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ceilidho · 17 hours

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come.

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence.

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips.

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east.

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive.

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest.

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks.

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest.

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection.

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing.

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.”

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back.

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?”

That gets you to zip your lips.

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away.

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him.

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating.

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse.

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you.

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out.

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either.

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing.

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it.

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.”

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.”

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you.

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit.

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance.

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls.

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase.

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do.

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in.

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom.

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back.

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls.

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself.

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise.

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you.

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out.

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly.

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot.

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache.

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out.

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world.

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though.

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question.

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town.

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze.

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be.

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs.

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does.

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now.

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy.

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection.

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears.

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel.

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap.

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good.

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden.

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste.

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in.

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn.

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now.

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden.

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly.

You nod instead of answering.

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely.

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold.

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.”

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips.

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out.

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much.

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was.

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word.

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it.

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same.

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words.

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again.

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself.

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house.

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface.

You understand. It sits under your skin too.

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x you #price x y/n #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

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luck-of-the-drawings · 3 days

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"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi suckening #jrwi suckening spoilers #jrwi the suckening #arthur bennett #HEY SO THE REALLY FUNNY THING THAT THE CHARACTER DID THAT SEEMED RLY SILLY N GOOFY IN THE MOMENT?#LIKE THE WHIPLASH BETWEEN SERIOUS N SILLY ALMOST PISSED YOU OFF? WHAT IF I FOUND A WAY TO MAKE YOU SAD ABOUT IT #this was meant to be a scribble that would be a bigger part of a bigger page.might leave it on that page.#but still. bc o that i nearly posted it onto my wacky side blog.BUT NAYY I SPENT TOO MUCH TIME N ENERGY N YOU GOTTA SEE IT #ARTHUR BENNETT DRIVES ME CRAZY. I FEEL LIKE ITS ODD FOR HIM TO BE SO TECHNOLOGICALLY OUT OF TOUCH #WHERE HAS HE BEEN. HAS HE BEEN IN WAR? IS THAT WHERE MAGNUS CAME FROM? WHERE WAS HE WHEN HE WAS WITH EDWARDS CREW?#ARTHURRR I HAVE QUESTIONS ARTTHUUURR!! HEY CAN I ALSO ASK; WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BECOME #DO YOU THINK HE HAD ANY IDEA HE WOULD VEER CLOSER AND CLOSER TO THE MONSTER HE DESPISES. ALL BC HE DESERVES IT. OR WATEVER #HE FASCINATES ME SO MUCH. TO LOOK AT THE STONE COLD STOIC FOOL FROM THE START OF THE SHOW #AND TO FIND OUT THAT HE USED TO BE A BAD BOY.. A DELINQUENT... A LIL PRANKSTER.... MY GODDD THATS ADORABLE #I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW MORE.... BUT I DOUBT THE LAST EPISODE IS GONNA ANSWER THOSE QUESTIONS..i love arthur bennett so much....#AS FOR THE ART!! i mostly used the fire alpaca watercolor brush. tbh im not a brush guy. anti aliased default pen tends to be my main game #but LATELY IM SQQQUIRMIN OUT OF AN ARTBLOCK so expirimenting like this is helping #DONT LOOK TOO HARD AT IT!! im still proud tho. colors are fun :3 im also very proud of the backgrounds #I LOVE THE CARTOON THING where the background looks all fancy n painted but the characters are solid colors #what else can i ramble abt. OH YEAH. i looked up the bikes to make sure they were time accurate tehehehe. 1913 to 2012.#almost a century apart!! isnt that neat? ALSO FUUUCK CAN I JUST MAKE A QUICK CONFESSION. DOWN HERE IN MY TAGS.#only the strongest can read my tags anwyay. SO I REALIZED WHY I LOVE ARTHUR SO MUCH. TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE #while arthur is a Stoic and Cool vampire w a knack for being playful/silly; who alsos been alive fora century thus witnessing HORRORs #THERE HAPPENS TO BE A ROBOT FROM A BAND W A TITANIUM ALLOY SPINAL COLLUMN #WHOS A Stoic and Cool ROBOT w a knack for being playful/silly; who alsos been alive fora century thus witnessing HORRORS #the fuckkkiiinnngggnn The Spine from steam powered giraffe. WHATEVER. i cant escape from my heart. i guess.#i think The Spine and Arthur could be friends. Arthur saw the band perform back when they were the Steam Man Band #EDIT: WOOPS I DIDNT REALIZE THIS WOULD END UP IN THE SPG TAG. HI GUYS DIDNT KNOW U WERE STILL ALIVE SORREE 4 THE CROSS CONTAMINATION

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ecliphttlunar · 3 days

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Medicine - Chris Sturniolo

Summary: You were having a difficult day where negative thoughts shook you, but luckily your boyfriend Chris is always there to save you

Warnings: cute, hugs, kisses, negative thoughts, a little angst

Author's notes: This is my work, I do not authorize any plagiarism, copying or “inspiration”. English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors.

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You were sad, so sad, at that moment, your life didn't seem to make sense.

You felt ugly, incapable, inappropriate, God! You were feeling every negative feeling there was, even non-existent ones.

And there weren't enough words that could describe what you were feeling.

You traveled all over the world, collected lyrics, but nothing, nothing could describe this feeling that took over your heart.

And so you asked yourself, how could you talk to someone about this?

Talking to others about your feelings was never really a problem, at least not with your closest friends.

But now? You were a child who was left on a road in the middle of the night.

Lost.

Alone.

In the dark.

At least that's what you thought while cooking dinner at the triplets' house.

You thought that no one could understand what you were feeling, not when you couldn't form words, so why waste other people's time, why be inconvenient by saying that you didn't feel well, when no one could understand you, help you.

When you didn't even understand what you were feeling?

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn't notice Chris's gaze on you.

Chris knew something was wrong the moment you appeared in the room, your shoulders slumped, your eyes heavy, your smile weak, dejected.

You always had big smiles that brighten any darkness, but now? His smile was wan, a smile that tried to hide his tears.

He didn't know what had happened, if someone hurt you, if they said something that hurt you, if you were in physical pain or not.

But he knew, he was sure, that everything wasn't okay.

Then, he got up from the couch, the place he had been sitting staring at you for the last 10 minutes, and walked towards you.

You were always alert to your surroundings, no matter the situation, you always noticed when something had happened to someone, or when a person approached, so when he approached you, and you didn't notice, as if someone had blindfolded you , he worried.

He was behind you, when he wrapped his arms around you, you were a little startled by the sudden contact, jumping slightly, and looking back.

It was just Chris.

You let out a sigh of relief.

"Don't do that anymore, you scared me" You said softly, when you went back to mixing the food in the pan.

"Everything is fine?" He ignored what you said, needing to know what was happening as quickly as possible.

"Why the question?" You ask back.

You always did this, when you didn't want to answer something, you asked the person a question as an answer.

"You don't look like you're on planet Earth today"

"No? Where do I look like I am? In fact, if I weren't on earth, how would you be hugging me now?"

“No, not like that, you’re here, but at the same time, you’re not here” you raise an eyebrow.

“Your body is here, your mind is not” You go back to mixing dinner, taking a deep breath.

"It's okay, I'm just tired" You weren't lying, you really were tired, but one of the main reasons for those words was because you really wanted to close this subject, you know that tomorrow you would wake up better.

But of course, Chris didn't accept that. He knew there was something more, and he wanted to find out what it was.

He was always like that, he was always there for you, even when you didn't want anyone, you just wanted to be alone.

And that was why you loved him so much.

Because he was your guardian angel, your bulletproof vest when everything got dangerous, he stayed in front of you when you were in the crosshairs.

He was there to heal all your scars.

And you knew he could save you now, when you are in the crosshairs of negativity.

His body leaned over yours a little, taking the spoon out of your hand and throwing it into the sink.

You tried to take the spoon back, making the excuse that the food wasn't ready and you needed to stir it more.

But Chris was watching you, he knew that you had turned off the stove for more than 5 minutes.

He turned his body to face him, and hugged his waist.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" He asked again.

But what he received in response was silence, and his eyes were watery.

"Honey..." He began, a speech already planned in his mind to make you speak, at least the basics, so he would know what happened, but this moving speech was not necessary, because right after he called you, the words ran out of his mouth like a river.

And now, you were a mess.

A beautiful mess in Chris's eyes, even with your tear stained face, messy hair, wrinkled clothes, you looked beautiful.

The gods knew how beautiful you looked.

"I don't know, I woke up like this, I'm just sad, nothing really happened, I just... I feel ugly, inappropriate, annoying, I don't know, I, I don't know, I can't explain it." You tried, you really tried, but you couldn't, gods, you didn't even know who you were at that moment.

You didn't know what were happening.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, pretty girl, it's okay, you don't need to say anything else, I already understand, I got you, I'm here with you." He cupped your face and dried your tears, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead. Trying to calm you down.

Which, even though it took a while, worked.

You let out a shaky breath. And when you look up, back at him, you realize he was thinking of a solution.

"What do you think about us lying down, cuddling on the couch, watching a movie, we don't need to say anything, just cuddle, do you want that?"

You smile lightly and nod, hugging Chris's waist, and hiding your face in his chest.

You stayed like that for a while, when you finally started moving to the couch, you on top of Chris, while you chose a movie.

It had been about 10 minutes into the movie, and you were already feeling better, but there was still something bothering you.

And of course, Chris noticed, so he did what he knew would help, what always helps, he kissed you.

He gently grabbed your chin and kissed your lips, making all that pain you were feeling go away.

Making you feel better than you ever have.

He could do this.

He was your medicine.

You separate, and look at each other, you smile in thanks, and lay your head back on his chest.

For the first time that day, feeling good.

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rainydayathogwarts · 20 hours

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Curtain call - Spencer Reid

Summary: You're an actress. Opening night of the show, a cast member is killed. FBI finds out you were the real target... Warnings: mentions of blood, a kiss 2k wc

Adrenaline rushes through you as you run through the wings, catching your breath as you made your way across the backstage. You had just about a minute until you had to be on stage once more, the big number now coming to its end. Rushing into the costume room, you barely acknowledge the one thing obviously wrong with the messy space until you reach for your next costume on the rack, moving all other clothes aside to find it. There’s something inappropriate about your outfit. One, there isn’t supposed to be any blood on it yet there it is, a bloody handprint, running all the way to the bottom of your dress. That’s when your eyes trail down to the bottom of the clothing rack, where you get a clear look of the body lying underneath the row of clothes. Blood was soaking through her entire costume and her skin was turning blue. It’s only when someone runs into the changing room at risk of missing your cue that you hear a gut-wrenching scream. Later, you’d be told that it had come from you.

Being called into the theatre the next day for “mandatory debriefing” was not what you had expected after such a traumatic experience, but you came in nonetheless, afraid of losing the job after the scene you had caused the night before. After screaming bloody-murder, half the cast ran into the changing rooms to find you hysterically crying over your cast mate’s body, holding her cold hand. The audience had been scared half to death, and after the authorities made it onto the scene, everyone was evacuated out of the theatre. By finding her body, you had cost everyone a night of the show.

But once you got to the theatre, angry yellow tape cutting off access to the public, you were approached by a handsome man with a serious face and confident posture, offering you his hand even as he walked towards you. “Miss L/N? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Agent Morgan with the FBI, and this is Dr. Reid. We just have a few questions we would like you to answer for us.” Agent Morgan had been a very kind man, who told you every formality that was written in the book, however the man he had introduced to you as Dr. Reid caught your attention in a way you weren’t aware would be good or bad. Dr. Reid stayed silent as Agent Morgan questioned you, deeply staring at you as you answered all that was thrown at you, shooting you quizzical looks every now and then and glancing down at your fidgety hands.

“Thank you so much for all this Miss L/N, that’s all our questions.” As Agent Morgan began to stand, Dr. Reid looked up at you, “Actually, I do have a few more if you don’t mind.” Agent Morgan shot his partner a confused look, slowly backing down into his seat once more. “Do you know why Evelyn was in the costume room when she was? With my limited understanding of the play, I was under the impression that her character didn’t have any costume changes up to the point you had gotten to before she was killed.” And then those that followed:

“Was anyone other than you supposed to be in the changing rooms at that moment?”

“Is there anyone in the cast who has taken a specific liking or dislike towards you?”

“Can you remember any specific encounters with anyone as you were going in or out of the theatre?”

“Have you received any eye catching letters from fans recently?”

Finally, Dr. Reid’s prying had gotten you somewhere, leaving you more terrified than ever, with Agent Morgan reassuring you “It’s just a theory that Dr. Reid has, so we’re only taking precaution. There’s nothing to worry about just yet.” The two agents drove you back to your place where you led them to the curse fan-letter drawer in your study. "I don't usually read them because there are so many." You admitted, crossing your arms tightly over your torso, observing as the doctor starting frantically pulling letters out of the tidied drawer, eyes briefly scanning the name on the front of each envelope. He threw several to the side, dropping the rest onto the floor after reading the name until nearly ten minutes later, all the letters laid on the floor.

Dr. Reid scrambled to gather the letters he had tossed to the side, standing up hurriedly. You stared at the pile in his hands, glancing back up at the two men for an explanation. "These are all sent from the same person. I'd like to read them and see if analyse the language used. I think one of us should stay here with you for the mean time." You nodded at Dr. Reid's words, briefly looking over to his partner for confirmation. "I think Reid should stay here as he looks over the letters." He moved his attention from you to Dr. Reid "You can ask her any questions you might have and it'll be good protection." The partners nodded to each other and immediately, Agent Morgan exited the room.

Dr. Reid's hand came up before hesitantly placing it on your shoulder. "Do you mind if I get settled here? Ask some questions?" You shook your head silently before asking "Um, since you'll be here awhile, can I get you something? Coffee?" Dr. Reid nodded, muttering a quiet "That would be lovely." You don't know what it was: maybe the fact that he was here to protect to or trying to save your life, but felt your heart beat in your chest aggressively, as though trying to break through your skin. You brought him coffee, sugar and packets of cream on the side just in case and watched in awe as he emptied out the small cup of sugar. Sweet, just like him.

"Dr. Reid-" "Spencer. Please." You nodded, scooting your chair closer to him as he took a sip of coffee. "Did I make a mistake by not reading these?" The envelopes made loud unfolding noises every time he pulled a letter out of a different one, and he shook his head. "No. I know I wouldn't open so many of these and I have an IQ of 187." You grinned, your chest bubbling with a giggle. Spencer perked up at the sound of your laughter, smiling gently at you. He wasn't trying to joke around, but he was happy to lift up your mood. He studied all the letters laid out in front of him, and immediately noticed a pattern.

'02.02.18, I saw you in Oliver! today, you make an amazing Nancy.'

'14.02.18, I watched you in Oliver! again. You somehow get better the more I see you on stage.'

'07.03.18 I loved you today in the show. I watched the evening show. Did you see me too?'

'17.03.18 I saw your show again. I can be your Bill Sykes if you'd let me."

'11.04.18 I've been waiting anxiously to see you again since Oliver stopped touring. You make a wonderful Veronica.'

'15.04.18 We can be Seventeen together! Let me be your JD.'

"This isn't good." Without any further explanation, he pulled his phone out, dialling a number. "He's using obsessive language and saw her in Oliver! and Heathers, both of which have abusive partners who either kill or try to kill who Y/N's playing. You need to go visit his address right now." Coincidentally, just as he hangs up the phone, your doorbell rings. Your blood runs cold and you stand up instantly, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking you from going anywhere. "Stay behind me, but stay close." He mutters, pulling his gun from his hostler. Spencer watches you closely, and the profiler in him notices how your breath begins to speed up and your eyes glaze with tears.

One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and he whispers "Breathe. I'm right here so no one's going to hurt you, okay?" You nod, staying as close as you can to him without touching him until you get to the front door. He peeks through the peephole and his shoulders drop as an "Oh." Escapes him. He opens and closes the door faster than you can register, now holding another letter in his hand, identical to all the ones scattered on your desk.

Six words are written on the letter when Spencer opens him, and his face pales. It was meant to be you. Spencer grabs your hand, dragging you back into your study - the one room in your house with no windows. He locks the door, pressing numbers on his phone again before it's against his ear. "It's definitely him, he just sent another letter. We're in her study but he might be around the premises or returning to his house. I don't plan on getting her out of the study until you get him." The second the words leave his mouth you're processing them, and tears are welling in your eyes once more.

The sound of sniffling gets his attention back to you and his hands are gently coming up to your shoulders, leading you to sit down in a chair. "I'm scared." You whisper helplessly, looking up at the doctor. He crouches down to your level, and hand on your knee. "Hey, what did I say before?" He looks at you intently waiting for an answer. "No one's gonna hurt me." Spencer nods, a soft smile gracing his features. "Yes, exactly. No one's going to hurt you. I have an excellent team looking for that son of a bitch as we speak and I am right here with you."

You nod, not entirely convinced, which he can apparently tell, so he continues with "Come on, look at these muscles. You think anyone will get to you when I have these babies?" His tongue pokes out slightly as he flexes his arms, which are actually more toned than you realise. You laugh again and feel yourself launching your body at him before you can stop yourself, pulling him into a tight hug. He hesitates, but eventually, his arms are pulling you even closer to him, one hand rubbing circles on your back to soothe you. You break the hug, but before you can help yourself, you realise you're leaning into him, pressing your lips against his in a passionate kiss. To your surprise he immediately returns the kiss, his hands cupping your face as he deepens the kiss.

He's panting when he pulls away from you, whispering "This is unprofessional. I'm sorry, I like you, I do, but I shouldn't." Cocking your head to the side, you can't help but smile slightly. "It's only unprofessional for one of us so technically it's not unprofessional at all." His face twists in confusion as he tries processing your words. "That's not how it wo-mmph." the rest of his words are muffled by the second kiss you give him, which you feel him melting into as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. "After- after the case. After the case, I'll take you on a date." His face falls at his own words, his face reddening in embarrassment. "That is- I mean that's only if you want. I wouldn't take you on a date if you didn't want to, that's totally fine."

The door to the study slams open just as he finishes rambling and you scream in fear, tightly gripping Spencer's hand and turning around expecting to find a middle aged balding creep, only to find a much sexier bald man, putting his gun back in his hostler. "Did you not hear us screaming for you? We thought he might have gotten to you before we found him. Ms. L/N, you're safe, we found him." Agent Morgan's gaze slowly trails to where your hand tightly grips Spencer's, and when he sees the flush on Spencer's face he makes a "Huh" noise, before walking out of the room once more.

taglist: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

#spencer reid x you #rainydayathogwarts #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminalminds #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #derek morgan

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queen-of-hawkins-why-ler · 3 days

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Am I the only one who thinks that the thematic and narrative climax of s5 (and low key the whole show) will be almost a direct parallel to the "You said yes" scene from s2?? Like same exact narrative and cinematic setup of Will being controlled by Vecna to the point where he's nearly gone or on the brink of death, and Mike being able to bring him back to reality with words of love???

Like I low key feel like that scene in s2 was supposed to serve as a precursor and foreshadowing to the climax of Byler rather than just standing on its own as an isolated event. We always talk on here about how Mike's monologue to El in s4 was supposed to directly contrast that scene and demonstrate how false and unnatural Milkvan's supposed "love" is, but we never really talk about just how awkward of a placement it is for the true and "authentic" love confession (Byler s2) to precede the clunky and false one (Milkvan s4). Like, imo it kind of leaves things on an awkward note and kind of hanging.

The only way it wouldn't be awkward or unfinished is if there ends up being a followup scene/parallel to the "you said yes" scene, and I think this is what's going to happen. I think Mike's monologue to El comes after the more romantic, authentic confession not only because it's supposed to contrast it but because the show is serving us two different "choices," two different options for Mike, two different scenarios. Not just for the sake of his character arc but in a meta sense as well, kind of like asking the audience, "which choice makes the most sense for Mike given the events up until now and the themes of the show? Can he be his most authentic and happiest self with Will or El?" And the natural followup to posing this dichotomy would be to answer this question for us by showing us in no uncertain terms why Will makes more sense for Mike as a long-term love interest.

The other reason why I believe this to be the case is because of the blocking of the s2 scene and the way it's set up: with Will being unable to move, unable to say anything or regain any control, and with Mike opening up and being vulnerable about his true feelings for Will [here comes the most important part lol] IN FRONT OF the other characters like Jonathan and Joyce (I can't remember if it was the entire rest of the cast in this scene or just those two?? I think it might've been everybody bc weren't they trying to get Will to communicate with them using morse code? I don't remember lmao) but anyways, I don't think it was a coincidence that Mike gave his grand "Do you remember the first day that we met?" speech not only to Will himself but in front of the other characters. Remember as well that Mike also confessed his "love" for El in front of an audience, and I don't think that's a coincidence either. I think it's leading to a final confession from Mike that will also take place in front of an audience and will serve as the "choice" that Mike makes between El and Will as well as the "choice" the Duffers present as being the correct narrative and thematic choice for the show. It's important that Mike's initial two confessions took place in front of an audience and also that his final one will, because this will also serve as Mike's "coming out" moment to the rest of the characters and to the audience. I think that Mike is going to have a second speech to Will that isn't just "I love you I love you I love you" over and over again like it was to El. It will be sweet and unique to Will and Byler's relationship except this time it will be explicitly, undeniably romantic so that no one will be able to even think that what he feels for Will is anything short of genuine, passionate, romantic love.

I wouldn't even be surprised if what Mike says closely parallels what he said to El except basically the opposite, alluding to the fact that it wasn't "love at first sight" for him but a slow, gradually building and gradually cultivating love that blossomed over the course of his entire life. Instead of "I knew then and there that I loved you" like he did to El, he could say something like, "I didn't realize it yet when I met you, and I'm not even sure I know when it happened, but I think I've spent my entire life slowly falling in love with you." And he says it with tears in his eyes and in front of all of the rest of the characters, who will also be crying (especially Joyce lol). And of course Will will just be sobbing even through Vecna's control over him, but it will be Mike's love that ultimately frees him from Vecna's hold over him. This would make sense, because unlike El, Will's story has never been about independence and breaking himself free, but about him and Mike breaking themselves free through teamwork a la "I think that we should work together. I think it'll be easier if we're a team."

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zuhamuses · 2 days

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♡ " A mess "

Pairing: Jude Jazza x Kate (MC)

CW: lots of cursing + jealous jude!! (Tho it isn't much of a warning, lol.)

Note: My 2nd entry for @judejazza 's event!! I hope everyone likes this Jude fic <3 divider & header by the lovely @natimiles

Jude's eyes followed her figure as soon as she entered the dining room. Her smile lacked its usual cheerfulness, and her eyes looked sad.

That expression of Kate's broke something inside of him. This wasn't the first time she was wearing that look. Of course. She was living in a castle with cursed people, but Jude knew that wasn't why she looked so down.

Jude clicked his tongue in annoyance, but his eyes quickly looked her over... making sure she was doing physically well... that she wasn't harmed. He quickly looked away.

He was pissed. Very fucking pissed if he had to be honest. Whatever they both had going on was messing with both his head and heart. Jude Jazza was smart, but he couldn't find it in himself to put a name to their "relationship."

When she got hurt, he had wanted to kill all of those people right then and there. Her smile brought a strange sense of calm over him. She was beautiful -- fuck. Shit. He mentally cursed himself and faced her.

"How was yer date?" He basically spat the words out with that sadistic grin on his face.

Kate huffed and narrowed her eyes, looking angry. "Why are you looking so smug, Jude?"

He barked out a laugh, leaning back on the chair. "Smug? Whatcha talkin' about, Princess?"

"Do you take pleasure in seeing me hurt?"

Jude looked at her straight in the eye. "Ya should have the answer to that already."

Her face was red. Kate was fuming. The earlier hints of sadness from her expression were all gone.

"Why do you even care? Huh?" She questioned him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't fuckin' care." Jude replied, expression mirroring hers.

"Then you shouldn't act like you do. Even if he didn't come to the spot--"

He threw the newspaper in front of him, a little too aggressively.

"Then ya will agree to meet that fucker again? Even if he stood ya up two times already? Princess, do ya have any self-respect?"

Kate gasped. "Jude! Just what is your problem? I don't get it!"

Shit. He messed up. Her eyes were filled with tears and... he was the cause. Jude mentally laughed at himself. He was warning Kate about a guy while he was the worst of them all. Surely, the Princess deserves better.

He took slow strides towards her. "Do ya like him?"

"... What?"

"That lousy fucker who can't even show up on a date, and stood ya up twice."

"That's none of your concern."

He took slow strides towards her, but Kate wasn't moving back. She stood still in her place, curious to see what he was going to do. Her eyes were fixed on him, studying his every expression and movement. Kate's eyes were shining as always, but she had changed so much...

She turned even more beautiful.

"He doesn't deserve ya. Ya are wastin' too much of your time." He said nonchalantly, bending down slightly to meet her eyes. "Or do ya like bein' stood up?"

"I can't understand you, Jude Jazza..." Kate breathed out, eyes narrowing once again in fury. "You push me away, say harsh things, then act like you care about me. Just what do you want?"

He clicked his tongue, and they both kept staring at each other. They weren't able to break eye contact, or they just didn't want to. Jude wondered... just what was she actually thinking?

He reached out to wipe a tear that had escaped from her eye. His hand was rough from his line of work, but his touch was gentle.

Kate's reddened cheeks, her big eyes filled with curiosity, her laughter and giggles, the way she would listen to him, and how she had tried to keep him safe during missions... that was all so precious to Jude.

"He can't treat ya good, ya dummy." He said softly.

Kate was silent for a while, but then she spoke in an equally soft voice.

"If he can't... then can you? What are you implying, Jude...?"

His expression as he looked at Kate was so gentle, so soft. There was no sarcasm in his voice as he replied, "Yeah, if ya don't trust my words, then wanna test it out?"

He chuckled upon seeing her flustered and surprised expression. Yeah... he wouldn't trade her for the world...

#☆ musings ☆#ikevil x reader #ikevil imagines #ikemen villains #jude x reader #ikevil jude #invitation2crowncc

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ciaonicole85 · 3 days

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Part 2: What Then?

I promise I have a life, but I couldn't help writing part 2 today! This takes place the same day as the "Development Day" when Syd and Carmy are thrown off by each other's answers during an ice breaker activity. Post-season 2. Feel-good fluff.

Photo Credit @drrav3nb / drrav3nb.tumblr.com

"So those are the menu changes for Chicago Restaurant Week. If you have questions, feel free to ask me or Chef Sydney. You should also have an email from Natalie by later today. Okay, let's prep for night service!"

Carmy closed the meeting, grateful that it was finally over. He was no longer afraid of public speaking after rising in the ranks of various kitchens, but his mind was not in this ever since the ice breaker. He, Carmen Berzatto, had made Sydney's favorite meal ever? The last time he prepared the pork confit and the Milk and Honey dishes she mentioned was several years ago. Back then he was at Eleven Madison Park, a rising star on the culinary scene, who chain-smoked, slept 3 hours a night, and was berated by the EC daily. It was a nightmare peppered with flashes of genius. He was dying to ask her about it, but before he could get her attention Sydney had slipped into the kitchen.

He stared disappointed at the window that separated the dining area and kitchen.

"Hey Bear, what's up with you?" Richie said sidling up to him trying to follow his gaze.

"Nothing cousin."

"Yeah, right. I missed when it happened, but it seems like you crashed and had to reboot during the meeting. Then you were lost in Sydney-land. Want to talk about it?"

Carmy rubbed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. When he used both hands, Richie knew without a doubt he had hit on something.

"First, cool it about Syd. That handout you gave us was really cute. And yes, there's something on my mind, but it's not for me to say."

Richie grinned and rubbed Carmy's shoulder.

"Fine, just get your head together because tonight is going to be loaded and it includes three anniversaries and a birthday. And second, you need to cool it about her or do something. It's like I'm living in The Wonder Years with Kevin and Winnie."

"What?"

"Oh, right. That's probably before your time. Kids!"

With that Richie sauntered over to the host stands to strategize with the wait staff and hosts.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sydney who had a thousand things to do, was adding at least a hundred more onto her plate. She didn't want to appear like she had a moment to spare. She and Carmy could talk at the end of the night as usual, without any eavesdropping. This would also give her time to think of an explanation as to why she never mentioned eating at Eleven Madison Park and that she wasn't a stalker who followed him to The Beef. To top off this awkward sundae, Carmy casually admitted his favorite part of the day was closing, the only time they are alone every day. She hoped no one else had connected the dots on that last part.

The afternoon and the night never went quicker to her chagrin. Even when one of the line cooks was sent home due to illness and a large group put in an order for 7 Fishes two minutes before tickets closed, she thought the night couldn't last long enough. Fortunately, Carmy seemed resigned to waiting and didn't look at her more than usual. In a flash service was over and no one was in the mood to hang around. By 11:00pm Sydney had cleaned her station for the third time and forced herself to go to Carm's office. He sat there pretending to do busy work, patiently waiting like a child who consoled himself that his parents wouldn't make him wait too long to open his Christmas presents.

"Hey Syd...it was a good night," he said softly not wanting to scare her away.

Sydney nodded and took a seat. Might as well get it over with it.

"Okay, yes. You made the best meal I've ever had. During a break at the CIA, I went to NYC and ate everywhere on my list, including Eleven Madison Park. It was a Wednesday night and I ordered several things including pork confit and Milk and Honey."

Sydney couldn't help closing her eyes and smiling at the memory. Her guard began to slip.

"Carm, it was like tasting my future and the best part of my past at the same time. I asked the waiter who made those dishes and he said Carmen Berzatto."

Carmen leaned forward on the desk. Whenever Sydney praised him, he felt like a cactus in an unexpected downpour. He wouldn't waste a single word. Her sunny existence and her belief in him sustained him during his dry seasons. He reached for her whenever he looked at the debt they still owed Uncle Cicero, when his mother finally visited The Bear and cried saying that he had erased Mikey, and even when their success seemed too good to be true.

Sydney opened her eyes to find him looking at her in the way he had. It was terrifying because she had a very specific plan for her career. It also thrilled her, knowing the power she had over him. Five months ago, she had been begging for his focus and now she knew every her mood, glance, and word she spoke impacted him. Once for the fun of it during a slow night she stared at him until she drew his attention and smiled. He blushed, smiled back, came towards her without saying "corner", and crashed into one of the servers, sending three Michael cannoli to the floor. That was three months ago when she first realized something was going on with him. She'd refused to abuse her power since, going so far as to convince herself that she was overestimating his feelings. Then he said the best part of his day was closing. She hoped, well sort of hoped, that they could maintain this close, but not too close partnership and friendship without complications.

After a long pause Carmen sighed and sat back in his chair.

"So, how did you find me?"

"Well, like I said when we met, it was the job posting. I recognized your name and also The Beef from my dad taking me here."

She shrugged thoughtfully.

"It felt like it was meant to be. It gave me hope for the first time since Sheridan went under."

He nodded.

"It's really strange. You came here because I inspired you and the only reason, I felt capable of attempting something this big was because of you" he said gesturing to the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Sydney whispered.

"Yeah."

He stood up and walked around to sit on the desk facing her. Now, Sydney felt vulnerable looking up at him. It was so easy for him to unnerve her when he spoke this way, like under the table.

Carmy took one her hands and after a moment brought it to his lips.

"Thank you for telling me, Syd. It means a lot."

Sydney was unable to speak. Her throat had closed.

"Soon, is your one year work anniversary and I think we should celebrate."

She nodded.

Carmy set her hand down.

"It's late. I'll drive you home."

With that they left the office, gathered their stuff, and walked to his car in silence.

As they drove, Sydney attempted to talk herself down. Was that hand kiss, an Italian thing? Possibly. It also seemed like Carmy decided to do...something, but what? Worse, she was feeling like they had traded positions in mere seconds. She'd enjoyed having the upper hand. Oh, well. With a goodnight's rest she'd be back in form tomorrow. Maybe "accidentally" brush past him, or ask him to lift something heavy for her and comment on his strength. Then it would be game over for poor Carmy bear. For now, she wouldn't worry about the work anniversary. It was probably just going to be a cake Carm commissioned Marcus to bake.

Probably.

#the bear #sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy the bear #sydney adamu #fan fiction #syd adamu #carmy x sydney #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #they are so cute

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strqyr · 4 hours

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qrow only told them it's an assignment tai's on, not giving any sort of idea what that may entail. and if that sticks, if this is one of those "play things close to the chest" things he talks about, then chances of yang and ruby getting any answers out of him are low—unless they pester him for answers and he finally relents lol

but if they were to ask raven—assuming she knows / figured it out on her own—, she... might not give a direct answer, but her whole shtick was to ask questions, look at the information they do have and come to a conclusion.

raven would tell them to think, get them on the right track.

and the fact is... ruby and yang have all the information they need to come to the right conclusion if tai is protecting the crown.

oh, everybody else is in vacuo but their dad isn't when they expected him to be? what could be more important? tai's a member of team strq, he knew about the secret war before it went public, he's gone on missions for ozpin before, so what could he be up to? why does salem target the academies? isn't it weird how beacon fell a year ago and she doesn't have the crown yet? ruby knows ozpin made it more challenging to find, what could that entail? etc etc etc.

the answer yang is fishing for is right there. they just need to think.

#rwby #rwby beyond #rwby spoilers #ruby rose #yang xiao long #taiyang xiao long #raven branwen #qrow branwen

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sweetlittleneptune · 2 days

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"You speak French??"

The translations were made by me, as I'm a native French speaker! tho, if you have any issues/questions/see any mistakes, don't be afraid to point them out!

The fact that you never admitted to speaking French to the residents of the mansion was a simple lie of omission. You didn’t think it was that important at first, and then you also noticed how much of an advantage that was. This meant you could spy on some of residents without much trouble at all. Sadly, the charade couldn’t last forever.

NAPOLEON

He had a habit of rambling in French to himself. Random thoughts, most of them unimportant and simple little reminders to do something later. But every once in a while, he would mumble something that caught your attention, and you’d have to hold in your laughter. He had to stop though, once he realized you understood what he was saying and was absolutely humiliated.

It had been a rough day, and the man was frustrated. Between the bickering kids and the eccentric residents, he was practically boiling. That was reason enough to be mumbling insults and such.

“C’est juste des cons. Pas capable de se la fermer, tous inutiles.”

(They’re just idiots. Can’t shut up, useless.)

And it came out before you could even think about it. You just had to.

“Quand même, c'est un peu méchant M. Napoléon. Mais je l’admets… ils sont un peu lourds.”

(Well, that’s a bit rude Mr. Napoleon. But I’ve got to admit… they are a bit annoying)

The look on his face was absolutely priceless. Surprise, confusion, worry, all of it. Napoleon opened his mouth once, then closed it. he reopened it again and closed it once more. Third time’s the charm they say…

“Since when…?”

“Ah, that’s my little secret. Just don’t tell the other, will you?”

Suspicion crossed his face.

“Why?”

“You know, it’s a great advantage to have. Would be a shame to lose it.”

“You’re a devil Nunuche, but a smart one I’ll admit.”

And with a chuckle he left the room

COMTE DE SAINT-GERMAIN

You intended to tell him at first. When he started bringing you to all those dinners, galas, and parties for the aristocrats of the city. You wanted to speak with him and the other attendants. But as soon as they heard the accent in your “bonsoir”, they switched to English, and you rolled with it for some reason. Now it had been months, and you felt it would be weird to start speaking French now.

You were used to being ignored in conversations too. None of it was on purpose and you couldn’t take it personally when Comte was such a popular man to begin with! What you weren’t used to, though, was being disrespected right in your face as if you weren’t there.

The first comment had been something along the lines of “you finally found someone to give you a son!”

Your husband was quick to answer that he had chosen you because you were you. It had nothing to do with kids.

The second almost made you open your mouth. But it was no use. Comte made very sure to let him know he was crossing a limit and ended the conversation there.

“Some people lack manners, it seems. No use wasting more time on this unimportant discussion.”

You simply nodded and followed.

But then you wanted a little treat to eat, and the buffet was on the other side of the room. So, you left Comte for a moment to grab something. Sadly, the same man from earlier was there, chatting away with someone you didn’t know. As soon as he saw you, you knew something unpleasant would happen.

“Elle n’est rien de bien spécial, mais j’imagine qu’elle doit être particulièrement bonne au lit si le Comte de Saint-Germain a décidé qu’elle était bonne à marier. »

(she’s nothing special, but I guess she’s particularly good in bed if the Count of Saint-Germain has decided to make her his wife.)

You pondered for a moment if you should even grace him with an answer. It wouldn’t do any good, you knew that. But if the man had the galls to say it, he surely could listen to your answer, no?

“Monsieur, j’apprécierais sincèrement que vous vous absteniez de m’insulter en ma présence. Et puis, ce sont de riches paroles, venant de l’homme dont la femme est reconnue pour avoir plusieurs amants. Au moins, l’un de nous sait satisfaire son partenaire… "

(Sir, I would appreciate if you could hold back from insulting me in my presence. And this is rich, coming from the man whose wife is known to have several lovers. At least, one of us can satisfy their spouse…)

Red rose to the man’s face.

“Eh bien, je crois que le message est clair!

(Well, I think the message is clear!)

Comte’s voice made you jump in your place. You hadn’t heard him coming at all! You turned to look at him with shyness in your eyes, a bit worried he would scowl you for your action. But all he did was look at you with pride.

As you left though, he did ask where you learned to speak French.

“A while back, in my world.”

JEAN D'ARC

That night you were staying up late to clean up after one of Leonardo’s raids of the library. It was rotten work for sure, but someone had to do it and Sebastian was finishing up polishing of the silverware. So here you were, going through piles of books left on tables.

Time passed and after a while of not hearing any noise, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit down and read for a few minutes. There was a book that had caught your attention while cleaning up. It was a little book of French fables. Some of which you remembered reading back in school when you were young. Slowly, the stories caught your attention for good and the world around you faded.

That’s when Jean entered the room, in the hopes of finding some peace and some books to help him learn to write and read. Still hooked on your little island of nostalgia, you didn’t hear him at all. And him, not wanting to bother you, stayed in his little corner of the library.

An hour must have passed before your eyes left the pages of the book. But when you did, you were surprised to find you weren’t alone anymore. And you felt a bit cheap about being caught slacking on your job.

“I didn’t hear you come in, Jean. What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to read this book. But it’s hard, I don’t understand much…”

The poor man was trying to read “Les Misérables”, of course he was having a hard time understanding what all those fancy words meant! You held your chuckle in and handed him your fable book.

“You might find this one easier to read. You picked a rather daunting book to try to learn.”

“Oh but… you know I speak French mademoiselle. Your book-” You smiled.

“Take a look at the cover. What does it say?”

It took him a minute to decipher the sounds and the words, but he managed to read the title out:

“Les fables de La Fontaine.” Jean paused. “It’s in French…”

“Yes, it is.”

“You can read French?” there was curiosity in his eyes.

“Oui, mais pas que. Je le parle aussi.”

(Yes, but that’s not all. I can speak it too.)

“Je ne savais pas. Vous ne l’avez jamais dit.”

(I didn’t know. You never told us)

“It’s my little secret,” you answered with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should finish cleaning Leo’s mess.”

“Merci.”

“Bienvenue!”

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radfemnotfemme · 3 days

Note

Hi! I see you're a radblr and a lesbian, which is great, because I'm trying to understand something but I feel like I'm biased (I'm hetero) and can't see the lesbian perspective properly. I'd like to ask this to my irl lesbian friend but I'm too afraid of sounding rude. I hope you can help me understand better!

So. Let's forget about personality (which is the most important thing for sure) for a second and let's talk about physical attraction only. Lesbians like women. Lesbians do not like men. So it's reasonable to assume they are attracted to the female body characteristics which differ from the male body (like breasts, large hips, female genitals, etc) just like hetero men are. Ideally, the more feminine the trait, the more attractive it should be, right?

So, why are many lesbians attracted to the 'butch' type? From my (biased) perspective, butches are like tomboys, so they seem to want to appear less traditionally feminine (example: short hair - not a male characteristic per se, but it is associated to men because most men have short hair; we could discuss this theoretically, but the social bias is undeniable and no one can escape it). Butches share many characteristics (like style, mannerism, etc) with men, to which lesbians should not attracted. But this is disproven by evidence, since many lesbians like butches! Help. I'm terribly confused.

Hi there, thanks for the question! You mentioned that you understand that lesbians are attracted to female body characteristics (such as breasts, wider hips, female genitals.) A woman has these female characteristics regardless if they’re butch or femme. Butch women may be masculine on the outside appearance or through personality, but at the end of the day they have female sex traits that those who are only attracted to males would not find attractive in any capacity. Butches may try to “hide” these bodily female characteristics, but when in a romantic or sexual relationship with someone you’re going to see what their body actually looks like. Short answer is: butches are females, men are males. It’s entirely possible to be attracted to masculinity but find male sex traits (such as no breasts, deep voice, beards, or penis) revolting or not attractive. Straight women who are attracted to feminine men are not homoSEXuals because of this, just as a lesbian isn’t heteroSEXual for liking butches. Same stuff for masculine gay men who attracted to feminine gay men.

You said “Ideally the more feminine the trait, the more attractive it should be?” which I disagree with. Femininity and female have no correlation at its core, as one is of a biological basis and the other is of a societal basis (though they tend to align, I believe masculinity is the natural state of all people anyways and girls are socialized to be very feminine.) ‘The more female a trait, the more attractive it should be to a lesbian’ is a better phrase, but femaleness comes in all sorts of appearance so it doesn’t really indicate anything or make much sense. You brought up short hair as an example of the similarities between men & butches, which i will agree on, but once again, this doesn’t erase the simple biological difference between a man and a butch. I actually happen to be a butch in a relationship with a femme, so i’m going to offer both my viewpoint, and hers:

As a butch who’s generally only attracted to femmes, I used to not be attracted to masculine women or butches. I still am not for the most part. It took a lot of unpacking internalized homophobia & heteronormative social standards for me to understand why. Everyone is raised to believe that the masculine belongs with the feminine as a child, and gay children are not exceptions to this. I think it’s been ingrained in me since a child that the type of person I should be attracted to is a feminine person. I’ve known since childhood that I was not feminine in the way my female peers were, as I’ve always been pretty masculine. When in elementary and early middle school, the boys I “liked” have all turned out to be feminine gay men (lol.) I never really was attracted to these boys of course, but I was attracted to femininity in females and it was the best I thought I could get. I thought that since I had to be with a boy, I would logically just be with a feminine one. When I understood that being lesbian was an option, I never looked back. It’s hard for me to unpack that me being attracted to a masculine woman isn’t me being attracted to a man, and I know this subconsciously is why I say i’m not attracted to butches much at all. I could possibly be attracted to a butch, but i think socialization has its claws gripped into me (and also just a mix of the fact that femininity is my personal preference in a lady.)

I asked my femme girlfriend her thoughts on this, and this is a summarized version of what she had to say (she thought I was asking about myself):

“[A butch] may be mistaken for a man, or be read as a man at first glance, but when you take a closer look it’s undeniable that you’re a woman. Your eyes are beautiful and feminine, you have a gorgeous feminine body & chest. Your hands are soft, small, & delicate (and no i’m not trying to poke fun at your insecurity i’m being serious) When you smile it’s even more obvious that you’re a woman. I am attracted to your masculinity of course, I love that you have muscles, the way you dress, [redacted personal hobbies], your short hair, how in control/dominant you are. I also love your curves, your soft voice, and smooth skin. & you don’t have the personality of a man, you just pick up hobbies and mannerisms most women are afraid will make them appear “manly.” You actually convinced me to start doing [redacted personal hobby] that i never even considered before because I thought of it as something that boys or men do and now I really enjoy it.”

Sorry if this is a bit of a word vomit or not comprehendible, but i wanted to explain as best as I could lol

#rad fem #radical feminism #radblr #female separatism #terfblr #terfsafe #gender critical #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #radical lesbian

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sinner-sunflower · 2 days

Text

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 14/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13

You guys ever read They Both Die at the End cos this is looking a lot like that the more we go on.

-----------------------------------------------

Lucifer had begun to tell them of his trip to Heaven, from what had prompted Michael to almost destroy Hell with his holy weapon to the brewing civil war.

They listened intently to every word he said, not once interrupting him again until they got the full story.

And that's what he gave them.

Well... almost all of it.

He left out the part where the Fates had prophesied his imminent death in the war. Revealing that particular information would raise more questions that Lucifer wouldn't be able to answer.

Charlie: I still don't understand. Why would they involve you, Dad? If Heaven goes to war, how does that affect us?

Satan: Despite what most might think, Heaven and Hell are not two separate entities. After the creation of humanity, it's impossible for one to exist without the other.

Lucifer: He's right. Back then, before... everything. Hell hadn't been made yet because, while yes there was darkness, there were no lower beings to corrupt. Thus no use for a pit to contain them. But then Adam and Lilith happened. Then Eve...

Mammon: So what? We're screwed?

He shook his head.

Lucifer: No. Just me.

Satan: Huh? What do you mean, just you?

Shit. What is with his mouth today?

Lucifer: ..... Michael told me that he took a look at the Fates and saw me among those on the battlefield.

Beelzebub: Excuse me?!

Satan: What the hell??

Leviathan: So it will happen down here? Because there is no way we are letting you go back up there for anything.

Belphegor: Were you also planning on keeping that to yourself? Really, Lucifer?!

Asmodeus: I don't like this.

Charlie: The Fates?

He understood their reactions; after all, this was too big of a revelation to keep quiet for this long about.

Alastor had been awfully quiet beside him, but he can't dwell on that right now nor will he call out the look of disdain the guy is giving Levi.

'Do those two know each other?'

In the end, he chose to ignore Belphegor's accusation (is it really an accusation if it's true?) in favor of answering his daughter.

Lucifer: The threads of life. Pre-written destinies of every being in existence. It might be placed in Heaven, but no one, not even Father, can change what has already been woven.

Charlie: And Archangel Michael saw yours? How?

Lucifer: I-You'll have to ask him that. I fell before the duty of guarding the Fates was passed onto me. I have limited understanding as it is.

He's digging his own grave but it's not a total lie.

Charlie: And do you trust him?

Her question throws him in a loop. Because what?

Lucifer: What?

Charlie: I can tell you have resentment for him. Do you not trust his word? Is that why you were not in a hurry to tell any of us because you think it's a trap or something?

Lucifer: Regardless of what my feelings towards Michael, I believe his words. He is not one to involve Hell in anything that can be solved within Heaven. And I want to say that I'm sorry for not telling you all the moment I got back. The only thing I can say is that I was tired and with everything that just happened in Sloth, all I wanted was to sleep. I promise that I didn't know any of that stuff you saw would happen.

Charlie: But what was that, dad?

Lucifer: My appearance might not be the only thing the ritual affected.

Lies.

Lucifer: I'm handling it.

Lies.

Lucifer: I swear it's nothing to worry about.

LIES.

He gives her a smile that he hopes is comforting enough but based on her crunched up expression, it must have came off more strained.

Charlie: Dad...

Tense silence fills the room. Lucifer's well aware no one believes him but he knows they won't try to push further. They are well acquainted with his character, after all. Cowardly but stubborn.

Satan: We'll get our forces ready then.

Lucifer: Huh?

Satan: What? Did you think we'll just sit here and let our King fight alone?

Lucifer: Look, no one else needs to be involved. I am-

Satan: -the King of Hell, are you not? And whoever threatens our King is our enemy.

Everyone let out a chorus of agreement. The Sin of Pride crumples the bedsheets in his hold. There's tears threatening to fall from his eyes in his disbelief.

How did he find people who are all so willing to fight for him? He feels a pang of guilt for he knows that regardless of what they do, he will meet his end in that war.

But how could he tell them that? Tell his family, these demons he raised, that he'll be leaving them?

A Marigold being tucked behind his ear made him look at his silent pillar. Alastor grabs a hold of his hand and plants a kiss on top of it in a manner that makes his heart flutter like a lovesick teen.

Alastor: We will do everything in our power to keep you safe, my King.

Lucifer: I believe you.

He wishes he could stop with the lies.

-----------------------------------------------

Once the battlecries died down in favor of the Sins giving Alastor a weird version of a shovel talk, they hear shouts outside the room.

It kept getting closer and closer until the door bursts open revealing the rest of the hotel residents, all holding some form of weapons on them.

He would've thought they were under attack until Vaggie and Angel toss something, no someone, on the ground.

It was a face Lucifer never thought he'd be able to see again. Because he's dead. He should know because he burned the body in Hellfire himself.

On the floor, beaten and bruised, is a half-goat demon wearing a face of a dead man. It grunts and let's out an awkward laugh as it meets his eyes.

Adam: Haha..... Sup, bro.

-----------------------------------------------

Apologies if that last part is weirdly cut cos I wanted Luci to say that but then I also wanted Adam to appear now.

I'd appreciate any comments or DMs left on your thoughts about everything so far! Reblogs and likes are also much appreciated <3

Have a happy weekend everyone!

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hazbmymhotel · 3 days

Text

Heading to the spider’s nest

Chapter 6 is out!!

“It feels good to be doin’ my own business for once, Husker,” Angel said, stretching his arms above his head. It brought attention to a silky blouse he was wearing, paired with a tiny plaid skirt. Angel vowed to find something more matronly on the way home.

“Didn't you do shit for yourself all the time outside of the studio?” Husk asked, stretching his wings back behind him. “As far as deals went, yours was fairly lax.”

“Psh. I'm gonna tell you the scars I got under my fur say otherwise,” Angel rolled his eyes. He turned the corner, heading towards the dingiest part of the city.

“You should show me sometime,” Husk said, his voice low and flirty.

Angel grinned, “shut up, Kitty Cat. I got fuckin’ work to do. I can't be all weak kneed.” Though he was still trembling from the withdrawals, it was an easier shaking to handle than tummy flips.

“Do we have a plan?” Husk asked.

“Mm. Well, I figured I'd just go in and ask,” Angel answered. “I mean, my Father is probably gonna be a real prick, but Arackniss will tell me whatever I want if I ask real nice.”

“And your Mother?”

“Ma will probably tell me somethin’ crazy stupid and hand me the worst mixtape ever made. I'm glad she's moved on from records, though, those are annoying to carry around.”

“Your ‘Ma’ likes music?” Husk asked, a small smile playing on his lips. “Was she big in the jazz scene?”

Angel shrugged a little, “I mean, maybe? She was usually gettin’ pushed around by Dad. He's a real asshole.”

“Am I going to have to watch out for him?” Husk raised his eyebrows. “Am I going to need to be a barrier between you two?”

“Why ya askin’ these kinda questions?” Angel asked, frowning.

“It's not the first time I've gotten married on a whim and met the parents after the fact. It's also not the first time I've had to deal with my spouse’s shitty father.”

Angel paused his step.

“You've been married before?”

Husk stopped a few feet ahead, turning his head back. “Twice…technically three times if you count that ceremony in India.”

“Excuse me?” Angel wheezed. “How come you've never said nothin’?”

“You've never asked.” Husk tapped his foot until Angel started walking again. “It's not common to just discuss topside life unless you're freshly buried.”

“Well, yeah…Yeah, I know that. I'm just…” Angel chewed his lip. “I feel like I shoulda asked that.”

Husk patted his own jacket and pulled out a flask. “What else do you feel like you should ask?” He took a swig.

Angel held his hand out until Husk gave him a sip. “Do you got any kids?”

Husk sighed. “Makes sense that was the next question. Two. One of my girls is in hell as far as I know.”

“Am I gonna meet her after this?” Angel’s heart was slamming in his chest as he handed back the flask.

“She told me not to talk to her after my second marriage. She's made it clear that we're not going to down here.” Husk tilted his head back on his next drink.

Angel asked quickly, “And how'd your first marriage end?”

“Hah.” Husk smirked a little. “Fucked a twink outside of a club in Chicago after I botched a magic show.”

“So she caught ya?”

“No…No, I couldn't keep that a secret.” Husk capped his flask. “I had a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve…I learned to play my cards close to my chest after that. My second marriage ended after I gave her the clap.”

Angel barked out a laugh then covered his mouth. “Sorry, sorry! I thought it woulda been the gamblin’...I didn't realize you were a whore.”

Husk decidedly reopened his flask.

“The gambling didn't help.” He took a drink. “Sometimes it was the stakes I was bettin’ on that got me into someone's bed. Sometimes I…just couldn't help myself.” Husk wrinkled his nose, “it's no excuse. I don't find myself attracted to a lot of people, but when I do, it can be hard to control the urge.”

“Should I be insulted that you barely looked at me then?” Angel crossed his arms.

“You get insulted if someone misgenders your pig.”

“Fat Nuggets is a prince and should be respected,” Angel pouted.

“Hm.” Husk finally tucked his flask away. “No, I wouldn't be too worried if I were you, Angel. You're interestin’ when you're being honest. Plus you're gorgeous, which is a bonus.”

Angel blushed beneath his fur. He tightened his crossed arms over his chest and stomach, trying to contain the butterflies. “I mean…you're not half bad yourself. Am I gonna have to drag you home from some dame's house occasionally when you get too ‘hot and bothered’ or whatever?”

“Maybe. I don't really discriminate on gender… but I imagine it won't be long before you're missing having a group of men toss you around. Fair trade, right?” Husk tucked his wings closer to himself, knowing his Infidelities had usually been deal breakers.

Angel considered. “Fair. I do like t’have my holes filled.”

“One man’s cock cannot do all that,” Husk said.

“Yeah, but yours has all those…little nubs on it,” Angel found himself breathless again.

Husk cleared his throat a little. “Penile spines…An unfortunate side effect of my cat body. It's been effective at keeping me from fuckin’ anybody.”

“Excuse me?!?! Unfortunate?!” Angel fanned himself with all four arms. “I am goin’ insane at the thought of that thing rubbin’ at my insides. Will you make those cute little sounds you do all the time?” He stumbled a little. “Oh man. Maybe we shouldn't go today, I'm gettin' all weak kneed.”

“I don't make little sounds,” Husk said under his breath with a pouting mrrow. His tail flicked.

“Stop, you're killin' me!” Angel begged. “You're a little guy, and I just can't take it!”

“Could you stop flirting this hard in public?” Husk blushed furiously.

“ME?!” Angel could weep, he was so worked up.

Both of them straightened up, hands going to their holsters when someone burst out of a side door.

“What's all this racket?!” Arackniss yelled, his many eyes searching the scene while he raised two guns. His gazes settled on Angel and he relaxed. “Anthony!” He tucked his guns away. “What're you’s doin’ here, you gigantic cunt?”

Husk bristled, but Angel squealed, running forward and throwing his arms around the other spider.

“I was hopin’ it'd be you, you big fuckin’ knuckle head!” Angel squeezed his brother, having to lean over heavily to do so. The other man hugged Angel firmly, arms overlapping each other on his slim waist.

“Did the cat drag you in? Haha, who's that mook, huh?” Arackniss asked, patting Angel’s back to let him go.

Angel beamed back at Husk. “Oh, Nickie, that's my new husband, Husker.”

Arackniss shoved Angel aside and squared up at Husk, stalking towards him. It wasn't often he was taller than another demon, so it was nice to feel intimidating. “You’s think I'm gonna let my little baby brother frolic around with another goddamn queer ass little bitch with a tight ass and broad shoulders?”

Husk readied his hand on his playing cards.

“‘Course I am!” Arackniss raised his own arms threateningly…and wrapped all six around the man in a firm grip. “Put ‘er there, you’s mangy animal! I'm Nicolas!”

Husk squirmed and mrowled aggressively until he was able to wriggle free. He smoothed his hands over his fur. “Charmed,” he said flatly.

Arackniss laughed and slapped Angel’s back. “You's sure do like pricks!”

“Well I like you, don't I?” Angel slung two arms around his shoulder. “I got a question for ya, bro. You got a minute?”

The shorter spider glanced at the door, then back at Angel. “We're sorta interrogatin–”

The door slammed open again. “Arackniss, what's takin’ you’s? We got fingers to cut.”

Arackniss made an indecisive sound, “mmmnnListen, come on in. We's got some fuckin’ guests, boys!” He grabbed both of their arms, tugging Husk and Angel inside.

Husk crossed his arms, surveying the scene. It was an old warehouse of sorts. There were hooks and chains dangling from the ceiling.

“This'll only take a minute, Anthony,” Arackniss promised, stalking into a back room.

Husk frowned, his eyes dilating in the dimly lit space. Angel’s eyes glowed, which only made Husk feel more on edge in the current situation.

“Lame,” Angel complained. “Guess we better find Ma before Dad shows up.” He started walking away from Arackniss’ position. “I hope her little office is still back this way.”

“Hm.” Husk’s voice was low. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Angel?” He followed him and flattened his ears back to the sounds of muffled screams.

“What? Are you scared, Whiskers?” Angel asked, “didn't you tell me once you know how to interrogate a man?”

“It works a lot better if you butter them up first,” Husk said, glancing back. “Torture just gets them to say whatever you want to hear.”

“I dunno…I like torture. Makes me get wet.” Angel whispered, still feeling tingly from their moment outside.

“Can you stop thinking about sex for one–it makes you wet?” Husk’s feathers fluffed.

“Baby, have you really never watched one of my movies?” Angel asked, surprised. “Probably that's my special demon power. I was just reborn to be a star.”

Husk held his face in his paw and sighed.

“Oh! There it is!” Angel grabbed his hand off his face and pulled him forward. He knocked on a door eagerly. “Ma! You in there?”

“Come in!” A raspy voice called.

Angel opened the door to a plume of incense smoke. Probably. “I'm gonna assume that's incense,” he said out loud as he stepped in.

“I've been expectin’ you’s both,” said a woman settled into a large chair spun of webs. “My Tony, sweet boy, come gives me a big kiss.”

Angel giggled and pranced to her side, letting his mother smooch both of his cheeks. He stood straight and bounced back to Husker, grabbing both of his hands. “Ma, this is my husband, Husker, Husk, this is my Ma, Amy.”

“Amphetamy, please. The Don is lurking,” she warned.

Angel sighed and shut the door behind him. “Figures. I was hopin’ to avoid that big-” he stopped as Amphetamy leveled him a look. “Sorry, Ma. I came to ask Arackniss a question, but he's busy.”

Husk cleared his throat. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.

“It’s good to see my boy settling down with a distinguished gentleman,” she said, holding her hands out and gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.

Husk looked at Angel before they both took a seat. The woman busied herself with lighting a new incense cone and laying out a few saucers. She filled each one with a different substance: wine, whiskey, and cream. She unwrapped a cassette tape and used her spindly fingers to wind the take-up reel. Finally, Amphetamy heaved a boom box onto the table, and placed the tape inside.

Husk found himself staring at the saucer of cream until Angel startled him.

“We're gettin’ a fortune, huh?” Angel asked flatly. “The last one didn't make any damned sense, Ma. It was full of the goddamn Beatles and Rollin’ Stones.”

“And ACDC.” Amphetamy scoffed at him. “Learn some manners, boy. I'm doing a service for you's. If you’d have listened to my last tape, your soul would still never had fallen into a moth’s hands.”

Angel pursed his lips.

“How does this work, Ma’am?”

“I will answer your questions with my favorite medium. Music.” Amphetamy smiled at Husk, decidedly pouring additional cream into a glass, handing it to him as a reward for not being a little shit.

Husk tried not to look too eager.

“Go on, drink, it's not for my work.” Amphetamy urged. “But what is…I want to hear those questions.” She hit the “record” button on the boom box.

Husk sipped his cream, licking his lips to clear it from his fur. His tongue stuck out in a small blep, forgotten there.

Angel leaned on his elbow and watched Husker adoringly. “Well, Ma,” he said, voice wistful, “I broke a contract a couple's nights ago.”

“That isn't a question, child.”

Angel tried not to squirm as he watched Husk take another sip, absently licking the edge of the glass. He was so cute it hurt. “Well I broke my contract on a whim, Ma. And I don't know how I did it.”

Amphetamy looked at him flatly then looked at Husk. “Could one of you’s please articulate this into a question? Anyquestion??”

Husk gave a soft, warm chuckle. “Sorry, ma'am, we both know Angel has trouble with simple instruction.”

“Hey,” Angel pouted.

Husk continued, “How did Angel Dust break his own contract with Valentino?”

“Good,” Amphetamy said as the Boom Box started to whir. “More questions.”

Angel frowned, “you're not gonna answer us.”

“Questions!!” Amphetamy hissed.

“Ffffine. Are you not gonna answer us, Ma? Ow!” Angel jumped as Husk pinched his arm.

“Not those kinds of questions, jackass.” Husk swirled his cup, thinking. “How will our mutual contract affect us?”

“Good. Better. Keep asking as they bubble into your heads,” Amphetamy encouraged.

Angel rubbed his arm, pouting. “Will doing this bite me in the ass?”

“Less vague,” she said, guiding.

“Will promisin’ myself to Husk…I mean…is it a good idea?” Angel asked nervously, turning to watch his mother.

Husk, unbothered, asked, “what do we do about our contract now?”

“Should I try overlordin?”

Amphetamy held up a hand and looked at her boom box.

“Ask…different questions. Take your time.”

Angel groaned and turned to watch Husk again, trying to decide what to ask next.

Husk dipped his tongue into his glass.

Angel’s eyes glistened. “Isn't he the cutest, Ma?”

She sighed. Husk glared at him, but the look softened as his mind worked.

“How will our contract end?” Husk asked somberly.

“Don't ask shit like that!” Angel gasped, horrified, “take it back! Ma, how do I make the contract un-end?”

Husk reached over and held his paw on Angel’s arm. Angel covered it with two of his own hands, squeezing. “How do I even know what to do, Ma? I need advice for once!”

“I'm giving it to you,” Amphetamy promised. “Two more questions.”

“No you ain't!”

“Angel, calm down,” Husk soothed.

“No! All I want is for my fuckin' afterlife to be better than my shitty fuckin’ human life! Is that so much to ask?!”

“One more question.”

Husk set his glass down and stood on his chair to reach. He held Angel’s face in his hands and looked in his eyes. “Calm down…You know I love you, right?”

Amphetamy reached over and turned off the recording. “Such a difficult boy.”

Angel weakly touched Husk's hands on his face, eyes wet. “You love me? You do?”

Husk leaned forward, kissing his forehead. “Yes.” He grunted as Angel pulled him off of his chair, holding him tightly.

Clearing her throat, Amphetamy held out the cassette. “Listen to the songs. Really listen, Angel.”

Angel looked over Husk's shoulder and reached out for the tape. “It's gonna be bad, isn't it?”

“I don't know. The music places itself on there,” Amphetamy said, “now, listen.”

Angel nodded. Husk hopped down, having to stand on his toes to look over the desk. “Thank you, Ma'am.”

“I like this one, Angel, he's the first polite man you've brought home,” Amphetamy said. “Now go on before the Don finds you’s both.”

“Yeah, yeah…I know he's gonna be mad I didn't get permission for this,” Angel rolled his eyes. Still, he smiled warmly at her, “I love you, Ma.”

She blew him a kiss.

Angel and Husk walked through the now quiet warehouse, their feet each padding and clicking on the cement respectfully. When they reached the outside, Angel handed Husk the tape. “Keep it safe for Mommy, would ya?”

Husk huffed, but took it anyway, tucking it into his jacket. He paused. He frantically tapped over his jacket and pants. “My cards.”

“What?” Angel asked, startled.

“My fuckin’ cards are missing!”

Angel, alarmed, gave himself a once over. He wheezed. “My knife.”

“Not your guns?”

“My angelic knife,” Angel’s voice was tight. “Arackniss.”

Husk bristled, ready to turn heel.

“No-!” Angel grabbed his shoulder. “That's the only angelic weapon I had on me.”

“I'm not leavin’ my favorite fuckin' deck!” Husk growled. “And we can't let them figure out what that knife does.”

Angel grit his teeth. “Shit. Shit, you're right.”

#huskerdust #hazbin hotel #mymart #husker #fanfic #til death do us part

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uncanny-tranny · 7 months

Text

The leftism/anticapitalism leaving people's bodies the zeptosecond you imply that disabled people who aren't "productive" still matter in society and need to be treated like intrinsic equals who have a place in this world:

#disability #disability advocacy #described images #image description in alt #ableism #ableism tw #my full-time job is my disability and you're lucky that i am still 'productive' as-is #your boss doesn't care that you think you're superior for being hired by them. they're still going to treat you like profit machines #it astounds me how people will capitulate for oppression because they place their intrinsic value in their ability to be at the top...#...or at least 'at the top' compared to others. it's the same impulse that makes people think their cisgender status makes them superior...#...you are placing your worth into systems which not only oppress others but offer you no true sense of worth...#...ESPECIALLY if you're also being exploited (even if just a bit)...#...you have a job sure but... do you actually get treated like a human being? are you actually paid? are you actually safe?...#...if the answer to any of those questions and more is 'no' then why do you place your value in capitalistic production. genuinely.#and why would you DEMAND disabled people to have the same exploitation you experience. why do you DEMAND productivity if you are proletaria #yes being a leftist and anticapitalist are linked but. some people still internalize capitalism without questioning it #being a leftist is about challenging that rather than assuming you're correct i think #also scientists were very silly when describing time that's like. less than a millisecond i think

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boxwinebaddie · 1 month

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STAN HAS THAT K CHOKER RIGHT? DOES THAT MEAN KYLE HAS AN S NECKLACE? like he could totally stack his s necklace with his star of david one

aaaaaaaaa

you know i love a lil matchy-matchy moment~

and actually, i accumulated a lot of different asks actually, mostly, interestingly enough asking me about the same roundabout thing: if jersey wears rings, how he feels about jewelry, if he has any tattoos or other piercings, stuff of the like, etc.

but i never got around to answering those because i'm kind of a perfectionist and i get all worked up in my head about how i'm going to answer things because i want them to be perfect ( i keep trying to structure nsfw ask like it's a nine page research essay, smh ) buuut

basically, as we all know well, jersey is…Particular.

particularly abt himself and what is done to him/on him.

( okay, fair warning: the rest of this answer is very long and i just talk a lot about the former question about jersey/his attachments to material things and also physical-emotional things — people — you do not have to read all that...the short answer is yes, kyle does stack a stan 's' necklace with the star of david, i talk about it more at the end, but this intro part is a lot of exposition and information. so if your curiosity does not end there...perhaps i can further it below xx )

a lot of it ties into his ocd and this need to control every aspect of his life, not being able to put it in anyone elses hands but his own because he's scared of that improbability...that margin of error.

it keeps him up at night.

for that reason, even though he has a ton of health issues, diabetes, etc. he is extremely Defiant and Volatile in doctors offices. like, he will start throwing shit, rip ivs out of his arms, ask you to explain what you are giving him In Detail and will probably still refuse to take it.

tbh, the only reason he's taking any medication at all is because he really loves sheila and she is extremely worried about losing him </3

( jersey is a mommas boy, i said what i said! )

but he takes his own blood sugar, pricks his own fingers, runs all his own tests...he really does not trust anyone else w/ that kind of thing. which ties into piercings because he does...think that they're…lowkey, highkey *jersey vc* Hawt, i’m sorry; it's true.

i do think it's his...Thing.

the man really just wants a little hot topic emo boy accessory display for a boyfriend and he is right for that. cute, shiny, edgy. i respect it.

eye candy, arm candy, if you will?

( jersey is extremely partial to candy, ofc <3 )

and idk, maybe it's just a me thing, but to me, jerseykyle, specifically, is very conceptual and is intrigued by fashion and stuff, but because when he was overweight growing up, he was sort of just shoe-horned into all this oblong, ugly clothing, whatever would fit or they could afford. so he never really got to be able to wear things he wanted to, until about right now and it's been really liberating for him? idk? aaa

i love sleek, chic, dark academia, tired 1940s evil classics professor, thrift store couture jersey in his dollar store blazers and italian loafers. like my man is an off duty model, forreal. i am obsessed with him.

and actually he really Likes tattoos and piercings and dyed hair and thinks all the little rings are cool because you're like this living art form, this distinct individual, there's a uniqueness, a cool rebellion there he can’t create have within himself, so he combats/masks it as disgust and disinterest because he doesn't like to process his complicated feelings and also doesn't like forming attachments...especially...

...to things he's inexplicably Drawn to.

which is why, initially, upon even just bearing witness to raven of crimson dawn, kyle freaked out because he was like immediately Extremely Attracted to him because he checks all these little boxes in his brain, but his brain, of course, is corroded by mental illness and trauma, so he immediately projects extreme amounts of hostility in raven's direction because he is like you're all chaos and disorder, you're a mess, you throw caution to the wind, You’re Unpredictable.

when he’s actually obsessed w/ that capricious energy?

like he makes fun of stan for all his punk rock boy 'hood ornaments' and 'anarchical embellishments', but his heart starts racing every time stan winks at him and his little eyebrow piecing winks back, or he runs his tongue over that lip ring kyle got hyperfixated on, partially because it's pretty, which...rip, not even joking…

if stan comes out in the support rock, fuck a rockstar tank top, the tiny pants and sports that little lip ring chain thing that connects to the cuff on his ear...it does something seriously ( down ) bad to kyle's brain and stan is immediately getting Railed. soz if you were waiting for stan's autograph, hes gettin ky's all over his body. woops.

but!!! it's mostly bc stan had the courage and hedonism to put something through his lip and live with it. that he could get other piercings, get tattoos, let people handle him, put his life into someone else's hands, let them have control for a second, knowing they are executing the thing you want/need without you doing it...

it's literally All a control thing.

or rather, an inability to lose it.

because he's very particular, yeah, about what he likes and doesn't like, he won't wear any fabrics that itch or bother him, he won't buy something if the hem pisses him off, if he has to wear something he doesn't like, he will bitch and moan the entire day about it. and while it's good to have that level of self-assuredness, it's also kind of a self-preservation and self destructive coping mechanism for jerseykyle.

because he pushes everything out...

but doesn't let anything else in.

and a lot of that changes when raven/stan comes back into the picture, because when they were growing up, stan was this beautiful, glowing fixture of nonconformity, this pillar of strength that was twice as strong as he was, even though kyle was the fighter. because stan fought for self-acceptance and kyle fought for self-loathing.

and really...the reason why his ed developed in the first place was because gerald and society as a whole brainwashed him into hating himself and that people would only digest him if he was in small enough, beautiful, palatable enough pieces to eat so even though he acts out or throws punches: It’s All Within The Lines.

or the confines, rather.

of the person he thinks people want him to be.

but, idk, i'm talking too much. basically, gist is, kyle has a hard time handing over control to other people/being vulnerable and the final piece to that is...permanence.

a piercing...a tattoo...is Permanent.

i mean, sure, they close up and you can get them removed, but you are irreconcilably changed and altered. you are different now.

anddddd sigh, the jersey can't say i love you ask strikes again! because jersey can't say i love you because it's handing over control, because it's vulnerable because it's...permanent and he has extremely deep-seated commitment issues because of all of that.

which means he rarely, if ever, makes said commitments.

so when he Does...

it's a very special thing indeed.

because jersey has no tattoos or piercings on his body.

save for the sun/moon one he got on his ring finger for stan ( i can never decide if i want jersey to have the sun tattoo because he is the sun or if he has the moon one so he can wear rae around with him )

*** ( i also think it's possible he might get little hebrew things for his mom or idk, something very important later...i'll think about it more )

and...One ear piercing.

i was going to go at this in more comical and dramatic way in an old post, but basically, i think kenny/bebe/craig someone basically joked about there being reduced earring piercings at claire's and they should take kyle because he's the only one without pierced ears and jersey gets really defensive about it and everyone's like ooooh! kyle's scared to get his ears pierced, so the competitive and aggressive side of him that hates to lose briefly outweighs the neurotic side and is like "fuck you!!! let's go right now! i'm not scared of anything!"

and he gets there, stan's with him, and he is...freaking out in the little plastic chair with some eight year old girl next to him ecstatically getting her ears pierced for her birthday, bc he's going to have to let someone...do something to him/inflict something on him.

( which actually, i think, is what is really beautiful about j.k and r.s' relationship and dynamic, is that jersey teaches raven that you can't just let people do things you don't want them to do to you just because you feel like you should ft. his sexual trauma and stan teaches kyle that it is okay to let other people in, to do reckless things, to allow yourself to feel and enjoy simple pleasures w/o fear. ft. his ocd

lmao, is there a branch in my eye again? y is it Watering )

and ravenstan is like, mi amor, they are just your ears, you will be okay, i will hold your hand…

everything will be fine, i swear. :’) <3

and he gets hyped up, ready to go, the 16 y/o piercing his ears tells him she'll count to three and pierce on one.

...and she pierces on Three.

i'm not sure if it's bc she pressed too soon or because she thought that if she surprised him, it might make him less nervous, but it does not!!!! kyle FREAKS out!!!! his ocd goes haywire and basically has a nervous breakdown at freaking /claires/ bc she pierced his ear before she SAID she would and destroys the confidence that he built up to let himself be vulnerable.

it seems like a Silly thing...but i think it says a lot, yknow?

and though it was a serious blow to his ego, kyle only has...one ear pierced because he panicked and could not get the second one done. and it, to this day, is one of the only asymmetrical things abt him. which, i actually think is important to him coping w/ his ocd

( similar to how kyle, sorry slight nsfw, having stan have to ask for things if he wants them, helps him, in a seemingly innocuous way, build confidence in himself/not let things just 'happen' to him without his consent ) because having only one ear pierced means he has to deal with being lopsided and that, everyday the earth doesn't crash into the sun...means that he's okay.

also a cute thing about the one ear piercing is that i think kyle wears like this cute little gold sun dangly one that has a similar ambiance to the sun and moon glasses chain charms? it's his signature.

and other than showering, sleeping, etc. he only really ever takes it out when raven is going off somewhere far away :( and he switches it with a little stan silver earring ( idk kyle feels very gold jewelry bc of his orange hair and stan feels v silver bc of his blue eyes and stuff ) and stan sometimes takes kyle's with him on tour...AAAAA i'm sad

on the subject of rings, since someone else asked me, kyle does not wear rings even though he does like them/they're pretty because they're heavy, they clank against his pen when he's writing, the sound pisses him off...but he wears stan's lil silver emo boy rings when he's away and gaslit himself into liking the sound because the sound it makes against his pen reminds him of the sound it makes when stan is excitedly scribbling song lyrics and singing to him aaaaa IM :(

WHERE WAS I GOING WITH THIS AGAIN?

oh, yeah.

extreme mental illness.

so jersey never makes adjustments or accommodations for anyone, and when he does it's a big deal...but really...

it's because Stan is a big deal to him.

stan is EVERYTHING to him.

and kyle thinks it's cute that at every show and every concert, stan always wears the little spicy k charm on his emo boy choker ( and got the little even spicier inner thigh tattoo w kyle's name on it...anyways )

so, he starts wearing a little s around his neck for stan.

which, initially, i'm sure you're like...oh God.

jersey making an adjustment to his very specific cartoon character outfit alignment of things he wears every day, things he wears at home, things he wears specifically when going out depending on the environment...this sounds like a recipe for disaster. this is a big change for him. he's gonna spin out or short circuit his brain.

but...really? it feels as easy as Breathing.

because for one of the first times in his life, kyle got something that he didn't just get for him, w/ selfish intentions or bc he needs to be in control...he got it...

to make stan happy. :)

and it does make him very, Very happy, indeed.

which is really funny to me because jersey is super annoying and just starts wearing it and pretends like he doesn't know what's going on bc he's bad at ~gestures~. so stan comes home, sees it and immediately is like *big stan eyes* 'what are you wearing??'

and kyle is like, ‘oh, this? i've had it forever, it's was just in the back of the closet. why? is it wrinkled or—‘ and stan is like 'no, dummy. the NECKLACE' and kyle, playing dumb, trying to act nonchalant because he's kind of embarrassed abt having emotions is like 'oh, that. y'know. just something i'm trying out...' and stan is like

'kyle broflovski, are you wearing a necklace with my initial on it????' and kyle is like 'alright, woah there, mr. celebrity. but not eeeeverything is about you, okay? that s could stand for anything.'

and stan is like *genuine heart eyes wowza because kyle is being annoying but stan loves dumb annoying kyle that's why he wears his lil possessive emo boy k charm on his choker everywhere* 'okay, well the k on mine stands for kiss me or kiss me kyle or whatever you want just, come and kiss me please' kshdlkshd <333 eWW

anyways...they're Gay. they're in love. they having matching tattoos and earrings and wear eachother's intials around their neck. nbd.

but...in a very longwinded format, i hope this answers your question baby and hopefully some other questions you have abt jersey. i'm sorry that was a lot but i literally could talk about jersey forever, like he is so fascinating and bc he's our narrator and he's such an unreliable one, it's hard to understand how his brain works.

hope this helps. <3

uncle nina, keeper of the cryptid jersey whore-lore

#okay i am sorry #i know this barely answers your question #but i got a lot of similar questions #and i wanted to answer them in one big ask while i was feeling inspired so here is a bunch of jersey trauma lore #i hope it's fascinating i find it all super fascinating #because he presents like this perfectly in control orderly well maintained militant self-satisfying self gratified thing #but it's just a front for the fact that he's scared of change and is scared of not being in control or making mistakes #like he is put together but a breath away from falling apart #stan teaches him to sit down kyle teaches him to stand up #also sorry kyle having a fascination with edgy boy things and piercings and stuff in particular is kinda spicy to me #i luv him like he really is like that man is a satanic abomination and i want to do terrible horrible depraved things to him #like he really saw raven of crimson dawn and was like oy gevault i have never wanted to cut my lip open on anything #more than on that mans lip ring holy hell oh my god he is so shiny and ripped up and his makeup is so cool #he is a celebrity he has no original thought he doesnt think abt anything thats why he has all those tattoos and piercings #but also y do i want to trace my fingers down them every time i look at him he reveals himself more to me i want to learn more #kinsey scale gay 6 jerseykyle everyone but specifically for dramatic crybaby bisexual punk rock boys w/ piercings #which...i think is incredible bc i do not think people would expect that from kyle...but people also thinks he cannot feel #BUT HIM ADJUSTING HIS WELL REGIMENTED LIFE TO INCOPORATE STAN INTO IT I WANT TO SCREAM #HIM LEARNING TO LET OTHER PEOPLE DO STUFF FOR HIM AND BE OKAY WITH THEM HELPING HIM #I WANT TO START FUCKING SCREAMING I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS ALL DAY I LOVE JERSEYS CHAR DEV #ok final thot is he does sometimes do a gold jewelry ring moment or somethin if he's feeling like its important to the look #but they are very insignificant things for aesthetics easily taken off or removed...its the important stuff he has trouble w #and makes it all the more rewarding i think <3 #ily jers #okay last last small thing as far as like getting little piercings and random fun tattoos goes i just think he doesnt want any #boring king ik minus the ocd and stuff he just likes all his stuff to be very a-line and crisp doesnt like massive statements #like my man Is the statement like he has beautiful luxiourous curly red hair and green eyes and his nose a modern art piece #its too busy for him its distracting and u know thats what u have a hot rockstar bf for so u can pretend 2 read ur book #but the plot of the book is tracing ur sbfs sexc hip tattoos and helping him decide what belly button ring hes gonna wear #you know!!! The Plot!!! which kyles eidetic mem comes back but he does get distracted looking at stan a lot help

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