#this is just a normal fession

[sinkableruby]

confession: i want to squish ougis face their skin looks very soft and squishable

you're incredibly valid. i want to squish their face too their skin does indeed look very smooth and it would be very cute

#ougiposting #hardly even a confession #this is just a normal fession #a norfession

[ladychandraofthemoone]

1/29

Nothing to see here folks!! Just a completely normal moody, rebellious, deadpan, snarky and sarcastic teenager with a totally not mysterious and very shady past he escaped from and not made a deal with a phantom he lives with.

Anywho here’s a quick doodle of Fred Casey Jones!  Lore Tidbits Down Below: 

Best way too describe him is a combo of Louie Duck, Fred and Casey Jones (heh pun) mixed with L and Donatello. (where did ya think I got his hairstyle from? And the bag eyes poor teen needs some proper sleep 💤)

Rumors say he’s was a delinquent who has worked underneath a certain mobster gang overlord as a delivery/errand boy after being taken in from the streets, he wore a mask (which I’ll draw later) and prefer to use his spiked baseball bat or hockey sticks packed with exploding smokebombs pucks that he made and decorated himself. 

A hacker and video game expert 🎮 and lover, has once accidentally hacked into the government. In his defense how was he suppose to know that the coding looked like a video game (his boss 100% approves and supports his interests growing up after staying for a while)later the spirits and the narrow gauge support him as well

 Ended up going in Sodor in order to help prepare for a plan and finds out about the supernatural after a encounter with a certain zero spirit made him realize that even though he’s super grateful for being rescued, he didn’t wish to live a life of crime especially after discovering what exactly his boss does(he was never told, they were hidden away, the details were lightened up to him, etc) his boss isn’t searching for him 

Ends up being sorta raised by the spirits after this (cough Tino and Lucy cough) while also being quite independent and wants to help them in return as a favor, feels a great deal of depth towards them and attempts to try and find  gold dust or anything on tino’s demise

Is secretly very torn about trying to help them move on since he fears about being left alone again, feels guilt over helping a crime boss but pushes on after witnessing how much pain they were in

Lies about his age and other parts(excellent at pretending and lying, years of experience) in order to work on the SKR later on, manages to keep up the act and get away with it cause he was taught many things, is a night owl so tends to work at night (which is good for him cause now he can get more of his plans done) and thus getting more sleeping in 

Rusty slightly suspicious of him for multiple reasons while Fred is suspicious of Kyle (after he’s separated from the lamp) since Zero mentions a bloke called Proteus many times and say he preferred to call Kyle, plus Kyle’s appearance, Fred puts two together very quickly  and is currently trying to get Kyle to wish his spiritual family or get gold dust 

Has a notebook containing multiple information on the supernatural occurrence thanks to Tino including things about the other ghosts and gods Tino and Lucy know, is extermely protective of it 

Speaking of Alfred hates him for extermely petty reasons but can’t do much cause one Fred doesn’t care and can snark back and two, Tino and Lucy will have his head while destroying his body apart (Alfred still uses it to riled up Tino though and this leads to squabbling something that distresses Fred)

Personality and outfits slightly remain the same, dresses punk-fessional, is nice underneath his cool prickly exterior yet is a tiny bit reckless determined (something that makes Tino feel a twinge on..memories on someone he once knew?) tends to speak out his mind, is very secretive and occasional moments of grumbling laziness, jerk with a heart of gold

#ttte #ttte fred #humanization #ttte humanized #ttte timothy #ttte timothy the ghost engine #timothy the ghost engine #ttte lucy #kyle proteus #ttte proteus #proteus #ttte alfred #mentoined only #my art #my art stuff #my art style #my art owo #my art crap #based his design off of Japanese street fashion mixed with monster and shadow high #made a deal with Tino who’s very supportive and protective and caring #he can come to Fred mainly in his shadow but not for a long time though #tries to be there for Fred and not repeat the same mistakes he feels he made #also can anyone guess the ghosts it’s in his clothes lol #also da Fred agreed for Tino to possess him #my artwork #my doodles

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

I posted 1,251 times in 2022

That's 1,251 more posts than 2021!

1,230 posts created (98%)

21 posts reblogged (2%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@anti-bakugou-memes

@baku-fessionals

Third is some BakuStan who tried arguing against me regarding whether I care or not about if people ship BkDk. They then proceeded to try to tell me that I didn’t separate what makes a fan or a Stan DESPITE me doing so, and then when I showed proof that I did, they then said that they “had better things to do” despite constantly lurking in the anti Katsuki tags. Haven’t seen this person under any anti post since then so they might’ve turned tail and ran. Folks, if you’re going to start a debate/argument, please read about the other side before bothering to engage. Otherwise you’ve lost the argument and have proven yourself to be dumb. Censored their name as so no one bothers them, and if you find their post, don’t do so.

I tagged 1,016 of my posts in 2022

Only 19% of my posts had no tags

#anti bakugo - 893 posts

#anti katsuki bakugou - 893 posts

#anti bakugou - 891 posts

#anti bakugo katsuki - 889 posts

#mha critical - 484 posts

#anti bkdk - 428 posts

#anti bakudeku - 426 posts

#bad memes - 75 posts

#anti aizawa shota - 56 posts

#anti eraserhead - 45 posts

Longest Tag: 25 characters

#norm of the north twitter

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Stans: BaKuBoO iS a ViCtIm Of SoCiEtY aNd gOt HiS vIeWs FrOm ThE aDulTs.

Katsuki after receiving the most generic ass compliment ever:

Fucker was practicing Social Darwinism at four just cause some lady said he had a neat quirk 😂

136 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

#4

He really is a bitch 😭. Easily the biggest bitch in MHA and the bitchiest rival in all of Shonan.

143 notes - Posted May 17, 2022

#3

Any opinions on Fuyumi? I want to like her but... she just keeps pushing for "being a nice family" and I dunno, it seems like she's always invalidating her brothers feelings/experinces?

Fuyumi’s an interesting character to me. I always felt that her “being a nice family” mindset was her dealing with her trauma in her own way. Whereas Dabi, Shoto, and Natsuo react to Endeavor with anger and Rei reacts with fear, Fuyumi reacts with a sort of desperation that feels realistic to me. She wants to keep her family together but doesn’t have a healthy mindset as to what that means. She’s the type that thinks that if everyone talks things out, everything will be resolved and she can have a normal life she was unfairly robbed of. Problem is that Endeavor was an abuser, no matter what you think of him, and the best way to deal with an abuser is to leave them. Fuyumi however seems to feel that Endeavor is necessary to help live out her ideal family as he is her father, which shows an unhealthy sense of reality yet one that a lot of abuse victims who never receive proper help develop. It’s also interesting when you realize that she’s seen as the nurturing one and is a teacher. Hori probably didn’t think this far when writing her, but Fuyumi being an elementary school teacher could be her wanting to care for a family of her own in some way and/or living vicariously through the kids, as none of the Todoroki children had childhoods to begin with.

Her ideals however clash with that of her three brothers, her desperation to keep her family together and rebuild it going against Natsuo and Shoto’s desires to simply leave Endeavor behind and have nothing to do with him (and Dabi trying to kill Endeavor, but she didn’t even know he was alive until recently). To me, it’s pretty realistic as to how an abused family will sometimes clash with one another.

The problem I have with Fuyumi though is a problem I have with MHA as a whole and that’s the fact Hori never really dives deep into any of this. He sets up such themes and introduces characters integral to these themes, but we hardly get any insight into the Todoroki siblings’ mindsets with the arguable exceptions of Shoto and Dabi, so we barely see this side of Fuyumi and are left with some surface level stuff that makes it seem like she’s being selfish at times “just cuz” when it’s far more than that. It’s a problem with a lot of things in MHA. Now I’m not expecting masterful writing here, but if you’re going to introduce such themes and advertise them as integral to the story you’re trying to tell, I expect to see them being handled with at least some care. Instead everything’s so lackluster to the point where it feels like it’s offensive at times. Just look at Izuku’s relationship with Katsuki. The bullying is never addressed nor is Izuku allowed to feel anything about it except for blind admiration for Katsuki.

In conclusion, Fuyumi’s a complicated and interesting character that Hori once again fails to explore thoroughly and with the care needed to explore such a character. Under a better writer she’s the kind of character that would really flourish but what we got was missed potential, like with the majority of MHA.

182 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#2

Should be common sense. Don’t know why it’s not 🤷‍♂️

213 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

bruh please get into why you don't like shota I'm genuinely interested 🙏

Reasons why I don’t like Shota:

- Is easily the worst teacher in MHA: we never actually see him do his job. Every time we see him in a school setting, he’s either asleep or he pawns off his work to other teachers. He doesn’t give his students any advice except “do better” and he’s shown to be willing to drop students on THE FIRST FUCKING DAY OF CLASSES if they don’t suddenly improve. Izuku’s the biggest example of this. If Shota was good at his damn job, he’d read about his students ahead of time and learned that Izuku only had his quirk for a few months so it’s obvious that he won’t know how to use it properly. A real teacher would see this and offer aid, only expelling Izuku if he shows absolutely no improvements after a month or two. He managed to pass the entrance exam which means he’s more than worthy of being given a chance compared to the Gen-Ed students who failed to get into the hero course (looking at you Hitoshi). Meanwhile, Katsuki attacks Izuku on the first day and even sabotages his score yet Mr. “Logical” here doesn’t expel him. Adding to this, when Katsuki nearly kills Izuku, all he tells him is to “grow up”. These instances show him as outright neglectful and lazy. It gets even worse when you realize that the only time he actually tried doing his job, he fucked up big time by forcing an abuse victim to work with his abuser. Oh, and don’t get me started on him using Eri to further Katsuki’s growth in one of the light novels. Shota, it’s not the responsibility of those abused to help an abuser grow. People love to rag on All Might for his teaching, but while All Might sucks at his job, he at least tries. Shota is neglectful, abusive, and just an outright asshole at this point.

- Is a mouthpiece for Katsuki: despite Katsuki being a student Shota should’ve expelled right off the bat based on what we’re told about him, he instead praises Katsuki and is used by Hori to wank him off. He tells the people rightfully booing him during the Sports Festival that he was “giving it his all” against Ochako when all he was doing is just standing there and swatting her away when he could’ve easily took her out in one or two blows. Katsuki even says that it’s “time to get serious” after Ochako’s final attack, which meant he wasn’t taking her seriously to begin with. When people rightfully question Katsuki’s behavior after his kidnapping, Shota says that “Katsuki deserves to be a hero because he tries hard”. Bruh, just because you try hard doesn’t mean you deserve shit, especially when you’ve repeatedly proven that you can’t handle the responsibilities that come with being a hero.

- Doesn’t care about the mental health or the future of his students: One of the first things he does in the series is tell Ochako that knowledge of the school’s various facilities, including the guidance counselor, isn’t important. He then proceeds to use his little “logical rouses” which all that does is make sure none of his students can trust him with anything. He singles out Izuku and calls him a liability in front of his classmates instead of taking him to the side. His little “expulsion game” is also very harmful. In Japan, grades and academic records are highly valued. Any blemish can fuck up a kid’s future. By suspending his students, he screwed them over in the long run, especially since they’re in an “elite school” like U.A. Any kid who’d rather take a different path in life is fucked because Shota suspended them on the FIRST DAY of school. And for what? Not being at the level of a sidekick or pro hero? Except for those who had to take quirk counseling due to uncontrollable quirks, none of them had formal training, so who is he to say they can’t be heroes on the first day? All they had is one day to prove themselves on some shitty fitness exam that doesn’t even test their character or willingness to learn. Shota preaches about life being unfair but he’s actively making things unfair just because he’s got a God Complex.

- Is a hypocrite: Shota hates people who spam their quirks and only rely on them, so what does he do? Takes in a kid who does exactly that as his mentee just because he reminds him of himself and of his dead friend (Hitoshi’s my third least favorite MHA character in case you were wondering). He dislikes All Might for supposedly playing favorites but he does exactly that. We actually see him training this kid over his class, said kid who hasn’t done anything to achieve his dream.

-Narrative wanks him off: Never is Shota’s actions called out. He’s never made to be in the wrong. Every character loves him and those who don’t (like his previous class) are made to be in the wrong or are made to be assholes. However, unlike Katsuki, he at least isn’t completely covered by plot armor, having lost his leg and part of his eyesight due to battles he’s taken part in.

- He dropped a FUCKING BUILDING on his students during one of the OVA’s. Enough said. Somehow he’s been more successful nearly killing his students than the villains have at killing 1-A.

At the end of the day, Shota’s an abusive, neglectful, hypocritical, and egotistical asshole with a God complex who never gets called out on his bullshit. He may be a decent hero, but that’s really not something that overrides all his shitty traits. I see what Hori was going for, but like with a lot of things, Hori misses the mark and forgets what makes characters of Shota’s archetypes work in the first place.

271 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #anti bakugou #anti bakugo #anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugou katsuki #mha critical #anti eraserhead #anti shota aizawa #eraserhead critical

[the-morning-star-rising]

Hey wow. Did not expect my random 'fession to get attention. In any case, no clue what's going on with that blog, kind of don't WANT to. I don't quite get what being a fictive is like yet, I've kinda just lived in the background of my... "Host's" life for over ten years. (I've always just called him "the kid" cos he was like 9-10 back then but now he's 23. Still hard to believe that.)

It's nice knowing I'm not alone in this weird world I've woken back up in, though. Hope you're all well and hope today goes well for you. You seem like cool people.

-Johnny 13 from fictionkinfessions 🤙

Thanks, Johnny 13! I hope you're doing well yourself aside from the confusion!

I'm assuming you're referring to what's going on over at fictionkinfessions (please correct me if I'm wrong! /gen) I don't know what's going on with the fictionkinfessions blog too, normally there isn't this much drama going on. It's usually pretty chill! Hopefully things calm down soon...

That's super valid about not knowing/getting what it's like! We believe in you, and if there's anything we can help with just ask and we'll try our best! /gen

Anyway! I hope you all have a good day too, you seem pretty cool yourself! 💛

Take care!

[awisa-moved]

my co fession im actually really scared my curls wont come back after i dye my hair again eek also you have /div> in your bio alisa dear alisa

omg i wish the best for ur curls i know they will come back i just know it !!! 💫✨⭐️

and WHAT nooo 🥺 it looks normal to me tch ... i will ? try to fix it when i’m home

#zvezda.txt

[offrankies]

Car-fessions || Graham & Frankie

Timing: Right after the S1 finale. Parties: @grahamstoker & @offrankies Summary: Sometimes, when life’s too much, a teen human just needs his vampire roommate-dad to be there.

A few hours had passed since they had managed to get home. A few hours since the wall separating reality and fiction had been completely ruptured in Frankie’s world. Not a single word spoken the whole walk home- well, calling it walk was an overstatement; they had to limp, almost crawl their way back, Frankie’s weak frame trying its hardest to hold Layla’s almost mauled body, both of them covered in blood. It had taken a long time to get her girlfriend cleaned and patched up, both of them numb and almost robotically moving around the apartment. But somehow it had been done, and after the human had made sure the werewolf was fast asleep, she had found herself back in the shower, scrubbing all her body with soap, shampoo, shower gel, even bleach - but no matter how much she scrubbed and how long the water ran down her body, she couldn’t stop feeling dirty; disgusting, even. 

She wasn’t sure how long it took her to leave the bathroom, the pink, unaware Kirby decorating her pajamas almost mocking her with its wide smile. Hair was still wet when the door of the apartment opened, but Frankie didn’t even move from her position on the couch, legs propped up so she was hugging them, chin resting against her knees. Both exposed arms had a mix of bandages and bandaids, her right arm clearly the most beaten since the white gauze covered it from elbow to wrist. But Frankie didn’t really feel the physical pain, or how her body felt like it was being crushed by a large rock from both the physical and mental exhaustion. She was just staring at the wall, eyes lost as her brain rewinded once, and then twice, and then for the gazillion time the events that had happened that night. Graham had since grown used to having to slip into the house during the ungodly hours of the night for a couple of reasons - one of which was to prove that he could do it and help get more sneaky and the other because he didn’t want to deal with usually one, now two moody teenage girls if they didn’t get enough sleep. Suffice it to say, as he hung his keys on the hook he deemed as ‘his’ and turned to take his shirt off - it was always the first thing to go when he was safely in his house, he was a little taken aback to find someone on the couch. “Oh shit,” He said with less surprise but the tone was still there as his blue eyes danced up and down Frankie’s diminutive frame, made even smaller from her position. “Uh… everything all right?” He caught the bandages almost immediately and he was glad he had trained himself not to breathe… he was almost certain that the stench of blood filled his apartment and he had the feeling that now was not the time to lose his mind to the frenzy.

The voice coming from the entrance felt distant, as if Frankie had been locked behind an invisible glass wall; and though the small, rational part of her brain knew that it was Graham most likely asking why she wasn’t asleep, she was too confused, too shocked to make out the words, less alone who was delivering them. Talking felt like an impossible task at the moment. The memories of the cop shooting at the lake people, Layla ripping their limbs, fire demon dogs burning corpses, and Nell chanting as two demons fought each other -- how could she continue a relatively normal life after experiencing everything? And not only that - how was she supposed to continue a relatively normal life when she needed to share a bed with Layla? Her heart clenched at the idea, but everyone’s warnings had finally happened. Not only she had hurt her physically - intentionally or not -, but Frankie was now completely destroyed emotionally and could barely even look at her. She didn’t bother looking up, less alone asking him what he had said, but instead sunk deeper on the couch. He was finding himself concerned with the fact that he was concerned about Frankie as she didn’t react to his presence, what he asked, not even making a noise. Graham decided to keep his shirt on and for a moment, he stood in the entryway of his apartment awkwardly, wondering if it would’ve been best to turn around and leave, go straight to his room with maybe one more passing sentence or some third option. He… took the third option. Giving a psychosomatic exhale as he would’ve when he was human, expressing the relinquish of emotional buildup, he went over to the couch and carefully sat next to Frankie, close enough that he could feel her body warmth against his side. He flipped a mental coin on whether to lean forward on his knees or sit back in an open position, ultimately deciding on the latter and he kept his eyes on the television in front of them as if some mundane show were on and he was too lazy to change the channel. He didn’t say anything but he consciously moved his stomach up and down to give the impression that he too was breathing, steady, slow, calm. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know where Layla was and he didn’t know what Frankie needed but he prepared himself for any possible outcome he could think of.

Frankie was barely aware of the adult moving next to her, empty hazel eyes still fixated on a post in the wall; or at least they looked like they were staring, cause all she could see in front of her was Layla’s wolf form covered in blood, her hands desperately grasping at her fur, trying to locate the source of where it was coming from, but her imagination liked playing cruel tricks, and no matter how much she pressed and tried to cover the wounds, red never stopped flowing, and the wolf quickly stopped moving beneath her hands. It was a repeating nightmare that didn’t wait for her to be asleep to torment her, and at some point her hands started clenching, nails digging at the exposed skin on her legs, breath suddenly spiking. She was trapped in her own mind, her sight red, her hands covered in the wolf’s blood, her hands covered in a murderer’s blood, and Frankie was too slow, she had been too late to save her-- It should’ve been obvious by this point but Graham wasn’t an aura reader; as far as he was concerned in terms of aura reading, Frankie was in braille. However, the man did used to be an empathetic doctor who was damn good at his job. It was that part, the part before his own drama, the human part, that managed to find some form of connection with the teenager that something was very wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was stress or trauma but the heart that lay cold and still in his chest would’ve felt a pang had it still functioned correctly. Still remaining silent, he let the human part activate for just a few moments, acting on what he would’ve done years ago and he placed a strong hand on Frankie’s head ever-so-gently, stroking her wet hair before his hand moved down to her shoulder where he carefully pulled her towards him until she was leaning against his torso. He put his arm on the back of the couch to not make her feel trapped and he kept his position calm and open. “I’ll be okay, kiddo.” That was all he said and he wasn’t sure if it was true but that’s all he could think TO say rather than remain completely quiet.

It could’ve been seconds as well as hours, but one second Frankie was sitting by a wolf’s corpse, drowning in blood, and the next she was back in the apartment with her head softly pressed against a cold chest. It took her a moment for her to grasp what was happening, her eyes slowly processing the bandaged arms in front of them and she found her mind back in the bathroom, rubbing them with bleach as if that would take what had happened away. But she wasn’t at the lake. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She was sitting in the living room with Graham’s arm loosely around her. Frankie’s throat tightened, jaw clenched, and her eyes began to sting as a wave of emotion washed over her, but she refused to let it out, scared that her sobbing that could potentially turn into a loud episode would wake up the sleeping werewolf in her room. But as much as she tried, she couldn’t contain the way her body shook or the tears that had started to run down her face against her will. Frankie tried to hide her face on her legs, ashamed that the vampire had to witness her slow descend to madness, and with the softest broken voice she mumbled: “I can’t do this anymore.”

Graham swallowed the spontaneous urge to laugh and tell her that she was overreacting to whatever was going on but he had to firmly remind himself that she was a human and very well might remain as such; a lot of people weren’t given that second chance whether they wanted it or not so he remained where he was, unusually quiet and strangely receptive. His sharp tongue that he didn’t bother to change in the privacy of his own home slithered out of his mouth and absently scritched at his chin when he heard Frankie talk and he could feel her restraint to keep her composure, getting the feeling that she was doing so to remain quiet - Layla must’ve been in her bedroom. So something happened,something that traumatized Frankie but not Layla to the point that she was either asleep or they were just separated. For a moment, he hoped they didn’t destroy more of his furniture but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. “...It’s okay.” He replied, repeating what he’d said before. “It’s not your fault.” He was gentle in his delivery but still tried to be objective without being blunt. “It’s hard. It’s really fuckin’ hard and even if someone blames you, just remember that this isn’t your fault.” He reiterated. She must’ve been talking about her relationship with the werewolf. He knew this would happen. He wasn’t sure when or how but he knew it.

More time passed before Frankie said anything in return, Graham’s cold hand gently strokes on her hair were soothing in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time, and for the first time since she had arrived to White Crest, she missed home. She missed her grandma and her cookies and strangely she also missed her mother with her never ending yelling, and she missed Mrs Park and her prying eye. But mostly she missed her normal life that didn’t have demons and dead people and shapeshifters and brainwashing cults and witches. A muffled sob finally managed to escape, which only made Frankie’s frame tighten and cower more, but it was enough to open way for another, and then another, until the young human couldn’t contain them anymore, one hand moving to cover her mouth in a poor attempt to remain as quiet as she possibly could. “There was--” Her voice choked with the sobs, and she needed to take a deep breath in order to talk. “-- a demon and--- fire dogs coming-- coming out of a witch--” As the last word was said, Frankie’s voice broke once more letting out a loud sob, and in half a second the teen found herself shifting on the couch so she could bury herself on Graham’s chest, hand never leaving her mouth to continue muffling the cries. She continued talking, but between the crying and the position she was in, not even she could tell what was leaving her mouth. At least she was finally expressing herself, once again getting body fluids onto his shirt. Graham couldn’t help but wonder whose divine plan it was for him to end up in this position but he figured he had enough time to contemplate that in the long term; for now, he just listened to every muffled word that spilled out of Frankie’s mouth like the tears that ran down  her cheeks. He kept gently petting her head, still keeping his eyes looking at the tv to avoid staring as he processed what she was saying but unable to connect the dots in a coherent enough way. He didn’t deny that witches or demons or fire dogs existed but that sounded like some kind of ritual. Was that where the marks on her arms came from? “It’s okay,” He soothed, keeping himself steady for her as he felt every strained muscle in her small body. “Just, uh… keep breathing. D’you wanna go out to my truck? You can scream in there,” He offered, again trying to be mild but not unwelcoming to her.

The coldness of the body against her made her mind wander to her mother once more. She was also cold but in a different way, with her scolding and harsh words, and how she always brushed her off almost like she had never wanted to have her as a kid. And it didn’t matter how much Frankie tried, she couldn’t remember if Terry Calloway had a warm body like hers, or a cold one like Graham’s, and the thought almost made her laugh in irony. Except the potential laughter only came out as more sobs, and the image of her mother sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee was quickly replaced by the same woman standing at the lake, looking at her with disappointment, before a wolf lounged at her, ripping her neck. Frankie’s head nodded frantically, partly to get rid of the idea of Layla murdering her imaginary mom, and partly to accept the offer to go somewhere else, though her body did little moving beside the waves of sobs that kept relentlessly coming at her, making her shake. Whether intentional or not, Graham pushed energy through his body in what felt like an instant when he got a response and in a fluid motion that seemed like it took no effort, he moved his arm around Frankie’s back, maneuvering around to stick his other arm under the bend in her knees and he swept her up as though she were a stuffed animal. “Hokay, girlie,” He said with a fake grunt as he took her through the door, grabbing his keys and gently shutting it with his foot behind them, down the stairs and out to his little black truck. Unlocking it, he carefully set Frankie down in the passenger seat and shut the door before going around and taking his own place in the driver’s seat, laying his arm across to close the distance between the two as he brushed a knuckle, palm up against her to let her know that it was available for any reason. “Alright, kiddo. What’s going on? Scream at me.”

Getting carried to the car was a blur, and before Frankie could allow herself to continue weeping, she accepted Graham’s hand and held it like her life depended on it, free hand wiping her face to try to get rid of some of the mess on it. She was still partially sobbing, but at least she managed to keep it enough under control to get some coherent words out. “I was--- at work and--- something made me go to the lake…” And as if a switch had been turned on, Frankie started talking, about the three girls and the cop, how she couldn’t leave the imaginary circle, making weird gestures once she started describing the freaky lake people and how the cop and demon dogs had started killing them, her voice slowly getting steadier and louder, until at some point she let go of Graham’s hand to make a huge gesture as she described Layla transforming, before her left hand landed on top of her right, where the bandage covered most of her arm, voice getting quiet once more as she described how the witch had user her blood, and how the wolf had killed several cultists and how she had almost died. Her breathing was hard from talking too fast, from recalling everything that had happened that night, and she finally looked back at Graham, eyes broken and glistering from the tears, but at least they weren’t running down her face anymore. “I don’t-- How. How do I-- How am I supposed to process... this?”

And so he listened to everything from Frankie’s panicked hiccups to her explanation of what happened at the lake, the ritual, Layla’s transformation… and felt how he tensed up when she mentioned that Layla hurt her. Damn werewolves. Damn teenage girl werewolf. Graham waited patiently until she was done, however, before he pinched the bridge of his nose with a false sigh but he wasn’t sure what he was sighing about; there was so much about this situation he found himself hating. “Well, Frankie,” He said first, looking at the younger girl, his expression rather serious as he found himself in rare form. “If I’m being totally honest with you, you have two options. The first one, which I recommend, is that you leave town.” He didn’t sound aggressive or demanding, but pragmatic. “I said this before but it’s dangerous for people, especially the non-cursed, non-powerful and non-violent ones,” He gave a half-shrug. “So you can leave town, start over somewhere new - you’re friendly and sweet so I’m sure you’d have no problem making something of yourself. Do some therapy, process through these feelings and work out the trauma,” He added. “OR you can stay here and let your experiences here shape what you want to become as you remain.” He said. “Search for a therapist here, keep learning about the supernatural, decide what YOU want, how you do want to process this because if you stay, this ritual and shit won’t stop and you’ll need to cope with something else possibly bad happening.” He paused. “... I don’t think Layla did what she did on purpose but that doesn’t change that it happened. So I guess the question now is what you asked but only you have that answer: How are you going to process this?”

Had the space allowed it, she would’ve found herself clinging to Graham’s neck once more; but instead, Frankie listened in silence, bringing her feet up the seat so she was hugging her knees in the same way he had found her earlier, chin resting on them as she stared at the dark parking lot. It felt bittersweet hearing the words she didn’t want to hear, but that she also needed anyways. Leaving town and going back home was definitely the easy route. The safest one too. And though it pained her to admit it, it was also the most tempting one. But she also knew she couldn’t just bail on everything. One month had been enough to plant some roots, and leaving Layla when she needed her the most would cause her a heartbreak she didn’t know she could endure. A soft, almost inaudible chuckle tried to leave her as she thought that, already knowing what the vampire’s reply would be if she said that out loud. “I’ve never been much of a quitter.” She mumbled instead, before finally looking at him with puffy, red eyes, cheek now resting on her knee and the weakest smile on her face. “And I can’t give my mom the satisfaction of being right.” Probably not the best time to be joking, but the truth was hiding behind it. Graham was right, as usual.  “Guess I’m just... going to take everything one step at a time.” Said that, she took a deep breath, the human clearly more calm than before. She straightened on the seat, before leaning to the side, she rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you know about demons?”

#p: graham #// graham is a dad confirmed #❪ ⋅ ⋆ —— ❛ para ❜ ❫ #Car-fessions #wickedswriting

[meixofoodx]

Moment Pot Pho

The essential occupation of an extraordinary soup, other than giving huge loads of flavor, is to give you that warm, keep you going all day feeling. Barely any soups do that just as a loading bowl of pho. The Vietnamese hamburger bone based soup is typically crammed with noodles, new spices and quite a few garnishes like cilantro, bean sprouts, daintily cut round eye or even meatballs. The genuine star, notwithstanding, is simply the stock. Yet, on the off chance that you ask any prepared pho-fessional they'll reveal to you that making an appropriate stock will take you hours, if not an entire day, to build up the rich and complex flavors required for a fantastic bowl of the stuff. In the event that you need to attempt to reproduce this stock without a similar time speculation, perhaps the most ideal approaches to do this is by utilizing a weight cooker!

The weight made by a customary weight cooker or an Instant Pot serves to radically accelerate the way toward pulling the flavors and wizardry from the hamburger bones and into your soup. Indeed, once pressurized, the soup will be done in 60 minutes. It may not be actually similar to what you'd get nightfall of stewing, however we are extremely content with this alternate way strategy. Here are a few hints to guarantee you make the best pho conceivable:

For Extra Flavor Char The Veggies

While it's thoroughly fine to throw in your onion and ginger with no guarantees, in our examination we found that numerous Vietnamese gourmet experts will burn their onion and ginger before stripping and adding them to the pot. This assists with giving a marginally smoky flavor to the stock. To do this essentially a large portion of your onion and scorch it over a medium high fire of your oven Mexican food salem, directly on the mesh of your oven, for 3 to 4 minutes until the skin is darkened. Do likewise for the ginger, at that point strip and add to your pot.

Heat up The Bones!

In the event that you have made bone stock or stock previously, you've likely invested energy skimming rubbish from the head of your pot. Presently this rubbish isn't in reality awful, in actuality its generally comprised of denatured proteins which are normally found in numerous nourishments, most remarkably in egg whites. The explanation individuals skim these proteins out is generally to shield the stock from seeming shady, and in the event that you've ever had a decent bowl of pho, you realize the stock is normally clear. Since we will seal our stock in a weight cooker we can't skim through the cooking cycle. By heating up the bones for 10 minutes before cooking, you will have the option to get a drain measure of those proteins out of the bones before cooking, prompting a more clear stock.

Eliminate The Fat For Super Extra Clear Broth

To accomplish greatest lucidity in your stock, in the wake of stressing it through a fine work sifter, move it to a sealed shut holder and let it cool in an ice chest for 4 hours or overnight. At the point when you remove it from the cooler there ought to be a layer of fat sitting on head of the soup. Essentially dispose of that layer before warming and you'll have an even more clear stock.

Freeze Your Beef For Extra Thin Slices

The delicate, flimsy meat you'll be besting your pho with will be cooked by the hot stock you spoon over it. Thus, you need that meat to be cut as meagerly as could be expected under the circumstances. The most ideal approach to do this with no extraordinary instruments is to put your flank steak or round eye in the cooler for 15 to 20 minutes. The virus will assist the meat with firming, making it more helpful for slim cutting.

[bumper-boi]

Phone Call-fessions

Author’s Note: This is based on prompt 4 from the prompt list I reblogged!

4//things you said over the phone

Word Count: 330

Pairing(s): Wonah, Andi x Any Girl

Genre(s): Fluff, Teensy Bit Of Angst

Trigger Warning(s): None

———

Walker answered the phone, smiling when he saw the caller ID.

“Jonah,” He said into the phone.

“I love you,” Jonah said, hanging up the phone immediately after.

“Oh.”

———

Walker saw Jonah in the lunchroom the next day, walking up to him quickly.

“Jonah,” Walker said, standing behind him.

Jonah turned around, smiling at Walker, “Yeah Walker, what’s up?”

“You know what’s up. That phone call? We need to talk Jonah.”

“Talk about what?”

“You said you love me…”

“I did. You obviously don’t feel the same, so there is nothing to talk about,” Jonah said as he turned, walking away from Walker.

He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning around, he saw Walker, pulling him back towards him.

“Walker what are you-” He said, just before he was stopped by Walker kissing him. He melted into the kiss, closing his eyes.

Walker put his hands on Jonah’s hips, pulling him closer.

Jonah suddenly realized what they were doing, and he pulled away, “Walker… Everyone is watching…” He said, starting to panic.

“Who cares? Let them watch,” Walker said, kissing Jonah harder than before.

The rest if the day continued as normal for Jonah, well as normal as it can when everyone saw you making out with a boy in the middle of the lunch room. Many students congratulated him as he walked down the hallways, including his friends after school.

“So… You are Walker are a thing now?” Andi asked, nudging into Jonah as they walked to the bus.

“Shut up,” Jonah mumbled, covering the blush that was spread across his cheeks.

“If someone had told me one year ago that in a year I would be a lesbian, have a girlfriend, and my two ex-boyfriends would be dating, I would have called them crazy,” She laughed, “Anyway, we still on for The Spoon tomorrow? Buffy and Cyrus have some news for us.”

“Definitely. Bye Andiman,” Jonah said as he got on his bus.

#andi mack #wonah #wonah fic #logan’s fics #walker brodsky #andi mack walker #jonah beck

[hellyeahomeland]

[Hi! We’re back. We haven’t done a Director’s Chair feature since “R is for Romeo” so please bear with us as we get back into the swing of it. This week’s episode was directed by Michael Klick, who has been a producer on the show since the very beginning and directed his first episode last year (“The Flag House,” which you can read our Director’s Chair feature on here). The DP for this episode was Giorgio Scali, who, along with David Klein, heads up the photography department on the show.] 

“Standoff” | Directed by Michael Klick

The episode opens not with a shot of Carrie’s face, but of her hands. Her manic energy--she’s restless and can’t stop fidgeting--is further highlighted by what we hear but don’t yet see: those signature Carrie Mathison huffs and puffs. The device reminded us of the reveal of manic Carrie in “The Vest,” as Saul hears her gradually loudening yelling about her green pen before the camera finally reveals her battered and bruised face.

Our first glimpse of the compound in this episode comes as the fleet of FBI vehicles approach. That yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag was a major symbol of the American revolution. Notably missing: the American flag.

Next, JJ and a clearly happy dog appear down one half of a forked road. This fork in the road, and the hesitation and impasse associated with that image, come to represent the main thematic elements of this episode, at least as it pertains to Saul and O’Keefe. These two men (themselves with massively divergent paths) face major decisions in this episode and their storyline is wrapped up in their “wait and see” approach to the brewing confrontation on the compound.

As Saul and JJ meet, we get the first of many medium or wide shots that Klick and Scali use in the episode, showing two characters in this kind of symmetrical yet combative stance. Saul’s on one side, and O’Keefe and his “army” are on the other.

We also got some season one vibes from the scene of Carrie and Maggie in Maggie’s kitchen. Carrie’s ensuing panic attack and Maggie’s calm brings us back to the end of “Blind Spot” when Carrie shows up on Maggie’s doorstep, distraught.

Sara’s notes here were simply “cool ass shots.” We don’t really have much more to say but the focus shift in this scene from O’Keefe to Saul was some fancy camerawork. Kudos!

As this is our first Director’s Chair for season seven, let’s talk about how they’re shooting Keane this season. Namely, it’s exactly the same as they shot her last season! Tons of close-ups where she’s just inches away from her adversary (or advisor, as it were) -- literally mano a mano. The camera angle even contributes to the power dynamics at play here, as they typically film Keane slightly from below, so it appears she’s looking down on Wellington.

Keane has always been shown as a principled, rigid politician when it comes to her policies. What’s changed, of course, is what those policies are. The way she talks to Wellington here is almost identical to how she talked to Dar Adal last year: perpetually in confrontation mode, and never backing down.

Nothing to add here but what do we think is in the box in Carrie’s closet labeled “GREY”? All of her grey pantsuits? Her Grey’s Anatomy DVD boxsets? PROP MASTERS OF HOMELAND, PLEASE LET US KNOW.

~IJLTP~

Last year we evaluated the contents of Carrie’s refrigerator, and this season we’re getting even more personal. Just what the heck is in Josie Mathison-Dunn’s medicine cabinet? (Also, guess Bill’s last name is Dunn. We still want to call him Bill Mathison.)

First, some Mario Badescu Skincare products. Sara has literally never heard of this man. We have an aloe, cucumber, and green tea cucumber spray. Also an aloe, herbs, and rosewater facial spray. (Side note: what is “facial spray”? Sara has also never heard of this.) 

A bottle of Murad Razor Burn Rescue at the far left.

That tube in the middle with the happy-go-luck young woman is Benefit Pore Fessional Minimizer. Gail says this smells really good and works wonders. Sara has never heard of this product before but she does get her eyebrows waxed at the Benefit Cosmetics stores in NYC and really likes them and all the millennial pink and calm vibes there.

That tiny blue bottle next to the nail polish (speaking of nail polish, Sara calls BS that a teen as moody as Josie has bright pink and purple nail polish. WWDBD?) is Too Faced Shadow Insurance, which is some sort of eyelid primer. Once again, Sara has never heard of it and Gail hasn’t used it (“I’m a Smashbox girl!”). We do both love that the prop department found a product called “Too Faced.” We see what you did there.

Our thoughts on the cosmetic and facial care portions of Josie’s medicine cabinet can be described thusly:

Sara: I’m sorry but do teenage girls have this many products in their medicine cabinets? Is this a thing? Did she pick this up in Rome? Am I just that out of touch??

Gail: There is no way a teenage girl that owns a shadow primer only has one make-up brush in her arsenal. Sorry, not buying it.

Josie also has three meds in her cabinet. The first is Isotretinoin, which according to the world wide web is used for treating severe acne.

The second bottle is of course Adderall.

We think the third bottle is Methylphenidate (the generic name for Ritalin), which, like Adderall, is used to treat ADHD.

We get the second Carrie mirror shot in as many episodes. This is just one in a long trend on this show (i.e., it is the thirty-seventh but certainly not the last!). And while the mirror and hair length may change, the tone and meaning of them almost never does. She’s steeling herself here--for an inevitable crash, for another day of a waking nightmare, for the descent further into the rabbit hole.

The Saul/O’Keefe confrontation is notable for a few reasons. First, again Klick and Scali shoot almost the entire sequence in a series of medium or wide shots where both characters are contained in the shot yet standing opposite each other. There are almost no shot/reverse shot cuts where we see a frame of just Saul and then one of just O’Keefe. They are literally in a standoff.

The progression of their stance is also interesting. As Saul first approaches O’Keefe, he’s standing on the opposite side of the picnic table. As their conversation continues, he comes around to O’Keefe’s side and sits next to him.

The wider shots in this scene also reveal the imbalance at play and, in hindsight, hint at O’Keefe’s long game. Behind Saul, we see the FBI in the distance, ready to pounce. In a show of power, the FBI has numbers, large vehicles, and a coordinated presence. The playing field isn’t even. O’Keefe only has a handful of supporters, including some young children. Abandoned bicycles, an empty picnic table, and an over-turned red wagon depict a typical rural yard of an American family. This is not a war zone in some faraway place. The country is in a civil war and Klick sets the scene to drive this point home--literally.

Sara picked up on this facial reaction upon first viewing--after Dante says his bipolar ex-girlfriend left him--but couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Gail chipped in with a simple explanation: it’s her appreciation of his empathy, which is not something she’s that used to in her daily life. Carrie still views her bipolar disorder as a reason not to be with her--those wounds may be buried, but they exist nonetheless. The jury remains out on whether Dante’s intentions are altruistic or not, but this moment was interesting nonetheless.

The sequence of Carrie resisting being booked was a powerful reminder of early season three, where she is restrained and drugged against her will (though as part of a larger “play”). When you combine this with the images we’ll see weekly in the opening credits, what does this tell us about the path Carrie’s going down?

Here we have yet another shot where the camera is shooting Keane from slightly above. This angle further illustrates the tension (they are literally not seeing each other “eye to eye”) and power dynamics of their relationship. It’s clear that Keane does not see them as equals (nor should she, to be honest).

With each episode this season, Carrie is more isolated and alone. Here she’s locked inside a sterile and dark room all by herself, bolstering her current estrangement from anything resembling a normal life. These shots especially call back to the end of “Tower of David,” when she’s crouched and alone in her room in the hospital. The combination of these images, their heavy parallel to past seasons, and Carrie’s comment to Maggie about a “locked ward” leads to a potent sense of foreboding.

This is a totally gorgeous shot--the blue and red in the background and the way Carrie is lit from behind. Sometimes this show is really visually arresting.

Klick and Scali film Carrie and Dante here just as they shot Saul and O’Keefe earlier in the episode. The wide shot with both characters in frame suggests the same adversarial “standoff” stance, and yet the moment itself seems on the surface healing and supportive. Have we mentioned the show is giving us mixed messages about Dante?

We don’t have to remind you all of the parallels between this scene and the one with Carrie and Quinn at the end of “Still Positive,” but we will anyway. Even the shed in the back is red!

The final shot of the episode, an absolutely beautiful wide shot, again depicts both characters in frame. Dante looks over at Carrie while she stares straight ahead. And despite the light in the background (Quinn’s “light on the headlands, steering [her] clear of the rocks”?), Carrie is still shown in the dark. Again we must ask, is there more going on with Dante than she realizes?

The score used at the end of this episode was originally used at the end of “The Star” (and later at the end of “The Man in the Basement”) when Carrie draws a star on the wall for Brody. The use of it in this scene, along with the visual callbacks to a famous scene with Quinn, combine to form a strange and eerie amalgam of Carrie’s past romances. Brody’s music and Quinn’s words. Where does Dante fit into this equation and what is the show trying to say? For now, those remain open questions.

Finally, the colors in this last shot--red, white, and blue--feel symbolic. Carrie is forever fighting for the country she loves--the country she feels an innate duty to protect--even to her own detriment. In this episode alone she sacrifices her mental health, yet again, to continue on with this battle. As the bright lights illuminate the sky against a brilliant backdrop of the colors of the American flag, the music viewers have come to associate with loss, broken promises, and missed chances swells. 

Our freedom doesn’t come free. And Carrie has chosen her price.

ETA: Ashley would like us to point out that we missed the Clean & Clear in Josie’s cabinet and that cabinets are entirely her domain for all future reference. We deeply and sincerely apologize, Ashley.

#homeland #homelandedit #in the director's chair #michael klick #standoff #by: sara #by: gail #* #PHEW

[youcanbreatheyoucanblink-blog]

Devour Me (part 3)

Please read: Part 1  &Part 2

After being imprisoned at a colony that used women for only their bodies, Scarlet battles through blood, fire, and pain to get her freedom back. And who better to give that back to her than the man who taught her how to fight in the first place?

Chapter Summary: Scarlet is beginning to build a position within the Sanctuary and is finally reunited with Negan. 

Main Characters: Scarlet (OC), Negan, Cara (OC), Peter (OC), Dwight

Warnings: Language (shocker, I know), very very brief suggestions of sexual assault

Author’s Note: HI! I’m so sorry for taking so long to get this part out. It’s a bit shorter than the others but I’m pretty happy with it! I didn’t use a beta for this chapter but I still wanted to shout out my OG beta and pal @i-am-negan-trash for always helping me and just because her whole blog is killer (read her shit). Please let me know what you think! And also let me know if you would like to be tagged in just this fic or on a forever list :)

Also, the smut is coming soon. Pun definitely intended. 

“Describe your best fuck.”

Scarlet smiled slightly, leaning her forehead harder against the ice pack she was holding in her palm. The two men standing outside the main door of the medical wing did not seem to be shy of having their conversation overheard. She couldn’t quite make out their faces from her seat next to Dr. Carson’s desk, but their voices were strong and confident.

“Jesus, guys,” Cara said, from her spot on a stool to Scarlet’s right.

One poked his head around the door frame, shooting a smirk at Cara from underneath a large, crooked nose.

“Join in if you like,” he said. Scarlet looked up to see him chuckling, causing his large belly to jiggle beneath the thin gray shirt he was wearing.

Cara rolled her eyes. “No thanks, Peter, I’m not a 16 year old boy.”

“What about you, new girl? Best bang?”

Scarlet lifted her head a bit higher. It had been a couple hours since she had passed out in one of the back rooms, but her head still ached. Dr. Carson said it was probably from dehydration--which likely was part of it--but Scarlet knew the real reason. Every few seconds she could still hear Cara’s voice chanting the name that had pulled her unconscious over and over in a solid echo that hammered against her temples.

Negan. Negan. Negan.

“I don’t normally talk about my sex life with people I don’t know,” Scarlet said, clearing her throat. She smiled while trying to hide the pain in her face as she attempted to ignore the chant sensually trailing around in her skull.

Both men stepped through the doorway and walked toward her and Cara. The man with the belly stuck his hand out and Scarlet took it.

“Peter. One of the captains.” Scarlet smiled back at him. He had kind eyes underneath his dark, heavy brows and was definitely a large man--probably looked extremely threatening in the right situation. Right now he looked like the jolly uncle that always got drunk at family reunions and made dirty jokes with the in-laws.

The other man was much smaller. He had an extremely small build and  looked like he’d blow over if a strong enough gust blew through. A dusting of blond hair covered his upper lip and the front of his neck. It extended up to his scalp where it grew thin, hanging down in front of his eyes in strings. He initially kept his face slightly turned away to the left so Scarlet only saw the right side of his face. As he came forward behind Peter, he finally turned to face her and she understood his apprehension.

The entire left side of his face was crisscrossed from forehead to chin with thick, deep, red and purple scars. As he moved, Scarlet noticed that the scars extended back, reaching his left ear and left behind a massive bald spot that was spotted with smaller scars. Scarlet recognized that the way the scars molded together like melted clay was indicative of a burn, but she did not say anything and tried her best not to react. She knew how it felt to be judged based on scars. All scars have a story and she thought she’d like to hear the story behind this one someday.

“Dwight,” he said matter of factly. He shook her hand quickly and stiffly.

“When they aren’t on runs, Peter and Dwight and few other guys usually lurk around in the yard outside,” Cara said, turning to Scarlet. “When it’s especially hot, they bring their thrilling conversations in here.”

She gave Peter a pointed look and he returned her gaze with a toothy smile.

“Oh please, you love it” Peter turned his attention back to Scarlet. “So, now that we know each other, let’s hear it. Best time you ever went ten toes to Jesus.” He perched on the edge of Dr. Carson’s desk and crossed his arms, smiling.

Scarlet snorted, shooting a look at Cara. She and Dwight were whispering with each other.

Squishing the now-room-temperature ice pack in her hands, Scarlet plastered a look of feigned-thoughtfulness on her face. “You know, it might take me a bit. Why don’t we hear yours?” she said.

Peter laughed. “Oh I see, that much that you have to sort through it all, eh?” He winked.

At that moment, Dr. Carson walked in, carrying yet another stack of papers. He dropped it on the opposite side of his desk from where Peter was perched. Looking at Scarlet, he smiled. He was probably relieved she wasn’t attacking him anymore.

“How are we feeling?” he said, in a tone that felt more friendly than anything.

“Bit of a headache, but fine,” Scarlet replied.

“Good. You should drink at least three more bottles of water before you go to sleep, as well.”

Dr. Carson nodded at the two men. As he was leaving the room, he quickly stopped and turned back around.

“Oh, Dwight, this is for you.” He pulled a small tube of ointment out of his coat pocket and stuck his arm out. Dwight left Cara’s side and quickly grabbed the tube and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Hey, man, don’t be embarrassed,” Peter said as Dwight shuffled to the back corner of the room. He responded with a grunt.

“You should be happy, to be honest. Boss could’ve done much worse.” Peter crossed his arms, nodding.

“What happened?” Scarlet found herself asking. Dwight gave her a look filled with so much venom that she immediately regretted saying anything.

“Chill out, dude. She’s part of our community now so she deserves to know what’s going on. And she also has a right to know about our forms of discipline.” Peter spoke the last sentence with rigid authority. Scarlet sat up a bit straighter.

“You see, Scar. Cool if I call you Scar? Okay. Well when the rules are broken here, there are consequences. Always. Now this ain’t my story so I won’t get into the details but Dwighty-boy here had a lady friend and together they broke the rules. So, when she disappeared, he took a hot iron to the face-- a price that matched the crime--by Negan himself.”

The tension in the room was thick but not nearly as thick as Scarlet’s voice as she spoke. “Negan?”

Peter nodded. “Our leader. And a name you best remember, Scar. That’s also the name of everything you touch, everything you loot, everything you earn, and every person you meet here at the Sanctuary. It’s all Negan.”

Scarlet’s lips parted as she comprehended Peter’s words. She was confused.

“She’s been through some major shit, don’t freak her out,” Cara hissed. “Let her meet the man first at least.”

“He’s here?” Scarlet said, snapping her head around. Her movement caused a sharp pain to radiate from her right temple down her jaw and she closed her eyes against it.

Cara shook her head. “ No. But you should really rest,” she said, standing. “We can talk about this later.”

She put a hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. “Dr. Carson? Is it okay if I take Scarlet to my quarters?”

Dr. Carson came back in from the other room and said it was fine with him.

As the women walked from the room, Scarlet heard the desk creak as Peter pulled his weight up from its edge.

“I’ll be expecting that sex-fession soon, kid,” he called out, chuckling as the door closed behind them.

Over the next three days, Scarlet met a lot of people, drank a lot of water, and heard a lot of stories. She stayed with Cara, sharing her full-sized bed and borrowing her clothes. For the first time in God knows how long, she had a real shower. It hurt, but as the water ran over her bruised and broken body, she felt renewed. When she was finished Cara even let her use her stash of makeup and Scarlet had nearly cried the first time she looked in the mirror.

Her copper hair began to glow again, her eyes shimmered when she chuckled, and she was slowly gathering strength again. By her fourth evening in the Sanctuary, she was remembering people’s names, helping move supplies from building to building, and had cleaned Cara’s entire quarters for her.

She was starting to feel alive again.

Scarlet had just finished moving boxes of canned food from a storage shed to the kitchens and was walking back to the main hall when she noticed people running toward the Sanctuary’s main gate. Curious, she followed them and saw they were all congregating around two huge, army-green supply trucks. There were probably two dozen people already gathered, with more coming.

Furrowing her brow, she walked closer. When she was about 50 yards from the group, the doors to both trucks opened simultaneously and men jumped out from them both. The crowd cheered as the men waved and motioned to the back of the trucks. People began moving around the trucks and Scarlet heard the loud metallic scrape as the back sliding doors were pushed up. The run must have been pretty successful because another cheer erupted.

Smiling, Scarlet decided to turn back. She still didn’t know the entire layout of the Sanctuary and knew she’d most likely just be in the way if she tried to help. As she began to turn, the driver of one of the trucks swung his way out of the cab, hopping down to the ground. The way the sun glinted off of the weapon he held made her stop.

Long-legged and blatantly arrogant, the man strolled around the front of the truck. It was hard to make his profile out but Scarlet noticed the way his clothing clung to his figure with ease, outlining each toned limb. It was a very enticing ensemble for simply jeans and a leather jacket. Someone came from behind the truck and seemed to ask him a question, to which his response was an inaudible order and a dramatic wave of the slender weapon in his hands.

Scarlet blinked a few times and she realized, with a gasp, that he was wielding a baseball bat laced with barbed wire.

“Scarlet!”

Cara was coming from behind her. She waved when Scarlet turned, still startled.

“You wanna help? It looks like a big load!”

Scarlet didn’t speak, but she nodded. Her heart was slamming against her ribs as they walked down to the trucks.

There was a huge amount of conversation and moving-about around the trucks. Scarlet winced as someone knocked into her bruised side, but remained silent as she followed Cara.

They were handed two boxes each, filled with toiletries. “We’ll just take these to the main hall so people can sort through them later,” Cara loudly told her over the chatter around them.

Together, they walked back around the truck and a quick look around brought up nothing as Scarlet looked for the man again.

The main hall was completely empty when they entered. One table was already covered with boxes so the women dropped theirs off at one on the other side of the gaping room.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to introduce you to everyone that was on the run!” Cara said, before running off to the back where the restrooms were.

Scarlet leaned forward and put her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart continued to thrum in her chest so she tried to breath long and slow. She arched her back, trying to ignore the dull aches of her bones as she stretched. Feeling her muscles elongate, she pushed her chest out, and went up onto her toes to let the stretch travel down her legs.

“Goddamn I’ve missed that view.”

Scarlet spun around to find Negan lazily leaning on the doorframe of the door leading back outside. His leather-clad arms were crossed over his chest and he had an amused look on his face. As they locked eyes, he uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands--one bare, one gloved--in his pockets, smiling a smug smile that made her heart beat even faster.

“Do it again,” he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. When she didn’t immediately move, he cocked an eyebrow and reached forward with a gloved finger to twirl a circle in the air.

Scarlet smirked back at him and merely crossed her own arms and leaned back onto the table.

“Always been a fucking tease,” he growled, as he pushed up off the wall and walked toward her.

Scarlet didn’t even have time to think before Negan had crossed the room and was in front of her. In less time than that, he had her face cradled in his ungloved hand, his callused skin rough against her cheek, and was pulling her to him. He tilted her head up with his thumb and pressed his lips to hers, taking the breath straight out of her lungs.

As she moved her mouth against his, Scarlet suddenly remembered lying on the mattress she had been chained to in that crumbling warehouse while listening to the sounds of her neighbors’ screams and whimpers, picturing falling asleep listening to nothing but the sounds of her breath mingling with his. She had walked for miles out in the blazing sun while hearing Slim and his cronies talk about violating her body and remembered finding safety in imagining being back in his arms. Whenever she needed strength, she gathered it from the memories of him she had forever carved within her body and within her mind.

With realization stronger than a punch, she understood how she had managed to get out of everything alive: she was meant to be back here, with him, stronger than ever.

As she took in Negan’s taste, the feeling of his hands on her face and waist, and the relieving sense of security within his dominance, Scarlet felt whole again.

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