#(And it does feel like that. Emotionally. In a sense)

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow Part 2

A love unraveled and yet incomparable. Where are two people to go from here?

(a/n: Here is part 2! I am so glad everyone is enjoying this so far, I've had a lot of fun writing it and getting to be creative! I’ll see everyone next Monday for installment 3 - can’t wait to hear everyone’s thoughts!)

Alexia wasn’t sure exactly what she had expected when she barged into her Mami's house the morning after seeing you at the event, dragging Alba behind her.  

But it definitely wasn’t this. 

She had explained everything to the two of them, with a carefully constructed amount of excitement. The footballer didn’t want to seem overeager, but she also found elation building within herself the more she thought about what had occurred. 

She had never expected to see you again, but there you were. Not only that, you weren’t with anyone. You still had the capacity to love her. There was a chance that Alexia hadn’t lost you, and she held onto that hope like a fire lit deep within her chest. She was almost delirious with relief at the realization that maybe the last nine years hadn’t been a total waste, that maybe she had just been waiting for you to return. It threatened to consume her, and she felt as though nothing could break the jouissance that filled her. 

At least, that was what she thought, until Eli and Alba brought her back to reality with their contradicting opinions. 

“She’s here you guys, she’s here in Barcelona. After all these years, Flori is still here and she wants to see me,” Alexia told her family, a brightness in her eyes that hadn’t been present in years. Despite this, Eli and Alba both had a frown on their face as they glanced at each other with skepticism. There was an awkward pause before Alba finally turned toward her sister with a charged look. 

“Ale,” Alba started lightly, trying not to sound too negative. “It has been nine years. Is it possible that Flori has moved on? She was the one who stayed behind, after all.” 

Her younger sister's words were pointed if not entirely incorrect. 

“Do you even know what happened? You never got an answer from her, and now she has shown up at this event with absolutely no warning,” Eli continued, a point that Alba quickly found herself agreeing with. 

When they had all left Madrid, Eli and Alba never expected to lose you so suddenly. 

Where Alexia was upset, they were angry. Angry that you had hurt Alexia for no logical reason, angry that you had done it when Alexia was at her most vulnerable, angry that you were no longer there. They had trusted you with Alexia’s heart, and you had betrayed them. Forgiveness was not possible in their eyes, not after what had occurred. 

Eli missed your mother, who had grown to become a dear friend. Alba had lost your younger brothers, Adan and Leo, who she had been close with. The breakup had been a clean break in the literal sense, but emotionally it had been so much more complex than that. There was nothing but frustrating feelings and a wretched sense of loss for all of them. Where Alexia had softened over time, becoming more sympathetic, the rest of her family had hardened in their negative feelings toward you. 

It was valiant if not feeble that the footballer tried to argue on your behalf. 

“She is here now, and time has passed. Why would I not at least give her the chance to atone or explain herself?” Alexia argued as she furrowed her brows. She looked between her sister and Mami, feeling disheartened by their reaction. 

“She gave up that right years ago Ale, when she let you leave in the midst of Papi dying and you moving to go to your dream club. She let you go, she never reached out, she never explained herself. Does that not bother you?” Alba pressed, unyielding in her temperament. 

“It has been a decade practically, and she never tried. She let you go, ripped up your heart into pieces, and walked out of that door with no remorse. We were all hurt by it, but you should be the most betrayed! She was supposed to love you, and she left you instead. Don’t tell me that hasn’t been the thing that stuck out to you the most in the past nine years?” Alba continued as her words lashed out like a whip, threatening to send Alexia’s sense of stability and hope crashing to the ground. 

“I have a chance to be happy, and you want me to give it away! Does that not bother you?” Alexia spat back as her defensiveness mounted. She stared her sister down with an intensity that usually was only found when she was playing football, not speaking to a member of her family. 

“No, what you have is a chance to be hurt again, and based on past events, that is exactly what is going to happen Alexia. Don’t be stupid,” Alba shot back, and Eli quickly placed a hand on her younger daughter's arm to stop her. 

The room came to a hard stop, but the brunette’s heart beat too fast in her chest to notice. 

Had she made a mistake in trying to be forgiving toward you? 

What if her family had a point? 

“Alba is critical but what she says is in your best interest Alexia. Regardless of how you felt about your relationship, Flori hurt you irreparably. Are you sure you want to let her in again? Is that a risk you want to take?” Eli inquired gently, her voice much softer than the loud argument of her daughters. Alexia took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm outwardly even if she felt anything but on the inside. 

You had hurt her a lot. And they said it was irreparable, but the brunette was beginning to wonder if only you could be the one to soothe the ache. It had been nine years, and she had never once come close to feeling the same way about anyone else as you. 

But you had hurt her. 

Her mother and sister were not wrong in their basis of judgment. Alexia was beginning to wonder if she had been too naive, too focused on not looking a gift horse in the mouth to see the points her family had laid out. 

The Catalan wondered if you would explain yourself fully to her if asked. She hoped dearly that the answer would be yes, but maybe she didn’t know you as well as she thought she did. 

Maybe it was stupid to trust you after all these years. As much as Alexia had wanted to be mad about everything, she could never bring herself to fault you for what happened when you were both eighteen years old. She had always just assumed that the reason had to be big for you to make the choice you had. 

But maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe she had just been too trusting, too loving.

“I…I’ve spent the last nine years thinking about her, loving her, whether I wanted to or not. I know you aren’t as trusting as I am, and maybe I shouldn’t be so hopeful. But I at least want to know what happened to us that led to her making the decision she did. I need that, at the very least,” Alexia decided as her mother and sister nodded wearily. 

Alexia had always taken the blame for what had happened, even if it had been a subconscious realization. She had simply assumed that whatever it was had been her fault. The brunette must have done something for you to make such a drastic choice not to be with her after so long together. 

Eli and Alba’s arguments rang in her head, creating a commotion in her mind of conflicting information. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault, but rather something on your end. 

She wasn’t sure now. 

All that the footballer knew was that by the time she left her Mami’s house, she felt a lot more lost than she had last night. Lost, confused, and drained of any excitement that had been present just an hour previously. 

—

You had woken up the morning after the event in a trance, unable to place your own feelings. 

Had last night really happened? 

Your dress was still on the hanger, just as you had placed it last night. The ghosting of mascara under your eyes left proof of your makeup, proof of the tears you had shed on the walk home. 

All of these years later, and there she was. Somehow just as perfect and illustrious as you had remembered her to be. Nine years on and she remained unchanged, unyielding despite her newfound fame. 

You had changed a lot in those nine years. And truth be told, you thought often of the footballer, though you tried impossibly hard not to. After all, it had been you who had left. It had been your own choice to sever everything the two of you had. 

You had your reasons, sure, but it had still been you. The choice for you to make decisions in your relationship with Alexia had been revoked in that instance, and you forced yourself to try and forget all that you had lost. 

To try and forget the feeling of being held in her arms. To forget the way she curled around you as you slept, or crawled into your lap to take a nap after a long day of training. To forget how much you two laughed together, how exceedingly happy she had made you. 

You had lost all of that, and there was nothing that changed that fact. 

It was ostensibly clear why you had moved to Barcelona five years ago, even if you vehemently denied that the move was because of the Catalan you once called home. But her dream had been yours as well, and even if you were later, you still had to come. 

You found yourself in the stands of her games often, tucked in the back with a hat pulled over your head, avoiding her gaze and that of her family as well. You probably shouldn’t have been there, but you had turned into quite the masochist in the wake of losing her. 

She looked free on the field, exactly as you remembered her. Focused, ardent, driven, mirthful, intelligent, protective. 

Everything you had loved and lost. 

It’s not that there hadn’t been opportunities to see her again, especially when you had first moved and you both were young. But you never took them, knowing that it wasn’t your right. Alexia was happy, and you would never interrupt her peace for your own yearning. 

After last night though…you weren’t sure if the word you would describe her as was peaceful. It was possible you were reading too much into things, but there was an air of longing present in the brunette that confused you more than you expected. 

You wondered if she would call you, but you had no way of knowing. 

It needed to be that way. This needed to be her choice, her decision. You had been the one to take it away, and you gave it back to her almost a decade later. 

There was hope in your body, a nascent festering that took root no matter how hard you attempted to stop it in its tracks. But at the end of the day, you would gladly give back to her the right to choose in favor of everything you dreamed and desired. 

You would make peace with whatever decision that was, no matter the cost to your own happiness. 

—

“You–I’m sorry, you what?” Jenni blurted out as she glimpsed over at Mariona, who found herself just as confused and taken aback by what the brunette had just described. 

Alexia leaned back in her chair as she let out a forced breath. Her participation in this lunch was more compulsory than anything else after an entire practice of her “acting weird,” according to the striker. 

Mariona had been dragged along for a second opinion, though the midfielder had found herself growing more and more curious as Jenni’s pestering turned into real answers from the brunette. The raven-haired woman, while annoying at times, had been friends with Alexia for long enough to know when she needed a bit of a push to talk. 

For Alexia to admit that the reason she was bothered was because she had a long lost childhood lover was not exactly what Jenni was expecting. But the striker was nothing if not able to work with what she was given. 

“Let me get this straight,” the older woman began as she leaned forward against the table. “You met when you guys were like five, grew up together, started dating when you were teenagers, then were supposed to move here together, but she broke things off suddenly right before you left and you haven’t seen her since?” 

“That is correct,” Alexia conceded warily, well aware of how slightly ridiculous it seemed as a story. 

“And all of these years, you haven’t stopped thinking about her? A decade later and you’re still hung up on her?” Jenni asked incredulously, her voice nearly an octave higher than it usually was. She seemed to be out of her mind at the thought, and the brunette slunk down further into her chair, feeling overly barren. 

“You hook up with women like there is a prize for who gets the highest body count,” Alexia shot back, trying to come off as more annoyed than exposed. 

Mariona looked miffed at the vulgarity of the statement while Jenni shrugged, acquiescence in her expression. 

“Low blow Alexia,” the midfielder noted briefly, but the striker waved her off easily. 

“The woman isn’t entirely wrong, but more importantly she’s deflecting. Okay, so you’re still in love with the woman. And it just so happens that she’s randomly at the Spotify event they sent you to, and she’s still in love with you as well?” 

“Well not quite but…” Alexia started to disagree before she trailed off, her friends eyeing her with unconvinced expressions. 

“Yes, fine, sure,” she amended crossly. 

“She just happened to be at the same event? What does she do for work?” Mariona raised her eyebrow, suspicious of a coincidence that large. Alexia paused for a moment as she struggled to think of an answer. All she was drawing was a big blank, and the realization that maybe she should have been more suspicious about this whole thing. 

“I…I have no idea. I didn’t ask! She was just right in front of me, and I panicked, I didn’t know what to do!” Alexia said restlessly, the amount of fidgeting in her seat a clear indication of her nervousness. 

“Wow…she made the great Alexia Putellas panic? I’ve seen you send away more girls than a persnickety Playboy photographer.” 

“Jennifer!”

“Sorry, sorry! Anywho, you panicked, and then what happened?” Jenni amended, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. The raven-haired woman was absolutely devouring this, fighting valiantly not to smile like the cheshire cat. 

“And then we went on a walk and talked for a few minutes, she gave me her number and told me to call her, and she left,” Alexia finished lamely, sinking back into her seat. She surveyed her two friends, who only looked at her with interested expressions. 

“Okay…and what are you going to do?” Mariona inquired once she realized that Alexia wasn’t going to say anything more. 

“I don’t know what to do! My family thinks that I shouldn’t call her, that she has hurt me too much. That maybe she doesn’t deserve to be in my life anymore. What do you guys think I should do?” Alexia. 

“Listen, it seems to be a weird coincidence to me personally. All of the sudden you start to get famous and she just happens to pop up? That is a little weird to me. It sounds like this person hurt you deeply Ale, and it has stuck with you. Are you sure you want to rehash everything?” Mariona pressed, her words strict and condemning.

“I’m not sure if I do. I’ve spent the last decade thinking of her, and then suddenly she was there and I just…I didn’t know what to do with myself. I never imagined her being in my life again, and there she was! I spent my whole childhood loving her. I never saw myself with anyone else,” Alexia admitted quietly as she wrung her hands together for a moment before setting them down in her lap, unable to make her own mind up. 

The vast majority of Alexia’s teammates had never heard of you at all. Jenni was a little too old, Mariona a little too young. Those who had known of you had forgotten, easily deterred by Alexia telling them you had broken up, unrealizing of how much it meant for the midfielder to lose you. 

Mariona had begun to speak again, but the striker had tuned the two of them out, thinking quietly to herself for once. 

As much as she teased, Jenni watched her friend with a keen, knowing eye. There had to be a damn good reason for Alexia to turn away all of those girls. It wasn’t just their looks, some of them were lovely and intelligent and hilarious, and still the star midfielder had absolutely no interest in them whatsoever. 

Almost as if she was waiting for something else. 

Someone else. 

All these years there had been something missing in her, as though she looked for someone who never came through the door. Jenni had never known what was wrong enough to ask, but now she was beginning to piece together the importance of you to Alexia. Where everyone else saw reasons to criticize and judge, the striker was stuck on Alexia’s words. 

How the desire and longing seemed unable to be contained and reasoned with, despite all of the evidence to the contrary. 

“What do you want?” Jenni cut both of them off suddenly, eliciting a frustrated noise from Mariona and a surprised look from the brunette. 

“I don’t know what I want!” Alexia huffed out with frustration, but the raven-haired didn’t accept that quite so easily. There were too many hands in the pot here. Alexia had always known what she wanted to do, she was simply being deterred. 

“No, you do. You’re convoluted with everyone else’s opinions, but I think you know exactly what you want. What is it that you want Alexia?” Jenni’s eyes never wavered from Alexias, as if daring her to look away. 

She knew that the Catalan wouldn’t, and she was right. 

Alexia stared right at her friend, knowing exactly what choice she needed to make for herself. Not for anyone else, but for herself. 

At the very least, she needed to know what had happened to lose you the first time.

—

Alexia told herself she would call you in a few days, giving herself some time to cool off and think things through. 

She couldn’t even make it through a few hours before she was digging up the card you had given her and typing the number into her phone. The phone rang once, twice, three times before you picked up, and despite herself the Catalan let out a sigh of relief that you had picked up at all. 

“Hello?” You said dutifully as you held your ear to the phone, unaware of who was on the end of the line. There was silence for a long moment, long enough that you questioned if anyone was even there, before sound finally came through.

“Hi,” Alexia choked out, failing to keep her voice as calm and unbothered as she had told herself she would be. 

“Hi Alexia,” you replied, fighting to seem as unphased as possible. You were shocked she had called you, and your heart beat so rapidly in your chest it felt as though it was fluttering. 

“I know it’s sudden…but can you talk tonight?” The footballer blurted out after a few seconds. Your heart constricted with panic, but you swallowed it down and forced yourself to remain agreeable and steady. 

“Absolutely. What time and where should I meet you?” You questioned as you took a deep, bracing breath. You listened as Alexia rattled off an address and the two of you agreed to meet in an hour before she hung up. 

This might be your last chance to tell her the truth. Would it be worth it though? Was the possibility of creating an ache in her chest worth revealing what had really occurred? 

You knew her, and you knew that her guilt would be immense even if the situation was completely out of her control. You made the choice for her, knowing that it was the right one. But you were unsure if she would see it that way. Perhaps she would only see the hurt you had caused her unnecessarily, and that would be the end of it. Maybe that should just be the end of it, allowing her some answers while allowing her to move forward with her life. 

It had been nearly a decade. You had been without her nearly as long as you had been with her, and a piece of you knew that the ache would never disappear. You would always yearn for her, even if she decided to move on. 

But that was a right she had earned, and you had lost. 

It had been your own fault after all, that turned you two into this unsure, bumbling mess of emotions and challenges and strife. You would have done anything to change that if you could have. 

It was your fault but not your doing, at the end of the day. 

You arrived at the beach where Alexia told you to meet her a little early, which allowed you to sit down at a bench and look out at the ocean waves that poured in and out. You granted yourself that small moment of grace on the nearly empty beach as you slipped your sandals off and felt the lingering warmth of the sand under your feet as the sun slid behind the ocean. 

You didn’t notice Alexia’s approach until she was in front of you, and though you offered her the seat next to you silently, she didn’t take it. 

It should have been this that informed you that it would go downhill from there, but you clung to the hope that maybe this would be a productive conversation. You still didn’t know what to say exactly, but you knew you were not going to be dishonest. 

Alexia’s eyes examined you critically, as if she didn’t believe that it was really you. 

“How did you end up at the event the other day in the first place?” She inquired after a moment, and you can’t help but furrow your brows in confusion, lost as to why this was the first question she asked. Lost as to where all of this hostility came from, when you had yet to say a single thing. 

You had expected her to become angered as the conversation went on, but she already seemed cross and you had yet to say a word. 

“I work for Morgan Stanley doing investment consulting and management specifically with Spotify. I’ve become close with the people at the company as I work with them most days, and they invited me to the event. There were investors and important stakeholders that I was able to meet in person. I’ve come to the same event every year for the last three years,” you disclosed to the brunette, but the skepticism and hostility in her eyes never wavered despite your clarity. 

“Did you see me before we ran into each other?” She interrogated, and you settled into your seat uneasily. This felt less like a conversation and more like she was drilling you, waiting for you to slip up and say the wrong thing. 

“At the event, or in general?” You replied, wanting nothing but honesty in your responses. You could give her that, even if the air between you two was charged with more tension than you expected. 

“Both.” Alexia crossed her arms, everything in her posture defensive and frustrated. 

“At the event, no. I didn’t know until I was standing right in front of you,” you clarified, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to avoid fidgeting nervously. “In general, yes I had seen you. Only from afar though, at your games over the years. I never would have approached you.” 

I never would have approached you. 

Alexia felt every defense in her mind light up at that statement. When had you decided you were so utterly done with having her in your life? All the Catalan could think of was her mother and sister warning her that this was going to be a mistake. All she could think of was Mariona who talked about how strange the coincidence was that the two of you had run into her, as though it was so suspicious. 

You had left and hurt her. 

It had been your fault, that is what all the evidence seemed to tell her. 

Something pulled at the brunette’s mind though, something that begged her not to be so bellicose. Something that screamed at her that there was more to the story, and that handling everything this way was a horrible idea. 

Fear seemed to rule her though, rearing an ugly head that the midfielder was not proud of. 

“How many years,” she beseeched, fighting the wave of tears she could feel stinging at the back of her eyes. Her voice was low, wavering in a way that betrayed her emotions more than she cared to admit. You had let out a low sigh as you hung your head. 

“Five years. I’ve been in Barcelona for five years, and I’ve been coming to your games on and off for five years” you finally confessed as you shook your head. You looked up at the Catalan, who seemed caught between devastation and outrage. 

“You moved here five years ago and didn’t even think to come and talk to me? You never thought to check on me, to try and reach out?” Alexia seethed, burying her hurt behind a mask of fury. More than anything, the footballer felt like her whole chest had caved in. 

“No I didn’t. I had broken up with you Alexia, that was the choice I made. I wasn’t going to come barging back in four years later and demand that you take me back,” You tried gallantly to remain calm, even in the face of Alexia’s vexation. The brunette hated your answer, throwing her hands up in acute frustration. 

“You never even bothered to ask! You might have taken away my choice once, but you’ve spent five more years taking that choice away. You are a coward,” Alexia accused, pointing a finger at you even as everything in her screamed not to. She would regret what she said in the light of day, but all she felt right now was wounded. There was an intense urge to protect what little pride still remained inside her, and apparently in order to accomplish that she needed to lash out. 

You met her toe for toe though, not giving her the anger she wanted exactly but rather a sense of indignation. 

“I am a coward Alexia, you’re right. I wanted you to live your life, to move on, and I made the choice I thought was best for everyone at the time, including you. Don’t stand here and act like I made the choice without consideration for your feelings, because I have,” you fought, because even if you were at fault, you had tried so hard not to be selfish. If the Catalan got a single thing out of this conversation, you wanted it to be that. 

“No you haven’t, you’ve been selfish for the last decade! I lost my father, my community, and then you all in the span of one month. You disappeared, just like that. You were like a ghost, and I was on my own, and right when I needed you, you weren’t there!” She practically yelled, and it looked almost like her entire body vibrated with resentment. 

The footballer took a deep breath as she both tried and failed to remain calm. But every time she had more than a second to think, anger and vitriol seemed to flow out of her. 

“I hate myself for how much I needed you all these years, how much I longed for you. I can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on right in front of me. And now you’re back here…for what? A celebrity status? To be a WAG? I don’t have time for that, and I don’t want you anymore if you see me as such a transactional person. I don’t even recognize you anymore,” Alexia explained with an air of indignance. 

Though you had tried to remain calm, something finally snapped inside of you at that. You simply couldn’t allow for the brunette to say such things about you, and finally you allowed yourself the candor you’d held in all these years. 

“Oh for God's sake Alexia, really? I haven’t come here to be your WAG, or for your fucking money! I’m in investment banking for Christ's sake, I am fine financially! I don’t like football, but I spent my childhood going to games because you loved it and I loved you! You think it didn’t kill me to let you leave like that?” 

“You were my forever. We were young but you were the love of my life, and even now I can’t find myself ever connecting with anyone the way I did with you. I know I am older now, but I still have the same heart as I did when I was eighteen. You loved that person, and I’m not saying you need to love me anymore, but do not stand here and act like I have changed into someone unrecognizable when I have not!” You articulated, unwilling to allow yourself to be trodden over with disrespect. 

You were not the same person as you were at eighteen, but you were also not the person Alexia had made you out to be. 

The fight seemed to drain out of your body in an instance. Any hope that had been clung to was lost entirely as you decided just to be honest. You knew the brunette didn’t want anything to do with you, and in that moment you made peace with that. 

You would give her the truth, and nothing else but the truth. When you looked up at the Catalan, there were tears shining in your eyes. 

“I was sick, Alexia. I found out two days before I broke up with you that I had breast cancer, and I needed to stay in Madrid for treatment. You had just lost your father, you were moving to a whole new area of the country. You didn’t need to be worried about your sick girlfriend, trying to travel back and forth to Madrid, to have even more on your plate,” you revealed slowly as you aggressively wiped away the tears that flowed down your cheeks. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“So yes, I made a decision for you. In all honesty, it was a decision I would happily make again and again if it came down to it. I wanted to preserve what little peace and happiness you had left before the move. I ached for you afterward, but I knew that this was the right choice. I wanted you to live your dreams, with or without me. And by the time I finished treatment and came to Barcelona, I felt that it was too late. I had broken us, it was my fault entirely that we had broken up, and I didn’t feel like I had the right to come to you and explain.”

“So no, I haven't approached you for the last five years. I come to your games and I see you play with joy and happiness, and I see you with your family, and I want to leave you with that. So don’t look at me and call me a coward or a gold digger or whatever the hell you think I am, because at the end of the day I tried to make the best choices for you and me, and I can’t take them back anymore,” you released, and suddenly you felt much older than your twenty-seven years. You head hung, and you shrugged before you spoke again, your tone bitter and defeated. 

“If you’re so intent to see all of the reasons I fucked up, fine. If you need to tell yourself that I am a selfish whore to sleep at night, fine. But I sincerely hope that when you go to sleep at night you at least remember for a second that the decisions I made were for you, not because of you. Maybe it was the wrong choice to control that for you, but I can’t go back and change it now. So please, just leave me alone if this is all you want from me. I don’t have anything more to give you, not anymore,” You stated with exhaustion, spinning around to walk away. You disappeared into the night before the brunette even had a chance to say anything, left far too shell shocked to even begin to process your words. 

You were gone without a glance backward, and Alexia sunk down onto the bench you had once occupied as remorse purged every other feeling in her body.

[parasolladyansy]

How does N feel in this Survival AU? Does he realize the magnitude of which he is a puppet? Does he regret his role in all this? Does he hear the voices of the Pokémon separated from those they love and wonder if this is really what’s best?

EDIT: decided to add some screenshots from “The Plan” & a couple drawings to break up the wall of text lol

—

🚩 TW trauma, narcissistic abuse, disassociation

N is in a truly terrible position on this timeline. If I can be very personal for a moment, he’s very much like who I imagine I would’ve been if I didn’t escape the toxic environment I was in (very, very short version: why I have C-PTSD).

In the Pokémon Generations animation, “The Plan” (VERY highly recommended), Ghetsis saw him as a blank slate to write the story of the Ideal Hero & King, an extension of himself who can be chosen by the Black Dragon (having enough self-awareness to know he wouldn’t be chosen).

We see evidence all through the original games that Ghetsis really infantilized & sheltered N. N’s room is full of very bright colors & more toys than one child could ever play with, & the only Pokémon Ghetsis allowed him to befriend were ones abused by humans.

This all made him very intelligent but emotionally / socially stunted, with a very carefully tailored view of the world - someone perfect to manipulate.

Ghetsis then goes on to appeal to the masses, appearing in places like Accumula Town, campaigning with impassioned words about liberating Pokémon, the same ones N grew up with. Some agreed with him, siding with Team Plasma & their message. Some, like us, didn’t.

That’s who N is when we first meet him.

Through BW, he starts to change - he, like me, saw things in the real world that contradicted what he was groomed to believe. He met humans & Pokémon who loved & supported each other, battled & grew together, & made the world around them better. Then, at the end, when we beat him, it finally sinks in that the version of the world Ghetsis showed him was a lie.

That’s why Ghetsis drops his act when N fails, revealing what he really thought of him: warped, defective, & inhuman. He, like most narcissists, demanded perfection & unquestioning loyalty, & the N who lost can give him neither of those things. There was no reason to continue the charade that N was a King, & that this fairy tale of white knights was just a way for him to take over Unova.

In Survival AU, that’s not what happened.

Instead, he praises N for defeating the “false” Hero & found him worthy of sharing his name (aka worthy of being an extension of himself).

Over the years, N had what little sense of self he was allowed erased away, replaced by the King Ghetsis wanted him to be. He might’ve even repressed the memories & emotions that might contradict this image he felt he had to maintain. I can also see him losing the ability of hearing Pokémon’s voices, because he can no longer hear the Truth…

Even then, I think he’d have locked the part of him that knows this isn’t right deep down, somewhere Ghetsis can’t reach. This part shows itself as a misery & frustration under the surface that doesn’t really let him be happy or satisfied with this world he (thinks) he created where Pokémon are free.

I’ve been thinking about Zekrom through all this, how they (like Reshiram) would love N like a child, protect him ferociously like a parent, & if they saw him stray, destroy the region in endless lightning like they did in the past. That’s why I’ve been thinking that maybe Zekrom was forced together with Kyurem, which that part of him deep down would object to but on the surface level, Ghetsis convinced him that this is how it should be.

So he sits there on his cold throne as the perfect King of Ideals.

—

Basically, N is miserable - on the surface level, he shut down his thoughts, memories, & feelings, genuinely believing & following everything Ghetsis says. Somewhere, deep down, he knows this isn’t right, & hopes that, in spite of everything…Reshiram’s Hero is alive somewhere, & can maybe help save him.

I‘d say that when he does receive word that Ansy is actually alive, that’s when that hope becomes stronger, & he starts to question again. From there would be the very difficult & agonizing process of detaching himself from Ghetsis…

But I think he can do it. 🌱

[kashverse]

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve seen but there’s like cats reacting to the meow version of Creep by Radiohead :D how would Mr. Pickles and Baby react?

i don't know what is the meow version of it so i just came up with my own version of it ☆ kunafamily masterlist

it is an unusual evening in the sukuna household. not because babykuna is wreaking havoc. not because sukuna is having another existential crisis over her growing up too fast. not even because choso is here—choso is always here. no, this time, the cause of disturbance is something else entirely. choso, self-proclaimed ambassador of alternative rock, has taken it upon himself to introduce the feline representatives of the household to what he considers a modern classic.

the meow version of creep by radiohead.

he sits cross-legged in the living room, phone in hand, speakers at full volume. the room is silent except for the first melancholic “meow.” mr. pickles' whiskers twitch. baby’s tail stops flicking, going eerily still.

the trial has begun.

as the song begins, mr. pickles exhales. not a normal sigh—a sigh burdened with decades of wisdom.

"oh, this again."

his tired, half-lidded gaze shifts toward baby, the young, impulsive, emotionally volatile tabby sitting beside him.

baby is tense. his fur bristles. his ears flatten just slightly, the universal cat sign for offense. mr. pickles doesn’t need to look at him twice to know exactly what’s happening in his head.

"he did not just exhale like that. he did not just disrespect radiohead in my presence."

baby’s claws flex against the floor, kneading out frustration that only a cat snubbed can feel. mr. pickles knows this tension well. it is the tension between an old cat who has seen everything and a young cat who thinks everything is revolutionary. mr. pickles ignores him. he has been on this earth for far too long to engage with a radiohead purist. he chooses peace. he closes his eyes.

baby, however, chooses violence. his tail lashes against mr. pickles’ side. a direct challenge. mr. pickles does not react. but in his mind, he is already thinking, “this kid has no sense of musical history.”

as the first chorus hits, baby visibly tenses.

"but i'm a creep, i'm a weirdo, what the hell am i doin' here?"

it is as if something has awakened deep within his soul. he yeowls. loud. raw. guttural.

a cry that carries the weight of every lost midnight zoomie session, every betrayal when a door was closed before he could enter a room, every ignored demand for food. he is the creep. he is the weirdo.

his butt wiggles.

mr. pickles does not react. baby kneads the floor aggressively, eyes shiny with emotion.

mr. pickles does not react. baby turns to him, expecting validation.

mr. pickles is........asleep.

baby stares at the older cat in pure betrayal.

he nudges mr. pickles. no response. he nudges harder. still nothing. he lets out a small, scandalized chirp.

"you fell asleep?"

mr. pickles, without opening his eyes, flicks his tail dismissively.

"the 70s did it first. when albert hammond and mike hazlewood released ‘the air that i breathe.'"

baby gasps. the ultimate disrespect. he huffs, whipping his tail aggressively before marching away to sulk—dramatically, of course. choso, completely oblivious to the musical war that has just taken place, simply shrugs.

“guess they liked it.”

a/n: how old is mr. pickles really????

[qoldenskies]

been into those raph&leo against donnie&mikey pre-movie fics lately. and like. thoughts on don being the more outspoken at how destructive and idiotic the other two are, while mike is more sensitive and overwhelmed by everything? not that im hating on these characterizations! i enjoy the angst they bring, but overanalyzing is fun.

sure, mikey is the youngest and it makes sense to an extent. however, dr delicate touch and dr feelings are very loud and blunt. and yeah the situation is more extreme, but i think about donnie taking a similar position to what he did in hot soup: the game, staying out of the raph&mikey debate until directly addressed.

personally, i see mikey taking the lead on trying to get through to raph+mikey with donnie there to mediate and give his input when needed. and behind closed doors they definitely take turns comforting each other for sure. they’re both shown to be distraught over familial situations (turtle-dega nights and hidden city’s most wanted), so it makes sense to me for them to take shelter in each other as opposed to one of them being a total shield for the other.

oh, i dont like it. i actually find it unfaithful and flanderizing when it comes to their characters, especially since mikey is a lot more outspoken and direct while donnie is passive-- and this manifests in their behavior as a duo, too.

if not directly emotionally affected by it, i could see it slowly shifting donnie's behavior. he starts to close himself off more, works harder, becomes quieter and more standoffish, not really understanding why he feels so bad because the tension is slowly getting to him. being neurodivergent also makes arguing uhhh hard to witness especially if it were to get intense, loud noise and all that. not to mention raph and leo do almost get into a fistfight at the beginning of the movie so there is a VERY good chance that's happened before, especially with how quick donnie and mikey are to try and pull them apart.

i think comfort would be mutual though, yeah. mikey being distresed and fearful doesn't feel like it aligns with the way he normally acts in conflict? like disinterested and annoyed and then determined and frustrated feels like it aligns with him better. he's not a helpless crying child but i could see him getting more and more upset the longer it goes on, especially because he loves both of his bigger brothers and he feels like they're acting so stupid lmao.

mikey's also not really a savant when it comes to mediating because that's ALWAYS been more raph's job, maybe leo sometimes. he's more likely to go "guys stop fighting!" instead of actually breaking it up and that does very little, it'd probably just come off like moral high-grounding. even in the doctor feelings seminar he did with donnie in the show he was not exactly taking a very empathetic approach he was just being condescending LMAO

generally with donnie i feel like it would manifest in more avoidant behavior (and maybe this is a bit of a hot take but i feel like he would be more likely to have an "is it me?" reaction to something like this, especially because so much of this is about team synergy and he plays such an essential role in support), while mikey would be desperate to "fix" it (more than he is to actually resolve it) once he realizes it's becoming a persistent problem, but because he's unable to properly get to the root of it, it'd just make him increasingly more frustrated. and ofc i do think this would also seriously strengthen donnie and mikey's bonds with each other because i could see both of them having a breaking point about it eventually.

i DO actually have a fic in the works about this exact scenario, it's a sequel to coming undone that mostly addresses the kind of pain and frustration of donnie being unable to properly harness his ninpo as seamlessly as the others can, having some gifted kid issues because it's really hard to try new things when he's been so effortless with science for so long, all while there's so much tension in the family because of the leadership switch,,, it's about donnie and mikey bonding and confiding in each other mostly but ive put it on the backseat for canary continuity, maybe one day i'll pick it up again!!

[incorrect-rangers-quotes]

okay i got 20 tags in on a reblog of this before i thought i might as well bite the bullet and just write normal hahah. there are so many angles to look from here that i want to find and think about this later :)

someone in the tags said "he's calm when he wants to be" and i think that's pretty well-phrased. i personally would put it like this - halt is very level-headed when it comes to things like danger and combat and strategy, because when you do as much Danger and Combat and Strategy as rangers do, it's either you develop that, or you & the lads Get Deaded. i think that's mostly what's being referred to when he's described as calm and in control. he's a great presence to have when you're going into fight or flight because in terms of personal danger he hasn't panicked once in his life (exaggeration) and gets actively mad when someone's worried about him (not an exaggeration) LMAO. an anger outburst will rarely win you a fight.

op alluded to it already, but, you can also certainly have different amounts of patience when it comes to different things. halt especially, i think, is more prone to answering violence with violence no matter if it's proportionate or not than, i dunno, will? older crowley? pauline? diplomats are a far more emotionally adept authority i feel like. LOL. either way, yeah, sure, he can be patient, even in situations where he might deck someone otherwise, but i think to sympathize and thus be patient with you he's got to understand/relate to you. and obviously he's more likely to do that if he actively gives a shit about you, which he doesn't for most, so. Violent Tendencies.

i'll be honest my kneejerk reaction to the post was to joke about the fact that There Be Men Like That Sometimes, but really you can think about it that way! some of these things - corporal punishment, reacting to disrespect with violence, etc etc - aren't necessarily "i'm mad and not thinking about what i'm doing", they're just his normal responses that aren't always expressed angrily at all. it's just what he - read, people - do. it's what isn't necessarily universally accepted, but it is accepted by him and arguably the people around him.

to add; how much do you reckon there can be violence without anger? i don't think some of these were him running out of patience necessarily, or getting angry with Homicidal Flavour. i think halt is absolutely capable of looking at a situation, assessing it with a fairly neutral line of thought, and deciding that violence should be the answer. it's not a reaction, it's a response, if that makes sense. of course that doesn't mean he doesn't get angry, i'm sure he does plenty, but i feel like little of it is Uncontrolled violence. it's what he sees as Deserved violence, and let's admit there's seldom any punishment in it for him. iirc even his arguably Biggest L - the whole banishment thing, which was also exactly what he wanted out of the situation mind - wasn't over the threat of violence which was very much there, it was over calling duncan a daft wee piss cunt or whatever and it's illegal to be mean to the king. tragic.

and of course you, reading, can see the violence as uncalled for, or you can see the times he uses it as him being cruel. if that's your interpretation, then there's really not much going against it. i mean, it's my interpretation too, lmao. i think halt is a largely a hard and unpleasant man. it's just that we're seeing him from the perspectives of the people that mostly like him, so we get to see all the moments when he's patient, or kind, or loyal too. which makes for an overall rather nice character, if you're willing to get your hands a little dirty.

and, you know, childrens' literature and all. our faves can do a little prisoner slavery i guess. why not.

I've been thinking about this for a long time, but it's so fucking funny to me how Halt is the guy that everyone is like "yeah he can stay calm, he's always in control and has great patience when it comes to certain things, he's has great control over his emotions" but at the same time that guy has has bet up more than one teenage apprentice in the span of two books, thrown two guys out a window in the span of one book, made Will sleep outside in the cold, not even in the ground but in a fucking tree for singing a song and having a bit of whimsy in his life, threw a guy off his horse by putting his bowstring around his neck, knocking him out (and then wanted to punch him again when he woke up) for being a bit of a dick, and at one point in The Emporer of Nihon-Ja, Will was sure Halt was gonna deck a dude or something along those lines for knocking his hood back off his face. And thats just the stuff actually in the books, there's probably way more we don't know about.

I'm trying to think of any more shit he's done now.

It's just funny how he can apparently be the most calm and in control man but also get super easily pissed off and ready to kill in an instant at the same time.

[avonne-writes]

Hi love

I first have to say that I love the HS AU that you have. it makes me feel so gooey and soft, and I love these boys so much.

I was wondering if after their big fight at 30, if they go to therapy? like do they work on that together?

does John accept that they aren’t going to have kids? and does Gale feel guilty about that?

do they end up with a pet instead and John realizes he’s completely okay with this?

does John feel guilty that Gale basically doesn’t have anyone that wasn’t already John’s to begin with?

I love them together so much, it makes me so emotional reading through their stuff. to see them growing together, emotionally and physically.

-🐭

xx

Hi dear, thank you so much for these interesting questions! ❤️❤️ Sorry for the late reply.

They don’t go to couples therapy (although perhaps they should). Only Gale starts therapy again, but there are a few specific times when Bucky's called in to participate too. However, they do a lot of work together on their relationship on their own. One of the things they improve is how they deal with big fights - they know they can’t let things get as nasty again as during that rough patch. They come up with methods to avoid Gale feeling trapped because it triggers him.

They both feel very guilty about how things went down during their big fight and how their clashing opinions affected each other. John more so, because Gale's not in a good emotional place after the harsh reminder that John is his everything. For someone who values his indepence like Gale does, that's a hard realization to deal with. He blames himself for not building close enough relationships with friends of his own. One somber night in bed, he tells John that he thinks he’s a broken plate. John tells him he isn’t, but if he insists he is, they’re just gonna have to make some kintsugi.🩷

They have a dog already, they got him just before Gale left for his year in Switzerland, for Bucky to have company. The dog's name is Achilles. He’s a golden retriever. (He’s primarily John's dog. Which made their rough patch that much worse, because Achilles also spent less time with Gale as a consequence of him being John's.)

Things get better when Gale befriends Marge at NASA and as his therapist helps him work through what he feels towards his own teenage self (complicated feelings). Gale's previous therapies always focused on his parents, which makes sense, but he realizes during this one that what he needs at this point is to find peace with himself.

[princelylove]

Yanderes that want to be used, yanderes that are more than content only fulfilling one or a few needs for their darling and won't interfere when they seek them elsewhere. They're not necessarily cucks, although most are, their pleasure is mainly from thinking about their darling seeking them out for one thing and nothing else.

There's plenty of different ways to use someone. Emotionally, financially, sexually, there's probably ways that I've never even thought of. Notably different from those that want to be relied on- these types only feel arousal when they're being treated poorly. Notoriously difficult to get rid of, yanderes that enjoy being used usually have a deep obsession with their darling that seems to 'flare up' the more they're pushed away.

Some yanderes enjoy their body being used because it's a sign that their darling really is attracted to them. Well, some people would fuck anything that moves if given the chance, so not really, but they can hope!

Leone has been known to fantasize about his obsession taking control of him. It's more about control, though- it's about being wanted. Finally feeling pretty. If he was ugly you'd put a bag over his head, or something. But no! You're looking right at his face as you take him- even though mascara is running down his cheeks! He's in heaven! He loves you!

Leone's masochism really knows no bounds, it feels good to be treated like an object, especially a sexual object. He may pretend to be annoyed in the beginning, but he's a major slut for his obsession. He fake scoffs at glances at his 'tits,' he rolls his eyes at any sexual comments towards him and says something snarky in return- but he's up all night thinking about his darling groping him and worse.

God, and you're ignoring him otherwise.... you're so perfect. He pissed you off before, so now you're pretending he's just an annoying old man, but you're clearly still looking at him.... what'd he ever do to deserve you?

Ironically, Risotto loves to be used sexually. Most romantic types usually don't prefer such a thing, but it activates something deep within poor, sweet Risotto. He finds it appealing because it means you really do like him- he's the right length and thickness, you appreciate the rest of his body.... sometimes it's nice to just shut up and let your obsession your partner play with you. Usually he's happier to service his darling, but it just hits a guilty pleasure of his to be used. Don't think about him and if he's getting off, just use him like you would a dildo. A dildo that loves you very much and needs you to finish.

There's also yanderes that want to be put to work and be 'useful' in typical hard labor ways. These yanderes take pride in their physique and usually have a fixation with servitude- whether they're the devoted servitude type or the acts of service type is dependent on the yandere themself.

Above all else, Okuyasu aims to be useful. If he needs to do a truly concerning amount of manual labor to get his darling's attention, so be it. He's not really good for thinking. Or emotional support. Or giving gifts that make sense. Or anything! Anything other than hard, physical labor, that is.

Poor, sweet Okuyasu knows that you're just using him for his body. It's okay! 'Cause that's what his body is meant to do! If you need something- reaching something high or low, movin' something heavy, carrying something, whatever- he can do it! Eagerly! If you're mean to him, that's just how your relationship is supposed to work. You get bossy and mean, he does all the hard things! Yeah!

[crest-fallen-0]

Ok this is a bit insane so hear me out but -BSD fandom. I’ve always had this hc of Dazai’s inhumanity, one which is very unpopular. For years. But hear me out, it’s what makes him so compelling.

Inter-dimensionality is something that BSD interacts with frequently. There is a consistent reappearance of reality’s moldability in a meta way, making the reader a literal part of the plot. “The book” is the literal text of BSD.

If the book exists as more than a janky mechanic within the story, then there is some level of shallowness and distortion about their world. Things like death aren’t always permanent, premonition and uncanny future telling are possible, and the concept of the book implies the existence of a destiny in the plot, (or a predetermined outcome), sometimes paradoxically. What is written will happen, and what will happen will be written. The concept of time and of consequence literally exist as an object within this universe. ‘Fate’ or ‘destiny’ can be physically held.

Dazai has been criticized for always knowing things, for having an unreasonable level of foresight about the plot. This is usually attributed to his smarts, but it goes a bit beyond that, and beyond pattern recognition. A good way to see this is to compare him to Ranpo. The two seem to be operating with different tools. Ranpo is almost a little unsettled by Dazai (and Fyodor).

Dazai shows a level of emotional premonition and mastering of reality that’s freaky.

My theory is that this “plot armor” is an actual type of tool used by characters within the story, is their sort of connection with the fabric of the shallow universe (or the pages of the book). This is another layer of interaction with reality that Dazai especially (although sometimes others) have.

Add this to Dazai’s character traits, especially in the manga. He sort of deftly moves the pieces, and we get the sense that this is purposeful. He doesn’t seem to ostensibly do anything besides make outrageous plans which always work, he cannot fight reliably nor really deduce well on the spot (or he never does this out loud), yet, whenever he is around, everything sort of peacefully moves where it should. He has to be forcefully removed from the plot in order to cause the maximum amount of drama in more arcs than not. I think we’re supposed to believe that Fyodor (who is the only one approaching Dazai in this otherworldly aura), against the ADA (without Dazai) would win, and Dazai against the DOA (without Fyodor) would win. Ranpo can see things, but he is ultimately sort of helpless to this progression, whereas Dazai and Fyodor sit above. Everything is in their game of chess.

I believe Dazai is also emotionally unrealistic for a human portrayal, and this is where I’m gonna get flayed, especially because I don’t have the space to go into every detail (maybe later). He seems emotionally distanced from every but a select few characters. His relationship with Atsushi feels a bit groomy (as in the creation of a tool rather than sexually).

I feel Dazai is fundamentally bored. He is a character, despite all of his control, of unfulfilled desire. He wants to die, he desires it in his pursuit of pleasure, but he cannot, in an unsettlingly supernatural way (when removed from the bit). He says, “Everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it.”

He is ultimately active, and acting (in a fundamental sense), but he wants to be acted upon. He enjoys being yelled at, causing anger, he seems to preen under fury, he likes to flirt with the edge, and it never seems to quite take him. His plans are outrageous because they always seem to deliver him into the arms of death, just from something to pull him away at the last minute (often Chuuya) .

Anyways, don’t murder me, just scroll pls TT.

[system32sys-hub]

Hey, 21 notes, this one's a banger! I feel like following up on this because, like I said in the tags, this only scratches the surface.

To put it bluntly, I do not believe that health is a meaningful, useful, or ethical concept. To put it even more bluntly, health does not exist.

We live in a world that moralizes the concept of health to the point where discussions of it inherently cannot be separated from healthism - the idea that health is superior, controllable, or achievable. This mindset is everywhere, from the rudest bigots to the most invested fat liberationists, there is always, always, always the impression that health is mandatory.

From my research and observations, the concept of health is largely a collection of performative behaviours, many of them not actually benefiting disabled, neurodivergent, and fat people, especially those with higher support needs. An example would be exercise, something touted as universally good and enjoyed - a cure-all if you will - being very able to cause harm, especially in the environment that healthism creates; one of obsession, control, and force. The same mentality goes for other "wellness" and "fitness" concepts.

If we understand the idea that we cannot become mentally or emotionally better through obsession, control, and force, then we should be able to understand this for our bodies. Our human experiences are full of variability, and expecting that to just stop at a certain point doesn't make sense.

I think it's imperative that we separate ourselves from the idea of health as a whole. The concept of unhealth cannot exist without health, and the concept of health cannot exist without moralization.

You might be wondering, very naturally, "how do we take care of ourselves, then?" and my answer to that varies heavily.

Life is full of both-and situations. You are the author of your own life, and you can't control everything. Every single person is their own little microcosm of lived experiences, and should be inherently respected... as long as they're not bigoted.

And that very concept is an important facet of anti-healthism; you can do what you want with your body, but do you really want to do something bigoted, including believing in health as a concept?

Okay, I'm gonna put a controversial opinion out here.

I see a lot of people in the fat liberation community focusing on health. A lot of people don't seem to have fully deconstructed the fact that health does not make you morally superior, but more importantly, have not deconstructed health as a whole.

In a world that moralizes health, especially in relation to food and weight, we have to constantly doubt what we are learning about this concept. Can we trust the scientists who made Ozempic to tell us about how inferior fatness is? Can we trust the journalists writing about the "obesity epidemic" to recommend these so called health-boosting foods? So much of the modern concept of health is based off of systemic biases, and ones that we're blind to at that.

My opinion is, health is an incredibly vague, and often unhelpful concept. It is largely uncontrollable, let alone with food and exercise. You cannot diet, exercise, meditate and stretch your way out of marginalization, denial of medication, mobility aids, or surgery. And this is only talking about the people who have the privilege and/or ability to act upon these things.

My recommendation is to instead focus on the individual experience as a neutral one; "I have trouble walking" "My weight affects my ability to breathe" "I cannot process this information". Healthism is not only fatphobic, but ableist, and these two things go hand in hand.

This relies on a social framework of little to no fatphobia and healthism to begin with, but guess what. We can forge that world.

[ruporas]

drank too much

[ID: Digital Art of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. Vash’s body is turned slightly away from the viewer as he holds a staggering Wolfwood by his shoulder. He has one foot ahead of the other, the foot in the back used to stabilize himself from tipping over. Wolfwood is tethering into Vash, his weight pressed into him with his arms wrapped around Vash’s waist and his face is hidden away as he leans against Vash’s shoulder. Vash’s expression can be seen, his eyes wide and mouth tight-lipped, and his face is flushed red. A speech bubble comes out from Wolfwood, saying a drawled “Spikeyyy...”. The background are desaturated pastels of blue and green, showing night time, as they stand in the middle of an empty street that is also lit by the moon not depicted. Yellow light is seen coming from the inside of a saloon. End ID]

[moonsnqil]

Kevin watching Jean ask Jeremy if he's okay, watching Jean offer to hold Laila's bag so she can fix her shoe, watching Jean hand Cat a granola bar before a game because she looked a little unsteady. He's not jealous, he had his time by Jean's side. Maybe it's grief. Grief for something that was never so innocent, never so untouched by cruel hands, something that could've been better if they were anyone else. Grief for something that's long passed and can never be fixed to be made better than before. He had his time at the receiving end of Jean's concerned glances. Maybe he's just a little sad that when he's at an away game, he no longer buys post cards for a friend. Maybe he just misses this person who used to always be by his side but they both knows it's better this way. Jean is happy, it's not with Kevin, and that's okay.

[tomurakii]

I like bloodweave. Okay. But I DON'T like the version of them in fanfic where Astarion is a dick and Gale is like. Whining and pleading for him to be emotionally vulnerable (or just. Nice to him) prior to the relationship being established. Because that is just not accurate. Gale needs the player to express interest in him during his weave-teaching scene before he even considers hitting on them properly. Gale is entirely resigned to his fate and needs someone else to pull him away from it. Gale only starts being sweet and romantic and devoted after you accept his love confession and give him hope for the future. Gale says fuck all and then slinks away to cry privately if you break up with him.

Like he isn't chasing after people lmao. He isn't dropping to his knees and crying about anything much less this dickhead he met a week ago. He is overwhelmingly passive about literally everything personal to him up to and including his own death (provided there are no casualties/there is a good reason) until after the player expresses that they care about him. Astarion is not doing that in any of these fics.

Like Gale is friendly and a dork and doesn't wanna get murdered but he fully has a suicide plan. He thought the artefacts would help him survive but he didn't believe he'd ever truly live again. If Gale confessed and Astarion said/did like one (1) mean thing afterward Gale's romance is closed off forever. He's wandering into the forest to cry. He's killing himself immediately. His fragile ego and self worth can't take it. You have to understand that when we joke about him being pathetic it's not bc he's like. Sopping wet and chasing people down and begging for a scrap of attention. It's because he craves affection but would literally rather die than ask or even hope for it until someone else forces that hope back into his serotonin-deficient tadpole brain.

[hotvintagepoll]

Oh no I missed coffee night!!!!

I wanted to ask you about Hitchcock 😔 If you're willing to answer, which movies of his do you think are overrated and which do you think are actually good? He's my most watched director (because film school) but I only genuinely like a few of his films and always disagreed with my classmates about which ones were the best

I feel like I'm holding up a Daffy Duck style sign that says "shoot me" because Hitchcock is so well thought of by cinephiles versus me, the basic horny mod who watches movies with hot people in them. With that said, I remember Rope, Dial M for Murder, North by Northwest, and To Catch a Thief all left me a bit flat, because I felt like he was prioritizing pushing technical limits or creating extravagant images over deeper characters and relationships. I love a good technical limit-pushing, but it needs to serve the story! And sometimes I feel like he has an idea he wants to try or an image he wants to show and puts so much focus on developing it that characters' reality and interest kind of falls by the wayside—they become pawns navigating his situations, instead of interesting characters in their own right.

To be fair, this is more a characteristic of his later work than his early work—The Lady Vanishes is one of my favorite movies, and I remember Notorious and Spellbound both being enjoyable when I watched them a few years ago. Again, basic film watcher here. Don't show this post to the Criterion collection.

[parablesystem]

does anyone else have like... a weird sort of "partial amnesia" where you know about something, you're fully aware that there's some memory there, but you can't actually think about it or feel anything related to it? like a perpetual "wait why did i walk into this room" feeling, but with stuff other people in the system can remember?

[qoldenskies]

i think its so funny when people take the way donnie acts at face value even though its a horrible lie because he's a horrible liar, while understanding leo is bullshitting very well despite him actually being GOOD at bullshitting. many such cases

[mousemannation]

serious post time. concerning some thoughts ive had about zverev at LC. nothing too heavy but under the cut in case u just wanna scroll past.

i was talking to my mum about this and i think most of tennisblr share the same sentiment towards him so im not gonna be saying anything too radical. Its also not going to be super concise because im mostly spitballing here.

I was just thinking about how we talk about him and how we as a community navigate his presence on tour. I know that there's a vindictive joy that comes with seeing him lose that's especially potent since he basically got away with domestic violence scot free.

Seeing him lose is a good feeling because he clearly cares a lot and it feels like winning that he's upset, but it also doesn't actually mean anything in the scope of things. Obviously on some level if he lost enough he would no longer be relevant but it's inescapable that he is, unfortunately, very good at tennis. He's number 2 in the world. Call him a choker all you want, he's still vastly more successful that 99.9% of all tennis players.

But it's also just sport- a game. It's not the outcome of the match that amounts to anything outside of a very small community of people; its the celebrity, the money and clout and hero worship. The fact of the matter is it doesn't make a difference to the women he abused if he wins a match because he still abused them and he is still famous. He will always have been famous, even if he retires tomorrow. They will still interview him, laud him in press, put him in ads.

I just sometimes think- what right do I have to feel vindicated by his losses? To weigh his literal actual crimes against the outcome of some silly ball game? In a perfect world he would not be playing, he would be banned by the ITF and shunned publicly by his fellow players. He would not be invited to Laver Cup.

I won't say I don't look at tournament draws and hope for his early loss, but at least at tour events that means an early exit. I can't find it in myself to care if he wins or loses at Laver Cup, not really. Because he will still be there, he is still part of the team, he is still on the bench. It doesn't matter if he wins because he's still an abuser people paid thousands of dollars to watch play a game.