demented smile

I wrote something else!! I feel alive again. I thought I’d share it on here but it’s posted on my ao3

Grantaire was little more than a myth to Enjolras. Almost all of his friends knew him.

Bahorel met him during a bar fight; Jehan met him at a poetry reading; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had been friends with him since high school; and Feuilly worked at a candle store with him for a while.

The point is, Grantaire had started to intrude on Enjolras’ life a long time ago, and he was constantly hearing stories of his escapades (punching a cop in the face for harassing Jehan and then actually escaping the police, accidentally acquiring a sugar daddy and using his money to pay for pole-dancing lessons, living in a random frat house for two weeks before anyone realized).

It didn’t exactly paint a portrait of what to expect when Enjolras first meets him. To Enjolras, although he’s erratic, Grantaire seems to be a person worth being friends with, if the way Jehan’s eyes like up when they speak of him is anything to go by.

Bahorel’s shouting them all drinks at the Corinth because he finally gave up on law and decided to pursue his dreams of being a chef, and when Enjolras hears that Grantaire will be there he decides to finally sate his curiosity.

There’s a large uproar, mainly Bahorel’s booming voice, when Enjolras and Combeferre walk in, and Enjolras gives his friends a polite smile. There’s people he doesn’t know - a girl with dark hair and hungry eyes, a man wearing inappropriately-fashionable clothes and a coldly happy expression, and another man, drinking from a bottle and talking with Feuilly, his cheeks and ears red from the warmth of the bar, his black hair curly.

“That must be Grantaire,” Combeferre points out mildly as they near their friends.

“I’m going to introduce myself,” Enjolras announces, watching and trying to match the man to the legend. He’s certainly lively, laughing joyously at whatever Feuilly says.

Keep reading

Mayday - v

Genre; spook

Length; 1,500+ words

Warning(s); violence

Originally posted by got7official

Y/N P.O.V.

The moment you heard those chilling words freely flow from his twisted grin; Found you y/n..
Just made it that more obvious that he treated this like kind of sick, horrifying version of hide and seek or something. 

Immediately, your first thought was to fight- you didn’t know what he had planned to do, frankly you didn’t know if this could possibly be your last day on earth. Kicking out as hard as you could, your foot connected with his chest. You watched as he basically flew back, gripping his pained chest. “Fuck!” He grunted, gasping for air. 

You scurried onto your feet and just as you were about to run out of the room, his hand roughly wrapped around your ankle; viciously yanking you down. You came crashing down, your side and chin slammed against the floor- knocking the wind out of you. 

Soft gasps for air escaped you as your face contorted in pain, you held you side as you rolled onto your back only to have Jackson standing over you. With you between his legs, he menacingly stared down at you- that once playful glint in his emotionless eyes disappeared and turned into what you could only describe as nightmare fuel. 

Jackson knelt on top of you, roughly gripping your tender jaw, “Fucking little bitch..” He snarled, cracking is neck as if he were trying to contain his rage. 


His open hand connected with your cheek drawing out a pained whine. You shut your eyes for the second time and prayed that this would all turn out to be some kind of god-awful nightmare. 


He landed another vicious blow on the opposite cheek, then relished in your distressed whines. “You’re such a selfish little bitch, y/n.” Suddenly, he grabbed a fistful of your hair as he began to stand, pulling you up to your knees, “LOOK AT ME NOW!” 

You meekly whimpered as you finally opened your eyes, obeying his four-worded command. Peering up at him through your teary eyes, automatically being greeted with his demented smile. 
“P- Please don’t kill me..” You whimpered as tears fell from your eyes. 

A deranged chuckle flowed out of him as he heard your whimpered plea. The older man clicked his tongue while shaking his head, he gently caressed the abused flesh on your face all while still holding a fistful of your hair.
His expression looked semi-sympathetic, yet giggly all at one, “Oh no, no, no y/n..” He cooed, “I’m not going to kill you, sweetheart..” 

You winced at his touch, and though he wasn’t being cruel now- you could only imagine the horrors that awaited for you, so you made a haphazard attempt to wiggle out of his strong grasp. 

Shaking his head in disappointment, he licked his lips just before slamming you back down to the floor. You weakly grunted as the back of your head hit the icy tile and your vision became blurred. 
Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you tried your hardest to regain your sight, you sniffled, “Pl-Please stop..” 

Jackson’s P.O.V. 

Though his heart ached at seeing how utterly terrified you were, he became fueled by the pent up anger he hide away for so long. As you laid there before him, crying- begging for him to stop; he reminded himself of the fact that you chose Mark over him and that you’d always choose that son of a bitch instead of him unless he intervened.

Jackson then formed his hand into a fist, hitting you twice before you finally were out. He released you now limp body from his grip and stayed there for awhile, intently observing the bruises that formed on your cherubic face. 
“So pretty..” He uttered out, leaning down to wipe away the tears that littered your cheeks. 

Pulling out his phone, he quickly checked the time- though it didn’t feel long, the little game of hide and seek you forced him to play took a bit longer than expected. 
“Huh.. almost 3 already..” Throwing his head back slightly, a soft sigh flowed out of him as his hands ran through his hair. 

Peering back down at your fast-bruising, unconscious body; Jackson squatted down, lightly lifting your head as if he was about to examine the areas he hit but instead just admiring how pretty you looked covered in bruises- then he began thinking about how pretty you’d look hogtied and gagged. 
Though many would say it was wrong, especially after everything- after all the reason you were unconscious in the first place was because of him, he felt that torturous tightness in the front of his jeans, “That has to wait..” He practically scolded himself as he lifted you up in his arms.

He couldn’t help but to admire you as he walked back to his room. “She’s finally mine..” He cooed in utter disbelief while laying you down on his bed. Walking over to his dresser, he opened up one of his drawers and pulled out some black rope and tape. 

Jackson walked back over to your unconscious body, flipping you onto your stomach and placing both hands behind your back- he tightly wound the rope around your wrists and forearms, then did the same to your ankles; all while making sure you wouldn’t be able to get loose. 

Once he was done, he knelt down beside you- running his long fingers through your hair. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard someone opening the front door. Panic set in the moment he heard Youngjae and Jaebum’s voices. 

“Jackson!” Jae called out followed by the sound of front door shutting behind them. 

Jackson turned back to your limp, bound body.
Fuck, fuck, fuck..

He immediately ripped off a piece of tape, slapping it across your mouth- then picked you up and practically tossed you into his closet, making sure to lock it after. 

“Uh yeah, hyung?” He replied innocently, his panic settling down- walking out of his room, making his way to the living room with his two friends. 

“How are you feeling?” His hyung asked as he reclined back onto the couch. “Also, why is the house such a mess?” 

“Oh um..” Jackson replied, rubbing the back of his head as he tried coming up with some sort of excuse; he didn’t even realize how much of a mess he made because of you, “Well Coco was really hyper earlier, so I was playing with her to tire her out. She’s asleep in your room now Youngjae.” 

“Ahh she’s usually never that hyper..” Youngjae replied, a concern look on his face as he made his way into the hallway, “Where’s y/n?” He suddenly asked while turning back to face him, “Mark-Hyung said she should be home by now, and that when we come home to have her call him.” 

“Y/n? She hasn’t come home yet.” He replied, combing his hair back. 

“Wait..” Jae cut in, tilting his head in confusion at Jackson’s statement. “If she hasn’t come home yet then..” Standing from his seat on the couch, walking over to the kitchen counter, coming back with a black bag and a phone. “Aren’t these her’s?” 

Youngjae ran over to their hyung, grabbing the phone and carefully examining it, “Yeah this is her’s, Mark-Hyung’s the one that put this star sticker on the back.” He replied, turning it over then pointing at the little white star that sat at the bottom corner of the phone. 

Jackson silently cursed himself as he continued to stand at the end of the hallway. 
How could he be so stupid? Son of a bitch.. 

“Yah!” Jae shouted, “Where is she? You said she hadn’t come home yet?” 

“Sorry, I had fallen asleep in my room- but I think I heard her talking on the phone with her sister or something..” Jackson replied in an apologetic tone, “I kind of forgot, I was just really tired..” 

“We should call Mark.” Youngjae blurted out, paying no mind to Jackson’s excuse, “He’s going to be worried if we don’t.” 

“Yeah I know.” Jae replied, pulling out his phone and automatically dialing up Mark, “I’ll go let him know.” 

Youngjae nodded, “I’ll go over to y/n’s sister’s place and see if she’s there.” The younger man stated, grabbing his keys as both men made their way back to the front door. 

“Aren’t you guys overreacting?” Jackson blurted out as he followed them to the door. 

Jae shot an agitated look  back at the younger man while shaking his head, “Y/n never leaves without her phone and bag, plus when if the last time she’d take off without leaving a note or something?”

Staying there completely silent, Jackson just nodded as watched his friends rush out the door. 
The moment they left, an unhinged little giggle flowed out of him, “Fuck they’re stupid.” He giggled, taking pride in the fact that they automatically believed his excuse. 

He began walking back towards his room;
God you were right beneath their noses and they didn’t even realize that. Hilarious.

As he walked into his room, he heard the wonderful sound of your muffled cries. He opened his closet door, peering down at your squirming body. “Let’s get you home before they come back, shall we babygirl?” 

To Be Continued..

Pain in the Ass - Joker x Reader imagine

(gif credit goes to whoever made it)

{A/N} I had such a hard time making this “imagine” length, I wanted to draw it out further! I hope ya like it my lovely anonymous reader!
P.S. I’m still working on everyones requests and Play the Ace, I just thought I’d make that known. :)

Prompt: Can i request a joker imagine with this prompt?  "You’re never really ever going to love me are you?“ “I’m nothing to you, always have been, always will be.”

Warnings: Cursing.

Imagine the Joker standing outside of your cell at Belle Reve.
You helped him on a dangerous heist- the usual Friday night for the two of you, but this time things went awry. When Batman showed up to ‘take out the trash,’ your beloved Mistah J left you to the wolves bats.

“You’re never really ever going to love me are you? I’m nothing to you, always have been, always will be,” you spit through the cold iron bars you’re clutching. This time, the harshness of tone is coming from you, and it couldn’t feel more satisfying.

Your hair is a mess and the bags under your eyes have been defined and darkened a bit more from the stress you’ve been under. Your hands are rough and covered in flakes from the faint rust encrusted on the bars you try to get out of daily.

He’s let you stay here for a few weeks now, enduring torture and electric shock therapy of all kinds as “routine, since you’re just whacked too far the fuck out anyway,” they tell you. You can’t help but be bitter at the thought of knowing he knows exactly what’s happening to you and still didn’t come to help you bust out.
He’s sent you inside messages, saying he’ll “be there tonight,” but tonight after tonight came around, and he was nowhere to be seen.

His stare is haunting, and you can see the anger rising in his body as he balls one hand into a fist. He quickly releases it, stretching out his fingers and cracking his neck. You don’t give him time to calculate the sarcastic response you expect from him before you raise your voice. What did it matter now? You were just as safe behind these bars as you were in danger.

“You keep me toting along side of you, for what?! A distraction for you to get away when shit gets tough!”

You’re too angry to think about the fact that by now someone should’ve heard you, or even seen him.

“Remember the one and only time you told me you love me…” you roll your neck slightly, cocking your head back and to the side as your hair falls around your face with a demented, disappointed smile. You grip harder onto the bars, your knuckles turning white, “You love me, you love me, you love me.. Bullshit!”

His eyes stay locked on yours, and his silence already speaks volumes for what could possibly be in the cards for you if you ever did manage to break out of this hell hole on your own. You notice his eyes travel past you and he nods once. An abrupt large explosion on the other side of your cell causes you to lurch forward into the bars as you brace yourself amidst the now flying debris.

When the smoke clears enough so you can see in front of you, The Jokers gone.

You turn around hastily, throwing your arms at your sides. Fueled on rage again, your inhale to scream at the top of your lungs, but a pair of hands catch your shoulders tightly and a rough kiss is planted onto your lipstick-less lips. You shake your head once your lips part from each others and open your {E/C} eyes. There is he is, staring back at you with a condescending red grin.

Such a pain in the ass, {Y/N}, I did not miss that..” he growls as he grabs your hand and starts running, dragging you behind him through the rubble and out of the cell. You can’t help but roll your eyes and let a smirk slide across your features as you trail behind him out of the prison.

Tags: @russianintothings

Best Flash AU

“My name is Barry Allen. And I am the fastest bicycle courier alive. When I was a child I saw my mother get hit in the head by a newspaper thrown by an evil paperboy. My father who was suppose to pick up the paper at the store was blamed for always forgetting to pick it up which forced us to get a subscription to that paper, the paperboy threw it at our heads everyday of lives for a month. Then the impossible happened. I won a biking race and got a job at the local delivery shop, I use this as an opportunity to make up for all the evil other delivery men have caused. I call myself the Flash, I wish the people at work call me that too.”

        Barry Allen adjusted the mirrors built into his cyclocross bike and looked down the surprisingly empty bike lane. He squinted his eyes and stared down the street towards the suburbs. He had to deliver a package to 1940 Lampert street in less than eleven minutes. Barry chuckled confidently unfazed by the short time period; the light turned green and he started to speed down the bike lane passing some of the slower cars and seniors citizens. Usually he would be helping Wally train and handle his bike better, but this delivery seemed to important. Barry rode into the suburbs when he suddenly heard the twang of a little bell. Sweat rolled down Barry’s forehead and onto his red cycling jersey as he turned around to the source of the bell. Behind him was a man in a full body yellow jumpsuit and a yellow ski mask with red highlights, he sat on top of a mustard yellow racing bike decked out with red wheels.

“Professor Zoom!” Barry yelled surprised; he had let to learn this mask figured true name.

Zoom let out a menacing chuckle. “Yes it is I Barry, the man who was once a simple paperboy who threw the news at people head, but since you defeated me in that bicycle race I have sworn to vengeance and ruining your life and now I have the tool to do that,” Zoom monologued with a demented smile as he pulled out a box that looked exactly like Barry’s box. “You see this box is a perfect replica of your box and it has the wrong package inside it, I plan to throw it through the window of the home you are going to thus destroying your credibility!”

“No I would never let you!” Barry shouted strongly.

“Well then you’ll have to get there before me,” Zoom declared as he rode past Barry at top speed.

       Barry quickly turned around and slammed his feet down on the peddles and sped after Zoom with a look of determination. He gracefully hugged the sharp turns of the sidewalk keeping track of what little time he had left. Zoom cackled as he drove forward leaving Barry in the dust. Suddenly both of them heard the panting of a man running behind them. They turned their heads and saw a man with black hair and wearing a neon white and yellow safety vest running towards them.

“August what are you doing?” Barry asked to his former bike riding partner surprised.

“I’m doing what you never could’ve done Barry, I’m gonna finish this for good, I’ll steal Zoom’s bike!” August shouted as he ran past Barry panting slightly. “While you were wasting your speed and energy pedalling I was laying in wait conserving my energy for this moment.”

“You fool you think you can-,” Before Zoom could finish August grabbed the back of his bike and made Zoom fly off his bike and hit the pavement. “Owww I should’ve worn a helmet,” He remarked with a groan.

“Yes I finally have it! I’ve stopped the madness,” August cried proudly as he got on Zoom’s bike. “And now I need to take your place Barry as the best bicycle courier in this city, someone needs to make up for your failures.”

“Why August?” Barry asked shocked.

“Because my brother’s package was late and you were the delivery man,” August told him with a glare.

Barry gasped. “I’m sorry August, please forgive me,” Barry begged hopefully.

“No you had your chance, now I’m gonna finish what Zoom started,” August remarked as he looked at Zoom’s package. “You should’ve been better Barry, now I’m gonna go.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Wally West announced as he crashed into August with his bike making both of them fall on the ground. “Ride Barry you still have three minutes!”

Barry nodded at the young african american teenager. “Thanks,” He replied as he peddled off.

       Joan Garrick looked over her backyard picket fence and sighed, feeling an odd sense of deja vu.

“Jay I saw your young friends bashing into each other with bicycles again,” She remarked while shaking her head. “I’m glad you got out of that-” Joan started to say until she saw Jay pull his old silver and rusted red dutch roadster with a basket on it, out of the garage. “Jay!”

“What?” He asked confused.

“You promised no more of this bicycle shenanigans after that manic calling himself the Rival!” She yelled annoyed.

“First of all what happened to Edward wasn’t my fault, I told him he couldn’t control his bike with that engine on it, I told him that he would fall into that river, and what happened he lost control of the bike and fell in the river, the only thing I could be blamed for winning that race against him,” Jay explained to her with a pout. “And secondly I’m just going out for milk.”

“You better be back in ten minutes,” Joan ordered sternly.

Jay chuckled happily. “Yes ma’am,” He told her as he rode off with a smile.  

No Sweat

A five point star lay at the crest of his collarbone, inked with careful, needlepoint precision from tail to tip. The guardsmen had seen dozens of them, carried by inmates at this rotting old Gridanian dungeon of a prison as a sign of status; a high-ranking thief among the Shroud’s scattered bandit-gangs. 

They’d never exactly seen one inked so well as the one on this blonde, sun-simmered miqo’te’s skin. It didn’t fit. Frankly, neither did he - that’s why he’d found himself, for the third time in a week, with a black eye, a ripped-off shirt, with his arms chained behind him and his indignant, glowering expression face-to-face with the prison’s Warden, a hefty, scar-tattered elezen man with one eye.

The warden looked like he’d lost more fights than most men had ever been in; like he carried more scar tissue than regular tissue. He carried himself with a hard-nosed dignity, his jaw rigid as rock and his expression a permanent scowl; his uniform, unimpressive silks of black adorned with only a single golden badge at the chest to indicate his position, fit molded to his body as if they’d been tailored to barely fit his considerable, muscular bulk within. Ragged gray hair hung like a lion’s mane along his head, across his jaw and to his chin. He didn’t wear an eyepatch over the lost eye - the socket had simply been battered shut, collapsed by whatever crushing blow he’d taken to the face.

Most noticeable of all, though, he was out of place. Just as out of place as the cocky, black-eyed Seeker sat upon the rickety stool on the other side of the warden’s desk. A man bearing this many scars didn’t belong here. He belonged on the field of war, dying under the thrust of a Garlean’s blade or some such. He didn’t belong here, staring begrudgingly at troublesome convicts.

“Three times,” a gruff voice finally quaked from the elezen’s throat, like the tremble of an earthquake through a rocky canyon. “Three times.” The words hung in the rather unremarkable chamber, gleaming fireflies pulsating bright with echoes briefly before glinting away again. Inked arms, a bloodied nose, scar-scattered skin and an indignant glare of muted, almost petulantly childish rage on his expression, the prisoner held his chin aloft and took in the increasingly-familiar surroundings - a great oak cabinet behind a crumbling wooden desk, stacks of yellowed, moldering documents beneath oddly-shaped rocks, the most rudimentary sort of paperweights. A musk of rotten food and feeding fungus and vibrant moss choked the air, with sunlight peering through only a single haphazard hole at ceiling-height. 

Shifting in his creaking old wooden chair, the elezen’s gray eyes ran along the scrawlings on the paper cockeyed in front of him, two young men in heavy blackened armor flanking the door. The prisoner’s eyes scanned the only thing worth looking at in this hole of an office - lofted a good eight feet into the air, trophies and medal cases gathered dust atop the oak cabinet, with one particularly peculiar piece standing out - a lockbox. Jeweled and colored far too ostentatious for the man at the desk, its gilded lock gleamed as a few beams of sun bounced through the prison-barred hole above the desk, before dusky clouds swallowed the glow as quickly as it had come.

“A’kaan– it just says A’kaan,” the elezen grumbled, fists tightened, laid out across the table. “Don’t you bloody breeders have last names?”

A’kaan’ just wriggled angrily, the snarl in his expression silent but palpable.

“Burn your tongue on some sandworm meat?” the elezen asked, his eye twitching.

Again, A’kaan just stared, defiant.

“I don’t make speeches, breeder,” he huffed, the chair squealed beneath the broad-shouldered man’s weight. “Wouldn’t care how many times a week you swung fists with the other animals down in the hole, but when you swing on my men three times in a week, things get ugly for you, quick.”

“Ugly as you?” A’kaan broke his silence sharp, like the knife’s slice across supple flesh. The elezen tried to muster a smile, though with the dozens of jagged scars cut across his face, it looked more demented than anything.

“I’ve cleaned scum worth far more than you from the heel of my boot, breeder,” the old man grumbled. “Thieves, killers, miscreants, stuffed like rats into this sinking ship - and I’m at the helm. Don’t think I’m above drowning every last one of you stains of pelican-shite if you so much as look sideways at me.”

“I’ve been here three times in a week, and all you’ve done is talk,” A’kaan bit back, drawing his gaze upward - towards a dusty display case carrying an array of tarnished Wood Wailer medals. “What’d you do to earn those, junior scout-ranger? Build the best campfire? Sell the most pistachio bread for the fundraiser?” The towering elezen’s response came slow at first - another stewing, demented grin.

“Valor, aptitude, bravery,” he grimaced.

“Which one of those got you the job here?” A’kaan taunted. “Hiding behind a desk. Like a coward.”

The elezen chuckled. With a nod, one of the guardsmen swaggered up behind the miqo’te, grinning sadistically; with a quick flick of the keys at his wrist, the chains tumbled free of A’kaan’s hands. Eyes wide and gaze flicked towards the warden, he notices the barrel-chested brute advancing on him with a slow, deliberate stride.

“What? Do you want a hug?” A’kaan sniped, shooting up from the stool with a bounce in his step.

“I thought I’d give you a fighting chance,” the warden smiled that demented smile, knuckles crackling with a twist of each wrist.

“I hope you hit harder than those two half-witted goosenecks,” A’kaan glanced over his shoulder. The swoosh of wind cut across his ears and he acted on honed instinct, dodging at the most fortuitous second; the warden’s fists, like chiseled granite boulders, swung one-two at the swiftly-eluding Seeker.

The miqo’te, of course, had no interest in keeping this fight on its feet - against a tower of meat and muscle like this, he had no real choice. A’kaan charged, and while he clearly didn’t match the strength of the warden, he was not but a head or two shorter, and lanky arms and strong legs he wrapped himself around the monolithic mountain-man’s chest and pushed.

The scuffle didn’t last. Bodies twined together, it took one good shove and a fist like a hammer against the scoundrel Seeker’s cheek. Lights bloomed explosive across his eyes while the stunning strike shuddered along his spine, twisting his neck and sending him, dazed, clattering to the floor. He gasped for breath, the blow having momentarily shocked the air from his lungs, and shocked the ‘oh, fuck, i need to breathe’ sense from his rattled brain long enough for him not to notice that, fuck, he needed to breathe.

When the ringing stopped at the grogginess came back, all he could feel were two arms dragging his leaden weight of a body along rough cobblestones, and the echo of a rumbling laugh shaking the walls of the darkened prison.

“In the hole, scumbag,” one of the two guards hoisting him through the dark grunted. In unison, they tossed A’kaan’s weight into the bleak darkness of solitary isolation - no lights, no windows; a straw cot to lay on, gruel to eat. No one to speak to, no one to listen to except the skittering rats.

Grumbling miserably in the darkness, A’kaan dragged his ragged body along the musty stone, slumping half-dead atop the muck-stained pillow pushed into the corner of the cell, the loud, ironwrought clatter of a gate slamming shut barely louder than the hum of pain still whirring in his ears.

A glint of torchlight flicked across his face while he curled fetal against the blackened corner, and the astute eye could see just the most fleeting of expressions chasing across his face.

Embarrassment? Anger? Frustration? Fear?

Nope. A smirk.

His shaking hand snuck into the pocket of his tattered white slops, and his fingers fondled the prize secreted away during the brief meeting of boisterous bodies and bruised faces.

A key. A single, golden key, attached to a small copper wire. Bright, bejeweled; far too ostentatious for a man like that.

Braden had gotten himself into this mess when he’d heard tell of an impossible job. Nothing’s impossible, and proving that was almost worth more than the boatloads of gil he’d make once he finished this. Lots of brave idiots had gotten themselves locked in prisons for life trying to break in to prison - but the Seeker knew a much easier way to get his paws on the warden’s key - which his shady employer had promised him, ‘only one key exists, and he keeps it on himself, at all times.’

Manufacture a fake identity, get himself caught for a petty crime, and make some noise on the inside. And it had worked wonderfully.

Bray knew the score now. When the warden dressed down for bed, he’d notice the key missing. That gave the smirking scoundrel a few minutes to pry himself free of solitary confinement, sneak through the twisting halls into the warden’s office, snatch the lockbox’s contents, start a prison riot, and slip out in the chaos.

No sweat, right?..


Imagine you and Peeta protecting each other in the games

Requested by craving-horans-hug

A/N: I decided to make the reader from district 7 because it was easier for me to write. I also started thinking about the scene from the new Star Wars where Poe and Finn are in the tie fighter when I wrote the ending😁

Originally posted by memoriesinatrunk


You had been running for so long it burned. A boy and girl from district two had been after you. Laughing and taunting you like this was some sort of twisted game. Well I guess it was. 

You zig zagged through the forest and stumbled upon a hollowed out tree that you quickly hid inside of.
You had the misfortune of being one of the tributes for district 7 and you knew that your district was not going to have a victor this year. 

“Come on (y/n)!” One of the boys called “make this easier for yourself, come out. Well make it quick if you give yourself up now.” 
There was no way you were going to surrender like a coward. Your loved ones were watching you right now. You put on your best brave face and prepared yourself for the inevitable.
“Found you,” the girl said in a sing song voice with a demented smile on her face. 
You close your eyes, as close to being at peace as you knew you could get. 

Suddenly there is a scream. 

You open your eyes and see a boy hitting her head in with a rock. The boy from two starts to runs in your direction. The blonde boy picks up a knife and throws it into his head. The boy who had just saved you life walks over to where you are and offers you a hand.

“We have to go, someone will have heard that.” He says looking around. “Come on we have to go” he says urgently trying to drag you onto your feet. 

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask him, already suspecting the worst. 

 "What? No of course not!“ he says, seeming genuinly offended

“Why not?“ 

"Because… I don’t know, you seem different. There’s something about you, I feel like I can trust you. Now we need to go, now!" 

You accept his hand and stand to your feet. You walk over to the dead tributes bodies and check them for weapons and supplies. All they have is two knives and an almost empty water canteen, you put all of these items in your pack.

 "What’s your name?” You ask him as you walk to his side. “I’m Peeta, district 12. What about you?" 

 ”(Y/n), district 7” you answer. 

Right when you finish answering, you hear a group of people loudly tromping through the woods. You and Peeta make eye contact and nod before running away in the opposite direction as quickly as you can. 

“Well it’s nice to meet you (y/n)” he says grinning at you.

“Nice to meet you too, Peeta” you say with a smile on your face as you both run away to safety.

Drop Dead Gorgeous

Brett talbot.

Brett’s POV

It was a Monday morning when I heard my mom yelling and banging on my door. I had forgotten about my consultation and honestly I didn’t feel like going to that stupid place anyways.
It’s been two months since Susan broke up with me, since that day I haven’t done anything but smoke, get drunk, go out and party and hang out with the McCall pack. I am not going to be a hypocrite and say that I treated her like a I queen. Because I didn’t. But I changed my player ways to be with just one girl and I also wasn’t a monster towards her. I spoiled her and did everything I could to be the best boyfriend she had. Just so she could break up with me with the excuse that she had met someone else. Was I not enough?
Scott, Stiles and Liam were really trying to help me. But I’d much rather them leaving me alone so I could deal with my pain my own way. She’s already in a new relationship and I’m still getting drunk to forget all the good times we had. My mom thinks I’m depressed so she scheduled an appointment with a therapist her friend told her about. The point was that I didn’t need a damn therapist telling me what’s wrong with me. I know what’s wrong. That damn bitch used me and broke my heart. “Brett get up. You’re already late, I called and told them that you were on your way” my mom shouted almost breaking the door.
I growled and threw my pillow across the room getting up and heading to the shower. I need to get ready as fast as possible because if I know my mom she’s going to be furious if I take even a second later than I need to.
My head was killing me, but I pushed through the pain and took a very cold shower so I could wake up and look a little more presentable from my hungover. I came out of the shower and dried my messy sand blonde hair with a towel while I looked through my underwear drawer for a clean boxer.
I went down stairs fixing my hair at the same time. My simple black jeans, tank top and jeans shirt made me feel fresh since it was the middle of July and the summer in beacon hills could kill just about anyone that chose to wear more clothes than needed.
My mom was waiting for me with one of the worse faces I have ever seen her make. She didn’t say a word and neither did I. I mean I am 22 years old and I could very well drive myself to this stupid clinic but my mother wanted to make sure I was actually going to go to this damn appointment. The car ride was silent and so was the walk up to the reception of the place.
It was actually a very cool place. The walls had drawings and paintings all over them, some had writings and some had signatures. Patients that decided to give the place a little life. “Mrs. Talbot, Dr. (Y/L/N) is waiting for your son, she is available for the whole morning just like you asked for, now Cody can just walk in the first door to your left and make himself comfortable, the Dr will be with him very soon” my head shot back from all the arts in the walls when a very good looking older woman talked to my mom. I just nodded and made my way to the first door. “Now, what kind of insurance you have?” I heard the woman say before I closed the door behind me.
The room was painted in deep red, there was a big black wood desk with a bunch of paper work and a tag that said “Dr. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)”. Nice name. There was also a big leather couch and a sit next to it. In the right Conner there was a mini bar and some cups and behind all of that there was a big TV. I did as the woman told me and made myself comfortable by laying down on the couch and closing my eyes. My head was still killing me since my lovely mother didn’t give me any time to take some aspirin before I left the house…
It’s been 10 minutes since I walked in the room, the doctor is still not here and I’m starting to get really annoying with all this wait. If she’s an old woman that doesn’t do anything with my problems I will never come here again. 3 soft knocks on the door and I hear a soft voice asking “Mr. Talbot. May I come in?” I quickly shouted a yes and the door opened slowly revealing a young beautiful woman, when I say beautiful I mean fucking drop dead gorgeous. She was short. No more than 5 feet 2. Long dark hair stopping at her waist, big brown eyes, amazing white smile and high cheek bones with a single dimple on her left cheek. My eyes rolled down her body and I almost felt my heart skip a beat. She had medium round boobs and from what I could see through her bottom down shirt they were very perky, flat stomach and a round ass. Her legs were hidden by the black skinny jeans she wore but I could tell they were toned and big and she wore white nike sneakers. She had amazing curves and I was stoned but how beautiful her smile was. She couldn’t be more than 20 years old. “Mr. talbot are you okay?” She asked and I snapped back blushing a little “oh I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting someone so young and good looking to be hearing my problems” I said quickly. Did I really just fucking said that? She laughed a little and her laugh was adorable. She smiled at me afterwards and walked to the table to get a notebook and a pen sitting down on the chair next to the couch I was laying down afterwards. “Okay, I know this is going to be a little weird for you. But I want you to know that nothing you tell me it’s going to come out of this room, you can trust me completely with everything” she said moving her lips slowly and smiling afterwards, I smiled back. For some reason I felt comfortable around her presence “I don’t know. I’m not really into talking about my feelings you know?” I said looking at the sealing. “I understand. How about if you tell me something about you. I’ll tell you something about me” she said moving the chair slightly and crossing her legs which made me stare at them for a short while. “Hm okay, the reason I’ve been like this it’s because my girlfriend broke up with me, and I was not a bad boyfriend” I said defensively “I’m sure you weren’t. Well I’m not young. I’m 22 years old” she said and I smiled at her “me too” “ I know” she said winking at me and holding up the notebook with some notes on it and I blushed. Why was I blushing? “For some reason I think it’s deeper than that though. I mean you can have a broken heart but you don’t seem to be the guy that would let someone see that you’re broken. Is there anything else happening that made you feel rebellious?” The way she said rebellious with her big lips made my dick wake up. She was completely messing with my head. And she wasn’t doing much “my dad wants me to go live with him, but how can I leave my mom and little sister? They need a man in the house” I said that so fast I couldn’t believe myself. I don’t know how she’s making me tell her all of this and for some reason I can’t pick up her emotion sent. Nothing. It was almost like my werewolf powers weren’t working although I could still hear her heartbeat. Which was steady. I wasn’t affecting her like she was affecting me. “I see, was your father abusive?” She said moving her hair behind her ear. “No he was a great guy. Him and my mom just didn’t work out” I shrugged and she nodded. “Now tell me something about you” I demented and she smiled “okay, hm I’m not American, I moved here from Brazil when I was 13” she said and I smirked. That explains the body and the little accent she has…
After one hour of telling her my problems and getting to know her a little better my time with her was up. And I didn’t want to leave. I was looking forward to my next appointment with her and after she told me to go make an appointment for three days from now I couldn’t be more anxious for Thursday.

There’s a second and maybe third part!!! I just wanted to see if anyone would read my imagines! Thank you if you read it! It means a lot since this is my first one. And I’m accepting requests with any guy in teen wolf. Smut and clean :) byee - Mari :)


Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: N/A
Warning: Mentions of hallucinations and PTSD
Writer: thatgirlwholikestowritestories
Summary/Request: Partly based on (X): After a run in with the Nogitsune you suffer some side effects…

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( @poppo911​ asked for #6 and #11 from this lovely prompt post. This is #11 - “You’re going to make it. Just stay awake.” Im not sorry it’s angst central, and this ended up much longer than originally planned…)

The sound of the metal against her throat still rang in his ears. The stench of blood was thick in the air, and the pooling darkness around her made him nauseous. The more he stared, the more he shouted, the more the panic in his voice rose.

She was going quiet.
She was slipping away.
She was going to die.


He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, the pained grimace on her face, the quickly paling skin, and the ever widening pool of blood. That damn doctor was saying something else - taunting him, pushing him. 

“Lieutenant, hang in there! Can you hear my voice?!

In his head, the list of ingredients he had had Breda collect came flooding back, the theory easy and circle already provided. He could live with whatever the Truth took in exchange for his sin, whatever price he was made to pay. He could not live without her. 

“You bastards! Lieutenant, answer me!”

The men holding him were too strong, and his shoulders screamed indignantly as he battled against them to get to her. She had never failed him; he could not let her down now. She was growing weaker as he watched, that repulsive doctor speaking once more.

“Who do we transmute? Family? A friend? A lover?”

She was all of that, she was everything. Where could he possibly start in what she meant to him? 

Her voice was so tiny, so weak, so un-Riza like that it startled him, and he wanted to weep as she spoke. He had ordered her not to die, selfishly, greedily, and even now she was clinging to that. He had burdened her with this loyalty, and again with this pain. He had put her in this whole fucked up situation, as Bradley’s assistant, as his weak point, as his bodyguard, as his conscience.

“Your precious woman is dying.”

The rage that filled him was unspeakable, and he lunged forward as the doctor’s foot made contact with her, restrained once again. How dare he touch her. The urge to incinerate the man where he stood was uncontrollable, and that fucking demented smile of his made his skin crawl.

“So what is the choice you will make? Maybe she’s dead.”

The Philosopher’s Stone glinted in the dim light as he held it up, the blood red contents calling to him. He could save her. He had to save her. A world without her was a pointless one; what was the point of rising to Fuhrer if he could not even protect her? And for one awful moment, where she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, he was convinced she was gone, and everything was coming crashing down about him. Riza Hawkeye could not be dead.

But then her eyes met his, the pain on her face unwatchable, and that stare of hers chilled him to the bone.  It wasn’t even a plead or a beg -  it was an order. Even now, on death’s doorstep, she was giving him an order. And he heard it, loud and clear. They had years of glances and silent gestures, a language all of their own, and it was making her order clear as day.

Don’t you dare, Roy.

Damn her, in all her stubborn, indignant nature. She was asking him to keep his promise in impossible circumstances. He had never promised to walk the moral path if she was not there to guide him - that had never been part of their deal. He stared back helplessly, feeling the sweat drip from his forehead, mixing with the salty tears that stung at the corner of his eyes. No. He refused to accept this. Refused to accept that she would insist on this. He had to accept the offer, had to complete the transmutation, had to save her. 

Her eyes moved, shifting upwards, and he froze. A plan? She had a plan? She was asking for his trust, for his belief in her, to follow her. That meant forsaking her. An impossible choice, yet he knew truly he did not have one. His head hung, feeling the nausea and guilt wash over him as he spoke. To hell whether she had a plan; this was betrayal, of the very worst kind, and it would stay with him forever.

“I won’t do human transmutation.”

The next few moments were a blur of action, yet time seemed to move so slowly. It felt like hours before he was able to free himself of the binds of the men holding him, rage and adrenaline filling him as he lunged forward, incinerating the man that stood before him, his eyes fixed on her unmoving body; he had no time for this, she had no time for this.

“Out of my fucking way!”

The sight of her made his stomach turn. She was quiet, far too quiet, sheet white, her delicate frame soaked in blood. He cradled in his arms in seconds; she had never felt so small. The warmth of her blood on his hands, quickly starting to soak his gloves, contrasted so sharply with her cold skin, and the roar in his ears was growing louder as her eyes remained shut, her face unmoving. Fuck.

“Open your eyes, Lieutenant!”

Not even a flinch from her, and had it not been for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would have believed she was gone. She was slipping through his fingers with every passing second. Letting her go for May was almost impossible, and he watched every flinch, every tiny movement, like a hawk as the young girl drew her transmutation circle, the second ticking away. This had better work. Not that he had any other choice. It wasn’t until she grimaced in pain that he let out a breath he’d been unaware he was holding, gathering her back up in his arms tightly, clinging to her. 

“I’m sorry…”

Sorry didn’t even begin to cover it. This was his fault, he had dragged her into all of this, with his naive dreams and arrogant grab for power. His lips found her ear, whispering frantic apologies over and over. Apologies for leading her here, for listening to her, for forsaking her, for not being able to heal her himself - he was unsure himself just how many he gave her. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it, just stay awake. Please, Riza.

”Don’t talk, just rest.”

And when her eyes slowly flickered open, unfocused as they met his own, relief flooded through him. He’d never quite noticed just how often he found himself staring into her eyes until they were not there. The fight was continuing round about them, but he couldn’t have cared less, lost in the moment of having her back.

“We’ve been together a long time, after all.”

The gentle smile that she gave him was one usually reserved for more private occasions; it did not suit the stoic, public Lt Hawkeye, so she believed anyway. It was the smile her remembered her wearing as a young woman, the one she graced him with on the odd occasion that they were alone in the office, the one he dreamed of seeing in his darkest moments. And in every moment of darkness, he reckoned she could always be his beacon of light.

“You Don't Own Me” - Negan Imagine (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Prompt: You work with The Kingdom, you’re also King Ezekiel’s little sister. When The Kingdom fails to provide their resources, The Saviors take you as Ransom to teach Ezekiel a “lesson”

Word Count: 1378

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping


Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Originally posted by the-walking-dead-art

There was something about today that was off. You’d been out scavenging, attempting to scope out areas that The Kingdom hadn’t been to yet. One of the scouts, Daniel, was sent to go with you by your brother, Ezekiel, but you refused the help, being that you’d been fine on your own on your other few trips.

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OnS NKH Episode 12 Analysis Part 1 (up to end of chapter 40)

Sure. Also I figured it would be good to just sit down and collect my thoughts and provide a logical explanation for my negative reaction to the episode. I hope you find that my review is fair and based on reasonable points.

First of all, I would like to say that I do not believe all anime original endings are automatically bad. It is very possible to end a show differently than the manga and have a great episode. The only thing I actually take issue with is deviation from the internal logic of the original manga. This includes plots that don’t make sense in the infrastructure of the original story and behaviors that doesn’t make sense given what we know about the characters.

So in essence I will be discussing episode 12 by considering how it holds up on its own as a work of its own, with comparisons to the manga where possible (i.e. in just Part 1 of my analysis). That being said, I will treat divergences from canon harshly if the changes have a negative impact on the quality of the work, either by just not being as good as the original or, worse, by disobeying the preexisting logic in the original.

So here we go. *cracks knuckles*

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Hilarity ensues!

Many of us seem to have conceptualised Balem as a rather serious dude, which is a foul misrepresentation of our sparkling space overlord. To rehabilitate him, I thought I’d list what seems to amuse him/make a smile appear on his adorable freckly face:

1. Mocking Titus’s money problems  

2, Jupiter quipping that his mother should have tried giving toilet cleaning a shot (he sort of half laughs!)

3. Explaining space capitalism to Jupiter (he displays what I can only describe as a demented smile upon finishing up)

4. Watching Jupiter look on in agony as her mother is almost killed at his orders

See? He’s practically skipping in meadows and throwing flowers from a basket.

On this topic, what do you imagine the Abrasax sibs doing for fun? Say that they all have to go on a space holiday together for a contrived reason - what would they all get up to? Go to the karaoke? Find an unsuspecting schmuck to rant to at the bar? Create intricate murder plots for each other?

I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and can’t seem to get rid of it (also can’t write to save my life), it’s a little silly but here goes! 00Q. Q is a huge Star Wars fan. Work’s been horrible lately, he’s been avoiding spoilers like crazy and finally he has a chance to see Episode VII.. and he gets kidnapped on the way. Maybe the kidnappers discuss huge spoilers which he overhears? Or he’s just seriously pissed that he’s missing the movie? (And a date w/James?) BAMF!Q ensues, naturally. – anon

Okay, I had fun… Jen.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

It was probably not Q’s finest move: insistently and vocally abusing his kidnappers was unlikely to win friends and influence people, and probably cause more harm than good, but he was beyond the point of livid.

“I have been waiting for fucking weeks for this,” he continued, on the verge of sobbing. “Weeks, weeks. I finally get the chance to see this bloody film and you have to abduct me now, it’s not fair. I banned all talk of it in the office to avoid spoilers, I did everything I could…”

His kidnappers glanced at each other. “Might work,” one said to the other, with a small shrug. “Less messy. I love Star Wars, nearly killed one of mine the other day when Brian mentioned a spoiler over a cup of tea.”

“Be my guest, I haven’t seen it and don’t really care,” the other replied, watching Q with mild interest. “I’ve always said we should branch out in interrogation techniques.”

Q was still bitching in the background, apparently oblivious. “You arseholes, I really mean it, when MI6 finally get their arses in gear I am going to lynch the pair of you…”

“Give us what we want, or I’ll tell you every single spoiler in the film.”

Q froze. His eyes widened comically. “You wouldn’t.”

The kidnapper in question smiled, baring his teeth in a demented smile that told Q he was completely serious. “Yes, Quartermaster,” he replied, dangerously soft, “I would. It’s this, or we start removing toenails.”

“I can forgive toenails.”

Q’s brain initiated about two seconds after that statement, with a pang of sincere regret. “Duly noted. Talk.”

“You’re a Star Wars fan,” Q pleaded, “you understand how it feels, you understand the pain. Please. I implore you. Anything but that. It would be cruel and unusual, you haven’t even gone outside the bounds of the Human Rights Act yet, you could still rescue this entire situation if you like.”

The kidnapper was beginning to look a little uncomfortable. “Look, mate, I don’t want to do this either, but…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Derek,” the other snapped. “It’s a film, a fucking film. Tell him the fucking spoilers.”

Q looked up at Derek, eyes wide. “Please, Derek,” he pleaded, in his most endearing voice. “Please. Take the toenails, but don’t take this away from me. Please…”

There was a small thunk noise. Then another.

Both men crumpled.

“You shot Derek!” Q cried, looking around for (inevitably) Bond. “Is he dead?”

“Tranquillised. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Q smiled, as Bond came into view. “Thank you. As ever. But I mean it – Derek’s sweet, he didn’t tell me spoilers. Now get me the hell out of here and to a cinema, I’ll debrief in MI6 later, and god help anybody who tries to stop me seeing this bloody film. Yes?”

“Yes,” Bond agreed – Q had rarely looked so scary – and escorted him off the premises for the clean-up team to enter.


***Hiii!! can you write an imagine that’s the opposite of battlefield? where the nogitsune hurts you and the whole pack takes care of you? thank you!***

It’s not on the battlefield but I hope you like it anyway, also part is inspired by this . Really tell me what you think because I don’t know if you guys will like it or if you think it’s too weird or what

You shoot up in bed, your hand already reaching at your heart in an attempt to slow it down. You calm down a little when you realize you’re in your room, you calm down a lot more when you remember you’re surrounded by the pack. You look around at their snoring faces. Derek is asleep sitting up against the corner, Stiles’ face is on the ground and his butt is in the air and Scott and Lydia are asleep like normal people. You smile to yourself but then you realize why they’re here.

Your mind flashes back to two nights ago.

“(y/n), all you have to do is join me and this can be over.” His words were said sweetly but there was a menace in there only you could detect. You shook your head and his face had twisted in rage.

“JOIN ME!” He screamed loud and the crows that had gathered to watch the battle had taken flight into the sky. 

“No.” You replied back. The pack didn’t seem to know what to do, the Nogitsune having an obsession with you was not something they had expected. 

His face settled in a demented smile. “Fine, if I can’t have you, then no one can.”

And then the pain flared in your body when-

Lydia is shaking your shoulder gently.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You survived, it’s okay.” She says, wiping away tears you didn’t realize were moistening your face. You nod, you aren’t used to the PTSD you’d been experiencing.

“Come on.” Lydia whispers, easing you out of your bed careful not to wake the others or reopen your wound. You were glad that your family had gone away for the week, you weren’t sure you could explain the pack of wolves in your room and all the stitches holding you together.

Lydia opens up the freezer and places the ice cream on the counter, handing you a spoon. You dig in and make small talk, anything to forget that night. You gaze drifts to the window. The blood drains from your face. The Nogitsune stares at you with a self-assured smirk. Lydia notices your expression and follows your gaze.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

Your eyes never leave the Nogitsune’s. You’re petrified where you stand. “You don’t see him?”

She looks at the window again and back to you. She shakes her head. The Nogitsune copies her movements. “See who?”

You let the spoon clattered onto the table top and you back away from the window, out of the kitchen. You turn into the dining room and he leans against the wall with an amused expression.

“Hi, (y/n).” He waves.

You race out of this room into another; the lounge room. He sits on the couch comfortably, looking unimpressed.

“Do you think you can run away from me?” He asks and you back track into the hallway. He sits on the stairs. “Where are you going to go?”

You fumble to get away from him, you reach for the door and swing it open. He stands there with his hand raised as if he was going to knock. He presses forward, forcing you back.

“You can’t escape me, (y/n).” His tone is as menacing as a couple of nights ago.

You stand in the middle of the hallway intersection. You spin around, you’re surrounded. He sits on the stairs, he blocks the door, he leans against the door frame to the living room and he closes off your other exit via the dining room.

You squeeze shut your eyes, immediately dropping to foetal position.

“No. No. No. You can’t have me.” You reply rocking back and forth, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees.

A hand touches your shoulder and you scream. You look up into Scott’s worried eyes and you look around. There’s no Nogitsune. Isaac looks confused as he still stands in the open door. Derek’s eyes show he’s nearly as worried as Scott from his position near the living room. Stiles, who sits on the stairs, sends a look over to Lydia who stands in the doorframe of the dining room.

You get up quickly and you wipe away your tears quickly. “I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Scott shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You can feel as the others join in. You’re safe. You imagined him. You look up over Scott’s shoulder and the Nogitsune waves once more from the window.

30 Days Facial Expressions Challenge

Day 29: Crying Face

The poor prince… And just one more to go!!

Day 28: Pissed Off Face

Day 27: Demented Face

Day 26: Grinch Smile Face

Day 25: Arrogant Face

Day 24: Confused Face

Day 23: Excited Face

Day 22: Gazing Face

Day 21: Concerned Face

Day 20: Dismissive Face

Day19: Pensive Face

Day 18: Shy Face

Day 17: Peering Face

Day16: Laughing Face

Day 15: Sleepy Face

Day 14: Surprised Face

Day 13: Scared Face

Day 12: Goofy Face

Day 11: Crinkle Face

Day 10: Proud Face

Day 9: Cute Face

Day 8: Serious Face

Day 7: Hot Face

Day 6: In love Face

Day 5: Determined Face

Day 4: Shocked Face

Day 3: Sad Face

Day 2: Evil Face

Day 1: Smiley Face

We may not know Charles but...

don’t you still feel bad for him? In a sad puppy kind of way? Like look at him. He never got to have his prom, so he thought he had to kidnap people in order to have someone plan it for him (cause let’s be honest, he’s right, no one would do it otherwise). And he didn’t hurt the girls! And when the announced him prom king I know we couldn’t see his face but I felt like he was smiling which demented but still kinda sappy at the same time. And then when Spenecr found his memorabilia room, with all those old photos of the DiLaurentis family, you trains and dolls, and the ONE video he keeps watching is a video of his family all together! Charles still has a mental issue no doubt, but it’s like he’s just a big child. He didn’t even try to hurt her when he found her in there, he just let her watch with him. Then the girls ran away from him, and obviously I was like praying for them to make it out cause trust blue I don’t want the girls trapped. BUT after re watching the episode I kinda felt a little bit bad for Charles because the only 5 people that acted like the cared, or at least enough to plan his prom, in YEARS ran away from him. Like he probably feels so abandoned! I dunno it’s just so pathetic and twisted that it actually makes me sad.