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yourlocalsmutwriter · 6 months

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A test of faith- Lee Sa-ra x reader drabble

TW: mentions of homophobia/conversion therapy, coercion, mentions of illegal substances, generally a fucked up fic. MINORS DNI PLEASE

Serving God was not on top of your bingo card for this year. But through a long process you were here. Religion was a bit of a taboo in your family. Your grandparents were religious. Your parents, not so much. But the tables turned when they caught you sleeping with another woman. So, off to "curing" you, you were "sick". And the only place that could "help" you was the church. It took a few years, but you were "fixed". Bullshit. Conversion camp just made you a lot sneakier when it came to hooking up with girls. Sadly, it also made you miss a lot of high-school and college. So when you came out of there, you could not land a job. There was no way to explain the gap in your resume. Yeah, my parents sent me away for being too gay wasn't really a catch for employers. So you had to go back and work for the church. You could be a counselor for the camp. Fuck that. You weren't about to scare some poor teenagers straight. So the only other option was working for the church. Cleaning, organizing events, even working behind the counter and collecting the entrance fee, you'd do it all. Though unfortunately the only way you could get a job was by asking in person.

You were terrible at interviews. Generally you were a shy person and you had trouble speaking up. So when it was time to "sell yourself" to employers, you were screwed. You wiped your sweaty palms against your skirt. It wasn't going to be that hard. 30 minutes to 45, in and out, talking about redemption, devotion, just wanting to help out.

They called you in, but instead of a small room with a desk and chairs, they led you into a pretty bare room. Before you could question anything, the door behind you was slammed and locked. And on the other side of the room, you could see the same happening to someone else. Then that person stepped forward and holy shit, it was Lee Sa-ra. The famous abstract painter, who just happened to be the daughter of the church leaders. But what was she doing here? And why were you both alone in a room? Actually, you looked around and saw that there was a bulky man keeping guard at the door. Why would you escape? Just as you thought that, a voice carried over the speakers. It said your name, followed by ''I guess you are very confused, sister. You see, you came here for a job. And we admire that. But you must know that guide lost souls back to the righteous path. But have you earned redemption? Or are you still a sinner? Can you resist temptation? and then cut out. Another message began, this time for Sa-ra. ''Sa-ra, you need redemption too. Though your sin is different. You were always more like Lilith, rather than Eve. So, use that. Earn your forgiveness by condemning others. ''

Then it got quiet. You and Sa-ra looked at each other. ''So, they obviously want us to turn on each other. But I have no benefit to sabotage you. You wanna join the church and press people, giving them the fear of God? Be my fucking guest. Judging from what I heard, you've been through some messed up shit too. So if this is your calling, go ahead. I tell you what, even standing here in your presence made me holly. So, we're free to go.'' she said. Sa-ra stared straight at our guard. He just sighed, cleared his throat, and pulled a large bag of white powder from seemingly nowhere.

''Nice try. I can buy flour too, jackass.'' Sa-ra said.

The guard once again didn't say anything, just went over to you. He dragged you by the hair and forced you to sit as he grabbed his key. He spread the white powder over it and pressed your face near it. Still, you refused to inhale. He squeezed your throat until you gasped for breath and the white powder was in your nose. He did that a few more times and carried you back to Sa-ra.

''Watch her and then tell me if it's the real stuff'' he said. Sa-ra placed her hand on your pulse point and waited for some time. She could feel your heartbeat skyrocket, watching you shiver, and repeatedly bounce your leg up and down.

But what tipped her off was your nosebleed. ''Holy shit'' Sara said. ''You gave her actual coke. ''she continued in disbelief. She knew that her parents and overall the church would never be okay with this, yet here she was on holy grounds, taking care of you, a complete stranger. So that led her to believe that this was some very fucked up revenge plan or blackmail of some sort. Or was it a test of faith?

And here you were, on a job interview, being high as a kite. But the strangeness was far from over. Because the real fun was just now getting started. The voice over the speakers began again. But this time it was different. No longer cryptic and confusing. It was clear as a bell. ''Sa-ra, you want drugs. And the other one here wants a job. But only one of you can make it out of here with your wish intact. There's a certain sin that you have both committed. Timothy 1:10.''

Sa-ra stared at you for an explanation. ''We're both gay. It's one of the 6 mentions of homosexuality in the Bible. Those have been drilled into me since conversion camp.''

''So, we've both been with some women, big deal. But how does that tie in with what we have to do to get out of here?'' Sa-ra asked. Silently you wondered that too. How could you trick her to be more gay than you? How would that be measured? Your brain replayed the previous instructions to you. It had been urging her to tempt you, so did they mean seduce you. So maybe the first one to make a move would lose. Or win. It was a dangerous gamble, but you decided to try it. You leaned it and pressed your lips to Sa-ra's. And it felt good. To your surprise, she kissed back.

Maybe it was because you were under the influence. Maybe it was because she had been your celebrity crush for some time. But you could work with this. You let her deepen the kiss and even let out a soft moan. You were already getting a bit drunk on this. You hoped that this was enough. At this point, you didn't even care about losing the job. You just wanted to go home. You finally thought you were free, as you heard the voice over the speakers again. ''I see both little lambs are on the right track. But what is a mere kiss? Did Judas not kiss Jesus? We want more. And we want it now. So I'll put it plainly for you. Whoever makes the other cum wins.''

You were shocked. But then you looked around the room. The security guard was gone. And Sa-ra was stripping. She was like an angel, you thought. Then it dawned on you how fucked up this whole thing was. Why was she going along with this so easily? Were drugs so important to her that she was willing to sacrifice her dignity like this? But then you had heard the rumors. Her stunts in Paris, with reporters calling her a whore, who sleeps on the streets. Her many dating rumors. There was the scandal of her being a sugar mommy for this college girl while using the church money. You weren't one for gossip anyway.

''Throwing in the towel,'' she asked. Then she kissed you again. You knew that you would be screwed if you also didn't do anything. So you just went with it, hoping to do some damage as well. Both of you slowly went to the floor, kissing each other. There were bits where you almost wrestled. You knew if you took control of her, maybe you could win even though dominance wasn't always your thing. But apparently, you weren't the only one with that idea. And Sa-ra somehow had more experience than you. She easily pinned you down and started taking off your clothes. Your button-down was off. Your skirt was halfway down your legs. It would help if you hated this. You should use every muscle in your body to try to escape her. Or even better turn the tables and get a shot at winning this thing. But instead, you just pulled your panties to the side. Fuck it, you were losing, but at least you'd get a nut out of it. Sa-ra spread your legs and started rubbing your clit. ''You're already so wet. At least you're gonna make this easy for me,'' she said.

You noticed a camera in the corner of the room. Shit, was it even on. And was it broadcasting this online? You were completely exposed. So you decided you weren't going down without a fight, no pun intended. First, you leaned into Sa-ra's touch, making her think you were on her side. Then, you say ''Sara unnie, you know I feel so good. But I never come from fingers. They just make me feel full and satisfied, but it's never enough. Can you please lick me? ''

She probably questioned this, as she could feel how close you were, how your walls were drawing her fingers in, and how tightly your pussy was gripping her. But she said nothing, just obliged your request. Guess altruism wasn't dead. Either that or she was a really good dom top. And apparently, this wasn't the only thing she was good at. Lee Sa-ra could retire and eat pussy for a living. You were about to show her that you weren't lacking in that department either. Or should we say, eater? As she was getting more and more into it, she let down her guard more. And you decided to strike. While her face was still buried deep in your cunt, you buried yours in hers. Thank God for Sa-ra's love for dresses. You felt bad about ripping her designer clothes. But you were not walking out of this room without a fight. At least this way you wouldn't be a sore loser. You moved her underwear to the side and began eating her out. Shit, she was wet, possibly even wetter than you. Was this whole thing turning her on? You selfishly wished that this whole thing didn't happen and the two of you met in a normal way. If that were the case, mutual orgasms would be a given.

69 wasn't your favorite position. Or at least it hadn't been until now. Your bodies were pressed closely together, so with every move your tits were rubbing against Sa-ra's and hers against yours. Not only that, but every moan she let out was a vibration on your clit. Fuck, you could get used to this. You could feel yourself getting ready to cum, but Sa-ra was also close. So you kept your tongue on her clit and slipped a finger inside of her. And that was all she needed to finish. At the exact same second that you did.

At least this was over. There was no winner, no loser. Until you heard the voice on the speakers announce. ''Round 1, Draw. Please prepare for a tiebreaker.''

#the glory #the glory x reader #Lee sa-ra #sara lee #Lee Sara x reader

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princesspuresarahk · 6 months

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The Batman Au: Riddler’s Reform

Chapter:1 Court and Freedom

Arkham Asylum at the private courtroom Edward G. Nygma was waiting for the judge's final verdict after analyzing Edward's case for following his treatment in rehab successful and good behavior being seen fit to reenter society and being proven innocent of the incident the accident of the Dean of Gotham University caused by his former colleague Julie Porter who and Chuck Gorman who was also charged for attempt murder of Edward and the Batman who discovered was cheating in dirty contracts tricking businesses to sell out their inventions in scams and hidden rules both were charged in the scandals. Removing it from Edward's criminal history “In light of additional information about matters regarding a stolen invention that came to light from the Batman, I am proud to say Mr. Nygma that you’ve been improving so much since you returned to finish your treatment in Arkham.” said a woman wearing a black Judge’s uniform with a white blouse underneath, she sat about on a judge’s stand looking down at Edward with her nameplate reading Janet Van Dorn.

“Your Honor, I’m pleased to say that Mr. Nygma has successfully passed all of his therapy sessions with me. His participation and openness in his… criminal history have helped to rid Mr. Nygma of the Riddler permanently. Which is why I’m pleased to declare Mr. Nygma as legally sane and fit to re-assimilate with society” said Dr. Christina Bartholomew, who wore a white lab coat with a light rose button-down blouse and grey jumper over it. The doctor was new to Arkham, she’d taken over the role of Head Psychologist of Arkham Asylum when Dr. Hugo Strange had himself become legally insane. Edward let out a sigh of relief tomorrow he’d be free and start a new beginning as he was being led to his private room where patients go for their final days before being released one of the guards came to him with a phone it was Kayla one of the guards who were friendly to him "you have a call Edward it's from a Miss Saddler.?" Edward knew who it was as he was given the phone and the guards left him in his room for privacy until he was done "Hello Scarlet" he called letting himself relax on his bed.

Meanwhile, over at Wayne Industries, Bruce Wayne was in his office and was looking over resumes on his computer. Lucius Fox was with Bruce as they were both planning a large corporate event, a hiring spree that would bring new employees to the company. This year, the company wanted to hire reformed cons as several departments needed new spots to be filled.

“Bruce, there’s one young man that I think will be an excellent fit for the company. He’s due to be released back into society Tomorrow. If I recall correctly, his name is… Edward Nygma… yeah that’s him” said Lucius as Bruce pulled up Edward’s file that contained everything from his academic history to his work credentials.

“I’m not sure about hiring him, Bruce. Despite the fact his academic history is phenomenal, his criminal history says otherwise” said Lucius as he continued to look over his file. Bruce had a good look at Edward’s file before getting up and walking towards the large window that overlooked all of Gotham.

“I believe that all people can change, I know deep down that Nygma wants to change too. Besides, I see Edward Nygma as having a successful future here at Wayne Tech. Lucius, see if you can bring him in for an interview. I’d like to meet him, and I know you would too judging by his credentials” said Bruce as he sat back down, and clicked on Nygma’s file to consider it for later.

“I know your Father would have made a similar decision in your shoes. He may no longer be with us, but his good spirit in conducting business honestly still resides in you Bruce” said Lucius as he and Bruce looked up at the large portrait of Dr. Thomas Wayne; who founded the company years ago.

The next morning Edward had woken early for release Kayla the kind guard gave him some clothes she found from Arkham's donation room though they were a bit worn in size as she only was able to find some jeans that were a bit snug around the hips, some underwear, a soft pink tank top and a Gotham Gator's hoodie that was worn and big but it will be comfortable for him some slip on sneakers that she was able to find where his size with her describing Edward having Cinderella feet though sadly couldn't find any socks for him but he said it was all right and surprising him more with her kindness gave him a bagel with cream cheese and a Irish coffee before wishing him good luck as he left Arkham's gates heading down to rendezvous his destination where his cousin Scarlet would pick him at 6:30 sharp after his trial it was agreed by him his family and lawyer that Edward is to stay at his cousin's for now which he didn't mind as Scarlet's place was outside of Gotham city limits on private property near it's forest and swamp area's once he made it to the stop he checked his watch it was 40 minutes until his cousin arrived so in the meantime he decided to enjoy his bagel and coffee while he waited making himself comfortable he let his mind wonder as he munched on his breakfast taking sips of his coffee (I wonder how Mum's doing?) He thought as he didn't have a phone he'll have to give her a call later. Suddenly he heard two familiar voices that made his skin chill “There he is!" OH NO! It was Joker and Penguin!!!

Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Batman and Robin were discussing Riddler’s release. Batman thought Riddler despite all his efforts to take over Gotham using puzzles and word games, Batman was open to the possibility that Riddler could reform and finally abandon his life of crime; a life Riddler turned to after sabotage and big business broke his reputation. “How can you trust Riddler? I don’t believe he’s on the level. Just wait Batman, Riddler is going to go back to being the bad guy. I say that we should keep an extra eye on him… just to be sure he’s really going to change” said Robin as he was practicing some twirling tricks with his yellow lightweight steel spear. Robin didn’t like to question his guardian’s judgment; Robin knew that evil was seldom to never capable of showing regret and remorse, just like Tony Zucco who took the lives of his parents years ago. “I believe everyone can change. Remember Dick, there are such things as bad people having some good in them; they can be redeemed, but only if they’re willing to commit. Besides, I hear Riddler is moving in with a family member outside of Gotham” said Batman solemnly. Batman didn’t want to admit it, but he wasn’t sure if Riddler was truly going to reform completely. Still, Batman thought it would be best at some point during their next few patrols that they take a look and see what Riddler was up to, these days as a free man.

40 minutes before Edward’s release “Hahahaha oh Penguin! It looks like you just can’t resist coming back to the loony bin! HAHAHaa!!!” cackled Joker as he watched two guards carting Penguin through Riddler’s floor towards the maximum security wing. Batgirl had stopped Penguin the previous night when he tried to steal some priceless Russian Fabrigé Eggs from the Gotham Metropolitan Art Museum; and, of course, Penguin was once again furious that his latest criminal escapade was thwarted by a teen girl dressed as a Bat.

But as they were about to put Penguin in his cell they apparently overheard one of the guards talking about Edward getting released both their faces frowning as they still held a grudge against that skinny riddled speaking trickster for trying to win the bet to take over Gotham as Joker had a sudden grin on his face " I think it's time we go settle the score with emo face .you in tubby?" Calling out to Penguin as he quickly got ready for a quick escape plan, quickly in his crazy joker way was able to knock out the guard and get the keys he and Penguin made their way out as Edward unknown to him that in 40 minutes would be in a wild chase of cat(s) and mouse for his life! “LOCK DOWN THE CELLS!!! CODE RED!!!” called one of the guards as he saw the dangerous altercation, one hurried into the office and activated a button which sounded the alarms and caused all the cell gates to close and lock instantaneously. Guards quickly sprang into action as they hurried after the escaped convicts, grabbing their nightsticks, stun guns, and binders to use if the troublemakers required them. Seeing how serious the situation was growing, Dr. Bartholomew hit an emergency panic button that alerted the GCPD to the scene.

Meanwhile down in the Batcave, Batman and Alfred were making some repairs to the Batmobile when the Batcave alert came up on their phones. 40 minutes later at the bus stop. Edward's body froze when they saw him as his instincts were screaming for fight or flight. choosing the 2nd option Edward ran before the two goons could react.

Chapter:2 the chase is on! Will Eddie be able to outran Joker and Penguin? will Batman and Robin be able to get to him before the goons do?

credit to Queenie aka https://theivylinerart.tumblr.com/ for being a part of this Fanfic.

#the batman 2004 #batman fanfiction #the riddler 2004 #edward nygma #riddler #batman au

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curioussubjects · 1 year

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Ok so I have some spnwin-spn connection spec I wanna share with y'all from back when @alwaysanoriginal were spiraling over some interview about The Winchesters (as we do). The second to last question is about John's journal being created, which of course made me think of plot hole vampmimes. Of course.

Or maybe not so plothole-y?

That was mostly a joke, though I did hope tonight was going to maybe for the lolz address that. Well, little did I know because that old convo continued with this:

DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING YOU WATCHED TONIGHT

DOES IT

Char, then, decided to come for me in the night and point out that the Running on Empty montage in 19 has some pretty choice scenes featuring Changing Channels, Wayward Sisters and the AU rift, Dean time traveling, and The Heroes' Journey (which I always argued was essentially the intended finale metaphorically).

Side note: sorry to expose y'all to my private ravings lol

A lot of this actually comes back to a point Billie made in s15 about Chuck building reality with himself at the center to keep it ticking. So how can you possibly beat him? By letting him think he won. I can't help but remember that delightful line from Dean in s12: "‘Cause we’re not trapped out here with you. You’re trapped out here with us." You know, that one time Dean and Sam pulled a death gambit to escape a black ops site.

But back to The Winchesters: last week we had Carlos refusing to play Loki's game (a god who can affect reality, or one's perception thereof) and winning. But to do so, he had to put his life on the line. He had to be willing to lose everything. By the way, I am once again feeling very emotional about Carlos saying he sacrificed everything for hunting, but he gained so much more because that's it! That's the thing! So yeah...cue Carlos singing Hard Times Come Again No More to his family.

This week John is the one with the seemingly inescapable fate of death (courtesy of vampires because of course), and while he doesn't tap out of the game, he realizes he knows nothing about the context of what he saw. He only got half the story, and the rest was up to him. It's appropriate, too, that this week we get another Supernatural classic with Mary reassuring John that they will find another way. And yeah, John does and wins.

And, I mean, if we're talking fate and god and gambles, why not remember a nifty piece of advice Sam and Dean received from Fortuna in The Gamblers: “Don’t play his game. Make him play yours.”

My point is if we look at 19 and 20 much like we would a vision from an amulet, none of the plot of Supernatural needs to change. It's fated. But as Millie says, and John says, and Dean say: fate is what you make it. And if The Winchesters is about how Sam and Dean became the Winchesters, then what else is this show but the context we've been missing all along.

(send this man to stan jail tbh)

[also what is more Winchester stupid than the cosmic consequences of saving your family...like...say...releasing the Darkness or...causing an Akrida infestation...though who knows that could've been on purpose for reasons. I'm putting nothing past spnwin.]

Don't ask me how Dean goes from pulling a death gambit to get into heaven to time travelling to tweak with his parents' past. We're through the looking glass here people and we'll simply have to wait and see -- but the puzzle is for sure getting less mysterious. Something free will, knowledge, family, and Growth, something. Therapy. You know, The Winchesters.

Or I'm totally off the mark and I'll have egg for face who's to say, but for now, as a treat, I'm feeling very

#yes that's an apollo gift of prophecy joke that only 10 people will get what of it lolsobs #the winchesters #supernatural #spnwin #spn #the winchesters spoilers #spnwin spec #spn meta #my writing #remember how we've been joking about the finale being absurdist theater #WELL DO I HAVE BIG IF TRUE NEWS FOR YOU LMAO #please think about that godawful barn speech as a french mistake attempt at acting #if there's a lock there must be a key style #it's FICTION! A COMPLETE FABRICATION!#but it's also true because it happened we lost we sacrificed everything #but we gained so much more #chuck won #...but then he didnt!!!!

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ceterisparibus116 · 2 years

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If a really good lawyer (😉) were to defend Trish Walker for the crimes she committed in JJS3, what would his defense strategy be?

Frankly, I feel like it would go something like this: Matt argues temporary insanity. That Trish became disassociated from reality as a result of the experiment Dr. Malus subjected her to, and then she snapped and brutally murdered her mother's killer. He also has Jessica discredited as a witness by bringing up her sketchy track record and the broken chain of custody with the evidence (and also has Trish testify to how Jessica destroyed evidence in the investigation that would have put Sallinger away), and maybe makes the argument that Trish doesn't deserve to go to prison by virtue of the fact that there's another vigilante in New York who does the same thing Trish does (and the only difference between Trish and Frank Castle is that Frank is a man, he's killed way more people, and he was initially motivated by revenge while Trish was initially motivated by more wholesome reasons).

And I think at the end of it, Trish would be sentenced to time served plus probation (with court-mandated therapy).

Or do you think Matt would take a different defense strategy?

So this is a really late reply, and the major caveat is that I’m not nearly as familiar with the facts of Jessica Jones as I am with Daredevil. So everyone please feel free to correct me if I seem to miss anything!

An insanity defense might work. In NY, you can use an insanity defense (technically “mental disease or defect”) if your “disease or defect” meant that, when you committed the crime(s), you lacked the capacity to know or appreciate either: 1) the nature and consequences of your conduct; or 2) that such conduct was wrong.

In Trish’s case, it would be tricky because experts can’t give a final conclusion on the matter—like, an expert can’t say, “Trish was definitely incapable of forming the requisite intent for a guilty verdict, based on their mental health.” What an expert can say is, “When ✨a person ✨experiences [x, y, z] events or their brain is affected in [x, y, z] ways, which can lead to [x, y, z] thoughts/behaviors/etc.” The obvious difficulty here is that Dr. Malus’ experiments on Trish aren’t exactly well-studied. So you’d have to get an expert to examine Trish, get reports (if they exist?) of the experiment (maybe try to find Dr. Malus and interview him?) and essentially reverse-engineer what Trish experienced, and then try to say how that would have affected ✨ a person’s ✨ ability to understand their own actions—then in closing argument, Matt would argue that it would affect Trish the same way.

Would the jury buy it? I don’t know. Would Matt buy it? I don’t know. I personally am not sure I buy it: Trish has always been more motivated to Take Action and Stop Bad Guys (not unlike Matt), and she’s always been frustrated that she doesn’t have the abilities of someone like Jessica to do that. In fact, I think her lack of abilities has been the only thing stopping her from taking illegal action. Again, I think she and Matt have a lot in common (@some-fiction I'm thinking of your fics! ❤)—the difference being that Matt draws stronger, clearer lines as to what kind of illegal action he finds appropriate.

So yeah, if Trish had come by her powers in a way that didn’t affect how she thought at all, I could still see her making the same choices.

If the jury reaches the same conclusion, then a mental disease or defect defense won’t work—unless there’s something else causing her to be Like That. But I can’t think of anything in the show suggesting that Trish is Like That for any reason other than…just her personality.

Anyway.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure what part of Jessica’s history will be admissible to discredit her as a witness. Matt could try to prove that she’s lied before, but how exactly would he prove that? Especially because you can't bring in extrinsic evidence to prove a witness was lying about something unless the lie is material to the case. So sure, Jessica's pretended to be other people to con her way into places, but you wouldn't be able to call the people she lied to as witnesses to testify.

And she hasn’t committed perjury that I’m aware of, which is the best way to discredit a witness. Nor has she been actually convicted of a crime, right?

In short, the rules of evidence governing discrediting a witness for truthfulness are 608 and 609, and I just don’t think either of them apply. Nor could I see Matt being comfortable making that argument anyway, except perhaps by pointing to Jessica’s willingness to destroy evidence. If she gets convicted of that, even better.

Chain of custody is a great route to go, I just…don’t remember what evidence Jessica destroyed and how determinative it would be. Did she destroy / tamper with all the evidence of Trish’s activities? Not that I recall. So that route would help, but it wouldn’t guarantee an acquittal.

As for comparing Trish to Frank…nope, that won’t work at all. Firstly, it's not like Frank got off; he actually was convicted…he just escaped.

Secondly, whether one criminal is worse than another doesn’t matter at all except for sentencing—it doesn’t affect whether someone is guilty of a crime in the first place. Someone is guilty if they break the law, regardless of whether someone else broke it more, had worse reasons for doing so, etc.

So basically: Trish is guilty of killing X number of people for wholesome reasons + Frank is guilty of killing Y number of people due to revenge (which is debatable but let’s go with this for now) = Trish gets, at least, the minimum sentence for killing X number of people, and perhaps the reason she doesn’t get above the minimum sentence is because of her wholesome motivations, while Frank gets possibly more than the minimum sentence for killing Y number of people because he did it for less wholesome reasons.

Conclusion: both of them get convicted, even if her sentence is lesser. So this argument doesn’t help unless Matt is resigned to Trish getting convicted.

Personally, I don’t think there is a great strategy, other than mental disease or defect and the catch-all reasonable doubt defense (made simply by pointing to anything he thinks the prosecution can’t 100% prove). But the simple truth is, Trish committed multiple crimes. Aside from the mental disease or defect defense, the only strategy is to poke holes in the prosecution’s available evidence. I don’t know if Matt can do that enough to get Trish off.

Ultimately, I think the point at which advocacy will really help Trish is at the sentencing stage…plus dealing with her unconstitutional treatment post-arrest.

But that’s a whole other issue. 😉

#trish walker #jessica jones #matt murdock #daredevil #legal #asks #ask me things i'm friendly

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leakywright · 10 months

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ogden task 005: the hart of the matter

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. leaky didn’t want to be here. why did he agree to this? the funny thing is when he pictured college, he pictured press conferences. joking with reporters, celebrating wins, mourning losses. discussing plays and next-time strategies. projecting the what if’s of the draft. that espn would say his name followed by compliments about how he was one to watch. but they never came, that wasn’t his reality.

this was. sitting in khakis and a button down across from jesse’s dad feeling like he might actually shit himself. something he hadn’t done since third grade when he got food poisoning. but it might happen again, and this time it would be recorded. he smiles at leaky, how responds weakly, crosses his foot over his knee, nods as a cameraman counts down, and then turns to leaky. serious smile this time, a man all about business.

“it’s a tough year to be a student at ogden college with the tragic passing of penelope klein. and of course, we can’t forget the ongoing missing persons case surrounding beloved student, greer morrison. i know that dean zuko insisted on free on-campus counseling set up for all students. have you made use of it?”

oh, yea. well therapy was something that had been mandatory for him his first year at ogden, so honestly, the habit kinda stuck. dropping from once a week to once a month, leaky never really tells them anything, always afraid it would somehow get back to the dean, but it’s a nice habit. plus he knows what it looks like. “yea, well i was already using our therapy services prior to all of this. it’s always been available, but glad to see that the support has been amped up. students need it to begin with, and uh…” his goody-two-shoe answer faltering slightly, “well, i think we all need as much support as we can get these days.” he gives a nod, knuckles rapping against the cushion of the chair he’s seated in. dean zuko would like that answer.

and so does donovan hart, who gives a smile and nod, pleased and already moving on.

“there was that nasty storm that knocked out the power at the resort, i remember. that got a little dicey, huh? parents and staff all congregated in the faculty chalet, but you kids were on the other side of the resort. we’ve been told that penelope organized some things for people to complete to make it through that night together. were you one of them? what did you get up to during the blackout?”

his blood runs cold, thinking back to that night. he’d been entirely too drunk to do much of anything, but was still sent out and found…a bloody glove. that he didn’t report because by the time they were back to the chalet penny was dead, leaky was hunched over a toilet vomiting and dean zuko had already sent him short email to see him once he was back on campus. “uh, yea. penny didn’t really give you a choice,” he kinda chokes on her name, they hadn’t even been close but she was dead, “and so she sent me on an assignment. to collect firewood.” that he didn’t bring back because it was wet and he was freaking out. this isn’t a police interview, though leaky is half expecting dr. hart to make a note and lock eyes with someone as if they’ve found something. he doesn’t do either.

“in the wake of tragedy, it can be hard to recall things in detail. the brain has its own ways of protecting itself in high-stress situations, and i know that the police have been a near-constant presence on campus this year.” leaky gulps, their presence hasn’t really done much to make him, or anyone frankly, feel safer. “this is not that; i want you to feel safe and comfortable enough to share whatever you want about that night. did you see anything? hear anything?”

he freezes, eyes widening as he glances up, trying to pretend like he’s thinking it through. trying to remember. but he knows, knows exactly what happened even behind the haze of the alcohol. “yea…” he croaks out, his voice sounding different, like it wasn’t his. like he was outside of his body and someone else had taken over. “i found some wood, but it was wet. cause of the snow, so i knew it wouldn’t be good to bring back.” why is he retelling this? so easily? dr. hart didn’t even have to push that hard and leaky was already breaking. “i completely forgot about this, cause i’d been worried about the firewood and then everything happened so…quickly…” he pauses, as if wading through his memories, it all available again because dr. hart had asked the right questions. “i saw this glove, in the distance, a few yards away from the wood…” he squints, the memory picture perfect in his mind, but he’s trying to play it off like it was hazy. “and maybe some footprints? or probably animal tracks. it was hard to tell but i didn’t think much of it.” he leaves the part out about the blood, that was something he should have reported. “cause like, maybe someone had dropped it and was coming back for it? all of us were just following penny’s orders.” he swallows, as if guilt is now settling with him, like it hadn’t been there the entire time. “or maybe someone lost it skiing? A lost glove doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in the moment ya know? and i just…” he stops, looking down, defeated. as if his memory had betrayed him, as if this glove could have been a clue in the mystery. and maybe it would have been, if leaky had told the whole truth. now, he hoped, people would write it off and just give sympathy to a kid who was being too hard on himself.

dr. hart blinks, gives a small nod and leans toward leaky. as if to comfort him, to coax out more answers. leaky kept his eyes down, afraid that if he looked up the guilt would overwhelm him and he’d be spewing the god-awful truth all over the floor.

“obviously, we all want to get to the bottom of this and work through whatever lingering effects it might have left behind. if you were paired off with anyone that night, can you remember what they were doing? would it have been possible that they might have been behind anything you saw?"

leaky shakes his head, alex had been the one to persuade them to turn around instead of getting any closer to the glove. to make the smart decisions, maybe if they had inspected it more they would have ended up in penny’s position. or worse, witnesses to it. “nah, i was with this kid alex, and he was by my side. kinda hard to wade through snow alone.” fuck, now they knew it was deep, what if they picked up on the idea that the glove hadn’t been covered? leaky hadn’t mentioned it either way. “he didn’t do anything.” and neither did i! not this time! but he didn’t, that would be too much.

“now, if you’ll direct your attention to this screen here, i have something that— barring appropriate authorities— no one has seen until now.” a picture of Greer suddenly appears on screen, all eyes trained on this new piece of information. all eyes but donovan’s which are locked onto the face of the person he’s interviewing, watching for any and every reaction. “this photo is shocking, i know. it was found in the faculty chalet the night of the blackout. do you know anything about the day it was taken or who might have taken it?”

suddenly he's slammed back into his body. his insides were practically crawling, eyes looking over at a beautiful greer, her eyes crossed out, but it was still so obviously her. and it was hella creepy. he gulped, almost comically. “y’all…found this?” what did the dean say? no wonder he let leaky off with just a talking to, he had more on his plate than a drunk footballer hitting on his daughter. what did her parents think? he hopes that seeing this show won’t be the first time they see this. “i…greer and i aren’t close.” weren’t, but he pretends to have hope. “so i have no clue but…” he trails off, his stare saying everything else. this is fucked up. and yet this is how the school is dealing with it? that might be even more fucked up.

“do you have any idea why this photo might have been left with faculty that night? or, most pressing, what reason someone could have for vandalizing it in such a horrible way?” dr. hart is looking at him so intensely he might just pop right out of his seat and hightail it across campus to hide under his bed. but leaky stays seated, popping his knuckles instead to release any sort of tension he can.

with a sigh he opens his mouth, “maybe a cry for help? that the students can’t do everything alone? we were trapped and no one came to make sure we were okay, and penny died. and greer…” his voice fades as he tears his eyes back toward the camera and then to dr. hart. “who knows what she was going through...is going through. but i think it’s clear…the adults need to help us too. help her, help us on the trip, on campus, friends with penny…” a far different cry from his praise of the therapists on campus too. “y’all are responsible too.” this was mentioned so quietly leaky is unsure if the boom mic can pick up on it. dr. hart makes no indication that he’s heard him either.

"finally, it's been discovered that penelope, shortly before her untimely death, had mentioned to someone that she knew why greer had left. do you think that has anything to do with this photo? do you know why she might have left? even though being honest about it may seem scary, i promise you, it's the right thing to do. it's the only way we can protect you."

“no.” he states flatly, hands now smoothing across his pants. god, he’s getting antsy. he needs to call his mother, his father, his granny. anyone to remind him that life isn’t all of this. It’s not all mystery and death and disappearing acts and accusing old white men. but what if this is his life now? the choice he made to come here, to do what he did, to be who he was and…it all led here. was this his destiny? or his hell? looking up, he meets dr. hart’s eyes, almost pleading. “i don’t know why greer left. i’m not sure anyone does.” and he meant it, if they did they would have come forward by now right? that’s the right thing to do. what does leaky know about that. “but i…i don’t think this will help us find her.” it certainly didn’t feel like it would. “i just hope she…she knows people miss her. that we miss her. things obviously ain’t the same and-” he stops with a shake of his head, hand now wiping across his face as all words begin to fail him.

“that’s it?” dr. hart looks expectantly.

“yea,” leaky nods, “that’s it."

#ogdentask #ogdentask005 #blood mention tw #vomit mention tw

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inmateinsight · 10 months

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Gary Black

Interview with Gary Black.

Gary Black was convicted twice Jasper County Jury Trials of First Degree Murder, Originally getting the death sentence however eventually it was overturned and he was given life without parole.

Q. How would you describe your daily routine? What do you do to occupy your free time inside?

A. A typical day in here is composed of lengthy boredom broken by moments of extremely violent chaos. For the most part my free time is passed in front of a tiny TV screen watching entertaining education stuff like Expedition Unknown, or Mystery at the Museum, or History's Greatest Mystery type shows.

Q. Do you do much reading? And do you have access to music and other forms of entertainment?

A. About the only time I read is when in Segration and then I read everything by any author voraciously. Only in general population do we have our tablets (7 " by 5") which have apps for emails, phone, music, games etc. However most cost fees so I don't use them often.

Q. Have you accessed any educational programmes inside or any rehabilitation or therapy?

A. About 70% of this prison is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole or on death row. There isn't any reason as far as the state sees it to have the kind of programs they have elsewhere.

Q. Do you have a prison job and if so what is it?

A. No job. I am confined to the wheelchair in a place that was built before the American's with Disabilities Act went into effect…

Q. What do you think of the food in your institution? What’s your fave meal? And what food do you miss most from the outside?

A. OMG!! I really miss good deep dish pepperoni pizza. The food here is very bad and repetitious. The food service provider in Missouri is some outside company these days. I'd have to say my favourite is the chicken patty.

Q. Do you keep in touch with anyone on the outside?

A. My only outside contact these days is a lone pen-pal. I got a lot of emails right after the Netflix episode on me titled ‘Boogieman’ ran on the series "I Am A Killer" but mostly it turned out to be people I wasn't compatible with. I'm alone now, last of my bloodline dead. And nobody else around.

Q. What’s your favorite thing to buy from commissary?

A. I get a stipend from the department of corrections of $8.50 a month because of having no money from other sources coming in, so I don't buy much from the canteen but hygiene items.

Q. Give a random interesting fact about yourself you’d like people to know…

A. I'm just a total hillbilly for real. I spent the first fifteen years of my life down in the Ozark mountains on a tiny 37 acre dirt farm with just 22 acres of cleared land. The rest was woods, along a creek. My maternal grandpa was a moonshiner, the neighbors out in those mountains with Amerind in them called my maternal grandma and adopted mom ‘plant women’. The Christians called them witches.

Gary was interview by myself using online penpal service.

#crimenews #inmates #crime #prison #garyblack #iamakiller #netflix #netflix series #first look #crimeblog #crimetumblr #journalism #assault

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milesbutterball · 1 year

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Hello Friends!

We would normally start off by saying Happy New Year, but it’s a bit too late for that (says Larry David) so instead, we’ll just say — may 2023 be everything you want it to be!

A GIANT thank you to everyone who supported us during our end-of-year drive. Your goodies will be arriving shortly, and your appreciation is fuel to keep the fire of great independent radio burning bright during these cold winter days!

We’ve compiled some of our Favorite Records of 2022 so you can make sure you didn’t miss anything. As always, your source for the latest and greatest, as well as “new to you” selections from years past.

ON THE AIR! PROGRAMMING UPDATES

A few updates to the WXNA broadcast schedule that we hope you'll be excited about as we are!

1. DJ Leanne is back! After a few months off for rest and relaxation, X-Posure is returning to the airwaves at its regular time slot -- Wednesdays at 2 p.m. Tune in for new music discoveries, old favorites, and of course, live interviews with artists!

2. Fans of Pop Geezer's "The Cabaret" have no reason to fret. Although he's exiting the stage on Wednesdays to make room for the return of X-Posure, he's back in the footlights on Fridays mornings at 7. Just one more reason to TGIF!

3. A big welcome to DJ Wizard and her mentor, DJ Trevor, who have joined the rotation of DJs on the Teen Power Radio Hour! DJ Wizard is bringing an exciting selection of Indigenous Music, so don't miss it on Saturdays at 2 p.m.

As with all of WXNA programs, you can latch on to the archive of any show you miss at wxnafm.org!

MEET YOUR WIZARD!

DJ Ed, host of Eighties Schmeighties

Born: Atlanta, Georgia

Home: Nashville, Tennessee

Drafted into WXNA: 2016

Spins: Left (always left)

Fades: Lefter

"I think I discovered independent radio growing up in Atlanta listening to the college radio station from Georgia State, 88.5 I think. Then when I went to school in Mobile, Alabama I was shocked to find out there was a very tiny college radio station, all of 10 watts. (Shout out to WTOH!) It was such a small-wattage station they didn't care whether or not we followed FCC rules. That's something I had to learn when I became a DJ at WXNA. Hey, you're not a real DJ unless you've been suspended at least once! I love being the selector on Eighties Schmeighties. It beats therapy!"

Most played song: “Clampdown” by The Clash

Vinyl, CD or mp3? All of the above. Whatever works. Love vinyl, but not a fetishist.

Fave WXNA shows: Free Association, Works Progress Radio Hour, Reggae University, and Punk Not Punks

Pinch-me moment: Interviewing some great artists such as Kosmo Vinyl and Vanessa Briscoe Hay.

When I die: Enjoy Every Sandwich...

UPCOMING EVENTS

Let’s get warm together in these winter months the best way we know how — spinning records at one of the hottest spots in town, Vinyl Tap. Join us for a night of music and mischief in East Nashville on the last Friday of the month from 8 to late. Next one is scheduled for February 24!

Come see us!

Sincerely,

The WXNA Fam

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gayenerd · 3 years

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The Band You Love To Hate By Tom Lanham of RIP (There’s no date on this but I would say 1995 or 1996?)

Eyes wide as a barn owl's. Spines stiff with anticipation, like a hungry scorpion. The two teenage girls sit stock-still in their booth at a posh Berkeley diner, practically bursting with excitement, but without the faintest clue how to handles it. Clueless, you might call them. A few feet across the linoleum aisle--with his back to them, oblivious to all the oh-my-gawd facial expressions--sits the object of their adulation, dressed in unassuming black jeans, black T-shirt, shredded black Converse, and a beat-up black baseball jacket. But even with his once-green dreadlocks tamed to a short black business cut, Billie Joe Armstrong--yes, the snaggle-toothed MTV ragamuffin from megaplatinum neo-punkers, Green Day--is as easy to spot as Michael Bolton at a Rogaine convention. Although the kids want to leap up from their seats and race over for an autograph or a jittery hello, they don't dare. Instead, they're forced to deal with their seething emotions as if they were eating post-tonsillectomy ice cream: a lot of numb gulping and a quick pain chaser. This is the blessing of being Billie Joe Armstrong. Alas, it's also his curse. By the time you read this, the irascible little rocker will have turned 24. And exactly two years ago, he and his wacky bandmates--drummer Tré Cool and bassist Mike Dirnt--lolled around the trashy basement flat they shared, getting stoned and sneering at the idea that Dookie--their just-released "sellout" on big-time Reprise--would ever amount to more than a nice drink coaster. Fame? They were more preoccupied with their bong collection, stacks of rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards, and a thriving sea monkey tank displayed prominently on a window-sill. Most of their furniture had springs poking through--they didn't care. Armstrong regularly picked boogers from his gold-ringed nostril and then flick them onto the scary shag carpet--what did he have to worry about? Too bad he couldn't have foreseen the all-too-near future. Green Day happened to be in the right place at the right time. The three-chord slam-a-rama Dookie--a pop-edged return to decade-old punk ethics--became the surprise hit of '94, going on to sell over 11 million copies. Armstrong, accustomed to frenetic club performances, began translating the group's infectious energy to larger and larger venues. Demand continued to grow at a staggering pace; Green Day fought back. They turned a satellite MTV Video Awards performance into a "spit-cam" fest by urging the crowd to gob any camera lens it could ("[The cameramen] tried to make it look like it was cool, but it wasn't"). Last October, Armstrong and company issued their 32-minute follow up, Insomniac, almost as an afterthought, with little promotion, a visually offensive video (for "Geek Stink Breath") and--at least initially--a strict no-interview policy. Simultaneously, they ditched their high-powered Cahn-Man management team and are now virtually managing themselves. Along the way, Armstrong married his long-time sweetheart Adrienne and last March fathered a son, Joey. In typical down-to-earth fashion, the couple spent their honeymoon a few blocks from home at Berkeley's prestigious Claremont Hotel, not on some exotic island. Beginning to see the problem here? How does a street-smart kid from humble beginnings skyrocket to world-class notoriety and yet--with his music in millions of homes and his privacy suddenly a right that needs defending--still adhere to the simple ideals, the simple lifestyle that spawned him? Is "successful punk" an oxymoron? Insomniac provided few clues--it was more of the same slacker-ennui sentiment, more defeated, disenfranchised grousing set to speedy, memorable hooks. Or, as Armstrong barks in the aptly-dubbed "Walking Contradiction," "My wallet's fat and so is my head...I'm a victim of a Catch-22." And that, in essence, was the topic this tortured artist wanted to discuss at the diner. The old "be careful what you wish for" adage. The classic "problem with success is finding someone to enjoy it with you" truism. Armstrong, who takes occasional sips from a vanilla milkshake, but mostly stares morosely at the floor, seems to be dealing with superstardom in a relatively normal way. Don't be fooled by the steady stream of negative vitriol that follows; he's analyzing it, breaking it down, figuring out ways to disconnect his kinetic career. Or at least turn down the volume for awhile.

RIP: We know what's going right. But what's going wrong?

BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG: Lots of things, really. Actually, when I came here today, I said I didn't wanna talk about anything good, because I don't really have anything good to talk about. Goin' on tour pretty soon--don't really wanna go. Just because I've been kinda torn. I wanna stick around at home. I don't like playing arenas, and I realized I didn't know what I was getting myself into on the last tour, but I went into it being positive and getting excited about it. But I didn't realize that I was the kind of person to whom it's too much of an event and not really a personal thing anymore. And I started to realize how much I liked being the background music to this scene at the club. And now it's.... I dunno. People expect so much. It's cool and stuff, and it can be a lot of fun, a really good experience. But when you play that many arenas.... The first time we ever played those big kinds of shows at the Shoreline (Amphitheater in Mountain View, California), there was weirdness--we were playing for a lot of f?!kin' people. And I hate to say it, but sometimes it just feels like another gig. We played every day, 50 gigs this last leg, and it just wears on ya. There's all these people, and they think "Alright. I paid my $15--you better impress the f?!kin' shit outta me right now!" And I realized that for Joey, the rock and roll touring life is not a good atmosphere for a kid. I tried to make it to where it would be, bringing lots of his toys out. But there are no familiar surroundings for him. And he likes all the attention--people come up and say hello to him every day, people who are on tour with us. But he doesn't have his own room or a home to go to every day. So, no more touring for Joey.

RIP: Turned on Regis and Kathie Lee this morning to find their gossip columnist dishing dirt on Green Day. How Insomniac didn't do nearly as well as predicted, how it was a disappointment to the label. A failure, supposedly.

BJA: Well, it's like, we didn't set up this record. We didn't. We didn't do any promotion beforehand, we completely quit doing interviews, and basically we just wanted to go on into it. We weren't even sure if we wanted to do a video. And then when we did a video, it got yanked from daytime rotation because people were getting grossed-out by it. So I think we did alienate a lot of people. So that was expected, that it wasn't going to sell a lot of records.

RIP: NOFX have taken it one step further. They refuse to talk to press, make videos, pander potential singles to radio. They don't want to get any bigger.

BJA: I dunno, maybe I'm just getting jaded or something. But I just got cable again and I can't stand anything. Six years ago you could hear something that was different and know that it was different. So it'd be "alternative" or whatever. But now it's like you get this Joan...Osborne? With the ring in her nose, waving the alternative rock flag, when she's just...not, ya know? And I'm thinking, I hate all this music that's coming out now--the past year was just hell for music. But people are buying it, so then I'm thinking, Maybe they're the ones that are good and I'm the one who sucks? I just don't know if I really wanna be involved in the rock world anymore at all. Period. I don't necessarily have anything against a big record company or people who what to join up with a big record company. It really is right for some people, but more and more, I don't think that I'm really meant to. And I hate to sound like that, because I don't like taking things for granted. I don't like to talk about my problems when there's some kid struggling in his garage somewhere saying "F?!k him! He's just taking it for granted. Shit, I wish I could do something like that, but I'm just stuck here in Biloxi, Mississippi, and I can't even get a gig." I'm so confused right now.

RIP: It must be odd to know that, with all those millions of albums sold, drunken frat boys are probably staggering around to your music right now. Your audience grew far beyond your control.

BJA: Oh, totally! We became what we hated. Which is, the people I despised in high school--and now--are buying our records. We initially became a trend, so there was no way I expected to sell as many records with Insomniac as with Dookie. That's one of the biggest-selling records of the decade. We get slagged by the punk rockers, and it's like, I don't blame them. If you draw that much attention to yourself, that's what you're gonna get--attention--and it's not personal anymore.

RIP: Ever think about giving it all up?

BJA: There isn't a day goes by in the past year and a half that I haven't thought about quitting. I went to this party on New Year's Eve, and this band Juke, and another band, the Tantrums, played in a friend of mine's backyard. And a lot of my old friends showed up, and everybody was just dancing. And I was dancing, and getting really muddy, and I was having a great time. I can't remember the last time I sat down and listened to a record from beginning to end and felt this incredible spine-chilling music. And it's because I haven't been able to go out and watch bands play at my free will. I'm not gonna live in a closet, I'm not gonna vegetate myself.

RIP: But it has to be difficult, when tons of kids know your face. You're on your way to Michael Jackson-dom, where you have to wear a disguise in public.

BJA: If you think about the Beatles, at that time all people had to go by were the photographs on the records and every now and then a television appearance. So when they'd come to town, people would just flip out--it became this huge public event every single time. Whereas now, everything is so saturated kids don't even have to leave their home to go to a show anymore. They can sit in the comfort of their living room, and your favorite rock star is gonna be entertaining you while you sit down and have your microwave burrito.

RIP: The Milwaukee cops weren't pleased with aspects of Green Day's Milwaukee show last November. Why were you arrested?

BJA: I dropped the pick and--actually, I even forgot about it--I just mooned the crowd, which is pretty harmless compared to what I've done before. And I wasn't even thinking about it--I just went out and started playing again. Then I went backstage and was hanging out with Adrienne, and this guy Jimmy who does security for us goes "Come on--there's a car waiting for you outside right now. You've gotta get out of here!" I said "What's wrong?" and he said he didn't even know. So we get in the car and all of a sudden about ten cops come walking over, fully surrounding the car. So the guy puts the cuffs on me, throws me in the car, and I get tossed in the holding tank for two, three hours. I wasn't in the bullpen--I was in with the other ones, the not-so-bad ones. They made me take all my jewelry out. And my shoestrings, so I wouldn't hang myself or something. I dunno. I just don't know how to fit into rock music anymore. I don't know what I like about it anymore. I don't like anything about it anymore, to tell you the truth. To tell you the real truth, I'm a pretty miserable person right now. I'm totally depressed, and my wife can vouch for that because she's around me. In fact, she's the only person who's really around me. I dunno, the whole thing with the mainstreaming of punk rock. I just feel lost in the whole thing...I don't really know...I don't wanna...I dunno...It's miserable, it really is. It's f?!ked up.

RIP: For every original voice that comes along, there will be countless mad signing dashes for any and all sound-alike artists, with no thought given to the artist's longevity. Just throw the record out quickly and hope it sticks.

BJA: The thing is, a lot of musicians have gotten so comfortable with this big so-called "Revolution in Rock Music" over the past decade. First it was like, "F?!k the corporations! F?!k the corporations!" And then people just sorta got cozy with that, and forgot that these bands are getting lost in the shuffle. And I'm talking about the ones that never get noticed at all and just get kinda bitter. The 15 minutes of fame is getting shorter and shorter. And now music is totally going backwards--the first half of this decade, there were a few things going on that were interesting. It wasn't my favorite kind of music, but it had a sensibility about it. If you think about Nirvana and Pearl Jam and that whole Seattle scene, and even the Offspring--there was this thing going on that was more honest, in a lot of ways. It wasn't like, beer, drugs and pussy, like what went on through the '80s with all the hair bands. But now what we've got is Hootie & the Blowfish....

RIP: Who are probably a lot like you. They seem like nice, regular guys who--through no real fault of their own--are suddenly assimilated into pop culture.

BJA: Yeah, but that's the problem, is that they are nice regular guys. And they're totally comfortable with that, and they sort of put that out, to where they don't really have...I dunno, there's a certain amount of attitude that, say, someone like Cobain or Vedder has that they don't have. But it's becoming way not...real anymore or something. Maybe not real to me. It's just turning back into what it was in the '80s. It's like, "Hey, everyone! We're Huey Lewis and the News!" I dunno. Maybe nobody knows what the f?!k I'm talking about anymore.

BJA: I get so irritated by people. I think I'm more bitter than I've ever been in my whole life, to tell you the honest truth. I think Insomniac is much more of a bitter record than Dookie. And I think the older people get, the more they kinda get angry. I think a lot of people feel like they get cheated by lief somehow--no-one is ever completely satisfied. There's maybe a few. But I mean, I'm in a place where I don't really wanna be. It's like, sometimes I feel like we're losing our passion for playing music. And that's the f?!ked-up thing, when you lose passion for what you love, then it's like, Is this marriage headed for divorce or what?

RIP: Theoretically, you can fight back a couple of ways. Like Cobain, you could make a record almost calculated to offend all the bandwagon-jumpers. Or take as much time off as you'd like. Who says you can't go live on a desert island for two years?

BJA: That'd be nice. I'm just not enjoying life right now. I'm really not. I'm so cluttered, I can't even speak. Yeah, I do feel like I'm getting old, and I'm kinda bitter about that. I'm not excited about being onstage anymore, and I was really trying to convince myself that I was. Really. Before we did this last U.S. tour, every time I did an interview--I don't know if you read the last Rolling Stone piece--I was like "Yeah! I'm excited! I wanna play these arenas!" and stuff. And then just every night, it started sucking, it felt like a routine or something. It felt almost choreographed in a lot of ways. And I was yelling "f?!k you!" to people, but I didn't know who I was yelling "f?!k you" to anymore.

RIP: Last time we spoke, you said you went out of your way to change every single show, make each one different.

BJA: Well, I think it's just the stress of getting up in front of all those people all the time, every day. It's like, "Do I really feel like downing another f?!cking pot of coffee and a bottle of wine before I walk onstage to do this again? Just to get myself ready to go?" You know, for all those people. And every night I always do something different and stupid. But at the same time, it'd be really cool to just say "F?!k you!" to people and like, walk off. And then they'd get it. It's like, "I'm really telling you to f?!k off this time! Time to pack up and go home." It'd just be so nice to start from scratch again.

RIP: In many ways you can. That's the music-making system trying to program your behavior. And obviously you've broken quite a few rules already--you don't even have to be talking to me right now, actually....

BJA: Oh no. I really wanted to do this interview, just because the last interviews that I've done, I've been miserable, and I was pretending not to be. I really was, I was lying. Not to the reader, not to the person I was doing the interview. But I was lying to myself, convincing myself that I was really happy with how everything is going.

RIP: So you always knew what you wanted, and now you've got it, in spades. You're having trouble figuring out what's next?

BJA: I didn't even know what I wanted back then. I really didn't. I didn't know if I wanted to be huge, totally successful. I never knew that. I was struggling so hard even to sign that f?!king contract--when I was sitting there, I was contemplating, "Should I just run outta here right now? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?" A lot of people say, "You're totally disillusioned with what money can do for people," but money never meant shit to me. There's something very passionate to me, very romantic, about living on the street in a lot of ways. Just because I really like my lifestyle back then. I was totally content, in retrospect. A lot of it has to do with the fame. I dunno, I'm trying to talk right now and just totally stuttering.

RIP: It's not like you chose music--it chose you, and you can't help it.

BJA: Yeah, it's cool when people really get it. But what a lot of people don't understand is that we're a band that's been around a lot longer than people know. And that's the thing. The difference between this and what happened between Kerplunk and Dookie--in a year, I got married, I had a kid, and I sold 11 million records worldwide. That can do something to ya, ya know?

BJA: Sometimes I think it'd be cool to just hang out with my friends, drink beer, smoke cigarettes. The more I think about it, the more I'd be really happy with that. I don't think that we're feeling quite like a band anymore--that's one problem we have. There was this certain rock 'n' roll underdog think that we always had--we always drove for something, always drove from town to town in a small van. And you know, I f?!kin' like touring like that--it's like culture shock, really, driving around in a van, setting up my amp when I get there, and playing. That's rock 'n' roll, that's what it started out as. A bunch of sweaty pigs in some tiny f?!kin' bar having a hootenanny, that's what punk rock was to me, that's what drove me to it. I love rock music in its simples, rawest form. And I think we're the only band, really, that plays rock 'n' roll.

RIP: Has all this put a strain on your old friendships? Do your pals treat you a little differently now?

BJA: When I come up to friends I haven't talked to in a while, there's a weirdness. And the ones who are really close to me don't really bring up anything, but that thing is still there; it's still in the air. And sometimes I'll just not say anything the whole time we're hanging out. I'll be totally quiet, because the only thing I'll have to talk about is my band, and I get so sick of talking about my band and myself. So I'll just be quiet, since that's the only thing there is to me, except for my son and my wife.

RIP: Pretty soon, you'll be boring everyone with slide shows--"There we are at Yosemite!"

BJA: Ha! Adrienne was telling me the other day, "When you were in there dancing with all your friends, while the band was playing, you were so happy because you were so in your element." And I've even gone as far as saying we're not a punk band anymore. But no matter what, that's still gonna stick with me forever, because I love the music, I love the energy of a new band coming out that creates this sense of urgency about 'em. I'll never be able to kick that habit. I love hangin' out with my friends who have small fanzines--kids just writing their guts out about whatever the hell's bothering 'em, and putting it on a Xerox machine and then handing it out for a quarter apiece at shows or at a party. All I wanna do is just try and work it out. I was sitting there the other day, counting all the records that the Replacements put out, stuff like that, Dan thinking how [Paul] Westerberg totally came across to his audience and did everything, everything that the wanted to do in music. He wasn't extremely successful for it, but the guy has influenced people, and a lot of 'em don't even know that they are influenced by him. All I wanna do is just write good songs and stick to it. I wanna develop--not being experimental--but go into different styles, go across my boundaries of the two-and-a-half minute punk song with a three-and-a-half minute jazz song, or maybe get into a little bit of swing or rockabilly.

RIP: With such staggering success, you could walk into Reprise and tell 'em you're doing an album of saxophone solos and they'd allow you that creative luxury.

BJA: Well, I never wanna be that experimental. I don't wanna get into synthesizers and shit like that. The thing that was cool for me with Insomniac was that I think we definitely set a foundation for ourselves, because we put out our hardest record to date, totally in-your-face all the way through, and now we're able to go anywhere we want. We can do that now--we do have that going for us. That is, if people are still interested. Which is kinda weird for me to say....

RIP: Your craft will always remain the most important thing of all, even if you're just writing for your own amusement.

BJA: Yeah. No matter what, I'm gonna be writing songs for the rest of my life. I mean, I already have a shitload of new songs right now. But I just wanna do some other things with it. We've sold a million of Insomniac so far. But I definitely want to be respected as a musician. Well, more as a songwriter than as a musician. I wanna be f?!kin' normal, is what I wanna be. The thing is, I've seen so many freaks and so many weirdos and crazy punk rockers and drunks and junkies. But for a lot of those people being weird is easy. It's so easy to be strange--the hard thing is to try to be normal. There's no such thing as normal, ya know.

RIP: How's your mom feel about all this?

BJA: She's kinda worried about me. She doesn't know what to think of everything. We have a hard time communicating with each other, just because I don't like to talk about it that much. So she feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me all the time.

RIP: You buy her anything cool once the money started rolling in?

BJA: Nah--she doesn't want anything. I've asked her. She's been living in the same house for over 20 years, and she's content living there. But I did give her a trip--she went to Hawaii, her and her boyfriend. And I think travelling is really good--if you paid for someone to travel, so they can go and explore and see some things they've never seen before. But I think that's probably where I get it from. I get so content with not having much. And then you get all this stuff, all this attention, and you don't really know what to do with it. You don't know how to channel it.

RIP: Most outrageous thing you've bought for yourself?

BJA: I got my car primered! And one thing I did do was build a home studio. So I've been recording all my friends' bands for free. I produced this band called Dead and Gone, and Social Unrest, Fetish and the Criminals. And I have this side-project called Pinhead Gunpowder--nothing's up with it right now, but we played at the beginning of '94 a few times. RIP: Sounds like you've got more than enough pressure valves to let off the steam. Still, do you worry about death?

BJA: Yeah, I do. But I have too many reasons to stick around. One is my son and my wife. And I don't feel like I'm finished yet. I'm not done, ya know? And the beauty of it is that death is forever and your problems aren't. And that's why I'm talking about my bad shit, because you vent that, you get it off your chest and you can move on to something else. There's gotta be a positive side to all this--so you just sort of try and dig it out. Get rid of all the bad--out with the bad air, in with the good air.

RIP: You said about Green Day that you think your "bandwagon is coming to a close and all that's gonna be left is just a band. Hopefully." So then will you start writing happy songs?

BJA: I thought about writing a totally sarcastic song called "I'm So Goddamn Happy," just talking about how happy I am. Actually, I'd like to put out a double record--I'd like to put out tons of music. But I never wanna become an egomaniac. I just wanna keep things down to earth, so I think it's really important for us to take a long break after all this stuff. We just put out two records back to back, one year after another, and now we can sit back and work on ourselves as people again. So we don't parody ourselves. And it's so hard to be a father and a musician at the same time. If I get into one thing and I pay close attention to it, like if I'm with Joey and I start neglecting my music, then I feel like I should play more often. So I start playing my music, and then I'm going, "Am I neglecting Joey?" So it becomes hard to do everything at the same time.

BJA: I wanna create a very mellow and sound atmosphere for him, because I don't wanna make any mistakes for him--I want him to be able to make his own mistakes. And even when it comes to swearing--I don't cuss in front of my kid. I'd rather him get it from some dirty-mouthed kid at school. Then at least I'd know, I could go "Thank God--my kid is in a real world and he's learning these things from his surroundings." That'd be a good thing. Because the best things you ever learn are the things you learn in kindergarten.

Finally, after more than an hour worth of gut-spilling, Armstrong suddenly observes four brace-faced girls, each no more than 12 years old, idling over by the cash register. They're there on the pretext of getting change. In reality, they just want to ogle punk icon and pin-up darling Billie Joe, stare at those caterpillar eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones up close. Another oh-my-gawd event. "I gotta go--it's gettin' weird," the reluctant rocker whispers, literally leaping up from the booth. "I can feel eyeballs all over me already...." And as fast as that, he's gone. "Was that...was that...B-B-B-B-Billie Joe?" stammers one swooner. "No," says the waitress, with a subtle smile. "That was just some guy who usually eats here alone, nobody famous at all. You know, just an average guy." A little white lie to herd the young 'uns out. But nevertheless the truth.

#i know it wasn't healthy for him #but i miss when he would use interviews as free therapy #the discussion about how he hates playing bigger shows is interesting #obviously he figured it out because i think he genuinely likes playing arenas/stadiums now #i wonder how he did that #like did he get tips from other rock stars #or did he just work thru his emotional baggage about selling out #article #interview #articles

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hey Eve how are you doing I hope you're having a good day. Could you possibly if you want to make a fic like after the disownment fic and there's an interview with Sirius, Remus or (or the lions) on how they felt and there reactions and stuff only if you want to ofc I hope you are having a good day

This isn't a social media fic, but it does include include this prompt and was combined with an ask for Sirius having a hard time in the wake of a breakdown because he was doing so well before. Please pay attention to the TWs and let me know if I missed any. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW child abuse (past), angst, past trauma, mentions of going to therapy, and feeling overwhelmed

The studio cameras hadn’t seemed scary in a long, long time. Sirius stared at the white floor, toying with his ring and trying not to run screaming from the building; this is for them, he reminded himself. For everyone like me who never had someone speak up for them. The metal folding chair was cold under him.

“Sirius?” There was no hint of teasing in Marlene’s voice. “Are you ready?”

He had already saved himself and Regulus. Now it was time for the rest of them. “Oui.”

“Rolling in three, two, one…”

“My name is Sirius Black,” he said, channeling all the strength and control he could manage into his voice as he straightened up. “I’m 27 years old, the center and captain for the Gryffindor Lions hockey team, and a Stanley Cup champion.” He took a breath. “And I grew up in an abusive home. Last week, my biological parents officially disowned me for refusing to go back into the closet and under their control. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no media present. There was a lot of paperwork.

“But I’m not here to talk about that.” He swallowed, and felt some of his confidence return. Behind the camera, Marlene gave him an encouraging look with a shine in her eyes. “I’m here to talk to everyone else in my situation and let you know that you’re not alone. You can get out of there, and you can be the freest version of yourself. For the next month, 1/12 of all proceeds from Lions tickets will go to charities supporting abuse survivors and those currently living in abusive situations. My story is not the only one. We can make a difference.”

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

Sirius laid on his back on the lobby couch, letting “Radio Gaga” thump in his ears and drown out the tremors in his body. He had never said it publicly before—as far as the rest of the hockey world knew, his family was only rumored to be strict. He had been hesitant to do the video at first despite the tsunami of questions flooding their social media, and it wasn’t until Marlene suggested the charity aspect that he agreed.

Sirius didn’t like press. He liked it even less when it was poking around in his past, and when he had to support it.

The song ended and he paused the music, listening to his own breathing and steady pulse. You’re okay. You’re done. You made it through. He didn’t feel okay.

“—proud of him,” someone was saying inside the studio. Remus. “It was a complicated and painful thing to work through, but he never wavered from what he wanted and what was best for him.”

Six of his other teammates would speak, supporting the charity with a quick mention of their own feelings in case any assholes on the internet got bright ideas about speaking for them and their feelings on Sirius’ disownment. It was insane what people thought they found by digging through interviews.

“Hey, baby.” Sirius opened his eyes; above him, Remus was leaning over the armrest of the couch with a tired smile. He kissed Sirius’ forehead, then his nose, then his lips. “Ready to go home?”

“Don’t we have to stay until the end?”

“Marlene said she had everything she needed from us.”

Sirius blew out a slow breath and stood, wrapping his arms around Remus on instinct. “This feels like it’s going to go badly.”

“I don’t think it will,” Remus said quietly, rubbing up and down his spine. “I think it’s going to help a lot of people, and I hope it means we stop getting nosy comments now that you’ve answered the big questions and made it clear that’s the end.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They walked to the car in relative silence, hand-in-hand; Remus took the keys without a word, and relief washed over Sirius in a cool breeze. He didn’t feel grounded enough to drive safely. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he ever would. The whole world was hazy outside the passenger window, blurring the city he loved so much into smudges of colors—Remus was a presence next to him, but what Sirius wanted more than anything was some hot chocolate and a long, long nap.

“I don’t feel good,” he said, hardly above a whisper.

Remus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he drove. “Do I need to pull over?”

“No, I just…” He sighed. “I thought I would feel better after getting this off my chest and helping people. I feel bad.”

“Can you eat?” He nodded. “I’ll make some soup when we get home if you want to lay down for a bit.”

Sirius’ eyes burned. “Sounds good.”

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” Remus soothed, reaching one hand down to close around the one Sirius kept on his thigh as Sirius sniffled and shook with the effort of keeping in his tears. “It’s okay. You can call Marlene and ask her not to publish the video. That’s in your rights, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Sirius choked out, wiping his tears away with the back of his wrist. “It has to happen. People have to know that they can help. I—I just—I don’t know how to feel and so everything is happening at once.”

Nobody had taught Sirius how to handle Feelings-with-a-capital-f until Dumo; suddenly, he felt like all that hard work was being undone in one fell swoop. He kept ahold of Remus’ hand and let the tears slide down his cheeks as he breathed through it, keeping both feet firmly planted in some semblance of control. Remus parked the car and turned to him without unbuckling his seatbelt. “Do you want to go inside, or should we drive for a bit?”

“I really want to go to bed.”

“How can I help?” Remus laced their fingers together again and Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. “You really don’t seem alright, love.”

“I’m not, and I don’t know how to fix it.” The words were broken glass in his throat. “I was doing so good. I don’t know how to go back.”

“Oh, baby,” Remus murmured, taking his seatbelt off to kiss Sirius’ temple. “Let’s go inside, yeah? You’ll be more comfortable there.”

Sirius nodded mutely, still pressing his lips together to stifle any sounds that tried to come out. It always seemed like when he started to cry, he couldn’t stop—whether that was a function of never crying for the majority of his life, he didn’t know, but it always felt horrible. No mistakes, his mother had told him. The video felt like a mistake. Still, he knew he couldn’t ask them to take it down. There were people that needed help, and he couldn’t let his childhood hide in the shadows anymore.

Remus turned as if to hug him when the door closed behind them, but Sirius slipped past and headed straight for the stairs. Sweatpants, hoodie, soup, blanket, talk. Talk, talk, talk until you can’t stop. Then sleep. He heard Remus moving around in the kitchen as he stripped down and dug his softest sweatpants out of the drawer, followed by Remus’ most worn-down and oversized Wisconsin hoodie that he always wore when he didn’t feel well. Sirius buried his nose in the neckline and inhaled deeply; the familiar scent soothed the rush of blood in his ears.

He didn’t bother with socks and made a beeline for the couch, wrapping himself in the afghan blanket one of Hope’s friends had crocheted for their wedding. Hope had kept it in the Lupin house so she wouldn’t forget to bring it with her, and it smelled like them, too. It smelled like safety and a happy house and healthy childhoods.

Another tear slipped out when Remus set down some water and the soup—Campbell’s chicken noodle, can’t go wrong—and Sirius curled up against the armrest to make room. “I need to talk to you,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

The cushions dipped as Remus sat next to him and crossed his legs. “About what?”

“Everything.” His voice broke. “The way I grew up, everything about it. I—Re, I never lied to you, I promise. I just didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to scare you, but I have to be honest with you.”

“…alright.”

Sirius took a shaky breath; his mouth was dry, and salty at the edges. “My parents—my parents hit me when I wasn’t good enough, and nothing was ever good enough unless I could do it again, and again, and again—”

“Sirius—”

“—and I thought everyone on my team didn’t get dinner if they didn’t get a goal and—”

“Stop—”

“—and Regulus and I, it was like we couldn’t breathe in that house with them scripting every move—”

“Sirius.” Remus’ hand covered his mouth and Sirius closed his eyes as a sob ripped free, but didn’t fight it. “Sirius, stop, please.”

“I have to tell you,” he said hoarsely, trembling from head to toe. “I have to be honest with you.”

“I love you, and I’m glad you can talk to me, but I’m not the person you have to tell.” Remus’ voice was thick with tears. “Being honest with me doesn’t mean telling me every detail, please, please don’t do that.”

“I couldn’t make mistakes,” he blubbered, leaning into Remus. “What kind of fucking freak tells a child they can’t make mistakes?”

Remus shushed him softly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck as he went boneless into Remus’ chest. He could feel the hitching breaths under his face and regret reared up, but he felt so empty. There was so much more he could tell Remus and nothing he could say. “I love you,” Remus began, sniffling slightly. “I love you so much, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I love you, I’m going to tell you that I am not the person you need to tell all this to right now. You should talk to someone who knows how to help, like Heather.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered.

“No, I understand.” A kiss pressed against the top of his head. “And I’m not upset at you. Both our emotions are running really high. I just—this isn’t blaming you or to make you feel bad, but it hurts to hear all the horrible things that happened to you. I already wish I could have stopped it before it happened, but hearing you say it is a lot worse than thinking about it and I wasn’t ready to hear everything.”

“That’s not everything.”

“I know.” Remus’ voice cracked. “I know, and that’s the worst part. This video was a bad idea, I should call—”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Sirius caught his wrist as he reached for the phone. “The video isn’t the problem. It will help people. It’s just hard for me to talk about it without getting overwhelmed.”

Remus hesitated, but left the phone alone and hugged Sirius close again. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not gonna leave.” His chest rose and fell. “But—but if you need to tell me things, not just today, please give me fair warning first.”

“I will,” Sirius promised. They sat quietly for a moment before he sat up and pulled the soup bowl into his lap, letting the steam roll over his face. “Mon dieu, I was doing so good before this. It’s been the best two years and now…”

“Now it’s going to be better,” Remus filled in when he trailed off. A slender hand tucked his hair behind his ear. “It’s going to be better, Sirius. For you, and for lots of other people that you’re helping. But this is the hard part.”

“This is the really, really hard part,” he agreed, taking a sip of broth. It was the perfect temperature. “Thank you.”

“It’s just soup.”

“No, for everything. Everything you’ve done for me.” he rested his head on Remus’ shoulder, then left a lingering kiss on his cheek. “I love you more than I can say.”

A wry smile tilted the side of Remus’ mouth up. “In English or French?”

“Both,” Sirius half-laughed. “Both, I promise. I’m going to finish this, and then can we take a nap?”

“That sounds perfect. Make sure to drink your water, too.”

It would not be an easy evening, or an easy night, or an easy anything when the video came out. But he would work through it, and he would remember what he had learned from his family and his friends to move past the roadblocks his childhood always created. He would call Regulus, they would cry together, and they would be okay. He would be okay.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #marlene mckinnon #vaincre #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #interview #lumosinlove #disownment #child abuse #overwhelmed #hurt/ comfort #angst

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rainieclown · 3 years

Text

DEADLY OBSESSION

michael myers x reader - chapter 3: blood pill

when you're in your room, you feel tired and lonely. it's been a long afternoon with doctors running around to find a new carer for you while miss burnham went home to recover. most of all, you were terrified that michael was being treated unfairly. there were sick rumours of doctor loomis mistreating patients, but you'd have to wait and see.

tags: angst, morning sickness, pregnancy/pregnancy tests

warnings: forced abortion, vomiting, angst, crying, yandere themes

huge trigger warning for (forced) abortions this chapter, i want to go into how patients are treated by the hospital as this is set in the 1980's and people in mental hospitals were treated cruelly around that time (esp in the halloween franchise) if you can't read this chapter, that's completely fine! i hope you're doing well, drink plenty of water and eat three meals - rin <3

michael had been gone for 4 weeks now, and you felt terrified. when you woke up this morning, you started vomiting and found that you can't move too quickly as you'll grow nauseous. miss burnham had visited, and was on crutches, only to be sent home by the administrator of the hospital. you felt lonely, they still hadn't found a free nurse as the hospital was pretty full, causing most of the staff to be overworked and unable to fit you on a schedule. so, doctor addison took you in on his more light schedule, he was simply researching cotard syndrome, and had three patients under his care for therapy and interviews about how they felt and how they became the way they are today. so, when you got up, after checking michael's room for any sign of him, you headed to the rec room where one of doctor addison's patients sat. they were talking, and the poor girl was truly convinced she was a vampire, referring to herself as "the mistress of the dark." you believed her name was thelma, but you weren't sure as she was never interested in talking to you and you just left her be. "thank you for your time, miss howcroft. i shall leave you to your undead activities." doctor addison bows his head before heading over to you.

"good morning, y/n. you look a little rough." the doctor greets, and you huff. "mhm. i feel sick, just spent 5 minutes throwing up." you sigh, and doctor addison hums, beginning to scribble down notes on a new page. "tell me your symptoms?" he suggests, and you hum. "nauseous, just feeling generally ill. i feel like i'm going to throw up." you tell him, and he hums, writing down the information you gave him. "morning sickness?" he suggests, looking up at you. "pfft, yeah maybe." you sigh, grabbing a cup to fill up with water. "is there any chance you could be pregnant?" he asks, and you choke on your drink. growing flustered, you stammer slightly, looking away from the man. "i'm guessing so from what i witnessed." he teases, nudging your side. "shut up..! i'm not pregnant." you huff, glancing at your stomach. "you could be, i'll get a test for you." he says, leaving the room.

you sigh, looking over at thelma who was staring at you. she makes a small noise as she realises she's been caught gawking, and you furrow your brows as she slinks away out of the room. you had noticed her wandering around curiously, sometimes spending her time with a burn victim. they seemed to get on pretty well, and you and doctor addison made a bet that they were secretly dating. when doctor addison returns, he hands you a thin box. "take this, and tell me the results asap." he smiles, pushing the box into your hands. "fine.. but i don't think i'm pregnant as morning sickness normally happens before this time." you note, but doctor addison corrects you. "no, morning sickness starts around the 4th to 6th week of pregnancy." he smiles, and you roll your eyes as you walk into the bathroom.

your heart dropped when you saw the results. you were pregnant. terrified of how the doctors would react, how miss burnham would react, but most importantly.. how would michael take it? would he be happy or would he ditch you? "fuck.." you whimper, tears streaking down your face. a few gentle knocks sound through the bathroom and you flinch. "y/n? are you done?" doctor addison calls through the door, and you whine as you open it up for him. "so..?" he asks softly, and you hand him the stick. "oh my... congratulations!" he smiles brightly, pulling you into a hug. you cry into his coat, and addison's smile drops as he rubs your back. "how will everyone react?" you whimper, and the blonde man sighs. "that i can't say, but we have to tell the board of your pregnancy. i'll leave it to you to tell mr. myers. come on, i'll take you to solitary to see him." he says, his british accent gentle and soothing. "thank you.. i'm scared but- i have to tell him at least." you sniffle, letting him lead you out of the room.

you've never been to solitary, as you normally stayed in your room or stowed away in the corner of the room. so seeing all the patients locked away and seemingly bored or distressed scared you. "is he okay?" you ask softly, and doctor addison shrugs. "i'm not sure.." he says softly, glancing at one of the more erratic patients in his cell. all of them were sound proof, inside and out, and were dark and cramped. "oh god.." you mumble, grabbing the doctors arm tightly for protection as you rest a hand over your stomach without realising. you get to michael's cell, and you see doctor loomis sat with him. michael spots you immediately, and his eyes brighten a little. you give him a small wave, upset at the bruises on his face and neck, desperate to get in there and hold him tightly. doctor addison gets his master key and unlocks a small panel on the door. "doctor loomis, i need to borrow mr myers." he says firmly as the older doctor turns. "ah, doctor addison. what a surprise." he grins, standing from his chair and turning his back to michael. "i'm just about done here. keep a close eye on him, he's deemed dangerous." doctor loomis says as he steps out.

you slip past the doctors and latch onto michael tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck, forgetting about his bruises. he doesn't seem to care as his shackled hands find your hips, holding you closer. "i've missed you.." you mumble, moving away to cup his face in your hands. "me too. are you alright?" he rasps, voice rough from lack of use. you nod slightly, leaning your forehead against his as you gently brush his hair with your fingers. "how peculiar. i've never seen anyone get a positive reaction out of him." doctor loomis notes, and addison hums. "they have a special bond, but we need to let them have a private conversation as i tell the board the situation." he says, closing the door to speak to loomis privately as well.

"are you alright?" you ask, still resting one of your hands on his cheek. "mhm. i'm fine." he replies, nuzzling into your neck as he pulls you fully onto his lap. the two of you sit in a comfortable silence as you curl into his chest. "how long until you get out?" you ask after a while, and michael hums. "soon." he responds, kissing the top of your head. "can i tell you something..?" you continue, voice quiet. "of course." he says, tilting your chin with his finger so you would look at him. "i'm pregnant.." you announce, averting your gaze from his. michael smiles, the thought of you swelling with his child was so hot to him, a true marking, but the thought of having a kid annoyed him. he doesn't like kids... but he'd make an exception for you. "michael..?" you mumble, tears welling in your eyes.

"don't worry, i'm happy." he smiles, nuzzling his nose against yours. you smile, kissing him softly. "thank you for not turning me away.." you sigh happily and michael rolls his eyes. "i would never. you're mine now, forever." he mumbles, resting his large hand on your stomach. you feel warm inside, and despite being terrified of the teen pregnancy, you felt happy that you weren't in this alone. the door opens abruptly, and you jump. "y/n, please come with me so we can talk." doctor loomis crosses his arms and you feel unsafe as you shuffle closer to michael. "talk to me here.." you say quietly, not willing to leave michael again, and he clearly feels the same way as he holds you tighter- this time being careful of your stomach. "fine. i'm assuming you've told him of your predicament." doctor loomis adjusts his glasses before continuing. "the board just won't allow a pregnancy between two patients, let alone between two 17 year olds." he continues as doctor addison looks away. "i'm sorry, but we're going to have to perform an abortion." the blonde sighs from where he stood. "what?! no!" you protest, draping your arms around your stomach protectively. "don't worry, y/n. it'll be over before you know it." doctor loomis smiles.

michael moves to stand, putting you down carefully and moving in front of you. "don't touch them." he says, voice rough as he speaks up. "i'm afraid you have no say in the matters, myers. hand them over." loomis says, folding his arms. "no." he furrows his brows, feeling you clutch the back of his shirt as you nuzzle into his back. "myers, this is crucial. let me take y/n to my operation room." loomis says sternly, taking a step closer. "over my dead body." he growls, and loomis simply smiles again. "we'll dig one hole." he shoots back, grabbing michael's wrist and stabbing a syringe into his vein. michael feels himself growing weaker slowly, but his urge to protect you- to protect his baby- is too much. tugging on his shackles, he tries to lunge for the doctor, but alas, he slumps to his knees as you gasp, moving to help him.

"now then, y/n. come with me please." loomis smiles at you, taking your arm into his hand to pull you from michael. "no! michael, help!" you yelp, trying to struggle. "enough, doctor loomis! you can't hold my patient like that." addison steps up, trying to pull you from the older doctor. "now now, addison. you don't want to get in trouble for stopping the process now, would you?" loomis teases, and you feel dizzy at how fast the doctor had pulled you. michael tries to grab you again, but he collapses fully onto the floor, unable to help you as you cry. eventually, a needle pricks your neck and you cry in pain before growing dizzy. "michael..!" you whimper as your world goes dark.

when you awaken, you're lay in your bed, snugly wrapped up in your blankets but something's wrong. you feel... empty. you can just tell that your baby was gone, and you start to sob. you cry for hours, feeling no motivation to get up to dry your tears or get some water for your dry throat. you just cry, clutching your stomach as you roll onto your side. your baby wasn't even a month into development, and they had stripped you of them. you barely got to experience pregnancy with michael, barely got to feel like a parent. your door clicks open, and you don't even react as you sob into your pillow. "y/n." a gruff voice starts, and you finally turn. michael moves over to your bed, and you scramble to hug him tightly. "they- they..!" you wail, and michael sighs as he holds you close to his chest.

michael didn't feel anything, but the sight of you mourning made him feel sick. he wanted revenge on the facility for making you feel like this, wanted to murder anyone who hurt you. "my baby..!" you cry, still clutching your tummy as he holds you. michael kisses your head softly, rubbing your belly for you. "it's okay. they won't get away with this. i'll make sure of it." he grumbles, a tinge of anger in his voice. "they killed my baby.." you whimper, hands coming up to grasp onto michael instead, his presence comforted you as you guessed he was feeling the same way. "it's alright.. i'll make sure they never hurt you again." michael states, laying down with you carefully as you settle with him, letting you cry yourself to sleep into his chest.

time passes, and doctor addison grants michael access to stay in your room whilst you mourn. he feels rage boiling his blood as he has to force you to eat, to drink, to shower, to take medication, to take care of yourself at all. they made you like this, and he was going to make them pay for every ounce of distress that filled your mind. currently, you were fast asleep against his chest, mumbling something incoherent in your sleep. michael can't sleep, and he doesn't mind staying awake until you feel better even if it kills him. you were his top priority, his obsession. he loved you deeply, and cared about what happened to you.

they had destroyed all progress you had made, you couldn't even get out of bed to go to therapy. michael gives you a small kiss on your forehead as you shuffle in your sleep slightly, your hands clutching his shirt tightly. tears are slipping from your closed eyes as you sleep, and michael gently rubs them away, leaning in again to kiss you softly. you relax slightly, but when he pulls away you whimper. "my baby..!" you cry despite being asleep. michael lets out a small breath as he rubs your back, fluttering soft kisses over your face so that you would settle again. "michael..?" you mumble, and he hums softly. "it's okay, i'm here." he says back, unsure if you're still sleeping or not.

you doze off again, content in your dream, still grasping his shirt tightly to keep him close. michael checks the time behind him, it was 3:41 am, time was going so slow. michael's throat was dry, and he can't fight the urge to go get water. slowly, he slips from your grip and gets up, unknown to the fact that despite unconscious you knew he left. as he gets a drink from the tap in the bathroom, you cry softly, curling in on yourself. your cries grow distressed as you lurch up, wide awake. "mike!" you yelp, hands trembling as you search for him. the other patient steps from the bathroom quickly, stalking over to grab you tightly. you settle with your head on his chest as he bundles you up into his arms. "it's okay.." he mumbles as your tears wet his shirt. "why did they do this to me..?" you cry, looping your arms under his to pull him closer. "because they don't care about anyone in this hospital." michael's reply is sour, and he moves back to the bed with you.

you sniffle as he lays you down, and you make grabby hands at him. chuckling, michael joins you and wraps you both up in the covers. "thank you for being here.." you mumble, nuzzling into his chest as you wrap your arms around his middle. "mhm, i love you." he smiles, kissing your head softly. "i.. i love you too." you reply softly, smiling brightly. after a few moments of silence, michael assumes you've fallen asleep but your small voice mumbles his name. "hm?" he looks down at you. "if we get the chance, would you like to have kids?" you ask softly, and michael is slightly taken aback. "in here or when we get out?" he questions back and you shrug. "either." you mumble, and michael thinks. "absolutely. i'll do anything for you." he says softly, "besides, the thought of you being full of my kids is hot as fuck." he adds teasingly, enjoying how you fluster. "thank you.." you mumble to the first part as he gives you a soft kiss.

michael pulls your leg over his hips and you hum, happily shuffling closer to him. "you're so cute.." michael whispers as you settle on him. "stop." you whine, hiding your smile. "mm, no." he teases, lifting your head to give you a soft kiss. three soft knocks interrupt your moment, and you sit up. "it's almost 4 am, who..?" you trail off as michael gets up, gesturing for you to stay put. slowly, michael peels the door open and is surprised to see doctor addison standing there. "may i come in?" he asks softly, and michael looks back to you. you seem uncomfortable, yet nod, so michael lets him in. "i just want to apologise.. i shouldn't of told them, i just... my research means anything to me and if i slip up it will mean nothing." he explains, and michael hides you protectively behind him.

you sniffle slightly, leaning against michael's shoulder. "however, if anything were to reoccur... i promise i won't tell as long as i can keep doing my research." he says, placing another pregnancy test on your bedside table. you eye it curiously, and despite feeling a lot of pain you know it's always possible to try again. "thank you.." you mumble, circling your arms fully around michael as he continues to watch the doctor's every move. "i hope you can find it in you to forgive me, y/n.. i think miss burnham is coming back soon so hopefully you both can do art therapy again." he smiles, leaving the room after bidding farewell.

michael grabs the test, offering it to you. "what do you think?" he asks softly, and you take the box from him. "i might still need some time, but i will happily try again." you smile, and michael smiles back.

#content warning #cw abortion #tw abortion #michael myers #michael myers x reader #halloween resurrection

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homoose · 3 years

Text

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @eevee0722 @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin

Series tags: @spacedikut @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @meowiemari @mrsmyaweasley @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @daybabyx @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @takeyourleap-of-faith @mrs-dr-reid @flklrevrmre @andromedasstarship @joodeduarte

Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid imagine #homoose writes #tmsidk

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fly-on-the-windscreen15 · 2 years

Text

Alan Wilder and The Guardian: Y-fronts and socks (Interview; 25th February, 1999)

Q: Are computers important . . . for you? . . . for the world?

For me, essential. For the world, perhaps not. One should retain one's quality of life but not at the expense of progress. Shopping is a good example. Just browsing a virtual supermarket, then sitting back and waiting for some spotty youth to deliver my weekly choice directly to my door has got to be the way forward. However, pottering around your local country deli for some unusual delights should not be eradicated.

Q: What about the Internet? Does it threaten or enhance individual freedom?

It's a paradox. My solo project, Recoil, takes advantage of the Net to spread the word and benefits from fans being able to exchange material (essentially bootlegging); whereas Depeche Mode, my other source of income, needs to take precautions to prevent unauthorised material flying around.

Q: Do you use an Apple Mac or a PC?

Strictly Mac, because that's where I started (best for music). I use a 9600 with two 21-inch monitors for music running Digidesign's Pro Tools Z24 [a 24-bit, 32-track digital music studio] (and nothing but music-related software is installed). For the office and Web site, I use a G3 and a 7600 with 17-inch monitors.

Q: What do you use the machines for?

Primarily making music but also running a Web site (www.recoil.co.uk). No games. I have a strong aversion to Sonic The Hedgehog.

Q: Any favourite software, and anything you'd like but can't have yet?

Logic Audio and Recycle for music; and Go Live Cyberstudio and Photoshop for Web design. And no!

Q: Any favourite spots on the Net?

Stories of foreign objects lodged in the body along the lines of 'I was Hoovering my signal box in the nude when I tripped over the dog and accidentally sat on the kettle . . .' complete with X-rays and full medical jargon (www.well.com/user/cynsa/newbutt.html); to translate anything into 'Saaf Lahndahn', 'Redneck', Swedish and more (www.rinkworks.com/dialect/); The Citroen DS- An Homage to the Goddess (www.id-ds. com/Pages/the.godess.htm); Anton Corbijn Photographer (www.photogenic.net/corbijn/index.html); Lord's (http://lords.msn.com/scoreboard/scores/default.htm); and Mouth Almighty Records - Bringing the Muse to Market (www.mouthalmighty.com/index.htm).

Q: Do you get into dialogues with strangers on the Net?

Yes, a little. I quite enjoy talking to faceless people on occasion. Perversely, it can be a freeing experience.

Q: Do you use your own name when surfing?

Generally, no. I prefer Norman Gland or Dr Feschel.

Q: Spend long at the terminal?

Yes, an unreasonable amount of time. I'm taking fresh air therapy at the moment.

Q: Are you a geek? Got any favourite geeks?

Yes, I sit up late into the night, writing e-mails wearing nothing but Y-fronts and socks. Stephen Hawking (a Recoil fan, so he says :-).

Q: On a desert island, would you prefer a human or a computer for company?

A human. I'm not quite that sad.

Q: Professionally, what's taking up your time?

Making a new Recoil album - on a computer. And running a Web site - on a computer.

(some of the links above are a bit hit or miss)

source

#alan wilder #recoil #the guardian #interview #1999 #y-fronts and socks

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Steamy Waters — Jungkook

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 7.7k

Genre: smut, pwp; initial fluff, but don’t let that fool you; established relationship; idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello my fluffy ducklings, welcome to Jeongguk’s Steamy Waters 😈

I won’t even pretend there’s a plot in this. It’s just Jk, coming home from the gym and finding excuses to shower with his gf. Set almost a month after Love Talk, Jeongguk is finally ready to take a big step in his relationship with Candy, however finding the courage for the big leap is excruciating. Candy is more than willing to reward him before asking for something in return, she simply doesn’t know how much her game will cost her.

I decided I’ll keep using the nickname the nickname “Guk”, (see more in this post). Now, straight on to...

TRIGGER WARNINGS: unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t do that unless YOU’RE TESTED AND CLEAN), mentions of therapy and mental health; sweaty jock!Jungkook, smitten!Jungkook who can’t express his emotions but IS WORKING ON IT, with a very supportive gf; I guess there’s a striptease, if you like... squint?; masturbation (female and male receiving); breast worship; period talk; very intimate love confession; foreplay under the shower (specifically mutual oral sex — aka 69 — while laying on the floor); predator/prey dynamics (namely she runs and he chases her, finds her as she tries to hide, drags her out and throws her over his shoulder); plenty of lube (lube is important and useful, let’s normalise using it); lots of degradation and objectification, name calling (fuckdoll, slut, cocksleeve, cockfairy), very multiple orgasms — like a lot; edging (both male and female receiving), begging, crying, slight humiliation. These two know all the possible variations to missionary sex (sorry not sorry); biting; slightest, most delicate face slapping and grabbing; spanking; tattoo fetish; cumplay, mentions of cum eating.

[Inspired by this look]

Here is my masterlist and check out my non-idols!AU (Partition update coming on Sat, Jan 23rd!!!)

Remember to vote for next prompt (link in bio)!

And now, enjoy ✨💜

————————————

The entry door smashed loudly sometime around ten p.m., followed by the thud of a bag falling to the floor, Jeongguk’s heavy steps stopping as he took of his shoes.

The moment he appeared he looked unreal, with an oversized black shirt reaching his mid thigh, the sleeves exposing his forearms and part of his tattoos, his hair falling messily in wet curls over his forehead.

“Candy, babe?” He called from the entry. “I’m home!”

“Guk?” You called from the kitchen, your head peeking around the corner. He spotted you and smiled.

“What you doing there?” He said with a smile, sauntering towards you, standing at your side and placing a hand around your waist as you stood by the stove.

You turned and stood on your tiptoes, puckering your lips and closing your eyes.

He bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I’m messy.” He said, close to your mouth.

“Are you fresh out of the gym?” You asked.

He nodded. “I haven’t even showered yet. I wanted to come home as soon as possible.” His fingers rubbed your side gently, trying not to tickle you. “I missed you a lot today.”

You smiled as you finished warming up his favourite post-workout snack. “I’ve already eaten. I thought you might be hungry.” You said, just as he stole the ladle and took a sip.

“Yum!” He commented, placing the utensil back in your hand. He stood behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I wanna hug you but I’m too sweaty.” He commented as he kneeled the tense muscles of your neck.

You shook your head. “Oh, these need to be washed,” you said, referring to your outfit. “We went to a bulgogi place today and I feel like I smell so bad.”

“You haven’t showered yet?” He asked, his hands slowing down, almost stopping.

“No… I switched on the tv and there was this interesting old interview with Miyazaki and I got caught up.” You explained with a cheery tone.

“The Japanese director and artist?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, switching off the stove and pouring a couple ladles of noodles and broth in a bowl, adding some basic decorations on top.

He paused before wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can I hug you then?” He asked gently, almost too quietly for you to hear.

Still, there was no way you wouldn’t hear his voice. Sometimes you thought you could hear his very thoughts.

“Of course you can hug me, Guk.”

His body adhered to yours without hesitation, a low moan exiting his throat as he felt you sink even deeper into him, pressing into his body, almost trying to hide into him.

“I said I missed you.” He said shyly, waiting for you to praise him as he opened up about his emotions.

You were working through it, together, trying to make him open up more, offer you more of himself, of his feelings and fears.

“I missed you too, baby. I love you.” You spoke against his chest, taking in the clean and humid scent of his skin. He always smelled so good even after working out. Especially after working out.

Your hormones did a somersault.

“Today I felt very… restless.”

That was a very specific word for his emotional vocabulary. Lately, he was getting better and better, finding new words that fit his moods appropriately. His way of speaking was always plain, in the best meaning of the term. He is simple and transparent, always using basic words with great meaning. That seemed to be his style, pure and direct, honest.

However, he was growing a lot, even emotionally. He was slowly losing the adjective “young” that people normally put before the word “man” when trying to describe him.

He is a man. And an excellent one at that. Sure, a bit naive sometimes, and still shy, but he always showed a caring, attentive side whenever you tried to speak your needs and grievances within your relationship.

“Mh… What made you feel restless today?” You asked, repeating an exercise that your psychologist always made you do when you were a teen.

“We practiced a choreo all morning. And we always messed up the same part. There’s a very difficult transition and it’s just… so difficult to end up in the right position after the passage.” He said, huffing out loudly.

You thought about his food getting cold, still you knew that if you made him eat the conversation would quite surely stop. “Anything else, baby?” You asked, kissing his breastbone.

“We had a couple interviews this afternoon. One with a radio and another one with a talk show.” He said. “I’m glad that my English is improving. Namjoon hyung said he’s proud of me and that I did a good job.”

You heard the smile in his voice.

“Even Yoongi hyung said I did a good job. And he offered me a tangerine!” He said enthusiastically.

You rubbed his back. “We’re all proud of you, baby.” You said fondly.

“Thank you.” He replied and when you looked up at his face you saw his ears flush red.

“Time to eat, Koo.” You said, pressing your hands to the sides of his head, trying to calm down the blush.

He smiled.

He looked beautiful.

On your tiptoes, you kissed the mole under his lip, shortly before he picked you up by the waist and brought you at his eye level, your arms anchoring behind his neck as he pushed his mouth to yours. “Thank you.” He said again, that feeling in his chest getting more and more urgent.

He would say it. Just… Not now.

He had plans.

He took the bowl and a spoon in his hand, the other one staying around your back, pulling you to the table with him. First he placed down the objects and then he sat, still holding your hand, tugging at it gently and making you sit across his lap.

You giggled and adjusted yourself, your forearm moving behind him and securing you to his back.

He pecked your temple and thanked for the food quickly before digging in, slurping loudly and devouring the whole meal in eager, large spoonfuls.

“No one’s stealing your food, baby, don’t eat too fast.” You said, worried as he paused for a moment, only to take a few breaths and dig in again, finishing the bowl.

He placed down the spoon and rubbed his belly, exhaling with a satisfied grin.

You smirked. “Would you like some more?”

He shook his head no. “I wanna shower.” He said, placing the spoon in the bowl and handing both to you; but before you could protest, thinking he was asking you to tidy up, he moved one arm under your knees, the other around your shoulders, picking you up bridal style.

“Guk, for goodness’ sake!” You shrieked, trying to secure yourself with one arm, the other holding the bow.

“Trust me,” He said, “I’ve got you.” He reassured you, stopping in front of the sink and helping you place the bowl down. Next, he made you sit on the counter, “I need both hands free for this,” he said, picking up the pot and covering it with its lid before placing it back inside the fridge.

He would deal with that later.

“Come here,” he called, standing between your legs and picking you up again, his hands pressed to the back of your thighs. You pushed your nose against the soft hair of his nape. “Where are we going?” You asked, curious.

“Shower.” He said, reaching the room and placing you down near the sink in the dim light coming in from the window. He looked at the saffron gleam of the streetlights landing on the floor, cutting a thin, long stripe landing at your feet.

He took a step forward and stood in it, his black shirt immediately absorbing the light with a curious pattern of shadows that seemed to offer small outlines of the taut, solid muscles underneath.

Jeongguk stood there, fascinated with the way you looked at him, almost ready to hide his face in his hands before you traced the line of his collarbone, then up his throat, until you reached the deep darkness enshrouding his mouth.

“Would you take off your shirt?” You asked, cupping his jaw.

He nodded. “In a second.” He said, staring some more.

He would have never believed he looked at you the same way you looked at him, weren’t it for the picture that had become his new desktop wallpaper a few hours ago. Jin had sent him a picture of the night Jungkook had introduced you to the boys, a week after the two of you had reunited. In the picture, you were talking with Jimin and Taehyung, the older leaning into you as he laughed hysterically while the younger looked at you like you had hung the very stars in the sky. Sitting on the sofa, you glanced up at Jeongguk as he stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders, a large grin on his face and the warmest feeling glittering in his eyes, his ears bright as your own lips opened up in a soft smile.

And now he stood in front of you and you were gorgeous. And he felt so in love.

So desperate to touch you.

But you looked like a vision, a mirage ready to disappear like his unsteady feelings; like that ugly, lying voice could come up any moment and make his doubt you and himself, making him believe that he was incapable of understanding true love, that he had been fooled once and it was sweet like this at the beginning until all there was left was barren land and bitter dust.

He took off his shirt. You moved away the hand on his face before you got tangled up, giving him space until his naked torso was right in front of you.

“You’ve been getting skinnier.” You said, placing your hands on his pectorals. “You’ve lost weight?” You asked, cupping his face again.

“It’s why I’m exercising. It was hard to keep a routine while I was gone.” He explained, placing his hands around your wrists and pushing them down. “Am I not strong enough? Fit enough?” He asked once your hands were resting on his pectorals.

Your thumbs circled his nipples, making them harden immediately. “No, baby.” You argued, a bit disappointed. “I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down with the gym and ate a tiny bit more.” You replied. “I love you. I don’t care about your looks, but you’re all bones and muscles. I don’t mind the flesh.” You said, pinching his belly and finding only skin between your fingers. “I’m saying I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself.” You explained before your hands travelled to the ribbon of his sweats.

“You want me to put on some weight?” He asked, incredulous.

“I just want you to be healthy and eat enough food to match your workouts, and do anything you want with your body without feeling pressured. True Army will love you with or without abs.” You raked your nails across his taut abdomen. “And I don’t care as long as I get to touch you like this. Or kiss you here.” You said, following the shape of his cock with a finger.

He smiled and blushed — which you couldn’t see, considering the dark room. What you did feel was his sex twitching and hardening some more. He moaned weakly, his head falling forward and landing on your shoulder. “You mean you care only about blowing me?” He asked, his hips pushing against your palm, his hair tickling your neck and ear, making you arch away from his sinfully messy mop of hair.

You cupped him from over his sweats, massaging him slowly, gently. “Let’s say it’s a pretty important factor in our relationship.” You joked, nuzzling your nose against his head.

“Mh...” He commented meditatively. “How important compared to your love for me?” He asked, mouthing at the underside of your jaw, chuckling and teasing it with the vibrations of his voice clad in a deep rumble and the thick, teasing accent of his dialect.

“Mh… they’re neck and neck for factor number one.” You teased back, tracing his happy trail with your index finger.

“Neck and neck, you say...” He mused, nipping at your throat harshly, making you gasp. “Let’s see what happens if I take it away from you.” He wondered as he took a step away, out of your grasp.

You tried to keep touching him until he was too far for you to reach.

“Hands to yourself, babe.” He scolded as you licked your lips, looking at him as he switched on the soft led from the shower, lowering it to a soft dark red. “Promise me you’ll keep your naughty fingers at bay.” He asked, taking one step toward you.

You nodded eagerly, “I promise. Please.” You begged, placing your palms flat on your thighs and waiting for him to come closer. Once more he stood between your legs, his hands catching your wrists and bringing your arms behind your back, indirectly making your spine arch forward and push your breasts up.

He stared unashamed at your curves, barely visible over the large cotton blouse. “Keep your hands there.” He said, his fingers starting at your buttons. “My turn.” He said, undoing enough buttons to reach the lower hem of your bra, his hands sliding into the opening and cupping your breast from the lower, outer part, pressing them together and planting his face right in the crevasse, making you laugh at the drastic way he dove in.

“You good there, Guk?”

He nodded simply. “God, if you’re listening, this is a good moment to die.” He commented gingerly. “Let my girlfriend’s tits be the last thing I see before I pass.” He went on. “Amen.”

The laughter overtook you, your whole body wiggling with giggles. “Admit it, you love my tits way more than you love me.” You said before realising that the joke didn’t work both ways: even though you had confessed your feelings, he hadn’t done so with an actual declaration yet.

“Neck and neck.” He replied, letting his feelings implicitly show with ambiguous confessions.

He drew the upper curve of each breast with small kisses while his fingers worked the buttons left. The moment he reached the last one, he undid it and raised his head, looking you in the eye for the longest, slowest seconds in the history of the universe. His lips collided with yours, pressure building and building until you separated, galaxies of feelings and sensations blooming in both of you.

His hands pushed the blouse off your shoulders, letting it slide to your wrists. Next, he moved the straps of your bra off your shoulders kissing the slope of your neck and collarbone slowly and leisurely on the left side, before turning to the other side and parting his lips, letting half an inch of his tongue hang from his mouth and trace the ridge of your collarbone, his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra. The garment slid lower, your breasts heavier now without the support of the small cage. “Are they sore?” He asked, kissing you under your ear before moving his hands to your forearms, freeing you from the shirt.

“A bit. It was hot outside today.” You paused. “And my period’s close.” You added, hoping he didn’t get embarrassed by the small statement.

He stayed silent for half a minute. “How close?” He asked, moving your arm to your front so he could remove one strap, then focusing on the other one, baring your torso completely.

“It should be… four or five days away.” You said after making a quick count.

He nodded before cupping your face and kissing your mouth. “Do you need me to stock anything in the house?” He asked, parting from your face and looking you in the eye? “Sanitary products, comfort food, anything?” He asked, his gaze so soft and caring you felt a string of your heart snap and break.

“I have those at home.” You said, combing his hair away from his face, the red light making his eyes even more intense, his lips even more tempting.

“You won’t be here on the weekend?” He asked, suddenly hesitant. “I know we met today because I called you and normally you prefer staying at your place on weekdays and coming over for the weekend; but I thought that meeting today wouldn’t mean I wouldn’t have the weekend.” He said, confused and a little bit sad. Even with the dim lights you could see the disappointed look on his face.

“I thought that since I had my per—”

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want to cuddle and sleep with you. You know I—” love you. “I don’t want only sex.” He said, frowning.

You noticed he grew increasingly upset, his teeth torturing his lower lip.

Can’t you just fucking say it, Jeon Jeongguk, for goodness’ sake! His brain snapped at him, but his heart stayed guarded and wary.

“Come here.” You said, opening your arms, and letting him barricade himself into your embrace, your chest hot against his, the late summer night making both your and his skin clammy. “I know you care about me.” You said, your hand sliding into the long locks of his nape. “I’m not used to this, Guk. You know how we did this before you left.”

“This is not before I left. This is now.” He said, his voice so insecure. “I want everything. The cuddles and the sex and the feelings and… all of it. I want to be there for you. Always.” He said, raising up, towering over you as hegave up on the protection of your arms and offered you the safety of his own. “I want you to count on me. To trust me and tell me when something’s wrong. I want to support you and protect you.” He said, more and more determined. “I want to be the one you want when you had a stressful day and you need to talk. I want your problems too, ____. I want the ugly bits too. I don’t want you to choose the parts that you think I can handle and offer those alone.” He patted your head before making you look at him. “I want everything, Candy. Every damn thing, baby. The good, the bad and the in between.” He bent to your ear and closed his eyes, leaning into you, pressing his forehead to your temple. “Will you let me be there for you, baby, please?” He asked, begging, holding the crown of your head with one hand and your waist with the other.

You nodded, almost too emotional. “Yes.” You replied simply before he pressed you to his chest, where his heart beat so loud you thought he would get a heart attack.

He placed both hands on your waist lifting you off the counter and placing you with your feet on the floor. “Take off your trousers and panties, Candy.” He spoke softly as he watched your hands slide down your sides dragging the garments all the way to your ankles before stepping out of them. He placed them in the basket with the dirty laundry.

“Your sweats,” you said, trying to reach for the waistband.

“No,” he said, getting undressed by himself.

Just like that, you stood naked in front of each other, his eyes focused on your face, your gaze laced with his.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispered, cupping the side of your neck before letting his hand skim your chest, the plumpness on your breast, the sensitive curve of your waist, his palm stopping at your hip before his fingers sunk into your flesh, his eyes following his hand with unbreakable focus.

Gently, he tugged you toward the shower, making you stop before entering. “Let me get the temperature right.” He said, opening the tap and waiting a little before the water turned warm. You stared at him as he tested the spray and dove under, small rivulets rolling down his body, following the curve of his back, drenching his hair and rolling down his cheeks as he rubbed his face with his hands.

“Come, babe.” Jeongguk said, stretching his hand toward you.

Biting your lip, you took a few steps before he moved out of the spray, hugging you before he took a small step back, your and his body both under the water. You simply pressed your mouth to the base of his throat while his hands made sure that your hair got properly wet before he could wash them.

Your hands moved down his back, from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, until you managed to reach the full roundness of his ass, massaging it slowly, comfortably.

He snickered. “Are you comfy there?” He asked, just as his hands reached your own ass and squeezed it. “Does that feel good?”

You nodded, the sound of the water drowning your small moan. “Let me.” You said, turning around and rubbing at your hair, making sure it was soaked.

His hands followed the curves of your body capturing your heavy breasts in his palms. He took a deep breath before he stretched to reach his body wash, pouring some in his palm and foaming it up before spreading it over your skin, the scent of his soap filling the space.

The lights were making it even more intimate, with the red-to-black spectrum tinging the experience in a variety of tones of eroticism. First and foremost, the mildest but most difficult of them all: intimacy.

Jeongguk placed his hands on your waist, making you turn around. You were there, with your hair pushed back, your beautiful face completely exposed to his observing stare. He couldn’t hold your gaze.

He poured more shower gel on his palm and after it turned into a small handful of bubbles he bent down and divided it between his hands, bending down and washing your legs, until he knelt, washing your feet.

“Guk.” You called shyly.

He hummed in reply, just as he took a gentler soap meant for your intimate parts. He pumped a dollop on his hand and foamed it briskly before cupping your vulva delicately, focusing on the simple, affectionate task at hand, making sure to spread your labia as you parted your legs slightly to let him have access. He rubbed the palm slowly, lightly against your skin, not sparing the back, in between your ass cheeks, waiting for the water to rinse his hands and clean you fully.

He felt ready.

His hands cupped your hips, holding tight without his fingers digging in, all the pressure focused on his palms.

He kissed your belly button.

“I love you.” He almost whispered.

You were far too lost in sensations to be sure that he had actually said what you thought you had heard.

“What?” You asked, looking down at him.

He delivered another small kiss on your tummy and looked up. “I love you, ____.” He said, before smiling timidly.

“You love me?” You asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I love you, Candy. A whole damn lot.” He said, kissing a straight line from your belly to your pubic bone, stopping there. “I wanna… Can I… Can I taste you?” He asked, waiting on his knees, removing his hands and mouth from you, letting you choose freely.

You looked at him before your mouth opened in the happiest, widest smile you had ever given him. “I love you, you know that, right?” You told him, touching his face, combing his hair back.

He nodded. “I love you too.” He said, and the more he said that, the more his body felt how right, how true it was.

“You wanna eat me out?” You asked as he nodded furiously.

You lifted a leg, ready to place it on his shoulder when he sat on his hip, then turned with his back to you, laying flat on the floor, his head away from the water spray.

Your brow furrowed before he tucked his elbows next to his torso, his hands close to his face before he grinned and wiggled his fingers in a “come forth” motion.

“Uhm…” You wondered, confused for a brief moment, trying to understand if he really meant for you to ride his face, especially since you were both still trying to understand the whole cunnilingus discourse.

“Sit on my face?” He asked, his cheeks blushing — which fortunately you couldn’t see with the current lighting, he considered.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You sure?” You asked.

“Pretty sure, yes. If you want to, of course.” He replied.

Slowly you lowered yourself to your knees, his hands circling your waist and heading up, up, until he met your breasts, before heading down again, fixing your hips right against his lips.

“I’m gonna start now, Candy.” He warned you, “you can ask me to stop whenever you want to, baby.”

“Wait!” You called. “Is it okay if I blow you?” You asked, pretty sure that it would be good for your mind space if you dedicated yourself to his pleasure, easing the mental pressure you felt whenever someone went down on you. After all, Jeongguk had been the first to make you cum during oral sex, and even with him sometimes you struggled reaching your high.

“You want to sixty-nine?” He asked, trying to comfort you by lacing his fingers with yours.

“I wanna try?” You asked. “Maybe it all works better if I’m not thinking about it too much. I could use a…distraction?” You explained, doubtful.

“Okay, let’s give this a go.” He replied, completely oblivious that the simple movements of his mouth as he spoke against your crotch were making your hole drip in wetness.

“Okay then!” You slowly lowered yourself on your elbows, his lips going on a slow side-to-side motion before he opened his mouth, his upper lip pressing against your entrance while his lower one met the sensitive nerve endings of your clit, making you moan just as his tip entered your mouth, your hand cupping his balls and sliding upwards, until you could grip him as comfortably as you could.

He released a heavy breath, the hot air meeting the raw skin of your slit. Just as his tongue made its way between your labia, you bobbed your head a couple times, making him moan loudly, which made you moan in return.

The whole situation turned into a game where the more you received, the more you gave.

As you started sucking him, creating a vacuum effect with your cheeks, his hands gripped your ass, his lips wrapping around your left labium, pumping it with his cheeks into his mouth, just past his teeth, that grazed it perfectly, alternating the softness of his lips and tongue with the hard edge of his teeth, making blood pool in the sensitive tissue. Meanwhile, on his lap, you were drooling all over him, pumping him with your fist as you started losing focus. “Guk.” You called.

He simply hummed and switched to the other side.

Yes, he was dedicated like that.

“Gu— Oh, yes, love, like that, baby, just like that.” You said as you felt his hands direct your hips in a grinding motion, your mouth returning between his legs out of sheer gratitude.

He moaned again, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as you pushed his soft head to the back of your mouth, bobbing your head a few times before your hand started fondling his balls with your palm, twisting your wrist and using the pad of your thumb to tease the delicate spot between his balls and his anus.

He released your labium. “Candy. Fuck, baby, yeah, that a… I— I really like your finger there, baby.” He said, swallowing loudly before flicking the tip of his tongue repeatedly against your clit, spanking your ass brusquely before he gave a few strong pumps to your most sensitive spot.

You released his cock, letting it snap back to his belly and speaking against his shaft. “Please… Guk. Too good, love—” Your hips began to gyrate on him, his hands leading you, keeping your movements controlled so that he didn’t lose his grip between your legs. Holding his tongue rigid and still, he pushed the tip to the underside of your clit, dragging it up and exposing the most sensitive nerves, usually protected by the hood and way too sensitive for direct stimulation. Which is exactly why after two minutes your body stilled before starting to shake uncontrollably with effort, your whole universe silent, holding its breath before your lips opened in a high pitched, incoherent cry that announced your orgasm and predicted your reckless, ruthless movements on top of Jeongguk.

He took everything in.

Every small thing.

He kept moving his tongue even as it cramped, slapping your ass shamelessly, violently, spurring you into a wilder, more desperate pace as you — completely oblivious to your raw knees — rode him with a passion, pulling him into your mouth once more to quiet down your moans.

You felt your legs shake even more as his hips started pushing into your mouth, his long hums turning into short, deep groans and whimpers.

Just as you felt his balls tighten, you drew away, making him whine and arch his hips toward you.

“Please…” He called, his voice so, so miserable and pleading.

“You want your orgasm?” You asked, voice sultry.

You precisely knew what you wanted. And you had very clear plans on how to get it just right.

You looked right in front of you, at the small bathroom carpet laying just outside the shower, ready for you to dry your feet. Your escape route was bright and clear in front of your eyes.

“Does it feel nice?” You asked, un-straddling his face, acting as if you had each and every intention to bring him to the very edge and watch him dissolve.

“Please, Candy...” He cried, his hips undulating hypnotically.

“You wanna cum?” You cooed cutely.

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah… Please.”

You stopped. “Then come get me, bunny boy.” You grinned and stood, exiting the shower with a long step, shaking the water off your body as you rubbed your feet against the carpet a few times, before dashing for the door.

Alone, he opened his eyes and raised his head, looking around. “Candy?” He called again.

No sign.

He shook his head and stood up, his erection painful and uncomfortable as he closed the tap and walked out of the shower, drying his feet harshly as he switched off the bathroom lights and exited the room, looking around, spotting a trail of droplets on the floor.

He sneered and swore, staring at his hard on and clenching his jaw as he walked down the corridor with quick, long steps.

He found you as you tried to hide in the walk-in closet, almost sure you were unfollowed the moment you moved on all fours and tried to crawl under a lower shelf.

Jeongguk smirked, the scene disgustingly hilarious to him as he grabbed your hips and pulled you out of your hiding spot.

“That’s your plan?” He asked just as you tried to wiggle out of his grip.

His fingers dug into your waist, grabbing you even harder as he dragged you away from the shelf, where you could hit your head.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said, putting you on your feet before he turned you around and hoisted you over his shoulder, spanking you unceremoniously. “Running on wobbly legs.” He spanked you again. “Leaving a pretty trail of water leading me right here.” Another spank. “I thought I had taught you better than this.” He said, offering you some mercy and biting your leg instead of smacking your ass.

Your world was very unstable as he began walking you to his bedroom. He threw you on the mattress and switched on the led light behind the headboard. Again your view became nothing but the sultriest black and red.

“You wanted to make me angry?” He asked, looking you in the eye as he climbed on top of you, spreading your legs and sitting in between before both his arms caged your head.

His chest, wet and toned, was right before your eyes, moving with the fury of a wild beast. He grabbed your chin and led your gaze upward, into his. “I said, you wanted to make me angry?” He repeated.

You nodded.

“You wanted to make me snap?” He asked again, grabbing your face, making your lips turn into a silly pout.

You nodded once more. “I am—”

“I’ll tell you what you are.” He said, getting off you, opening his drawer and taking out a towel and a plastic bottle, which he placed on the bedside table before he lifted your legs with one arm and laid the towel down with the other.

You stayed silent as he took his time.

“You are a ridiculous little fuckdoll.” He stated clearly, no lips, no stutter, no hesitation whatsoever. “You are my dumb little fuckdoll,” he went on opening the bottle and letting a heavy amount of lube draw a line from the base to the tip as he held his cock away from his belly with his thumb and forefinger running around the glans. He spread the slick liquid with his palm, sliding it up and down as he hissed. “You always need to act like a dumb brat to make me fuck you like a slut.” The moment he leaned over you and poured some lube on your cunt too, you knew you were in for a long night. He closed the lid of the bottle but kept it nearby, in case he needed more.

You were close to your period, and once you had mentioned that you had some issues getting wet because of hormones changing. He was glad you gave him that kind of notions too. He had so much to learn still.

“You want me to fuck you hard?” He asked, spreading the wetness between your legs.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Not so wordy anymore, are we?” He said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Please, Guk.” You whimpered.

“That’s my little slut. You need to be fucked, uh?” He asked again, making you beg for him.

“Jeongguk, please.” You called again, pleading for his cock inside you.

“She even says ‘please’. Aren’t you desperate?” He asked, rubbing his tip up and down your slit.

“Yes, I’m your desperate doll. I’m begging… Please—” You whimpered, opening your legs as far as they would go.

He tutted and snarled. “Oh no. You’re not my desperate doll. You’re my desperate fuckdoll.” He said with a smirk. “Say it.”

“I’m your desperate fuckdoll.” You repeated with a thin voice.

He nodded “That’s right,” he replied, rewarding you with the tip of his cock as he swore and let it stay inside you, helping you get used to it — still, he grit his teeth, his deltoids and trapezei bulging with the effort. His tattooed hand held his cock to your entrance, covered in slick, helping you as he fed you a small inch at a time.

The moment he looked up at you, you noticed the lack of harshness in his eyes. “Are you okay, Candy?” He asked just as you hissed out a ‘yes’, closing your eyes and biting your lower lip. “Can I move?” He asked again, at which you nodded energetically. He giggled. “I love you, bae.” He concluded, making you whisper a brief ‘love you’ in reply before his bad boy persona came back into play.

“So you want it hard, uh?” He asked, feeling his cock already pulsate inside you.

“Yes, hard and fast, Guk. Please. I’m your fuckdoll. Do me like your little cocksleeve, please.” You begged, whiny and weak.

“Like my cocksleeve?” He said, rolling his hips twice before he pulled out. His hand drew away from his sex and moved to your mouth, laying there gently. “Cocksleeves don’t make a sound.” He leaned towards your ear. “So you’d better stay quiet.”

Your eyes blew wide as you bit your lip and furrowed your brow, his cock sinking in your flesh so hard that the smash echoed through every single organ inside your body.

You laid there and admired him as he fucked himself inside you, biting his lower lip and releasing it slowly, letting it roll and snap forward, past his teeth. He switched his position, leaning on his hand rather than on his elbow, arching even further, spreading his legs wider, propping his weight on his knees for better leverage, using his thighs to push your legs further apart as his eyes closed, chilly droplets of water falling on your face and your chest as he hammered into you, the tendons of his neck growing taut, his veins pulsing and growing and showing even in the dim red light.

Your high was there, right there, right…

Jeongguk roared, loud and aggressive and so, so angry that he sat on his heels and gripped your hips, shoving you on his length on and on, his hips meeting your body with loud smacks as he released inside you.

“No, no no. No, please no, please—” you begged as you felt him slow down, “So… close…” You sobbed as he stopped entirely.

He placed you down on the mattress. “Oh, no...” He said with faux compassion. “Poor cocksleeve.” He said with a sadistic grin, his smirk almost demonic in the crimson light.

He caged you with his body, his arms bulky and delicious at each side of your head, several rivulets of water — or maybe sweat — sliding down his face and chest. “Cocksleeves don’t get to cum, do they?” He asked rhetorically.

You whimpered and tried to squeeze him with your inner muscles.

“Or maybe I could be generous… Offer you another round…” He wondered, kissing your lips. “Would you like that?” He asked.

“Please. So close,” you whispered, chasing his mouth with yours.

He stretched and grabbed his pillow from the headboard, sliding an arm under your hips and lifting them up, placing the pillow right under your ass. “Do you need more lube, Candy?” He checked in on you, at which you shook your head.

“I just need you inside.” You replied miserably.

He pouted and got in position, cupping your jaw and sliding his thumb in your mouth. “Take it,” he said, his right hand pushing his cock in, only barely softened. Once he sank in and gave two tentative rolls of his hips, any sort of softness disappeared.

“Like this?” He asked, his nose curled adorably and sexily at the same time as his face scrunched at the effort of slow, deep thrusts.

You purred and shook your head. “Faster, harder… please.” You moaned before he started going even slower.

He chuckled. “What do I get in exchange for it?”

You opened your eyes and bit into his arm delicately. “Please,” you pleaded again. “I’m—” A tear rolled down your face. “It’s too good, let me cum, please, I love you. I’m your fuckdoll, Guk, please let me— I’ll be so tight around you, I’ll milk your cock so good, let me cum.”

He loved when you grew wobbly-lipped and teary-eyed. He loved seeing how desperate you always were for him, how much you depended on him for your pleasure.

He collected one of your tears with his lips, “are you crying for my cock?” He asked, wicked as usual.

You shook your head yes. “More, I’m begging you, Jeongguk. I’m begging you. I’m…” In an act of pettiness, you turned completely quiet, trying to rebel against him and his oversized ego. Self-sufficiently, your hands went to your boobs, grabbing them, pinching your nipples, sometimes climbing up to your throat and pressing against it softly.

He swatted your hand away, bending his mouth to your breast, tugging and suckling at your nipple messily, just as his arm grabbed your right knee and hooked it at his elbow, pushing your leg up, the angle so irresistible that your high finally peeked from around the corner. Still you stayed silent — mouth open, but quiet.

“Candy?” He called, curious about your sudden lack of noise.

You furrowed your brow and looked at him.

He tutted at himself. “Hard and fast?” He asked again.

You didn’t react. He rolled his hips deeper, hitting the spot you loved so much. Another tear spilled from your eye, but you proudly kept your stoic approach.

He smirked and started going faster, now that he had found the spot.

A small hiccup escaped your mouth.

“There we go, Candy.” He said, finally sure of his decision as he started pounding into you with everything he had in himself. “Touch your boobs, Candy.” He suggested as he saw you grow closer and closer. “So messy for this cock, uh? Whose is the best cock, Candy?”

“Yours.” You sobbed, your hips beginning to stutter, trying to meet his thrusts but too weak and sensitive for that.

“That’s right. You love this cock, Candy, don’t you?” He asked again.

“Only yours. I do, yes, please, Guk. Jeong— Guk, please I—” Your body thrashed against his as your orgasm finally caught you and drew you under.

Jeongguk’s head dove for your breastbone, pressing there as he tried to resist your high, currently threatening to drag him with itself.

As your climax persevered, he pushed your leg over his shoulder, picking up the other one too, sinking so deep with the new angle, his mouth kissing your calf, the inner side of your knee. “Is it good enough, baby?” He asked as he saw your eyes slowly flutter open.

Fuck, his jaw line was impeccable with that angle. “It’s perfect, Guk.”

“Nice, can you take another round, love?” He asked and damn, that nickname made you say yes, yes, ten thousand times yes with no hesitation.

He pushed his thumb in your mouth, against your tongue.

“I need to touch you.” He said, watching as his finger emerged drenched from your lips, immediately bringing it to your clit.

“Can you lift your ass?” He asked right as you obeyed, the angle so deep that he slowed down specifically to make sure he could guarantee you one more orgasm before he achieved his own.

His thumb replicated the motion of his tongue earlier in the shower, teasing the tender underside of your clit just as your eyes closed—

Too intense. Too much, you thought as your breathing slowed down again, your whole body focused on your kegels.

“Give me another… Work your magic, cockfairy.” He teased as your lips parted, your eyes flashing open before slowly, messily crossing and sliding shut again, your body too confused and overwhelmed to give a verbal reaction.

Jeongguk kept going, so, so close, his hips digging deeper with tiny rolls focused on staying in, enjoying every tight squeeze you had to offer, your hands leaving your breast as you tried to slap his hand away from your clit while his teeth began teasing your calf on one side, his deep moans unstoppable even when he turned to the other side and actually nibbled on your leg, his hand persistent in his torture.

“No. Oh god! Please. No! Oh— I need to— Yeah, yes...” You hissed as Jeongguk finally crumbled against your body and delivered the last few thrusts, deep, slow, so destructive as your head tipped back, your final high too much for your body to handle.

He looked down, where your bodies joined and with a loud growl, he came apart and spilled inside you, his cock swelling intermittently for so long he almost worried at some point. But the softness of your breasts, pillowing his head, and the warmth of your breath fanning over his head, your legs sliding off his shoulders, to his waist while your arms circled his back. “I love you, Candy. So damn much. I’m so in love with you baby.” He repeated on and on, trying to make up for each slur, each degrading word and idea he had used against you.

“I love you, baby.” He repeated again. “I love every little thing of you.” He kissed your breast — even though he truly aimed at the heart beating underneath. “I don’t want just the sex. You get it now?” He asked, nuzzling his hair against your bosom.

You caressed his head fondly.

“I get it now, of course, love.” You reassured him.

“You’ll lean on me, right? You’ll count on me?” He asked insecure, afraid at how many things he still had to learn about adult, mature relationships.

“I’ll lean on you. We’ll lean on each other.” You said, kissing his forehead as he raised his head.

“We didn’t finish the shower…” He mused, pulling out of your entrance carefully, staring as his seed dripped out of you and down your thigh.

You looked at his mesmerised expression.

He bit his lip before releasing it with a snap. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He said before looking up.

And you don’t know if it was for the hot sight of his tattooed arm flexing, for his mop of damp long curls, for his wide, taut pectorals, for his lips glistening in drool or the dark lust in his eyes as he saw the mixture of his seed and your wetness oozing from your cunt, but you decided you were far from having enough.

“Didn’t they teach you to clean after yourself?” You teased with a cocked eyebrow.

His eyes climbed all the way to your gaze, finding the silent permission he was looking for.

And he dove for your cunt like a starving wolf.

#bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x yn

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petalsmooth · 3 years

Text

Ok.

Let’s talk Lili.

First off we only know what stars put out about themselves or other people say about them. We are not friends with these people. We are not in their homes. We don’t usually hear what they say in unguarded conversation. What we know is what is out on social media with some highly distorted soundbites from chats or DM’s with her mother that were exposed.

We were initially presented a portrait pushed by her and her family no less of a middle class family with the standard girl next door hit it big narrative. Down to earth, relatable, somewhat quirky. Strong two parent supportive household. All that was missing were the apron and pearls.

This girl came out of the gates talking about a modernized Riverdale with two girls who would be actually close and not vying for the same redhead. Feel free to add/or correct along the way of course...especially early on when not following as closely.

We got very little in the way of insight into Cole and Lili because they were trying to keep it quiet even if there were hints together. Mostly during this period what fans were fed was that she was slightly awkward socially, maybe not the most intellectual but nice and harmless. She spoke of empowering women, independence, she constantly shut down the idea of Barchie and praised Bughead. Along through the year’s she would speak to social bullying or bullying in general. She would openly talk about struggles with mental health. She’d talk and show her cystic acne and share photos not all airbrushed in ode to body positivity. She’d talk about not having an hourglass figure, and cellulite and often go out in ratty shorts and a bun sans makeup. You see she’d talk about it then follow through by showing lived the walk or calling out photoshops done of her.

Again this is “relatable girl next door quirky Lili” we told was the REAL Lili.

She would frequently talk and post about her family and dogs at home and how much she loved and missed them...though oddly not so much her older sister.

At a certain point it became undeniable Cole and Lili were together to even the hardest deniers. Of course also the Met gala eventually made official for media.

We get have her liking posts such as Miley’s about how lucky she was to have a man who checked off all the boxes. But at times there were glimpses all wasn’t kosher. People have mentioned various cons where she’d be caught flirting somewhere else, or she’d be in a bad mood giving Cole a cold shoulder. We recently saw an old video of them walking and her basically demanding he drop the fans and attend her. We have the con were Camilla is sexually harassing Cole everywhere and Lili doesn’t shut it down until Camilla tries to grind on him. It was so bad even Mads intervened. We have the interview where she is talking over him or rolling her eyes and basically being the unprofessional brat her fans claim she is not. Even though it’s ON CAMERA. Snapping at your co worker/boyfriend and rolling your eyes during a professional interview is not deniable.

Flashforward to the trip to Italy because for me there was always something off about that. That trip was obviously planned far in advance. Clearly Lili was supposed to be there. Her fans quickly blamed Cole because Lili was working. Lili didn’t have to work. It wasn’t a career changing move to do that film. It did not do well. I’m not entirely sure what was happening around that time but I have the sense Cole was disappointed/a little angry she prioritized it over him accepting very likely the offer AFTER the trip was planned.

Lili spirals during this time. Cole comes back to clean up mess. They are quiet on social media for a long time then slowly emerge again and eventually get the photo booth shots, the wedding and her mingling with NY friends for once. Turns out close to the end for them.

I don’t want to make this a Sprousehart post though although some relevance to bring part of it up. The point is Lili put her career over her relationship. It was a calculated decision. It was also the wrong decision. Her fans talk about her being this warm giving person but that was a cynical call and a pretty lousy thing to do to your boyfriend of several year’s. I’m all for supportive partners but there are time’s where you make sacrifices if you really care for someone and this was a special trip planned long in advance. She blew it off. If I’m the partner she does this too, I question why I’m putting in the effort if it doesn’t mean to them what it means to me.

TBH I think the bad choices she made there is why tried to make it up by meeting with his friends, the wedding etc...

Something than clearly happened because by January they were done. Not sure we’ll ever know but it looked like they were trying to fix things given the happiness hadn’t seen on Cole’s faces in a long time in those booth pics and then...it was done. We didn’t know at the time, but this is timeline Cole gave. There was a brief attempt at reconciliation where she babysits him at a photo shoot and posts a photo of them in bed and then shortly after...Cole calls it off.

He heads to LA, she follows him there but not without making sure to shove Casey’s face into her chest to post and rent a place close to where he is staying. She posts weepy messages about the world ending etc....and weird new photos mimicking old shoots with him so naturally people think this means whatever happened they worked through. Around same time she and hers manipulated her fans to try to cancel him earlier because she misunderstood a picture of Kaia....although flat out if he had been with Kaia he was SINGLE and it was no longer her business.

She tries to walk back the firestorm she unleashed on him by “defending” him from a lesser twitter trend after realizing misconstrued the Kaia picture, All summer she weirdly seems to be trying to avoid the topic if they are together or not despite saying once if they weren’t she’d tell people. She finally puts her foot in her mouth one two many times' and Cole confirms they broke up which she doesn’t acknowledge. Because she doesn’t want to be broken up.

As we know know it wasn’t all rainbows on the set even before all this happened as in the musical she’d launched an object at him hard enough to have the crew concerned. Lili fans keep saying Cole is abusive but the only evidence we have of abuse is her towards him. We also had her suddenly doing a 180 from past 4 year’s and excusing cheating with Archie and promoting everyone in her live recaps except Cole/Jughead.

Back to the events following Cole’s post....then we get a sudden string of interviews taking shots at Cole, doxxing him, implying he could have strayed (just to resurrect hate against him) but can’t say he actually did because she has no proof. We know this because in those chats admit it was just suspicion and paranoia and never did have any names.

We learn that Lili has been funneling news and gossip and photos to keep her mother’s hold on the fandom in check and her mother in turn has been bullying people who would stand on Cole’s side. They sought to ruin him. This is not debatable.

For year’s people had made fun and called Bree out for being an obsessive stalker unable to let a relationship go, then Lili starts doing the same. We know she has tried to copy Ari’s style, her mother made a snide comment about breast size, Lili tried to taunt Ari from on set and Ari shut her down. A girl who almost never was in the line of sight of paps suddenly is snapped everyday following break up even before the public new. That doesn’t just happen. She wanted the attention.

I’m not going to go into all of it, you all know it. Suffice to say revealing she has a bitter vindictive attitude she has submersed herself in ever since Cole made it clear no reunion. She won’t even broach the topic of Bughead/Jughead unless forced. You can spin all you like but the split screens was not an artistic choice by RD. It was spurred by need to keep them apart.

Lili last summer was doing precious little other than a post or two of Black Lives matter and then when Cole gets arrested suddenly she jumps on the me too and sets up impulsive lives. Maybe she meant well but a part of me thinks she did it to attract his attention. Notice once she got praise for it and the initial protests faded she more or less doesn’t bring it up anymore. Cole never intended to get attention, it just happened because he’s a star and got taken in to a jail cell. He never put himself on camera for notice.

Lili also co-opts the murder of a girl to flaunt she thinks she looks good naked. Completely tone deaf.

Lili very rarely is seen in fan photos, only usually when she’s getting flack for it online. She, a girl who talks about bullying, went on a midnight tirade against a guy who dares to critique or poetry setting her fans on him. Then deleted it probably because publicist in her ear.

She first said poems not about Cole, than said you could read into what you wanted to sell them. Now she doesn’t want to talk poetry or sequels because it flopped and was critically panned.

There are constant rumors about Lili on sets of productions to point they even had someone on her newer movie try to downplay. Yet we see in a video the cast barely talking and looking tense on a boat.

The girl who used to talk about body positivity now lets them airbrush abs onto her.

The girl who used to talk of therapy and mental illness now promotes OTC supplements for $ and cults.

If she mentions cellulite she uses other tik toks of people showing not her own.

She said she would never be on tik tok, yet now has her own and post old videos that aren’t funny.

Lili once tired to attack Cole by talking about losing yourself in drugs or alcohol or sex yet we’ve seen her drug paraphernalia because she advertises. Her friends post and laugh over her being drunk. She was in an off and on relationship with Wallis that doesn’t seem to be about anything but sex.

We were told Coles friends are bad influences but Taylor is out there solicitating questionable clients and making videos slamming LILI’S COWORKER as a bad actor and his brother,

The majority of Lili’s posts no longer feature Sunny or her family/Addy.

She insulted Vancouver, compared to a prison, and made it clear her creature comforts were of more importance than a pandemic. Not quite the attitude of an empath. Which she claims she is with intention to be a master which require sucking more gullible people into the cult.

She brags about being a “rich man” without understand the context. She went from artistic photos to modeling pinups to fuel her lack of self esteem.

She’s in her mid 20′s, claims she had grown and matured in the last year but there is no evidence of it. Still can’t work with her ex without buffers which still influences show direction though her fans deny.. Still lives off junk food and hangovers. Those glasses aren’t just for sun. Her timeline is mostly an ode to her vanity with pictures of herself and then her dog. She doesn’t seem to have any causes she’s deeply involved in on the side apart from her cult. She’s still stalking Cole as her impulsive makeup tutorial showed. She said she cut out of her life anyone who doesn’t service her. I highly doubt she is receiving quality therapy on the regular right now. She still does not seem to possess the ability to own her mistakes and apologize when warranted, rather deflects or erases when heat becomes too hot.

The content she puts out about herself post break up is very different than the bill of goods fans were sold before. She is a far cry from that quirky girl next door that stood FOR something more than vanity and shallow affirmation. So no, I don’t see what you see in her stans. Everything that once seemed to distinguish her from other spoilt princesses has long faded.

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