you would all hate me

Reblog if you support artists with OCs and original art

Hey it’s blue and I wanted to talk about how not many OC based artists are getting recognised and the only art work that actually gets reblogged is the occasional piece of fandom art. Please go out there and if you would be so kind as to reblog these wonderful OCs and the original art of the amazing and talented artists who deserve to be noticed. It shouldn’t just be fandoms that are looked at mainly but it should just be the art itself. It shouldn’t matter if the drawing is from a fandom or not, what matters is that the person worked their hardest on their artwork and hope to get it noticed. please make those artists dreams come true.

Headcanon that after Andrew has graduated, Neil starts using the word home to mean wherever Andrew is.
It’s mostly fine, people figure it out eventually but it’s a problem when they want to actually know where he is at the moment.

Nicky: neil where r u?

Neil: Home

Nicky: u could literally be at the north pole with andrew and you’d still say home just tell me an address

My father always used to tell me that love and hate are the same emotion; The opposite was indifference. I never truly believed that until I fell in love with you. When things went bad and our love turned to hate and eventually our flame burnt out, I realized something.

I would rather you hate me than feel nothing at all.

—  A.S
My feelings on Gotham 3x20

I’m alone
i’m unwanted
i’m undesired
i’m worthless
i’m a burden
i’m a freak
i’m an anomaly
i’m the problem

“you’re not alone. you are loved. I’ll always be here for you”

I don’t even need anyone to date me ever again, I just need teachers to keep saying I’m a joy to have in class

when people say Elsa was the hero of Frozen

When they’ve got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it?

They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don’t think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn’t his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn’t his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can’t help themselves from asking.

Was it worth it?



There’s never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there’s no escaping the fact that the Fake’s all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate’s years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they’ll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city’s biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren’t. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.  

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they’ve already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren’t meant to go out at all.  

The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew’s trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake’s wind up in a firefight they aren’t winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn’t enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey’d fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they’d live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn’t even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn’t that confirm what everyone’s always thought, doesn’t that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey’s cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.



In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey’s answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he’s bored. As though even now he’s got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this.  

Oh baby, who says it’s over?



It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they’ve certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn’t come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they’ve been so far. How most don’t make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn’t be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they’d experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of  stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It’s not that they’re bored of this life they’ve built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there’s no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn’t quite thrill them like it used to.

If you’d asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they’d have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they’ll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it’s harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they’ve still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake’s used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn’t quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn’t seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they’d all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They’re all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren’t serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it’s not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn’t do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone’s going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone’s corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they’ve been following all these years. The boss they’d die for. The boss they will die for.

They don’t talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake’s might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay’s spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin’s taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don’t wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It’s all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that’s left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they’ve got left to do is die.



Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?



The Fake’s die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey’d never recover from the loss. Any who didn’t just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It’s not a stretch to assume Ramsey’s survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who’d made their lives living hell for years.

There’s paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn’t been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It’s fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake’s were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.



The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn’t much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who’d been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn’t be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn’t toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It’s almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it’s the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city’s most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.



If the Fake’s had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn’t make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they’d built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.



Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn’t armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There’s a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they’re getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.

After all you’ve put me through, you would think I’d hate you. But in the end I want to thank you, because you made me that much stronger
—  The reason I don’t hate people who screw me over

Playing through ‘All that remains’ and Anders said this and

YOU CAN’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT. ANDERS I LOVE YOU BUT OMG.

That Got Away: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction Part 13

Inspired by: Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away”

 Bill Withers’ “Aint No Sunshine”

Featuring: Spencer Reid x Reader   Setting: Season 4   Rating: Mature

A/N: This is seriously hard to wrap up guys. I appreciate you all reading this far. Get those tissues ready! Warnings: Slightly public Smut and this is SUPER long. xoxo Stu

I do not own the lyrics, images or characters from the show.

Part 1   Part 10   Part 11  Part 12


This was the face you woke up to; the dewy-eyed relief of Dr. Spencer Reid. You felt like cotton balls had taken over your brain matter, but you were no longer in pain.

“Hi,” You said, sleepily. “What time is it?” You tried to sit up, but your body was so heavy. Spencer reached down and grabbed your right hand, sliding the remote for the bed’s hydraulic unit into your palm. Once you were nearly vertical, you took in the pathetic hospital room you had been granted.

“It’s nearly 6,” Spencer answered. “In the morning.”

“What a day, huh?” You tried to laugh, but your chest was bandaged. You rubbed your chest as the pain dulled, slightly.

“You have some bruising on your sternum, so that is why your chest is tender.” Spencer started to recite your chart. But you interrupted because that line was too good to leave there.

“But Sir-sir, I thought my chest was already tender.” You hummed at your self-amusement; drugs are nice. He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue in his cheek at your raunchy pun.

“Yes, mon cher, it most definitely is.” Spencer sat down in the metal framed chair beside your bed. His face was serious now. “We have your aunt and Kurt Hansen, the bellhop, in custody.”

“And Michelle?” You asked, voice slightly hitching in alarm.

“She attacked Morgan and Prentiss had to stop her. I’m sorry, Y/N, but she’s dead.” Spencer rubbed along your forearm.

“Oh, good riddance,” You mumbled. You knew you should feel guilty about her death, but it just wasn’t coming to you. Not after all this.

“She was found with the murder weapon, Y/N,” Spencer continued. “It looks like she was the one who killed your dad. Miriam was probably the mastermind, but Michelle was the one.”

You yawned into your left hand, allowing all the information in. The past few days were a fairy tale in the earliest use of the phrase, dripping with viscous monsters and a speckle of unexpected romance. The surrealism of it was hitting you now. “Spencer, will you stay with me? I know I don’t deserve it, but will you be here when I wake up?”

He nodded, his brown eyes drowning in concern. “Of course, of course.” He bent over the railing on the side of your bed and kissed you goodnight. He sat back into his seat, pulling a tattered book from his satchel. You couldn’t read the title, but he did appear to be using an old scratch off as a bookmark. You smiled as the gentle hum of machines and the drips of their drugs whisked you away.


Hey, I oughtta leave young thing alone
But ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
Only darkness every day

The semester in Greece was a whirlwind. You had never been so possessed by your studies as you were walking the foothills and shoreline paths. The scenery was beyond all of your childhood fantasies. It wasn’t until your third week in Athens that you realized you had missed four phone dates with Spencer. Your stomach pitched as you realized how you would have felt if he had done that to you. How hadn’t you known how long you had been gone? What had you done?

You immediately left the cafe where you and your small group were eating lunch. You found a tourist cart and bought a postcard.  The rushed apology and quick small talk about his holidays were a weak attempt at atonement. It didn’t matter anyway; Spencer had moved and would never receive the letter.

Keep reading

  • me: i'm 19 and i can confirm that people my age view 15/16 year olds as children. there is no reason a decent person my age would be with someone that young romantically.
  • ot*yuri shippers: um?? but its only a 3 year age gap?? which is perfectly healthy?? gosh stop hating omg you don't know what you're talking about

anonymous asked:

Are we not allowed to call Jin a mom anymore? I've never seen any other fandom have a problem with this. Like, in e*xo, Su*ho is known as the mom and not ever has that been a problem so...

afdjkghfd I don’t know how to answer this and I’m sorry if I end up offending anyone but ok-

So, I’m not the shipping God. I dont know what’s right or wrong. What is allowed or isn’t. But what I do think (in my opinion) is that we should (or don’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ totally up to you)

  • stop labeling Jin as the wife b/c he is a male and it’s wrong to try and make everything heteronormative - but carry on calling Jin and x member husbands if you wish
  • dont call Jin ships with members beside Namjoon incest ships
  • dont call him a princess - Jin has pretty much made it clear he doesn’t like being called that anymore (prefers prince)
  • dont overuse the mom label unless he’s stereotypically acting like a ‘mom’ 

And just know that Jin is much more than those labels. He’s a caring hyung, amazing vocalist, great dancer (i’ll fight you on this), has a great sense of humor, super hard working, bts’s wings and the reason why BTS is literally flying off the charts. 

What are your guys’ opinion on this?

Toriel


Appearance

Toriel is a human-shaped lamb with drooping ears and short horns. She has beautiful auratus eyes, which was said in superior ambers by Asgore. She is always frowned, or with her eyes down. In the middle of her brows, there are a pale purple flower-shaped tattoo. Toriel is liked to wear a lavender robe, a white bottoming shirt, and a dark purple long skirt. She also likes to put on her bent with a pattern of a little peach blossom.

Personality

Toriel is a sensitive female. She has been separated away with her husband and lives in Ruins right now by some reasons. The loss of both of her children made her always sensitive. However, the only thing that can make her happy is that someone want to recite poems with her. She even doesn’t know this person’s name, but it is an old saying:” a hedge between keeps friendship green”. That is enough for her.

Toriel missed her old home so much; but because of the Kill Order to humans by her husband, she came and lived in Ruins in her temper from that time. At present, she will come and check the new intruders getting in the entrance every day.

Toriel has a very motherly heart. She cares of all intruding humans in her best way. Although she took them carefully as well as her lost children, no one still lived safely. Every spring comes at the same time, but falls grime. Sadness climb on her brows, and she is unhappy in the Arcadia.

Main Event of this Character

Toriel is the second monster that you meet in Taoyuan-Land. She protected you from Flowey’s tentacles and guided you to go through Ruins without facing dangerous puzzles. Toriel cares you so much. She prepared all things that you want by gently calling you, “my child”. In fact, it is the strongest evidence that she cannot forget her lost adopted child, Chara. If you killed her, she would say:” You still hate me at all.” with her smiling. That is because she thought you as Chara, when she saw you at the first time.

When you began to ask the ways of escaping Ruins, she would be flurried and embarrassed. She would also say that she will destroy the exit of the Ruins. That is because the humans who were taken care by Toriel were killed by monsters outside from the Ruins.

In the exit of the Ruins, you need to fight with Toriel. This will be the proof to her, which can let her believe that you can protect by yourself in some ways. You can choose to kill her or give a mercy with persuading her; but otherwise, you cannot leave this place.

After you persuaded Toriel, she will tell you about the Barrier, and the information on the monsters who made the Barrier before. However, she doesn’t know who the seventh guy is, and you need to find on your own.

Afterwards, Toriel will tell you that she will wait for you to return back and relieve the Barrier for you in the end.

Miscellaneous Setting

Her magic is in the base of purple fire to develop.

Toriel will ask your preference of the taste in steamed stuffed bun, (meat taste/vegetable taste), and you will get a steamed stuffed bun in both two tastes.

Toriel will teach you how you write in Calligraphy by brushes, but not telling jokes of snails.

There is no mobile phone at the ancient time, so she will directly bring you to home but not let you wait.

There is no red-leaf tree in front of her home, but a peach tree. She always came here and talk with her soulmate.

Because Sans is like to sit on the branch, but Toriel on the ground; only Sans can know who Toriel is but Toriel not.

The way to let these two soulmates know was reciting poems, but not telling knock knock jokes.



The content of the poem, that Sans and Toriel firstly recited:

 Sans: “As fast as thous shalt wane, so fast thou growest, In one of thine, from that which thou departest;

Toriel: “And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest; Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:”

Sans: “Without this, folly, age and cold decay.”

Cameron Dallas: Chasing Cameron

((You aren’t dating Cameron in this, you’ll just be conversing with him a lot. This is where you were invited back to magcon and you tell Cameron that you don’t want to be a part of the Cameron Show, that you came to have fun and enjoy the fans but if they don’t get their shit together you’d be leaving 

1586 words

swearing))

You were a part of Original Magcon and when they broke up you started focusing on acting, when it came to getting magcon back together you were one of them that Cameron asked to join, you were hesitant at first just like a lot of people but after talking to Nash and Matt about it and asking them their stance, you decided to join back up. Though they said be careful and to stand your ground, and not to take the shit they’ll give you this go around, they had faith that you could help keep magcon the same way it used to be. You had hoped that it would but a lot of things went down and it was like Nash and Matt were there telling you to do something because nobody else was going to.

Cameron had gotten a text about Taylor arguing with an assistant, at first you weren’t going to go with but you had a gut feeling that something would happen. You followed behind Cameron, he knew you were basically the sister/mother of Magcon though he was older and they had Aaron’s mom with them, so he didn’t argue with you. You let him talk with Taylor, you knew what he was saying was true, money didn’t mean much in most of their cases but you also understood Taylor’s stance on it.

“Camera away, now!” You heard a male voice call, you turned to see the tour manager come around the corner, it all happened so fast, him yelling at Taylor, “Spoiled little bitch!” He yelled it was as if they knew what would happen next.

“What did you just call him?” You spoke walking towards the tour manager, he went to open his mouth. “Don;t even fucking answer. Call him a spoiled little bitch again, I dare you.” You spoke, as you stood in front of him. The hall got quiet as you spoke again. “The only who calls Taylor a bitch, is me, I know he was wrong and we handed it but as tour management…you not only made yourself look bad but us look bad in this hotel. People are in these rooms and you come storming down the hall because you’re some big guy and you think you can intimidate everyone? If you’re done then goodbye because last time I checked this wasn’t the only Cameron show that is going on around here is the one he’s filming but you are MAGCON tour manager and if you have a problem you bring it up to magcon as if this was a meeting. That means me, Cameron, Taylor, Aaron, those of us who put money in to make Magcon a thing again.” You spoke in a more calming voice, you shook your head heading off towards your room, the yelling started once again with him saying they were done and going about disrespectful teenagers.

———————–

“Magcon, talent meeting, my room." Cameron sent into the magcon group chat, you had been in your room for almost two hours before the text came in. You got up slipping on some shoes before grabbing your room key, heading down to Cameron’s room.

"You okay?” Aaron asked as you were about to knock on Cameron’s door, you shrugged looking back at him. “I just don’t want to leave Magcon with everyone hating me.”

“Why would we all hate you?” He asked leaning against the wall.

“Because Matt and Nash told me to stand my ground and, I’m not going to be the same pushover I was when I was younger, I’m currently the only girl in magcon and I refuse to let this go downhill because of disagreements and poor communication and if that means someone hates me at the end of the day then that’s what’s going to happen.”

Through the next few places you observed, you were pissed that a show was cancelled because Bart didn’t step up but you let Cameron handle it, you were pissed that they wanted to cancel the show because of the things going on in Paris, you were upset that they tried to refuse you a shower, but you continued to sit back and watch how things went until Barcelona.

“Where’s Taylor?" You had been asking while on stage, nobody could give you an answer, you knew the fans would be fine with just the boys around. Setting your Mic down you rushed off trying to find Taylor knowing he should’ve been back by now. When you found him he was on the ground with two paramedic looking people. Bart’s joke is what really set it off for you, Cameron could tell something was wrong and pulled you aside which you asked to have Bart step in on.

"I just don’t think your comment was appropriate Bart, Taylor had two paramedics taking care of him and you laugh and say his show is fire….he could have passed out or what if he couldn’t breathe? You didn’t even stop to ask, you laughed and walked away. As someone who is supposed to want what’s best for Magcon, I feel like it’s more like YOU want to see Cameron succeed which we all do but that’s your only focus and nobody else matters.” You explained, Bart let out a laugh.

“I care about all of you, I want to make sure you’re all safe and I knew he was okay that’s why I wasn’t freaked out.” He explained his arms crossed. You shook your head as you saw Aaron walking up with a confused look on his face.

“Great talk, glad you care and want us all to succeed.” You said sarcastically before walking off, though later getting a text from Aaron.

“Bart made the comment about you and Taylor being a thing, said we better start knocking on your guy’s door or we might catch you sucking him off…are you two a thing?”

“Nope. He’s like a brother to me but thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

——————————————————-

You went home earlier than scheduled, you told Aaron and Taylor that they didn’t have to worry about waking you up, they had tried to convince you to stay until they flew out but you said you couldn’t continue to be around the camera crew, Cameron or even Bart. 

Though you were invited to the dinner you were reluctant to go but with Aarons constant persisting you decided it couldn’t be that bad, but boy were you wrong.

Bart had started it by trying to make a joke when you first sat down, “You had us all worried when you weren’t there in the morning.” He spoke, you nodded not speaking, you turned to look at some of the other talent. I stood up to give Willie a hug once he walked in.

“You look irritated? You okay.” You asked him, he shrugged it off for a second. “I’m tired, the flight was stressful especially having to catch a late one.” He explained to you.

“What do you mean a late flight? You weren’t on the plane with the rest of them?”

“No, I overslept so they left me behind…weren’t you there?” He asked you, you shook your head. “I got an early flight because of some things that were said, but you being left behind shouldn’t have been a thing. That’s disgusting to just act like you don’t exist because you overslept." 

The night went on until Willie and his dad started talking about a wake-up call, you being sat next to Bart, you could hear everything. "How many times have you missed you missed flights and been late?” Bart asked making you scoff, he looked over at you. N/Y, what’s the problem? Do you have something to add?“ He asked.

"Yes, you’re pathetic…you left him in another country, yeah…he should have been more responsible about getting up but the moment you realise that he wasn’t up is the moment you need to go get him, if he misses his flight after that, that’s on him but until then he’s your responsibility, but before you say anything, the comment you made last night about a girl who isn’t seventeen yet and a guy who is about to be twenty-one is disgusting and as a human I have never felt more disgusted by looking at someone. I see Taylor as a brother and for you to make a sexual comment about me to, two people that not only do I look up to but see as brothers…that hurts. Yet everything is fun and games with you Bart….since Cameron is the face of Magcon, you can tell him of he wants to sue me, to go ahead because I will not be keeping my end of the contract, I ’m leaving Magcon, I never want to be associated with it again and I never want anything to do with you.” You spoke getting the tables attention. “Though I put money into magcon, though I’m supposed to be an owner, I don’t make nay rules because if I did, you would have been fired while we were still in Europe.” You finished standing up, “I hope you guys have a wonderful second leg of the tour.”

(This was really dramatic, I want you to know that I don’t hate anyone that was in this, I just wanted to show that not everyone had good reactions to how some people reacted during the tour. I want to do a part two of this so just let me know what you guys think.)