#glittersparklezthott

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@glittersparklezthott you left your shitty-ass rum in my bunker again. come and get it before I pour it down the sink.

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@glittersparklezthott so I won that snowball fight btw

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((@glittersparklezthott​))

Creek was a bastard--it was one of those things that was just a fact of life at this point, one of those things that to actually bother even saying it out loud would be a complete waste of breath. The sky was blue, water was wet, the earth revolved around the sun, and Creek was a bastard.

Saying things like that, or even just thinking things like that, didn’t even put Branch in the minority anymore--even with the grossly undeserved welcome he’d received back in the village, everyone pretty much knew now the guy was about as slimy and spineless as a slug, and no, Branch was not smug about that, at all, in the slightest.

Well. 

Maybe he was. A little. 

And maybe that was part of the reason Creek didn’t get to him so much anymore--oh, make no mistake, the holier-than-thou jerk still got under his skin in every way imaginable, but the seething, scorching rage that usually flooded, hot and thick, in Branch’s veins when the guy opened his stupid mouth just--it just wasn’t there anymore, as if something reached inside him and drained it out, down to the last drop, and allowed a tired sort of exasperation to take its place.

Like as not, Branch was beginning to understand that hate was just too strong a word for the way he felt about Creek these days--and hell, for all he knew, it always had been. He wasn’t exactly seconds away from doing a happy-dance about the guy’s general existence, or anything like that, but his return to the village was something Branch knew how to roll with, at least, right up until the bastard himself stepped smoothly in front of him and Guy, and flashed the familiar, smarmy grin--the I’m-going-to-be-an-asshole-but-I’m-going-to-be-subtle-enough-about-it-that-everyone-will-get-mad-if-you-lose-your-cool-and-deck-me grin.

Okay. Branch folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin a little, ready and waiting for the first mocking remark he’d try and conceal in a cloak of concern--probably one of those little oh, Branch, it’s so nice to see you out with real people who can actually stand your constant negativity--except--

Except Creek didn’t look at him. Creek looked at Guy.

God, Branch didn’t even hear half of what he said, but he could tell just by the look on the guy’s smug purple face that it was bad--he caught disconnected shards and fragments here and there, something about I’m attempting to meditate over here and your ghastly, grating auto-tune doesn’t make that easy, and with a voice like that, Guy, the least you can do is learn the art of quiet, don’t you think and 

Oh.

Hell.

No.

And hate could not even begin to describe it.

It wasn’t Guy’s fault--his voice was just--just different from the other trolls’, and there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with it at all and anyone who tried to say there was could literally just walk into Branch’s fist right now and save him the trouble, please and thank you. 

“Hey,” Branch pushed himself forward--it’d been a long time since he’d actively engaged Creek in one of their infamous fights, but if it would make him stop giving Guy hell, it was more than worth it, “how about you fuck off, jackass? Guy’s voice is fucking great, not that it’s really any of your fucking business.” The blood pounded, hard and heavy, like a gigantic drum in his ears. “Pretty sure your petty ass is the only one who’s got a problem here, actually, and you wouldn’t want to spread negative vibrations, would you? Wouldn’t have to cleanse your aura, would you?” Low blow, but Branch didn’t even care.

And Creek had the nerve to try and open his mouth, like he thought he got to speak, like he thought he got to even think about speaking.

“No.” Branch took another step forward, a little closer, and a savage sort of satisfaction burned in his chest when Creek stepped back. “No, shut up. You want to be an asshole, go be an asshole, but don’t shit on my best friend, don’t you fucking dare shit on someone who’s worth a fucking million of you.”

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callout post for @glittersparklezthott

I didn’t want to have to do this, but the user @glittersparklezthott is an individual too problematic to ignore any longer and here’s why:

Acts like a little bitch because of a little water. From a bucket. Over his head. While he’s asleep. (It wasn’t even cold, though.)

Broke into my bunker on a weekend in July and left FIVE POUNDS of glitter in his wake

Calls me “Stick in the Mud” 

Thinks rum is the best spirit when it’s clearly whiskey

Has admitted numerous times that he would fuck me in a game of “Fuck, Marry, Kill”

Has used the phrase “I won’t hesitate, bitch!” approximately three times to date

Uses reaction gifs

Spreads viCIOUS SLANDER ABOUT INNOCENT INDIVIDUALS (You think I don’t hear you with your “Branch has a heart of gold” bullshit. I do. I fucking do.)

His favorite swear word is bitch because he is one

Sends me memes at four in the morning

Eats raw cookie dough in spite of a wise friend’s REPEATED WARNINGS 

Gets wine drunk (literally what the fuck)

Spreads damaging lies about my alleged, unproven attempts to give him CPR 

does not drink any water between glasses of wine even though it’s SAFER

takes forty-five minutes to do his hair

Uses the winky-face emoticon 

Doesn’t tell me when and when not to smile in group photographs 

consider boycotting

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@glittersparklezthott

There was a kind of ground rule going on here, one of those hard-and-fast,line-in-the-sand type of deals, a do-not-cross, do-not-touch do-not-even-glance-in-the-fucking-direction-of--

Look. Okay, look. There was--there was a rule here. A rule. Branch wasn’t going to let anyone break it, wasn’t going to let anyone even bend it, because it was the only thing he had going for him in this whole fucked-up situation and that was just--

--the rule. Right. Yeah. The rule. The rule was this.

Branch was going to do this. He’d said so. He’d said he would. He’d said yes. He’d said okay. He’d said fine. He’d nodded. He’d agreed. He’d said. He’d said. 

He’d said he was going to do it. But. 

There’s the rule.

He didn’t have to be happy about it.

He’d pulled out all the bedding he had in storage--all the blankets, every single one, and the pillows, too, and it really felt like overkill, but some trolls aren’t used to sleeping on the ground, Branch, and your bunker is colder than trolls’ pods, Branch, so he’d gone with his gut and he’d got all the goddamned bedding he’d ever possessed in his entire pathetic life and sort of tossed it in a heap in the darkest, gloomiest, quietest corner of the bunker so he didn’t have to look at it and he didn’t have to think about it and he didn’t have to acknowledge anything about this was real, but--

But that felt kind of. Unnecessarily mean. And fucked-up. And he’d looked at it, anyway, hadn’t he, the messy pile of blankets and pillows and blankets again, it was like he couldn’t stop looking at it, and it just felt. It felt mean. To leave it. Like that. 

So he’d turned it into a kind of bed, sort of, folding up half the blankets, and lining it with half the pillows, and then spreading the rest of the blankets out on top, and arranging the rest of the pillows at the top, so it looked, kind of, sort of, like a bed--he didn’t actually really have a--a bed, in his bunker, not in the strictest sense of the term, not when the floor worked just as well, and it would really just be a waste of time to bother building himself a bed and sewing himself a mattress when he had a perfectly serviceable floor running the entire length of the--but it felt wrong, now, that he didn’t have a bed, felt like some kind of an oversight, which it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it was practical, that was what it was, who needed furniture, anyway, it wasn’t like the bunker was meant to be anything like a home, but--

Well. Now it felt like an oversight, and a huge one, and Branch did not have to be happy about that, either. About any of it. Any of this.

Christ.

He clenched his right hand up in the tightest fist he could manage, and scrubbed tired, bruised knuckles over throbbing temples for the thousandth time since he’d said yes, since he’d said okay, since he’d said fine, Guy can stay with me while his pod’s repaired, there, are you happy?

Okay. So. He was going to do this. But he was not going to be happy about it.

He flicked another glance around the bunker--invitations gone, the first things to go, stuffed behind two strips of tattered, wine-colored fabric he’d decided to call curtains, and the poetry had gone the same way, shoved away in the darkest spaces he could find--everything was--

Everything was fine.

The earthen walls and hard dirt floor and all-consuming darkness stared back at him and if everything is fine why does it all still feel so fucked-up? 

Another small knock echoed through the locked doors and thick walls of the bunker, and Branch dragged in a breath. Ran his knuckles over his temples again. 

Right. 

Ready as I’ll ever be.

He stepped onto the platform, pulled the lever slightly to the left, and started his ascent.

The blazing sunshine and warbling birdsong of the woods outside startled him, for a second, a sharp, almost gaudy contrast to the dark and quiet of the bunker below, but it was nothing on the way the light glinted off Guy’s glitz--he actually stepped back a pace, and resisted the urge to shield his eyes against the glare. 

“You can come inside.” That could have sounded nicer, but he didn’t care, he didn’t fucking care, because ground-rule, hard-and-fast, line-in-the-sand, you do not have to be happy about this. 

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Okay, just to be clear, Branch was not lost. 

No way.

Not with his sense of direction, which was incredible, thank you very much, Poppy just didn’t know what she was talking about at all, and not with an entire life spent surviving on that sense of direction, sometimes for days at a time, and certainly not with all his years cutting fresh paths or blazing new trails through previously uncharted woods--no, there was absolutely no way he’d gone and gotten them lost in Bergentown Castle, for God’s sake, no matter what Poppy would have tried to tell him if she was here.

And he didn’t stop because he had no idea where they were, no, he was just--pausing to gather his bearings, get a lay of the land, but it was fine because he absolutely wasn’t lost, and that would just be ridiculous and--

Hang on, hadn’t they passed that window once already? Like an hour ago?

...Okay, so maybe they were a little bit lost. 

He swallowed a sigh, and stole a brief backward glance at his companion--well, he supposed there were worse things than being maybe-a-little-bit-lost in Bergentown with Guy Diamond. “You all right back there?” 

@glittersparklezthott

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TOO LATE, IT'S HAPPENING I'M HUGGING YOU -glittersparklezthott

GET THE FUCK OFF ME 

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Never have I ever woken up one of my best friends in the middle of the night by dumping a bucket of water on them :))))))))) -glittersparklezthott ((you fucker, NO im not over it))

Get over it 🍺Never have I ever acted like a little bitchsicle just ‘cause I couldn’t handle a little water

play “Never Have I Ever”