#stupid flighty bullshit

[amber-angel]

Ok. Watcher. The criticism they were getting was mostly valid, they listened, and they made adjustments. So now stop.

#stupid flighty bullshit #watcher #if youre still not happy then just dont watch their stuff anymore #i just see the internet pedestal to punching bag cycle happening here and honestly are we not tired of that #they listened. they apologized. they made actual changes #thats the accountability we wanted right? #so now we stop

[the-maw-consumes]

“Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve blinked. That…wasn’t what he was expecting. Still, there’s only one definitive answer. 

“Yep,” he answers, popping the ‘p’. “Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” His mimicked gunshot doesn’t even cover how that felt, but he does it anyway. 

“Oh my god,” he hears from the other side, “She’s such a priss.”

Nancy Wheeler is a lot of things; priss, she is not. And maybe she doesn’t need him to defend her, but, still, he hums, “Turns out, not really.” 

Robin scoffs as if that’s unbelievable, and maybe it could be. Then, she asks, “Are you still in love with Nancy?”

No, is the first thought in his mind. And, well, it’s strange to think his answer would’ve been different at the beginning of the year, as much as he’d told himself he’d moved on back then. But, the months in between have just made him realize that how he feels for her has changed a lot since October. He loves her, of course he does, and he’ll never really get over her. But, he doesn’t think he’ll ever love her like he did again.

So, after a moment, he says, “No.”

Then, of course, she asks the question he’s been avoiding thinking about: “Why not?” 

There’s a lot of answers to that question, but Steve…well, he knows the one that’s most responsible, even if it’s been thrown to the back of his mind. He’s never really brought it to the light of day before—if bathroom lights could be called that. But there’s just something about this moment, sitting with Robin on a probably disgusting bathroom floor with his mind still kinda floating, that makes him feel like it’s safe here. They just went through hell—there wasn’t a better time, right?

“I think,” he starts, “it’s because I found someone who’s a little better for me.” He huffs a laugh, “It’s funny, you know? Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, like, you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie.” 

“Wait, who’s Suzie?”

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real.” Steve shakes his head and kinda wishes he’d thought up a better analogy. “But that’s not really the point. Uh, the point is…I think I already found my Suzie. You know—this person is someone I didn’t even talk to in school, and I don’t know why. Maybe Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be…prom king. It’s stupid.” He sighs. “I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all a bunch of bullshit anyways. I should’ve been hanging out with this person the whole time. I wish I did. I mean, they’re so cool and hilarious—I feel like, the past few months, I’ve laughed harder than I have in a long time. And they’re smart, and a dork, but so passionate—you know, they can talk on and on about so many things, it’s amazing.” Captivating, really, but the second it takes to reminisce about those moments are enough to make him realize he’s been rambling for like, minutes, and he’s gotta stop at some point. So, “They’re honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.”

Steve smiles to himself for a second, his head still feeling a little flighty—but the silence keeps dragging on beyond that. The smile falls a bit, and Steve really hopes he was careful enough with his words. He really hopes he can trust Robin if he wasn’t. 

“Robin?” Steve taps on the stall wall between them, the sound echoing through the bathroom. When the silence just gets heavier, it’s with genuine concern that he asks, “Robin, did just OD in there?” 

“No.” He breathes a sigh of relief, then hears it echoed, though weighted, from the other side. “I…am still alive.” 

Still, there’s something so heavy in her tone, and a visual confirmation that she is alive becomes essential for him. So, shuffling over to grip the wall between them, Steve slides underneath the stall and lands a little to the left of where she sits, alive and breathing. She smiles a bit.

“The floor’s disgusting.” He huffs and glances down at the sailor uniform that has (probably) seen better. “Yeah, well. I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” 

She breathes a bit of a laugh, and, at the very least, some of the heaviness is gone. Alive and breathing. 

“What do you think?” he asks her, almost intentionally vague. 

“About?”

“Am I in love with Nancy Wheeler?” 

“No,” she grants. Then, very decidedly, “But, I think you’re on drugs and not thinking clearly.” 

And the look she gives him feels too significant, too weighted, and he really, really hopes he was careful because the possibility he wasn’t is starting to loom over him. He can’t argue that his mind was in stellar shape a few minutes ago, and everything she’s done since then is just working to form a pit of dread in his stomach. It feels like wishful thinking to consider that nothing she’s said has been outwardly accusing, but it’s still there.  

Why did he have to say so much? 

No, no, right. The drugs. Robin may be right, he probably wasn’t thinking clearly. And, damn it, this may not be entirely his fault but he does not want the repercussions for it. 

“Well, I think I’m thinking pretty clearly now.” Wishful thinking, it is. 

“You’re not.” Somehow, her expression feels like an echo of his own worries. “Steve,” she starts, and the dread gets worse, “you’re not thinking clearly about this. Look, you don’t even know this person—” Wait, what? “and if you did know them, like, really know them—I don’t think you’d even want to be their friend.” 

Steve blinks. That—That’s what she was talking about? How did she even know who he was talking about? He shakes his head, honestly baffled. “Wait, what? That’s not true.” 

She speaks again before he could ask what about everything he said was so revealing, “Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you—” Harsh. “I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends. And I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.” 

Well, Steve thought he was thinking clearly, but he is lost. Somehow, this conversation has escaped him within the span of two seconds, and the moment feels wrong to ask how they got here. But, if he’s going to take any guess at her meaning, he much prefers thinking she’s…supportive, maybe. Indifferent, even. So, he doesn’t think of the ball of dread winding through his chest, and he tries to follow what Robin may be saying. “Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.” 

And that is the truth, really. He’s never had a friend like her, if they could be considered friends. This summer has carved a small space for her in Steve’s heart, and the past few days have done numbers on expanding that space. She’s funny and smart and definitely not like Nancy Wheeler, wherever that came from. And he really doesn’t want to lose her, not right now. If they get out of this, he wants to be her friend. He wants to know her better than ice cream shifts can tell him. 

Robin scoffs lightly as if that’s not what she needed to believe him. “Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”

“Yeah?” He nods slightly. 

“It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” she says, slowly, as if a plea to make him understand. He doesn’t. “It’s because…” she continues, hesitant in her words, and he desperately wants to know how to make this better because his heart breaks for the expression she has. Then, quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, “...she wouldn’t stop staring at you.” 

He blinks. “Mrs. Click?” 

A breath of a laugh at that, but her eyes plant themselves on the wall. She clarifies, almost resigned, “Tammy Thompson. I wanted her to look at me. But…she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair.” She looks back at him, with watery eyes. “And I didn’t understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you would ask dumb questions and you were a douchebag!” She shakes her head lightly and he really is trying to understand. “And…And you didn’t even like her, and I would go home and just…scream into my pillow.”

Steve stares for a second, trying to will his brain back into place, his thoughts to something clear, because something is being said here, something important and—

The puzzle pieces click together.

Oh. 

Oh!

“Holy shit.” 

“Holy shit,” she echoes.

Unwillingly, Steve laughs. A bark of laughter just bursting out of him because, jesus-–this entire situation is so botched. But her face falls and he immediately stops in a wave of guilt and throws himself at reassuring her. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Robin looks away again, shrugs. “It’s fine.”

No, that won’t do. Steve shakes his head, vehemently, and taps her hand. “No, Robin, seriously—there’s been a huge misunderstanding here. I don’t have a crush on you.”

That makes her look back at him, eyebrows furrowed “What?”

“I think you’re awesome, Robin, and super cool and smart. I really want to be friends with you, seriously. But I wasn’t talking about you.” And Steve could stop there, but she just revealed…herself to him and he owes it to her to do the same. He knows how terrifying that is. “I was— Jesus.” He laughs again, brushes a hand down his face. And, still, knowing about her doesn’t make it any less terrifying to say it out loud. “I was talking about, um,” Like a bandaid, right? “...Eddie Munson.”

Her eyebrows seem to go to her hairline, but he celebrates the light that’s back in her eyes. “What.”

“Yeah, we uh—” There’s warmth in his cheeks. This is the first time he’s saying any of this out loud. “I don’t know how it happened, but we ran into each other one day and just started talking and…like, hit it off, super surprisingly. It’s crazy, he wasn’t even on my radar back then and now he’s—” Steve cuts himself off before he can start rambling again, rubs the back of his neck. “I really like him. I was talking about him.”

Robin grins. “Holy shit.” She shakes her head, repeats, “Holy. Shit,” enunciating, as if for good measure. He matches her grin.

“I had no idea what you were talking about.” He explains, “I mean, maybe I don’t really know Eddie, but how do you know that? And then you started talking about Mrs. Click’s…” he mimics an explosion in his head. “I thought the drugs completely fried my brain.” 

She laughs, finally, her head falling back onto the wall, and he can’t help but follow her lead. It’s a good few moments before they stop, Robin suddenly sobering to hold a hand, saying “Wait, wait, Eddie Munson? You’re hanging out with drug dealer, total nerd, band dweeb Eddie Munson?” 

“Hey, hey, I didn’t say you could criticize my taste, Miss Tammy Thompson.” 

She scoffs, sounding just a bit offended, “What’s wrong with Tammy?”

“I mean, she’s cute and all but she’s a total dud.” 

“She is not!”

. . .

#steddie #platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve harrington x eddie munson #there's plenty of these already i'm sure #but i love changing the bathroom scene around to encompass steddie #and i was incredibly bored so #here this is

[nayatarot777]

what was their first impression of you?

if you’d like a private reading, please look at my pinned post ☺️💚

• pile one •

cards: altar - dedication, hearth - homecoming, moon - cycles, page of coins, strength, 9 of wands

they saw you in a space where you were able to show your dedication to some type of work. i feel like there’s an energy of basic respect that you give to people as well as a fixation on dedicating yourself to a practical task at hand, so this person could have met you when you were in a school or a workplace? they definitely saw you as someone who kept to themselves - maybe even quite guarded to protect yourself from others - but it seems like you have a high level of intuition too. for a few of you, this could be someone that you didn’t trust (and maybe you still don’t). if that resonates, i’m seeing this person viewing you as someone who’s a great judge of character, either when it comes to other people or them in particular. you could’ve seemed quite to yourself, and somehow this person saw something about you that made them feel like you were a homebody. there’s a certain level of confidence to you though. your guardedness didn’t come across as something to protect someone who’s weak and defenceless. it came across as someone who just was not with the bullshit. whatever you were focused on, that’s all that you cared about and you didn’t seem interested in anything else. there’s somewhat of a defensive energy that this person picked up from you as they felt as though, if they crossed your boundaries in some way, you’d bring hellfire upon them lmao. you had a very strong, but reserved first impression to this person. there’s a message about you refusing to play games with this person, so maybe they tried to get under your skin or flirt or just step out of bounds for the environment that you were in, in some way? you put an end to it though, and i feel like this person’s first impression of you left them quite intimidated.

• pile two •

cards: candles - magic, staff - stability, high priestess/high priest - responsibility, ace of wands, the hermit, 7 of coins

do you guys have a witchy aesthetic? there’s a message that for a lot of you, your person automatically could tell that you were either a witch or a mystic in some way. they saw you as a creative and someone who had a different type of lifestyle to them. if not a witch, then they saw you as someone who they had been manifesting. it’s like this person had a sudden awareness that you were who they had been manifesting or that you were the physical embodiment of what they were conjuring up in their minds. you seem very introspective- constantly in your head but somehow not coming across as flighty or ungrounded. you actually give off an extremely grounded energy to this person with some type of responsibility towards something - you guys could have met at work or in a professional setting like pile one. this person also saw you as either very financially stable, or stable within your self esteem. but you didn’t come across as someone who was actually involved in your external world. they could have seen you as quite a loner tbh. but they could tell that you’re content with being alone. that you’re alone most of the time but not lonely. they could have seen you as quite a serious person too, who diligently focused on whatever you were responsible for in that moment. i’m also hearing “steady work ethic”. there’s an energy of naturally creating something? or naturally achieving success with something with little effort. your stare/eye contact is also very piercing. it could have made this person freeze. i’m seeing them view you as someone who could see right through things - including them. maybe you just automatically knew something about them or their life? as if you had known them for a while when you hadn’t. i’m also hearing “high standards”. but in terms of respect. this person could tell that disrespecting you in some way would be the wrong move. if they actually did, then they’re stupid 😂.

• pile three •

cards: lord/god - masculine, witch’s hat - power, lughnasadh - prosperity, king of swords, 10 of swords, the chariot

this person may have projected some of their own issues onto you upon first meeting you. it feels like this person was intimidated by whatever power they sensed from you, but because they couldn’t understand why they felt that way, they demonised whatever quiet power they saw in you and decided to see you as someone stuck up or on some type of high horse. they felt like you were extremely observant and quiet, but also not afraid to speak up when you wanted to. and i’m hearing that they felt like you had a very short, direct way of communicating. maybe they even felt like you were judging them in some way - even if you didn’t even speak to them - but you looking at them made them feel very insecure, and instead of admitting that to themselves, they decided to see you as someone who was doing something negative. you very well could have been judging them but that’s because this person has some weird ego problems or forced masculinity that you could see through. i feel like this is a masculine person who was intimidated by the masculinity they saw or felt in you, but they couldn’t understand why because you don’t look like the type of person who they’d usually be intimidated by. so you must be doing something to purposefully trigger them, right? 🙄 they saw you as someone who was uncontrollable. you actually took control over certain situations. if this masculine person tried to throw some shade your way, or said something out of line, it was a weak attempt at trying to fight off your energy (the energy that makes them feel so insecure). it was like they were trying to get you before you got them in some way. but you took control over those situations and i’m seeing that you didn’t even need to say or do much. you could have smiled or laughed at any shady comments they made and it made them feel even weaker. you seem very wealthy in some way - either in money or self esteem or both - and this person felt like they were not in control in environments around you. they could be the type who wants to try to “control the room” with their presence but with a forced persona. you did this naturally and they got intimidated. they recognised your power from the get go and realised that it was the end to some type of communication style or way of thinking of theirs, as they knew that it wouldn’t go over well with you. they could be used to being disrespectful to people, but they couldn’t be that way with you. you’re also very natural too, which adds to your power. you might wear no/minimal makeup, you might not hide behind materialism like they perhaps do. you’re what they would praise on someone that they’d look up to. but i’m hearing that something about you makes them feel like they should be the one to fit that role out of the both of you. clearly not 🙃

#pick a card #divination #psychic readings #spirituality #pick a photo #pick a picture #tarot #pac #tarot reading #pac reading #collective reading #intuitive #daily tarot #tarotdaily #free tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #tarotoftheday

[ashleyh713fanfics]

Dazai X Odasaku!Sister CH13

Chapter 13: "Celebrating Life Is Stupid”

Summary: After reuniting and growing closer, Dazai and Oda’s sister truly realize the value of each other and the sad bandaged boy falls deeper into the dangerous fascination and infatuation that is Odasaku’s little sister.

Warnings: pm!sixteen year old Dazai, pm! sixteen year old chuuya, ginger is very angry, Suicide mentions, guns, manipulation on both sides, Odasaku death mentions, Dazai being a Simp, Dazai being the demon prodigy but also baby at the same time.

(This is chapter thirteen of my fanfic "Timeless" which is now on A03. It carries on from the three part intro I posted a couple days ago. I'll link it below to fully understand the story. Asagao's ability is to stop time for up to six seconds.)

Three Part Intro (Broken up because the first ch is so long)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A03 Version Here:

Word count: 6k total

—-

Tapping his feet in already brewing annoyance, Chuuya pushed his phone closer to his ear as each ear grating ring pissed him off by the second. And honestly, by the third one he debated throwing the entire object into the wall next to him in a fit of frustration.

He knew that little mackerel was doing this on purpose, sending his calls to voicemail over and over again. That guy never had anything notable going on and he knew the boss was gonna have his ass if he didn’t get in contact with that little shit.

But fortunately, or rather unfortunately for him, the line picked up on the fifth ring only to hear that same happy go lucky, irritating sing-song tone he alway seemed to use.

He hated that sound more than anything, mostly because the ginger he was about to be made fun of. “Oh Chuuuuuya, what an impatient little dog you are, blowing up my phone like this. Can't get enough of me I see.”

Gritting his teeth to hold his outburst, Chuuya simply scoffed. “Shut up, it's your own damn fault for not picking up. I know you are doing it on purpose, you shitty little mackerel.”

The voice on the other hands only hummed though, obviously unbothered. “So rude, Chuuuya, assuming such things. I am actually very busy right now. Which is why your interruption is way less pleasant than usual. And that’s saying something, considering your presence is never pleasant.”

Chuuya knew better though. “Bullshit, you’re never busy. You’re probably just fucking around somewhere.”

Just then, he heard a fake ass gasp on the side of the phone only for Dazai to answer straightforwardly. “If you call “fucking around” me currently pinning down a beautiful woman then I suppose you're right about that. Isn’t that right, love?”

Almost immediately, the ginger felt bile work its way into his throat, shoving the feeling down before shouting back roughly. “Ah, you’re so fucking disgusting! I don’t wanna know about that shit.”

Oh my god, why did he have to bring up that kind of stuff?! The last thing he wanted to do was picture shitty stupid Dazai like that, especially with some nonamed whore or brain dead manipulated bitch.

That poor soul that was with him right now, the one Dazai just called love, he pitied her, whoever she was.

Forcing the idea from his mind, Chuuya then shook his head before adding. “Listen, the boss gave us another mission in a couple days and I wanna make sure you don’t try to ditch again or else I’m gonna kill you for real, got that?!”

He knew the kid’s pattern after all, Chuuya knew how flighty and unreliable that stupid mackerel really was and he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to get dragged into that again. The first time he flaked was bad enough.

But as expected, Dazai didn’t sound serious, he didn’t even sound remotely interested in his threats as the boy simply waved the question away. “Don’t worry slug, I’ll be there. Can’t have my dog getting lonely, now can I?”

At that name, Chuuya felt his anger spike, the boy unable to stop his outburst. What was his damn problem?! “You fuckin…I’m not a dog!!’

Dazai’s voice only came back confused though, his voice just as annoying, cheerful and mocking as usual. “How strange, all I can hear is woof woof woof so I’m gonna hang up now! See ya, Chibi.”

And just like that, the line turned dead, causing the ginger’s eye to twitch before tightening his hold on his phone before giving into the impulse and throwing the object against the wall next to him.

Watching the phone shatter to prices before his eyes, Chuuya then shook his head before grumbling out his frustrations to absolutely no one.

“I’m gonna kill him..”

——-

Closing his flip phone absentmindedly, Dazai simply smiled to himself before placing the object back into his pants pocket only to hear the voice underneath him speak out hopefully. “Was that Chuuya?”

The boy only shook his head though, pushing his foot further into the speakers chest in order to shove his enemy further into the ground roughly. “Don’t sound so happy about it. That slug shouldn’t gain such a reaction.”

His opponent only put her hands out in defense though, turning her head curiously to the side with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Dazai expected that kind of response though, his eyes moving up in order to glance around the familiar port mafia owned warehouse that they had spent the last hour or so before she spoke again.

And this time, it was far more pushy than before. “Sooo, what did he say?”

Already feeling his lips twist into a bitter smirk, Dazai’s foot then pushed deeper into her chest, exulting double the amount of force in order for her to stop speaking. “Those aren’t the kinds of things you should be worried about, Asa-chan, considering the position you're in right now..”

Which was something that Asagao seemed to be missing in her tiny little brain considering he was currently pinning her down to the dirty and dusty warehouse floor by his foot. He clearly had the upper hand here so there was no reason for her to speak so casually.

That, and the fact that she was asking about Chuuya of all people in this sort of dangerous position caused Dazai’s sick and twisted port mafia heart to darken with malice. He was the one she was supposed to be focusing on, not that glorified hat rack.

She was at the mercy of the demon prodigy and she was acting like they were talking about the weather. He wanted her to regret ever asking about that hat rack in the first place, to apologize between his fingers for not taking his presence seriously and speaking of another so foolishly.

Then to prove his point, the boy reached into his pocket before taking out his gun in order to point the barrel straight at her head with silent warning.

It was a move that would make any one shutter and cower immediately. In fact, it was something he used a million times before to intimate each and everyone of his enemies.

But he had already learned that Asagao didn’t play by the rules of his other opponents.

Turning her head in confusion, the girl simply looked at the foot that was constricting her breathing before returning to the demon with a gentle smile of unbothered idiocy. “Oh, I’m not worried.”

And for a moment, Dazai paused, playing her game. “And why’s that, love?”

He wanted to see what she’d say, how she would justify her calm and collected behavior even though she was staring down the barrel of his gun. Yes, Asagao had outwardly said that she wasn’t afraid of dying by his hand but she wasn’t even trying to get out of it.

And he knew she could, he knew that the hellhound could fight back him if she so chose, so the fact that she was allowing Dazai to pin her down like this was interesting to say the least.

This girl, she was seconds from death and still her eyes held not one bit of urgency.

A moment later, Asagao spoke, her voice full of nostalgic memory as she reached forward in order to pull the barrel closer to her chest. “Because this is how we met, remember?”

Almost immediately, Dazai’s mind seemed to snap back to their first encounter almost an entire year ago. Huh, she was right. They had been in this position before, hadn’t they?

Back when the boy was drowning in his grief, back when he found an intruder in his friend's old place and threatened them in the same exact manner.

If only he knew how utterly life changing that little meeting had been, what kind of storm erupted from the moment he tore that hoodie off her head and looked into her Odasaku eyes.

And it was the same now, the boy looking down at her glasses free expression in order to catalog and trace the iris silently to himself. He seemed to do that a lot lately, getting lost in the emptiness as it swallowed him whole each and every time.

He was grateful for it also, knowing that the dullness of her eyes was way more welcoming then the darkness of his own soul, that by having her here he had switched the method of his demise.

Yes, drowning in Asagao was much more tolerant than drowning in his grief.

A sweeter way to die indeed, a more pleasant experience than what he ever deserved, and yet Dazai couldn’t stop himself from staring even so.

So much so, Dazai felt his lips twist upwards in familiar memory before his finger carefully cocked the gun with a dark chuckle. “Oops. You’re right, how silly of me. Let’s continue where we left off then, hmm?”

Then without a second thought, the executive pulled the trigger as a loud shot echoed through the warehouse. And most people would’ve been horrified by such a reaction, they would have regretted aiming at something he just so clearly said that he admired.

But you see, Dazai didn’t underestimate his girlfriend, not one bit.

Casually putting his hand down on his side, the mafioso then smirked to himself before turning around only to find his enemy a couple feet away, her hands on her hips. “Damn, you really tried to shoot me. I’m surprised and a little impressed, demon prodigy.”

Dazai only shrugged his shoulders though, unbothered. “Well, you told me to look at you as a threat, did you not, Asa-chan?”

It was conversation that was very prevalent in his mind, even today. Sure, the boy should’ve taken their fights easy, he should’ve sparred in a way that made sure Oda’s sister was safe but that wasn’t his style, and neither was hers.

No, Dazai treated her like a real threat, just like she deserved, he trusted that she was smart enough to anticipate his moves and counteract, like just right now.

And the fact that she had done just that also proved his theory that she could’ve gotten out his hold at any time.

What a sneaky shady little hellhound she was. He was onto her big time.

Then as if to prove his internal analysis, he watched Asagao’s face twist into that same twisted, psychotic and giddy smile that enticed him time and time again before watching her fingers twitch in unkept adrenaline just by that simple phrase.

And Dazai would never understand the power his acknowledgment had on her. That just by giving her his entire strength she was already antsy to match it. The hellhound training that had been embedded into her since she was a child, it coated and clouded every other single thought in her brain.

Pushing her fingers up to the ponytail that held her unruly crimson mane in place, Asagao then chuckled darkly before practically ripping the restraint in order to let her hair free.

And with that simple move, she had also ripped down the chains that held the monstrous creature beneath the surface, unafraid of the response it would give. “Oh Samu, you know just how to rile a girl up, don’t you? You’re right about that one, I am a threat. Now allow me to live up to your potential of me and show you how..”

And Dazai loved it, he loved that crazed beast-like look more than anything, his stance grounding itself immediately only to find that his enemy had disappeared in front of his eyes. Ah, she was using her time stopping ability. How cute.

Turning the safety off his gun, the boy then narrowed his eyes before sensing a change of wind to the right in order to let off three more shots just as Asagao reappeared millimeters from his face.

She seemed to register the bullets just in time, her body rolling to the ground in order to just miss the dangerous attacks as Dazai smirked in admiration.

And let’s be honest, should he have been pointing that gun at her like this? No. Should he have been directing his shots with the intent to kill. Also no. It was insanely risky and if she was even second too late then he would have the blood of another Oda on his hands.

Which was something the boy wrestled with internally but it seemed like his port mafia blood craved the opposite, to see just what amazing and enticing ways she could get out each deadly situation he threw at her.

And that desire, that allure was stronger than his fear to keep her locked away forever. No, she had a power, and it was too enticing to ignore, especially for the twisted mafioso who was looking for something entertaining.

He was then taken out of his thoughts as a rough hand wrapped around the barrel of his gun in order to pull it forward without fear as Asagao smirked in victory.

It didn’t matter that the chamber was loaded, it didn’t matter that his fingers were on the trigger and any slight movement could cause the end of her life.

Asa’s grip remained firm, her leg barreling into his side in order for Dazai's muscles to jump and his finger to loosen from the trigger just as she pulled it into her line of sight.

And once the cool metal was in her hands, Dazai wondered what she’d do with it, his senses on high alert only to watch the girl simply empty out the chamber of bullets with one hand, the quiet clinking of metal catching his attention immediately.

How dare she, she had the shot and didn’t take it.

Unsatisfied by her actions, the mafioso then darkened before the boy predicted her next strike in order to grab onto her fist roughly and twist it unnaturally behind her back with a huff.

No, she needed to know that she wasn’t as sly as she thought. That he was onto her little game. “Since you’re all riled up, does that mean you’ll stop holding back now too?”

He wondered how she would react to that, if she would lie about his little discovery or own up to her hypocrisy wholeheartedly? Either could be possible, considering she hadn’t disclosed to him outwardly about her watered down battles.

Asagao told him herself back in Bar Lupin that she was a prodigy just like him, that she could murder like a high level assassin and kill with the quickest of hands.

But if that was true then why hadn’t she tried that with him yet? Why hadn’t Asa displayed intent to kill with Dazai if she was so strongly in favor for believable fights?

It didn’t make sense, and he wanted to know why.

And for a moment, she felt her body still underneath his rough touch, as if she really had to think about his words. He seemed to have broken into something personal for her.

Interesting, she wasn’t denying it. But hold on, was she saying that he couldn’t handle her full hellhound side? That he was some kind of fragile little boy who wouldn't stand a chance? Did she forget that he was in the mafia, the youngest executive in the history of the organization?

She didn’t need to worry about such a thing, besides if that was the result Dazai knew he wouldn’t have opposed. So instead, he coaxed her some more. “Come on, Asa-channn. You’re no fair. I wanna die, remember?”

But even still, Asagao didn’t seem convinced, her body unmoving and eyes closing before he felt her physically shiver underneath his touch, almost like she was reliving some kind of unpleasant memory.

Something scared her, enough to cause such a visceral reaction.

Then Dazai watched as Asagao’s head slumped down into herself, her voice strained and bitter, a tone that the boy had never heard from her before. “I don’t kill anymore, I don’t want to be that person again..

Those words, they felt big, like a massive weight had just fallen on both of their shoulders. But why? What did they mean? What kind of person was she when she killed? What was she like when she truly allowed the hellhound side to fully overtake her? He wanted to ask her.

Yet before he could process that sentence, Asa used his apprehension in order to kick his shin and shift her body around, grabbing onto his forearm before flipping the skinny thin boy backwards over her shoulder.

Feeling his body slam against the ground, the girl then moved on top of him, reversing their previous position with a wave of her finger. “Besides that would be a pretty painful way to go, don’t you think?.”

His entire head began to spin instantly, both from the hit and from her change in attitude. Now she was happy, playful and just as carefree as before. There was no sign of that bitter suffocation that he had heard at all.

Which meant only one thing, she was covering it up.

But to be completely honest, every single thought he had seemed to drown out completely as he looked up at the towering force above him.

Her long messy hair was blanketed over her, shielding the two of them in a cave of her own design as she stared down with that same alluring dead eyed stare that he had admired before.

And not only that, the dim, dingy warehouse lights behind her seemed to melt around her head, bathing her in an ethereal light of some kind, something that made the boy’s heart flip unexpectedly and without warning.

God, she looked like an angel like this, so perfect, so heavenly.

Yet whether she resembled an angel of life or death was to be decided. Perhaps this was a sign from some unknown force, telling him that Oda Asagao would either be the beginning or the end of him.

Perhaps she would be the last thing he would see before leaving this world peacefully or perhaps she would carry him to the afterlife and into the pits of hell with her siren song and her dangerous words. He didn’t know.

He was playing with fire after all, selfish by staying by her side even though he shouldn’t have been allowed to. He was clouding her white light, binding her wings and making her fall to meet his level just because he couldn’t bear to be lonely.

How cruel he truly was, to not have the heart to set her free. It was too late now, the demon and the fallen angel, their fates had been sealed whether he liked it or not.

Reaching his fingers up, Dazai then ghosted across a strand of her falling hair before turning his head in curiosity. “Touché. Well, since you know so much let me ask you, love. What do you think is the most beautiful way to die?”

He wanted to know her answer, more than anyone before. Because he knew that she would answer honestly. She wouldn’t brush it off or disregard the meaning like everyone else.

Dying was a touchy subject it seemed, because although the boy craved it more than anything, it seemed whenever he brought up his little sad goal, no one ever gave him the answer he was looking for.

He didn’t want to be comforted or to hear that there was no beautiful way of death. No, he wanted perspective, real and true perspective. To see what constituted beauty for others, what that meant in terms of what he was searching for.

Because as much as he wished for peace and beauty in death, the boy didn’t know exactly what that meant. How strange it always was, searching for something so desperately even though he didn’t know the true extent of the meaning.

Waiting with bated breath, Dazai allowed her to silently think before the girl put a finger with a quiet and pensive hum. ““Hmmm, that’s a tough one..”

Then she closed her eyes before her lips curved into a confident beam of light. “I guess I would have to say a lovers suicide!”

And that light was blinding, mixing in with the makeshift halo behind her in order for Dazai to turn his head in confusion.He had never thought about that before. Hell, he didn’t even know the term. How curious. “Lovers suicide?”

Nodding to herself, Asa then lifted her pinky finger out in explanation. “Yeah, like a double suicide, you know? Because even if you deemed that the world was awful, you would still have to admit that there was at least one person that made the experience worth it, enough to want to follow them all the way to the afterlife.”

Then to prove her point, the girl simply reached down before interlocked Dazai’s pinky finger with her own, a small smile of her lips as the boy gazed at the sight in awestruck wonder.

Of course she would say something like that. Only Asagao could answer a question about death so hopefully and tragically captivating. Her desire to see the good, to twist the narrative into a positive one, they were extremely prevalent here.

But for once, Dazai didn’t mind it, he liked the idea of having someone to die with. The thought had never crossed his mind before, to have someone to treasure you enough to want to follow you until the very end. It sounded nice. Almost beautiful even, just like he wanted.

Testing out the words on his tongue, the boy whispered. “A double suicide..”

Nodding once, Asa pulled their interlocked pinkies towards her heart in reply. “Yeah! It’s romantically tragic in its own right, don’t you think?”

It was, it really was. In fact, it was so tragically perfect that Dazai knew he would’ve never had thought of such a thing himself. Simply because he wouldn't have allowed himself to think of something so nice and positive.

But now that it was spoken into the world, it couldn’t be forgotten. “I’ve never thought about that before. Do you really think someone would want to do that with me?”

Could it be, could someone really dedicate themselves to him to that extent, enough to give up everything, to walk hand and hand with him to the end of the line? No, that was impossible, no one wanted him, especially in that way.

Asa only shrugged her shoulders though. “You never know! Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Then all at once, clarity seemed to flash in his eyes. “You’re right..”

That’s it, he just had to ask every woman he saw, then maybe one day he’d get lucky.

Reaching forward, Dazai then shifted his hands in order to grasp onto her wrist before meeting her eyes with a hopeful smile. “Hey Asa-chan! Do you wanna..”

Yet Asagao seemed to already know where he was going with his question, her hand immediately unlatching from his in order to playfully shove her palm into his face and push him back onto the ground. “Sorry Osu, I would do a lot of things for you but killing myself won’t bring me closer to my brother. The only death I’ll accept is one by your hand.”

Damn it, she had said that before, hadn’t she? Ah well, worth a shot.

Throwing his arms out with a child-ish whine, Dazai then pouted his lips at the rejection. “Boo, you give me such a good idea and then turn me down? That’s not very nice. I’m sad now.”

Asagao only laughed though, her tiny giggles taking up the space of his question before pointing a finger out in an offer of her own. “Well, we can’t have that. Oh, I know. How about we stop by the shop on the way home and I’ll buy you some canned crab to make up for it?”

And although it wasn’t what he wanted, her offer enticed him just as much, the boy’s eyes sparkling with pure joy in order to nod his head excitedly.

“Deal!”

——

Stepping through the door of Odasaku’s apartment, Asagao happily turned on the light, the plastic bag full of canned crab clinking together as she moved, only for Dazai to quickly take off his black mafia jacket and throw it on the ground.

And in the past couple weeks of them reuniting, the girl noticed Osamu's childish traits more and more, an action that made her strangely happy. Sure, she still wasn’t sure if he was being completely authentic but she couldn't deny that he at least looked more free when he did them.

In fact, their relationship had grown exponentially since the night Asa cared for him and took off his bandages. She was worried that by pushing that much she would’ve scared him away but it seemed to be the opposite, and for that she was grateful.

Now he came over whenever he pleased, without excuse, and without worry. She would make sure he ate and they would watch TV together and sometimes they would go out to spar like tonight. If anything, the two had definitely moved past the term strangers and into more of a friendship based relationship.

They understood each other, most of the time without words, and that was refreshing to both of them, considering no one else could do such an impossible thing. They were alike and yet so different depending on the circumstance. It was almost fascinating to think about.

She had never had that before, someone that understood so much with so little.

And where most people would call it invasive, Asagao saw his nosey and deductive attitude as a marvel. Although, she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, considering she stepped out of boundaries before.

But those days seemed long gone as the girl turned back to Osamu only to pause when she noticed discolored tan stains on the bandages around his arms. Well, that was weird.

Reaching her hand up, Asagao then lightly touched his forearm, careful to keep her touch on the gauze as she inspected the source. “What is this?”

Although all she received was a boy-ish smile, filled with fake innocence. “Coffee?”

Almost immediately, something about his sentence seemed off, causing Asa to cock an eye with suspicion. “I didn’t even know you drank coffee..”

Then all at once, the boy nodded his head erratically, his lips moving at a mile a minute in order to give an over the top laugh. “Oh, yeah! I love it, I can’t get enough of it. That’s why I spilled some on me this morning. Oops, I’m so clumsy, aren’t I? Didn’t even notice it till now.”

Pouting his lips all at once, Dazai then whined to himself dramatically. “But now that you mention it, it feels really gross, like super uncomfortable. Asa-chan, you gotta save me! I don't know how I can go on like this..!”

His story was strange, considering she had never heard him speak about liking coffee before, nor did he ever choose that as his drink of choice. Usually it was just whiskey and any other alcohol he could get his hands on.

And what Asagao didn’t know was that she was completely right. In fact, Dazai had never touched the stuff before this morning. He didn’t love coffee, but the reason he had bathed himself in it was purposeful.

You see, ever since the first night Asagao changed his bandages, Dazai couldn’t get enough. He wanted that feeling back, the one that made him feel so safe and cared for. He couldn’t get it out of his head, and trust me, he had tried.

Which led him to taking matters into his own hands, aka finding ways to dirty his bandages so that he would have an excuse to give Asagao the next time he saw her.

At first it started with blood, making sure to purposely hurt his enemies in the most messy way possible in order to soil the white gauze, but then it moved to other things such as alcohol, and rolling around in dirt or dunking himself in nearby rivers.

And today’s plan involved coffee. He had gotten the idea when he saw one of his subordinates walk around the corner with one. So naturally, he ordered the guy to give it up in order to pour the lukewarm liquid on his arms with delightful glee.

Anything to get Asa to touch him like that again, to feel so important and special again. Was it underhanded? Possibly, but the boy knew he couldn’t just come out and ask for such an embarrassing thing.

Staying silent for a moment, he then watched as Asagao seemed to turn his wrist, examining the sight before she let him go with a smile. “I’ll go get the bandages. Meet you on the couch.”

And just like that, he had won yet again, causing the boy to practically skip to the plush cushions of the sofa, unable to hide his delight in song as he watched her go into Oda’s bedroom to receive the first aid kit. “Yay! Asa-chan is gonna help me, she’s gonna help me, yeah! Asa-chan is the best, she’s the very best, yeah!”

Once she turned the corner though, Asagao couldn’t help but close her eyes, already sensing his deceptive demeanor. No one spilled things that clumsily, especially Dazai. Which meant that it was for a purpose.

But because his actions didn’t seem self destructive, the girl chose to ignore them. It’s not like she minded changing out his bandages time and time again. In fact, she loved doing it, it made her feel closer to him.

Returning to the sofa, Asagao then placed herself beside him before placing the gauze on the table only for Dazai to immediately loosen his port mafia tie from his neck with one hand. “Lean closer, darling.”

So she did, the girl pushed her head closer to him so that he could slip off her glasses before unraveling the tie as she averted her gaze from his in silent wait.

Back in the warehouse she may have been able to look at him without her blurry barriers but now that she wasn’t distracted by the fight everything seemed way harder. She still couldn’t look at him head on like this, no matter how much she tried.

Dazai didn’t seem to mind though, his fingers only focused on securing the black tie around her eyes and into a firm knot as Asagao felt herself let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

So much better.

Then once her view was obstructed, Dazai couldn’t help but soften at the sight of her instant compliance each and every time.

He loved how she never protested to such a strange request, how she never judged him for not being able to do this without the blindfold. No, she knew that he needed this to continue and Dazai was grateful for that.

Once it was done, Asagao moved her fingers towards the coffee stained coverings before slowly undoing each bind as Dazai felt his breath hitch inside his throat at the emotionally intimate contact.

And even though they had done this exchange about a dozen times, each one felt like the very first. It never got easier, it never made his ears stop ringing and his skin stop shivering.

But like some psychotic masochistic man, Dazai never pulled away, his eyes always entranced with her careful and respectful moves, each calculated, each with a certain intent.

He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the way she cherished him.

Because as scary as it was, her gentle non judgemental fingers gave him a sense of calm along with the chaos. They terrified him and yet they always soothed him in every kind of mitch matched way.

They reached down to the deepest part of his soul, the one he didn’t know existed and embraced it in a warm and welcoming hug. And though the warmth was uncomfortable and foreign, he didn’t outright hate it anymore.

In fact it was quite the opposite, the boy wanted to run to it, he wanted to jump head first into that dangerous and vulnerable place and never return. He was addicted in every possible way, addicted to the idea of being held by her forever.

This was all her fault, how could she? Making him experience such a life changing feeling, he knew this would happen, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to resist this once he had it. How dare she, how dare she make him feel such weak and fragile emotions again.

How dare she coax him into thinking he deserved such a wonderful experience like this?

Those thoughts made him want to be protected by her hands forever, and with the low murmur of the TV in the background and the sickeningly sweet sound of Asagao’s hum to break through the noise, Osamu did feel exactly that.

Protected.

Slowly and without words, Asagao then hummed to herself in order to wrap the fresh clean bandages around his arms before securing the sight and pulling down her blindfold. “Do you feel better now?”

He simply nodded, still in a daze as Asagao smiled softly in return before replacing her glasses. “Good, I’m glad.”

A soft silence appeared then as the two kids allowed it to fill the room in order to turn their attention to the screen that was playing the latest anime episode of the show that they had been interested in lately.

This was nice, just being with him, relaxing without a care in the world. It made the foreign walls of her brother’s apartment feel more personal and belonging. Hopefully it was the same for Osamu also.

Just then, the sounds from the TV snapped her back to reality, watching as the the main character clapped excitedly as the room around her revealed her friends and family, all of them wishing her a happy birthday in joyish surprise. Aw, how cute. They planned all that out for her.

The sight couldn’t help make Asagao pause though, realizing something almost immediately. “Hey, Samu. Now that I think about it, when is your birthday? My brother never said in his letters and I’ve always been curious.”

Yet that’s when she watched Dazai pause, his voice rather dead and monotone, as if he was mentally waving the question away. “Oh, it was five months ago.”

Feeling her face fell in horror, Asa shook her head in denial. “W-Wait..I missed it..?”

No, that couldn’t be. That meant that during the time they were apart he celebrated his birthday by himself? How sad. No one even knew and he just let it pass like nothing, didn’t he?

Wait. That meant that Dazai was now sixteen, didn't it? She didn’t even realize.

It didn’t matter that he never mentioned it until now, how could possibly let such a thing pass so quietly without a word? Now she felt awful. “Oh no, I’m so sorry Samu! What kind of fake girlfriend am I? I didn’t even say happy birthday to you. What is wrong with me, I should've asked sooner, I should’ve..”

Yet the boy only cut her off though, his tone clearly dismissive. “Don’t worry about it. Celebrating life is stupid anyways.”

But how could she not worry about it? That was an impossible task, one that she knew she couldn't complete “B-But..I..”

Dazai only pushed a finger to her lips though, stopping any sense of self hatred she was about to utter before shaking his head.“I already said don’t worry your pretty little head, love. Now, stop that frown or else you’ll turn ugly like Chuuya.”

Then the boy simply smiled before flopping his head onto her lap comfortably in order to turn towards the TV and ignore the conversation completely. “Now, shush, pillows aren’t supposed to be noisy.”

And when the air turned silent once more, it was far more solemn as Asagao absently moved her hand to his hair with an unsatisfied sigh.

But for Dazai, the topic had already left his mind as the soothing feeling of her hand on his hair caused his eyes to grow heavier and heavier with bliss, immediately getting lost in the soft caresses and lulling touch.

How could he think about anything when her magic had already utterly captivated him?

Feeling Osamu’s head sink further into the safety of her lap, Asagao felt her eyes soften at the sleeping boy before thinking back to her previous question.

And though Dazai seemed to forget about it, she could not, his sad little words consuming her mind all at once.

Celebrating life is stupid anyways

Closing her eyes with dissatisfaction, Asagao then shook her head, not liking the implications of his words as she wished to change them even so.

And she would change them, she had to.

“But it’s not just any life, it’s your life. ”

#bsd dark era #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu #fanfic #bsd odasaku #dazai x fem reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazai x odasaku!sister #dazai x female reader #dazai x reader #dazai x oc #chuuya fifteen #bsd chuuya #chuuyabsd #a03 writer #Dazai #a03 fic

[privatejoker]

i feel invisible and i am sick of people not seeing me as a person i am sick of the frightened and averted gaze of people who think im a strange looking girl until i start talking and then ignore me throughout our entire coerced social interaction because they are afraid or disgusted or confused or god forbid embarrassed and guiltridden not of me or for my sake but of and serving whatever stupid pathological bullshit they're going through that i just happen to represent. i am sick of people talking to me like im a child and people telling me i look too young to be my age because the only instances people experience androgyny and don't question it is when they look at children. im sick of doctors treating me like a fucking criminal because to them i seem flighty and uncommitted for not being gender conforming enough to justify being trans to them. i am sick of worrying about what i look like outside of myself constantly and i think the hypervigilance and the loneliness is going to kill me and i hope everyone else is dying of this same stupid disease that they're trying to stave off by putting the blame of its existence onto me and my friends too. fuck you. maybe it'll get to me first but it will kill you too and im watching it happen i know it will you either embrace your own capacity to be us and recognize us or you'll react and repress yourself into nothingness

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - part 9

Note: Thank you to everyone who has been so UNREASONABLY patient for this update. I went on vacation and then immediately went back to work and had approximately zero downtime and then I started hyperfixating on The Sandman. Also, a wonderful anon made a playlist for this fic! Listen to it here (spotify)  

Warnings/Tags: Explicit language

Synopsis: You deal with the colossal explosion of your dad’s visit and discover how deep the shrapnel goes. 

You’re starting to trust that friendship means letting someone see fallout and hoping they don’t flinch.

(Read on Ao3) |||| (Masterlist)  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve got a migraine from Hell the next morning. It felt like someone stuck a tube up your nose and filled your cranium with shards of glass and that were also on fire. You medicated with caffeine and Excedrin and sequestered yourself into the back of the kitchen.

You would be absolutely miserable if you had to do front of house today. It had nothing to do with the subtle, bubbling fear that your dad would show up again. There was plenty to do. And if Dani, Ted, or Leslie noticed your mood—they were gracious enough not to mention it. Your phone remained quiet on your desk as if the Universe knew you were in a piss-poor mood. Not even Carmy texted you.

Which was fine. It was! You were both busy with your bullshit. It was day two of your opening. You had custom orders to process, and invoices, and supplies to replenish. Your day started well before your trilling alarm and ended only when you closed your eyes at night. You knew his daily life wasn’t chill or easy. He walked around, rumpled with exhaustion and grief, and carried a duffel bag of emotional baggage over his shoulder.

But – okay, okay – fine – maybe you were expecting something after yesterday. A check-in? A stupid meme? Something, anything, that meant everything was still cool between you two after you dumped all your daddy issues onto him. You scrubbed your hands over your face with a quiet groan, watching the stars dance before your eyelids. You couldn’t text him first. What would you say? It’s not like he needed to know how you were. You could just move past it naturally. Let time erode the awkwardness and return to the tentative friendship shared between you.

You folded the yellow receipt for the delivery of your walk-in fridge into an origami frog. The meditative nature of carefully folding helped to ease your pounding head and anxious thoughts. You smiled fondly at the little creature and balanced it upon your filing cabinet.

“Look after the office while I’m gone.” You said to it before snatching your apron from the wall and joining Ted and Dani in the kitchen.  

Shortly before closing, you hefted a heavy garbage bag over your shoulder and dumped it into the bin in the alley with a grunt. The flies buzzed noisily, disturbed by your action, and the rank smell of literal hot garbage forced your throat to gag. You wiped your palms together and grimaced. The less glamorous aspects to business ownership, you supposed.

A car door slammed behind you, followed by your name, and you spun—heart racing—to see your dad stalking toward you. He wore a bright, blue polo shirt and beige khakis and shiny brown loafers. He was the perfect picture of a middle-aged, middle-class ordinary man. However, his expression was unlike any other you’d seen before. Granted, your catalog of dad-expressions were extremely limited and muddled over time. You folded your arms across your chest. His perfect little family wasn’t with him. You wondered where he left them. The hotel? The zoo? Anything was possible with someone as flighty and irresponsible as your dad. Your breath stuttered in your chest.

“I need to talk to you about last night.” He said sternly, settling his hands on his hips, the face of his silver watch flashed in the hot, June sun.

“Are you seriously this pissed just because I didn’t call you for dinner?”

“No, not that.” He shook his head. “I’m referring to the two goons you sent to the hotel. They bullied me. Told me not to speak to you!” He pointed to his clean-shaven cheek, “One of them assaulted me! He was about this tall—” He gestured, “—I need his contact information so I can press charges. I assume you have it on hand since they were adamant about your friendship.”

Your brow furrowed. Did your dad lose a few screws on his drive over? For starters, he appeared completely fine. No bruises, no blood, no obvious signs of assault. Secondly, you had no idea who he was even talking about. Goons? You’d snort with laughter over the word if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his accusations. The only person who knew your dad visited was Carmy…but he didn’t…he couldn’t have…done anything…right? If you were to trust your dad’s description, Carmy wasn’t that tall, and it couldn’t be Richie.

Actually, it could be Richie. That actually sounded feasible. Shit. Did Richie seriously punch your dad?

He kept talking. “Now, I’m willing to put this whole unpleasant business behind us, once the person is charged, and we can celebrate your opening – as a family – tonight or tomorrow.”

You scoffed, throat tightening, and anger burning low in your gut, “I’m sorry, did you just say family?”

“Yes, kiddo. That’s what we are.” He smiled with perfect, straight teeth. “Now, I know I haven’t been around much but—”

“Much?!” You cut in, astonished at the gall of him, “You weren’t around at all!”

He sighed, eyes pleading. “I know, but I’m trying.”

“Why?” You stepped forward with fingertips digging into your arms. “Why now? After all this time?”

“The boys need a good role model.”

Your anger erupted from smoldering to supernova. “Stop!” You laughed, throwing your hands up, “Stop bringing your fucking kids into this! They aren’t pawns on a fucking chessboard. Just be honest with me—you couldn’t be honest with mom—and you abandoned me—abandoned us—so I’m asking you to do something good for once in your fucking life and be honest!

“Why the FUCK are you here?”

His gaze hardened, “Now, honey, I understand you’re upset, but that is no way to your father.”

A rogue fly buzzed around your head. All the pain inside leaked like a corrupted, infected wound. You trembled with it. You wanted to scream until your throat went raw. Dozens of birthdays rolled out before you with fragile hope that he’d walk through the door. A thousand holidays where the mailbox was empty – no letters or cards from him. A flipbook of skinned knees, and wiggly teeth, and listening to your mom weep in the kitchen when she thought you had already gone to bed. A childhood of acting Perfect because you thought that’s what you needed to do bring him back.

Then, as you got older, you endeavored for perfection to lessen the burden of your existence on your mom. Because how could she possibly heal with the constant reminder of him by her knees? How could she focus on her career if she was busy meeting your principal or trying to help you with homework? You didn’t want to upset her life. You made yourself small, and quiet, like a ghost in your big house in Cincinnati. Until your grandfather rescued you.

He gave you warmth, and gentleness, and focused attention you were uncertain you deserved. He practiced your multiplication tables with you over the phone. He sprayed you with the cold hose while he watered the garden. He winked at you across the dinner table whenever grandma said something amusing. He pulled you from the sidelines of your life and brought you onto the stage.

“You’re not my father.” You said, choking down a sob. “My father died a few months ago. You saw the interview about him, didn’t you?” You blinked away your tears. For a moment, your dad was stunned and speechless, his eyes glassy.

“You weren’t there.” You pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You weren’t there to – to help me when I fell down. When – when I scraped my knees or – or -- when a boy in third grade I had ugly teeth. You missed every single birthday and I wished for you!”

The tears flooded your lower lashes and spilled down your cheeks, tasting like absolution on the corners of your trembling lips.

“Do you have any idea how that feels? To be ten years old and while other kids were wishing for Nintendo’s and ponies – I was sitting there wishing for my dad to come home.” You inhaled raggedly. “And you never came back. It was like I stopped existing for you. It was like I didn’t matter. You were my hero.”

“So, you don’t get to stand here – a-and act like we’re a family or that we have any sort of relationship because we don’t. Okay? We don’t. You could have called! And don’t try to say you couldn’t or that Mom wouldn’t let you—because—"

You sniffled, “A few years ago, Mom told me that you used to call her, but it was only for money. It was never to talk to me.” Somewhere around the six-year mark of their separation, your Mom said she blocked his number, and rerouted any of his calls to her lawyer. It broke her heart, she said, to answer that phone and foolishly hope he’d ask for you.

The tendons in his neck flared, “I fell on hard times…once or twice.” He admitted quietly. “I’m trying, sweetie, I’m trying to—"

You blurted, “Why are you here?!”

“I regret how things ended between your mother and I.” He clasped his hands together, “You must believe me about that. I regret missing your childhood.”

You pressed your tear-stained lips together. “You missed all of it, dad. You missed everything.”

“I know.” He nodded, “I know.”

You felt a blade against your skin at the question in the back of your mind. You didn’t want to ask this. It was going to cut you open and flay you alive if you did. But, you had to know the truth. Did your dad actually have regrets? Or was this another ploy? Was it another sob-story to trap you into writing a check like your Mom? Your lips quivered and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, holding yourself together, and wishing—with your whole heart—that your instincts would be proved false.

You asked softly, “Are you here for money?”

He averted your eyes, lips thinning.

“Are you here for money?” You repeated, feeling ice crawl over your limbs, numbing them. “I won’t have a relationship with you built on dishonesty, dad. Are you here for money?”

“Marilyn was laid off.” He said with difficulty, “and I – they cut my hours, you know, they’ve been outsourcing everything 'cause it’s cheaper overseas! It’s ruining the economy.”

Your lips twitched with a disbelieving smile and stayed quiet. Sometimes, the best offense was letting your opponent spill their own guts.

“I want to be in your life and yes – yes I – we could use your help.” He said, “I’m not so prideful that I can’t admit when I need help.”

“What do you say, huh? The bakery closes soon, doesn’t it? We can go get pancakes. You still – you still like pancakes, don’t you?” He smiled weakly, “And we can talk. We can talk this whole thing through. We can start over. We can be a family.”

The child-version of you, quiet and vulnerable, the little girl who thought her dad put the stars in the sky wanted so badly to say yes. You wrapped your arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Because, if you say yes, there was only one way this story goes, and it ends in heartbreak and disappointment. Your mom loaned your dad thousands of dollars over the years to bail him out of bad investments, and gambling debts, and overall poor life choices.

Maybe she did it because she loved him. Maybe she did it because you still loved him. He always thanked her once the check cleared, and they never spoke again until he needed her. You couldn���t follow that same path. You would break the cycle and your own heart. You closed your eyes briefly, tears overfilling, and pursed your lips.

“Kiddo?”

You opened your eyes to see your dad’s hopeful face. He expected you to say yes. But you were your grandfather’s child. You were made of silver cufflinks and white roses, delicate origami, and crossword puzzles. You imagined his warm, soft hands squeezing your shoulders. ‘Grow up, get over it,’ You suddenly remembered the second half of his favorite phrase, ‘There are greener pastures over the hill.’ He was right. You had a whole, bright, and beautiful field of the future laid out before you.  

“The answer is no.” You said, firm and clear. “And don’t come back here again.”

You added, “Please.”

He called your name when you walked away, but the heavy door closed behind you, and he did not try to follow you or start slamming his fist on the door. You weren’t sure how to feel about that. He never fought for you as a kid. He wouldn’t fight for you now. You battled the warring emotions inside your chest and relaxed your spine against the warm metal door.

You flattened your palms over your face, shoulders trembling, and cried over your dad for the second time today.

“Boss?” Ted’s concerned voice, resonate and warm, “You okay?”

“Nah.” You chuckled wetly, “I’m fucking awful, actually.”

Ted seemed at a loss for words, then he brightened, “Oh! Well – someone from the Beef came by and dropped lunch off. Do you want some? Can’t cry on an empty stomach that’s what I always say.”

You swiped at your tears with your knuckles, “W-what?”

Who from the Beef? And why? Could it have been Carmy? Or Marcus? How many surprises would this day throw at you?

“Yeah!” Ted smiled. “It’s chicken.”

You numbly followed Ted into your office where a Styrofoam container waited at your desk. Someone had written your name on a piece of neon green tape and affixed it to the front. You sank into your chair and lifted the top, steam wafted around your fingers, and condensation dripped from the inside of container. It smelled incredible and fragrant with notes of lemon and butter and garlic, you recognized the dish as lemon chicken piccata.

Ted smiled down at you, clapping your shoulder kindly, “Take your time, Boss. Everyone deserves a break.”

He left shortly thereafter, and you stabbed the included plastic fork into the dish. Did Carmy make this? It fell apart in your mouth, wonderfully juicy, and rich with herbs and tangy lemon. You choked back your laughter to stop yourself from, you know, actually choking. A fresh wellspring of tears brightened your eyes. Your stomach grumbled appreciatively, reminding you of your hunger, your humanity. You ate several bites, grinning, letting the flavors overtake your tongue and warm you from the inside out.

You reached for your phone and sent a single, simple text to him.

‘IDK who made this chicken but it’s fire. Thank you.’ You included a few flame emojis to embellish the message.

‘Thanks, Chef.’

‘Was it you?’

His response didn’t arrive until a few minutes later. You didn’t mind. It gave you time to eat.

‘Yeah, it was.’ Followed by a quick, ‘I’m glad you like it.’

Your heart flipped inside your chest. He made it for you. Okay, you could get technical and say he made it for everyone at the Rookie Cookie, but—he took time out of his busy day to send someone over with lunch. Because…because…why? You paused, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, lingering with the taste of his food. Because you were friends? Because he knew your dad was in town and he saw how wrecked it made you?

You smiled, unable to resist teasing him, ‘I guess that time at NOMA paid off, huh?’

‘Guess so.’

You set your phone back down onto your desk and were intent on finishing the meal before it got cold. Your phone buzzed again, surprising you, and you tapped the front screen to reveal the message waiting.

‘It’s a family recipe.’

You leaned back into your desk chair, breath caught in a snare, as the implications rolled across your mind like fresh snow. It wasn’t just about the food. It was about what it represented. He didn’t just throw together a sandwich. He gave you a piece of his family, his past, almost like…like how you gave him a piece of yours (just with less crying and destruction of hotel business cards).

Your knee bounced, checking the time, and counting backward inside your head. Generally, your bakery closed around the time The Beef closed for lunch to prep for dinner. Now, maybe it was the adrenaline waning from your tense, soul-ripping conversation with your dad. Or maybe it was this sweet, moving gesture of a family recipe on your desk. But you buzzed with restlessness and a hidden, quiet desire to see him.

He's across the street. You drummed your fingers on your desk. He told you he wouldn’t mind if you came around. You shoveled the final bite into your mouth and unlaced your apron.

“Dani, heading out! You’re in charge!” You shouted before leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The front door of the Beef is closed with their dinner hours posted. You didn’t hesitate and your sneakers scuffed against the sidewalk at your short-stop. You circled around to the back. All the smokers were – surprise! – smoking. Richie and Tina sat on the wooden benches, Ebra’s arms hung over the staircase metal railing, and Carmy stood nearby everyone with his hand on his hips and back to you.

Ebrahim noticed you first, “Carmy! Your girlfriend is here!” He announced with an excited smile.

Carmy half-turned just in time for you to throw your arms around his shoulders in an abrupt embrace.

“Hey-o!” Richie shouted, laughing.

He was comfortingly warm, solid, and unmoving in your grasp. Chest-to-chest, you could feel his heartbeat, and the whisper of his breath on your neck. His curly hair brushed against the side of your face – painfully familiar and soft. You squeezed him tightly. He didn’t reciprocate the hug, but that hardly mattered.

You said, “I heard you met my dad,” before puling away and playfully punching his shoulder.

His neck flushed and he scratched the side of his nose with his thumb. “Shit, uh, yeah – you heard about that, huh?” Carmy looked embarrassed. Whether it was from the hug, or being found out, you didn’t know and weren’t going to waste time asking. You had someone else you needed to thank.  

“That’s not all.” You took a small step toward Richie. “I also heard you punched my dad.”

You grabbed Richie’s face between your palms and you’re grateful that he’s sitting down because otherwise the height difference would make this impossible. His eyes widened, but he doesn’t squirm away. You planted a kiss to each grizzled cheek; his short beard tickled your lips. Carmy coughed and turned his face away.

“Thank you.” You said, earnest and warm, “Seriously.”

Richie grinned between your hands, “Ah – shit. Anytime, sweetheart.”

Tina piped up, “What? Your dad some kind of shithead?”

You laughed, “The worst kind of shithead. The kind who doesn’t speak to his daughter for two decades and then turns up asking for money.”

Ebrahim whistled lowly behind you. “What a shit.”

You shrugged, “It’s over now.”

“Next time he’s around, you tell me.” Ebra said, tapping his chest with two fingers, “I do more than little bitch slap from Richie.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” Richie shouted at him.

Ebra laughed, “Fuck you!” He opened the back door and Richie followed him inside with good-natured threats of ‘showing Ebra how it happened’. You slid your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and sighed, though a smile lingered at your mouth, and your eyes went to Carmy as if drawn by magnetic force. Tina took a long drag of her cigarette and crossed her legs, watching you like a soap opera. You considered waiting for her to finish her cigarette before talking to Carmy, but time is precious, and you’re bursting at the seams with fondness.

Because no one stood up for you like that before. Richie risked possible arrest (but that was Richie). It was about Carmy using his limited hours in his day to do something for you. He went to the hotel. He confronted your dad. Although you didn’t know what was said, you got the essence, and didn’t need anything else. He deviated from his daily routine and responsibility because you were hurting.

Carmy was quickly becoming your favorite person.

“I can’t believe you did that.” You said to him.

“Yeah, me either.” He searched your face, something soft and vulnerable in the lines of his shoulders, and in the exhaustion of his clear eyes, “You pissed?”

“A little, yeah.” You smiled, “I hate it when people stick their nose in my business, remember?”

“Yeah.” He smiled wryly, “Yeah, I know.”

“But…um…” You licked your lips, “The rules are a little different for friends…so…” A golden, warm light spilled through the fractures in your heart. He watched you with quiet interest, the ember of his cigarette burning dangerously close to the filer, and you felt…you felt seen. You ballooned with joy and appreciation.

“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll get over it.” You said.  

His eyebrows lifted, “Yeah?” He asked softly. You bit your lower lip and offered him a small nod.

Tina snickered, snubbing her cigarette out on the edge of the bench before standing. “Oh, you’ve got your hands full with this one, loquita.”

She patted your shoulder before ascending the steps and disappearing into the Beef.

In the moment of the door opening, you heard Richie call out, “T! Settle this bet for us!” Your smiled widened. You loved this little group of weirdos. Your chaotic, loud neighbors across the street – what would you do without them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy tossed his cigarette before it could burn his fingers. You stood inches away – a breath away – and all he could feel was your arms around him. His skin tingled. He wanted to rewind time. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and bury his nose into the crook of your shoulder. But he froze, speechless and confused.

Everything happened too fast including how you kissed Richie’s cheeks and his strangled reaction to it. You lingered, not leaving, though you both knew you’d have to. He needed to prep for dinner. You had to finish closing.

He selfishly drank in the sight of you, a little pleased that tears weren’t glistening in your eyes and appreciating how your smile illuminated the warmth in your eyes. You were so goddamn incredible. He sent Ebra to deliver your lunch with the vain hope that the food could say what he couldn’t. You brought him a gentle, lulling sense of peace, of comfort. You were his only friend. He didn’t want to lose that – lose you – and he didn’t want you to be stressed, or sad, or heartbroken like you were yesterday.

“You know, uh,” He cleared his throat nervously, “He’s missing out.”

You flashed that brilliant, wonderful smile at him. It felt warmer than the sun. “Mhm. I know.”

“For the record, just because Richie will run with – uh – with it. He slapped him. He didn’t punch him.” Carmy said. You moved imperceptibly closer, and your fingertips grazed against his, not quite holding his hand but…considering it. His veins illuminated, heart skipping and running from him, as wild as a motorcycle through Manhattan. Carmy exhaled slowly, savoring the passing touch, and peering down at you with a clench in his chest that reminded him of a panic attack.

“Ah,” You shook your head, “It’s alright, I’ll give him this one.” You dropped your hand away from his and though the summer air was humid and sweltering—it felt cold in the absence of your touch. He drummed his bereft fingertips against his leg.

“Hm.” His lips twitched into a gentle smile. “Be prepared to not hear the end of it.”

You fell into a comfortable sense of semi-silence as Chicago buzzed with vibrant life around you. He thought about offering you a cigarette so you would stay. His gaze flickered up to the receiving door, considering the time left, and how he could make it stretch. Why did it always feel like he was running out of time with you? He should be focused on prep. On dinner. But he wanted to linger and bask in the light of your smile.

“I better head back.” You said, likely noticing his attention, and jumping on his train of thought.

“W-wa-“ He almost said wait. Instead, he said, “W-well yeah. Me too.”

“Thanks again.” You muttered tenderly before stepping away.

His forehead creased, “For what? You – you never said. I mean I didn’t punch your dad.”

“For…trying to help?” You shrugged a little, tucking your hands into your pockets again and looking a little self-conscious for the first time. “For not expecting me to handle it alone, I guess? I don’t know. It’s um – uh – it’s been awhile since someone…anyone, really…had my back...and it’s nice.”

You made a screwed-up face, “Annoying. But nice.”

“Nice, huh?” He ducked his head away from your gaze, “That’s an improvement from calling me fucking asshole.”

“Yeah, well, I got a soft-spot for idiots in white t-shirts.” You teased, “Someday I’ll figure out how you manage to keep that shit so pristine.”

Carmy tugged the lace of his blue apron, “Uniform.”

The sound of your laughter softened the edges of the sharp world. “Ok, smartass. I’m outta here.” You said, taking a step backward, and offered him a farewell smile to his nod before walking away. He touched the cold railing near the stairs and his chest pulled at the sight of you disappearing around the brick corner. He swallowed and pressed his lips together. He’d see you again soon.

But goodbyes shouldn’t feel this weird between friends, should they?

#the bear fic #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #fic: nothings gonna hurt you baby #carmen berzatto x reader

[radcherrylimeade]

"But but but men aren't allowed to be vulnerable. We can't show our emotions 😢!"

Women were routinely lobotomized up until the 60s for "hysteria". Women are mocked and called unstable and flighty, unable to hold positions of authority and undermined by men accusing us of "being on our periods" for showing emotions. Women are the butt of the joke in media for being "emotional", shown as teenage girls being stupid, vapid babies who cry over the smallest things. Female emotions are so fucking judged and pathologized that we are diagnosed with personality disorders at a rate that is INSANE compares to males.

Meanwhile, male emotion is seen as logical, the baseline for how all humans should behave. Male emotion is normalized. Men scream and cry and manipulate their children and partners. Men abuse their wives after their favorite football team loses, so often that it's a recognized phenomenon. Angry little boys bully little girls. Embarassed, angry, sad, teenage boys shoot up their classmates. Adult men are ruled by their emotions in positions of government, letting their emotions and desires get in the way of decisions that should be based in medicine and science, stripping women of bodily autonomy.

I am so sick of hearing about the plight of male emotions. It is a bullshit lie that men are not allowed to cry, to feel, to be emotional. Men do it every day, leaving women and even other men to deal with the repercussions.

#feminism #male emotions #radical feminism #rad fem #medical misogyny

[luckyqueenreign]

OMG, I have so much to say about this stupid Noah and Finn comparison! It drives me batty that people think they are remotely similar.

Let’s break it down.

Finn: waltzes in like God’s Celtic gift to the Villa and wants a piece of everyone. He takes MC on a date and puts the moves on her. Then he takes Kat on a date and puts the moves on her too. Then he picks Kat because while the “emotional connection” with MC is stronger, the “sexual connection” with Kat is stronger. In other words, he assumes sex with Kat would be better than sex with MC and he’s just here to get laid. He fades away for a bit, then starts putting the moves on MC again. When everyone and their dog decides to come for MC’s neck for the 100th time for no damn reason, he wants to play white knight. As if his ass hadn’t sat back and contributed to the bullshit up to that point. And even THAT he fucks up. He can’t say publicly that he has an interest in MC…just that he doesn’t like the way MC is being treated (AKA starts backpedaling in the face of Kat’s wrath). In private, he gives this whole speech about really liking MC and how he’s not feeling it with Kat. But then he treats Kat exactly the same way he did back on day two, like he’s all in on her. And let’s not mention he has zero balls when it comes to the heart rate challenge while Noah finds a way to serve MC despite Hope’s possessiveness.

Noah: shows no interest in anyone besides Hope. Literally none. He shuts down MC almost immediately saying he’s really into Hope and MC shouldn’t waste her time trying because that won’t change. When he does start to develop feelings for MC, it’s canon that he talks about it with Rahim AND Priya, then eventually Hope too. When confronted publicly about his feelings for MC, the man is HONEST with Hope. He’s confused about his feelings and he likes both MC and Hope. And despite facing down Hope’s wrath, he doesn’t backpedal or cave. He refuses to be strong armed into choosing when he isn’t ready. Then they SLOWLY build that relationship and show him gravitating toward MC and (this is the important bit) away from Hope.

If you choose to kiss Finn (I’m talking shower scene because that stupid date kiss drama is absolute BS. He wasn’t with Kat back then, it doesn’t count), he says NOTHING. Meanwhile, if you kiss Noah (or Priya kisses him), he immediately tells Hope. Nothing physical happens between MC and Noah again until day 29, which brings me to the bits comparison.

Yes, Finn and Noah both get their dicks wet with MC and then want to keep it a secret, but Noah has almost no time to confess the truth and their chance for finishing the show together has passed…it’s the bloody last day for crying out loud! And AND Noah isn’t all over Hope while his dick still smells like MC. But Finny boy is “passionately” snogging Kat’s face off before his dick has even gone soft.

They 👏🏼 are 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 the 👏🏼 same 👏🏼

If anyone resembles Noah in season 5, it’s Suresh. Fighting his feelings because he thinks he’s doing the “right thing” (for Noah, the “right thing” is staying with Hope, for Suresh, he’s not good enough for MC so being with literally anyone else is the “right thing”). When things start to get more serious there towards the end, Noah and MC have these secret saucy moments out in the open, kind of like Suresh and MC during his Arlo phase. I’d say that’s about where the comparisons stop (aside from the fact that they’re both hot as hell). FB will NEVER have a route like Noah again. They’ve committed to these half-baked storylines and routes and Noah takes work.

THANK YOU!!!! I was going to go into more detail today because it was driving me up the wall last night, but I needed to watch Love is Blind first 😭🤣😭...THERE IS NOTHING REMOTELY SIMILAR ABOUT FINN & NOAH!!!! And I'm convinced that anyone comparing the two has never done a Noah route. Because you can't possibly compare Noah's tortured, growing feelings for MC to Finn's flighty ass. Also your Suresh comparison is spot on.

It's exactly like you said, the second he even has an inkling for feelings for MC, Noah admits them to Hope. But after he chooses her he struggles with denying his feelings for MC, because he wants to do right by Hope and the rest of the villa. BC remember after Casa Lottie&Bobby forego developing new connections to save both Noah and Hope so that they could be together. By that point it was already clear that there were major cracks in their relationship but Noah wasn't going to end things there. Him having sex with MC on the roof terrace, wasn't something icky like Finn's. Noah wouldn't have planned for that to happen, especially because it happened on Day 29/30 and if you kiss him the night before he runs away. He went up there to finally confess his feelings for MC because he realized his time was up and if he left now without telling her how he truly felt he would regret it. The sex here, was a build up of feelings, sexual tension, maybe a kiss that escalated and went too far. But it 100% wasn't planned. Noah isn't the type of guy who flaunts his sexuality, earlier in the season there's a day where MC sleeps in and can hear Noah and Hope fooling around in bed, if she shares it with the other islanders he gets deeply embarrassed by this. Noah and MC don't share what happens on the roof terrace, because honestly would you? It's the last day in the villa, you're about to leave, after all the drama that season it's clear they wouldn't want to make the final day about them. So they decide to tell their respective partners after the final. But Noah breaks up with Hope IMMEDIATELY. And that is the difference. He doesn't make you tell Hope, or end things for him like Finn is trying to make MC do now with the recoupling. He mans up and CHOOSES MC.

I don't think I need to add anything on to your Finn analysis because it was **chefs kiss**

#litg noah #READ THIS IF YOURE A NOAH STAN AND HAVE BEEN VICTIMIZED BY THE FINN COMPARISONS

[independentzaun]

εїз εїз εїз

Send “εїз” to hear a Headcanon the Mun hasn’t been able to organically implement into the blog yet : Still accepting

Didn’t specify so

Silco: Keeping in mind that my Silco’s main verse is post arcane… he’s aware deep down inside that he’s a failure. That what he tried didn’t work, and Zaun isn’t much better off than when he first started. Now that’s not really a big thing, and I think has showed up. What hasn’t showed up is that Silco kind of wants to try something else now, but doesn’t know how. At this point he kind of wants to try blackmailing, or controlling in some other way people in Piltover or just kind of ignoring Piltover and figuring out how to get Zaun independently trading beyond just bulk food stuffs and the like. The problem is that best case they think he’s dead, and worse case he’s now one of Caitlyn’s most wanted albeit second to Jinx. So in a way his back is against the wall. He has other ideas, but doesn’t see how to make any of them work because it’s not like he can reach outside of Zaun without attracting attention. He needs a go between, but doesn’t have anyone both suitable for that and trustworthy.

Sevika: Is permanently stressed out. There’s not really a whole lot more to say about it than that. I’ve covered how she doesn’t get days off, and all before. However the thing is Sevika basically lives in a constant state of being fully aware that how she acts reflects on Silco. She still has Silco’s comment about “don’t disappoint him again” in the back of her head. She has to maintain her reputation. If anyone pushes against her she has to push back. She has to deal with Jinx’s bullshit which only shoves her stress up all the more Why does she drink, and smoke and (if not in a relationship) go to the brothels? It’s literally self medicating. The funny thing is if you asked her she’d say she was fine, and not at all stressed out because to her it’s just how life is. Yes she’s always a bit irritated, and frustrated, and everything but isn’t everyone?

Jinx: Despite seeming flighty, and chaotic Jinx actually pays a lot more attention than most people realize. Once again this has showed up, but what hasn’t is that she enjoys learning. Not just about metal working, and explosions and fireworks and all but just in general. She feels as though she can take inspiration from almost anything under the right circumstances, and wants to know as much as possible. Part of that is because she wants more inspiration for her own work yes, but another part of it is just a never ending almost child like curiosity. It’s not as though she had any real education beyond whatever Silco gave her, and his world view is inherently limited to his own interests and goals so there’s a decent amount of stuff she doesn’t know.

The problem of course is most people are stuck up, and boring and assume she’s either stupid or too flighty to “get it” and that irritates her so even if they try to teach her Jinx isn’t going to care enough to pay attention. The counter point to that though is if someone is actually accepting of her, and doesn’t immediately judge her and basically just treats her as a person there’s a decent chance she’ll listen to them. Might not agree, and might argue but she’ll listen.

#sevikaanswers #jinxanswers #silcoanswers #justjinxthings #justsevikathings #justsilcothings

[hcark]

(boyd holbrook, he/they, cursed blood) to JEBIDIAH, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their ability of ENTITY BONDING grows a little stronger.  they are a COYOTE shade aligned to VANITAS. for FORTY-ONE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their GRIT and ABRASIVENESS. they work as an OVERWORKED MOTEL MANAGER ( BOSS ), but if they could change their fate, they’d want to OUTLIVE THE FELLA THAT BIT THEM. 

— STATS .

sexuality & status: biromantic / demisexual & single 4ever

hobbies: minding his own fucking business, long rambunctious naps ( his snoring’s been mistaken as the pipes settling on more than one occasion )

pets: closest he’s ever gotten to one is this one mangy rat at on the road — considers it an acquaintance for all the times it’s scared off prissy customers

relatives: everyone bit the dust — one bit him literally ( younger sister, kid was a biter growing up and not a saint )

— ‘DOSSIER’ .

for as loud and crass as someone like jebidiah is, there isn’t a lot known about the man. nothing of actual importance, that is. he’s one to keep his nose firmly out of anyone’s business and ( foolishly ) expects everyone to do the same unto him. spoiler alert: it never works out — either someone drags him into some unneeded knowledge or tries to nose their way into his.

jebidiah’s no stranger to the lands betwixt selphia and the wildwoods prior his ‘permanent’ residence, even if he’s always hated the place. everything reeks of bullshit and the million fucking bugs always do their damndest to pester him. and yet, he’s here. been here for five years and counting.

strange, isn’t it?

how such a flighty, belligerently insensitive brute like him hasn’t upped and left just yet. then again, it’s kind of fitting that he resides in a business that matches his visage perfectly. peeling wallpaper in almost every room, singed burnt orange carpet in the eyesore of a lobby, no — the curtains don’t match any of the drapes ( there’s an uneven number of them, some are even missing a panel ).

unkempt, eerily ambianced, barely functionable.

perhaps that’s why his friend had him inherit the damn place ( against ‘his will’ )... oops, sorry — that’s too much information seeing the light of day. All you need to know is that any serious complains ( aka all of them ) should go up to the big boss of the rundown motel — which totally isn’t him, and don’t try to clean up any.. messes made. you’ll probably just make the staining worse.

— ACTUAL DOSSIER .

jebidiah hails from a piss poor family of four nestled in the dirt rich countryside. mother and father never saw eye to eye on anything, even when death came tolling for their ticket in life. his younger sister, quite the maverick she was, hardly cared for the happenings on home turf. she barely stayed put until some grand adventure called her away. 

now, you might be wondering how in the world jebidiah let her go so early. wasn’t he worried about her safety? the world’s a harsh place and he’s already had his fair share of horrible treatment by her birth. and the answer is, yes, of course he was worried sick about her departure, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. well, except chase trails gone cold over and over and over again until they all... stopped for good.

family aside, he’s always been hard-headed with even thicker skin. not once did he have a goal in life other than to survive it. death would come for him whenever it’s time — he made peace with that fact early on ( perhaps concerningly so ). except.. one particular asshole made it his life’s mission to fuck the only constant in jebidiah’s miserable life.

.. and so the story about how jebidiah strayed from mortality unfurls.. it’s dumb. stupid, really, because people usually regard immortality as something gained for power, wealth, or even love. but jebidiah? yeah, no, he’s always seen it as a hoax. and even if it wasn’t just fairytale, he wanted nothing to do with it. the idea of living forever sounded like the shittiest win at an even shittier lottery. so imagine his hate-filled surprise when his nemesis ( full on most loathed person to ever exist in his life ) comes by this nifty ‘gift’. now quadruple that rage when that rat bastard bites and changes him solely to riff and neg jebidiah for eternity. 

what kind of idiotic reasoning was that?

to make matters even worse ( yes, it’s always possible ), that shithead was still green to the whole cursedblood thing. so the two of them had to figure it out together; something jebidiah clearly despised with every single fiber of his being. how they didn’t kill each other remains a mystery, but that fucker’s still out there and jebidiah’s done everything to hide away time and time again — aka the main reason for his location hopping.

then, as luck would have it, the only friend he’s ever really had ( he still uses that term very loosely ) from vanitas dies out of the blue and leaves his name on the motel’s deed. him, of all people. him. he had half the mind to just close the business from the get-go. never wanted to be boss of anything — let alone some barely maintained motel off of some shitty highway. but some odd sense of comfort, of — dare he say it — home finds its way into his dead heart. pictures of him and his friend stay up in the one room he occupies at the end of the establishment ( always heavily locked — no one’s allowed in ). regulars ( the bad and the worse ) start to.. grow on him even if the majority get on his last damn nerve.

and so, he’s come to an agreement with things. where he is in life, who he’s ( barely ) around, how long he’s been ‘settled down’... for now.

— CONNECTIONS .

TENants because there’s only 10 rooms (0/?) — made the choice to shack up  at on the road? well, there’s 100% chance you’ve come by jebidiah. either it’s at the front desk ( asleep ), swearing up a storm as a room’s being changed out, giving that one shitty vending machine situated outside a piece of his mind, etc. he acts as the overworked manager of the shitty joint — just a voice for the mysterious boss of the place, he swears it.

the ones that won’t go away ( 0/? ) — reasons be damned, jebidiah does not like to keep close tabs on people nor does he like people to think or involve him in anything. so whether it’s an attempt to recruit him into the saints organization, do one solid favor about the dead body bodies in room 1, 3, 5, or 7 ( it’s always the odd numbers for some reason ), or just to befriend him ( can’t fathom why )... jebidiah will always shoot down each and every chance. even if there’s a select few that he might have grown ‘fond’ over.

crime, shcrime ( 1/? ) — been there, done that.. one too many times over his ‘exhaustively extensive’ life. crime’s boring and so not worth the trouble. he knows he’s value in the sense of finding things that should never be found, but please — leave him out of the illegal shenanigans.

romance should be dead ( 0/1 ) — as a self-proclaimed miser, jebidiah’s always wanted to be left the fuck alone. but maybe someone wows him. really throws a hook, line, and sinker over the years somehow. no, this doesn’t mean he’ll change for the better or worse. but maybe.. he’ll make up for it in his own way after being an incredible asshole. maybe.

#cag: intro #* & jebidiah — convo . #* & jebidiah — inspo . #// he is GARBO and truly a rat

[amber-angel]

Happy almost 3rd anniversary to the worst, best, gayest, most homophobic, funniest thing to ever happen in the history of television

#stupid flighty bullshit #supernatural #destiel #november 5th #i cant believe i watched that show for twelve seasons #and came back for the finale #only for it to end like that

[penname-artist]

This is some stupid chaotic bullshit and I had to write it to humor myself.

Blade/Nick, and Windlifter

-

It was so peaceful at this time of the night. The only thing aside from the breeze that Windlifter could hear, was the chirp of nighttime crickets. And also...someone screaming?

Shrieking, more like. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing the distinct and shrill cries of all of his team, and despite the feminine inflection of this one, he didn't recognize it as any of his female teammates. Worried, he headed to the source of the sound. Lo and behold, a light was on in Blade's hangar. Ah, of course. The one and only.

Nick.

He would have just gone right in, but he paused. He hated having to, but he needed to make sure it wasn't, err...something else, before trying to assess the possible problem. He stood quietly outside, trying to listen for any other cues. The only thing he'd heard was Nick, and since then it was silent.

He decided to tempt fate.

The scene that lay out before him was one he'd seen dozens of times; Nick sat froze in place, in his boxers, perched at the headboard of his and Blade's shared mattress. His eyes were glued to the strewn about comforter below. But they looked up for a minute, to plead with Windlifter.

"ohmygodhelp," he breathed, "it- it's on the bed somewhereIdunnowhere!"

"What is it?" Windlifter asked.

"I don't know! I think it's a cricket! Or a roach, or spider, or something! It had legs! A lot of legs! Too many legs!!"

"Just remain calm," Windlifter told him, earning himself a frustrated glare. "I'll take care of it."

He looked around for the right tool. A cup, preferably.

"Do you have any container I can put it in?" He asked. Nick thought for a moment.

"Uhh...I mean there's a...should be a cup somewhere on the end table, I'll get it.."

The flighty man crab walked across the headboard, reaching for the empty cup on the bedside table. Windlifter's eyes caught something moving close to him.

"There-" he said, moving to cup his hands over the creature.

It decided then to jump. Onto Nick. Nick died.

-

Blade was just heading back from his late night brooding, when he was alerted by the screams of his partner. He went from a brisk walk to a full-on sprint back to the house, bad memories and thoughts flashing through his mind. He tore open the door and paused, floored by what he saw before him.

Windlifter looked back at him, like a deer in the headlights. Nick was under him, in only boxers, half-hanging off the edge of the bed and reaching down towards the bin underneath. The sheets were a tangled mess.

"What in-"

Windlifter suddenly got very, very red.

"It's not what it looks like!" He said. Blade looked rather faint. Nick was still too traumatized by the cricket to be of any use to either of them.

Seeing no way out of this, Blade shut the door tight, stuffed his hands back in his pockets, and walked his way back to the brooding ledge to pretend he had brain bleach to use.

Sometimes, it's best not to ask.

#disney planes #disneyplanes #planes fire and rescue #disney planes 2 #blade ranger #nick lopez #windlifter

[inscuciant]

*    †    [  karl urban ,  he/him  +  cis male  ]  :  is  that  walter weber  wandering  around  ?  under  these  neon  lights  i  swore  they  looked  like  a  saint,  but  in  actuality  they  are  an  owner of hotel 677.  the ageless / fifty year old  is  known  to  be  obstinate  and  self-centered,  albeit  crafty and  intuitive.  after  spending  five years  in  sin  city,  their  favourite  song  to  hum  is  setting sun  by  lord huron,  though  people  often  associate  them  with  don’t shoot the messanger or the sender or anyone — just don’t shoot, coffee stains on a splintered / warped coffin, world’s worst whodunnit nominee.  

— STATS .

sexuality & status: biromantic / demisexual & single 4ever

hobbies: minding his own fucking business, long rambunctious naps ( his snoring’s been mistaken as the pipes settling on more than one occasion )

pets: closest he’s ever gotten to one is this one mangy rat at motel 677 — considers it an acquaintance for all the times it’s scared off prissy customers

relatives: everyone bit the dust — one bit him literally ( younger sister, kid was a biter growing up and not a saint )

— ‘DOSSIER’ .

for as loud and crass as someone like walter webber is, there isn’t a lot known about the man. nothing of actual importance, that is. he’s one to keep his nose firmly out of anyone’s business and ( foolishly ) expects everyone to do the same unto him. spoiler alert: it never works out — either someone drags him into some unneeded knowledge or tries to nose their way into his. 

walter’s no stranger vegas prior his ‘permanent’ residence, even if he’s always hated the place. everything reeks of bullshit and the million neon lights always pummeled him with migraines. and yet, he’s here. been here for five years and counting. 

strange, isn’t it? 

how such a flighty, belligerently insensitive brute like him hasn’t upped and left just yet. then again, it’s kind of fitting that he resides in a business that matches his visage perfectly. peeling wallpaper in almost every room, singed burnt orange carpet in the eyesore of a lobby, no — the curtains don’t match any of the drapes ( there’s an uneven number of them, some are even missing a panel ). 

unkempt, eerily ambianced, barely functionable. 

perhaps that’s why his friend had him inherit the damn place ( against ‘his will’ )... oops, sorry — that’s too much information seeing the light of day. All you need to know is that any serious complains ( aka all of them ) should go up to the big boss of the rundown motel — which totally isn’t him, and don’t try to clean up any.. messes made. You’ll probably just make the staining worse.

— ACTUAL DOSSIER .

walter webber hails from a piss poor family of four nestled in the dirt rich countryside. mother and father never saw eye to eye on anything, even when death came tolling for their ticket in life. his younger sister, quite the maverick she was, hardly cared for the happenings on home turf. she barely stayed put until some grand adventure called her away. now, you might be wondering how in the world walter let her go so early. wasn’t he worried about her safety? the world’s a harsh place and he’s already had his fair share of horrible treatment by her birth. and the answer is, yes, of course he was worried sick about her departure, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. well, except chase trails gone cold over and over and over again until they all... stopped for good.

family aside, he’s always been hard-headed with even thicker skin. not once did he have a goal in life other than to survive it. death would come for him whenever it’s time — he made peace with that fact early on ( perhaps concerningly so ). except.. one particular asshole made it his life’s mission to fuck the only constant in walter’s miserable life. 

.. and so the story about how walter strayed from mortality unfurls.. it’s dumb. stupid, really, because people usually regard immortality as something gained for power, wealth, or even love. but walter? yeah, no, he’s always seen it as a hoax. and even if it wasn’t just fairytale, he wanted nothing to do with it. the idea of living forever sounded like the shittiest win at an even shittier lottery.  so imagine his hate-filled surprise when his nemesis ( full on most loathed person to ever exist in his life ) comes by this nifty ‘gift’. now quadruple that rage when that rat bastard bites and changes him solely to riff and neg walter for eternity. what kind of idiotic reasoning was that?

to make matters even worse ( yes, it’s always possible ), that shithead was still green to the whole saint thing. so the two of them had to figure it out together; something walter clearly despised with every single fiber of his being. how they didn’t kill each other remains a mystery, but that fucker’s still out there and walter’s done everything to hide away time and time again — aka the main reason for his location hopping. 

then, as luck would have it, the only friend he’s ever really had ( he still uses that term very loosely ) dies out of the blue and leaves his name on the motel’s deed. him, of all people. him. he had half the mind to just close the business from the get-go. never wanted to be boss of anything — let alone some barely maintained motel off of some shitty highway. but some odd sense of comfort, of — dare he say it — home finds its way into his dead heart. pictures of him and his friend stay up in the one room he occupies at the end of the establishment ( always heavily locked — no one’s allowed in ). regulars ( the bad and the worse ) start to.. grow on him even if the majority get on his last damn nerve. 

and so, he’s come to an agreement with things. where he is in life, who he’s ( barely ) around, how long he’s been ‘settled down’... for now. 

— CONNECTIONS .

TENants because there’s only 10 rooms (0/?) — made the choice to shack up  at motel 677? well, there’s 100% chance you’ve come by walter. either it’s at the front desk ( while asleep ), swearing up a storm as a room’s being changed out, giving that one shitty vending machine situated outside a piece of his mind, etc. he acts as the overworked manager of the shitty joint — just a voice for the mysterious boss of the place, he swears it.

the ones that won’t go away ( 1/? ) — reasons be damned, walter does not like to keep close tabs on people nor does he like people to think or involve him in anything. so whether it’s an attempt to recruit him into the saints organization, do one solid favor about the dead body bodies in room 1, 3, 5, or 7 ( it’s always the odd numbers for some reason ), or just to befriend him ( can’t fathom why )... walter will always shoot down each and every chance. even if there’s a select few that he might have grown ‘fond’ over.

crime, shcrime ( 1/? ) — been there, done that.. one too many times over his exhaustively extensive life. crime’s boring and so not worth the trouble. he knows he’s value in the sense of finding things that should never be found, but please — leave him out of the illegal shenanigans. 

romance should be dead ( 0/1 ) — as a self-proclaimed miser, walter’s always wanted to be left the fuck alone. but maybe someone wows him. really throws a hook, line, and sinker over the years somehow. no, this doesn’t mean he’ll change for the better or worse. but maybe.. he’ll make up for it in his own way after being an incredible asshole. maybe. 

i’ll add more whenever i think of them!

#pandemoniousintro #* & walter webber — headcanon .

[tewwor]

— STATS .

sexuality & status: biromantic / demisexual & single 4ever ( unless... )

hobbies: minding his own fucking business, long rambunctious naps ( his snoring’s been mistaken as the pipes settling on more than one occasion )

pets: closest he’s ever gotten to one is this one mangy rat at on the road — considers it an acquaintance for all the times it’s scared off prissy customers

relatives: everyone bit the dust — one bit him literally ( younger sister, kid was a biter growing up and not a saint )

— ‘DOSSIER’ .

for as loud and crass as someone like walter is, there isn’t a lot known about the man. nothing of actual importance, that is. he’s one to keep his nose firmly out of anyone’s business and ( foolishly ) expects everyone to do the same unto him. spoiler alert: it never works out — either someone drags him into some unneeded knowledge or tries to nose their way into his.

walter's no stranger to these parts, even if he’s always hated the place. everything reeks of bullshit and the million fucking bugs always do their damndest to pester him. and yet, he’s here. been here for five years and counting.

strange, isn’t it?

how such a flighty, belligerently insensitive brute like him hasn’t upped and left just yet. then again, it’s kind of fitting that he resides in a business that matches his visage perfectly. peeling wallpaper in almost every room, singed burnt orange carpet in the eyesore of a lobby, no — the curtains don’t match any of the drapes ( there’s an uneven number of them, some are even missing a panel ).

unkempt, eerily ambianced, barely functionable.

perhaps that’s why his friend had him inherit the damn place ( against ‘his will’ )… oops, sorry — that’s too much information seeing the light of day. All you need to know is that any serious complains ( aka all of them ) should go up to the big boss of the rundown motel — which totally isn’t him, and don’t try to clean up any.. messes made. you’ll probably just make the staining worse.

— ACTUAL DOSSIER .

walter hails from a piss poor family of four nestled in the dirt rich countryside. mother and father never saw eye to eye on anything, even when death came tolling for their ticket in life. his younger sister, quite the maverick she was, hardly cared for the happenings on home turf. she barely stayed put until some grand adventure called her away. 

now, you might be wondering how in the world walter let her go so early. wasn’t he worried about her safety? the world’s a harsh place and he’s already had his fair share of horrible treatment by her birth. and the answer is, yes, of course he was worried sick about her departure, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. well, except chase trails gone cold over and over and over again until they all…stopped for good.

family aside, he’s always been hard-headed with even thicker skin. not once did he have a goal in life other than to survive it. death would come for him whenever it’s time — he made peace with that fact early on ( perhaps concerningly so ). except.. one particular asshole made it his life’s mission to fuck the only constant in walter's miserable life.

.. and so the story about how walter strayed from mortality unfurls.. it’s dumb. stupid, really, because people usually regard immortality as something gained for power, wealth, or even love. but walter? yeah, no, he’s always seen it as a hoax. and even if it wasn’t just fairytale, he wanted nothing to do with it. the idea of living forever sounded like the shittiest win at an even shittier lottery. so imagine his hate-filled surprise when his nemesis ( full on most loathed person to ever exist in his life ) comes by this nifty ‘gift’. now quadruple that rage when that rat bastard bites and changes him solely to riff and neg walter for eternity.

what kind of idiotic reasoning was that?

to make matters even worse ( yes, it’s always possible ), that shithead was still green to the whole vampire thing. so the two of them had to figure it out together; something walter clearly despised with every single fiber of his being. how they didn’t kill each other remains a mystery, but that fucker’s still out there and walter's done everything to hide away time and time again — aka the main reason for his location hopping.

then, as luck would have it, the only friend he’s ever really had ( he still uses that term very loosely ) dies out of the blue and leaves his name on the motel’s deed. him, of all people. him. he had half the mind to just close the business from the get-go. never wanted to be boss of anything— let alone some barely maintained motel off of some shitty highway. but some odd sense of comfort, of — dare he say it —home finds its way into his dead heart. pictures of him and his friend stay up in the one room he occupies at the end of the establishment ( always heavily locked — no one’s allowed in ). regulars ( the bad and the worse ) start to.. grow on him even if the majority get on his last damn nerve.

and so, he’s come to an agreement with things. where he is in life, who he’s ( barely ) around, how long he’s been ‘settled down’… for now.

— CONNECTIONS .

TENants because there’s only 10 rooms (0/?) — made the choice to shack up  at on the road? well, there’s 100% chance you’ve come by walter. either it’s at the front desk ( asleep ), swearing up a storm as a room’s being changed out, giving that one shitty vending machine situated outside a piece of his mind, etc. he acts as the overworked manager of the shitty joint — just a voice for the mysterious boss of the place, he swears it.

the ones that won’t go away ( 0/? )— reasons be damned, walter does not like to keep close tabs on people nor does he like people to think or involve him in anything. so whether it’s an attempt to recruit him into the saints organization, do one solid favor about the dead body bodies in room 1, 3, 5, or 7( it’s always the odd numbers for some reason ), or just to befriend him ( can’t fathom why )… walter will always shoot down each and every chance. even if there’s a select few that he might have grown ‘fond’ over.

crime, shcrime ( 1/? ) —been there, done that.. one too many times over his ‘exhaustively extensive’ life. crime’s boring and so not worth the trouble. he knows he’s value in the sense of finding things that should never be found, but please — leave him out of the illegal shenanigans.

romance should be dead ( 0/1 ) — as a self-proclaimed miser, walter's always wanted to be left the fuck alone. but maybe someone wows him. really throws a hook, line, and sinker over the years somehow. no, this doesn’t mean he’ll change for the better or worse. but maybe.. he’ll make up for it in his own way after being an incredible asshole. maybe.

#* & walter webber ━━ ❮ dialogue ❯ #* & walter webber ━━ ❮ inspo ❯ #* & walter webber ━━ ❮ headcanon ❯ #// haha! rat!

[sacred-algae]

You know what? Fuck it.

*changes my relationship status between me and myself to "It's Complicated"*

#shitpost #shitposting #stupid flighty bullshit #life blogging #relatable

[ruleandkillrp]

// ACCESS GRANTED: WREN CHALLIS. SADIE SINK. EIGHTEEN. DISTRICT EIGHT TRIBUTE.

What was their childhood like? ( Home, family, etc. )

You ever get born a bastard child of some space case who got knocked up as a teen and a mysterious man who almost definitely doesn’t know you exist? Wren did, and it taught her a few tricks earlier than was probably acceptable. But screw acceptability - Wren was maybe five or six when she accepted that the way to get through the day was not to give a rat’s ass what anyone else thought. Sure, her mom was too flighty to hold down a job, but she always made sure they had food on the table for dinner every night one way or another. Wren learned not to ask too many questions. The way Wren saw it, her mother was twice the parent of any other parent in the district, and they loved each other fiercely. The rest of the district could fuck off.

It took Wren a bit longer to learn that just because she didn’t care what another person thought didn’t mean that those opinions wouldn’t affect her. She was twelve when she had to drop out of school to get a job of her own. Her mother had been devastated, but she promised she didn’t mind. But then no one wanted to hire her, so she had to get creative. A little bit of sabotage with a seam ripper, a pair of scissors, and some meticulously cut pattern pieces, and the heads of the factories were desperate to hire new workers, no matter who they were. With that, Wren learned that anything she wanted in this world, she had to take for herself. Destiny was bullshit. But at least the adults were conditioned to hide their disdain for her in whispers and side glances. Kids at school thought it was just too funny to remind her that she was the daughter of Crazy Daisy, town pariah.

Wren was far from the only kid in Eight who lived with a “life sucks, then you die” attitude. Most people lived that way. The way she saw it, the poorer districts basically lived in the Hunger Games year round, not just for two weeks every six months. Panem had decided that it was a struggle to survive, so it always was, always had been, always would be, even though Wren knew she was much better off in Eight than a district like Eleven or Twelve. Besides, she had her mom, and she’d take lukewarm dinners in a frozen apartment with Crazy Daisy every single time if she had to choose between that and a life somewhere like the Capitol. Besides, either way it would be the same type of bitches as the ones who had nicknamed Wren “Oopsie” behind her back and were too stupid to realize she heard them every time they snickered it to each other over the ever-running noise of the sewing machines.

How do they feel about the Games?

It was because she was so focused on her own survival that Wren had never truly given much thought to the games. They were another sucky thing in an already sucky life. She’d been twelve, just about to be reaped for the first time, when she was told that not only was her job still not paying enough and she’d have to take out tesserae for herself and her mom, but the reaping would happen twice a year. She was twice as likely to die. As she’d gotten older, her mother had been less and less able to provide for them. If Wren were to be gone, it wouldn’t just break Daisy’s heart, it would ruin the chances of a decent rest of her life.

When Wren got reaped, it felt inevitable. Of course she did. That’s just how it all worked. Another thing to add to the pile of shit that was everything else that was going on with her. She wasn’t particularly devastated by it. At least, she wasn’t until she saw her mom’s face. Crazy Daisy always had a smile on her face and here she was, stone-faced and ashen. And Wren remembered that her mom hadn’t been the one to put food on the table in a long time. Who would help some mad woman who would forget her head if it wasn’t attached? Wren and Daisy were all each other had. And as she turned to look back at her escort, Wren knew that she was going to have to win.

What is their district token & who gave it to them?

Her district token is a seam ripper, a secret that she shared with her mother and no one else, to remind her of her strength and cunning. Her mom filed it until it was blunt and strung it on a necklace for her. She didn’t say anything after she gave it to Wren. She didn’t need to, though. They both knew they loved each other, they both knew they didn’t want this, and they both knew what Wren had to do.

What is their personality? How do they act around other tributes and mentors?

There was a split second when Wren got to the Capitol when she imagined being one of the tributes who decided to live it up with all of the lavish benefits their last days before the Games gave to them. But she couldn’t afford to do that, and probably wouldn’t be good at drinking and dancing with the Career bitches anyway. She’d discuss strategy with her mentors and see what they suggested, but she was never good at making friends. Besides, if she was going to be able to stomach winning, she had to view every tribute as already dead. She had to look around her and see corpses, to look at them the way the world had looked at her mother and her all those years.

There goes Crazy Daisy and her daughter. Her daughter? Oopsie Daisy.

“Oopsie” was right. They’d chosen the wrong name out of that Reaping bowl.

 Three strengths and three weaknesses:

+ efficient, methodical, confident

- cynical, calculating, discourteous

 Chosen weapon(s):

Throwing knives, blow darts

PENNED BY: MAGS

#thg rpg #thg rp #hunger games rpg #hunger games rp #the hunger games rpg #accepted #wren