Fuck me harder!"

Cillian complied, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts. Your bodies slammed together, creating a symphony of skin slapping against skin. Each movement sent waves of pleasure radiating from your core, threatening to consume you entirely.

"I am so close Cillian," you whimpered, tightening your grip on his shoulders. "And I want you to cum deep inside me."

Cillian responded with a low, guttural growl, squeezing your hips tightly. The throbbing sensation intensified, his cock pulsing within you, grinding against your most sensitive spots. "I'm going to explode inside you," he grunted, burying his face in your neck.  "Fuck," he cursed, his movements becoming erratic.

You could hear the desperation in his voice, the frantic pace of his thrusts escalating with urgency. "Come with me," he panted, his voice hoarse. "Cum for me, baby."

You held him tighter, your nails digging into his skin. The familiar sensation of an orgasm building within you overwhelmed everything else. You cried out, your voice blending with Cillian's, rising to a fever pitch as you both neared completion.

"I'm coming!" you cried, your body convulsing around him as he thrust harder, deeper, and faster, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. The pressure built within you, intensifying with every passing second. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his skin. you shouted, your voice hoarse. 

You came hard and fast and Cillian redoubled his efforts, his cock slamming into you with renewed vigor. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure shooting through him, finally sending him over the edge. He groaned loudly, his body stiffening as he emptied his seed deep inside you.

"Ah," he gasped, collapsing on top of you, his sweat-covered body heavy and sticky.

After catching his breath, he pulled out of you, his cum mixing with your juices as it dripped onto the sheets.

"Damn," he muttered, kissing your shoulder. "That was amazing."

You could only manage a weak smile, exhausted from the intense encounter while, unbeknownst to you, a hidden camera had recorded your every move.

Still, lying beneath Cillian, you remained blissfully unaware of the intrusion, instead focusing on the residual sensations coursing through your body.

"You okay?" Cillian asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah," you managed to reply weakly, still struggling to catch your breath.

"Good, because I am not done with you yet," he teased, propping himself up on his elbows and staring down at you with a mischievous grin.

"Oh no," you laughed, playfully pushing him away. "How about dinner first and then we you can fuck me all night long," you teased, wriggling your eyebrows suggestively. Cillian chuckled deeply, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"It's a deal," he agreed, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before helping you up from the bed.

"Come on, let's go eat," he urged, leading you out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine

[chemicallady]

Heyyy, would you possibly be able to do a Noah Sebastian story that is like a brothers best friend dynamic? I live eat and breathe this stuff lol

I WANNA FEEL LOVE AGAIN

Couple: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: slight mention of sexual intercorse. Nothing too deep, I'm saving it for next Chapters

Summary:  you're a real mess, your life is turning into a living hell, so your brother Matt convinces you to move in with him in LA and start working for the band he's taking care of

A/N: I dont wanna spoil to much in here, because... Well, you' ll see. English is not my native language and no one peer review this ff. It's gonna be a world of fun, I already know it!

Important! I don't know Noah or Matt or any of the real people portrayed un this story. This is fictional!

Enjoy then 😏

Ouch, I've lost myself again

You've always been around, unseen. Having a brother like Matt could be a blessing and a nightmare in equal parts. You were feeded with stories about gigs and musicians while grow up with your older brother, who is dear to you in a way that actually you cant explain. Matt as always been your twin flame even if you are younger than him. You grew up looking at him with a lot of respect and it broke your heart when he left Texas, moving to California. At the time you werent ready for the big change and your brother's friend were still a bit mysterious to you.

You were used to spend as much time as possible in his company, but with this fresh start for him, you just fell into the ordinary. Nothing against your life, by the way; your parents always supporting, best friends ready to drive you to the closer pub and deliver the best night possible, a lovely boyfriend who adored you in any meaning.

You loved the shit out of Shawn. He was your person, the one always there when you were in need. Your high school sweetheart. Maybe he wasnt your first kiss or your first fuck but he was the one who made you feel like it was worthy, living for someone else. The one who pushed you to improve yourself for your own sake, that helped you in finding a job for the local tattoo shop as a piercer when the school was over.

You did everything in your power to be the best girlfriend possible. You decoreted your shared flat in the warmest way possible. You turned down a good scholarship for that college in Montana, pissing your parents and brother for this lost opportunity. You gave up to your dream to be a writer because he had to stay in Texas and take care of his mom. You helped him through the loss, when she die.

But it wasn't enough.

You loved the shit out of Shawn and he loved you in return, but it wasn't enough.

Your relationship suffered a slow, agonizing death with multiple attempt of reanimation. Vacations togheter, a bigger flat, a cat.

Nothing compensate the distance between the two of you and he was the one brave enough to call it for a quit. You knew was gonna happen but it didn't hurt you less. Moving back to your parents, while quitting your job just to avoid to meet him everyday, took you to the bottom. Then the shutdown decided to kick you while you were already down, spending days in bed just listen music or watching anime whitout any chance to go out with your friends or for just a walk.

Everyone was really worried about you. You lose weight and that energy that always marked you.

And you stayed there, drowing in your own misery until Matt decided that enough was enough.

《 Pack your shit, you're moving in with me to LA. You're done making mom and pops that upset.》

The end of fall 2021 signed your rebirth. Matt found a bigger apartment for the two of you and Lucifurr, your vicious black cat which has an obsession in chewing cables and destroy everything paper made. You have always want to leave nearby the ocean and Malibu had a ton of opportunities to offer you. You started a yoga class the same week you moved, in order to make some new friends. Accoding to Matt, there are a lot of things to do around the band he is working with, Bad Omens.

You offer yourself as a merchgirl, but since you're a good writer an even better in tolerate people bullshit (you have to be karmatic, all the teens who came to get a piercing to the shop have always made a scene in front of needles), you could be perfect as a PR/assistant for the band. You remember them barely because someway somehow, these are the guys who steal all the time Matt has. Time that you never get.

You remember this four guys with long hair, basic metalheads, except for the drummer. You remember when you gave him the nostril after a show in 2015, maybe 16, and he took it like a champ whitout complaining. You remember the singer, this slenderman type of guy with beautiful long hair that looks like silk. You've never felt more envy of someone else hair like that. And also the other three guys were nice, especially Vincent. The only one who you can connect to a familiar face because you two got a nice conversation on tattoos when you visited Matt, three years ago.

They are nice.

You've heard stories about them at every phone call.

But still, thieves of precious moments that you want have again in your life again between you and your brother.

All the missing birthday, all the call postponed due to technical issues. He wasn't there to pick up your pieces when Shawn get a rid of you.

And Matt wasn't supposed to, but being selfish, you wish he was there.

But he is now and this is enough to bring the light back to your life. The long talks after dinner, movie nights, everything is back to the normal between you two since you moved and it's restoring.

With this wave of good mood, even if you havent forgotten Shawn yet, you enroll to gym, so you can work out after yoga.

And is in this specific place that you meet Eric.

The first time you caught him lurking at you you were running on the thremill.

There is something familiar in him but still, you dont know anyone in LA. You were the one who actually landed the first conctact with this new alien subject, so introvert to avoid your eyes.

《 Today is hot as hell, right?》

Talking about the weather is the easiest card to play. He smiled a bit shily to you before answering. 《 Don't tell me, I hate how hot is in here. Are you new? I've never seen you around》

《 I just moved in with my brother, actually. 》

《 You're a southie for sure. I like your accent.》

You giggle at his words, while he gets some confidence, passing a hand through this short hair. 《 you got me. You don't sound californian as well》.

《 Maybe because I'm not》. There was a moment in which he seemed to be doubtful, like he changed his mind and he didn't want actually to talk with you. He looked at you with a weird expression, like he realised something was off. 《 What's your name?》, he asked then, almost suspicious.

And then you lied. You rarely give your real name to strangers. A self defence mechanism for girls. 《 Vanessa. You?》

He looked more relaxed, 《 Eric.》

《 Nice to meet you Eric... Do you know a nice bar around? 》

《 Maybe I know a place 》 he reflected, smiling a bit malicious. He was definitely flirting. 《 Can offer you a beer or something? Just to welcome you in town.》

You are not ready for a new story yet, but after almost a year after you broke up with Shawn, you needed at least some human conctact. Eric was nice with you since the beginning. He invited you to this dive bar after the gym a couple of times, not far from your place. He paid for you a couple of cocktails while having a real nice Conversation. A superficial one, about the tattoos that covered him. About living in LA. You mentioned your brother a couple of times and he talked about his roomates and all the crazy things they have done during the pandemic.

He told you he is a Producer and you told him you're still unemployed.

One way or another, he got closer to you in a matter of days. And when he kissed you, you obliged and kiss him back. One thing leaded to another and the two of you ended fucking in the back of his SUV. And oh boy... you needed it so much. It was a quickie, but he seemed to be promising. His long fingers stimulated you untill you cried out for pleasure. His mounth divoured you inch by inch. And his cock....

He knew how to use it, let's say that.

After, he gave you his number and the two of you planned to see each other by the end of the week, at the gym, after your yoga class and his class of jujitsu....

The morning after you're fresh and relaxed like you weren't in months. Matt tends to be overprotective so you didn't told him about Eric while you were having breakfast. You need to know this guys deeply before accept that you know have a situationship. And your brother doesn't need to know about you screacting you itchies.

He has a hot temper when someone looks at his dear little sis.

After breakfast you got ready to meet the band again after almost three years.

《 I can't believe Vincent quitted. He was the nicest.》

Matt sighs while driving to the guys' house, mentally focused on the traffic. 《 youll see him when we'll be in Virginia, don't worry. 》

Your eyes slip on streets and houses, wards and parks but you still feel like You're in a new country. You don't know how much it will take to get used to California.

《 here we are》 , Matt says, parking. 《 let's refresh the rules.》

《 Oh c'mon, I'm not twelve anymore》

《 y/n 》

《 alright! I don't have to embarrass you while you're free to be mean on me. I don't have to embarrass myself talking shit just because I'm nervous and if the music sucks, I can't tell your precious Noah.》

《 You can do better but, more or less, that's it. Lets go. I need another coffe and maybe something sweet before start to film the music video. 》

It's so weird filming inside a house and not in a proper set but all this low budget bullshit are quite the normal for small bands, you think.

You have to be their assistant and eventually a PR- so Matt can stop to bitching on twitter all the time- and you know nothing about bands.

According to Matt, you're going to learn quick.

According to Matt. You know that he picked you up for the job so he can force you to write what he wants.

And continuing to bitch around through you.

The guitar player greets you at the door and introduces himself again as Jolly. The rest of the guys minus Noah are in the garage. It's marvelous how Orie, one of the guys who lives here, a director, reorganize the space with tubes and flashlight.

《 What's the name of the song, again? 》 you ask to Nick Folio, whos already youre favorite.

《 Artifical Suicide》 it's the answer, while he takes his place back behind the drums.

《So emo》 it's your honest observation that makes him laught. Matt looks at you in a way that if he could, you would be incinerated where you're standing. You're already embarrassing him.

Nice.

You regret nothing.

It's a lil sister job to make her brother in troubles, that's what pops always says.

Mike brings you a coffe that you accept with a smile, than tells everyone the news about the singer that is still not here.

A diva, of course. That's your first thought. Every singer is a natural diva.

《 He is still looking for the glove.》

《 He would lost his head if it wasn't attacked to his neck》 , a solid comment arrives from Ruffilo, immediatly followed by an annoyed reply from behind you.

《 I can ear you motherfucker. You are- what the fuck?》

You turn in time to face the famous singer and almost choke with the coffe.

《 Yo Noah, do you remember my sister, y/n?》

You see Noah turning pale for a second while trying to say something in return.

You're also speechless for a second, before putting your shit togheter so Matt wont finds out in the first five minutes. 《 Howdy! You... you cut your hair. Nice. I didn't know》

You didn't.

That's why was so easy for Noah to be Eric for almost a week. For a hook up with you. His best friend sister.

....Splendid.

You're fucked.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens imagine

[amethystfairy1]

Ok, you dropped the crumbs in this latest TTSBC chapter and now I gotta know. What can you tell us about Hotguy's arrows/weapons/tech? I am so dang curious about... honestly everything in this AU, it's absolutely amazing <3

oooooo YEAH YEAH SURE!

Let's break down Hot Guy's hero fit, shall we?

So Scar has multiple biotech enhancements that he received over the course of several years in a hero program at the Institute, starting when he was fifteen. He was the only successful result of this program, the biotech of the previous generation was...let's just say it didn't have long-term capability, but we'll talk about that in another piece someday. 😬

Bracers: The biotech in his legs hooks to his braces, which essentially look like bracers. The ratchets close around his upper thighs, below his knees, and near his ankles where they kinda turn into boots. He can't wear any sleeves or anything beneath the bracers because they need to have direct skin contact, so they kinda look like funky thigh-high boots!

Visor: His visor is also biotech, it links into the augmentations that are beneath his eyes, which is why Scar has a very prominent scar over the bridge of his nose, that's where that's from! It means that he mentally adjust his visor, and his vision is also biotech enhanced so his eyes essentially have their own zoom function and can focus and trace movement over huge distances! When he also has his visor, that ability grows even stronger, and he can also use his visor to confer with the stuff back in the Hot Cave that is tracking like monster surges or crimes in progress!

Uniform: Scar's original Hot Guy uniform was a lot more tame when he first debuted while still working for the Institute, but he felt like it was too constrictive so once he broke away with Cub's help and established the Hot Cave he changed to something showing way more skin because he just felt like he could actually move that way. It had the happy side effect of covering for his secret ID as well, because Prof. Scar Goodtimes tends to wear layered clothes that cover him up, and Hot Guy...well, Hot Guy does not do that. 😆 His uniform has some light pieces of body armor built in, but considering his body has also been bio-technically enhanced so that he has tougher skin and can take more of a beating without risk of major injury (see: Sugar {We're Going Down Swinging}) so he doesn't SUPER need it.

Bow: It's a folding number, the draw strength is CRAZY strong but Scar can use it like nothing. It has a magnetic clamp mechanism in the grip so he can clip it easily to the harness on his back.

Arrows: He's Hot Guy! He's got tons of different arrows! Net arrows, cable arrows, explosive arrows, blunted arrows, adhesive-shooting arrows, just straight up arrows...and look at that, you can already hear Zedaph crying in the distance. 😬

Watch: He has basically a super sleek smart watch that is always linked up to the Hot Cave systems so he can get alerts on monster surges or anything else that might require Hot Guy's attention!

I think that's all of his major gear! Hopefully you enjoyed that! I'm so glad you like my AU thank you thank you! 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #gtws hotguy #worldbuilding #through the sky blue cracks

[wastemanjohn]

helloooo bottom!john truther and enjoyer and apologist and whatnot here. can we please please please get john fucked on his hands and knees by another hunter in exchange for information/weapons/help on a hunt? (extra extra love if dean or sam is aware of it & has to keep their mouth shut but feels TERRIBLE)

Thanks for the prompt Angel, I loved this idea. I wrote this very quickly so I hope it's alright!

cw: extremely dubious consent, pretend sam's already 18, nsft

Most kids Sam's age are at parties tonight. Celebrating the start of spring break, trashing the houses of unsuspecting parents and throwing up on each other's shoes. You know, normal stuff.

Sam? Sam barely set foot out of the school gate before Dad was upon him, ushering him into his truck, spewing precious few, undetailed words about some urgent job down south, Dean already on the way, everything so urgent - and yeah, it's not like Sam has ever been invited to one of those parties. Honestly, nothing about them even sounds appealing. But just for once, for once, he'd give anything to be at one of them. To be somewhere normal, doing something normal. Anything that's not sitting in Dad's truck with hair metal thrumming low on the radio, waiting in some low-lit motel parking lot for Dad to do some shady sounding business with some shady sounding sounding hunter. Something about silver bullets. Something about best quality, last minute, no one else holding. And something - something off.

Dad's been gone a while. He said he'd be a few minutes, but that could be hours in Dadspeak, because he never says what he means - and it's just one of the many big and small resentments snowballing in Sam's head with all the others that made a home there during the six hour drive down here. Dad's inability to keep one radio station on for more than two minutes. Dad's little pop quizzes on various monsters, with no sign of him actually telling Sam what they're hunting right now, because that would make too much sense. Dad's too-fast driving, his chain smoking, and the car stinks, Sam's hair stinks, even with the windows right down - and Sam sits in the passengers' seat, he waits for Dad, he's always waiting around for Dad, and he's trying to read a book, trying to pass the time, but his eyes are strained in the low light and his mind just won't focus and he keeps getting distracted. He absently watches the neon signs for air conditioning and cable TV flicker, hears their low buzz. There's a sad, wilted palm tree outside the reception. The door is open, leaving a cutting rectangle of grainy light on the ground, and somewhere, someone is shouting, because in motels, someone is always somewhere, shouting.

And this feeling growing like mould in the bottom of Sam's gut, this weird feeling that's starting to supersede that constant feeling of unfair-unjust that lives in Sam like blood; this feeling that his common sense tells him is stupid. But his intuition disagrees, it's kicking up a fuss, and he hasn't been able to settle since Dad got out of the car.

Because maybe there was something off about Dad's energy that fizzled with those weary neon lights; and Dad still didn't say much, and Sam still can't read the man's mind, but you don't live for eighteen years close enough to rub up against each others last nerve without learning how to spot when something might be wrong. And theres always something wrong with Dad - he's sour faced and miserable, the cause of that changes day by day - but he'd been so insistent. You don't leave this car, Sammy, okay? This guy's a loose cannon. I don't want him to see you.

Sam had snorted, and Dad had looked at him with resigned contempt; but it had faded quickly, and there'd been that something Sam couldn't put his finger on as Dad had got out of the car. Something about the way he didn't look to check Sam was obeying, something stilted in his footsteps. Something that made Sam log the path he took across the parking lot, register the room number he knocked on. The door had opened, and Dad had gone inside, but it had closed so quickly that Sam hadn't been able to see the guy. The loose cannon.

Sam didn't bother asking to go with anyway, because Dad would have said no. He didn't feel much like arguing and insisting at the time, because he was pissed about the quizzing-smoking-Dadness of the entire miserable journey up here. But the longer Dad doesn't come out, that something-weird-not-right feeling gets bigger.  Loose cannon could mean anything, absolutely anything. I don't want him to see you - that phrase is really gaining traction in Sam's head. Why not? And what the hell is taking so long?

The thing is, Sam knows some hunters aren't - well - right. He knows it from the things Dean tells him with dark glee, from the way Bobby has warned him to trust anyone in this life very, very cautiously. Dad has always told him not to trust anyone at all, but Dad is paranoid and thinks in extremes, and Sam never listens to him all that much.

As time rolls on, right now increasingly becomes no different.

There's a pistol in the glove compartment. He conceals it at the small of his back, and glances around like he's being watched as he gets out of the car.

He's worried. He's only a little worried, because Dad's only been gone a little longer than reasonable, and this is stupid anyway; and Sam's only a little worried because Sam's not letting himself be scared, Dad's fine, he's always fine, and Sam is not letting images of Dad stabbed or shot by one of these not-right, untrustworthy loose-cannon hunters flood his mind until he's sick with panic - and he moves quietly but quickly across the parking lot, takes the path Dad had followed, expecting him to emerge from that quick-open-shut door any moment and chew Sam out for disobeying a direct order. Sam would welcome it. He'd let Dad smoke and fidget as much as he wanted for the rest of the journey, he wouldn't bitch about it once, he'd sit shotgun and he'd be the best, most obedient kid in the world, whether Dad deserved that or not. So long as Dad was okay, so long as Sam knew he was safe.

He stops outside the door, dead of night quiet; he can't hear anything from inside. His heart beats out strange rhythms. He's sure this is the right room. The curtains are drawn over windows bordered by flecks of mould. They're ill fitting, don't quite come down all the way.

Sam swallows. There's a tremor in his hands. Maybe Dad and this guy went elsewhere. Maybe Dad's slumped over the bed with a knife in his back, on the floor with his brains all over the wall. Or maybe Sam has just got the wrong room. Only one way to be sure.

He draws a breath, cool-spring night air. Touches the concealed pistol for comfort as he crouches down to peer beneath the crack in the curtains. Braces himself for what he might see, all the awful things he's gone from avoiding truly considering to entirely convinced of.

His heart rate kicks up faster. Then stops. He can't see everything through the crack beneath the curtains. He can see more than enough.

He can see an unmade bed with holes in the frame. He can see Dad on that bed, on his hands and knees. He can see two hands on Dad's bare hips, his jeans hanging loose halfway down his thighs, open belt swinging in rhythm with - oh, god.

The curtain cuts the guy off at the waist. He's much the same - clothes only off as much as convenience requires - but Sam can see enough thigh, enough hip, to know that he's younger, possibly much closer to Sam's age than Dad's. Sam doesn't know why that makes it worse, but it does.

His hand quivers around the gun. He's frozen with shock, with this innate gut-deep disgust at seeing his father being, doing... and with anger too, at Dad, for giving Sam some sinister, hard to decipher warning to keep him away so he could apparently get his fucking rocks off. With a guy. A younger guy. And on the job as well - but then again, that doesn't really sound like Dad.

And maybe getting angry is easier than considering what's in front of him, because the longer Sam stands there, frozen, disgust, what-the-fuck - the more weird this gets.

Dad is - Dad's very still. Rigid, unnerving still. His back is slightly arched, and his hands are flat on the mattress, bunching the sheets between fingers that are bloodless at the knuckles. His face - god, Sam doesn't want to look at his face, not right now, not for this - but Dad is - well, clearly not enjoying himself. His eyes are open, focused on the wall ahead like he's zoned out. His nostrils are flaring faintly. His mouth is in a tight line, somewhere between a grimace and a fixed wince. He looks - irritated, is the closest Sam can come to describing it. Impatient.

His body moves like it's weightless with the force of the hunter's thrusts. His - and Sam doesn't mean to look, but it's kinda hard not to see - Dad's dick is soft. Hanging limp and sad between his legs.

Sam's guts twist, shooting bile to the back of his throat. Fuck, no kid wants to see that. Sam could've gone his whole life without ever knowing what that looked like, what any of this looked like. Without having to consider, with his bones locked together, what he might be seeing.

The guy looks not only younger, but smaller. There's no gun to Dad's head, no knife to his throat. If Dad didn't want to be there - exactly there - well. This guy would be the one bleeding out with a knife on his back. Then why does Dad look - well - like that?

Unless he's being threatened in some other way. Unless Sam is standing here gawping while Dad's in genuine danger, not knowing what the fuck to do. He feels paralyzed, and utterly confused.

Sam's eyes stray to the guy's nightstand. There's a bag there, a brown, straw-like bag with a pattern Sam recognizes. The bags silver bullets sometimes come in, which is all Sam knows, they sometimes come like that, because he doesn't think much about where they do come from. He'd forgotten all about the bullets.

Next to it, Dad's gun.

A disembodied hand comes down on the back of his father's neck, a fierce grip. Dad's brow knits. And for all Sam couldn't hear anything through the door, he's certain he can hear everything now. Grunts, pants. Loud, like they're exaggerated; and as that hand pushes Dad's face into the mattress, Sam definitely hears the slap to Dad's ass, even more clearly than he sees it. Dad flinches, and Sam feels very glad that he can't see his expression anymore.

His thighs are starting to shake from crouching, but he's shaking anyway. There's a cold layer of sweat breaking out on his skin. He watches those faceless hips stutter, then slam to a stop. Sam can see the disgust shudder through Dad's body. He feels it in his own.

For a moment, nothing happens. No one moves. Sam becomes aware that he's stopped breathing, maybe a while ago.

The guy, the loose cannon, the hunter Dad was nervous about, pulls - he pulls out of Dad. Dad doesn't move. Sam watches half a strange arm reach out, grab the bag on the nightstand. He watches as the guy throws it onto the mattress, watches it land an inch from Dad's face.

Dad flinches again. And then, with slow, creeping horror, Sam thinks he might understand.

That bile-rush returns, burns the back of his throat. There's a part of Sam that would like to believe Dad would never be that desperate, that he'd never - do this, let someone do this - just for fucking supplies. But then again, Dad is Dad. The job comes before everything, and it gets done. No matter the cost.

He thinks about how many times he's seen that specific bag among their possessions. Wonders if - if every time - if Dad has done this every single time...

Sam's knees feel rubbery. He watches the guy get off the bed, leaving Dad on the mattress alone.

Dad doesn't move for a while. Sam stays frozen with him, until finally, he uprights himself onto his knees, slow, heavy, baring his teeth like it hurts. And it must.

It's that thought that spurs Sam to get out of there. His quiet-fast walk back to the truck is unsteady, and his head pulsates in rhythm with his stomach, and it's all he can do not to throw up. His thoughts feel jumbled, his head all over the place. But Sam can at least feel pretty strongly that if he ever finds out who this guy is, he'll kill him. Slowly. Excruciating.

It's rage he can't do much about. He can't exactly express it to Dad, humiliate him like that, because if getting fucked for goddamn bullets isn't bad enough, the thought that his son saw the entire thing, stayed to watch what the hell is wrong with Sam he feels dirty and sick, will no doubt kill him. So Sam cans that rage inside of him, saves it for another day. It'll come out the next time a jock thinks he's an easy target, or during a fight about something unrelated. Although, right now, Sam kind of feels like he can never bring himself to fight with Dad ever again.

He waits for Dad in the passengers seat like he hadn't moved at all. His fingers tremble around the corners of his book. Those lights keep on hissing, hissing.

I don't want him to see you. What had that meant?

Sam thinks he might know.

He wishes he could wipe his memory. He wishes he wouldn't keep thinking about it. He wishes Dean was here.

Dad comes back a short while later. He goes to the trunk first - storing that bag, Sam assumes, the bag that guy had fucking thrown at him - before getting back into the car.

Sam closes his book. Dad reaches for his cigarette on the dashboard. His fingers are unsteady when he lights up. He doesn't say a word, which isn't unusual, because Dad never says much; he smells like Dean does sometimes when he stumbles in at 4am. A hint of something else, something like shame; but Sam's imagining that. Shame doesn't have a smell.

Sam watches him, doesn't quite meet his eyes. He feels out of his depth and very, very young. "Are you okay, Dad?"

He asks it casually, in too small a voice. Dad grunts, non-committal, equally casual. "Let's go find your brother."

Sam nods. It's the best idea he's ever heard. And maybe Dad throws him a glance, a confused glance, at the complete absence of Sam's attitude; but maybe he doesn't acknowledge it, because it's easier for them both if Dad acts like he doesn't suspect a thing.

But the job comes first, so Dad starts the car. That smell lingers.

#my first tumblr prompt fill woop #john/original male #ficlet #cw dubcon

[emeraldgreaves]

12,14, 17 and 30 for MoiraxRed and/or any/all of your BG3 pairings!

man i need to play more bg3. but this got way too long so here's the moirared!

Do they have similar goals? If they clash, how do they deal? I think their goals end up being fairly similar--I tend to describe them as two Weird Academics, so they're generally happy to support each other up to a point. i think moira finds the concept of the worldwalkers fascinating but also incredibly risky, so she'll help detangle power cables when Red wants to put together a new machine but doesn't have a problem pointing out the gaps in his reasoning. on the flip side, I think red does value moira's compassion and will gladly listen to her explain how antinausea potions were originally synthesized from lizard venom, but her self-sacrificing instincts in their particular line of work are a source of worry for him, and it's tricky to talk her down from expending so much of her time and energy because Healing/self-worth issues have basically trained her to operate that way.

Is there anything they associate with each other?

wasn't quite sure how to answer this one so have some patchwork vibes.

moira->red: once or twice across a barroom, she heard a laugh that was almost his. she draws such perfect chalk circles because of how much practice she had constructing them around their midnight experiments. he was the first person to recommend her favorite playwright. (she kept skipping shows of his favorites, and regrets forgetting how funny they were.) the book in chandry's shop seemed like something he might have liked. if she'd ever seen the sea, it would be a couple of shades away from his eyes. once on the road, maybe a week after she'd left for good, someone tugged on her braid the way he occasionally did and she hacked the entire thing off that evening.

red->moira: she prefers lavender soap for her hair. recipes for tonics and elixirs tended to read themselves in her voice. sometimes he finds her in the kitchen when he goes to scrounge up midnight snacks. (he didn't realize he looked forward to it until she was away on mission.) half the delight in a new discovery is explaining it to her over dessert. in their fifth year, she gave him a bookmark she made that would cling to the point in the page where you left off.

Their ways of expressing their love. lena's probably got an ask for things red does, but (1) moira feeds people and will bring snacks down if red is lost in the research sauce lmao (2) will happily donate time to the parts of research that don't require an advanced degree (rubber ducking, flagging stuff from the vaults that looks useful, etc.) (3) forehead. kisses. (4) in an established relationship, they send a letter home at least once a week so that the other person is guaranteed to receive them at some point. in the flirting stage they passed a lot of notes LMAO (5) giving the other one space to just Be A Person. IMO red is actually really well-suited to understand how heavy being The Hero of Haven can be, since he's done that as archmage. it helps that both of them knew the other person before they had a dramatic title to carry, so there's already a trust that they'll be forgiven for being less than perfect.

How does their love change as they get older? okay i can never write short about this but TLDR: they're not just exes. they were close friends whose miscommunication over their breakup drove a narrow but deep wedge between them that persists even in the present, and i think about that constantly. i think fundamentally the circle berakup came down towards red's thoughtlessness vs moira's passivity, plus her growing guilt/fears over keeping a large secret that potentially endangered anyone she gets close to. so things are better in game time! it's kind of interesting how time has reversed which one of them is more careful vs more carefree--red getting burned means he intends to make absolutely certain they're on the same page this time, moira getting forgiveness (and clarity) about the words of power removes a lot of her hesitations. there's a deliberateness and an openness that they hadn't quite figured out the first time. i think the biggest test for them actually comes postgame when it becomes clear just how fucking fragile moira has become due to the events of the game. and it's terrifying for her to be that vulnerable around him, but even admitting she was hurting would have been unfathomable to her when they were seventeen. (yes, this is another fic. no, i don't have enough information to finish it.) i'm also actually super curious to see if red's personal arc goes where i think it will (somewhat along the same lines of the major choice in riel's second day off, if that makes sense) because i think that's going to be a fascinating conversation for them. one of the ongoing jokes with some of my fics is that they add +10 to the redharden stat LMAO by the time we hit The Future in Take Your Daughter To Work Day, there's a point of contention around how much moira's tried to put hero of haven stuff behind her--on the one hand, it was probably the most painful period of her life by a long shot, but at the same time it's difficult to pretend it didn't happen, especially given that one of their kids joins the shepherds. they go back and forth on how much information it's right for them to have. but honestly i don't think it affects how much they love each other. sometimes i think about how much they care about each other and want to lie on the floor.

#emerald speaks #god this got long do not feel obligated to read the whole thing LMAO #moira linden #ask meme

[greensweethome]

Ted Raimi's characters as cats (Part 3)

21. Artist cat

The same bastard who breaks your things by looking you in the eye. It is because of him that every year you come up with new ways to secure the tree for Christmas and began to buy all decorations made of unbreakable materials. He can not stand the order in the house and arranges a garbage dump. Everywhere pops muzzle and paws, leaves traces at crime scenes. Your hand will not rise to punish him.

22. Cat of the main villain

Every self-respecting villain should have a furry purring friend who adds aesthetics, easy humanity, or vice versa demonic nature. If you're planning on being villainous, this curly version will suit you. Obedient, playful and well trained. However, still a kitten. If you make sure that nothing happens to him, then you can have a wonderful four-legged helper.

23. Artificial cat.

'Detroit: Become Human' would never have happened if people started creating not androids, but synthetic cats. Smart, adjusts to your needs, and doesn't require food or water. And also he does not require sleep, so at night he has too much freedom. Do not forget that synthetics have the ability to connect to the network and this cat is no exception, because it has a usb cable in its tail. Trust me, you don't want your cat to know your browsing history. Protect yourself from the gaze of judgment.

24. Trained kitten He is a very smart boy and knows a lot of commands for such a small kitten. Non-conflict, peaceful and calm. With proper development, it will grow into an amazing friend and pet, which you will film and show to all people around, saying "look what a smart cat I have"! It may seem cowardly, but in case of danger it will be the first to rush at the offender to scratch out his eyes.

25. Adventurer cat

The same moron who climbs everywhere, and then cannot get out and will yell until you come and help him. You got better at keeping an eye on him when one day he was trapped inside the couch and you literally had to destroy him to free this fool. Playful and energetic, can sometimes hiss but quickly makes cute eyes to be forgiven. Sleeping in funny positions.

26. Vandal cat

You didn't want him in your house, but somehow he ended up here. It brings prey, but does not share, but leaves behind bloody footprints, and then watches with satisfaction as you clean up after it. Often hisses and hides so that you will not find him, no matter how hard you try. Sleeps on your face at night, trying to choke.

27. Loud cat

Here is such a little rubbish, and the sound is like a Jericho trumpet. the brightest star in the house and he knows it. If you wish, you can take it to various exhibitions and get decent places. He pretends to be proud and impregnable, but soon lies on the floor and tries to get your attention by meowing loudly. Loves to be brushed. Spoiled.

28. Distrustful kitten

Tired cat, but a mini version. Unapproachable and hissing loudly, he can even attack you and start scratching, and then he will hide from you throughout the house, fearing punishment for what he has done. When he gets used to you, he will be able to be near you. And somewhere in a year, he will also stick to you and will resist your attempts to remove him from you.

29. Frightened cat

He's seen all sorts of shit. Quiet and sleepy. It is better not to leave the baby alone for a long time, he begins to get scared and naturally cry when you return home. Sleeps with you in the same bed and likes to hide under the covers. When guests come to you, he immediately hides, and if someone finds him, he meows loudly and runs away. Sometimes he looks into empty corners and meows at them.

30. Therapist cat

Always there for you when you need it. Purrs soothingly and massages sore spots when you lie down. Guests do not like him, but he will still be next to you or on his knees. If they try to remove him, he will hiss and even wave his paw. Very dedicated. Recommended for people with anxiety.

>> Part 1

>> Part 2

#ted raimi #garage joe (CSI: NY) #rick (darkman 1990) #harry mudd (odyssey 5) #tim o'neill #seaquest dsv #joxer the mighty #jett (xena: warrior princess) #jace (xena: warrior princess) #yeah these three are included #ted parker (american gothic) #alex (the grudge 2004) #dr. coffee (the attic expeditions 2001)

[thesoftboiledegg]

What's insane to me about this whole thing is that Justin Roiland voiced Rick's character development so convincingly. I've said multiple times on here that he's a great and underrated voice actor. One of my friends and I were even saying not long before the reports came out that we love Justin Roiland and think he's funny and clever.

I'm no Justin Roiland fan now, but it irked me when people act like Rick's voice actor was just a crazy guy yelling and burping into the microphone. Rick's voice changes so much as the series goes on. I realize that Roiland had to adjust his voice for real-life reasons (apparently it was hard on his vocal chords?), but it also coincides with Rick's character development.

Even if you don't think his voice acting is that great, I think that most people can agree that it's...decent? Justin Roiland sold it in every episode. He even gave other Ricks different accents and mannerisms like it was nothing, which some other voice actors struggle with.

I think he was getting a little bored toward the end--others pointed out that season six Morty sometimes sounded like a generic shouty background character--but he captured so much emotion in Rick and Morty's voices. Korvo had a lot of personality, too.

Then I read about Roiland acting like a little kid, blowing off his responsibilities, barely showing up to the studio (where did he even go? It sounds like he'd just disappear and nobody knew where he was), harassing minors, ruining his relationship with Dan Harmon and spewing the most juvenile, immature shit out of his mouth, and I'm like--how? How did THAT performance come out of HIM?

Rick started off as Roiland's self insert, but he started to grow up while Roiland didn't.

It's the same with Justin Roiland's style of humor. The bro-y shit was annoying, but aside from that, I thought he was hilarious. The way he paused or stuttered made a line ten times funnier. Interdimensional Cable 2, which is mostly improv, is one of my favorite episodes. Rixty Minutes is mediocre, but it's not his worst.

I knew about the infamous Doc and Mharti skit (which was pretty dire, I only made it one minute in), but I guess I assumed that his other solo work was better? But I started looking into his other skits, like "Unbelievable Tales" (which I don't recommend watching because it's full of triggers), and most of his humor is just him throwing out the most vile, disgusting shit he could come up with.

I'm not against shock humor, but it's not even funny. It's just...bad. Again, I watch it and think--what did Dan Harmon see in him? What did he say to make him actually be funny on Rick and Morty? I guess people were right when they said that Dan Harmon is the real genius behind the show.

It's been clear for a while that Justin Roiland has issues--he even said on Dan Harmon's podcast that his cousin sexually abused him when he was a child, so that probably explains his obsession with incest and pedophilia--but I thought that he was more of a danger to himself than others. Unfortunately, he has all the resources in the world to get help, and he didn't do it.

I've said for ages that Rick thinks he's a teenage boy--and whatever, I can't psychoanalyze a complete stranger, but I'm getting that vibe from Roiland, too. But Rick's trying to be an adult again while his former voice actor is resigning from everything and disappearing from the public eye, maybe for good this time.

#rick and morty #justin roiland #dan harmon #rick sanchez

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals: ACA Top 10 80s Cartoon Themes

(This is the 5th post I'm writing in one day (using Tumblr's Schedule feature), I'm having too much fun)

I'm not actually super familiar with all of the cartoons featured in this video (I'm a Gen Z Aussie who didn't have cable for most of my childhood, don't @ me), but I've at least heard of most of them or I know later iterations of the franchises. And also I'm not here to talk about the songs, I'm here to talk about the video (released in March 2018) itself! Let's go!

Back at it again with the themed T-shirts! Eli is wearing a Scrooge McDuck/Ducktales shirt, Earl is apparently wearing an Ultimate Warrior shirt? (shoutout to a reaction video I watched for pointing that out), J is wearing a TMNT shirt, Geoff is wearing a Transformers shirt, and Layne is wearing a Rainbow Dash/My Little Pony shirt

Look at all the 80s stuff in the background! Somebody had fun putting that all together, for sure.

Also shoutout to Eli's fingerless gloves and the sunglasses on his head; he is looking very cool 👌

(Also Geoff is basically doing The Least with his outfit here out of the 5 of them, but he's nothing if not consistent 😂 (literally he seems to be either Go Big or Do The Least when it comes to outfits for videos like this, but I say this all in good fun, and I still love him)

J with the fun props, Layne with the fun sound effects! (Also Inspector Gadget is one I am at least vaguely familiar with - I watched quite a lot of Hanna Barbera cartoons when I was quite young, and Looney Tunes/Merry Melodies as well!)

Eli with the eyebrow raise! Again! (I'm gonna have to start keeping count honestly 😂) (And J being even sillier 😄)

Eli, Earl, and J yet again being "class clowns", during the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles section, with the action poses, karate moves, and J pointing excitedly to his shirt 😂

Geoff takes lead on the GI Joe section (why do I feel like he probably watched that a lot as a kid?), so it's as good a time as any for me to do another "hair examination" (since this is about 9 or so months after the Moana Medley)

(These aren't the neatest drawings I know, but they're not meant to be something I spend a lot of time on).

I swear his hair looks longer here than it does in the next two videos Voiceplay uploaded after this one, but I guess we shall just have to see if I'm right or not!

Wait hang on a moment, if Eli, Earl, and J are sitting on a couch, does that mean Geoff and Layne are sitting on the floor? 😂 (guess I can't laugh too much, I often choose to sit on the floor myself)

Love Earl and Eli's bouncing up and down at the start of the Gummi Bears section, very fun and I was doing it along with them!

"When you need help just call!"

...No words needed. Screencaps don't do it justice, but you get three of them anyway!

Again, not meant to be talking about the music arrangement here, but I have to give a shoutout to the Transformers theme song, because I was never into Transformers growing up, like at all, but that was pretty dang epic.

Another shorter post, but my next few posts will most likely be longer, so stay tuned!

#voiceplay #acapella #top 10 80s cartoon themes #geoff castellucci #eli jacobson #layne stein #j none #earl elkins jr #earl elkins #acaplaya analysis #voiceplay visuals

[inlocusmads]

Hey there! What music do you think Trystan and Nora listen to? Also, do they have any favorite TV shows? :)

Thank you so much Elsa <3 This took, I kid you not, two whole days to answer lmao. I just love how I pour in so much thought into the kind of music and TV they'll be drawn to, but as for their actual character development, I just go "eh.. this'll work"

> Favourite music:

I literally have playlists for them lol, you can check them out here:

Trystan's playlist // Nora's playlist

Nora grew up with a lot of 60s rock and roll, but listens to a lot of contemporary pop too. Some of her favourite artists include ABBA, David Bowie, Tears for Fears, Hozier, Eurythmics, Labrinth, Lord Huron, The Oh Hellos and Phoebe Bridgers to name a few. It's just all over the place lol. Generally, she gravitates a lot towards folk pop and alternative and something she can play in a car whilst on a stakeout.

Trystan, growing up, didn't have a lot of musical influences and the only thing he had going on were patriotic Drakovian anthems, folk songs, classical music and a very few Eastern European artists. He enjoys classic rock, synthpop and a bit of rap, with music by Molchat Doma and Cool Kids of Death.

Being a kind of a Eurovision geek, he also pretty much follows their music too. It helped him learn a lot of new languages - specifically what his neighbouring countries' speak, namely Serbian and Romanian. To him, good music is all about comfort with this lyrical genius to it. He'd also look for a bit of versatility and sing-ability which makes sense as to why he avidly followed and still follows Queen when he first moved to New York and learned more about Western music, past the buzzwords.

Nora and Trystan end up, at one point, introducing the each other to their music tastes and soon Trystan finds himself enjoying more of rock and Nora gets introduced to the wonderful world of underrated Eurovision songs.

> Favourite shows

Nora's favourites:

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (and in general, the Real Housewives saga): There is something about a trainwreck of a show filled with the most chaos that Nora finds it super easy to sink her teeth into. It is borderline addicting to the point where she's once binged about, six seasons of it in two days. It's consumable chaos packaged in this steaming pot of drama. In addition to that, Nora knows a heck ton of facts about the show (from the filming to the women's lives) that it surprises people at parties.

Community: Nora discovered Community back when she was a senior at college (before moving onto training for the NYPD) and ever since then, it has sort of stuck with her till the end. She still watches it sometimes for the nostalgia.

University Challenge: Among reality drama and daytime soaps, Nora has a soft spot for quiz shows and University Challenge was something she'd recently gotten into (besides Jeopardy! reruns). And the trivia helps sometimes. It helped her in more ways than one in her own line of work.

Trystan's favourites:

Law and Order: When Trystan first settled down in New York, he didn't have a lot of entertainment to go around and with cable TV at his disposal, Law and Order became a fast favourite, mostly because he was mourning for his exile and had time on his hands that was largely spent in front of the TV, exhausted and listless. There was something so strangely addicting about a bunch of TV detectives piecing together clues that he'd finished about a third of it in his first week alone.

Criss Angel Mindfreak: Because it has street magic, acute edginess and slapped Trystan in the face with a new (but defunct) hobby. (Magic really wasn't his forte)

Gravity Falls: This was Trystan's first introduction into the wild world of animated shows and he loved every bit of it. Along with Over the Garden Wall. There's something so loveable about campy kids shows with a nice moral message that pairs really well with a weekday night-in and a cold glass of šljivovica.

Taskmaster: Because he's allowed to like a bit of ridiculousness in his life.

Hallmark TV & Film: Because they're a guilty pleasure and Trystan could yell at the TV if they ever got one of those "princely rom-coms" wrong. ("Forget the French, the Americans romanticise everything! Prokletstvo!")

Gotham: Trystan has absolutely no idea who or what Batman is all about, but he is too afraid to ask and this popped up in his recommendations and slowly spanned into a new favourite.

Arrested Development: Because he needs a home away from home.

Thank you so much for asking!

#jerzwriter #askboxed! #trystan x nora

[cosmicgardencreative]

DTIYS of an illustration by Kazuya Minekura. Needed a subject that I wanted to experiment with workflow and brushes. Plus, meditating over old fandom is so therapeutic.

TL;DR: Life is short. Just go ahead and write your story and draw your art. If you want to do something with your art, know that it won't be easy but it's possible as long as you keep learning, make good connections, and don't stop.

(Reflection of current art journey under read more)

This is of one of my favorite illustrations by Kazuya Minekura. If there's one big, major influence in my art journey, it's the creator of Gensomaden Saiyuki. I was maybe in 5th grade when I discovered the manga, which coincided with me seeing the anime on cable. A retelling of a Chinese folktale with a Japanese perspective: this was so appealing to me from harmonizing different cultures into one story, to beautiful men getting mixed with supernatural horror. This may as well have been my queer awakening then.

There was so much to be introspective about while drawing this… like how 6th grade me couldn't comprehend why people treated gay/queer as different from straight, my love for Asian folklore and mythology, and this burning desire to draw anything and everything. It only seemed appropriate that I'd gravitate towards Minekura as an art idol. And despite people's criticism for it, this is a foundation that I have no regrets in.

I remembered how much I wanted to emulate Minekura when I was younger. It's such a striking style! Unfortunately, my art journey has seen a lot of stop-and-go to the point I couldn't comprehend the progress made. There have been times where I just resented my art because I felt directionless with my creativity. Thanks to Ismaire and some art friends, though, I'm actually happy lately to see how much my "art style" evolved to where it is today.

[***]

While I was finishing up the rendering, I couldn't help wondering how Ms. Minekura had been doing since I last read Saiyuki Reload Vol. 4. Was she even still around? What about her other works, like Wild Adapter? I knew that she had a blog, but whenever I took a look at it in the past, the updates were sporadic then that it may as well have been a dead blog.

Then, after one more bout of curiosity, I came across her twitter/X profile.

It was both relieving and energizing to see so many works that I didn't know she had drawn then! I was so happy to see she seems to be thriving with her works, but I was surprised to see that she was still contending with many health problems. I had to pause in my scrolling through her profile at one point. How she could sound so positive and cheerful while she's dealing with Cushing's syndrome now? Last I heard anything major, she was about to undergo surgery for a tumor on her jaw -- and I only found out about that update through an online fan news years back o-o;;

I can't assume too much about Minekura's personal life, but with what she was willing to share with her fans online, I have a more nuanced respect for her as an adult creator.

It's so reassuring to see a creator like Minekura continue growing her creativity. I only hope to aspire to her level of good attitude despite IRL hurdles, while having the means to share such a prolific world for everyone else to enjoy.

#choibok draws #dtiys #saiyuki #saiyuki gaiden #tenpou gensui #kenren taisho #field marshall tenpou #general kenren #kazuya minekura #choibok reflections #long post

[mymailody]

i have a pikachu figure that my parents got to put in my baby room back when i was born. i was born in 2000 and that figurine is an og nintendo one from 1999, it even still is that chubby og pikachu look everyone missed.

when i was younger my parents didn't have cable tv but on saturday and sunday mornings, the national channels would pass cartoons and one that was always airing was pokémon. my vividest and first memory of the pokémon anime was team rocket's air balloon and the talking meowth.

in 2016 i suffered great lost and binge watched the whole of the xy anime and it helped so much with the healing process to be able to be transported into this universe.

ash ketchum and his pikachu were probably mine and a lot of people's first friends. culturally it's a figure that will forever be in our repertoire and yet, every single one of us has a different connection to ash, memories, stories like i do. it's a bittersweet emotion to bid farewell to such an vital piece of our lives.

throughout journeys it was hinted that it could've been ash's final season and I myself, a month ago, when he became finally world champion, i mentioned to my friend how i thought it was going to be the end for his journey. and yet it didn't prepare me whatsover for the news that this is indeed ash's final step of his journey.

it's a bittersweet feeling. on one hand, im always ready for new beginnings and new starts and im looking forward for the new gen having a female protagonist and we get to see paldea as a whole. however, on the other hand, biding farewell to ash it's such a crazy thing i somehow didn't even fanthom i had to do.

with this all in mind, i am extremely excited for the 11 episodes airing on january as a wrap up of his journey and these 25 years. i need a proper closure and a proper goodbye to my first friend and his little mouse partner.

thank you for everything ash ketchum. you are irreplaceable, it's been an honour growing up with you.

#pokemon #ash ketchum #pikachu #anipoke #i am so sad actually #i teared up #its a little lame and i feel lame as a grown up #but i will miss him so much

[weabooweedwitch]

Your mom sounds insufferable and I'm sorry you have to live with her and shoulder the entire financial burden and household management. Whenever I see a post abt your mom on my timeline I'm like 'damn it sounds like she's the mom and her mom is the daughter this is some crazy role reversal shit' and I feel annoyed on your behalf. I'm sorry your mom is too self-absorbed to seek help for whatever prevents her from being a functional parent or at least not a willful burden on her daughter. You're taking care of her as if she's elderly or severely sick when you're only 26 and she doesn't even seem grateful >_> like she doesn't even see problem with it as if she's just entitled to it and doesn't seem to care that by not pulling her own weight she's preventing you from saving up to move out and start your own life. I hope you can eventually get out of there and big props to you for not going completely insane

It's so conflicting for me because I REALIZE my mom has been through a lot and it's only fairly recently within the last few years I actually started "growing up" but so many of these problems are systemic or behavioral and like

Ok. So you could even completely remove all of me and my moms arguments over chores and housework and all that, and she still does still like "oh the garage door is operating a little wonky and I tried to contact the management several times but they never responded so I JUST STOPPED PAYING RENT ON IT FOR MONTHS" LIKE IS SHE ACTUALLY INSANE???? She's lucky they didn't come and physically change the pin code and lock us out and throw out all our stuff! It's SUPPOSED to be protecting her car from the weather but since we moved about 2 years ago "oh the walk is just so far now" so now its a glorified storage locker while her already rusting 20+ year old car she bought secondhand only a few years ago sits out in the snow and salt and rain. Her hubcaps were cracked and she "didn't like how it looked" so she just. Completely removed them and now her tires are slowly getting weather damaged because "oh its better to have no hubcaps than look ghetto" no it doesn't you stupid cunt this is a 20+ year old car? The wiring for the radio and car chargers doesn't even work anymore??? You're lugerally having to replace your car every like 5 years do you not realize how not fucking normal that is???

Putting the rest under a rm because life is bullshit and I kind of ramble for a long time

One day I'm in my room trying to sleep and I hear her on the phone sounding really upset. She had an old debt on a car from like 10 years ago and its been collecting interest this whole time. It's just like. She doesn't even know about all her fucking debts anymore. And she's dragging me down too. Years ago, literal years ago, I gave her permission to put my name on a cable bill and she completely forgot about it and now i get nonstop robocalls because now i have an unpaid debt on my credit report. I'm nearly ready to give them her name and phone number and say she used my name without my consent

She just. I try to temper myself and see things from her perspective, yeah I can be really lazy, yeah a lot of days I DO just come home and sit in my room and I don't come out, but she would still have a LIST of issues? I only found out about this garage shit yesterday and I said "jesus chrisr how many months behind are we now because of you?" "Several" SHE DOESNT EVEN CARE, her mentality is "oh they aren't coming to fix the door or replying to me so I'm not gonna pay until they do" BITCH THEY COULD ADD INTEREST AND LATE FEES, YOU DONT HAVE A JOB RIGHT NOW?

I'm just constantly crying because I don't. Know what to do? I was toxic codependent with her for so many years because of trauma and she tries to shelter and protect me because horrible child abusive dad etc etc etc, but now I'm an adult and she's still doing a lot of the same issues I've ALWAYS seen? Like I was literally an elementary schooler having adult conversations with her mother my grandma for Years asking "what is wrong with mom"

Like. It's having an extremely negative affect on me that basically my biggest source of support is dismissive and talks over me but also expects me to constantly dish out empathy for her. I'm literally becoming like one of those bratty teenager characters who is mean to their parent 24/7 because, it's just like. Every time I turn around she's making mistakes? She took too many Naproxen and almost made herself extremely sick and then t9ld me I needed medication and was acting hysterical even after a LISCENSED TOXICOLOGIST told her she was lucky Zhe wasn't in excruciating pain and vomiting. She'll burn food because she'll assume how it's cooked because shebhas like a legit8mate mental disorder with reading instructions, like my whole entire life she would literally be assembling furniture without even reading the instructions

She just lives in her own little world "where it's ok if I make a mistake but if anyone else does it's because they're a diversity hire, if im late on payments people should work with me and let me make payment arrangements even if it's literally against their policy and they're cunts if they don't it's not my fault for not paying" like I literally told her to her face "is it some sort of defense mechanism that you literally CANT admit when you're wrong?"

I'm still. I'm still so fucking upset over the pills. She took a ton of pills and kept taking them without really even keeping track of how many she was taking "because I wanted the pain to stop" and even then that pain is because she kept putting off going to the dentist and she literally WORKS IN THE MEDICAL FIELD, SHE SHOULD KNOW HOW THIS SHIT WORKS. And then she yells at me "YOUVE NEVER BEEN IN EXCRUCIATING PAIN BEFORE" and its like YES I LITERALLY HAVE, I HAD TO HAVE SURGERY FOR IT, TWICE

It just makes me feel so small. It makes me feel so silenced. I'll try to talk to her about these issues and if I'm not ext4a special sweet and kissing her ass "you're being a bitch, you can't speak to me like that" and she refuses to actually finish the conversation so we can Work Things Out so we have to have the SAME CONVERSATIONS over and over and over and nothing changes. I know I'm one to talk but she literally has some sort of personality disorder and then she passed so much unhealthy shit on to me????

She's only 58 but slowly declining in health and I worry constantly when this "im too old/tired/I have a headache, you do it" bullshit will escalate and she stops working. Because she doesn't have any savings and I have SO much anger towards her I don't trust myself to be a caregiver for her.

I'm medicating the stress with weed to the point I'm pretty sure it's actually making me hyper aggressive and I'm genuinely ready to go back to being an alcoholic sometimes. I just want to be alone in the dark and not talk to anyone or hear anyone. It's just at the point where I'm constantly mean to her because it's like "oh you made this really small mistake like you forgot something at home and now we have to circle back? I WOULD be ok with that if you didn't make mistakes literally every single day to the point I call you subhuman"

I'm constantly experiencing really harsh stomach issues daily and I'm amazed I'm nkr prematurely graying. Pretty sure my hairline is receding? And I try to talk to her about that because she failed cosmetology school twice and I won't even finish my sentence before she fuckint interrupts me

And I'll say "why is there legitimately never one single day where you aren't interrupting me, like they literally teach us in DBT therapy that you need to be mindful and liaten to someone speaking instead of interrupting with your reply" and she'll just say "but YOU do it all the time"

Like can you understand how like horrifically horrifically violent I want to be when I literally cannot bring up even one issue without her DEFLECTING, IMMEDIATELY???? "Hey mom I think my hairline is receding and I still vividly remember how you would repeatedly tell me to wear my ponytail tighter and higher up because 'wearing it low is like a man' and I think that was really unnecessary" "what, that was a long time ago, you blame me for everything--" "can you at least acknowledge that was a thing you actually said and did and that it upset me" "you're always trying to blame me for--" "can you literally just say ok I'm sorry that happened that would literally be the end of the conversation" "you're always trying to dig up old drama, this is just like when YOU--"

I'll be at work and I'll be too stressed to even focus because sometimes I don't even trust her in our own fucking home. She'll text me "hey is this reptile thermometer supposed to read these numbers" and this will be a conversation we've already had several times in the past and she will turn off the AC or turn the heat up or down amd then go to bed without even waiting for me to reply like she has literally almost given my reptiles heat stroke by turning off the AC and just opening windows

Like you can literally pull up an academic article about shaving doesn't make your hair grow back thicker and this moronic fucking loser will legitimately clap back with "well I had a friend who was a dermatologist and she said--" like. It's Dana's Reality or you're wrong. Only she is right and deserves welfare and handouts and sympathy and exceptions but everyone else is just too lazy or not trying hard enough or her favorite accusation, that I deliberately sabotage myself because I want to wallow in sadness

It's just. It's getting to the point I may have to run away for HER safety instead of my own because when you try to talk and talk and talk and eventually what little talking you do is all nasty words, eventually I just think "God, will she listen if I fucking hit her, is that what it'll take, will that wake her up" but she would just happily throw me in jail just like when she got up in my sisters face when she was 17 and my sister just slapped her one time and my mom had her arrested "as a punishment" and was mad when she paid bail and was released the following day

I just. I'm so lost. I think the only real answer is to leave but I'm not self sufficient enough and I'm definitely not healthy for such a huge dramatic change. Meanwhile my job is getting harder because people keep quitting and I just feel so insanely overwhelmed. It just literally feels like there's no point in me being alive anymore. I keep getting set back or too tired to move forward. Like I had an argument with my mom before my shift instantly went "dude what if you just have this one final shift before you're off the next few days and then just KILL YOURSELF before you have to go back to work" and those thoughts just, occur casually at this point. Mild suicidal ideation?

I dunno. I constantly ask myself if it's even ethical for me to even talk about my own feelings because it could be argued that I'm just stressing and traumatizing people. Like I constantly ask myself, "if I ever did anything to hurt myself, should I post something so people at least know where I went or would that be horrible and manipulative and traumatic and awful of me to do" like. I'm Definitely Normal having Defnitely Normal Thoughts.

I hate even saying all of this but I just. I dunno. I'm a coward. I'm literally so fucked up that sometimes when I laugh the shaking of my body like does something to my brain and i instantly transition into sobbing. I'm just another wage slave leaving a record of my woe behind idk. At least there are SOME people in this world who recognize my pain

#im literally at work and i juat want to cry in the bathroom or run out onto the neighboring highway

[the-vault-apprentice]

im gonna be very real here. about a comment you made that i saw. constantly apologising for ‚being annoying‘ is ALWAYS more annoying that whatever you did!!! thats what makes people uncomfortable, is the constant behging of validation from everyone when what you need to do is to just accept who you are and the way you communicate!!!!!!! then you arent annoying!!!!!!!!

You. You do realize I know that, right?

You.... You also realize that after TWENTY TWO YEARS of being ignored, misunderstood, talked over, and made fun of, it might be difficult to be confident?

So I appreciate the... Supportive....? I'm assuming you didn't mean any harm with your message, but I have spent a VERY long time feeling like my mere EXISTENCE is a burden and an inconvenience. It's not something that's just gonna go away. I KNOW my over-apologizing gets annoying. That's why I am WORKING ON IT.

Believe it or not, I try to limit my apologies to either things that actually ARE my fault or things I have gone through and actually feel SORRY that someone ELSE is experiencing it.

Did- did you really come into my askbox just to tell me I need to accept who I am when I live with people who don't BELIEVE ME about my own mental illness? Buddy, I've been masking so damn long I don't know if I could just drop it. I was the "gifted kid" and god I wish I wasn't because now? Now I feel like a failure if I don't get it perfect the first try. I got so good at BEING the good kid that my own MOTHER thinks I'm making it up.

So excuse me if growing up in an emotional minefield and having unrealistic standards for myself have resulted in over-apologizing. I'm just REALLY used to people absolutely flying off the handle and completely losing their shit over things. You ever have your dad grab the top of the car you're in and shake it like a goddamn Bigfoot? You ever have to hook the laptop to the TV with an HDMI cable because the screen doesn't work after somebody threw it?

"You don't need to apologize-"

No, I don't. But for a long time I DID. And even sometimes now, I DO. It's a survival mechanism at this point. Am I working on it? Yes. In the meantime, maybe don't tell me that it's more annoying than whatever thing I actually did because guess what? I know! And I'll be feeling guilty about that, too!

Begging for validation- Yes! I am! Because for a very long time I have felt disposable! Living with someone who later admits they have been lying when they say "I love you" and they had been for YEARS will give you a REALLY fucked-up perception of your worth! Being ignored by a parent will do that to you! I just want to feel like I matter because I am SO USED to not!

And I KNOW validation from other people doesn't.... It doesn't work. You have to know your own worth from the inside. And dammit I am WORKING on that! But I still like knowing I matter to other people and I'm still so afraid of getting ANYTHING wrong!

Holy freaking Megabird, it wasn't supposed to be that deep. I was only SAYING that if I apologize a lot it's because I've gotten USED to being called annoying-

......

You know what, I'm just gonna shut up now. It's not worth trying to explain myself to an anonymous person online, just maybe next time don't tell us our apologies are more annoying because odds are we know and we're trying to stop. And people telling us we're only making it worse doesn't help. It actually kinda makes you look like an ass. Remind us we don't need to apologize and continue the conversation. If it keeps happening, you absolutely have the right to say "Hey, it's making me uncomfortable how you keep apologizing" or maybe "Please stop saying you're sorry because it makes me feel like I've hurt you and makes this whole conversation impractical" or really ANYTHING that provides us some context other than just "Will you quit that" but ffs, man, just telling us to stop is only going to make us apologize for apologizing because now we feel like we made you mad-

Whatever. I'm probably not making much sense anymore but it's kinda annoying how people want us to stop apologizing and be more confident when when we TRY... If we mess up.... We're just more annoying. Feels really lose-lose to me- I LITERALLY SAID I WAS WORKING ON IT!

Did you read the second half of the sentence....?

#the hell prompted THIS? me saying I'm used to being called annoying? #my brother in megan that happened in THIRD GRADE #I learned to keep my mouth shut or everybody would look at me weird #for the love of GOD I am TRYING! #I have a fucking BLOG now! where I talk at strangers online! I think that's PROGRESS! #wish upon a star #the faceless ones #smart move going on anon but joke's on you #I don't care who knows the shit I've been through #you're talking to a girl who thinks love was invented for storytelling purposes only because mommy and daddy were ALWAYD fighting

[anxietyjedi]

Taking Back Happiness

Hooray, my first post here gets to be about something good. Well, it will get good, but first there's quite a bit of backstory to get through in order to help people understand the perspective. I will preface this with to some this may not seem like such a big deal, but on a personal level this is huge and ever since I finally realized what I had done I've felt fantastic! So, to start, I had a fairly happy childhood. A Mom, a Dad, a little brother, and pretty much had it good as far as life at home. In terms of quality of life, things weren't bad; cable TV, air conditioners in every bedroom (which growing up in Southern California, that was a premium thing to have in the summertime), and so on. Through childhood I was developing a taste for things that I both liked and disliked, and as with most people I would have an inclination to do the things I liked more and the things that I disliked as least often as possible.

I mention likes and dislikes because a lot of that sets up the meat and potatoes of this whole thing. Anyway, moving right along, living in Southern California had the advantage of the "Happiest Place on Earth" being right there in Anaheim. Given that, I did manage to go there every once in a good while and just like many before me enjoyed the experience. Mostly. When it was my parents, my brother, and I going it was always great; we spent time together as a family having fun and establishing memories that would last a lifetime. Pretty standard fare, right? Believe it or not there were times when I really did not find a whole lot of happiness at the "Happiest Place on Earth". Every couple of years my relatives on my Mom's side of the family would come in from out of town for Christmas, staying with us to save money, yadda, yadda, yadda. Part of that was taking a trip to the "Happiest Place on Earth", and going with them was anything but happy. You see, I learned pretty quickly that I hated the sensation of dropping. I know, for some it is a thrilling feeling to experience but for me at the time it was horrible. The sensation of dropping felt as though the world had fallen out from under me. Being of an age to voice my absolute displeasure of that feeling, I made it known that I did not like it. It didn't do any good. The first few times I would protest I would eventually give in. I hated it. As I got older I would push back a little bit longer, and that's when things got not-so-happy at the "Happiest Place on Earth". I can still recall their below the belt comments like "Oh, they're looking for a bribe" like I was some kind of spoiled brat. I wasn't holding anybody back, I wasn't saying "Let's not do this" just "I don't want to do this", but it didn't matter. Me not wanting to do something that I had an absolute dislike of somehow made them so unhappy that they had to make me miserable. Then I would hear about it for the rest of the day, once again at no point did I demand that nobody do it, just that I not do it. That's it. As I got older, reaching an age where I could look after myself I would continue to try and find a way to get out of it. At the age of 15, and being six feet tall, I really had to argue in my defense over something that they could do without me but for some reason it was SO important that I go despite how miserable of an experience it was for me. Of course all of their bullish behavior resulted in them cutting in line for one of the rides, being called out by the people who were cut in front of and I being a teenager decided I had enough. I didn't want to go, even more so if we were cutting in line. It didn't matter how much I argued, they absolutely wanted me to go. I still didn't understand what was so important about me going. It turned into such an argument that I could no longer find happiness at the "Happiest Place on Earth". Imagine that. Something that makes people happy no longer making you happy in the slightest because you had so much negativity wrapped around it.

If that was the only time I had ever experienced their negative behavior, that would be one thing. That was not the case. At the age of 16 my parents separated and I ended up moving to the state where these relatives were from. Over time they demanded I change one thing or another about me. I've been an avid user of sentence enhancers (see "swear words") since late elementary school, at the very latest early middle school, but I've always made a point to curb it around my parents and relatives by watering it down. Instead of "bullshit" I would say "BS", as an example. I guess that was too much because I got a lecture about choosing a better way to express myself, ugh. Then, a conversation involving an elderly relatives care had come up, or the lack of care would be more accurate. This conversation was happening right in front of me, with no preface that I was not to take part. I offered one comment. Just one. "That's messed up" is all I said, and holy shit you'd think I demanded the sacrifice of a first born child. They, as they usually would gang up on one person like a pack of wolves and pretty much verbally beat them into submission. In this instance, I was met with a chorus of "Sit down, shut up, and stay out of it". So even though it was regarding a relative, I couldn't say anything. If you haven't figured it out by now, I do not carry a relationship with them at all. I tolerate them, but only for the sake of my Mom. That's it. In simple terms, it's like I've been in a Cold War with them since 1999. I don't really interact with them, if they start the interaction I'll be cordial but it stops not long after because I don't care to keep it going. The aforementioned examples are just a few in an exceedingly long list.

This last week I took a trip to Southern California where I had time to think about a few things. For the first time ever I was able to come to terms with what really happened. Emotional abuse. Since I was in Southern California I decided to take the opportunity to go back to the "Happiest Place on Earth", this time on my terms and alone. I wanted to see if maybe I could find happiness again. I woke up early, made the drive there, and no sooner did I cross into the park did I find myself thinking back on happy memories. I could literally feel the emotions welling up as I took in the atmosphere as I thought back to seeing the various costumed characters, hearing the music play, and everything else. I set out doing the things I wanted to do, and didn't do anything that I didn't want to do. I got to enjoy things, experience things as I wanted, and before I knew it I realized something very important.

All of the happiness that they had taken from me, I was taking it back. All of the snide remarks, all of the hurtful comments, none of it mattered anymore. I took my happiness back! Not only that, but I knew that they would never take it from me ever again. For the entire day it was the "Happiest Place on Earth" again. I know that to some this may not seem like a big deal, but for me it was a momentous occasion. Taking back happiness can feel empowering.

#personal #taking back happiness