#but really my pessimism has always been fucking me over so to have something that makes me this happy at all is nice

[adriabun]

angel this is your free pass ask to go ham about whatever’s on your mind w petyle. i am laying down, kicking my feet, and listening 👀

ive been sitting on this in my inbox for so long just trying to collect my thoughts and so many ppl have asked me that...now it is time.....ok

i think the thing i want to talk most about is the beginning of their relationship and what their relationship actually is ...like what about it is making me lose my marbles...i want to get all of this information out because as the ceo of petyle i need everyone to understand how they are characterised and how to correctly view their relationship. anything outside what i think is simply lies and flanderization..../hj.........

i typically default to college-age setting so thats what ill be centering on but my ideas of their dynamic can be malleable to other ages (canon, high school, post covid at a stretch etc)

pete has always been interested in kyle from a distance- theyve never really spoken, but after stan becomes a normie again after his goth stint michael points stan out at school like 'look at that conformist lol' and petes like 'yeah what a loser. also who the fuck is the guy in green.'

we've seen from basic cable where he has a crush on sophie that he isnt necessarily afraid of putting himself out there when hes interested in someone but hes kind of awkward about it. so he approaches kyle a couple of times to see what his deal is. this makes all the other goth kids INSANE like not in a negative way they r either in disbelief (michael, firkle) or think its hilarious (henrietta) that pete has a crush on kyle, he massively denies its a romantic thing tho bc hes not a gaywad...he just wants to know whats up with this guy and why hes so interesting

ngl kyle is probably suspicious or at least confused as why pete has started talking to him once hes over the initial weirdness he realises pete is kind of chill but the award palatable small talk hes trying to have with kyle is really annoying kyle def snaps at some point and asks him what the fuck pete is trying to gain out of this because its obvious hes not being himself.

pete is stubborn enough to not back down atp, hes not gonna let a conformist own him like that. so he starts being himself so much, to a degree where hes almost saying 'you wanted this, fine here you fucking go' in order to make kyle upset. but it doesnt work oh no!! kyle finds his goth eccentricities and pessimism so stupid thats its endearing!!!

nothing between them is inherently romantic or even entirely..friendly. more than anything they enjoy annoying each other in a constant loop of quips and rolled eyes. but theres just like.. something fiery underneath they wont address until they get wasted at a house party and let the alcohol do the talking

i have a habit of favouring either onesided petyle (on petes side ofc) or one that ends with a bad breakup because #stylesweep so a lot of my thoughts are biased towards that sort of ending. i just like relationship/situationship angst ok ...ive been there many times. a part of this angst is the idea that theyre each just 'the best they can get' in the moment. Pete's too internally self loathing to think kyle is actually in love with him or anything. theyre just having fun. its not serious. he refuses to think into any of it emotionally, though its kind of eating him up inside. meanwhile kyle is literally just taking it as it is. he feels a little guilty. he doesnt like pete like that (???) but he cant deny flirting and fooling around with him is fun. and also a distraction from stan getting back with wendy.

anyway thats what i have for now. let me know if anyone wants any more i guess. or any specifics about their actual relationship that i have bouncing around. idk!

#THANK YOU ALISTER CRIES #south park #sp petyle #pete thelman #kyle broflovski #petyle #answered

[dekusleftsock]

Waking up in a cold sweat thinking about all the parallels in MHA and how everything comes around full circle; and we’re seeing it especially prominently right now in the Togachako plotline, where Ochako and Uraraka are both doing the same things for each other that they’ve done for Deku, but with positive outcomes. (One example: Uraraka grabbing Deku to calm him did not work, but it worked with Toga). Realizing that the one thing that hasn’t come around yet is Himiko asking Ochako to be her girlfriend, like she asked Deku to be her boyfriend. Despite her clear and known feelings, she’s never actually straight up asked. And if the pattern continues as Himiko and Ochako having better results with each other than they ever had with Deku; than the only possible outcome is for Ochako to say yes….Hori what are you doing

ITS SO

It’s

ITS SO SO BAOSBSISKSIHAHSBBSBBSBDHHDH

I’m so excited to see togas reply, I’m so excited to see deku vs shigaraki’s fight, I’m so excited to see how bakugou is resurrected, im so excited for everything.

Regardless of everything, I know it in my heart Himiko is gonna ask her to be her girlfriend, will you accept her Ochako? Will you become selfish in the face of a society that expects you to be on a constant performance?

I live in a very pessimistic view of the world, I try NOT to have it and it’s the reason why this account has always tried to stay hopeful. It’s why I try to constantly convince the people around me. All so that I can ask the question, “Do you really think this will happen?” And the answer has more recently been “Yes”. It feeds me into a cycle I created in order to become a more positive person. I think being pessimistic and angry at the world is common for people of my age group, hell, even people into their 20’s, maybe even 30’s. It can fester deep into adulthood, possibly the rest of your life. Negativity and hopelessness thrive in the absence of support and love.

It’s that same lesson mha tries to teach us. Pessimism and ego are the root to the problem, whatever that problem may be. From controlling human emotion, being overly, even unnecessarily sacrificial, holding your power back, not being able to see your own limits, being in love, all of it has always been something solvable through love and support.

I think all of the problems I’ve listed, along with all the characters they’re tied to, are in one way or another tied to ego or pessimism.

And it’s THIS that I keep on loop in my head. The selfishness, parallels, evidence, whatever the fuck doesn’t matter half as much to me as trying to control what power I have over the story—which is how I react to it. It doesn’t matter if I’m right or wrong, it doesn’t matter if this all tears down in a wonderful hellscape of a fire and I get my ego burned for a few weeks, what matters is that I let myself be HAPPY about something, even if that something is not guaranteed. This whole thought process hits so much closer to me right now. It’s something I’ve thought for… basically the entire time I’ve been on tumblr, but it’s been on the back burner because for the first time I’ve realized there’s no more time left. Mha doesn’t have a billion chapters leading up to this fight at all, Toga and Ochako are having their ending story right now. No matter how much I find, no matter how much I theorize, it ultimately doesn’t MATTER ANYMORE.

And yet, I still don’t care. It all comes back in an infinite circle, back to the original ideas the story has always tried to keep within itself. Just like I have kept my ideas on the back burner until now, mha has kept its romantic ideas on the back burner too; this is the true cross roads, this is the final answer. All eyes are on you horikoshi, you have all the power right now to make or break everything.

Break the internet, Horikoshi.

#bkdk #togachako #guess they both fit here #togaocha

[tellywoodtrash]

hiiiii tt!! hope ur doing well <333

i wanted some advice from you, if that's okay. i started college this year and the experience has been ... nothing like i imagined lol. basically, i've been lonely my entire life. i'm also autistic and i think thats part of why its so hard for me to make friends. i really thought college would change that, idk why. its not like i bought into the ultimate karan johar college fantasy or anything like that, i just thought it would be...better than my school life, at least. for the first month, it kind of was. i was talking to lot of people and even getting along with them, at least i thought i did. but then one by one everyone just, like, stopped talking to me??? i don't get it.

like, one of the first friend groups i made in college, almost all of them decided to join a college society together, while i decided not to because i wasn't really interested in that particular club. then they all but forgot about me, once they joined that society. they made new friends over there and of course, all of them were still friends among themselves, but it was like i didn't even exist anymore. maybe i shouldn't take it so personally but i genuinely made an effort to keep that friendship alive and literally got nothing in return from their side.

then i made friends with some other girls in my course and all three of them literally got boyfriends at the exact same time and they started ignoring me too. at this point i feel i am the problem. because the reason all of these people (who i have only known for a few months, at best) abandoning me hurts so much is because this is how i've been treated my entire life. and now i feel like i will never escape it. if i somehow haven't been able to form a genuine bond with ANYONE for my entire 18 years of existence on this earth, clearly something is very wrong with me. i have no friends (never had them in the first place) and i don't even get along with my family. i am so completely alone and i just do not know how to cope with that.

i'm tired of being ghosted by everyone i consider a friend and then only being remembered when they need something. they are only my friend when it's convenient for them. college was supposed to be a fresh start but it just proved that every new "start" of mine will have the same old ending. i hate to let my pessimism get the best of me but i have no hope left in me. i have always felt like i had so much love to give, but no one to give it to. now, however, i don't see the point in trying. i am scared to even try to talk to people at this point, i feel like i will just fuck it up like i always do.

this is way too long already and idek why i'm writing all this but thank you for reading ig. i hope ur doing better than i am 💗

Hi hi friend,

First of alll, come here youuuuu.

Secondly, it's not really you. It's just the age and inherent nature of most 18 year olds; they tend to be a little flaky and unreliable. Couple that with college being the first real taste of freedom desi kids get, and yeah...... This shit tends to happen. You're right in that you shouldn't take it personally. Sometimes people just don't vibe with each other and that's okay. Sometimes people are rude and uncommunicative, and again, that's on them, not you. You shouldn't let this stuff get you down or lose hope in ever finding your tribe. It takes time. Sometimes they're right in front of you and you don't really consider them your "kind" of person, until one random conversation/situation you're thrown into with them proves to you that they indeed are! All I am saying is that you have your whoooooooole life ahead of you, and you're going to meet soooooo many people through it, and you WILL meet someone or the other whose weird will match yours. Whether that be irl or online.

Your line of having so much love to give but no one to give it to really resonated with me, coz I've felt that way so many times in my life too. But there is someone who needs it - YOU. Give yourself that love and consideration. Use this time to build a strong sense of self and have an unshakable bond with yourself. Do the things you love and pamper + better yourself in every way that you feel like. Alone does not have to mean lonely, not at all. There's literally so much you can do by yourself, like take classes, volunteer, etc, that will be such an enriching experience to who you are as a person. In time, whenever your people do show up, they'll be a fun bonus. You won't NEED them, but they'll just be a wholesome addition to your grounded little life that centers all around yourself.

Sending you lots of love 🤗🤗🤗💖💖💖

#big sister tt gives life advice #tt answers

[fangerine]

well this episode of the last of us fucked me up big time (spoilers ahead!):

imma be honest. idk what to say but i’m gonna try my best. i’ve never been so horrified and shocked by a piece of media before. don’t get me wrong, this was an amazing piece of work but i curled up in the fetal position and sobbed for a good five minutes on my bed after the episode ended.

if you haven’t read my previous posts, i will say it again, that i have played this game so i already knew david’s deal. i think why this section of the game and this episode unnerves me is because it shows the most depraved parts of humanity. i can easily makes this short essay about violence and how the last of us captures this cyclical nature of violence that occurs in the world and blah blah blah.

but i’m not.

because i think there’s a much more interesting conversation to be had. when ellie is in the cage, david talks about something that i talked about in my episode two post, and that’s the communal nature of cordyceps. it made me feel really gross to basically hear my analysis be spat in my face by this character. because he said it, i didn’t want to believe it anymore.

but it made me think about something new.

in a way, when you think about it, the cordyceps have infected everyone. obviously, i don’t mean this in a literal sense but ever since the outbreak, this virus has caused everyone to unleash the most twisted parts of themselves. the reason i say that is because david was most likely always a creepy, power hungry dude. the apocalypse just allowed him to act on those horrible urges. not to say that people like that didn’t exist before outbreak but his rise to power over those people came about because of the end of the world.

this doesn’t mean that everyone turned into david. it just means that the worst of humanity sort of took over. i don’t know, maybe it’s overruling pessimism in me but the last of us is always what i think of when i imagine the world turning to shit. it’s scary but it’s the truth that i believe in.

yes. there will always be those who truly want to help but sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to stop the davids of the world from enacting their power on others. 

it might be because i’m a teenage girl, and i was around ellie’s age when i played this game for the first time but i always react so viscerally to her and david’s interactions. i, like her, know there’s something wrong with this person and when those suspicions become truth, it’s almost too late, and we feel powerless to stop him. i think why this episode shocked me more is because i didn’t have a controller.

i didn’t have the power to press something that would get us out of there. i just had to watch. i know somewhere deep in my mind, i knew ellie would get out but in that moment of simply watching, i was absolutely terrified. it made me think about what i would do if i was ellie. it made me think about if i would let my most primal urges kick in and brutally kill a person to protect myself. 

but the scariest part isn’t even that. it’s the fact that people like david exist right now. bloaters and clickers aren’t real but david is. being powerless to being infected or getting killed by infected isn’t our reality but being powerless to evil people like david is.

so now i am left feeling hopeless and depressed by this episode because i’ve realized that maybe the infected aren’t the monsters.

maybe it’s us.

#ugh #this episode just #i'm pretty shattered #a script hasn't done that to me in a while holy fuck #the last of us #the last of us spoilers #tlou #the last of us show #the last of us hbo #tlou show #tlou hbo #tlou spoilers

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: Glitterland by Alexis Hall

4.5/5. Rereleases 1/26/2023 in audio.

Vibes: grumpy/sunshine to the nth degree, hookups to lovers, modern interclass romance, actual bipolar rep.

Ash was once a literati prodigy--but after extreme ups and downs related to his bipolar disorder diagnosis, he's stuck with pulp fiction novels. His depression and anxiety-ridden routine is rocked, however, when he hooks up with the glittery, upbeat, and very different Darian. Although he claims to want nothing, time with Darian and his sunny outlook makes Ash want everything. The question is--with all going on in his mind, can he keep it?

Oh, man, this one got me. It's hilarious, as Alexis books always are, but there's a depth here, an examination of class politics, the cynical versus the optimistic, and the issues that come with being bipolar. I say this as someone who has the same diagnosis as Ash--this hit home for me hard. I've never seen my disorder so well portrayed. And to have it wrapped up in a romance I actually loved? It just got me on a really deep level.

Quick Takes:

--Okay, so first off, I do want to talk about the bipolar rep here. Ash's disorder is not the only thing about him, and it's not the most important part of this book. This is a true romance, and Ash and Darian's relationship is the focal point. That said, this is a single POV book (which is hard to sell me on, but Alexis always does) and you see exactly what's going on in Ash's head the whole time. The ups and downs, the struggles. I wouldn't say Ash cycles particularly hard over the course of the story. He has meds that work for him. This is not a "this diagnosis is new" story.

What he does struggle with a lot accepting that he has this disorder and that it will always be a part of his life, but it does not necessarily have to dominate his life. There's a passage in this book wherein Ash is basically like "this is always going to happen, no matter what meds I'm on I will always have these episodes, this is always going to keep me from having stable relationships, this is my existence". And I've never really had my own thoughts about being bipolar spelled out so clearly for me. That was truly... validating. It's a very specific fear, committing to the idea that you will always have this and it is going to keep you from being who you would've otherwise been. There's something about having to let go of that alternate reality, while also fighting the idea that this reality basically condemns you to solitude or horrible relationships--not just romantic, but platonic and familial. It's hard.

And this shit isn't resolved completely by the end, because it can't be? Like, I fully believed in an HEA for Ash and Darian. But it'll take work!

--Alright, so onward. The characters are so lovable here. Well, with a couple of notable supporting exceptions, but they weren't supposed to be lovable (though one of them, despite doing something I personally considered unforgivable, was very HUMAN). I fucking fell in love with Ash and Darian equally, though they are absolute total opposites. I love a hero who sees the object of his affections, is ridiculously turned on, and is like "how the FUCK am I hard right now" and that is Ash. For all that Darian is obviously beautiful and obviously charming, he's not the type of beautiful and charming Ash thinks he should want... or, to be honest, thinks he deserves?

I actually related to both Ash and Darian in different ways (see: having bipolar). And I don't know if that was intentional, this contrast of dark and light, of energy and apathy, of optimism and pessimism. But it worked.

Although we're in Ash's head alone and we do get to know him better, I will say that the insights we got into Darian's life were significant enough for me to totally feel like I got him. He's bright and bubbly, but he's not flat, and he's not a manic pixie dream boy. He has responsibilities. He wants to model, but he's also in it for the money and is quite realistic about where his future lies on that front. He doesn't expect to be famous; but he does want to help support his family.

And the thing is, you need Darian to be as cheerful and lovely as he is, because Ash's head is not always easy to be in. It's dark in there. He struggles. He's funny, he's relatable, but he's not at all stress-free to read about. And the balance Alexis strikes between the two isn't just about romance; it's also about making a technically strong book. These two work together so well--but their relationship isn't easy, largely because Ash cannot accept the idea that he's capable of having a good relationship.

--There's a lot of interesting class stuff here? I'm American--but I do know that the English class system is quite different from ours. Ash has an accent Darian considers "posh" (I cannot say whether or not it is); Darian is from Essex and has what I now know is an Essex accent. I really can't speak to how this is written in the print book, because I haven't read it (yet), but I believe Alexis wrote out the accent phonetically. Either way? The narrator does an amazing job of differentiating the two. I mean, I can't speak to the accuracy of Darian's accent, but I can say these two men read as totally different and it is great.

But yeah--Ash does look down on Darian for having this really orange tan and being loud in every sense of the word and having friends with tons of Botox. At first. He has to get over a lot of shit through the course of the story, and realize that he's being an ass. It's GREAT. I love reading about a hero who's legitimately snobby and elitist and see him get over it.

--Okay, for all the deep shit, this is an amazing romcom (I mean... romdramedy? It's a romance and it's funny but also angsty, okay). There are so many moments where I just imagined the most glittery, bouncy person alive bopping in circles around a very gloomy individual in all black, dark circles under his eyes, staring into space. Except, maybe, for when his glittery guy kisses him. Ash doesn't want to admit he's falling in love with Darian, yet he can't help trying to impress him, to get close to him, to really bond with him. Sometimes this made my heart grow three sizes. Sometimes it made me laugh.

Anyway, if you love a "black cat falls for golden retriever" book. This is it. I mean, if we're being real, Darian may be more like a goldendoodle (if my mom's dog could speak, he would be like Darian--I know this) but the point stands.

--You like a grovel? You like the "baby don't leave me I miss you baby I'm sorry baby" sobbing mess shit? Oh, you will like this. I was practically high off how good this grovel was.

--There's a really interesting subplot with a supporting character that... I would not have reacted to in the same way as Ash. But I think Ash's perspective was informed by some very specific relationship things that made his decisions extremely realistic. I will say, one thing that happens to Ash due to this dynamic is one of my worst fears, and it made me feel like I'd been slapped. (In a good way. I mean, it sucked, but it was so well done. I wasn't triggered by any means.) It was also incredibly realistic, based on tastes I've had of that kind of behavior.

The Sex:

Probably my favorite sex scenes I've read in an Alexis Hall book thus far. This is a "fuck first feelings later" book (which I love). Ash and Darian have sex well before they fall in love, and Ash is soooo horny for Darian. Which bemuses him, because wanting someone this badly isn't normal for Ash. That sense of REALLY inexplicably wanting someone was so well depicted, though.

And the sex scenes themselves really worked. They were hot, they were sweet, they were... real good. A particular favorite was one that followed Ash blurting out that he has an antique desk and asking Darian if he'd like to fuck him over it. YES. PLEASE. I love someone being so attracted to the other person that they literally can't contain themselves.

There was also some exploration of different types of sex (nothing crazy, but Ash asks Darian to do something Darian isn't really familiar with) and I found that kind of like... Asking for something and discussions of comfort levels and curiosity really nice to see in a contemporary. It's less "oh ho I know it all and I'll lead you through it" and more "I would like you to do this for me if you want to do it because I think we would both enjoy it".

TW: past suicide attempt, past self harm, suicidal ideation, shaming of mental health issues.

Anyway, I thought this was great. I think it was Alexis's debut--which is crazy. The talent! I've been wanting a go at Glitterland for a while, and it did not disappoint at all.

Thanks to Netgalley and Dreamscape Media for providing me with a copy of this audiobook. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

#romance novel blogging #arc reviews #netgalley #book recs #romance novels #book reviews #books

[fearofahumanplanet]

D.N.R. (short story by me)

I've been just venting with this blog lately and that's kinda cringe so I'm going to compensate by venting with a story instead, something I wrote a long time ago to help cope with my BPD and process it. I hope it can help someone understand people with this condition or help those with this condition find something to relate to or smth.

I'm okay right now, I'm just really proud of this story and wanted to actually share some of my work to maybe cope with how I've been feeling today better. I wrote this story a year or two ago and I'm doing a lot better now - I have a therapist, treatment, a small support system, etc. I don't want this story to prompt worry, I just want to share for anyone who needs it. It's dark, but it's how I heal.

TW: Suicide references/suicidal thoughts, self-harm, BPD symptoms & references to unstable relationships, light blood, self-hatred (lmk if I should add any more). If you're in a bad place, I would not advise reading this (unless raw emotion like this helps you personally).

General Taglist: @aohendo, @athenswrites, @impaledlotus, @bardic-tales, @carefulpyro

I live my life in a waiting room.

I wait, they wait, we all wait. It’s supposed to bring us together. It’s supposed to make some sort of fucking team out of us. That’s the funny thing about people, really. You could glue us together, and we’d tear ourselves in half just to get away.

Don’t take that as a criticism free of hypocrisy.

With that thought in mind, I can only thank the heartless gods above for sentencing me solace, over and over and over, and I’ve never been so compliant and happy with a decision I loathe and regret.

My name doesn’t matter, never has. I’m a therapist of sorts. Real funny, I know – People can always tell, even past the pessimism that drenches every word, the agoraphobic misanthrope at my core.

You wouldn’t think I’d manage it, but it’s fascinating, how far you can get with a broken smile.

I mean, it’s a broken smile – Of course it’s a lie. Of course it’s a fallacy, of course it’s forced, fit for a fiend. But no one’s noticed yet. That’s the strength of a well-timed joke, one calculated mask. You hide everything you are, and you find something that’s real likeable. A real people person, someone sent to save.

And I save. Some days, I don’t feel I can manage that, but they tell me so. In this room of four walls, of a blank floor and ceiling, of nothing but a clean, inviting chair – I find the writings on the walls, the notes in the margins, little hopes from the haughty heavens.

You’re not alone. You are loved. You are valuable. You save so many. You are funny. You never run out of things to say. You are loved. You have saved lives. You have redeemed every sin. You are loved. You know how to bring a smile. You aren’t going to die alone. You won’t ever be alone again.

The angels of my idyllic fantasies surround me, chanting, touching, holding.

You are loved. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

And every day, I remember to stop slamming my head into the wall with every recitation. Every day, I lean down low, where all is familiar. I soak the blood in my fingers, let it run down the skin, let it fill out the cracks in my psyche. And when it’s all buried, when it’s all swept out of sight…

I slap on my broken smile, and greet the droves devouring.

It’s another broken woman, meek behind a mismatched mask. Her smile is broken, and I’m the only one who sees. They never mean to find their way to me, but they do.

It’s the same game every bloody time. I say hello. They say hello. They wonder how I got here. I just tell them I have a knack for showing where I’m needed. They don’t think about it. They never think. They don’t even know who I really am, my mask a memorable masterpiece. It’s always small talk at first. Music, video games. They tell me they don’t understand, my compassion, my kindness, my understandings. I shrug, and flash another humble, hollow smile.

Why wouldn’t I be this way, I say. Every damn time. I never need to adjust the script. There are no plot holes to cover, no rusted gears. The system grinds on without deviation.

I try not to let them in. I try to keep them above surface level, make sure they only meet the mask. It never works, but I’m going to try again. Spin the hamster wheel.

It’s not that I wish to keep them away, you see. I’m only an isolationist by incident, a misanthrope by mistake, a pariah by punishment. I’m sick, hopelessly sick. It seeps out from beneath my skin, hiding behind my sunken eyes, lurking under my serpent tongue. I try to swallow it down, treasure the venom. No one needs to know, no one that doesn’t already. No one I’ve yet to fail.

And this woman, like every one before her, she doesn’t know a thing about me. But the venom is alluring, and I know everything about her. I see it in her lying eyes, and she breaks down and spills her guts out on the floor. I just mop them up and listen, cradle her when she cries, pet her hair when she can’t spit out any more. And I just smile and embody the angels.

It will be all right. You are loved. You are not alone. There is someone out there for you. You will not die alone. You are loved. No one is beyond redemption. No one is without hope.

And I can say every word with absolute belief, every scene in my script without error. I have had thousands of years to practice, and I will have thousands more.

This next bit always happens. Actually, I could say that about everything here, but this I resent the most. She thanks me, and tells me she’ll be back tomorrow. I smile and tell her I’d love that. She says she will never abandon me.

I keep the smile on, let loose no levity. And I tell her, like I told all the others. These things never last. She will grow to hate me, and I tell her so. She will grow to loathe the mere thought of me, and I tell her so. She will grow to rue my name, to curse the ground I walk on, to panic and stab and burn until there is nothing left of me before her.

And I tell her so.

And without a waver, taking no time for hesitation, she just says she’s not like the others. That she isn’t going anywhere, this time. That there is hope this time. And not once she wonders why the theoretical therapist is the one breaking down every fucking night. Why would she? It’s all out of sight.

And she’s gone, away from me, and I know she will spend every minute thinking about me. And I know I will spend every one of those minutes regretting them.

This pariah paces her pen, praying for a pale horse.

The silence overwhelms. The silence snuffs, the silence sneaks in when you think you’ve found a sure fate.

I contemplate, turn and roll over in mud and dirt. The day slips away, and night nuzzles in. I think about my newest woman. I have seen it happen so many times, over thousands of years, hundreds and hundreds of times.

But I am naught but a full circle, and I allow myself hope again. I allow myself one more forsaken breath.

The silence slips down low, rejuvenating my venom, strengthening my sickness. I try to eat, and I vomit it up, hoping my heart will come up with it. The thought is fast and sudden, just like that. It no longer shocks, no longer ignites alarm. I cannot fathom concern.

I rock back and forth in the dark, empty room. I put on one of countless records, watch movies of malicious murder and horrific hatred, write another story no one will ever read. I pace the room, I kick the walls, I scream my lungs out to the tune of my favourite song. With every meaningless minute, I forget myself. With every severed second, I lose track.

And it always hits me, every night, the same sudden thought, the same onset of dread. Isn’t that funny?

Every night, I feel I’ve lost my mind.

I can’t lose it over and over, of course. It must have left me long ago. But if I’m going to lose my mind, couldn’t it take all of its malignant maladies with it?

The second thought is always the same too. This fate feels like forever.

And that’s even sillier than the first. Of course it’s forever. It will always be forever. There is no escape.

There is a third thought. Don’t worry, this is the last one, and it too, happens every night.

It’s that this thought should be the last one.

So, I make it so. I take the knife, and I try to find out what makes me tick, scout out a new avenue, plot out some new elaborate method I have yet to attempt. Every night, that is how I go, cradling the knife like a stuffed teddy, showering myself in a bottle of vodka, popping my pills like candy.

I find every way to numb my nagging nuisance of a mind, and it still keeps coming. Because I know, deep down, this new hope is nothing new. It is a resurgence, a repetition of centuries past. It is a false flare, a lost lighthouse. And I swim and I swim, even as I tell myself to sink. And every night, I do. I sink, drenched in my own blood, seeping out through freshly torn slits, the aroma of alcohol affecting every word I regret. I spend minutes debating, searching, no inch of skin untarnished.

It comes to something when you run out of room for scars.

I’ll say not a word, not to the aiding angels, not to the compassionate client. I am alone, I have always been and always will be. I was born and thrown away without the aid of another, abandoned with abject apathy, and I am content with my lot.

I am not content because I am happy, but I am content for I know there is nothing better.

Sometimes, if I’m particularly unlucky, the angels will hover in, finding my bloodstained, drunken corpse stretched out across the floor. They will tug the bottles from my hands, hide the knife somewhere else, knowing I will find it again. I am determined, I am without limit, waning in this war simply for a will without want.

If they’re there, they always tell me. I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am of worth. I am of benefit. I have saved. I have redeemed. I am not alone.

The angels smile around me, fading with every flicker of the candle. They are real, but they don’t know a thing. They are so far away, holding me to their chests.

They are scared. I am loved. They are scared. I am loved. They are scared. I am loved.

They need me. They can’t live without me. They can’t. They can’t imagine a world without me.

It’s a shame I have proven to be so uselessly useful. It is a shame I have found a way to chain worthy souls to my empty body. It is a shame I always manage to find a new person to save, when I can’t even save myself.

It is a shame they can’t imagine a world without me, because I no longer want to imagine a world with me.

Every time I die, I fear at the fall. Not for my soul, for the promise of hell is a welcome relief. Not for the ones left behind, because I know they’re better off without.

And every night, I write it on my neck, over a thousand purple scars.

D.N.R.

Instructions no one will abide by. I hope they do this time. I hope they abide. I hope they forget. I hope they respect.

Tonight is like every night. I pass away and fall, embrace the empty, find there is nothing beyond the void, realize the devil below or the salvation above are simply manufactured dreams.

There is nothing, and I am nothing.

Every morning, air ambushes my ambivalence. I remember to live again, remember I have a job to do. I roll out of bed, stitch the wounds, pry shattered glass loose of skin. I feel for my heart without hope, and see with no amount of surprise that beats once more.

I loom over the mirror, and search the dirtied floor for my abandoned broken smile.

I stitch on my savior’s smile.

And I meet the woman again, the name of who matters not. They orbit my ouroboros, like every one before her, and they are identical in naught but function.

Like all the others before her, I embody her anchor. She comes to me, day in, day out. She sees the fresh scars and beating bruises, but I tell her to worry not. I reassure her with promises and encourage, and I get closer and closer.

And every time I learn to love again, I forget why I chose to let that knowledge go.

The longer we lay together, the less she’s convinced. As weeks whistle by, I have to let my mask slip, loose my serpent’s tongue. The venom crawls down her skin, and I can see what I am doing, but I am too selfish to care. With every drop, my scars and sins come clearer in view, like blurred photographs rendered in clarity.

And I can see her eyes break with every passing month, but I am too selfish to care, too lonely and lost to let her go.

I tell her of the ocean, of my wistful love for the waves. I tell her of beaches, of abyssal depths only I know. I tell her I will take there, I tell her I will never let her go. And I know I never will.

And with my hand in hers, every longing lie is a cross easier to bear. My will wears away with every passing night. Every moon, I re-iterate my instruction.

D.N.R.

Because maybe they’ll listen.

D.N.R.

Maybe someone above will practice mercy.

D.N.R.

And with all this hate I’ve spread, this venom I’ve made a virus, you’d think one victim would find a way to strike me down.

Tonight, months into this ouroboros, she joins the angels, the hundreds of angels. She is still solid yet, not like them, fading and translucent, hazy and flickering. She has found me with a fallen mask, met me in my correct configuration.

I always want to tell them not to lean on me. Because when they do, I lean on them, and I know the disease will spread.

But she joins the angels, like all the real ones did before, pleading with me, making me promises I know will fade away. She fails to see them around her, crowding, begging.

I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am valuable. I am of worth. I am helpful. I am funny. I am the highlight of your day. I am clever. I am insightful. I am a blessing.

And you are lying. And you are lying. And you are lying. And you are lying. And you are lying.

And I wish you fucking knew that.

And I beg her not to leave me, as the blood fills my lungs. And she says she never will.

Not like every love before her, not like every ally before her, not like my mother before her, not like my home before her.

And the promise is a cushion, even as I know she’ll change her mind. But I hold onto hope. Because that’s what the angels tell me every day.

There is hope. No one is beyond saving. You still have time.

Time is not a comfort. Time is a sentence. Time is the promise of life. Time is something I do not wish to handle.

And I scream out every one of these words, roar out many more.

Because when the mask falls, I am the venom. I am sick, I am violent, I am overcome, I am lashing out.

And no matter how hard I try, I find no healthy option to shuttle it all away.

How do you help someone hidden away in the waiting room? How do you help someone buried from birth, silenced from the start?

Why do they tell me they want to hear my words, when every single letter leaves a scar?

I am never alone. My shadow hangs over me, and it never leaves me a moment’s peace.

And so I die again, choking on my own poisonous bile.

This is not the first incident the woman sees. It happens again, two weeks later. Again, four days after. Again, two days after. Again, three hours after.

Because once the mask drops, I can never seem to find it again, and I fail to dig up another broken smile.

The sickness wears on her, paling her skin, bags beneath her eyes, cold resignation beneath more and more words. And I have seen it happen a thousand times, and I cannot help but remind her that it is my fault she grows sick. I remind her that I am at fault for my contagious nature.

And it takes so long. It takes months, and months. But she finally lets go.

I hold her all night long, and we talk of the ocean. I hold her, and she tells me of the places we’ll go, and the things we will see. And I dream of broken promises.

I dream of the ocean.

I wake up, and she is gone.

I scream and I thrash, and I drench her side of the bed with my blood.

The sun comes and goes without care, hidden out of sight. I shiver and vomit, cradling my broken body, tracing every well-deserved scar. And I wake up dead that morning, once more, routine inescapable.

I stare my newest angel in the eyes, pale and flickering like the rest, a ghost to the reasonable soul.

A mangled memory.

I am loved. I am needed. I am wanted. I am helpful. I am clever. I am helpful. I am a blessing. I am-

I shoot the angel, knowing she will return, knowing the ghosts of my criminal past are this pariah’s penance. I take another drink, gulp down another pill, come up with another broken smile.

I know not whether this will ever end. But this is my lot in life, and I have learned to welcome my lonely road.

I hear the chime of the bell, another clueless client, the ouroboros coiling anew.

I consider my options, consider the dead woman, staring back at me from the mirror with empty eyes.

And I know I will keep fighting. I know this is a war I will always wage. It is not out of want, nor out of will. Not out of spite. Not out of hope, not out of hate. Not out of love.

I stand up again, and again, and again, because I have nothing left to fear. I continue to fight because there is no terror found in a predictable cycle, no horror in a novel with a spoiled ending. To want to live, to want to die, I’d have to care.

And if I cared, I’d collapse under the weight of every single thing I’ve ever done.

So I stare down these sunken, apathetic eyes, resigned in their duty. I carve the instructions in my forehead once again. Not out of hope, but out of habit.

D.N.R.

Do not resuscitate.

Maybe one of these days, lightning will strike.

If not, I am content with waiting.

#writing #writeblr #bpd #vent story #short story #personal work #old shite from my archive #it's a lot better than i remember

[tooruluv]

Katsuki Bakugou x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ ...and then there’s you. ❞

description: you and bakugou have hated each other since childhood. through the constant bickering, fighting, and actual fist fights... you had no idea that you had been writing to him.

genre: angst, soulmate au where you have a notebook that you can write to your soulmate in

word count: 3.8k

warnings/notes: strong language, lots of angst, aged up characters, bakugou being bakugou, reader has an air manipulation quirk created as part 1 of 3 for my winner of my tooruluv2kparty contest @katsulovee​ <33

teaser | part 2

| masterlist

“ ‘cause when the sun goes down, someone’s talking back ” - talking to the moon, bruno mars

┏━━━━━⋇⋆⋆⋇❦⋇⋆⋆⋇━━━━━┓

The storm only escalated, casting the sky in deep blues and greys. Loud rain clattered against the roof of your apartment building, the ceiling of your top floor apartment being the only thing that separated you from the pour. 

The rain may be cold, but you were on fire.

You had been livid all day, positively outraged by the man who seemed to always be in your way. He was the most arrogant, most opinionated, and most… loud-mouthed person you ever met. You were screaming from the inside out, burning with rage.

Groaning, you sprawled out on your bed.

Katsuki Bakugou was the biggest fucking issue on the planet. His absurd need to be the best at everything he did, his cold demeanor and venom that spews from his mouth -- you wanted nothing more than to punch him directly in the throat. 

With a deep breath, you flipped open your Soulmate Journal. 

The world was such a strange place, full of quirks and criminals and heroes and villains. To add on top of that, when you turn thirteen a journal just… appears. And whoever is your soulmate can read everything you write. Once they read it, they can reply or talk to you that way and the ink disappears. There are plenty of rules that go along with it, like if you turn thirteen before your soulmate does, the ink is red until they receive their own journal. Or how the journal itself is indestructible. Or the biggest rule: you cannot write any given name. 

When you’re thirteen, your life is full of hope and wishful thinking. Almost everyone at that age is excited to start writing to their Person, the one who they were supposed to be created to be with. You were surprised when you opened yours to find nothing written.

You assumed that you were a bit older than your soulmate, but that was quickly shut down as you wrote in black ink. Your soulmate hadn’t written anything. 

It took two months for him to write back. Two months of your excessive writing and nearly diary-like entries. Two months of you wondering if they would ever write back. Until he did.

Today sucked.

That was all you wrote, your past two months of writing still ever present and glaring at you with smudges and hinted annoyance. The ink started to fade like Harry talking to Tom Riddle, reappearing with new handwriting.

It was scrawled across the page with terrible handwriting, very much one of a middle school boy. 

Life sucks. Deal with it.

You were now twenty two, an adult and that once hope and love has turned into pessimism and indifference. And life still sucked. 

You were pretty famous, your air manipulation quirk one that catches a lot of attention. That, alongside your rivalry with the second most famous hero Bakugou, brought an abundance of recognition. Bakugou completely steals your thunder every chance he has, stealing your light and victories. 

You hated him. With the utmost disrespect, you hated him. Since your days in the hero academy, the two of you were at each other’s throats. He would even stop in the middle of antagonizing Deku to make some horrendous comment towards you instead. 

You ended up scribbling along the Soulmate Pages, heated rage boiling with each word.

Hey Honey! I need to vent if that’s okay.

Of course.

You would not believe the shit I have to endure in real life. I wish I could describe the hatred I have for this man I work with, he’s a real piece of shit. Anyway, how was your day?

My day was about the same as yours, living with the idiots of real life. If we could write names I would because there’s this bitch I work with that I fucking hate.

Maybe we need new jobs (insert laughing face even though I’m livid right now)

Yeah. Maybe. But we’ll get through it.

It took years for your soulmate to warm up to you. The first interactions were hesitant, slow, and barely considered conversations. But now you can discuss your day as if you were texting a friend, talk about your likes and dislikes. 

He was your soulmate after all.

You learned that he was a boy and an only kid, he had a strong quirk, and that he liked ramen. He was a rule follower and his handwriting always used proper punctuation. You told him all about your life and how you wanted to travel away from everything.

You wanted to know who he was, more than anything. 

You wished you could tell him your name and quirk, where you lived and who you were. You wished he could do the same. 

You’ve tried, of course, to write out your name and location. But the second the words were written onto the page, they turned into a random assortment of letters. Gibberish. Never to be written, never to be known.

“Dude, fucking relax!” You rubbed your temple at your desk, voice spitting venom against Bakugou’s loud vocals. “Not everything is about you, just sit down and wait to be sent on a mission.”

“What did you say to me?”

Katsuki Bakugou had been going on and on about how Deku got assigned to a mission in upper Japan, sent to work with a separate force for a bit to expand his horizon. He was outraged, yelling and standing tall and broad to pretend to be bigger than he was. 

You were doing paperwork, trying to concentrate despite his yelling and complaining and bitching. You were hovering above your seat with your legs crossed, papers scattered (it was a habit of yours, to just kind of hover a couple of inches off the surface of things; air manipulation and all that). 

“I said,” You turned to look into his ablaze eyes. “Sit down and wait. Not everything is about you.”

You only threw fuel into his fire, you could hear the sparking between his fingers. You turned back to your paperwork. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, you’re not even in the top five heroes.” Bakugou barked in your direction. You could feel his heat as he approached your desk. “You can sit and do your own paperwork all you want! I need to be put on serious cases, just like stupid Deku is always placed on.”

“You can argue with me all you want.” You moved to continue your work, pretending to be unbothered. You could feel the anger boil in your chest. “But you still are and will always be measly little number two. Now shut the fuck up, you’re interrupting those who are actually working.”

He was going to hit you, you knew he was. You two ended up fist fighting all the time, oxygen and explosions ending in destruction. Before he could, your boss walked in with a bellowing, “Bakugou! Get over here, I have something for your loud ass!”

You decided to give him a bored middle finger as he walked away.

They say that words are the way of life. You could say an infinite amount of words and sentences in your lifespan, you could say a word and only ever say it one time. Each assortment of words are different each time, something new every day. 

You figured that’s why you hated the soulmate thing. 

Finding your soulmate should be one of chance, of pure coincidence and meeting of strangers. With the journal, you are starting something you only hope to find. You could go your whole life without finding your soulmate.

And that is terrifying.

There are horror stories of writing to an endless notebook, sad movies created where the lettering turns back to red before they’ve found each other. You wanted nothing more than to meet and just… be with the man you’ve been writing to since you were thirteen.

It seemed to be some sick joke, a tease in the palm of your hands.

When you were young, you attended UA High. It was meant to be the best school for heroes, grooming them into the best of the best. Both of your parents had been heroes themselves, your mom with a cloud quirk and your dad with wings. You took after a bit of both, no wings and no clouds but could create air currents and manipulate the air surrounding you within a certain radius. It has something to do with your breath and lungs, but you never looked too much into the actual DNA aspect. 

When you arrived in the hero program, you passed the tests with ease. You tried to focus mainly on yourself and gaining your own points, alongside a couple of students with the same idea. 

You were pissed when you were placed in 1-B instead of 1-A. It was the start of your rivalry with the explosion boy. 

Luckily, you quickly gained friends. You actually seemed to have a soft spot for Hitoshi Shinsou, and you and Itsuka Kendou seemed to be the only two with brains (this led to many conversations resulting in shit talking and giggling). So in the end, you weren’t too upset to be placed in the second best class. 

And you did get to fight with Bakugou a lot more without punishment, your professor wanting to be number one as much as anyone else. 

One particular day that you remember to this day, one that really labeled your hatred for Bakuogu, was just a normal day at first. You were finished with your normal morning classes and just beginning the hero portion of the day, the training and fighting. 

Your class was working with Class 1-A for the day, teaming up with one of their students and seeing how your quirks would act both against and with each other.

You were, of course, teamed with Bakugou.

The fucker was already set in his ways, loud and in need of attention at all times. You were well aware of his… loud personality… at that point, being beside Shinsou when he called your class “extras”. He was already someone you wanted nothing to do with. 

“Good luck.” Kendou muttered to you when your names were announced as partners. “See ya.”

The second you headed to him, you could feel his apprehension. He wanted nothing to do with you. And you wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, you were hoping for Uraraka as your partner, wanting to see how your air manipulation would work with her gravity. 

Apparently the professors wanted to see the oxygen working with the burst of flames. Which, honestly, is cool yes — but it was the person behind the explosions that you did not want to be a part of.

Bakugou was not one to mumble under his breath. 

“Why am I paired with you?” He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “I could at least be with someone interesting like Mind Control over there.”

You already wanted to punch him. “You’ve obviously never seen my quirk.”

“Clearly it hasn’t been interesting enough to be worth my attention.”

“Say that again when I remove the oxygen straight from your lungs.” You threatened, knowing damn well you didn’t know how to do that yet. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He let out a long exhale, moving into position. You were already flying by the time he let off his first explosion.

His utter disrespect for you and your quirk not only irritated you, but only was the start of a long term competition on Who Can Be Better Than Who that lasted the rest of your time at UA.

Through the constant loud arguments, the yelling in the cafeteria and the comments just loud enough for the other to hear, the fist fights and the swearing that was reserved only for each other, you found comfort in talking to your soulmate. It was relaxing after a long day of pure annoyance and shit talking to finally just get to have normal conversations with someone you enjoy. 

Are we allowed to ask about school in this thing?

I don’t think so.

I’m sighing. Pretend that you could hear my sigh.

Wow, that was a loud sigh.

YOU’RE FUNNY! Anyway, I really want to know if we go to school together :(((

I don’t even think we can talk about JRTPD or BO::SOMD. See, they turn into gibberish.

 I mean… we can say school. So we can ask ABOUT school just not… specific schools. 

That’s true. I go to a special school and am the best in my class. You’re getting lucky by having me as a soulmate.

Well I would only hope so. Need a smart soulmate for fun facts.

Fun fact: you’re pretty cool. I guess.

Ah, the admission of your love for me.

Not love. I don’t hate talking to you if that does anything for you.

The one person you don’t hate. I’ll take it, Soulmate.

Don’t push it.

We should give each other nicknames. Since we can’t call each other by our real names.

Does the book allow it?

My parents did it before they found each other.

Okay. Like what?

I can call you Hot Head, because you’re hot and because you are always writing about how mad you are.

No.

I can always go with something cute like Honey.

This is gross. I was thinking like gamer tag nicknames.

Okay, Honey.

I take back what I said, asshole.

Honey and Asshole. The perfect pair. We could solve crimes!

I’m going to bed now.

Goodnight Honey ♡ I know that you aren’t reading these but you will in the morning. Dork.

“Do you know who your soulmate is?” You asked.

You were hanging out with Kendou, Monoma, and Shinsou in Kendou’s bedroom. The dorm rooms were all set up the exact same way, but for some reason Kendou’s always seemed to be bigger. 

“No idea.” Monoma shrugged. “I don’t think I want to know until I’m older, we’re too young and I want to focus on graduating first.”

“He’s right.” Kendou twisted in her position on her bed. “Why? Do you want to know who yours is?”

“I want to know more than anything.” You sighed. Your head was laid across Shinsou’s lap on the floor. “We get along so well and I try to talk to him every day.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“He told me.” You laughed. “We tried really hard to narrow it down as much as possible.”

“It sounds like he wants to know you too.” Kendou said. She giggled. “I should ask my soulmate their gender.”

“What about you, Shinsou?”

“I barely write to mine.” He shrugged, making your head tilt a little. “I’m sure they understand.”

“I’m sure they do, they were made to be yours.” You looked up at him with a smile. “Of everyone, I thought you would write the most.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because most people are scared to talk to you in real life.”

He flicked your forehead. “You aren’t scared to talk to me.”

“I’m not scared to talk to anyone.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You sighed and closed your Soulmate Journal, the rain now casting a dark shadow across the entirety of the sky. Your face was flushed in red, hair disheveled and you were still in your hero uniform, dirty and kind of burnt. 

Katsuki Bakugou had not only interrupted your victory, but he had claimed it as his own. His desperation to be the number one hero hadn’t stopped. It’s been years, you’ve grown past his stupid desire and he simply… hasn’t.

You fought the villain yourself, using your quirk to it’s full capabilities and trapping them in a circle of air. You fought for over an hour by yourself, taking up the mission while out and witnessing it first hand. Your freshly bought coffee was long forgotten as you raced after the thief.

The second you landed the thief, the ball of air dissipating as you grew tired, Bakugou arrived in a fiery feat and handcuffed the villain. Of course, the main photos were of him with the handcuffs, standing proud as if he hadn’t stolen your fight. 

His argument was that he did help. Yeah, he did ‒ for three seconds.

Katsuki Bakugou was a piss stain upon himself, truly the worst of the worst who’s own personal interest outweighs anything else in his life. He will never be anything but second best because he never thinks of anyone but himself. 

If only he could read thoughts instead of turning his sweat to ignition. Then you wouldn’t have to put your harsh thoughts into tone.

Your Soulmate was one of two people you genuinely enjoyed talking to, he always seemed to be on the same page as you. The other is Shinsou, from your high school. He was the only one you really kept in contact with.

Sometimes you like to convince yourself that Shinsou is your soulmate, since he hasn’t found his either. But you compared the handwriting and it didn’t match at all. Shinsou’s handwriting was much smaller and neater than the man you would eventually call yours.

“This is so fucking stupid!” You screamed, your rage reaching its max.

You threw your journal across your bedroom, the storm masking the sound of it banging against the wall by your bed. You were pissed, you wanted nothing more than to see Bakugou’s downfall. It’s been years. You were over it.

You were over it all. You were over him, you were over not knowing your soulmate, you were over being alone in your stupid apartment. It all reached it’s apex. Maybe you needed a shower, or maybe you needed to move from your job.

Your fit was interrupted by a loud crash on the roof of your apartment building. You nearly jumped at the sound, the sound not even close to the crashes of thunder. 

You rushed to the roof, your hero senses kicking in more than your regular carefulness. Once you were outside, you were almost instantly drenched in the rain. Only a couple of yards ahead of you was a man crumbled to the ground; they must’ve hit the roof harder than you thought.

When they turned, clutching their side, you knew instantly who it was.

“Deku?” You rushed towards him. “I thought you were in Hirosaki for some serious villain.”

He moved to stand, much taller and broad than he was back in high school. Yet still with the fluffy green hair and bright eyes with hope always seemingly sewed in. 

“I was. I just… I need your help.”

“Why do you need my help?” You helped him stand fully, taking his hand from his side to check for an injury. He wasn’t bleeding. “Doesn’t Uraraka live around here?”

“I don’t… want to involve her in this.” He stood straight. His healing must’ve started. “I… this is something I need you for.”

“Okay…” You crossed your arms. “What do you need?”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Deku started, and you didn’t move. “But it’s Bakugou.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Aero, I know that you two…”

“No.”

“Please, I…”

“Deku, you know more than anyone how and who he is. Whatever it is, he can deal with it himself.” You started back towards the stairs. “I appreciate you coming to me, for whatever reason, but this is something that you have to find someone else for.”

“Don’t think of this as us doing something for him.” Deku rushed to stand in front of you. “Think of it as a favor for me. You owe me one.”

“Don’t do this now.” 

“I’m officially cashing in my favor.”

You sighed, “Fine. Can you at least tell me what we need to do for the asshole?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” He nearly jumped in joy. “But you cannot tell anyone. Not Shinsou, not the police, and not our boss. This is under the radar.”

“Oh, shit.” You followed him as you flew next to him. “What are you getting me into?”

tag list: @katsulovee @paradisebabey @seaofemptygold @zhaixiaowen @daylghits @haikyuusimp91 @darknessyournewfriend @samwise-though @liaxxx109

#anime #manga #tooruluv🍄post #bnha #bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #bakugou angst #bakugou soulmate au #bakugou headcannon #bakugou hcs #bakugou imagine #bakugou headcanon #bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha #mha x reader #mha x you #shinsou #shinsou x reader

[leviiattacks]

Lmao Levi being irritated because reader, his roomate, who he still hasn't confessed to yet, gets a cat.

The cat hates Levi but loves reader and reader loves the cat too and it's basically Levi vs the cat someone help

note :: very rushed and not proofread i only wrote for fun because once again i am bed ridden with sickness ha ha the perks of always being sick i suppose T__T

lord, does levi despise the way you act without thinking sometimes

he’s legitimately appalled at how you can manage to always do shit like this

even more appalled at how he lets you get away with it every time

now, what is the shit you have done this time?

brought a cat home a CAT

first things first, you are allergic to cats so he does not understand how that predicament will fix itself

secondly, cats shed EVERYWHERE

as much as he enjoys cleaning he is not going to clean that up every day

thirdly, cats will ruin furniture and claw at it

as well as the curtains!!!!

and levi loves the curtains in the living room because the both of you picked them out together

though it was a struggle to get you interested enough to pick a pair you liked.

maybe that’s why he’s looking at you irked by this all

you’re holding the kitten in your arms playing around with her

“peek... a... boo!”

playing fucking peek-a-boo with a cat? he questions himself in his head

“y/n. we are not keeping the cat.”

at this you innocently look up at him through your lashes

god, there you go again doing that

he doesn’t know if you’re aware of the impact you have on him when you do that

he’s good at holding his composure but that look ignites something in him

but he always has to push that something down his throat

“c’mon, you’d be the best roomie ever if you let me keep her!”

his eyes narrow at the word roomie

is that all he is to you?? a roomie???

you’re holding the cat up alongside your face and are fake pouting

“you. are. allergic. to. cats.” he punctuates every word clearly

“how do you know that?” you ask reasonably shocked he knows something that obscure and random about you

“you like talking about yourself when you’re drunk.”

a memory of him helping you throw up whilst he carefully holds your hair out of your face flashes past

if it were anyone else he wouldn’t have got anywhere near them if they were throwing up

but it was you,

it was always you.

“you rambled on and on and on about wanting a cat as a kid but not getting one because of your allergies.”

“so you would also know-” the cat tries to scratch your arm and you retract giggling

“that i really want a cat!”

“does that change your allergies? poof oh wow y/n you’re no longer allergic to shitty cats because you want one.”

you roll your eyes at his deadpan expression and pessimism

“if you knew anything about cats you would know this is a cornish rex” you now rebuttal

“a fucking what?”

“hypoallergenic cat breed! my allergies to cats are mild so it’s the perfect cat for me”

the crease between his eyebrow deepens.

“do you forget that we live in this apartment together?”

you scrunch your nose looking at your little buddy who has now settled in your lap “how could i forget that?”

he knows you see him as nothing more than a roommate

levi loves you he does but you don’t know that

but part of him thinks you do because you always give him that look when you want something

you’re doing it again.

the look.

“fuck. fine but if that thing coughs up a hair ball she’s out.”

“AAAHH THANK YOU I LOVE YOU LEVI!!!!” you’re ecstatic

his breath traps itself in his throat when he hears that

how can you carelessly say i love you??

you’re happily looking between him and the cat and hand her over to levi

“hold her you’re the dad”

“so you’re the...?” he asks

“i’m the...???” you’re clueless

he shakes his head waving it off

it takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking then your eyes widen

“ohhh the mum? yeah that would be me”

it’s so stupid, so stupid, so so so stupid he repeats it in his head the whole scenario is stupid

but it doesn't stop him from smiling like an idiot

in recent days you’ve given her the names diana, garfield and casper

sadly, none of then seem to stick because you’re too indecisive

it’s got to the point where you barge into levi’s room without asking

you’re in your pyjamas he looks at you confused as to why you’ve walked in with no permission at 2am

in a cucumber face mask...?

“name the cat please, name the cat i can’t stick to a name i’m going to rip my hair out“ you’re gripping at your hair groaning in frustration.

“edgar’

first suggestion, too ugly.

you shake your head

“candy“

second suggestion, no, just no.

you shake your head again in refusal

“zero?“

yeah, no.

another shake of the head

levi ponders and thinks hard “...angel?’

you blush, jump back and look more than startled

fumbling with your fingers awkwardly you edge closer towards the door

he just eyes you weirdly wondering what causes that reaction

well, you must like the name

“is it good enough?” he asks

you’re speechless not knowing what to actually say

“y/n...????”

you snap out of it

“isn’t that something you’d call a significant other not a cat?”

and for once in your life you actually seem kinda annoyed at him

“your cat is an angel in your eyes that’s the point” he’s explaining his point but you aren’t listening

you don’t know why levi saying that word makes your heart race

that’s why you’re annoyed right now

in fact it’s not that you’re annoyed. you’re scared that it triggers this response because this is levi.

levi, your roommate the same roommate who argues about pizza toppings with you. he’s nothing more than that.

but your cheeks continue to flush behind the cucumber face mask

“i’ll ask someone else what to name him just call him salad for now” without letting him get a word in you leave but somehow you forget the cat

salad turns to levi and gives him what can only be described as a menacing look.

“you happy you annoying shit? y/n’s annoyed because i can’t name you”

your cat jumps at him and tries to scratch at a piece of flesh but is held off easily

one cold look from levi and she stops.

“get out my room you pest.” he says as he places the cat on the floor

salad scurries away and levi rolls his eyes

he hates that cat he really does

a few hours pass levi is still up he’s always found it hard to sleep

it’s been a long day he’s just finished a thesis for his physics degree and stretches out contently

to say he’s tired is an understatement but his throat is dry and he needs to DESPERATELY hydrate

he gets to his feet and ventures into the kitchen to retrieve some water then he’ll knock out like a log and fall asleep.

the pitch of your snoring can be heard and he smiles to himself silently.

it’s all good, he’s sure you’re getting all the sleep you need.

“GRRRE”

there it is,

the little fucker, your cat is still up.

“what is it little shit?” levi asks leaned up against the surface of the counter.

salad is only staring at him blankly before turning to look over at the living room.

it’s dim the lights are switched off but levi feels something is feels off

“the hell did you do?” he asks

but salad shows no signs of breaking and revealing what it is she’s done

levi’s going to have to investigate

stepping towards the living room he flicks the lights open.

eyes survey the entire area everything looks good until he sees the way the drapes have been ripped apart

salad is picked up in one swoop she sees how levi is about to throw her out the front door and panics

meowing and struggling just in the nick of time she jumps before running away and slipping into the safety of your bedroom

groaning levi goes back to the living room to see if he’s missed anything.

well, god damn him.

scratches litter the leather furniture, it almost looks like a crossword.

salad has also conveniently taken a shit behind the sofa,

and to top it all off she’s left a dead mouse in the middle of the living room floor

levi. is. infuriated.

“you should thank her for catching the mouse”

you’re hurriedly eating some toast levi has made for you as you brush your hair out and gather it into a low ponytail

“look at the drapes y/n??” he’s exasperated and trying to make sense of your logic

“i didn’t like the drapes anyway we needed new ones.”

you aren’t taking this seriously at all and it’s getting on his nerves now

he runs a hand through his hair and glares at you “i told you taking the cat in was a bad idea”

your hair tie snaps and so do you

all the doubts from yesterday are eating you away. the question still lingers in your mind - how do you really feel about levi?

“do you have to have an opinion on everything i do? you’re my roommate not my boyfriend.”

it’s your fault for letting your anger and stress get the better of you. to be frank you have no clue why you’ve gone and said that.

if you’re honest with yourself you know he’s not a roommate. he’s not a friend either but at the same time he’s definitely not a boyfriend.

he’s more than a friend to you but you don’t think he sees you similarly.

oh how wrong you are

“roommate?”

levi’s question is filled with not an ounce of humour, the both of you know that.

oddly, he sounds displeased,

but you can’t take it back now.

and you hate backing down

“what?” you scoff

he shakes his head and makes his way to the front door not turning to look at you.

“get a grip on that cat otherwise i’m throwing it out”

SLAM!

you’ve done it, you’ve messed it up.

salad jumps up on the counter and licks your toast

maybe, he is right about the cat.

the rest of the week is incredibly busy you have an important economics presentation due today and you’ve done everything you need to prepare for it.

at least that’s what you think,

you’re stood in front of the class introducing yourself and everything seems to be going smoothly

price determination within the economic market might as well be advertised as a sleeping pill because you don’t know how you can get anyone interested enough to keep their eyes open.

but putting your best foot forward an attempt is still made.

“the buyers and sellers accept this price, and buy and sell accordin-”

you’re abruptly cut off by your professor who coughs and then proceeds to leer at you in disgust.

a few moments of silence pass and you can feel your heart hammer in your chest.

suddenly he points at the door,

he’s known for being harsh, strict and a stingy marker but it’s not as if you’ve shown up with nothing done...?

in fact this is the largest amount of effort you’ve put into your economics course since you’ve started it.

being in your usual seasonal slump has held you back but now you’re actually trying he’s saying it’s not good enough?

“your presentation. it’s awful. not enough effort put into it, leave for today.” his voice is rumbling and intimidating.

you’re stunned, you’ve worked tirelessly day and night to finish this off.

you’ve even had to cry over not knowing or understanding how to make pie charts.

interpreting data has never been your strong suit.

too embarrassed to ask for help you had to spend hours figuring out how to make it all work alongside your excel chart and spreadsheet

sighing heavily you speak up “professor i’ve spent a lot of time on this?”

“i looked through the slides. dog shit.” his response is fiery and you shudder at the boiling frustration he’s shooting right at you.

arguing in front of the lecture hall is not what you wish to do and you’re sure you aren’t going to be the only person sent out this way.

just retreat y/n 

you do.

the professor is clearly in a bad mood and taking it out on you, there’s nothing you can do about it.

wordlessly you gather your belongings and leave.

as you trudge back home the feeling of not being good enough sinks in your stomach like a heavy anchor at sea.

entering through the front door is a task and a half through your glossed over eyes but somehow you manage

you’ve kept salad in your room for most of the time after your argument and she seems to actually miss levi’s presence.

so when the first thing you see as soon as you enter is salad clawing at his bedroom door begging to be let in you aren’t surprised.

thankfully for you he’s yet to return from class and hasn’t been disturbed by the sounds.

at least that’s what you assume.

you look at salad and start sobbing

you wish you were a cat.

cats don’t get shit on for fucking up economics presentations that’s for sure.

shaking you try to hold yourself up against one of the walls

frankly, school stress is getting to you.

you tried hard on that presentation only for it to fail when it was worth a quarter of your grade.

A QUARTER...

TWENTY FIVE PERCENT...

salad nuzzles herself against your leg and you lean over to pick her up

she licks at your ear, it tickles and you laugh in between sobs

“you sure are good at comforting people huh?” you’re so worn out your laugh sounds half dead.

it’s all so pathetic. you standing in your living room wailing as you hold your pet cat like a baby.

but she doesn’t mind and let’s you cry to your hearts content.

“MEOW” salad loudly squeaks and you stroke her back but she only keeps at it “MEOWWWW.”

sensing that she’s bringing something to your attention you turn around

there stands levi awkwardly waving at you and you instinctually cover your face with your arm.

the smudged mascara is none of his business.

“wanna order pizza and talk about it?”

pursing your lips at the proposition you slowly lower your arm and scratch at the sleeve of your shirt.

"yeah, i’d love that.”

“KICKED YOU OUT THE LECTURE HALL?? YOU WORKED ON THAT FOR DAYS Y/N, DAYS??”

levi is beyond pissed he hasn’t even touched the second slice of his pizza after hearing how your presentation played out.

“it’s okay, it was probably going to go bad i can’t do anything right.”

levi’s silver eyes fog up in annoyance and you shut yourself up.

“you are the most able person i have met.”

head rocking up in surprise the confession is news to you.

“really?“

“you’re great at making pad thai, somehow you convinced me to keep that cat, i remember that other time you convinced a first year to bungee jump off a building for last years charity fundraiser.”

it truly is endearing how he doesn’t call you smart or witty or hard-working. none of that basic nonsense you’ve heard time and time again from everyone else.

the fact he’s naming the most random things makes your heart swell.

you burst into laughter remembering the first year’s quivering form and you wonder why levi even remembers that.

“if salad bothers you that much i could find a friend to look after her.”

levi looks at you like he’s just come face to face with a ghost.

“no? i like her, she might frustrate me and get in the way when i want to-” he stops himself fumbling over his sentence.

“when you want to?“ you’re leaning in closer intrigued what the rest of the sentence is.

shock flashes over his face but the next second it disappears.

taking a gulp of his water seemingly in preparation he looks you right in the eye.

“when i want to kiss you.”

and that’s all it takes for you to tug him by the shirt and slam his lips against yours, you giggle into the kiss as you situate yourself in his lap. hands ghosting over your hips he’s disoriented not sure where to place his palms but you don’t care. you’ve been waiting for this and despite his sloppy response the fact you’re finally doing what you’ve been fearing the most these past few weeks is only filling you with adrenaline.

“settle down.” he’s panting heavy and ragged. “i was meant to initiate it and look cool what the fuck??” he’s not mad, he’s just playing with you but that doesn’t stop you from getting into the role.

“and if i don’t settle?” you mischievously ask, levi’s hands are cupping your jaw he pushes your hair out of your face and simply gazes in awe.

he makes you feel so beautiful, it’s unreal.

“meow...” salad’s dissatisfied whining can be heard and then out of nowhere in one fluid motion she jumps onto levi’s chest.

“salad if you don’t mind i’m trying to make out with your dad.” you explain with a frown.

she doesn’t budge and instead a trickling sound can be heard, then a foul smell floats into the room and levi screams.

“Y/N THE LITTLE SHIT IS PEEING ON ME???”

#levi #levi ackerman #aot #snk #levi x reader #levi x y/n #attack on titan #levi fluff #leviiattacks #modern levi #college levi #levi scenario #levi headcanons #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #attack on titan levi #attack on titan x reader

[troquantary]

Twilight Reread, Part One: Guys, It’s Literally Just Chapter One, I’m Fucked

I’ve officially started, as in it’s been a single chapter and I already have too many thoughts. I’m not going to do this kind of detailed mind dump for every chapter, but the early ones obviously establish a lot of things about Bella, and reevaluating her character is the whole point of this exercise for me. Chapter One in particular is a fucking gold mine, so this is a good place to pause and take stock.

Actually, it turned out to be such a gold mine that I’m splitting this up -- in this post, I wrote about Bella and Charlie’s relationship and discuss the defensive attitude Bella has about him and Forks at the start. I’m going to save my thoughts on Bella’s bizarre, almost pathological pessimism and her disinterest in human connection in a separate one. (All I’ll say now is that, by the end of this chapter, I was deeply confused as to what Bella expected/wanted from her peers, because her behavior and narration were all over the damn place.)

...I need to start giving myself a word limit. Too much mental energy expended below the cut~

1. Bella and Charlie (and Forks)

Okay, first of all, goddamn. I seriously misremembered how hard Bella comes down on Forks and, by extension, Charlie. As someone with, uh, very bitterly divorced parents, I’ve got to say her attitude has Renee’s fingerprints all over it; Renee hated Forks, and she’s clearly instilled the same distaste for the place -- and for her father, who remains there -- in Bella. I’m not necessarily saying that Renee did this maliciously, but it paints a sadly familiar picture of one divorced parent poisoning their child against the other.

Just look at Bella’s description of her parents’ divorce, which is incredibly biased in Renee’s favor. Out-of-universe, Meyer’s provided some context for the split. Taking it at face value, it looks like a shitty situation all around, but Charlie doesn’t appear to have done anything wrong. Bella, however, describes it like this: “It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I’d been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen.”

She says this like Forks is a prison and Charlie was Renee’s jailer or something, rather than a young man struggling to maintain his marriage to his increasingly unhappy wife, provide for her and his daughter, and take care of his dying parents. Now, to be fair, Bella’s directing her vitriol toward the town in this section, not Charlie directly. Reading between the lines, though, it seems fairly clear that the two are linked in Bella’s mind -- she never mentions being glad to visit Charlie, and in fact when she “put her foot down” about the arrangement at age fourteen, the result was cutting that already scant time in half. She’s seen her dad for a total of six weeks over the last three years, and she mentions no desire to know him better or grow closer.

Obviously, Bella does warm up to Charlie later, but her expectations going in are extremely low. And yeah, I’m blaming this on Renee, too. Bella has always felt like a burden on her mother; Renee can’t even offer to be there for Bella if she needs to come home without a sense of “sacrifice.” Bella’s pretty clearly expecting Charlie to see her the same way, and therefore her attitude, while not charitable, seems to be mostly self-protective; she’s bracing herself for rejection. She’s actually surprised that her own father has “really been fairly nice” and “seem[s] genuinely pleased” that she’s coming to live with him permanently. Which...woof.

For his part, Charlie’s behavior in this chapter really indicates that he wants to connect with Bella, and for her to enjoy her time with him. It’s honestly kind of heartbreaking. For all that Bella essentially sees him as a stranger, he’s more familiar with her -- he catches her “automatically” when she trips, hugs her, and calls her “Bells.” I think if Charlie were truly as disconnected from Bella as Bella sees him, this scene would go differently (Bella trips, but Charlie’s surprised by it and doesn’t catch her, and has to help her up out of a puddle. Or he calls her “Izzy” or some nickname she hates.) As it is, although Bella doesn’t see it, we have ample hints that they’re going to click.

That’s not to say they’re in sync immediately, though -- Bella chafes when she thinks Charlie’s talking down to her in the car.

2. Shut Up, You’re Not My Real Dad! (unironically kind of a banger?)

The conversation about the truck quickly becomes a kind of power struggle. Bella’s dynamic with Renee, the reversed parent/child roles, is well established by this point in her life (which, as a side note, made it surprising to me that Bella refers to Renee as “my mom” or “my mother” throughout this first chapter even in her narration -- I expected the first-name treatment for both parents).

Renee’s all too happy to let Bella manage everything and be the adult. Charlie, though, sees Bella as his kid and knows she wants her own car, so he’s found and bought one for her. His intentions are great, and very generous -- but Bella, who’s already planned to buy the car herself, feels patronized and bristles. She’s immediately “suspicious” and starts grilling him about the make and age of the truck, and she’s offended when he tries to sidestep her questions: “I hoped he didn’t think so little of me as to believe I’d give up that easily.”

I don’t think it’s wrong or ungrateful of her to feel and react this way -- this is just a pretty natural point of disconnect between her and Charlie, and it makes a lot of sense for Bella as a character. She’s used to being in control of household and financial matters, and from her perspective, it looks like Charlie’s butting in with no consideration for her knowledge, budget, or requirements. Of course she’s resistant.

She softens, though, when Charlie reveals he’s bought it for her -- surprised out of her defensiveness, she now has to grapple with the unfamiliar feeling of being provided for, and welcomed, when she was expecting to fend for herself as usual. And then it turns out she loves the truck, so this ends up being a big win for Charlie -- although not so big that Bella drops her emotional guard.

Beyond the first chapter, Bella continues to try to establish her “adulthood” by instantly claiming the household as her domain. On her second day in town, she takes stock of Charlie’s fridge and pantry, then helps herself to the petty cash and hits the grocery store. There’s no indication that she’s discussed this with Charlie -- she’s just decided that food is her job now like it was in Phoenix. [Edit: I was wrong about this -- she does talk to Charlie and ask to take over food-related stuff in Chapter 2. My bad, sorry Bella.] She takes over cooking, too, although Charlie hasn’t asked and doesn’t appear to expect her to do that. I’ve seen some posts criticizing Charlie for not cooking himself or whatever, but I’d argue that this is something Bella would insist on doing -- she’d probably also be offended that he doubts her capability, because this is an area where she feels very confident. She’d point out that she’s not some kid with no idea how to run the washing machine, and that she handled all this and more at Renee’s just fine, thank you.

I figure that Charlie, in the same manner that he didn’t stop Renee from leaving, doesn’t stop Bella from any of this because he wants her to be happy. Sure, it’s kind of weird for a teenager to want to do chores, but if it makes Bella feel more comfortable, or more like this is her home...of course he’s not going to interfere. Maybe this is too passive on his part, but they’re still figuring each other out.

I think this continuing point of tension -- Charlie trying to be a parent to Bella, and Bella resisting it because it feels belittling to be shoved back into the “child” box after she’s already shouldered so much responsibility for Renee -- will be very important to understanding some of Bella’s actions later on. Considering the level of dislike I had for Bella before going into this, I’ve got to harp on these points for my own sake, to keep myself honest and less reactive.

---

And that’s it for this installment. I have no planned structure for this, by the way (shocker), so I’ll probably just write about whatever catches my attention with respect to Bella’s character. I’m just trying to look at what’s actually on the page and incorporate out-of-universe information as sparingly as possible. Since the series is written from a first-person perspective and these are supposed to be Bella’s actual thoughts, I’m going to be picking apart her choice of words quite a bit -- just based on the first chapter alone, those choices are often very telling.

#twilight reread: i've made a huge mistake #twilight renaissance #bella swan #charlie swan #renee dwyer #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #i took an absurd amount of notes in the margins #but at least it kept my petty commentary contained #long post

[melrosing]

I'm 99% sure JB are going to end up tragically (GRRM said he loves tragic love stories so I don't trust him.) My hope is that the relationship doesn't die, even if Jaime does, and Brienne knows he loved her. But I have a feeling that death might not be the worst thing to happen. For all we know, it might end up in betrayal and rejection and pain and I can't go through that again. Most heroine/villain ships are written like that, as cautionary tales about how naive the heroine was for trusting the villain and doesn't she know that he can't change, that he's only evil and will definitely disappoint her. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure if that happens, it won't be like the show and GRRM will write it well, and it'll be fleshed out and maybe even enjoyable to read. The only thing I won't forgive is if Jaime ends up being a corrupting influence on Brienne. That's how some heroine/villain ships are written too.

Yeah, I also tend to think they’ll end tragically, but D&D’s definition of tragic is… so different to GRRM’s. Like with D&D, their idea of tragedy is all based around the hopelessness and despair of the Red Wedding – that was the thing they were looking forward to writing, and it’s that horrified audience reaction they’ve been trying to win back ever since. Audience hurt is a measure of brave and disruptive writing in their view, and along with utter fucking carelessness, JB’s story fell victim to that.

Meanwhile, I remember this from an interview with GRRM:

One particular letter, sent by a waitress, remains fresh in his memory. “She wrote to me: ‘I work hard all day, I’m divorced, I have a couple of children. My life is very hard, and my one pleasure is I come home and I read fantasy, and I escape to other worlds. Then I read [the Red Wedding], and God, it was f–king horrifying. I don’t read for this. This is a nightmare. Why would you do this to me?'” the author recalled.

Martin wrote her back, “And basically said, ‘I’m sorry, I do understand where you’re coming from.'” (X)

I think GRRM has enjoyed some of the appalled reactions his biggest twists have earned – which is fair, and I do believe that the Red Wedding is a justified (if upsetting) twist. But his memory of this letter goes to show that he’s well aware people don’t read just to be upset: tragedy has to mean something, you can’t just deal out hurt and call it a story.

If Brienne, after a lifetime of rejection, is dealt a final blow by the man she truly loves, the man who truly knew her – what meaning is there? Because that’s the end of her story, it’s not some halfway point. I could go into how senselessly hurtful the rejection narrative is for Jaime’s story as well, but I think it’s always Brienne’s that gets neglected when we talk about this. Because it’s downright miserable ending if you’re Brienne, isn’t it? It’s downright miserable to read if you give a single shit about her, right?

And can anyone tell me why GRRM would even write such a thing? What he’d even be trying to say about people like Brienne with an ending like that? That people like her just don’t understand the way the world is and can’t know love? Something tells me that’s not what was on my dude’s mind when he wrote JB as his own personal BatB. He believes in tragedy, not pessimism.

In JB’s case, I can see their tragedy being Jaime’s choice between love and duty (that theme we keep seeing in ASOIAF) – maybe Jaime could live the rest of his life with Brienne, but he needs to save his children, or stop Cersei, or otherwise do his duty as LC of the Kingsguard. If his story starts with him choosing love (Cersei) over duty (to protect the innocent, i.e. Bran), perhaps his ending sees him having to abandon love for duty. That’s a tragedy, but a classic ‘human heart in conflict with itself’ that leaves Brienne’s narrative perfectly intact. The show, meanwhile, seems to get it the wrong way round.

As for whether Jaime would ever ‘corrupt’ Brienne, I really don’t think that’s on the cards. He’s not a classic villain in that he doesn’t represent some force for evil, and he’s never tried to recruit Brienne to his ‘side’, instead he’s shifted over hers. Plus her morals are steadfast as ever for having known him, he’s actually reinforced her belief in many of them. I imagine Brienne will enter greyer areas in the final books, but that will be more to do with her own arc of learning the complexity of the world, and perhaps discovering the things she’d do for love idk.

Anyway perhaps this sounds myopic but I genuinely don't even worry that book JB will end as the show did. Their ending in GOT made a lot of people feel deeply unhappy, but A) that was basically their sole intention and B) they really didn't give a fuck about these characters, it's not worth reading into it.

#ask #asoiaf #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #jaime x brienne

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Hi! How are you doing? ^^ ☆

Just wanted to know if you could make a headcanon about how would it be like after an argument with Armin? Please

Tysm for reading me, I love your work ♡♡♡

You're so sweet and nice ♡ of course I'd love to do one and tbh we must be on the same wavelength because i was just thinking about that yesterday!!!

I really liked your idea so imma do both a scenario and a headcanon! Hope you don't mind?

After an argument with Armin

{ Armin x reader | tw: hurt/comfort, self-image issues | angst with happy ending | modern }

{ "Moonlit View" byOscar Kleineh 1846 - 1919 }

Being with Armin had its many, many perks, one being that he's really empathetic and understanding, he doesn't assume things without evidence and knows misunderstandings happen.

When facing problems or disagreements, he thinks of a solution, not argue. He rather you work together against the problem than against each other.

Whenever you were in a bad mood he'd assume the best and think of what might have caused it instead of taking it personally, he knows you still love him, he knows you're just stressed. Maybe comfort could help? Maybe a lovely cuddly evening? Or maybe you need some space?

He's just really good at reading people's emotions and handling these situations, thanks to his efforts you both successfully managed to avoid any kind of arguments or fights most couples go through.

Which is why it was a shocking surprise to everyone when Eren got a call from Armin late at night, asking if he can stay over because you two just had, what he described as, the biggest fight.

Eren almost didn't believe him at first, he thought Armin was playing a prank on him. But then he heard the quivering in his voice and the hiccup that followed. Armin was crying, things were serious.

The last thing he said to you while putting his coat on was "I'm sorry, I'm weak, you and I know that."

Him saying that, in that tone, with those tearful eyes, made you want to get up and yell at him that no he isn't. He shouldn't just say that about himself like it's a fact and not just the results of years of self-doubt.

You wanted to hug him, to pull him closer till all those awful thoughts leave his head, till he sees at himself like how you see him, incredibly brave and determined.

But you didn't, you stayed there on the couch as he put his shoes on. His eyes pleading for you to say something, anything. To tell him to stay, to come sit near you. He even looked at you one last time before opening the door.

As you stared at him in silence, the realisation that you don't even remember what you were fighting about hit you, you can't, how could you? The minute the door closed behind him is when you realised how real the situation is.

How quiet the house is.

Has it always been this cold?

And just how much worried you are about him.

It hasn't been a full minute and you're missing him already.

—

It's 4am

It's hours since he left, how much exactly? You can't even remember.

Still haven't moved from the couch, you're not sure what you're feeling, you've been going through different emotions each hour.

Guilt, sadness, regret, anger, denial, pessimism, you name it.

It doesn't matter, none of that really matters to you right now. It's Armin who you've been worried about for a while that matter.

You know for a fact Eren and Mikasa aren't the most emotionally open people, you know Armin is already struggling with letting out his emotions without feeling needless guilt or shame.

You know he needs someone right now, he needs a shoulder to cry on and a reassuring voice. You've been both these things for him since even before you got together.

Just like he has been these things for you too. You need that someone just as much now. You didn't even know it's possible to feel this lonely.

Is he also thinking about you? Is he sleeping soundly on Eren’s couch? Or is that one stain from last week's party bothering him?

...is he just as miserable as you are right now? Probably not, you think. He's far stronger than he gives himself credit for, you know that better than everyone else.

Your thought process gets interrupted by a buzz from your phone, a text. Your eyes light up, you pull the blanket you dragged from the bed tighter around you, it's Armin.

[ hey ] it said, [is it okay if i call you?]

You reply back, he starts typing again, you stare at those three dots like your life depends on them.

[Okay, give me a minute please ]

You pull the phone closer to you, it's brightness contratsing against the dark living room. Some minutes pass...nothing, you feel your heartbeat rising. Phone still clutched in your hands.

It rings, it doesn't get past the second ring before you've pressed the accept button. You can hear the wind on the other side, alongside the distant sound of passing cars. Your heart only slows down after hearing the fimilar and oh so lovely sound of soft breathing

Suddenly the world doesnt seem so dim anymore.

"Sorry, it took more time than i thought, Eren keeps his keys in really weird places...I hope i didn't make you worry"

Oh If only he knew..

Dozens of possible replies run through your mind.

I missed you, did you miss me too?

Please come back, I hate feeling this lonely.

How does it feel to take my heart and run away?

Was your voice always this captivating or am i just high on sleep-deprevation?

I miss your kisses, i wish i could feel your lips against mine. Could you kiss me through the phone?

...in the end, you settle for "It's okay" you say, "It's alright."

"That's good...hey listen." You listen, "I'm not going to skirt around the subject, i called because" he takes a deep breath, "i want to apologise for how i acted, for what i said, both to you and myself."

Hearing him admit to his faults and own up to his mistakes, fills you with courage to do the same. You apologise, you mention how you've been thinking about him, you leave out the embarrassing parts.

You tell him you love him, and miss him.

You're met with silence. So you call out his name.

"Wait..you're not mad at me?" He says.

What? Mad? You?

"No." You say. "Why would you think that?"

You hear a chuckle that evolves into a laugh, it's contagious.

"Fuck...oh god I'm...im so stupid, i left because I thought you were mad and didn't bother you more by making you look at me." Even he seems to realise just how ridiculous that concept is.

It's 5am now, you're both laughing over the phone. The world is good again.

You ask if he's mad at you.

He instantly replies with a no.

"I could never be mad at you..." he says, "I love you so much it hurts. I love you like I've never loved anyone else before that it terrfies me, I'm scared one day I'll wake up and you won't be beside me anymore, you've made me love myself in ways i never though i would, you made me believe in myself because you believed in me."

{ Headcanons }

After an argument, Armin tries giving both of you space to calm down.

It doesn't last long because he will approach you after and talk about his emotions and explains why he did the things he did. He will also apologise for the things he did wrong like yelling or saying something hurtful.

If you give him the okay, he will instantly hug you. Physical touch is a great comfort for him so don't expect him letting you go anytime soon.

He will hold your face gently, tell you how much he missed you despite it being only hours.

Doesn't even care about the argument anymore or attempt to bring it up, he just wants to make up asap.

You're both gonna have a heartfelt conversation and actually process your emotions together. As a result you two come out stronger and closer after each argument.

He doesn't hold grudges, so he won't ever act passive aggressive after an argument. if he's got a problem he will tell you.

Just 100% honestly and transparency with this golden boy.

Will want to spend more time together post argument, he will really love it if you watch something together or you let him read you something.

Give him love and affaction, he loves you deeply it's actually rare these days.

When you go to sleep on those nights, he will hold you tighter and stroke your back.

He doesn't hold grudges yet he still remembers each fight you had and instead of it being a sour memory, he thinks of it as a learning block. Just a step towards understanding each other more.

Pamper him more after an argument and he will feel so loved, hearts in his eyes as you brush his morning hair.

#okay tell me why the fuck did I actually cry while writing this? #fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck #i feel so bad :"( i feel so sad #armin baby #im sorry #so so sorry #this took a lot of hours ngl #im proud of it #halfway through tumblr crashed and my progress was lost #armin arlet x reader #armin x reader #armin x y/n #armin headcanons #armin arlert #armin reader #armin scenario #Armin🕯 #angst with happy ending #angst with comfort #emotional tbh #snk #aot #aot x y/n

[brekkerism]

BASIC INSTINCT (Part 1 - A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: (Y/N) has recently joined the bau through non conventional and rather privileged means. Couple that with a dark and troubled past, all she really wants is a fresh start. What she didn’t predict getting in her way of that, was one Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid. She thinks it’s hopeless and he’ll hate her forever. That is, until she sees Dr Reid on a rather...unusual place.

A/n: I kinda can’t believe this is my first Spencer Reid/Criminal minds fic. I’ve been obsessed for so long but I never got the courage to post anything. Well, we’ll see how this one goes. I really do hope all of you enjoy this, since I’m planning to make it multi chapters and I’m too in love to abandon it! Forgive me for not giving y’all the smut right away but good things come to those who are patient! And also huge thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for being such a wonderful human and helping me beta this first one. Shout out to all the lovely people in the discord for encouraging me enough to write this. And also for my sweet liv, bc if she didn’t like this I would def not have posted.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word count: 2320

Rating: R-no actual hard smut. For now.

Content warning: 12+ years age gap, description of bdsm scenes and play, swear words, brief fingering

*********

Since the first day I stepped in the bau, I knew Dr.Spencer Reid would not like me one bit.

Call it a gut feeling, a hunch, or maybe my justified pessimism.

 I knew the moment my dad told me, fresh out of the academy and not even slightly experienced at 24 years old, that I ‘mysteriously’ got a generous offer for a job with one of the best teams the FBI had to offer, that I wasn’t going to be liked by a lot of people. Because it wasn’t a mystery how I got the position. It was actually really plain and simple, and could be boiled down to one word:

Nepotism

I didn’t ask for it; I didn’t want it (no matter how much I actually wanted the position, but by my earning it on my own merits), but I completely understood something like this was likely to happen. I knew it the moment I moved back home and decided that the only thing worthwhile I really wanted to do was join the FBI. My dad was a good guy who was just trying to help me, his intentions were just a little misguided. It happens.

What doesn’t ‘just’ happen is that my dad is the deputy director of the FBI. His helping me was ‘making calls’ and ‘pulling strings’, which instantly gives my peers every reason to doubt every achievement I have.

But I was completely ready for it.  

What I wasn’t ready for is for everyone on the team to be normal and so welcoming to me, like I was any other agent. It was everything I wanted.

Well, everyone did that except him. I couldn’t figure it out why, but from the first minute he turned those eyes towards me, looking me up and down but never quite reaching my eyes, I could feel the scrutiny under the stare. Almost like he was saying “Really? This is it?”.

But with a blink it was gone, and he turned away from me and put his attention to the book in his hand so fast I almost thought I imagined the whole thing.

But I knew, I knew I saw it. And I knew that even if I didn’t want it, my body and brain would spend days trying to make him acknowledge me again, to look me up and down again, to try and prove to him what I’ve been trying to prove to everyone:

I deserved to be there. I could earn it by myself. I just need the chance to do it.

And so, my journey to try to not only be useful but a valuable agent, someone he would have to notice began.

 And it was shit.

Everyone was so willing not only to teach me, but to listen to my input.

Luke always had my back, both of us being the newbies in the team. JJ and Tara were always open to listening to theories, doubts and rambling, besides being totally badass inspirations. Penelope always had a eager and friendly attitude that could comfort me immediately, and she welcomed me with open arms. Emily and Rossi were patient, while also pushing me to be so much better, and being the best mentors they could be.

None of them even seemed to have even a passing thought of giving me special treatment or harsher judgment. It was almost perfect.

If it wasn’t for Special Fucking Agent Doctor Reid. He wouldn’t even be an asshole towards me, oh no, It was much, much worse. He ignored me.

He was almost happy to pretend I didn’t even exist. Of course there were situations that he couldn’t avoid socializing, as minimal as it was, but it was like he was talking to a wall. He looked at me like he was surprised that I was even there. He wouldn’t acknowledge me unless he was made to. He wouldn’t even correct me when I was wrong. At this point I was sure that I could be screaming bloody murder at him and he wouldn’t take his eyes off whatever he was doing.

It was the most frustrating and irritating thing that has ever happened to me. It made my blood boil over. It made me cry with sorrow.

And I couldn’t even figure out why. I didn’t know what it was that made me crazy because Spencer Reid wouldn’t look my way.

So I did what every angry and frustrated normal young adult does.

I went to a sex dungeon to drink my mixed feelings away and watch BDSM scenes. Duh.

Even though I wasn’t going there to play, and I thought I would never be able to play again, it was still a safe place for me. A place where I could see people that once knew the real me and provided a place free of any judgement. People who didn’t know who I was outside of those walls, who thought of me as just another person in that safe and different little world.

It also helped that watching, as much as it wasn’t my preference before, was the only thing that could properly get me off these days. And after everything, I thought I still deserved the ability to enjoy some parts of it.

And so, after saying my goodbyes to Pen, JJ amd Emily, and finding flimsy excuses not to join them at the bar for Friday drinks, I hopped the elevator, wondering how long would it take me to get properly dressed and drive across town, and if I was going to be able to call more of my old friends.

But all my happy thoughts of getting to immerse myself on a world I still loved were immediately clouded when a hand stopped the elevator and went in with me. His hand.

Great, just the perfect ending to an shitty day. A awkward elevator ride with Spencer Reid. And as always, he didn’t bother to acknowledge me, even though it was just the two of us riding down.

I was trying so hard to be in a good mood; to ignore the shitty end to a shittier case and go somewhere where I could try to be happy. But I just had to be met with his silence, his awkwardness, his existence in general. I didn’t want to feel like that today. So before I could stop myself, I did something stupid

 “So, what are your plans for the weekend, Doctor?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Like he would voluntarily participate in small talk with me, something he already didn’t like, with someone he didn’t even bother to not like.

 “I think I’m going to go to a party with a friend today.”

Now that took me by surprise. No short replies? No one syllable answers? He actually told me something out of his own free will? He engaged in small talk?!

 “O-oh? I didn’t know you were one for partying... like, at all. Which friend are you going with? Do I know him?”

Talk to me. Keep engaging in small talk, please.

 “You don’t really know me well enough to judge if I am one for partying or not, now, do you? And you definitely wouldn’t know her. I don’t only hang out with people on our team, contrary to popular belief.”

Well that was extremely uncalled for. And rude. I thought that it was the first time he ever referred to me as part of the team, but that was an small detail to analyze later.

 “No need to be defensive or rude, I was just asking.”

 “Well, don’t.”

He was back to having that stupid blank expression on his face, back to not dignifying me with a proper answer, and that just wouldn’t do, would it?

I had a response. I had an excellent, spectacular comeback to use, but before I could actually defend myself in any way, the elevator dinged open. He couldn’t get out fast enough.

It was infuriating. So I did the only reasonable thing:

I followed him to his car to give him a piece of my mind.

Because of those immensely long legs, he almost got there quick enough to drive away and avoid me, but I would not let my stubby short legs get in the way.

I got my hand in before he could close his door, much like he did with the elevator. He still refused to look up at me but, the cheer disbelief and confusion on his face was enough of a response. Can’t ignore me now, asshole.

“You know, the only reason I don’t know anything about you, is because you pretend like I don’t exist. So don’t be needlessly rude to me. It’s better to keep not saying anything at all.”

And there it was. It was just tip of the iceberg, but at least I acknowledged it. I could actually feel a smirk forming on my face.

“Remove your hand please.”

And he finally looked up at me. All the disbelief and annoyance on his face were gone, replaced by that utterly bored and blank stare.

I actually wanted to scream. How was this the same guy that couldn’t stop talking and rambling enthusiastically about any and everything to anyone, the same person who had a perfect smile and warmth on his eyes for everyone else. How.

It was too frustrating. So I stepped back, removing my hand from his car door and walking towards my own car. It was better to just let it end already so I can wallow in my humiliation over this failed attempt at confrontation.

It almost put me in a bad enough mood that I didn’t want to go to the ‘club,’ but I had already promised Amara, who was not only one of my best friends but also happened to be dating that particular BDSM dungeon’s Mistress. There was no getting out even if I wanted to.

 And I didn’t really want to.

 ****

 A hour and dress change later, I was ready to go. This was absolutely nothing like the old outfits I used to wear for this events, but then again, I wasn’t the same girl. Not entirely.

So I opted for a silky black dress with a cowl neck and the best heels I had. It was sexy enough for a night of normal clubbing, but rather tame for a night at a dungeon. It was exactly what I wanted. It was less likely in that type of dungeon for anybody to approach or proposition me if I didn’t look experienced and in my element.

Even if I secretly was.

So I got ready, took my time to properly breathe, and left everything that wasn’t this night or positive thoughts behind the locked door of the apartment. I could come back to them later.

Right now, I was going to be happy and have fun.

 *****

I was not having fun anymore. It was unfortunate, and I felt like somehow that this had to be the bad mood I was in from a particular encounter earlier. I just couldn’t find anything that excited me the way I wanted it to. I had made the rounds with Amara, and she had showed me all of the new rooms and new toys before every space got occupied with busy couples and groups.

It was beyond fun exploring before the spaces were being actually used, and imagining what each person would get out of those rooms. It was a pleasant and happy feeling.

But soon enough the dungeon got filled with more and more people, and each room was occupied and used. Most were open for all that wanted to watch, but each scene I passed failed to get my attention. It was especially more daunting and lonely when Amara left to put on a show with her girlfriend in the main room.

And as pretty and wonderful as they looked, I just didn’t feel like watching a couple as in love as Amara and Celeste performing tonight. It was just... a little too much for me. After everything, most loving was.

No, what I was looking for was not that. I was looking for the thing I used to crave. The thing that used to keep me going at all times of the day.

I was looking for fucking. Not couples making love, not couples having sex, not pet play, not elaborate scenes or people using toys so strange and complicated I couldn’t make out what was what.

I was looking for someone completely fucking dominating their partner.

It shouldn’t be impossible to find. Not on a Friday night, and not in a club this good.

And I did. I finally found it.

The dom had his back to the audience and the door with the little window I was watching through. He was turned toward his sub standing on the side while she spread her legs on the bed, her hands tied up to the headboard, showing her pussy to the audience along the wall. It was the perfect scene for me. In fact, too perfect.

She even looked a little like me, in fact. Same build, similar hair. It got me even more excited to watch this through. I took a deep breath and finally opened the door. Stepping in, I leaned against the door, having a direct view to the bed.

And god did I want to watch.

The dom still had his back to us,but I wasn’t watching him. Rather, I watched the girl’s cunt and how he was fingering it, not saying anything for her or us yet.

He has really nice hands.

Really, really nice. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen such nice hands since –

Not the time!

The girls face looked rather blissful, and I imagined three of those pretty and long fingers should be doing just the trick for her.

But then she did something that displeased him.

She moaned. Loudly.

The sound was immediately followed by a sharp slap in her face.

Fuck, that made me wet.

But before I could even entertain the idea of getting my hands inside my panties, the dom spoke.

He spoke in a voice I almost never heard directed towards me, but could pick out in any crowd.

He spoke in the voice of the man that made me so mad I almost didn’t come to the club in the first place.

“Are my fingers inside you too much? Cause I’ll fucking stop if you can’t obey and stay quiet.”

 And I froze. I froze and panicked and had to stop myself from screaming by bringing a hand up to my  mouth.

 Because that was Spencer Reid, in a BDSM dungeon, dominating a girl right in front of me.

Taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @gretaamyk @prettyricky187 @sunlight-moonrise @fanficlibrary82 @blazinvixen @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @httpnxtt @reidetic @hyper-fxation @blushingspencer @reidlusts @wishingwellwriting @redbullchick

I feel like I missed a lot of peeps but please know I’m still thankful ma loves

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #smut #smut fic #smut fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #dr spencer reid #basic instinct

[lunarblazes]

i made a desertduo playlist and then decided to be a nerd and write explanations for all the songs! like a nerd!

playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ZGylutQpyTbgX7MY7Lrzz?si=t8_kBwBHSYG5kxTvZoIrTQ&dl_branch=1

QUICK DISCLAIMER: i am aware that a lot of these songs may have or imply romantic connotation! i would really really like it if these were not read as though those romantic connotations carry over to scar and grian. even if we’re just talking about the third life characters, i would prefer not to ship them or imply romance between them on this post. thank you so much and keep reading if you’d like to see the playlist analysis!

and now that that’s out of the way, PLAYLIST TIME!

•

passerine- the oh hellos

“you were the song that i’d always sing/you were the light that the fire would bring/but i can’t shake this feeling that i/was only pushing the spear into your side again”

this song really just... firstly, it’s one of my favorite songs, and the line i chose there pushes home the sort of terrified devotion i think the desert has. plus there’s a fun line about the cold wind blowing in from the north in the ending bits that i think very much fits their conflict with the red army, and a lot of legally obligated flight imagery that i need to have in every possible song because i’m a fuckin nerd.

•

no children- the mountain goats

“i hope that our few remaining friends/give up on trying to save us/i hope we come up with a failsafe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us”

i will admit that no children isn’t a perfect fit, but the general vibe of sort of defiant pessimism and betrayal fits very well with them! it’s very triumphant in its death, and i think that is very desertcore, because what’s more triumphantly dead than being the last duo left alive?

•

skulls- bastille

“when all of our friends are dead and just a memory/it’s always been just you and me/for all to see”

okay like this entire song is SO MUCH DESERT VIBES? LIKE SO MUCH. if i were to ever make an animatic for them i’d do it with this song. “a match is our only light, it’s day of the dead i’m indiana jones, yeah,” “i hope you can make me laugh six feet under when we’re bored of each other,” “i don’t want to rest in peace, i’d rather be the ghost that annoys you,” IT JUST KEEPS GOING. i think this song would work well with any third life duo, honestly, but these two in PARTICULAR just because of how it ended with them literally ‘buried’ next to each other, and again, the chaotic death vibes.

•

freaking out- mystery skulls

“i just keep out of my tongue/til all you want is done/and you just wanna leave me, oh yeah”

this song is a very third life grian song to me in particular! it could be my bias because of my little headcanon of grian burning on his red life, but seriously, this song is very reminiscent of the back and forth of loyalty that grian has with scar. the above line is sort of representative of the betrayal on red, and of course grian’s life debt.

•

night running- shin sakiura

(this song is in japanese! these lyrics are the rough english translation i found on google.) “someday we will stand at this place once again/for sure we will stand up again and again/we will watch it will the end/i want you to live freely”

this song is actually the ending theme for the anime bna, which i adore, and i just added it on a whim before looking at the translated lyrics. but um. holy hell the lyrics hurt me because they’re about running in search of someone, running for no reason, looking for something, and it just really hit, because the desert never really had a goal! they didn’t expect to survive, they were trying to survive, but what was their longterm goals? nothing. so that sort of endless search felt fitting for this. plus the song is a parallel for the two estranged best friends of the show so! perfect.

•

summer nights- siames

“it’s summertime/singing al green in your car/heading to a party/and the night air feels alive”

okay again, i will admit this song is mainly on here because i absolutely love it, but i also do think it fits well. it’s also about healing/estranged friendships, with a very distinct feeling of nostalgia for a happier time. maybe for a time when this was all a game, when there was no blood or betrayals on their hands. little canon divergent, but it’s fun for me, so into the playlist it goes!

allies or enemies- the crane wives

“are we allies or enemies/this will be the death of me, this will be the death of me/all’s fair in love and war but i can’t fight with you anymore”

. i just. points to that lyric. it literally led to both of their deaths. are they allies or enemies? it also fits with scar still wanting grian to be his friend even after he’s no longer indebted with the line “what happens now? do we have another go, do we bow out?” another very good animatic song that i’ve considered heavily. i listen to this playlist a lot

•

burn him down- kitsch club

“you must destroy, oh you must destroy, beyond all recognition/you gotta burn him down, you gotta burn him down, beyond all recognition”

this song just has a lot of fire and arson and high energy vibes. my little war criminals look at them go

•

rose- the oh hellos

“what's true is like a sickle/it'll cut you to the middle/your rose is without a thorn/but no, my mouth don't taste of metal/from the pot here to the kettle/i think we got a lot we gotta learn”

this one is like the exact opposite vibe of burn him down. the oh hellos are so poetic and this song just... feels like the healing potions after a battle. many of the metaphors here fit, i think

•

lone digger- caravan palace

“hey, brother, what you thinking/that good ol' sound is ringing/they don't know what they're missing/(they call it lonely diggin')”

okay this song is straight up just a dance song. i added it because i like it and also for some reason it feels ominous to me? i’ve got no idea why, it’s seriously just a club song, but it’s a banger and it’s in this playlist because i said so

•

feed the machine- poor man’s poison (suggested by my friend argonaughtkeene!)

“somethin’s goin” on, just look around/fear is on the rise, and there’s blood all over the ground/let’s all just blindfold the poor, we all know what’s in store/ we got ‘em now, just break ‘em down a little bit more”

this song is a VIBE for both desertduo members. there’s parts for both of them. it’s ruthless, gritty, very maniacal, perfect. listen to it and you’ll immediately understand why i added it.

•

sweet tooth- scott helman

“i hold hands with cosmic entities/i’ll take this two-ride if i please/i got this sweet tooth baby, yeah i got this sweet tooth baby/i exploit my opportunities/some broken hearts, some cavities”

sweet tooth is super upbeat and bright with these strangely dark lyrics? like i’m pretty sure it’s about addiction. in any case, i thought the “i hold hands with cosmic entities” very funnily fitting for both of the desert boys. it’s a banger!

•

necromancin’ dancin’- bear ghost

“when i’m necromancin’, everyone’s dancin’/nobody can stop me, i dare you to try/the dead are infused with insatiable groove and they’re coming for you, there’s nowhere to hide”

necromancin’ dancin’ just. bastard vibes. there’s not much more to say it’s just huge villain song vibes. i adore it.

•

crazy = genius- panic! at the disco

“if crazy equals genius/then i’m a fucking arsonist/i’m a rocket scientist/if crazy equals genius/you can set yourself on fire/but you’re never gonna burn, burn, burn”

i. yeah. y. yeah. more bastard vibes. also shoutout to an artist i saw (i think it was strifesolution?) who made a desertduo piece to this song because i have not stopped thinking about it ever

•

sweet bod- lemon demon

“i’m diggin’ up your coffin/and pouring out the contents/your sexy, sweet solution/is ripe for distribution”

you know how i said freaking out was a grian song? this one is a scar song. it’s my favorite lemon demon song and also it has the total macabre capitalism vibe that third life scar NAILED. more bastard vibes good for him <3

•

drunk- the living tombstone

“feel so much better than usual/i feel indisputable, oh/but now i’m feeling so beautiful/don’t wake me up from this spell i’m under, if i’m still breathing/i know that i will be ugly when i feel like myself again, oh/but right now i’m feelin’ so beautiful”

the descent of this song, starting off with a polite gathering and ending with a gasping drunk in the parking lot gazing at the stars that he can barely see? yes. yeah. mhm. i used a line from this song for a fic, actually, it fit so well.

•

oh no!- marina

“one track mind, one track heart/if i fail, i’ll fall apart/maybe it is all a test/cos i feel like i’m the worst so i always act like i’m the best”

bubbly pop track about false confidence, the ruthlessness of the pop industry, and the influence of the media? you know why this is here. it vibes. it rocks.

•

do it all the time- i don’t know how but they found me

“we’re taking over the world/a little victimless crime/and when i’m taking your innocence/i’ll be corrupting your mind/no need to cry i’m only doing everything i want to do because i do it all the time”

EVEN MORE BASTARD VIBES! SOMEHOW THERE IS MORE! this playlist is half villain songs and half heart-wrenching ballads and that’s the real desert experience i think.

•

the phoenix- fall out boy

“i’m gonna change you/like a remix/then i’ll raise you/like the phoenix”

BATTLE SONG BATTLE SONG! i’ll be honest i partially chose this song because i am a huge sucker for phoenix grian imagery in particular, but it’s also just a very good war song for them. villain song no 18372948 except this one originally had a hero vibe and now it’s changed specifically for them?? wild. their power

•

the other side- the greatest showman

“right here, right now/i’ll put the offer out/i don’t wanna chase you down, i know you see it/you run with me/and i can cut you free/out of the treachery/and all you keep in”

scar and grian’s desert monopoly conversation went exactly like this canonically because i said so fuck you <3

•

icicles- the scary jokes (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“icicles don’t soften when they die/so why should i, why should i?/oh, icicles don’t soften when they die/they sharpen into sabers and they stab you in the eye”

this song actually has specific parts for both grian and scar! my cool epic friend mx demizorua pointed both of them out to me and i adored it so much. it’s a very spiteful song, just like the desert boys. also it feels vaguely murderous. perfect

•

problems- mother mother (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“i’m a loser, a disgrace/you’re a beauty, a luminary, in my face”

literally this entire song fits them. particularly their relationship with the flower husbands, to me, honestly— the whole “when we meet at the pearly gates/you’ll get the green light/and i’ll get the boot in the face” reminds me a lot of them hdksjdks

•

tongues and teeth- the crane wives

“i know that you mean so well/but i am not a vessel for your good intent/i will only break your pretty things/i will only wring you dry of everything”

h. yeah. this song is literally gaslight gatekeep girlboss and i attribute it to the desert for that reason alone. songs to commit murder to!

•

you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead- saint motel

“you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead/and the list, it grows, and grows, and grows/it grows, and grows, and grows/and grows, and grows, and grows/until it’s everyone you’ve ever known”

this one is very self-explanatory. enemies pogchamp

•

curses- the crane wives

“there’s a fire in my brain and i’m burning, love/oh my, oh my/keep running to the sink, but the well is dry/oh my, oh my/every word i say is kindling/but the smoke clears when you’re around”

okay again! this one has two very specific parts for both of them. grian’s the first verse, which is above, and scar’s the second verse!! i really do like my fire imagery for these two don’t i? well, i blame them for having a fuck ton of tnt on them at all times and literally burning their enemy’s banners as a final act of defiance.

#3rdlife #grian #goodtimeswithscar #3rd life smp #3rd life smp playlist #third life smp #desertduo #simply think that they <3 #Spotify

[swimfuel]

Hey!! The X-men are literally my favorite thing and I was wondering if you could elaborate on how Scott is a knight of doom

YES OF COURSE!!!! i'll put it under a cut since i tend to ramble a bit & i'm pulling a bunch of explanations from people smarter than i am

the knight weaponizes their aspect; they have an inherent understanding of their aspect that allows them to exploit it completely. doom is the aspect of systems, restrictions/limitations, sacrifices, and endings.

one of scott's core themes is reclaiming his restrictions in order to serve others/the greater good! he takes the possible liability that are his faulty powers and shifts them to become an advantage, largely through the strength of his restraint and discipline. his role as a tactician and the way he sees sacrifices (more on that later) also mesh EXTREMELY well with the knight of doom.

i feel like the Wh*don run (specifically astonishing x-men #22-23) really highlights how scott can turn a situation on its head through exploiting his disadvantages to the point where they become tactically advantageous!! like, let's count the ways:

the ship the x-men stole from kruun is obviously bugged, so his team won't be able to communicate without being overheard. he realizes this, and uses that restriction (being overheard) as an advantage, by falsifying their course of action.

he has been left "without his powers"—he presents a restriction that lowers the guard of his adversary and grants him entry to their home base. he then subverts this by exploding the shit out of everything when an opportune moment arrives

HE LITERALLY EXPLOITS DEATH...... HE EXPLOITS HIS OWN DEATH...................FOR THE GREATER GOOD..........DUDE???? someone get this man an advil

some more thoughts, followed by some examples by people smarter than me:

he exhibits a similar pattern of idolization/realization with xavier irt karkat/HICand dave/bro.... not sure if this by itself is a knight-y thing but i think the consistent disillusionment with their role in defending their aspect is interesting (aka knight burnout, more on that later)

he is def willing to sacrifice shit for the greater good of mutantkind. the shit in question sometimes being his closest friends and allies. the examples that stick out to me are how he allowed beast to get tortured (utopia era) while executing his plan to solve All His Problems At Once & also when he sent x-force to the future to defend hope knowing it was going to be a one-way trip

that entire issue revolving around just how GOOD scott is at self-repression😭😭😭 i'm pretty sure it's post-schism utopia era i don't remember the exact issue WAIT NVM i'm pretty sure it's uncanny #518

seeing phoenix!scott as an inversion to (rogue of) life is also an interesting concept (unchecked growth!)

the amount of responsibility he feels he has to take on (partially due to his idolization cycle w xavier/xavier's dream) is also both knight-y and doom-y

and of course the instinct to protect the people around him --> being expanded into the whole of mutantkind (which, in turn, expands his sense of obligation)

everything leading up to revolutionary cyclops is also very interesting through this framework because its reminiscent of the knights & doom players in hs! the "taking on an insane burden" (phoenix force, whatever whammied mituna) -> the "resignation to the fate handed to him by his aspect" (his stint in prison, dead daves, sollux in general) -> the "refusal to accept that fate" (prison break, dave not wanting to use time travel, sollux fucking off into the dreambubbles, karkat coming to terms w his relationship w leadership) --> experiencing knight burnout at the end of revolutionary era going into death of x

im not sure exactly how to put it into words but everything about his childhood/teenhood... like being surrounded by forces seeking to control him and use him for their own ends..... idk

(from @/land-of-classpects-and-analysis, sections highlighted red are of particular interest)

HIS GIANT STINKING MARTYR COMPLEX.....DUDE😭😭

side note & ive mentioned this before but scottjean is an interesting parallel to davejade in a way i cant verbalize

Then there are the ones who may accept [the fact of inevitable human suffering], and so choose to live in high alert of any danger - any threats - as well as living in fear of what harm may befall them and/or their loved ones. It is this third and final group of people that so deeply marks that of the Knight of Doom.

Now, this might cause a few eyebrows to become quirked. After all, a Knight? Being fearful of something - nevertheless that thing being related to their Aspect? Knights do often present themselves as ruthless and fearless warriors, yes, but that is only because their Aspects and the world around them raised and called them to act as such. 

... A key factor in the Knight’s life, specifically before their journey truly begins, is that they are already well equipped with their Aspect.

... The Knight of Doom is one where their Aspect being all around them is far more bittersweet than anything else.

... What is important to acknowledge is that the facade the Knight of Doom puts up is not only to hide the fear they have for their Aspect, but it is most definitely there to hide the grief and pain they have not yet completely finished going through. Whether it’s been weeks or years, the Knight of Doom is someone who would rather hide themself away from these feelings than find a way to truly mend and heal them ... they have built a false wall between them and their suffering strong and thick enough to partially block it from their memory. 

... Knights are known to become extremely stubborn whenever people try to order them around and pressure them into doing something, and the Knight of Doom is no different - especially if they believe what they are doing is for the greater good. 

(from @/dahniwitchoflight)

Dahni’s Explanantion: “Doom can be a negative force that rejects and harms, fostering a sense of hostility or sadness. But, it is also the idea that you can pull backwards and cautiously and wisely withdraw into your own self.  It can be the idea of Control taken from the sharp Black and White Restrictions that everything in the world gets sorted into. It understands community necessity and need, responsibly pulling back and lowering you down into its lap to help wind yourself down. Doom then is an ultimate gentle Equalizer, instilling its players with an internal sense of Acceptance and eventually true Wisdom.”

Knight of Doom: One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom

Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamental failure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort. Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that they are skilled enough

A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.

Likewise they might only focus on the necessary things in their game or session so they are likely to not do much unless it’s absolutely necessary. They would very likely be very meticulous with themselves about following the rules properly and constantly restrict themselves, maybe thinking they aren’t following the rules properly enough or not following the right ones. They might sacrifice anything they consider unnecessary about themselves or the way they live, sometimes even going too far with it, in order to be considered or thought of as less useless. They’re always trying harder and holding themselves to extreme self-imposed standards.

They would likely wait for the opportune moment to strike, though they are slow to move or act, they always will when something necessary needs to happen. Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.

(from @/communistvriska)

Role in the Session: Rather like the Prince of Doom, this role’s title kinda has “edgelord” written all over it, but that’s not a set-in-stone character trait. The first thing that comes to mind re: what the Knight Class and the Aspect of Doom have in common is a strong sense of obligation. The Knight of Doom is bound to take their duties and responsibilities Extremely Seriously, perhaps rather too seriously at first ... Knights also tend to be very protective of both their Aspect as a concept, and of themselves and those close to them; while the Knight of Doom isn’t likely to be outwardly aggressive, given Doom’s reserved, slow-burn tendencies, woe betide those who try to deceive or confound the Knight or their allies. One of Doom’s internal contradictions (which I find personally fascinating) is that the aspect is associated both with cynical resignation and with a profound albeit restrained sense of passion and persistence. Doom is what’s left after everything else gets burnt away.

The Knight of Doom will likely be a very skilled combatant, as the Knight is a class strongly associated with Strife / battle, and Doom is one of the more overtly destructive Aspects. I’d put them in the Top 5 Roles to use a cool flamin sword, at least. They’re not going to be eager to fight, per se, but they’re not going to have much trouble scaling the echeladder when it comes to that either. Internally, they’re likely to struggle with a perceived (but largely imagined) inability to fulfill their duties, and they could well stumble once or twice in their quest to be perceived as reliable and stoic, or as someone who their friends can lean on. They’re probably doing more than enough already, but if they’re not careful they might overexert themselves and take on too heavy a burden, and they’re liable to be crushed by their own expectation that they face their challenges alone. This is going to factor into their capital-Q Quest and the environment of their planet, and will be the biggest obstacle in their path to Ascension. A Knight’s duty is to protect their co-players, but their co-players also have to support them.

#mail #scott summers

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex