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catindabag · 10 months

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That’s it. Here are my personal Top 10 favorite TBOSAS fanfics to read on the weekends.

PS: Most of them were published even before the trailer for the upcoming movie premiered.

So here are my recommendations:

1. The Plinth Prize by Redex

This oneshot is a certified classic angsty Snowjanus/SnowPlinth fic. And honestly, this is why I support my fellow SnowPlinth shippers, cuz this story could definitely replace the last 3 chapters of TBOSAS and I wouldn’t even question it.

2. Nothing to lose by HopelessRomantikk

This oneshot is another Snowjanus/SnowPlinth fic. However, this one is quite romantically sweet as cinnamon with lots of kisses. Just play the song Say Yes to Heaven by Lana Del Rey in the background and you’re good to go.😘

3. Reflections of the Garden by madzdolin

This one is an angsty SnowBaird fic that actually gives you one of the best bittersweet endings ever. It also gave the readers a proper closure to Coryo’s relationship with both Lucy Gray and Sejanus. You might even cry a little when you read the last chapter. Just saying~.😚

4. Saving Each Other by flipflop_diva

This oneshot is one of those unique SnowBaird fics that gives the readers a good “What if” scenario to seriously think about, cuz in this AU, Coryo doesn’t escape the Arena with Sejanus. So he’s basically stuck with Lucy Gray as another “tribute,” until they both won by waiting and poisoning everybody else. And yes, Reaper was not amused.

5. You Complete Me by gaytriforce

This oneshot is another classic Snowjanus/SnowPlinth confession fic. Moreover, I really loved the simple way of how they got together. And to be honest, this short fic could replace the whole Peacekeeper arc and I wouldn’t even notice the change.

6. Pursuit Predation by evaerobics

This oneshot is that rare Snowjanus/SnowPlinth AU fic that deserves another 50 chapters. It basically gives the readers a “What if” scenario where Coryo was chosen to Mentor District two’s male Tribute, Sejanus Plinth. And yes, Sejanus kissed Coryo in front of his classmates before entering the Capitol Arena.

7. The last two loves of his life by boneslen

This one is a good bittersweet angsty SnowBaird/SnowPlinth fic. Basically, Lucy Gray was forced to become an Avox by Dr. Gaul. Sejanus is still dead. And Coryo is busy having a mental breakdown every second of the day. The newly elected President of Panem just really wants both his girlfriend and boyfriend back, ok. The Bi-panic is real with this one.

8. Roses and Nutmeg by PliaPlia

This Snowjanus/SnowPlinth oneshot features a very stressed out malnourished AF Coryo, who became quite ill because he keeps giving away his food to a very busy Tigris. Seriously, somebody give the poor cabbage boy some soup. Sejanus, call your Ma and feed your future boyfriend.

9. Feverish Dreams by Cordeliadumaurier

Let’s just agree that this long ass SnowBaird fic has the craziest story of the season. I mean, the revenge plot alone is amazing, and every single character is insane in their own way, even Lucy Gray. Moreover, everyone is just borderline obsessed with Coryo’s dead dad, Crassus Snow. Even dead Dean Casca Highbottom was freaking in love with Snow’s dead dad! So yeah, they’re all obsessed, depressed, and crazy. Everyone needs therapy, but Snow still lands on top. #Crasca4ever

10. The Sound of Snow Falling by PRES_CS_HGT

This HG/TBOSAS fic is one of my personal favorites. The plot alone is great and unique in its own way, because it features a very young and confused 5’4 and a half Coryo Snow waking up after the end of the Second Rebellion. Also, the new President, Alma Coin wants to place him inside the Arena as a Tribute for the crimes he doesn’t even remember committing. And his assigned Mentor, Katniss Everdeen hates him for some reason. And what the heck happened to Tigris?! Why is she so old?! And why does she look like a literal tiger?! Who knows, Coryo Snow.

Special Mention:

1. I’m so sorry, Coryo by HopelessRomantikk

Basically, this features Sejanus Plinth’s angsty POV in TBOSAS, and how he was secretly in love with Coryo Snow since forever. However, he still meets the same fate here.

2. The needle in the brain by Sweetlit

This TBOSAS AU fic is already wild and spicy like some Lana Del Rey album. The plot alone is great and full of mysteries. Moreover, this story’s “What if” scenario features a very desperate and depressed Coryo Snow seducing a heartbroken Dean Casca Highbottom to let him stay in the Capitol after winning the Hunger Games. And let’s just agree that if ever Crassus Snow reads this fic, he might as well burn Panem to the ground.

3. The Hanging Tree by SirFanfic

This oneshot features a regretful Coryo Snow, who decided to have a last minute change of heart and saved Sejanus from being hanged.

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moni-logues · 11 months

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“stay?” + namjoon <3

THANK YOU for this request. I am (unhingedly) psyched for the idea I had, even though, real talk, I have been crying whilst writing it (no I have NEVER fucking cried while writing before; didn't even really believe other people when they said they had, but here we are, mentally ill and crying over my own writing lmao)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: ANGST ANGST and oh shit, ANGST

Summary: Namjoon asks you to stay, even though you both know you have to go.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: major character death, baby!!!! dying, hospice? i guess kind of?

Stay?

Namjoon sighed beside you and you turned your head.

“What?” you asked your voice weak, your throat dry.

“Stay?” he asked back. “Would you just... stay? Can’t you?”

You laughed, or you would have if you could have; you wheezed, a stuttering little exhale that nevertheless sounded just enough like a laugh to get your meaning across.

“Yeah, ok then.”

He smiled, big and broad, but tight-lipped, because you both knew full well that you couldn’t.

“Great! So, if you’re staying, what do you want to do tomorrow? What’s on the cards?”

You hummed, thoughtful.

“Big party. I’d have a big party... but less of a rave, more... garden party, y’know? … Get everyone I love in a room—… or garden—altogether. Good food... good drink, good music... the right vibe...” You trailed off, breathless, tired, even though you were speaking so quietly and so slowly, your breathing shallow but such hard work.

“I’ll start sending out the invitations now then.”

“Oh, would you? … That would be... such a help.”

You lapsed into silence because neither one of you could really get behind the bit. You weren’t going to be here tomorrow. That was just a fact. You’d been trying to run from it, ignore it, pretend it out of existence but it caught up to you, had you in its claws now, its open mouth hovering above you, so close you could feel its breath ruffle your hair, could feel drips of its saliva fall onto your shoulders.

“I’d really.. like to lie... in my own bed,” you whispered. “If I could stay... I’d like to lie in... my own bed first.”

“I can ask again. If that’s what you really want, I’ll make it happen. I will.”

It brought tears to your eyes, his determination. His face serious and jaw set. You knew he’d make it happen if you asked him to, but this was a compromise you’d been reasonably happy to make. Hospitals were not comfortable places but you didn’t want Namjoon to have to lie down every night in the same bed you had died in. So, you gave in when the hospital recommended that you be admitted and you were living out your last days on starchy, boil-washed hospital sheets and the fanciest pyjamas you’d ever worn that Namjoon had insisted on buying for you, to give you as much comfort as he could.

You shook your head lightly. Namjoon squeezed your hand and when you turned to look at him, his eyes were full of tears, too.

“It’s ok,” you told him, squeezing back.

“No, it’s not.”

His voice trembled and you watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed hard.

“None of this is ok... I wan- I want to-...”

He trailed off, turning away from you as he tried not to collapse. His face when he looked back to you broke your heart. He looked scared. Namjoon never looked scared. He was your guy. Your pillar, your support, your rock, your guide, your ground, your north star, your morning and evening and every hour in between. He was always confident, sure even when he was nervous; he didn’t hesitate and prevaricate and flip-flop. Solid as a rock. He was never scared.

Except now he was. Scared. And lost. He was on the very brink of losing you and you didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how to tell him everything that was in your heart. If the trade-off had been 50 years off your life for even one day with him, you’d have taken the deal. A raw deal, sure, but any moment with him was worth a lifetime with someone else. And you’d had much more than a moment. You’d had years. Fewer than you’d wanted, fewer than you’d expected, but still years.

“I know,” you said because you did know and you didn’t know what else to say.

You looked at him, your poor, broken-hearted, sad, lost boy, and tried to take him in. You didn’t know what lay beyond, what was in store for you; you weren’t sure you believed in any kind of after-life, but on the off-chance there was one, you wanted to make sure you remembered his face. You wanted to make sure you remembered the warmth of his hand in yours, the little calluses at the base of his fingers, the way he always absent-mindedly tapped one against your hand, the way he deliberately tapped you when he wanted to silently say ‘I love you’. He was doing it now, one two three. One two three. Three little taps for three little words for feelings too big for expression, too big for words. You tapped back.

You closed your eyes and took a struggling, shuddering breath. You were scared now, too. You hadn’t given much thought to the experience of dying, what it would be like in the moment. You’d thought a lot about not being alive anymore, about your life being blinked out of existence, about not being here anymore—all the things that death meant. But you hadn’t really thought much about what it would be like to die. Now you were knocking on its door and had no idea what to expect. You had just hoped for the same thing you guessed everyone else did: to go peacefully, in your sleep. But now you were scared to go to sleep. Because you really didn’t want to die, actually. You really wanted to stay alive.

But you couldn’t.

And you couldn’t help closing your eyes. Every waking moment was exhausting; the fatigue weighed you down like quicksand and you sank deeper and deeper every day, every hour. Opening your eyes was an effort. Every breath was an effort. Living, just staying alive, required maximum effort and you were running out of stamina.

“Namjoon,” you croaked, your eyes still closed, your hand still in his.

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you, ok?”

You heard him sniff wetly and he squeezed your hand so hard it hurt.

“I love you, too.” His voice wet, too, thick and strangled. “I love you so much. Baby, god, fuck, I-” He couldn’t finish. He wasn’t going to fall apart not yet, not while you still needed him.

He took some deep breaths beside you, while the air rattled into and out of your lungs as if you were percussion. It took him a while to regain his composure. He had resolved that he was going to be there for you, be whatever you wanted and needed, because this time was for you, not for him. He would have all the time in the world to focus on himself when you w—... After you had d—… later on. He had resolved, but it was so much harder than he had thought it would be.

“It’ll be harder for you than for me, I expect,” you had said to him.

You had always maintained that dying was the easy part. Being left behind, now that was hard. You’d told him so many times that he wouldn’t have to be strong, though. You told him to make sure he broke down a little, let it out, let people in.

“Your social circle will already have diminished by one, don’t make it any smaller!”

You had laughed then, as you often had, in the face of death. It was only in the last couple of days that you’d turned to him and said you were scared, that you didn’t want to go. That was how he knew it was close. And he’d watched you like a hawk as you slept, listened for that death rattle, waited desperately for you to open your eyes again, to know that it wasn’t the end this time.

Except this time... He thought he could hear it now. Your breathing was different. Your skin wasn’t the right colour. Even your eyes hadn’t been the right colour. Your hand was so small and fragile and your skin was paper thin.

“I love you,” he said, louder this time because he wanted to know that you heard it. He wanted to make sure it was the last thing you heard, not him stumbling and swearing and crying. He said it again and again and one more time for good measure.

Then he looked, panicked, outside the windows to the room, praying that a nurse or a doctor would walk past. Someone else had to be here. He couldn’t do it on his own. He didn’t know how.

It kept happening. Your breath would whisper from your dry, cracked lips and the world would stop and he was convinced that was it, it was over, you were gone. But then a raspy, thin breath sucked itself back in and his breath would rush out in a sigh of a relief. Not just yet. But then the next was even slower and he thought it would never come and he thought that was it, it was over, you were gone. You must have died twenty times before a nurse came in to check on you (to check on him) and Namjoon tried to communicate what was happening but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t take his eyes from you, wouldn’t drop your hand, wouldn’t let you go for so much as a second.

The nurse gently took your other wrist in her hand and pressed her fingers to your pulse, so weak and faint and slow, and waited with Namjoon. It didn’t take long. You inhaled, just barely, for the very last time, and the gush of air that you released, many seconds later, stronger than the others had been, was your last. That was it. It was over. You were gone. And Namjoon could only wish you had stayed.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fic #rm x reader #rm angst

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b1adie · 9 days

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KANSJSNSMANKS HELLO i’m like terrified to even open hsr today but if i lose my 50/50 i will drop out HOYO MY FUTURE IS IN YOUR HANDS!!!!!!! i also don’t even know what pity i’m at or how many pulls/stellar jade i have it’s gonna be great!!!!!! :,D

im at. 0 pity. with 170 warps. if he really makes me suffer for it ill cry bc i want to give him his cone too. he NEEDS to be nice to me !!!!!!!!!!!!! i didnt go to college but if i lose my 50/50 i’ll go enroll and then drop out

#asks

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sotogalmo · 1 month

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5:50 am

A purple shadow looming over a young girl who's wearing a green bracelet. Most prominent thing in the rain.

Faces blurred, everything is mixed. (Why are we seeing this? )

A voice is heard before it's fast ending came just like the voice

“oh ... Charlotte Emily! .... Why are you out in the rain...?” The purple shadow asked the girl (Charlotte? ... Charlie? ... If this is going where I think it is....)

“..huh?”Charlottelookedbehindher, asmileonherface. “Uncle Bill!”(....You knew him?)

‘Uncle Bill’ laughed at the silly nickname. But he doesn't really mind — “Do you need help going back in?” he asked with (FAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKEFAKE!!!) concern.

Charlotte just nodded, smile still on her face wiping her face (she would be lying if she wasn't crying at least a little bit, it was kinda rude to be locked out, and standing in the rain).

“Here..” Bill said as he outstretched his hand to her. ... Too long of an arm, but Charlotte didn't seem to care (...Don't. please don't.. dontdontdontdontdontdont...you can't).

“I know a short cut, that is away from those rude kids..” Bill said with reassurance.

A long and stuffy corner? Charlotte doesn't know what it's really called (or maybe she does but it was hard to remember it)..

“ooh... Maybe I forgot just how to get there...” Bill said as he suddenly lets go of Charlotte's hand. Well, he is getting older, so that makes sense. Her father's somewhat the same, so she doesn't mind! “Well.. I could always go and get your father.. surely he remembers more than I do!” (SHUT IT.)

That would be nice. She wonders how he's doing actually.. “Can you also ask him how he's doing? ..he doesn't really respond to me, Uncle..”

(........ I knew it........)

A swing. “....Sure, my niece....”

Startled "what are you doing"s and a small scream.

(I knew it. I knew it.)

“....No.. nonono.. no no NO!!”

“.... What a shame...” B ill said (I just know he's smiling. . .

B ast ard), while comforting Henry . “no.. no...”

Henry. Oh Henry.

“i... This... She... please. ...” choking on his words.

“this... this can't be real... my baby... ....please ....” Chanting like a beautiful melody (.. disgusting..)

“Please....” he repeated.

Henry kept on choking on his tears, looking like such a mess. “my baby... my sweet baby...” — “she.. she just..” — “she can't be... Just can't be.. my baby ....”

“no... Please .. William just tell me.. this isn't real . ...... Please ...”

“i can fix this.. please .... I.. please.. I can fix this”

Chanting and chanting. Pleading and pleading. For someone to desperately come back (how can she? And besides, check the robots Mr. Emily... Haven't you thought of that?)

Losing the ability to even say any more words he just.. wailed. And wailed, while his friend Will

Just hugged him. (... I hope he isn't remembering.... that time...)

Henry. | GREENHARE

It's time to rest, for you,

And for those you have

Carried in

Your arms

This ends.

For all of us.

End communication.

"I HAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTE!!!!!!!!!! HENNNNNNNNNNNNRY!!!!!!!!!! HELLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPP!!!!!!!!! MIIIIIIIIIKEEE!!!!!! HELLLLLLLLLLLPPP!!!!!!!!! MIIIIIKE!!!!! I HAAAAAAAAATTTEE!!!!!!! HEEEEENNNNNNNNNRRRRRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

#time diary(?)#audrey/kellie's time diary #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #henry emily #tw child death #charlotte emily #charlie emily #william afton #inspired by “DEMO 15: The Laughing Doll/Your Turn To Die [Your Turn To Die - Death Game by Musical]” by WinchiFrost on YT!!#fnaf mci #<- implied. but they are seeing this happen #ghosts looking in the past #fnaf cassidy #<- cassidy is mainly the one watching #cassidy might be filled with rage but CASSIDY WORRIES‼️ <- I'm projecting. but!! worry is mainly the building block for rage.methinks #yes yes. the transcript of william screaming in UCN :3c #yes I think im smart

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forgedroyalseal · 11 months

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Ranger Gathering Day 9

Bond-

Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will sit no more

(TW: major/minor character death, non graphic)

He had always assumed he’d be the first one to die. He lead a dangerous life, it was a natural conclusion. Oh how wrong he was. Now as he moves through the halls of the Redmont ward, he realizes that he should have always known. He was destined to die the same way he had been brought to the ward, alone and scared. Nearly 80 years have passed between his birth and this moment, but how much as really changed? He still felt like a lonely lost boy searching for his family. The only difference is that now, he knows he has already lost the only one he’ll ever know.

Alyss was the first to go, and the utter wrongness of it sent chills up his spine even now. He should have never outlived her, and it’s hard to not think about all the times he begged the cold, unforgiving night sky to let him trade places with her. He knew that she’d be able to survive without him, she was stronger than he was, always had been. Her loss left him a broken man. Not that that was surprising. Alyss had always been his person, even if at times he couldn’t seem to find a way to accurately describe their relationship.

George was next. Unlike Alyss, it wasn’t sudden or unexpected, he had been ill for months, but the pain of losing his brother rattled Will. It had only been 10 years after Alyss’ death and Will wondered how many more friends he’d have to watch be buried before it was his turn. You could see Alyss’ grave from George’s and during his funeral, Will’s eyes drifted over to it. It was good they were near each other, Will thought. He wasn’t sure what came after death, but it was still comforting to know that Alyss wasn’t alone.

18 years later, Will broke once again. Losing Horace was every bit as painful as losing Alyss, something he had never thought possible. Without his closest friend and brother, Will felt weak and vulnerable. For over 50 years, Horace had been at Will’s right hand, always prepared to defend his friend, even if it meant risking his own life. Even when they lived on opposite sides of the country, Will never doubted that if he was ever in trouble, Horace would be there for him, armed with a sword and a shoulder to cry on. Will was unable to hide his overwhelming grief. He locked himself way in his cabin, refusing to see anyone. For over a week, Will lied in his bed staring watery-eyed at the ceiling. He didn’t eat or drink, and the only thought he had was, I’m ready to go. Please let me go. I can’t do this without them. But then Jenny came to his door. She knocked and knocked and knocked. And when that didn’t work, she convinced the young new ranger of Redmont to break into the cabin. She demanded he got up. She literally dragged him out of bed by his ankles into the living room, stronger than a woman in her 60’s had any right to be. She forced him to eat and bathe. Then she wrapped him up in a quilt that Sandra had gifted him many years ago as a wedding anniversary gift. Jenny sat besides Will and told stories about their old friends, until he was laughing along with her.

Will stumbled over a crack in the floor, and he was pulled back to the present. He had to grip a chair to keep himself from falling.

“That crack wasn’t here when we were growing up.” Will grumbles to himself, sitting down slowly in the chair. He hated how slow he was, his joints stuff and achy, but his mind nearly as sharp as it was at 15.

Will looked around at the ward. Not much had changed in all honesty. The bunks were the same. The library was better stocked that it once was, but it still smelled of old leather and parchment. George’s scent, his mind reminded him, pulling up memories of his friend spending hours a day among the books, reciting fact and statistics to anyone who happened to pass by.

The ward was quiet, the children that lived there all away at school for the day. “It’s just me now. Everyone else is gone. Why am I still here? Why was I the last to go?” Will asked the dimly lit room. The walls, unsurprisingly, did not reply.

Will looked down at himself. Would this be the last time he’d have to wear this solemn black cloak? Pauline had gifted it to him for Alyss’ funeral, and he has worn it more than he had ever expected. A cool draft passed through and Will pulled the cloak tighter to himself. He had come straight from Jenny’s funeral, not realizing where his legs were taking him until he had arrived. He was glad for it though. This is where he felt closest to his family. This ward was where they had built an unbreakable bond.

“Thank you for giving us to each other. Thank you for my family.” Will whispered.

A week later, Ranger Will Treaty was laid to rest next to his wife, his closest friends all buried mere meters away.

Ranger Will Treaty

Ranger, Husband, Brother

until the end

#rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #ranger’s apprentice fanfiction #rangers apprentice fanfiction #ranger gathering 2023

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michael-after-hours · 1 year

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First Time for Everything

Summary: Ace Merrill isn't unlike everyone else in aspects of he's always had a first time for everything in his life, even if he tries so hard to deny he ever had a first experience with anything.

His most recent and jarring experience is with Richard 'Eyeball' Chambers, his best friend and the real leader of their little gang.

Warning: mentions of past child abuse and child neglect, underage drinking and smoking(it's stand by me we should know these fellas aren't quite adults yet) homophobic language (it's like the 50s), Ace being a typical asshole, mental breakdowns. Mentions of self-harm, and mentions of losing a loved one. Child abuse, bullying, it... it's ace merrill...he can only be oh-so nice.

Notes: I just think they're kinda fruity✨

Ace Merrill always had his issues, his ups and downs, highs and lows in life. While contradictory to what he spews and boast, he's fallen on his ass screaming and crying for help more times than he has tripped and walked it off.

Ace was only five years old when he was back handed by his father for "Being too loud". He still feels the sting of it, how he fell to the ground and a ways away from his father.

He remembers his mother rushing to pick him up and scolding his father only for her to get back handed as well and take Ace with her to his bedroom. That was the first time he was ever back handed.

Ace was only eight when he was picked up by his pants and nap of his shirt, then chunked into the water by an older cousin.

He couldn't swim yet and was trying to teach himself to fish while at a lake house of a relatives for the thanksgiving holidays. Screaming and crying, wailing gasping on water.

He went under three times and only came up a fourth time after an Uncle jumped in to get him. He was eight the first time he nearly drowned, and thankfully the last time.

Ace was ten when he was left at school alone for three hours. His mother was in the hospital due to sickness, and his father off too drunk to remember to pick him up.

He told the ladies at the front office someone was coming to get him, and he didn't need to ride the bus home...only to walk the long long walk home.

It was a crisp autumn evening, the sun vanishing quickly and the walk to his house had no lights and he didn't have anything to ride home on.

Hot wet tears stained his face that day he dragged himself home, scared, alone and hungry and let himself in the house that was left abandoned for the night. He was ten the firs time that happened, but it wouldn't be the last.

Ace was thirteen when he was offered a ride home during winter.

A boy named Richard Chambers, a smile that was so warm it could've melted the snow, and a laugh so intoxicating it made Ace smile.

He rode a little bicycle, ruby red, an "Early Christmas gift" from his relatives down south who couldn't make the trip this year for him. It has room for someone to stand on the back.

"I normally take my little brother home, but he went home with some friends, and you live near me!" He happily told him.

Ace gladly accepted the offer and held on tight to Richard as they went up and down the large hills. Ace basked in how it felt like they were gliding, flying down the long stretches of hills and oh how he and Richard laughed and ran out of breath when they got to Ace's house. He was thirteen when he made his first ever friend.

Ace was fifteen when he experienced his first major loss in life. His mother passed away from her illness.

Ace didn't actually know what she passed away from, none of them really did. She would get more clumsy and forgetful, pass out more and more, nearly caught the house on fire....

The doctors said it was a stress induced illness. so ace took it upon himself to help her more. he learned to cook, clean, do laundry, wash dishes properly, how to keep the house tidy, and do his school work, and have dinner done in time for his lousy father to get home.

The stress free environment was never stress free however, since his father loved using him and his Mother as his punching bags after a bad day, and everyday was a bad day to that man.Ace swears he put his mother in an early grave, and he was fifteen when he lost the only person to ever protect him, he was fifteen when he vowed to hurt his father for taking away his mother. It was the first time he ever lost someone he truly loved.

Ace was fifteen when Richard joined him at the funeral. It was spring and beautiful, the perfect time for his mother to pass. "You said she always did love spring, now she'll be immortalized in it." Richard told Ace.

"What do you mean?" he croaked out, voice weak from the crying he'd been doing for the past week.

"On you know, every time you think of her, you'll think of spring, and how beautiful it is, and how nice the flowers are....That's what I do when I think of my aunt, the flowers of spring on her grave.." Richard always had a way with words, and the words made Ace cry again, and just as the fresh tears fell from his face and a sob broke out of his mouth and echoed in the still silence of the funeral, you could hear thunder and the sound of rain starting to pour down on the church while Ace wailed his heart out for his Mother. The stormy gloomy weather matching his mood. It was the first time he felt a hole in his heart and wailed until he couldn't talk.

Ace was sixteen when he learned how to replace a razor blade on his shaving razors. Ace learned quick how sharp they are and how you have to be careful with them, or how you can easily hurt yourself by accident on them. He learned that pants covered up bruises and cuts, and during the winter months when he dawns long sleeves for warmth no one questions it.

Ace learned that the thighs were the best and easiest place to cut, and how to pinch the skin. He learned having a scolding hot shower or bath that turned him a pretty pink made him bleed more. He learned the relaxation that would come with hurting himself. He was seventeen when he hurt himself to feel a litlte something. It was the first but not the last time he hurt himself on purpose.

Ace was seventeen when he felt the world collapse beneath him. He was told to get his shit together or it was off to the military with him by his Father's wrathful hands.

He discovered the joys of drinking, and smoking not just a month earlier, along with the joy of cutting and stabbing. He was seventeen when his father broke a bottle over his head and pushed Ace out of the house.

He was seventeen when his father pushed him out of a moving car at night and made Ace limp home.

He was seventeen when Richard found him....crying by the lake, and offered him his hand and a shoulder to cry on.

Ace was seventeen when his father skipped town suddenly, leaving Ace to live home alone, and with his uncle....who ran the junkyard. He was seventeen when he stabbed someone, and did a damn good job of hiding the body.

It was the first time he killed someone, and hopefully the last.

Ace was Eighteen when life got better again. Richard had formed a gang, or as he called it "A group of the local outcast Ace" and outcast they were.

Drinking, stealing, threatening, vandalizing, raising hell and smoking a pack a day nearly. They all got names that weren't their own. Ace was no one, he was John Merrill, but now? Now he was Ace...

He was special, everyone wanted an Ace for a full deck of cards, people would love and adore Ace. He was Ace Merrill, and he kicked Richard off the pedestal of leader and appointed himself the new leader, calling Richar, "Eyeball". Why? His eyes did this adorable twitch, that made Ace chuckle every time he watched his eyes wiffle and droop, twitch and make him shake his head.

He was eighteen when the cobra gang formed. It was the first time he felt alive.

Ace was eighteen again when he got a girlfriend. She only lasted about a month? Maybe two...Ace kept her around as eye candy, she was some cheerleader chick the guys bragged about who gave good favors in return for cigarettes and booz.

She was hung up on Ace like he hung the moon itself but he couldn't stand her in his lap. Or how she giggled, he hated her, she filled him with a blind rage so much so he back handed her in front of everyone one night. Screaming at her to "SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!!" Well she didn't like that and broke up with him, and none of the guys really agreed with it. He didn't care he brushed it off.....

Until Richard pointed it out. "Ace...hey man....your acting like my dad..." His dad, Mr Fucking Chambers....no better than Ace's now dead and gone dad. Ace thinks thats the first time he really truly felt bad for hurting someone, if only due to it concerned tone from Richard.

Ace was on his seventh bottle of beer and nearly done with his pack of cigarettes when he realized how shaky he felt. How he couldn't breath, how the world spinning and seemed loud around him.

How his skin felt tight and how nothing felt like he was really there and living.

The cold air of autumn felt colder than before but welcoming, and he felt hot and sweaty, he fell off the porch steps he was on and stumbled around aimlessly before falling to his knees, unaware and oblivious to his surroundings. Ace could feel himself breathing heavy as his heart pounded in his ears before he felt like he was puking out sobs with how they didn't want to come out.

Gagging and choking on them before he wailed and screamed. He still doesn't know why just that he had clawed at his arms so badly they were red and a few spots bloodied. He remembers the coldness of that night and then the warmth and reassurance of being rocked and soothed. He couldn't breath until later and apologized profusely. It was his first, and not his last breakdown.

It wasn't until the cold harsh winter that would cover the ground in snow rolled around that Ace had to dial a lot of things back and realize a few things. He and the boys....

Didn't ever do anything during winter. Spring thought mid Autumn was their peak rebellion time, of being horrible. Winter? No one wanted to get to wild, they drank more and smoked more, flirted more and went out to diners and stole a bit more on occasion, but mostly it was a "Buckle down for school" time sadly.

Ace...ace wasn't doing good in school. How bad was it? .....He was getting by with the skin of his teeth levels bad. So here he was at the kitchen table, getting tutored from Richard in math and biology.

"So you have reading down, and spelling, history is perfect...Hey you should do that!" Richard was going through the study rubric of what all Ace was good with, so far he sucked ass with math and biology. "Do what?" Ace spoke dryly as he got up for a beer, popping the cap off as it fell onto the counter with a little tink sound.

"Go do something with history! You love the stuff, even when Mrs Johnson says your being a lazy screw off you pop off to her the right stuff! Stuff we never even know about!" Richard had that beautiful warm smile that got Ace to crack a small one before slumping in his chair.

It was the first time he considered life outside of Castlerock.

Winter break rolled around, and ace Somehow passed midterms of "See what you know" with flying colours except in math. His biology improved! But...math still suffered severely he didn't care much though. "So why are you so good with history and reading anyways Ace? Of all the things, i'd always expect you to be bad at those...no offence."

Richard always spoke the truth when it was just the two of them, and while they were once again at Ace's house, this time he was making homemade hot chocolate, yes homemade hot chocolate, for the two of them, it felt...odd. "Hmm? Oh uhhh...mom, she always...She always read big books to me, and would hold me as we listened to those radio dramas you know.." He vaguely explained as he stirred the pot holding the warm coco.

"You never talk about her...she was so sweet, why dont you talk about her Ace?" Richard seemed genuinely curious, and Ace couldn't fault him nor blame him for that. He didn't say anything just poured the hot coco into two mugs for them both, it wasn't until after he poured them he realized it was the quote on quote 'wedding' mugs his mom got for her and his father, back when they were happily married that is.

It was just matching mugs, Something with flowers...If you placed the mugs just so, next to each other it would make a cute heart.

"I just...She was...I just don't like living in the past." He stated. "You barely live in the now Ace...it doesn't hurt to talk about the past I mean..don't you ever wonder where your dad is?" Ace snapped, he didn't even mean to he just did. "HE'S IN THE GROUND WHERE HE BELONGS!" A loud bang on the table, shaking it as some coco swirled, then spilled over the sides, and a choked gasping cry left him as he covered his mouth shaking.

"...John....Hey...I'm sure that's true but...It's okay, he deserves it...come here." Ace wasn't budging and so Richard pulled the chair to him, the sound echoed in the house as it skid across the hardwood floors, and stopped when he was thigh to thigh with Richard. It was the first time he talked about his past, but not the last.

on one of them..his first one, the rest he neglected, or shoved off and away until they left him.

"Yeah im gonna get heeaaad~!!!" This made both of the boys burst into side holding laughter. Barely able to contain themselves from such a shit joke about getting head from some chick. "Okey, okey, really tho...like making out...you gonna kiss her?" Ace got slightly serious after their fit of laughter.

"....Ace I don't know how to kiss a girl.." This took Ace aback. He always thought Richard was more of a ladies man...least he saw him as such. He was handsome, sweet, a bit of well a dick at times but that added to his charm Ace felt. "Oh...that's okey, I haven't either." He foolishly confessed to him.

"You've had more girlfriends than me and haven't even kissed one!! HA! Fucking fairy!" Richard was laughing hysterically again as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Hey! Your one to talk! Least I've had some! You barely got the town whore to kiss your cheek! Fucking Jennett McNEeeeerrrr that CUNT what a biitch.." This earned Ace the pleasant sound of Richard wheezing from laughter, and Ace was going him soon after.

"FUuuck mee! Oh Ace...fuck man, uggh...okey...I have an idea though...why not practice on eachother?" Ace burst into more fits of laughter until his eyes fully fell on Richard who seemed dead serious and had that sly grin on his face.

"...Really? Thats faggy.." He stated taking another swig from his bottle. "Yeah, and? You wanna be good at kissing girls? What are you a pansy?" Without a moment's notice Ace took another swig of his drink and launched himself at Richard.

Half on him, half off, hands cupping his face as he pulled him towards him and littered sloppy breathless kisses all over his lips. Richard joined quickly as he dropped his bottle and pushed Ace on the grass cupping the blond's face as he moaned and whined into the kiss. It went on for what felt like hours but it quickly died when they pulled away for air. "You taste really good..." Richard breathed out. "Yeah you too..." Ace returned to him, panting and realizing they had a lot saliva over their lips and face. Seems they were a bit messy with this whole kissing thing.

"Wanna go again?" Richard barely had time to gather himself before Ace was back ontop him kissing him deeply and letting a few giggles escape them both as they started tussling on the grass.

It was a month til Summer, and just four days before Graduation. Ace was sitting in the Principles office, leg bouncing up and down as his right hand covered his mouth, the other held a death grip on his bag.

Something about his grades and passing, he was terrified. He didnt want to be held back again, he dididn'tant to be alone again, he dididn'tant to deal with any of them at all.

"Merrill John? Come here now please" Oh he felt sick, he could feel his lunch wanting to come out the way it went down. He felt sweaty yet was freezing to death, his heart was pounding, and his breaths were severely uneven.

"So John, take a seat," He fell into the chair in the small office. Looking around seeing normal things. Books, files, couple plants, small trinkets, normal office no different than the counsellors. "So You have been doing wonderful in History, as well as English which is good! Your Science/biology has greatly improved to where your passing.....now your math." Oh god.

Oh god no, not the math, it cant be that of all fucking things, MATH!? That will be his downfall he SWEARS! MATH! OF ALL THINGS!!!

"It's still quite low, but the good news is-" He didnt hear the Principle, he already dropped his bag and pulled the trashcan that was in his office to vomit into. Gagging a few time before his lunch came up.

"Christ almighty Merrill! Now! Do you need the nurse before we continue? John! God son calm down, your not failing!! You passed math! The grading period is done! You passed!! Your extra curricular dont count towards graduating calm down!!! Go To the nurse! Take the can with you!!" Ace gave an extremely weak nod before puking again, he couldn't help it sadly. All this stress, all this anxiety and worry came out in the form of him sweating and puking, better than crying and weeping he supposed.

He did get to lay down for a bit in the Nurse's office with an ice pack, so that was nice, and Richard took him out as congratulations for passing math finally.

"Took you til graduation but hey! You made it!!"

He did..he did make it didnt he?

Graduation went as well as anyone could have predicted. Which was shockingly well! Ace wasn't even the trouble maker there! It was some other guy named Adam....who thought it would be funny to steal a few awards and hide them, making everyone sit around for an extra hour.

Ace and Richard didnt mind, sneaking close to eachother to talk and make fun of everyone, already reminiscing about thier prom that they barely attended, and what all they would be doing after graduating.

"thinking about getting a job out of town maybe...or in town and moving one day." Richard told him. "Yeah? sounds good...sounds good..." Ace told him. "What about you Ace?" "Hmmm? Oh uhh...I dont know...maybe work at the mechanics shop for a bit...." He wanted to go with Richard, where he went he wanted to follow, where he would go he wanted to be there with him. Where Richard went he wanted to be there home, to welcome him, or vise vera.

"Im gonna miss our study days.." Ace weakly confessed. "Dont have to! Might go to college and we can help eachother!" Collage...he forgot all about that, college...oh what would he do with College? What would he go to school for.. "Heh..yeah college..yeah...." the conversation ended quickly after as everyone was ushered into the Gymnazium where graduation was being held.

Richard passed with a very high score, all things considered, and Ace passed with an Honors in history and english...

He passed with honours in two of his classes...

The summer was hot as always, even when it was heading back into fall, but while speeding down a strip of the well known and worn path of Castlerock, hte Cobra gang was once again rasing hell for one last time, yelling, screaming, causing hell for one last time.

Why the last time? Well Ace was starting work soon, as was Richard, and they found a college the next town over, offered dormitories, and thier work would be in that town. So this was the last time to raise hell before making the long drives to work and start college.

The summer was full of swimming, fun, fights, more theft, and of course, Richard and Ace being together constantly. That brat of Richard's brother even joined them a few times.

As the day was winding down to a final end, and everyone was dropped off, Richard stuck with Ace walking with him to his house. "So...You wanna admit it?" He asked out of the blue. "Admit what?" Ace sounded confused as he said this. "Admit that your a homo, a fairy like my brother teased you about~" Ace could deal with meny meny things, but Richard getting that chim in his voice? He couldn't ever deal with it. "NO! Im not!! Fucking door won't open!" Ace always fumbled whenever Richard made him flustered, he couldn't help it the guy had him wrapped around him like string.

"Come onnn~ Admit it Acey!" He leaned against the door nearly pinning Ace against the door as he gave him a quick little kiss.

"Im not!!" Ace finally got the door open and rushed inside with Richard following closely behind. "I think you are! We always make out! Kiss! I know you've gotten off to me and well come on what guys moan each others names and give each other hand jobs Ace!?!" Richard had a very valid point to all that..

"Its not! Its! Its not! Not!!! Its only faggy if you fuck another guy!!" Ace was red now. "Oh so you giving me head in the car at lovers peak doesn't mean anything~" Oh he had a point.. "NO! IT! No it doesn't!! You have to...to penetrate them...you know...like with girls.." Ace told him.

"Well i mean...we got time, got all night, next week we start getting ready for collage~ dont see why not...Come onnn John!!" Ace didnt sya anything he just stared at a spot on the floor while leaning up against the wall. He wasn't expecting this tonight.

"I dont know..." He softly spoke out. "I'll be gentle! i wont hurt you!" "Yeah but we dont even know how to do that! Why do you think we've stuck with hand jobs! And Whos gonna penetrate who Dick!" Ace was yelling and more scared and anxious than anything, "How about I take care of you on the bed doll~" "NO! Not tonight no!! fucking goddamn whisky always makes you a horndog!" It didnt take Ace long to march upstairs to his room.

"There's a first for eveything you know Richard..." Ace sighed out and laid by Richard. Both glowing in the aftermath of thier orgasms, thier first, penetrate orgasm at that. "Yeah...yeah there is....fuck..." Ace recovered fairly fast from his orgasm, and was smoking, while Richard laid our catching his breath. "What do you mena theres a first for eveything?" Richard asked him. "Oh you know....first time to fall, first time to hurt yourself, first time to....lose someone..first time to...smoke, to drink, to nearly drown, to kill, to...to everything." He had a sour taste in his mouth suddenly. "First time to love~ First time to fall in love and last time, first time to kiss the most handsome guy in all of Castlerock, first time to moan your name and you mine, first time to go on a date, first time to cuddle~" Richard was curling up on Ace dragging him down to get him to go to bed with him and put his cigarette out.

Ace gave in and put it out before cosying up against Richard in the bed.

There really was a first for everything wasn't there?

#stand by me #ace merrill #stand by me fanfic #ace merrill fanfic #fic #ace x eyeballs #ace x richard #i dont remember their weirdly cutesy shipname....#not beta read at alllll #kiefer fans come get yalls JUICE #kiefer sutherland #i want this fic SEEN DAMNIT #fact! ace merrils name is john...and he was only 16 when he tormented the bkys in the film!! i had lkts to do and go off of✨️✨️

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ivebeenmade · 10 days

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Been up since about 8:30. She woke up feeling ill. I tried to get us both back to bed since I don't work until 1. Despite falling asleep into.her redbull about 10 times (and she fucking needs sleep) she got angry the moment I laid down with her.

Things we've fought about as follows.

1.) I was going to make breakfast. We have sausages and some mini seasoned potatoes. Sounds pretty good to me. She snaps back that we can't have breakfast because I "broke" the last bottle of maple syrup. *We* used it actually. And all the breakfast stuff comes from a shopping trip just her and her mother were on yesterday. But I should have gone out and replaced the maple syrup we didn't need I guess.

2.) I cleaned our entire kitchen yesterday. It took me 4 hours. I was just getting finished when she got back home from her treatment. She never said "thank you" or "that looks good". Nope. Her exact words? "I see the kitchen got cleaned, that's nice" and at least there was an uptick in her tone though I wish there hadn't been because apparently she was, in her words, "livid" when she saw the kitchen. Why? I hadn't done one final mop of the floor, cleared the cheap wire stand we use to store cans (we're replacing it/moving it/who knows). And finally, the most insulting, she's pissed off because I had yet to clean off the counters. Which was my next step before she walked in the door. I'm always very frustrated, and treated like I'm some nuisance or home invader, if I clean while she's home. She either complains about the noise, or complains that I'm "ignoring" her.

I understand deeply that she is suffering from a very difficult physical illness. My aunt died from it when I was a kid, my other aunt is in an assisted living home and probably won't make it long. So I fucking well understand her suffering. And I try everything to accommodate. And she just shits on me.

Oh, right, the bonus: my employer has developed a personal prejudice against me. Not getting into it, but I am no where near adjacent to guilty of what he's claiming. Despite that, they've been giving me no more than 16 hours for a couple weeks now. So my girlfriend(!) the person who was my best friend since we were, I dunno, 6, says "forget it, I'll finish cleaning myself...let's see if I can afford the supplies with your shitty check".

Why would someone who loves me say something so horrible? I would gladly go to work for 40, 50, 60, hours if it meant not being around long enough for her to come up with more ways to hurt me.

The really, stupidly fucked up thing though? I've found myself feeling guilty about the dog having to live in a house where people just yell, or stay totally silent for hours just so they can stomach each other. My dog knows when I'm sad, he comes to me and hugs me and sits as close as possible, and he'll just give me the biggest beautiful eyes while I'm crying, and kiss my face. He's such a good boy.

I'm so broken. I don't know if I can fix this. I don't think she wants me to. I miss us so much, I can feel this open would on my soul, just bleeding slowly, just losing everything I thought I was.

#journal #Tuesday April 16th 2024 #love stinks

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robean-chan · 10 months

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bink's sake is used soooo interestingly in one piece to me.

we first hear it as this haunting ghostly refrain sung by brook, forever echoing his crew's last song aboard a ghost ship drifting through the fog of the florian triangle. we later hear it in full, simultaneously performed in the present day by brook and sung along to by the straw hats and the rolling pirates after their liberation from moria, and 50 years in the past, performed by the rumbar pirates as we witness their last song.

it's introduced to us an an old-fashioned pirate song, but we hadnt heard it before thriller bark; it's fun and joyful and nostalgic with this palpable undercurrent of tragedy. "wave goodbye but dont you cry / our memories remain", "our days are but a passing dream / everlasting though they seem", "after all is said and done / you'll end up a skeleton". its deliciously bittersweet. bink's sake, or more really the pirates who sing it, acknowledge death, and choose to live life joyfully anyway. binks' sake in thriller bark is simultaneously a tragic and joyful reprise of a song we had never heard - our introduction to it feels backwards.

and then we get its prequel - the song it reprises, I suppose - the roger pirates singing binks sake in episode 968, in their approach toward laugh tale. it's far more joyful! they're so close to the end of their adventure! the bittersweetness underscores roger's illness and limited time left, but its overlooked in favor of celebrating the joy of the crew. and then, of course, roger laughs - "our funny traveling tale" indeed!

i consider the roger pirates' version the "prequel" and brook's version the "reprise" because the latter uses the song to demonstrate and show us change: it shows us a tragic scene, it shows us a joyful scene, it connects brook to his past 50 years ago, it shows how much time has passed and how he'll be able to be happy and heal now. (its while performing this song that he joins the straw hats!) the roger pirates' version is more static than that, a passing overview of their adventures toward the end of their journey, an impression of a crowd rather than so deeply personal to one individual.

i would hope that we get binks sake one more time before the end of the series, a reprise of a reprise. maybe something for the world to sing as we reach the story's climax, as some song of freedom. maybe the drums of liberation will be the world's heartbeat, and the soul king will sing along.

"now the waves are dancing, beat upon the drums / if you lose your nerve this breath could be your last / but if you just hold on, the morning sun will rise" // "waves are dancing, evening comes, it's time to sound the drums / but steady men and never fear, tomorrow's skies are always clear / so pound your feet and clap your hands till sunny days return" <- this is joy boy coded

#bearvocalizations #im BABBLING about binks sake #if it was used elsewhere jn the anime i do not know i have been mostly manga-only for like 8 years godbless #(i do need to watch more of the actual anime i think it will help me)

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kurimiaki · 2 years

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Je te laisserai des mots

the greatest gentleman theif, arsenè lupin iii

tw: yandere, kidnapping, female reader

It’s such a pretty painting. You don’t have a particularly discerning eye, not one artistic bone in your body, but out of the vast gallery, this piece struck you, a portrait, a hidden gem. Maybe not so much hidden, but the relative silence of this section is what initially attracted you to it— nearly 50 people were packed into the main exhibition, eagerly flocking to see the artists’ call to fame. It made you claustrophobic enough to cry.

Handling the museum’s gift shop wasn’t a difficult job, not in any capacity— parents walk in and squawk at the prices, sooner dragging their children out than allowing a plushie to grab their attention, and genuine customers are few and far between. It’s horrible pay, really. Your bones ache from how sedentary you're forced to remain, your eyes bloodshot and dry as energy saps from you by the hour. You'll sooner succumb to brain fog before a paying customer comes in, wasting precious hours and days lost in incoherent musings and daydreams.

But you're not so lost in misery that you fail to find a single positive-- it's a museum, with portaits and sculptures and countless different interesting mediums that come and go. You can't eat in the gallery, can't sip on coffee or even water, but you're willing to make the sacrifice for sights like these. The woman’s eyes are so soft, her face delicate and deftly painted, illuminated by the gold patterns and brushtrokes that make up her body. You lose yourself in it, dazed, and close your eyes. The room’s empty. It couldn’t hurt to take a moment to rest.

“I always circle back to this one, in the end.”

Torn from your trance, you startle, stepping back in rapid succession away from the stranger behind you. Bizarrely, you hardly even heard him enter the room, much less took notice of his striking blue jacket and red tie. He smiles, sheepish and apologetic for having startling you, and it is then that you notice the hand around your bicep.

Ah. You’d tripped.

You mumble a quick apology, feeling yourself flush, and hope to exit the room as quickly as possible. But his hand lingers, and eventually you come to stare at him, quizzical and embarrassed at how immediately awkward the atmosphere became. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that… You’re on break, I’m guessing?”

Nodding as he gestures to your nametag, and flushing deeper as this (handsome, you note) stranger tests the sound of your name on his tongue, smoothly complimenting it all the while lightening the air of the room. It’s nice, you quickly decide. So different from your routine, twelve hours spent isolated behind the register, thirty minutes of a break always filled by more silence and solitude.

“I meant to say that you have good taste.” He points to the portrait. “When Klimt’s on display, people flock and fawn over The Kiss, but the Bloch-Bauer is well worth the visit. Sold for 150 million, the last I heard.” You furrow your brows again, and he laughs, dark brown eyes crinkling in mild amusement. “The painting, my dear! What, you work here without knowing what’s on display?”

Your blush is permanent, it seems. He teases you, pokes and prods while he eagerly awaits your response, but you don’t feel any real malice or ill will from him. He isn’t some art snob, you hope, aiming to one-up you with his knowledge of the niche and obscure… though, this is Gustav Klimt, you fluster, feeling quite embarrassed with yourself for not recognizing his work. Even still, this stranger looks upon you earnestly and in kind.

Stepping closer to him, keeping your eyes trained to the canvas at hand, you explain, “I work the gift shop. Admittedly, I’m usually too tired to take notice of the little plaques and banners hanging around, obvious as they are.”

He beams, nodding in understanding, asking how you like it, what you want to be doing, and why you choose to spend your moment of reprieve here, if the museum is so constantly the cause of your misery. And you’re hesitant, at first, as the two of you sit at the bench in the rooms epicenter, knee to knee, shouldering the entirety of his attention.

But you tell him how hard it is with money, how difficult it became to support yourself in your third year, and how painful it was to have to give up on it all. A lonely little girl down on her luck in Europe, all alone, he muses, leaning back on both his arms lazily. And you bristle, of course you do, straightening up and asking him what do you mean by that, but he only rests his hand over yours and smiles an easy smile.

Bewildered, and frankly disturbed by his casual, friendly caresses, you huff and question what he does for a living. You want to ignore his words, rather liking how special he made you feel, how immediately you became the focus of his attentions and he of yours. But he’s a stranger, and you’re much too deprived of companionship, much too eager to snap up the smallest scrap of human connection.

“I’m a thief,” he admits, cooly unwavering in his tone. You chuckle at that, ridiculous man, and he continues to smile, “here to sweep our darling Adele Bloch-Bauer off her feet.” You’re giggling, now, though more at how incredulously confident he is— it‘a not revolutionary, his joke, not original in any capacity.

But he’s eager to hear more of your laughter, perhaps noticing how quickly your mood soured at his small, by your light, jeer. This stranger somehow eliciting elicits more of your unfiltered, unabashed laughter by narrating the specifics of his ‘grand heist’, each step more ridiculous than the last. He illustrates such strange technology, such bizarre alternatives, plans A-Z, you had to ask if he was really a writer, a creative at the museum for some inspiration. You play into it, after a little while, remarking at how nice it’d be to get some thrill and excitement in your life, how fun it might be to enthrall yourself in an adrenaline-fueled chase with the law, ‘just like in the movies’. (Gosh, he smiled so wide at that, cat that ate the canary.)

But that’s all it is— fiction, is what it comes down to, your every daydream and fleeting hope. Your alarm rings, and it’s time to get back on the clock, and you fear that whatever connection you’ve formed with this stranger will cease to exist. It’s uncomfortable, the total silence that falls over the two of you, but he doesn’t look even slightly offended or disappointed at your inevitable departure.

“You have a very pretty laugh. Like bells, isn’t it?” He rises from your seat with you, looking down upon you pleasantly, and a sharp warmth collects in your chest. It doesn’t feel misplaced or sleazy, his compliments. Perhaps a bit excessive, to a girl he’d only just met, but you give him your blushing thanks all the same.

You fidget, twiddling your thumbs and shifting your weight from one foot to another, unsure of how to depart, knowing that you really rather not. “I hope your heist goes well…?” Genuinely unsure of his name, hoping he’d assist you, you trail off, but he only grins. “And I hope your shift goes by in a jiff.”

The Adele Bloch-Bauer gleams in your peripheral, golden swirls taunting and glimmering. You depart, providing him one last smile before creeping out of the room and into the flocking museum crowds.

Turning back slightly, feeling a little guilty at how eager you must have seemed to weasel away, you find him staring up at portrait once more.

Overtime was seldom a problem you had to endure. The extra money was always good, when it did happen, but these occasions were so scarce. Occasions where, by luck and a gross amount of funds, the museum curators are able to secure world-renown art pieces and place them on display— your strange companion was right, Klimt was vastly popular, far more than you were led to believe.

You were left gaping in awe to find your poor manager mauled by an onslaught of customers when you returned, shelves in disarray and boxes of excess product messily opened and distributed to meet the demand.

Right again, his hopes for you had come true— your remaining hours had breezed by. But you’ve come to reap the consequences of the curators’ successes. Plushies, prints, postcards, candies—virtually all of your new stock had been stripped from the shelves, and you were left to place a new shipment.

Now finalizing this seemingly insurmountable task, you sort all communications to the suppliers, powering off the computer and finally having time to breathe.You’re worn, and your bones have an ache worse than usual, but you decide that you prefer the rush and haggling customers over solitude.

Locking the doors and closing shop, you fish around your pockets for your keys, fingertips grazing a piece of firm paper rather than cool metal. The corner of it slices your skin, an annoying little laceration, and you tear it from your pocket to throw it away. A little bloody, with just a drop of crimson staining it’s corner, you realize that it’s a note. Flipping it over, a smile breaks out on your face at the words inscribed.

‘I am coming to steal the Adele Bloch-Bauer I at 10:00pm tonight. And you, as well!’

Signed Lupin III, you note, with a little caricature drawing slightly reminiscent of your companion from hours before. It’s very cute, and you’re happy to have a little memento of your chat, if not a little saddened by the lack of phone number. You doubt you’d have the gall to ring him up if he had- but you did like him, found him handsome.

You hoped Lupin would’ve felt just the same, but maybe he made a hobby of chatting up dreary little things at their lonesome. That would at least explain his sleazy little comment from before. Or maybe he was a writer, as you had guessed with his vast imagination and long-winded, elaborately structured plans. He was smart. Perhaps this was a promotional bit, and he’d pop up as some widely-known crime novelist if you were to search his name.

All unfounded musings of yours, but nevertheless calming to think about. Truthfully, though, the card is a little odd to find. You didn’t feel him place it on you, didn’t see him write it, but staring at it a little longer, feeling that bit of warmth in your chest bubble up again, you really can’t bother to further question his intentions.

Looking up towards the clock, and nodding to a passing security guard, you decide you can spare a few minutes to revisit that pretty painting. You’re thankful to not be charged in closing the entirety of the building.

It’s quiet, but not totally empty, and you find yourself reveling in the relative darkness of the museum, save for the small warm lighting that illuminates the paintings from directly above. You spare passing glances to each individual work, smiling as you come across The Kiss. The softness of your footsteps is the only sound to permeate the exhibits, the guard’s jingling of keys having ceased a little while ago.

Continuing from room to room, it feels a little colder the more you progress. The exhibit before your destination has one or two lights shut off, and you take note at how some of them flicker, but don’t think to raise concern with in-house authority. It’ll be fixed in the early hours of the morning.

Passing the threshold of the gallery you were in hours ago, shivering a little at the misplaced frigidness of the room, you gape and gasp and freeze at the sight of an empty wall. You’re face to face with it, so close to where the woman once hung in golden glory. 150 million, you remember, hand raising to your throat, feeling as if you were bound to choke in your state shock and horror.

The painting is gone, and as you rapidly look about the room, you know that he hadn’t been lying. You want to think it’s under special protection, kept locked safe in some vaulted room and not in Lupin’s arms, but something within you insists that could not possibly be. You want to think he really was lying, that he really could have been a writer or playboy tugging at your heartstrings with a silly story, but the pretty painting is gone. But it couldn’t have been possible. There was security, there were sensors, cameras.

You hope and you cry and you search, but it’s not lying in some corner, not under the bench, as you thought to check, and looking up, you find that a skylight had been there all along, much too high to enter in and out of without some equipment, but a window pane has been cut open and god, Lupin had told you about some precise glass-cutting technology in his funny little pretend plan.

It was real, and as you go to yell for help, to scurry through the exhibits without taking the time to rationalize your assumptions, you fail to take note of the man approaching you from behind. Too caught up in your worry and terror, all alone in the museum, a lonely little girl down on her luck. In your peripheral, moments before you even had a chance to feel the puncture in your neck, you see the red needle. You see a man, too, but not Lupin, and you curse yourself for having been so eager for a friend.

She slumps against him, falling into waiting arms, and Jigen shoulders the entirety of her weight, cupping the back of her head. Checking her pulse, he’s relieved to feel it’s faint thrumming. He’d been pissy all week, having to deal with the incessantly endless chatter Lupin had to spare about this girl, how sad she was, how good she’d be with him, how he’d take good care of her.

Jigen had to endure a painful six hours by his side, waiting and watching for her to get on break, listening to Lupin prattle on with what he planned to do with you. He could only guess how long his partner had truly been watching you, but really, he didn’t want to know.

Eyeing the puncture wound on her neck, he hardly thinks this is the right way to go about courting any girl— but Jigen would remain complicit, so long as this heist was worth it’s weight in gold. Grunting as he slings her over his shoulder, meandering down to pick up her fallen purse, he prays Lupin’ll remain happy and complacent with this hefty loot, if only until the next treasure comes along.

Sending a thumbs up to the sky, he groans as the rope ladder falls into his hands. If you were to be Lupin’s girl, as he so fiendishly called you, he could be the one to whisk you up and away.

A detective Zenigata releases a statement following the small heist, right the next morning, informing the public that it was anything but small. Arsène Lupin III and Daisuke Jigen are brazenly named as persons ofinterest, one the two men smiling cheekily in the mugshot chosen for public display. Detective Zenigata declares himself the right man for the job, to catch Lupin, aname the man utters with vexation and drive. An additional suspect, he adds, as you stare at the screen in abject horror, faced with the released security footage of Lupin and yourself sat knee-to-knee, right before that pretty painting. Your full name listed alongside his. The gift-shop-girl, charged with burglary on a mass scale, an accomplice to the very thief who sits right by your side.

#he’s my special girl #yandere tw #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere lupin x reader #yandere lupin the third #yandere lupin the third x reader #yandere arsène lupin #yandere arsene lupin #yandere fic #my writing #not edited whatsoever

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

Note

msr + world war ii

the way I could technically spin this to fit with the actual canon in-universe AU (6×03 Triangle) but like... I'm actually gonna do a twist on the 50s AU I started trying to write while I was brainfried from a cold this past week lol. this is so random and probably won't make any sense without reading my tags on this post lol

Binary Star

~2k words | WWII AU Pilot | pre-MSR | AO3

Dana Scully nearly lost her younger brother from violent illness when she was eight years old. What she did lose was the proper use of her left leg, but what she gained was an intense need for understanding of the human body. It's only intensified as she grows older, fights her way into medical school right as boys her brother's age are fighting their way through enemy lines in Europe.

Young men in the prime of their lives with the lives they planned to lead stolen from them see a young, pretty woman with a crippled leg using a cane coming to treat their injuries and they have one of two reactions: they either look sidelong at her with scorn, or they start crying. All the doctors are healthy, said one boy, her younger brother's age, and no one can understand each other. That's the moment Dana knows she chose the right profession.

Fox Mulder lost his little sister when he was twelve, and gained an intense need to understand why, and what happened. His father was a government contractor before the War, and got back in with the secret services as soon as the States decided to step in. Fox dodged the draft because of the familial privilege that couldn't save his kid sister, and because the FBI wanted him on the home front. Maybe his father couldn't bear to sacrifice another child to whatever happens behind the scenes in those smoke-filled government offices where they claim war plans are made, when really it's so much more than that.

Dana has seen things that she can't explain. Men with their flesh eaten away, that she can only treat with dangerous doses of painkillers; some who came home with fifty years added to their age after only being gone for a few months; a nurse who exhibited symptoms of radiation exposure despite never leaving the country and another who died painfully of a tumor that Dana has only ever seen in illustrations, eating through her sinus cavity into her brain. That last is the one that piques Dana's medical curiosity; the woman had insisted with a surprising gravity and calmness that she'd been abducted and experimented on. The vividness of her descriptions, of white light and fear she could never fully remember, was such that Dana has to doubt it was all contrived, or a symptom of the cancer. She's heard talk of conspiracies, the government conducting secret experiments in New Mexico or other unlikely places; her sister believes it all, but Dana questions. She wants to know.

Mulder isn't expecting the knock on the door of the basement office; he isn't even supposed to be down here. There are more important things to worry about and work on than the mysterious x-files, what with a war going on all around them. But there's a folder down here with his sister's name on it, because if any case can be considered unexplained, it's Samantha's abduction. His father had ordered an FBI investigation, but Mulder thinks it was all for show. He knows a little too much about what goes on down in Roswell, New Mexico; just enough that he keeps a lookout over his shoulder. No one knows he came down here again, so he pretends he doesn't know he's always putting himself in danger and he quips that there's no one down here, just the FBI's most unwanted.

Dana was told she might find the man she's looking for down here, in an unused office full of files. She wonders if her answers are down here, or if Fox Mulder is holding them in his hands. He pulls off a pair of reading glasses and looks at her with mild surprise. "Agent Mulder," she says, resting both hands primly on the buffed, comfortable handle of her cane, "I was told you might be able to help me."

He listens, absolutely intent, to the little doctor who limps into his office and rattles off a description that lines up with half the abductee stories he's heard. He has permission to take a case in Oregon, teenagers disappearing and coming back wrong or broken. It sounds a little too much like the boys who are sent home from the front lines, and a little too unearthly; they're sending him to make sure whatever facet of their conspiracy it is doesn't get out. So, on impulse, he invites Dana Scully to come along with him. He doesn't have a partner right now, he says — Diana was sent to a Naval base overseas — and he could use her medical expertise. Maybe they can help each other.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He asks when he hands her the file, and Dana scoffs. Her patients have told her some terrible, inexplicable tales, but no matter what she doesn't see behind the scenes of this war, she's never given credence to the notion.

"Logically," she replies, "I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far distances of space, the energy requirements would exceed any kind of craft's capabilities."

Mulder's eyes brighten and he smirks. "That, Dr. Scully, is conventional wisdom. What do we do when, in the case of these kids or your patient who died, convention and science don't offer us the answers we need?"

"The answers are there, you just have to know where to look." This is the tenet she has built her life on. Her search for knowledge began when she was eight years old, the first time she questioned God and the world she lives in, and has led her here. And when she's on a train the next day, sitting across from Mulder's sleeping form, she wonders if this is the right place to look.

Mulder squints one eye open, watching the little doctor, or maybe little spy, as she watches things he can't see pass by outside the window. She's got bright, curious eyes; he'd seen it in how intensely she argued with him about the existence of life beside their own, in the way she fixed him in her gaze like she was trying to figure him out. He's still doing the same; he's just as curious about her as she seems to be about the world around them.

He rolls onto his side, reaches across the space between them and carefully taps her left knee — the one she favors, pretty heavily by the worn look of the top of her cane. "A doctor with a gimp leg?" He asks, maybe a little bit teasingly just to see the reaction he'll elicit from her, when she looks at him.

Dana is used to the questions about her disability, but she's also used to the disapproval or doubt in her soundness as a physician that tends to come with it. Mulder, sprawled across the seat in front of her, seems purely curious. She blinks down at him, finding it strange because when they're standing, he's so much taller, and folds her hands on top of her knee.

"Polio," she explains. "When I was a girl. One of my brothers nearly died, I came up crippled. That's the reason I went into medicine, actually."

Mulder nods, like he understands. Later, in a dark hotel room, he'll tell her how the loss of his sister sent him running to solve mysteries that others wouldn't care about; they might just be more similar than either of them thinks. Their innate curiosity, longing for knowledge, to understand, draws them together. They both want to understand each other, as well.

Dana isn't an investigator, but Mulder is a mystery she wants to solve. He touches her gently, hesitantly, when she impulsively flies into his arms, he flinches at the flames when the hotel lights on fire and then turns angry. His entire face lights up in a tremendous, all-consuming grin when she starts laughing in disbelief in the cemetery and he catches her when her cane slips and she loses her footing on the wet terrain. He calls her by her last name, not her title or "Miss" like she's used to hearing; it reminds her of how people have always referred to her father.

For a moment, it's like there's no war; she forgets about Bill Jr. deployed with the Navy, forgets about Charlie deserting from boot camp and never calling. She forgets, for a second, that she is not and will never be normal or whole, and that she's caught up in a mystery that might put her in danger.

Scully argues with him, almost constantly. She's the skeptical daughter of a Navy captain who's spent her life fighting for a place in a profession that would have her be only a nurse, secondary to everyone else. She questions everything, won't believe a word of his theories. But she listens. She doesn't disregard him, doesn't tell him he'd be better off codebreaking or spying on the Axis; she wants to learn, wants scientific answers for unscientific questions, and when she's caught in a corner, barely staying upright because it's muddy out and she's staring down into an empty grave, she laughs. She doesn't rail against her own lack of knowledge, doesn't argue the way she's been since the moment they met. She looks up at him, something intense shining in her eyes, and she laughs. Mulder cannot comprehend her.

She loses her cane trying to keep up with him in the woods, trying to either hide from or find the source of the blinding lights hovering over the forest. He's not sure which it is; if she thinks they're in danger, or if she wants to know more. Billy Miles, comatose only hours before, is in the light, with Theresa Nemman in his arms. The wind picks up, the light blinds him, and he's not sure where Scully is or if she's seeing this; he hopes she is.

She shouts his name over the sound of the wind whipping through the branches, and he finds her limping through the undergrowth, shining her light toward the ground. He drops to his knees and digs around in the brush for a minute, counting the seconds. He wonders if his watch will have lost time again. Scully balances herself against his shoulder, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"It was incredible," he breathes, and she nods.

Her mind is playing air raid sirens, instincts shouting at her to get out of there, that the light came from a foreign plane or weaponry; nothing she's ever heard of can hover that way, though, and she knows Mulder is thinking of flying saucers. She can see it in his eyes, feels it mirrored in herself when she sees the sheriff's boy and the medical examiner's daughter, alive and whole. It's absolute wonder.

She came here looking for answers, but found something she cannot explain. No answer, just more questions. She's found a mystery, or maybe two. Maybe a friend. Maybe more.

He knows, as well as he knows the back of his own hand, that there are, in fact, more important things to worry about. Abductions by extraterrestrials, experiments done by the government or secret services, should be secondary to winning the war, but what if the two go hand in hand? What if the same is true of him and Scully; she's small and curious and determined enough to be a soldier herself, fits into the mysteries he's after like she was born to be there.

Neither of them expected to find each other in the midst of the tension wrought by the war. Maybe neither of them knew where to look.

#literally read the entire transcript of the pilot just for sequence of events #this is. not what i planned to spend my day doing but hey #Lu writes #txf #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #mulder and scully #msr #msr fanfic #todayinfic

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blonkk · 2 years

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i wish i wasn’t myself i mean after every single interaction or word that comes out of my mouth i want to rip my skin off. i fucking hate being a specimen like being treated like an experiment oh you’re depressed go on zoloft. oh it stopped working go on trazadone. oh that makes you black out for 15 hours in a row so that will cure your chronic insomnia but here go on cypralex. oh you have menstrual irregularities go on birth control. oh you’re sexually active have a pap smear (maybe this one’s different but idk i hate being probed and treated like a lab rat). one doctor literally said to me he thought it’s time i get a boyfriend (i think i was 21 or 22 at the time). yeah it’s low iron take these supplements. oh the insomnia is still there do a sleep study. six months from now. in another six months i’m told “there’s nothing wrong you you just have reverse sleep syndrome, best you can do is just try to find a night job and live the rest of your life like a fucking owl.” you’re 16 and you have PCOS. you’re 26 and wait now scratch that it wasn’t PCOS at all! silly us. we don’t know what it is tho our bad. yes you definitely qualify for a psychiatrist. just to be told after years of being on a waiting list and screened for months at the very first meeting with said medical professional that i “don’t really need this and there’s no point in continuing.” ok ok things are starting to make sense you’ve got adhd. try 10 now 20 now 50 mg of vyvanse and good news it will reduce your appetite so you’ll lose weight 2 birds in 1 stone right? (my doctor actually said this to me). hmmm things keep coming up, there’s a possibility of mild OCD and probable autism. autism. you are showing telltale signs of autism

i cannot take it anymore i don’t want to be a lifelong patient fr i’m gonna be coke a hypochondriac. the scariest thing is that i think the autism thing might be real the more i think ab how i feel in social settings and how i hate talking to people and never feel like i belong and things i say get misinterpreted and i can’t read social cues….i want to be fucking normal but the more that i get dismissed or randomly diagnosed and prescribed different random shit the more hopeless i feel like whyyyy can’t i just be normal. i was at a relatives place tonight and more people than i thought were there and i had to talk to people i don’t know and when i wasn’t stretching myself thin by making polite tedious conversation and wanting to kill myself after every word i said because i never seem to be able to read the room right i was trying not to cry because there were too many people and i was completely overwhelmed. literally i hate it so much but i’m gonna be 27…. what does it even matter anymore? i’ve made it this far being fucking sick all the time and socially fucking vacant and not fitting in anywhere with anyone so i can pretty much just keep doing it. i just wish he gave me one fucking thing lol he had to make me fat annoying permanent insomniac mentally ill and apparently “neurodivergent” and weird like bro just one fucking win would be nice. like i’m too anxious to even be dependent on substances like i’m so sorry if this is fucked up but i wish could use drugs and drinking to cope but i can’t because my brain doesn’t let me relax for five fucking seconds so smoking weed makes me paranoid as hell and i literally have some sort of blockage in my brain that prevents me from getting drunk. plus i’m too anxious to ever fully lose control it’s way too terrifying for me.

basically i’m wound up tighter than a spring and self medicating is out so i just cope by coping which is getting kinda fucking hard. what happens when i lose my student coverage, how the fuck am i gonna afford my drugs?? i’m already way over my therapy coverage and see her biweekly and now only monthly. i live my life in a constant state of exhaustion and interrupted functioning as a result of not sleeping, anxiety and apparently being fucking adhd plus whatever the fuck else. i’m too tired to keep finding new ways to manage like i can’t manage anymore. i wonder if there’s really nothing wrong or if over the past 11 years no doctor has really ever been able to do their fucking job. and tell me what the fuck is wrong with me. i don’t want to be anything i don’t want to be medicated or sedated i want to be normal and go to sleep when i’m tired and smile when i’m happy and cry when i’m sad and eat when i’m hungry and speak when i have something to say. i don’t understand bro why couldn’t i have just one fucking thing!!!!!

#sorry #i’m tired #i don’t like being diagnosed but never like #actually fixed #i hate being labeled #i hate being dismissed #i don’t want any sympathy #i want a fucking brain scan #i want someone to rewire my shit #i don’t want more #medication #if i have down bad bitch disease just tell me #if i’m just a weird little freak tell me #why can’t anyone figure it out #prescribe me something useful like a paid sabbatical to the welsh seaside #i’m gonna join a cult just to feel something i stg

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heartshattering · 1 month

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/// more negativity sorry

Not sure how to feel. I guess I'm just aimless atm. No positive quotes about baby steps and making progress are doing anything to make me feel better right now, because I realized I don't really have any goals or anything I care about working towards. So big steps, small steps, or no steps don't matter anymore. It's all pointless.

I feel like at this point really my only 'goal' is to ignore reality as much as possible. The more I dwell on things, the worse I end up feeling about myself. And my situation isn't one I can just magically get myself out of.

I used to be in a support group where people would suggest shit to me like calling the police on my mom and aunt, or running away to a homeless shelter, and it felt like people didn't really care about my best interests. They just wanted me to do some dumb/reckless/dramatic thing to see what would happen. 'Cause as shitty as putting up with my mom and aunt is, I'm sorry but calling the cops and hiding in a homeless shelter wouldn't be the solution to that????? People really think I'm that fucking stupid and just want to see my life spiral into a Lifetime movie since their own lives are boring as shit (they were all old, I was the only person under like 50) and they get off from watching someone else's drama. No one in that damn support group actually "supported" me and all they did was offer stupid ass suggestions that would do more harm than good and fuck up my life.

So. I am back to trying to cope. Not make things better but just do what I need to do not to completely lose my mind. Some of those coping mechanisms aren't the most "ideal" but I literally don't fucking care anymore... I give up. If I'm not numb then I feel like a ball of nerves. I don't want to go to the hospital for panic attacks again. Reality is too much. It's crushing me. I give up on the chance of a life outside of home because it's never gonna fucking happen.

Even if I could get away from home somehow I know I'd be too weak to handle it. I'm mentally and physically ill and I just feel myself getting worse and worse. I did the whole "get help" thing and it didn't work. I'm banned from the local psychiatric center. The last nurse I saw is trying to get me arrested. I've had so many people over the years deem me as a lost cause. It's tiring. I'm actually amazed at how long I continued. And I'm not completely giving up on my life... I'm just giving up on trying to do shit like get a job outside home or go to school outside home or literally do anything else outside home. I'll stay alive. Even though it's crushing me. But if I can just stop getting my hopes up I'll be okay. I'll try to sleep more so I don't have to deal with being alive. I won't look at job postings or school admissions anymore. It's all bullshit anyway. I know it's better off this way. I'm sick of crying and feeling sad and getting my hopes up over nothing. It really is better to just not feel anything anymore.

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behindbrowneyezz · 4 months

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Im going to write to you like i never have before. Even though ive wrote you a hundred times but have never sent anything because i know how little you care. I just cant imagine being heartless in the way that you are. IM sorry that i didnt grow up into the adult you wanted me to be. Its weird right. As a little girl i truly thought I was going to work hard to make you proud. BUt after my senior year i did realize that i had to take a leap and trust my gut to have my own journey... I think youre probably disappointed in me. YOuve made it very clear that my emotions and feelings towards ANYTHING is 'just drama'....But im here to tell you that youre wrong. Im valid in the fuckin way you make me feel, im vaild in the way you all made me feel. I fucking hate you all still for going behind my back and taking MY gift so dominantly. I wont lie about that. I still have so much anger about you all and i think you all fucking suck for that. Id say that to any of your faces if you asked. Thats what is so wild to me. Its wild to me that there is adults like you that can trash their children so easily. The fact that you threw all my shit into garbage bags. Left. && I can count on one fucking had how many times ive seen you since 2011......i mean. what trash. Maybe you have such anger because you're still so triggered over Andrea. Its funny that you expect ME to just 'get over' everything but here you are.......pushing 50 and STILL SO TRIGGERED OVER YOUR HIGH SCHOOL DEAD BEAT BABY MOMMA. I bet you do hate me. Maybe even more then you hate her. Im proud to be like her. I know that makes you sick to your stomach to hear but its true. All my childhood, i hated her. But by how you treat ME, i bet you tossed her to the side too. Women hold nothing to you.Lets face it. YOull probably lose Katie too. So i hope youre saving your money for that day. I wish i could hate you, i dont. I just feel sorry for you. What a disgusting heart you have. What a miserable person you must truly be on the inside. Its even funnier that i really believed Katie when she told me you would cry over isaac. You deserve each other, ill give you that (Hahahahaa, by th way katie told me how she's even tried meth before. Don't think i dont know how you CHEATED on her as well, you coward) See hers the thing. Youre weak. I think you must of always been. Stupid me thought you were a man of honor. Youre not. YOure still that little loser that chose a drug addict to have not 1 but 3!!!! kids!!! Imagine. Imagine if any of us were like you. You wouldn't be here for us. You would just let us all suffer, worse than you do now. I dont like you. I should of never looked up to you....i literally hope out of all the BORED SNOOPYING you do...you find this. Youre still a coward. You lie about who you are. You dont love your own kids. && YOU suck the life out of every person you are around. There. I said it.

not your abandoned daughter, just ANDREAS FIRST BORN <3

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i-appear-misssing · 7 months

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Got woken up by my mom screaming for help, dog was scared too. I climbed the stairs two by two and the door was open upstairs so her screaming was loud and clear and it was the most horrible sound I've ever heard, probably worse than when I would hear her cry alone in the bathroom when I was a kid. I knew already that it was about her boyfriend with low blood sugar, but I'd never seen a hypoglycemic crisis that severe. He was still seizing a little and his lips and tongue were turning blue. I tried to stay calm like I used to when I would call the emergency number at work but my mom's screams just kept on coming and I could hear the panic in my voice as I talked to the operator. Later I felt so ashamed about that, I'm supposed to know how to stay calm in an emergency, I had so much practice. It was the first time I've ever called an ambulance for someone I know, I love. As soon as I got done with the call my mom sprinted out of the room to put the dog outside and make way for the incoming ambulance and I was alone with him. He'd gone stiff but he wasn't seizing anymore, he'd look at me when I talked to him but could hardly stay awake and the snoring breathing drilled into my head and he was so pale and sweaty and I kept looking at the little pool of tears that had gathered between his eye and the bridge of his nose. I kept wondering if he was scared, how terrifying it must be to feel yourself lose control and know what's happening knowing also that you cannot stop it. When he was still in the deep of it he grabbed my arm for a moment and squeezed and widened his eyes and I. I couldn't do anything except keep him on his side and talk and tell him to breathe I couldn't do anything except wait. Thank fuck my mom had managed to make him drink a smidge of sugar water before he collapsed, and it was kinda funny seeing him slowly get a little better just as the ambulance pulled into the driveway. I checked his blood sugar before the doctor got in and it was 65. Not even that low. Fear subsided fast and I immediately started feeling ashamed for how panicky I was on the phone, for being an actual medical doctor who couldn't do jack medical shit in a time of need and I was now in my pajamas with leftover makeup from last night and a girl I dated last year was in my mom's kitchen cause she's an EMT and I always tend to minimize what happened once the immediate danger is gone. He was fine in the end but he did smash his back into the radiator and was still confused as fuck after an hour. And I just keep thinking about my mom screaming bloody murder and his eyes rolling back and the hyperextension of his feet when I first got upstairs. My mom has had to deal with illness, hospitals, care facilities, death and grief for......nearly 15 years now. Before that was the gorey divorce, the abortion, mangling depression. I'm happy she found someone she loves, and I know she's an adult and should know how to take care of herself and so is he and so should he, but imagining her spending the rest of her life with the looming spectre of a chronic illness like diabetes, and having to deal with something like this alone in the future, maybe when they're both older and more fragile too.......god it shakes me to my core.

She asked me what would have happened if he was home alone. And I don't know, genuinely, cause I don't wanna be catastrophic abut something I'm not sure about, but I immediately thought he would have eventually gone into a hypoglycemic coma and.

I'm going away in a month, and he's gonna move in. Which is good I guess. But fuck if I didn't wish, sometimes, that she had found someone she doesn't have to worry about. And I know, that's shitty and ableist, I know, it's patronizing because this is a 50 yo man and he knows how to take care of himself but sometimes he really really doesn't, cause he's terrified of hyperglycemia and its long term effects so he sometimes is a little careless with his blood sugar, on the low side. I just want my mom to find some peace, but maybe I do take after her and I'm overreacting a little.

She's the least calm under pressure person I've ever known. And that also reminds me of someone else and maybe I understand stuff about myself and my choices a little better now. It's why I never talk to her about my worries, my problems. I wonder if she's the reason I'm always scared about almost every single thing, if this anxiety I'd hereditary or learned or......idk. the only thing I know is that I don't want that ancestral fear we share as a family consume me like that. It's on my dad's side too, it's in my sister as well, it contaminated every one of us, and it latches onto health stuff.

So this was fun

#very long very personal a little problematic towards the end and probably also not very sensitive towards my mom's boyfriend's privacy #who cares nobody reads these anyway #fun morning overall I'd say

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