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#what the actual fuuuuuck
waterinursocks · 19 hours
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You know what the worst feeling is? It's when ur reading an amazing, out of this world fanfiction and u are very much invested and ao3 goes down for maintenance
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mybluesoul1 · 4 months
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fuckinnn hell
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supercorp-land · 10 months
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It physically pains me to watch the “office overflowing with flowers” scene. like what in the gay shenanigans simpest simp was that?
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Sighhh
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bitch-paratha · 2 years
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Thanos should have snapped twice
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undrthelights · 7 months
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thinking about javier peña’s slutty little 26 inch waist… that’s all
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jcena18 · 7 months
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“Owari No Seraph Fascinated us Because we can't tell if the writing is Genius or Bullshit”
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okboomer17 · 2 months
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… will miss you so so so much, super Jen 💔 thank you for everything
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strawwberryymillk · 1 year
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episode 10 moodboard, i am not okay what the fuck
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hyunsuksswife · 2 months
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cerebraldischarge · 11 months
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A few days ago there was a (now I know) decoy call. They called me on the phone saying I'm putting trash in the wrong place and I could end up getting fined.
I thought nothing of it, shook them off, but stopped putting the bags in the usual place.
Wednesday morning I went out to print out the visa documents I'm gonna need.
When I got back, I got another phone call saying they are at the door, and they wanna talk to me.
I thought it was still the trashcan situation, so I went down to talk to them.
They came in, and *then* told me it wasn't the trashcan thing, it was "something I ordered online". I was like okay, I order everything these days, from food to whatever.
Then they started talking about "suicide kits" and searched my room. They found the SN and took it away and took a bunch of pictures.
Then they reassured me that they won't bother me again and this won't affect the visa process because I was categorized as a witness.
Thursday morning they woke me up and called me in for questioning but I couldn't tell them anything they didn't already know, so I used it as an opportunity to "preach" about why aiding self-checkout shouldn't be illegal in the first place. I also told them that the store was a normal place for like food preservatives and such. Which is true, from what I've seen there.
If I didn't go, they would've hunted me down, so... Of course the part that this won't affect the visa application could be a lie, but I didn't want to risk it. I'm still learning about the situation. Not to mention trying to recover from the trauma. Holy fuck.
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mrllunart · 7 months
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So glad that everyone else in the owari no seraph fandom is also in shambles over the last chapter 💀 What sort of crack is the author putting into their cereal every morning?!?
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all-things-fic · 7 months
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pastelpool · 1 year
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OKAY WOAH???
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holyghostbelle · 7 months
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THE THIRTEENTH STEP
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(sponsor!dark!Eddie Munson x recovering!reader)
Oh how I've created the most deliciously terrible pairing, so many warnings and red flags.
if you are under the age of 18 I will make out with you dad >:0 don't make me do that
Eddie Munson is 5 years sober and horribly famous, reader is 60 days sober and has never heard of the bands he's in :) 29 year old Eddie , 21 yr old reader. Fem reader. ALSO STEVE THE ARMY GUY is not STEVE HARRINGTON
Warnings: drug use, addiction, drug addiction, alcoholics, sex addicts, sexual assault(not eddie),power play, the act of thirteenth stepping( becoming involved with newly recovering addict),abuse, victimisation, reader hates herself, reader is suicidal,Gaslighting and manipulation
Masterlist
It's 1994 and you stop smoking, you chew gum instead, sipping dark roast coffees when you crave them.You stop drinking too, stop doing drugs, you're totally clean now and you get tattoos, thousands of them (well you have maybe more than 20) you've been clean for less than 60 days.
Your parents are so proud of you, and you've broken up with ‘him’? So you've got everything ahead of you and nothing to lose. You're living with your parents, back at home, you don't hear the drunks outside,they don't knock on your door and beg. The mail comes and it is never bad news. You thank your rich mum and dad. You pray every night that they are telling the truth when they say how far you've come, but deep down you know they aren't, back at home already and your degree hasn't even finished yet.
You're a failure.
They've spent so much money on you, you want to pay it all back, hospital bills, expensive rehabilitation, one of the new ones, with green tea and yoga and celebrities who have phones you put in your pocket, the one your dad has for work.
You have crystal healing therapy and draw your feelings in big white open rooms with hundreds of plants, and half the time you think to yourself.
‘i'd rather he hit and shout at me all over again before Rachel stands up and hums incredibly loudly at the back of my head for another session of reiki healing, in fact i'd rather be back to lying on the streets overdosing if she prescribes a fucking hug. Id rather have a fucking! stomach pump if she tells me i'm worth it! One more fucking time.``
But you're out now, stuck in the New York suburbs with assholes who take prescription drugs and drink green smoothies and walk tiny dogs and listen to music that makes you want to cut your ears off and shove them down someone's throat.
Your parents buy you a car to get to the NA meetings. It's thirty minutes away. In a church.
You remember going there on Sundays with your family, fresh faced in babydoll dresses and tiny little white socks, with your pink pocket bible and you'd get pancakes with sweet syrup and fresh fruit and your nan would scoop up all the foam on her coffee and let you taste it when your mum turned a blind eye, bitter and milky.
But this is different, you've done this all by yourself.
’Step 1: Admit your life has become unmanageable’
Okay, so it's your first college party right? And you're freshly 18. You've never drunk (the sip of your dads beer doesn’t count) and you're dressed well; slutty. Your roommates pulled something out that's low cut? You're a hundred percent sure it's a nightgown at this point. And you've got boots and a brown matte lip and you look at yourself in the mirror and think.
‘Is this what it's like to be popular?”
So anyway, you show up to this party right, you-look-so-fucking-hot. And you meet this guy, well you meet “him”, He's cute, a little flirty. He makes you smile and he smokes weed. And remember you've never drunk or done any drugs, but you really like him and any common sense gets thrown out of your pretty little head, so you do a shot and smoke.
You end up in his bed that night, he's pressed against you whispering poetry into your ear, you swallow air and cry and you've never been deeply religious because you did give that boy a hand-job in the church graveyard when you were fourteen, so it's not like you're totally a prude or anything because your roommate's dress hangs around your waist as you lose your virginity to him, and all you ask is,
“Is this what heaven feels like?”
You're light and airy.
You wake up in the morning and leave and you start going out every night trying to catch him at the bar that doesn’t ID, you see him with other girls-he leaves with other girls, hunched over in the back alley. Sometimes it's you, in his car, in the bar toilets, in his house, you don't leave for days, your mind is constantly foggy and he is on the phone to his friend talking about drugging the same girl over and over, but you want it so badly so it can't be you, right?
So you start buying off him and suddenly all of your trust fund is gone and your owing him favours, your on his bedroom floor high as a fucking kite you see color's and your pretty sure your on acid, you don't actually know? But it doesn't matter at this point because you’ve convinced yourself he's in love with you.
You've missed all your classes this week because you're too busy getting pounded by the guy that gives you drugs for free and then he stops whispering poetry into your ear and you are actually like together, because you got kicked out of your apartment and you live with him now.
There's no point going anywhere, your mind is foggy, you've lost so much weight and you don't actually know what's going on at this point, he tells you what you need, his friends come and go, he must have hundreds of them because they all look different.
He gets violent, but it's during sex first, he slaps your face and apologises because he's ‘just trying to keep you awake’ he swears. He buys you flowers the next day, and chokes you that evening, it becomes a vicious new cycle.
“Here I bought you chocolate” is cheap shit, but he carves his initials into your skin that night because "you fucking belong to him”
Then he tells you to sleep with his friends and you do. He laughs and calls you a slut and kicks you. “Anything for fucking drugs this girl”
His friends snicker and you sleep with them, the list of sins gets longer. Then one night after a year when your parents get redirected to the place you've been staying because this Christmas you haven't called to say you're coming back and also that expensive ivy league school just sent the third check back as you had dropped out.
They find you outside on a road away from his place, red foam out your mouth, eyes rolled back and bruised all over, your naked and your hair is knotted at the back, so you're rushed to hospital, you never tell them what happened, so they don't ask, no police report is filed, he gets away with what he's done.
What a Christmas gift you think, your mother says its a Christmas miracle and tells all her friends that you've basically been reborn. Your dad is distant like always, and you drink cranberry juice instead of wine at Christmas dinner, everyone pretends that everything is fine.
You think you were set up to fail from the start.
And yeah, you could say your life has gotten pretty unmanageable.
The doctor says you're lucky your parents found you, you had your stomach pumped in the ambulance, but you don't remember much.
Just pain, and a pure black sky.
And you start to miss him, it's been two weeks and he hasn't tried to contact you to apologies like he usually does and you think of the first night you met and how it felt like heaven, and how you couldn't move and speak and it was like you were trapped in your own head and how it didn't feel at all that nice, and how he was whispering ‘it's going to be alright, im just taking care of you’
And you're heartbroken all over again, but you're not allowed to drink so you wallow in your sadness sober, which is actually ridiculously boring and because you're sober you can't make drunk mistakes like kissing random old men or spending hundreds of dollars on a stupid bag, because drunk you would take a knife and stab him right in his heart so he knew how it felt.
You start to wish you died that night, because tattoos are fucking expensive and also you cant get yourself to cover his mark because that would mean someone else would see it there and everything would be true.
So you sit at home and think and cry and cry some more, and then you pack for rehab.
But rehabs over now, and AA, NA, SAA (because sleeping around for drugs is actually considered a sex addiction? And not prostitution? yeah right!), that's your life now, you're fully booked and sober.
It's five pm. You're driving an old Honda accord in silver because your dad thinks if you get drunk and crash the car it won't be a loss of money, have a little faith, your mum hands you three dollars to buy a coffee because apparently coffee is incredibly expensive now.
You pull over and buy a pack of cigarettes, you lean against your car, you breathe in the bitter death and think.
“Is it a sin to smoke next to a church?”
It can't be right?
You check your watch, five twenty five.
A black Chevy truck pulls up to your left, it actually looks ridiculous, its custom so whoever owns it is either extremely rich or stupid and poor.
Metallica blasts through the speakers, it's so loud you can't hear yourself think. The car door slams as you inhale the last of your cigarette. You look up for half a second, but you find yourself gazing at him for a second too long.
He looks back, he nods and smiles at you.
You scoff, stamping out your cigarette.
He follows you into the church.
———————
Eddie's famous, stupidly famous. Old men know who he is famous, and hot women.
Eddie is famous as fuck and rich and an addict.
You know how it starts, smoke a bit of weed in high school, drink a couple of beers. One minute you're trying cocaine for the first time and the next your manager is hand cuffing you to your bed-frame because you have a tendency to get drunk and fuck and destroy the hotel room.
So yeah maybe Eddie spiralled out of control on tour and passed out on stage and then decided to get in the passenger seat with his friend, and take control of the steering wheel, and well you probably know the rest right? you've heard it all before, you've seen it in the papers.
"RICH WHITE ROCKSTAR GETS FUCKING DRUNK AND KILLS LIKE A MILLION PEOPLE!!!!!"
Okay so not exactly that.
On parole for a year, Licence revoked for two. Three years in and he starts making music again, four years sober and all he has is an extreme nicotine addiction, an over customised truck, and bandmates who hate him. But that's rock and roll baby, all the stars nearly kill their friends.
Eddie goes to NA and AA meetings every week, technically he's forced too but he likes listening to rich white mens sob stories, how they were bankers by day and coke addicts by night, because it's so tragic how they cheated on their wives with strippers, boo hoo! Eddie likes to play a game for sympathy, someone tells their sob story about losing a dog because they were drunk and Eddie talks about how his friend was in a coma for half a year.
And so Eddies pulls into the church hall parking lot, and he notices the young lil thing leaning against her car inhaling a cigarette like it's her job, and she dressed somewhat weirdly. In Fact she looks so out of place, she's wearing beige but not in a cool 90s grunge way. More in the way that her mum dressed her this morning, her mum being rich and suburban, married her husband for money.
He switches the truck off, and metallica fades out immediately. He steps out the truck, the car door slams, he stretches, his chest aimed for the sky and he looks at her. He nods and sends her a cheeky smile.
He waits for her reaction but she stares and scoffs , stamping out her cigarette, her eyes roll and she pulls the sleeves of her overly expensive knit jumper down.In the colour of beige, but the store probably calls it caramel coffee creamer or gingerbread cookie fall and even worse cinnamon roll icing, coconut shredded chocolate. Or if it's even higher end, sand one. He follows behind her. Noticing her stained black converse, bloodied, scuffed.
Her mum had definitely dressed her.
———————
The church hall is cold, it always has been.
There's a circle of chairs in the middle of the room, and a table with coffee cups and cheap plastic wrapped muffins, there's four men in suits in the room they’re sweating and you make eye contact with what you think is your mom's friend, she looks away quickly, and then there's the weird army guy with a sign in sheet that your pretty sure came to your high school to warn you about the dangers of drugs and alcohol.
You tell him your name and curl up on a plastic seat with a cold cup of coffee. You sip carefully, staring ahead as the curly headed freak pulls up a chair to your right.
“Nice sweater”
You raise an eyebrow and look him up and down, he's wearing a black fitted shirt and blue jeans covered in tattoos.
“It's my mums” you stare at him in the eye, “can you tell?”
“Where are your clothes then?”he points to your chest and meets your eyes.
“I don't know, probably in a skip somewhere rotting, like everything else”
He grins, “You're so cynical” he looks over to the woman next to him “How are you doing today Joan? How are the kids?”
Joans face flushes, and stares at your face,” Oh Eddie, i'm doing fine thank you, Heathers graduating college soon, only a couple of months”
“They grow up so fast, huh”
There's a moment of silence, Eddie leans back in his chair smiling, the business men talk about stocks or money or whatever they actually do, and the big army guy sits down in a chair, his legs spread, muscles bulging.
“Hello, I'm Steve and i'm an alcoholic!"
“Hi Steve” we chant back.
“It's been about seventeen years now, since i had a sip of beer, and i've been thinking, seventeen years, that's nearly a high school graduate, my soberness could drive, next year it could join the army, and every day i think to myself what is this for? myself ? My wife? My kids? “ he sighs
“No, being sober is for myself, i've owned up to my actions, i've accepted god into my life, i've made amends, and now? I go for dinner with my wife and while she has wine I have soda, my kids party and I can pick them up safely, and help them, but I'm happy to help.”
Steve goes on for what seems like hours, but you keep your eye on the clock and only minutes pass, you don't actually know what he's trying to say but you nod along anyway.
“We have a newcomer today, you've probably noticed her. So be nice, why don't you introduce yourself darling?”
You say your name, and they chant it back at you, they wait for you to speak.
“I got out of rehab like a-week ago, and all I could think while being there while they braided my hair and made me pick weeds out of bushes is how I would've rather died from my overdose than be there.” you pause, and the room fills with a flood of sympathy, it's thick in the air, there's a shuffling of feet.
“And like, everyones been telling me to own up to my actions, like it was my fault? Like I went to college and then decided to get hooked on drugs?” you smile but your eyes don't.
There's a scoff on your right, you look at him.
“oh sorry did you want to say something?”
“Look sweetheart, we’re all here for a reason, part of recovery is owning up to your actions” Eddie smiles softly like he's just said the biggest revelation ever .
You nod at him, “yeah i guess you're right, next time someone loads me up with ketamine and rapes me i’ll remember it was my own fault” you stand up straight coffee knocked up and on the floor.
“because I was asking for it, right?”
You drag your chair painfully slowly and it scrapes along the floor, making that awful sound.
You rush out of the building to your car, slamming the door and hitting the steering wheel. You look over at the truck on your left and contemplate.
Fuck it
You get out the car, keys in your hand and you scrape them along his car door , in jagged edges.
Shit. You panic. Can you go to prison for this? you've just vandalised a seemingly harmless guy's car.
“Did you just key my truck?” He's behind you, and you turn to see his face.
“No” you shake your head.
“I just watched you do it, why are you lying?” he questions
“Because ,I-” you sigh“ i've got to much fucking anger and i don't know what to fucking do with it” your lip tremors.
“Im stupid. So fucking stupid, and yeah everything is my own fucking fault, i could have filled a fucking police report, but i was so fucking naive, i found him in a club the next night and slept with him again, and suddenly i'm lying in my own filth waiting to die because ive been rotting away in his apartment for god knows how long, so he loads me up with drugs and leaves me on the side of the road and i think, this is it i'm finally going to fucking die. I'm twenty one and my life is already fucked.”
The wind howls, and the parking lot lights flicker on as it gets darker.
You look up at him “I'm sorry i keyed your car”
“It's fine, i'm stupidly rich and hate it anyway” Eddie mutters.
You smile.
“I want to be your sponsor”
“Huh?” your eyebrows raise "after I keyed your car?"
‘Yeah and well it's me or Joan, and Joan just speaks about her kids so, I'd be helping you out ”
“Joans actually my mom's friend”
“Oh, I get it,” Eddie sighs, fiddling with his keys.
You pause, looking at his brown eyes, you think about what they would've looked like blood shot.
“Can I get your number then? Because Heather was a real bitch to me in high school so i'd rather not hear about her success story”
A/N: hello I got bored and started writing, and this i what I wrote, i am terrible at proof reading by the way so I will give you a kiss if you tell me all my mistakes xxxx
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be-with-me-so-happily · 5 months
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I think I'm dead. Yep. Definitely deceased now.
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need-a-name-101 · 2 months
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Was someone going to tell me that Toby Stephens mother is Maggie Smith or was I supposed to find that out from a insta reel!!!
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