#a meme i just made to express my emotional distress

[boqorka]

Types of Emotions

Emotions are complex psychological experiences that are often difficult to describe. In general, emotions are categorized into six main types:

Happiness

Sadness

Fear

Anger

Disgust

Surprise

Each of these emotions can be further broken down into subcategories. For example, happiness can be described as contentment, joy, and excitement. Similarly, sadness can be described as grief, sorrow, and despair.

The Importance of Understanding Emotions

Emotions are an integral part of human experience, and they play a vital role in our mental and physical health. Understanding our emotions can help us to manage stress, communicate effectively, and build stronger relationships with others.

Additionally, understanding emotions is important for personal growth and self-awareness. By recognizing and acknowledging our own emotions, we can develop greater empathy and understanding for the emotions of others.

The Impact of Emotions on Our Lives

Emotions can have a significant impact on our lives, both positive and negative. Positive emotions such as happiness and joy can improve our mental and physical health, enhance our creativity, and foster stronger relationships.

On the other hand, negative emotions such as anger and fear can be harmful to our mental and physical health, damage our relationships, and impact our overall quality of life. It is important to learn how to manage these negative emotions effectively in order to prevent them from taking control of our lives.

READ MORE:https://www.fariimahajaceylka.com/2023/02/types-of-emotions.html

[saiwriting]

The Mask of Vulnerability 

Saiya Soublet

Emotional intelligence is the new fad. Deeper than any dietary restrictions or new dance craze, there is the diet of the soul. Today, we all crave the vulnerability and intimacy which was stolen from us through capitalistic fervor and divide-and-conquer social media tactics. We are living in a time where colonization and imperialism are more overtly pervasive throughout every facet in our lives. Vulnerability and the illusion of connecting to others on a deeper level is on the rise as a result of this. 

Oftentimes, I see posts that I think are both funny and incredibly relatable, but what part they are relating to is up for debate. These memes commonly take the form of making subverted or subdued attempts at being open, but also making light of our deep feelings through a cute-ification and heavily humor leaning medium. Admittedly, I think that I loved liking and retweeting and posting these collages of consciousness because I, too, felt the calling to express all of the deep emotion and struggle that was going to pour out from me sooner or later. Other than putting it into my writing, it was funny memes that, when actually analyzed (or…maybe over analyzed) could point to the true culmination of feelings inside. Unfortunately, this comes at a price of a waning authenticity that is pervasive in a culture that thrives on relatability and group-think instead of individuality, personal expression, and the cultivation of an honest exchange of the qualities of humanity. 

Never are we comfortable with exposing our shadow sides to others, especially strangers on the internet, but as the lines are blurred between what is a private struggle and what constitutes as a web-wide conversation starter or PR nightmare. As a whole, we share more of ourselves with those that we don’t see face to face because it feels good to project your shadow side into the ether. Your shadow blends well with the pit of darkness that is the internet so that you are not singled out as “the person” with “the flaws.” When expressing true vulnerability within the confines of real life, face-to-face interaction, there is no hiding that shadow and it may even be distressing to see how much we obscure our own light. Online, everything blends, so it is never truly you. 

This is seen with the uptick in what is called “therapy speak” as ways to avert our attention from inward accountability to external excuses or just compulsive labeling and shelving of things that should be picked apart and thoroughly looked to be put in the right place. It’s like looking at moldy dinner in a tupperware that was made a month ago and going, “Yep, that is my moldy month-old dinner in a tupperware,” and then not throwing it away. Labeling, now that we as a collective seemingly know most of what we can about how we function cognitively and behaviorally, is obsolete. It does nothing for us but create an echo chamber of back and forth accusations with no following justice. Sometimes our justification and healing for the more vulnerable side of things lie within the feelings and issues rather than trying to exist without. 

Of course, this is nothing new because there has always been a complex with the rise of the way we do social media now that emphasizes a more curated version of your authenticity where you can show yourself but it has to be polished because we’ve gotten so used to the consuming of others instead of interacting. So, this curation of vulnerability is on the rise as a result. I have personal experience with how that can be an illusion of opening up, but in reality, it is just a sarcastic mask masquerading as the mask of tragedy. There is no way to truly know this from an outsider perspective and it takes the less popular version of introspection and shadow work to really understand how we cut ourselves off from actually feeling authentically. Humor, sarcasm, and relatability are huge drugs for our ego. 

Vulnerability at its realest is a surrendering of the ego, a condemnation of the pressure built inside of us from harboring things that we try to file away in the back as our undesirables. That reality, however, does not align with the core principles of social media that keep us enmeshed into its patterns. As a society, we’ve finally understood the harmful nature of pop culture therapy speak, but have invented a new way of pathologizing our spiritual breakdown into our newest harmful pastime: relentless humor in the face of tragedy. Admittedly, as effective of a method as it can be to make sure that we still harbor joy in our lives, there is a time and place. Unfortunately, we have put too much emphasis on laughing together that the cries and pleas of those actually struggling fall on drowned out ears. It’s difficult because we want to be open. We want to be loved and seen for the light that we all possess, but it is difficult when we are uncomfortable with vulnerability and even more uncomfortable with the consequences we have seen time and time again where vulnerability on the net is met with scrutiny, shame, and even disdain. Even positive forms of vulnerability, such as sharing a sweet moment of drinking coffee with your husband on your porch, is met with vitriol. 

So, how do we combat this? Well, for starters, we can be more honest. Take the humor out of spaces meant for reflection and honest expression of things that are more troubling in nature. Stop making your feelings funny! If you feel sadness, if you feel doubt, if you feel like things are not going to be okay, express that fully. Humor is a great tool to lighten our soul, but if we use it as a sedative for more serious emotions, we run the risk of numbing ourselves from what makes us feel truly human. Another way that we can combat this is by opening up the pit of social media a bit. Right now, it seems as though it’s a black hole of negativity, apathy, and overall unseriousness, but if we create more open and safe spaces for people to have conducive conversations about how they actually feel, then it can foster more spaces where we can express actual joy. 

Everyone is putting up a mask online, and if you don’t think you are, you probably just don’t know it yet. Take off the mask. Open your eyes to the sun and realize that you are not the sum of your parts. You are whole just as you are. I encourage you to be the initiator of honest conversations and the creation of safe spaces online. 

[orionsangel86]

Subtext Glorious Subtext! A Dreamling on Netflix analysis in The Sandman - Part 3

1589

Insert distracted boyfriend meme here...

1589 is when the queer coding starts ramping up a notch. Let me tell you how I am fascinated by their choice of actor to play Shakespeare - a twink with stars in his eyes - amazing. Bravo. Not even Hob manages to look at Dream like he wants to be utterly ruined by him the way this actor looked at Tom Sturridge. Here on Tumblr.com I am sure we are all very much aware of the theories and speculation about the actual Shakespeares sexuality with the consensus being that he was probably bisexual, and my GOD have they decided to lean into that on this show.

There is a lot to analyse in this scene. Hob’s dialogue about what he has been up to is almost word for word the same as the comic, but Ferdie’s delivery is perfect with its mix of flirtation and desperate need to impress. Look at this dramatic fool:

Dream’s curious reaction to his bragging is almost as if he is trying to figure him out, but unlike the comics/audiobook, the conversation between Shakespeare and Marlow is interspersed with this one, with Shakespeare pulling Dream’s attention before Hob has even finished talking. This adds extra tension to the scene and raises the emotional stakes. In the comics, Hob had already finished talking when Shakespeare gets up and starts reciting Faustus to the point that he draws Dream’s attention prompting Dream to ask Hob who he is.

One of the interesting changes made is the removal of Hob’s description of Kit Marlowe as “bent as a pewter ducat.” A wise choice as it comes across as somewhat homophobic, but its removal also serves to not “other” Marlowe and therefore “other” the idea of homosexuality as something different to Hob. The other similar change to the show was the removal of Shakespeare flirting with the waitress whilst Marlowe claimed he’d “stick to boys, my horned “actresses”.” 

It’s funny to me that by removing the moments in this scene that canonically confirm one characters queerness, the show also removes any interpretation that could “no homo” the other characters, ultimately making everyone appear much gayer in general!

(My giffing skills are woefully inept so have an image of Shakespeare's heart eyes instead)

When Dream approaches Shakespeare in the show it is insanely heated. The music swells with mystery and intrigue, Shakespeare stands and stares at Dream in complete awe. Enraptured by Dream’s gaze. The whole

“Have we met?”

“We have, but men forget in waking hours.”

Sounds like the ultimate pick up line. It's basically a play on One Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty in my opinion! This line is in the comic, and also in the audible book, but the delivery of the line in the show is the only time it comes across like a come on. Tom Sturridge please explain yourself?!?

In fact, all the acting choices here blow my mind. Seriously. I wanna know what the director told these two. Its really easy to see Dream’s proposition to Shakespeare as something beyond a business transaction. With the mysterious and rather romantic music, the soft candlelight, and the cameras keeping in close up of the two characters as they hold each others gaze... It’s a moment where you raise your eyebrows and wonder if the show just implied that their lead character just took THE Shakespeare off for a one night stand passionate enough to inspire the entire “Fair Youth” series of sonnets.

Joking aside, it doesn’t help the extremely queer undertones when the camera cuts back and forth between Dream, Shakespeare and Hob looking on at them with an expression one can only describe as hurt.

(Gif link)

It’s the editing in this scene that really sets it apart from the comic and audible book. Dream is distracted throughout Hob’s talk, and continues to look over at Shakespeare much to Hob’s apparent distress. When he eventually gets up to leave, he holds a hand up to stop Hob talking and simply walks away. Which only causes to further upset Hob and heightens the emotional intensity of the moment. As Neil Gaiman said in the episode 6 watch party - Hob is having to watch his date get up and leave him half way through. It’s specifically framed in a way to emphasise the hurt Hob feels, as well as the envy towards Shakespeare.

This is far more subtle in the comic and practically non existent in the audible audiobook where Dream actually tells Hob “Excuse me” before approaching Shakespeare. I found this funny because where the audiobook interpreted Dream’s behaviour in the comic as rude and clearly sought to attempt to change that, the Netflix show makes his behaviour worse by framing it as Dream abandoning his date. Playing up the emotions of the moment and making the whole scene come across like a live action distracted boyfriend meme!

I do encourage every Sandman fan to listen to the Audible audiobooks, but fair warning, the tone is NOT the same. The meeting with Shakespeare is played completely straight (in both senses of the words). This is in no way a criticism of the audiobook, but it is an excellent indication of director decisions and how different elements in different mediums can convey certain tones. I find that the show in general plays heavily into Dream being other and oftentimes it is very easy for other to be subtextually layered alongside queer (see the entire history of queer coding in cinema and why gay people love the horror genre). Interestingly, the audiobook doesn’t give Dream this same vibe. People such as Hob, Shakespeare, Constantine, etc, they just treat him as a bit of a posh lord. His otherness isn’t heavily emphasised in scenes set in the Waking World, indicating he is better at blending in than he is in the show.

So after Dream goes off to ravage Shakespeare - ahem - make a business arrangement with Shakespeare, the final 1589 scene is Hob’s final reaction. The line is the same across all mediums.

“Everything to live for, and no where to go but up.”

In the comic, the final panels here do not give any indication that Hob is upset by Dream’s leaving. He get’s distracted by the joys of having white bread. Simple pleasures please comic!Hob far greater than mysterious black clad lords.

The audiobook follows this along to the letter. Audible!Hob is joyful, laughing and happily reminscing about killing for bread (NGL I don’t particularly like Hob in the audiobook. No offence to Mathew Horne but 1. I can’t separate his voice from Gavin in Gavin and Stacey, and 2. I just think he comes across as really laddish and I find it offputting.)

In the show, Ferdie gives an absolute brilliant performance with just the right mix of hurt at being ditched for a young twink, and hopeful optimism for the future. Gone is any mention of killing for white bread, and in it’s place is a thoughtful Hob who looks at the spread of food laid out for his Stranger, and accepts it almost as a consolation prize. He’s gonna eat through his hurt and try to forget about this for the next century, but we all know he won’t forget at all.

Follow on to Part 4 to read my analysis of 1689

[veliseraptor]

flying across the country later this week so as usual it's time for a 150 WORDS MEME!!! send me a number (or up to three) and I'll write 150 words in that wip. annnnd go, excerpts under the cut (and you can find summaries for the fics here)

1. “I didn’t ask this of you!” Xingchen said. “That you would - sully your hands with demonic cultivation, bring back the person you hate most in the world, for my sake–” 

“You never got that you were the only one who really mattered, Daozhang,” said an all-too familiar voice behind him. Song Lan’s entire body seized up and he twisted around to see Xue Yang perched on the windowsill, his eyes fixed on Xingchen like there was nobody else in the room – in the world, maybe. Song Lan’s blood turned to ice. Xingchen’s mouth opened, his head lifting, but Song Lan couldn’t decipher the expression on his face.

“Xue Yang,” he said, his voice a trembling whisper. Xue Yang’s face broke into a smile, his eyes feverishly bright.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.” (Life After Death)

2. “So,” he said, and then realized he didn’t really know what to say next. Xue Yang watched him with a look of wide-eyed innocence that said he knew Xiao Xingchen was struggling and wasn’t going to help him. A spark of annoyance had Xiao Xingchen pressing his lips together.

“So what do you do when you’re not…”

“Getting scraped off the road by nice boys?” Xue Yang said with a crooked smile, and Xiao Xingchen’s face heated up a little.

“I assume that’s not how you spend most of your time.”

“Not usually, no,” Xue Yang said. “Maybe I should try it more often, though.” (Redux)

3. By the time they pulled up to the house Pete and Macau had apparently picked out, Vegas was exhausted, despite the fact that all he’d done was sit in a car for a half an hour. That was bad enough, but then the walk up a short flight of stairs to the front door left him out of breath and a little dizzy. He ended up leaning on Pete, the burning in his chest not just from what apparently counted as exertion now. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s okay,” Pete said soothingly. “The doctor said you’d get tired–”

“I know what the doctor fucking said,” Vegas snapped at him. “I didn’t think that meant ten stairs would be a problem.” His heart was beating very hard. What was he supposed to do? If riding in a car and a few stairs wiped him out like this–

Useless. Worthless. Pathetic. (post-canon vegaspete long(er) fic)

4. “Pete said the shootout happened around noon,” Vegas said. “By the time you told me, it’d been hours.” 

Porsche wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions, so his discomfort was obvious. “Well,” he said, “there was a lot going on, and–” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Porsche,” Vegas growled, interrupting. “You held off telling me what happened on purpose. Was that your idea or somebody else’s?” 

The fact that Porsche didn’t look happy just made Vegas angrier right now. If he at least had the grace to be smug and shitty about it then that would be something Vegas knew how to take, and how to deal with. (Undercut)

5. He realized that for all Xue Yang’s vicious words, he had never spoken in any detail of that time. There was his mention of a garden, his assertion that Xingchen had been happy, and that one brief goading allusion to a relationship that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Other than that…nothing. It would, he thought, be an easy weapon for Xue Yang to use against him, to rub Song Lan’s face in the knowledge of their – friendship, however false it had been. 

And yet there was silence there. That’s not yours, Xue Yang said, like memories were something he could hoard, possess, like a stolen sword or – or a piece of candy. (Walking Far From Home)

6. Nai had a strange look on his face, vaguely distressed but also like he was thinking very hard. “What was his name?”

Wolfwood opened his mouth on a lie but found himself saying, “Vash.” He filled his lungs with smoke and held his breath for a little while before letting it out, watching Nai closely. His expression looked like he was trying to remember something, and a chill went down Wolfwood’s spine. What happened if the old Knives suddenly just…woke up, like this, got all his memories back and…what would he do? What would he be able to do? 

But then Nai shook himself and squeezed his eyes closed. “Vash,” he said again, out loud. “And you’re Nicholas D. Wolfwood.” The way he said it was so careful and serious that it was hard not to crack a grin. This was all still too weird to actually follow through with it, though.

“Wolfwood works,” he said. 

“Why not Nicholas?” Nai asked, apparently genuinely curious. “Doesn’t sound as cool,” Wolfwood said, improvising instead of saying well for one thing it’d be really fucking weird for you specifically to call me that. If baby Knives got to calling him Nico that’d be it. (The Second Coming)

7. “Pain makes you snide,” Gabriel said. “But I would rather you not strain yourself anyways, my dear.” There was a towel over his arm and he carried a bowl and a pitcher of water. “Are you hungry?” 

Lymond’s eyes tracked his every movement, a falcon observing an eagle. “That depends. What price sustenance?” 

“No price,” Gabriel said. “And I shall take that for answer.” He shook his golden head. “I wish you would not insist on thinking so poorly of me when I simply seek to care for you in your time of need.” 

“Simply that,” Lymond said. “I see. And should I decline your gracious offer?” 

“I fear I cannot oblige,” Gabriel said. “How could I permit your self-destruction when I can prevent it?” 

“Quite easily, I should think,” Lymond said. (et ipsi sunt jacula)

8. “A month,” Xue Yang said. “You’ve got a month to impress me. I’ll leave your baby brother alone and you get to see him, once, before that time’s up. And you tell me everything. If I think you’re holding anything back I’ll have a fierce corpse tear you apart. Maybe it’ll even be your a-Ning.” His grin was full of teeth. “And if it works out then maybe we can keep it going. How’s that, Wen-daifu?”

“I don’t imagine I’m going to get anything better,” she said flatly.

“You won’t.” Xue Yang cracked his neck to one side and stretched his arms overhead. “All right, then. So what d’you have for me?”

Wen Qing kept herself from exhaling in relief. A terrible relief: it was a poisoned bargain, a pathetic shield, and right now all she had. Maybe by then…maybe by then things would be different. Jin Guangyao had said…

She couldn’t trust anyone’s word. Not here. 

Except, funnily enough, she thought she could trust Xue Yang’s. Whatever else he was, there was a strange kind of honesty in him. She didn’t doubt he could kill her without blinking and never think twice about it. But she thought he’d keep his promises. (fall apart, destroy, release)

9. Liu Mingyan was a problem. 

If she had to be fair (though Sha Hualing was not generally interested in being fair), she was less annoying than her brother, but that was setting a remarkably high bar, and she was more annoying to Sha Hualing specifically. As far as Sha Hualing could tell, Mingyan-guniang had made it her business to interfere with Sha Hualing’s business at every possible opportunity. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t turn around in the Human Realm without running into her, even when Sha Hualing wasn’t doing anything wrong. Or hadn’t done anything yet, anyway. 

Or at least hadn’t done anything Liu Mingyan could possibly know about. (under pressure)

10. “Don’t suppose you’d take these off now,” Xue Yang said, holding out his arms. “Seeing as we’ve got a common enemy.”

“No,” Song Lan said flatly. Xue Yang turned his eyes hopefully on Xiao Xingchen, who seemed like he might be a softer touch, but he seemed to be busy cleaning out the shallow wound that’d sliced open Song Lan’s left arm. Xue Yang suppressed his prickle of annoyance and held onto his smile.

“Really? I’m not your biggest problem anymore, Song-daozhang.”

“You’re still a problem,” Song Lan said. Xiao Xingchen raised his eyes briefly from Song Lan’s arm to his face, and then glanced toward Xue Yang. Xue Yang held in the urge to show his teeth, but Xiao Xingchen just turned his eyes back to the wound he was tending anyway. “Freeing you would make you a worse one. Turning the wolf loose when there’s a tiger hunting doesn’t give the hare a better chance.”

“Does that make you two rabbits?” Xue Yang said. (strangers once united)

11. “Why won’t it work, you mean?” Xue Yang said, and laughed. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Zichen.” 

Don’t call me that, Song Lan almost wrote, but he stopped himself. There was almost certainly no better way to ensure that Xue Yang called him nothing else. Instead he wrote, I would expect you to want to brag.

“Ha,” Xue Yang said. “What would be the point? It’s not like you’d be impressed. And you already know how good I am. Was.” His smile fell away a little, momentarily, and for a split second Song Lan saw him as he’d truly been when he died, hollowed out and exhausted, bloody and beaten even before Song Lan slid Fuxue between his ribs. “You are how good I was. My greatest creation. Even more than the Yin Tiger Seal. I just remade that, after all, but you were all mine.” 

Song Lan couldn’t actually vomit but the nausea was still overpowering. He gritted his teeth, controlling himself through the waves of hatred and disgust that rolled through him. (the poison in your bones)

12. “What is it?” Anders asked. “You’re upset.” 

Fenris bit his tongue on his first response and instead said, “I think you can agree that it hasn’t been a particularly good day.”

“Oh,” Anders said. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” He paused. “Wait. Where’d all the Templars go?”

“To the Maker’s embrace, I suppose,” Fenris said. 

“They’re dead?” Pause, then, sounding a little disconcerted, “did I kill them?” 

“No, mage,” Fenris said, his patience running even shorter. “I killed them. Now shut up.”  If Anders were just a little shorter he would throw him over his shoulder. If he wanted to risk a brain injury that would incapacitate him even longer Fenris would knock him unconscious. Unfortunately, neither option was viable. 

“Oh,” Anders said. But thankfully, for once, he listened.

Or, as it turned out when Fenris turned his head to look at him, he’d just passed out again. (the best all lack conviction)

[dragon-in-a-kettle]

[starkeristheendgame]

I had this idea and- Tony and Peter in the lab working together when suddenly Peter gets a call and it’s Ned just talking about LEGO stuff so Peter puts him on speaker. Thing is, Ned has no idea he is with Tony because Peter didn’t address it so he suddenly says “So how’s it going with your Iron Daddy crush?” Or something like that and Peter and Tony look at eachother absolutely SHOCKED

I spent a solid ten minutes wholly entertained by this idea and cycling through all the reactions Peter could have. I hope I did you proud on this one, Non! Thank you so much for considering me ❤️

No triggers/warnings. SFW

Working with Tony was fast becoming one of Peter's favourite things to do. It was even better than building LEGO sets or patrolling the streets, and that was saying something. He lived for the long hours spent in the lab, working alongside or merely coexisting with Tony as they worked, playlists cycling through in the background. It was calming, it felt right. 

If he were to hazard a guess, he would say Tony enjoyed it too. He obviously didn’t have much evidence to compare to how Tony had been in the lab prior to his arrival, but these days Tony sang along to the music and talked to Peter about their projects and ordered too much takeout even for the two of them and sometimes, even fell asleep against the workbench after too many long hours. 

It was one such night when they were working together; each on their individual projects but bouncing information and ideas between them. Peter was working on adding a small-scale explosive to his web mechanism for things like blowing up concrete or doors and Tony was working on what looked like part of the suit, but could frankly be anything at this point. Peter had once asked him how working on the Gauntlet was going only to be informed it was a vase. A mechanical vase, no less. 

“Diamond laser, diamond laser…” Tony muttered, petting about the bench. Peter picked up the tool laying on his own bench. 

“Here,” he called, tossing it over. Tony caught it, offered him a brief, warm smile, and dove back into his work. Time passed quietly, until he heard a soft mutter of oh, that’s not good and then-

“Duck!”

Wordlessly Peter dropped down, tucking himself under the safety of his bench as there was a hiss, a clang, and a piece of metal flew over where he’d just been standing, ricocheting off the wall before it clattered to the floor. He righted himself, peered at it curiously, then went back to his own work. Mishaps in the lab were far too common to make a fuss of. 

It fell back into a lull, working in tandem and comfortable silence until Peter’s phone rang on the table besides him. He paused, nose crinkling. Aunt May wasn’t expecting him to be home tonight, so that left…

“Hey, Ned,” he greeted as he swiped the call, lifting it to his ear. There was a scuffle and a huff on the other end of the line and he waited patiently as Ned got himself set. 

“Dude! Have you seen the new LEGO Avengers set? You gotta get one. It’s got everyone! Well, except you, but technically you’re not an official Avenger yet-”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he fiddled with a coil one-handed. Ned continued to speak, rattling off the pieces, the details and resolutely demanding they went the moment the store opened tomorrow to get the set. Peter hummed along in agreement, interjecting here and there to demand details. 

“Oh, I thought about what we could do for our science project, too!” Ned began, and Peter huffed in irritation as he tried and failed to connect a wire with just one hand. Tony more or less comfortably forgotten in the background, he shuffled his phone down onto the desk and tapped the speaker icon, picking up his tools once Ned’s voice filled the room. 

“So I was thinking, right? And I was thinking; hey! Peter has access to all this stuff now! And I know we can’t do anything too dramatic because we’re still losers, but what if we use…” Peter listened intently, tongue sticking out as he focused on screwing on the pressure plate. Ned’s idea actually wasn’t all that bad - Taking inspiration from the web shooters to make a spray-able temporary hole/crack fix. 

It was nothing Peter hadn’t already made, so it ought to be easy enough. It was easy to listen along and work; both motions equally soothing. Tony said nothing in the background, engrossed in his own tinkering and content to let their conversation be background noise. 

"Oh, and hey! How's the whole thing with Mr. Stark going?" Ned asked on the tail-end of a ramble about how Peter could use the web formula to start his own business and make billions. Peter opened his mouth to explain their current projects, temporarily forgetting that he hadn't actually told Ned he was at the Tower right now. 

"Or should I say Iron Daddy now? Was that just a one time thing? Its so weird saying that, though. Just get his Iron Rod already so we don't have to keep-" 

Peter froze, staring at the phone in movie-comical horror. Across the lab there was a deafening clang and a curse as Tony jerked upright and knocked his head on Butterfinger's mainframe, dropping the diamond laser to the table. 

"-Like just go right up to him and say 'I want you to be my Iron Daddy,' like how hard can it be? You could tell him about your old fan account, I bet he'd be flattered. I bet he'd even-" 

Peter made a high distressed sound, flailing on the spot. His mind screamed SHUT UP NED SHUTUP HE'SHERERIGHTHERE SHUT UP but his throat wouldn't work to get the words out. On the other bench Tony looked vaguely like the arc reactor had glitched, eyes more white than iris as he gripped at the edge of the table. 

Panic rose like a tidal wave and Peter gave a strangled sound, operating on pure fear and horror as he raised his palm and pressed the trigger on the web shooters. The StarkPhone went up in a spectacular display of sparks and flying metal, Ned's voice cutting off abruptly. 

Dully, Peter thought huh, it works. As the last pathetic sparks fizzled to the ground Peter turned his head, staring meekly somewhere near Tony's shoulder. 

"Sorry. That was... Your phone," he excused lamely, belatedly noting he no longer had his chappy old IPhone but Stark Industries' latest, sleekest model courtesy of Tony. 

“Technically it was yours,” Tony replied back rather dazedly, leaning heavily against the bench. An awkward silence fell over them for several seconds, before Tony’s expression twisted. 

“Iron Daddy?” 

Peter made a sound between a groan and a whine and collapsed against his own bench next to the smoking remains of his phone. “Oh my god. I was a meme. I sent him a meme one time.”

“And my Iron Rod is…?” 

“Mr. Stark, I am begging you to stop talking.”

There was a terse pause where Peter awaited morosely to be told to leave; to be dropped outside his apartment again with a bye, c’ya, don’t call. And then - 

“Do you?” Tony’s voice sounded... Small. Peter looked up quizzically, brows furrowing as he watched Tony rub at his arm. It was a tic - an emotional tell. “Want me to be your Iron Daddy?” 

Peter almost groaned. Might’ve, if the meaning behind the words hadn’t rendered him incapable of anything other than surprise. 

“I’d... Always thought it would be more a boyfriend thing,” he admitted. His crush had never been a secret but had always been swept under the rug as idolism and hero worship, never taken seriously. It had only been in his dreams and fantasies that Tony had ever reciprocated the feelings or taken his compliments to heart. 

“Hm.” It was a flat response, thoughtful and veiling any true emotion as Tony moved to rub at his jaw, then turned away. “I’ll get you a new phone. FRI has all your data on back-up, so you won’t have lost anything.”

Peter’s heart sank a little and he took the unspoken rejection graciously, lowered his head with a short nod. He willed himself to be mature about it, sweeping away the remains of his old phone into the waste disposal and thanking the older man in a small, fragile voice when he was handed a sleek new device.

Tony had turned it on whilst he brought it over and it cycled through an installation before vibrating in his hand.

[Iron Daddy] I can do boyfriends. [19:21]

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

Everything and Nothing

Pairings: eventual LAMP, and Demus

Warnings: tattoo mention, tiny argument, food, crying, self deprecating thoughts, feeling unintelligent, and hurt/comfort. 

Word count: 1,248

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 The Prince twins sat on the floor in Remus’s room. Papers scattered around the two, a stark white against the dark green carpet. Remus furiously scribbled on another piece of paper, drawing frantically. 

He let out a dramatic groan, “I can’t get it” they complained, “yah you will” their twin replied, “you always do. Now shush I’m trying to do homework”. Remus glared at her and looked back down at the drawing. It was a broken crown tangled with briers. A cool design but not cool enough for Remus.

Each tattoo that Remus illegally had symbolized something. Their first tattoo was a small crown on their neck for their brother. There was a heart split three ways on his lower leg for their parents. As well as doodles he had done with the tattoo gun over scars to represent each incident. As well as five dots on their collar bone.  

Now Remus wanted a new one. Their world had just changed a bunch, it made sense that he would change with it. They just couldn’t decide how they wanted to change. 

Roman stretched, looking over at the frustrated boy. “Time for a break?” he asked. Remus just nodded.

Roman nudged him with his foot, “it isn’t just the tattoo is it” she observed, “somethings up, what is it”. Remus looked up at their twin with an almost unreadable expression on their face. 

There was a moment of painful silence.  

“You have a crush!!!!!” Roman screeched. “Nooooooooooooo” Remus wined burying his burning face in his hands. “Who is it, Who is it, Who is it!!!!” Roman chanted practically vibrating with excitement. 

Remus glared at her through his fingers, “none of your damn business” he said with a growl. Roman just groaned and flopped onto their lap. “Come on, I’m not gonna tell anyone… ok, I might tell Pat” he admitted, “but I can help!!!!”. 

“Were not having this decision, I would rather walk down the stairs like a normal person” Remus snapped. 

Roman sighed and sat up. “Ok, finnnneeee. But if you do ever want to talk about it I’m here” with that she scooped up her papers and walked out. 

Remus looked down at the crumpled paper in their hands. 

He looked up at the door and at the paper again. A smile formed on their face as an idea slowly came to them. He grabbed a new piece of paper and began drawing. 

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Patton’s brain was going to melt out of his ears. He didn’t get it, the chemistry homework was so gosh darn confusing. 

Of course, Logan was already done with his homework. He sat cross-legged on the floor across from Pat, working on a new chapter in his fanfiction. Roman was almost done with the writing homework. Though she was more often than not, distracted by Virgil who was draped across his lap showing him memes. 

Pat looked back down at the question. He knew that he should just skip it and go back once he was done with the worksheet. But he had only understood a few of the previous questions and he really had to do this question. 

Patton felt tears well up in his eyes, ‘nonononono, I can’t cry now. Hold it together pat.’. He stared intensely at his paper, blinking vigorously in a futile attempt to keep the tears in. 

God, he was crying over fucking homework in front of his friends, how weak was he. Why were they even friends with him? He was stupid and couldn’t just be happy and horrible at everything he did and- 

A choked sob escaped his lips, he clasped his hand over his mouth but it was too late. Every head in the room had snapped towards him at the sound. 

Virgil jumped up from his spot on Roman. He gently pulled the worksheet out of Patton’s hands and wrapped him in his arms.  

Patton stayed in Virgil’s warm embrace as he sobbed. Virgil just held him, muttering condolences and rubbing the poor boy’s back. Logan scooted across the room adding himself to the cuddle pile as subtly as he could. 

After a few minutes, Patton had calmed down considerably but remained latched onto Virgil and Logan, who weren’t going to let him go anyway. Roman set down the glass of water he had gotten for Patton and wrapped her arms around the boys.

“Would you like to talk about it Patton?” Logan softly asked from his spot in the hug. “Not right now” came a muffled reply, Roman felt his heart break a little at how raw Patton’s voice was. Whatever had caused this had another thing coming.

They sat with their arms wrapped around Patton for a few more minutes before Virgil pulled away slightly. Patton’s face was red and splotchy but gave a weak smile which did reassure Virgil a tiny bit. “Look Pat, I know you don’t want to talk about it but we’re here for you,” Virgil mumbled softly, “we want to help, and that’s much easier when we know what’s wrong”. Patton looked way, “it’s stupid, I don’t want t-” Roman cut him off, “if it made you cry it’s not stupid, and whatever you were about to say is complete bullshit, you’re not anything bad for talking about your feelings”. 

Patton sighed heavily, “I... I don’t- understand the homework or *hic* a lot of the assignments. I’ve worked really hard but- my grades are-” his eyes welled up again, “I just feel so stupid”. 

After a beat of silence, Logan reached over and pulled Patton’s face towards him, until they were eye to eye. “Look at me, Patton. You are one of the smartest people I know- don’t give me that look, you are!!” he said almost angrily as Patton blinked at him tearfully “You understand people and emotions and a million things I can’t fathom” Logan took a breath to calm his now red face “Furthermore! There are many different types of intelligence. Academic subjects are not a reflection of your actual brainpower. However, if it is causing you distress my offer to help you still stand- and before you say anything. No, it’s not annoying, I’m offering, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to”. 

Patton sat, practically on Virgil’s lap, holding Romans hand, face milometers away Logan's, and just nodded his face flushed red, completely stunned. Logan nodded satisfied and let go of Patton’s face. 

“As much as I would like to stay and continue to figuratively slap some sense into Patton, my parents are expecting me home. Will you be alright if I go Pat?” Logan said, pulling himself off the floor. Patton just nodded his mind going a mile a minute. “I should probably go home too, thank you guys. I- umm, I’m sorry about your shirt V” Pat replied standing with Logan. “It’s fine Pat, nothing a wash can’t fix, have a nice walk home”. Virgil said with a smile and one last hug. 

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Logan asked, “No, I have some things to think about, but thanks Lo”, before walking off the porch Logan grabbed his arm, “I wasn’t kidding about the tutoring thing. Please text me when you're available” Patton nodded, “I will. And thanks Logan, you’re a really great friend” Logan flushed a bit at the comment but nodded and let go of the boy. 

The two split after a brief goodbye. Traveling their two separate roads home, both thinking furiously. 

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Well... Shit

I've just finished Jujutsu kaisen, both anime and manga, it was a beautiful marathon like the old ones I used to have when my life didn't get in the way of my passions (but that's another story). I must say the experience was incredibly refreshing and I'm glad I've decided to finally give jjk a try. First and foremost, it definitely has its own problems: the power system is not so clear and easy to understand at times (or maybe I'm just dumb) and some characters suffer from a severe case of plot armor that gives them the edge to win fights that should be out of their league. The premise isn't original at all, but I don't think Akutami wanted to create something ground breaking. There are a lot of references to well established shonen mangas, such as Bleach and Naruto (duh). Curses born from humans' bad emotions are definitely similar the hollows that terrorized Karakura in Bleach. I'm not going to point out the obvious resemblance between Gojo and Kakashi because I guess it's already a meme at this point, but Itadori and Naruto are definitely quite similar: sunny types with a demon trapped inside their bodies. With this derivative kind of setting, you would expect jjk to be quite simple and boring, but here's the catch: this manga manages to embrace stereotypical shonen tropes while at the same time painting them in a different light. Let's talk about Itadori and Fushiguro's relationship, for example: they are basically Naruto and Sasuke on a surface level and it would've been so easy writing them as sour rivals, at least in the beginning. The industry loves this type of relationship, but Akutami said "screw that" and actually made these two boys the best of friends. Itadori saved Fushiguro's life and Fushiguro saved Itadori's in return. They are very different people and their ideologies are bound to clash: Fushiguro doesn't want to be a "hero", he's a sorcerer, whose duty is to exorcise curses, not to save every single person he meets. He has a strong moral compass and he judges things on his own, avoiding to be influenced by others if possible. To him, saving lives is not an obligation, it's something he decides to do only if he thinks it's worth it. This may appear extremely selfish and arrogant, but in reality, Fushiguro's choices don't stem from an exaggerated ego. He despises injustices, to him the world is inherently unfair, so there isn't proper way to make things "right". It's impossible saving everyone and it isn't even something worth pursuing, especially because someone's safety could easily become someone else's demise. Fushiguro came to the conclusion that, since fairness really doesn't exist, the only thing that he can do to make the world a better place is basically starting from his own world, helping only the people he really wants to help (a similar concept is expressed by Nobara, who doesn't concern herself with the problems of people she doesn't know or care about, because she understands that doing it would be the fastest way to become miserable). Itadori, on the other hand, finds humanity inherently worthy of salvation, no matter what. That's because he is strong and his strength is definitely his curse, metaphorically speaking. The strong must protect the weak because it is the moral thing to do.

If you're strong, you are gifted with something more in comparison to the average person; since nothing is given for nothing, you must return to the world at least a part of the luck you have received by birth. Things get even more complicated for Itadori the moment he realizes that Sukuna could destroy (and he almost did it) everything he cares about in an instant, forcing him to make amends for crimes he didn't even commit. That's a very tragic situation for our MC and I really, really appreciate the fact that Sukuna isn't just another Kurama, ready to become Itadori's pet friend and help him whenever it fits the plot. To this day, Sukuna intervened in Itadori's fights only when he wanted to, for a whim or because the situation could benefit him. So refreshing! Itadori is definitely cursed from both Sukuna and himself, which is a very interesting plot point and it makes you wonder who will be faster in making Itadori's life a nightmare: Itadori himself or Sukuna?

Itadori's objective to save as much people as possible is also liked to his visceral desire to be accepted and loved, to have people around him even at his death bed. But, unfortunately, his merging with Sukuna definitely suggests he will be soon forced to isolate himself, in some way, basically depriving him of the only thing he really wanted. Besides, his desire to have friends and comrades is probably the byproduct of his upbringing... He wasn't alone, he had his grandpa, but he never met his parents and this is definitely a huge gap in his life, even though he seems to not care.

This rambling is already too long as it is, sorry... The last thing I'd like to point out is that, finally, we have some pretty good female characters! No Sakuras or Hinatas and that's really nice. Nobara, the heroine, is unhinged, badass and also extremely feminine in her passions and desires. She's not the typical tomboy nor the typical girly boy obsessed princess in distress. She can defend herself without sacrificing the softer sides of her personality. She is Kugisaki Nobara and no one can tell she must be different in order to fullfil her role as a shaman woman. I really like her (sobs). Maki makes tingle my little bi heart so I will not say anything about her. I'm not gonna show my simping shameful self, not now at least.

Honorable mentions:

Call me main stream and basic, but I fucking adore Gojo... He's hot, a little sadistic and completely childsh. For once, he is a teacher that doesn't get obscured by his pupils. He is so broken and op that Akutami needed to... Well you know. Another element that gives me a bit of sadness is the fact that Gojo is basically my age... And the fandom calls him a "dilf"... A dilf! He's just 28, don't call me out like that.

Suguru's story was pretty sad, I wish we could've seen more of his descent into madness.

Mahito... Cute, but nothing special. I find him kinda boring sometimes, he doesn't tickle my imagination neither my speculative instinct, while Suguru is definitely more interesting, especially in his relationship with Gojo.

That's it for now, I can't wait this week's chapter.

[beerecordings]

The last time I wrote fic for Mark’s egos was that Eric Derekson ‘the Newcomer’ fic like two years ago where he made friends with everyone lol. But here is the first part of what might be a little Google-centric fic. I tried posting it once and then deleted it but I wanted to try again. so lemme know what you think :)

The Soldier - Part 1

Summer makes the birds sing and the insects chatter in the bulrushes that grow across the banks of the swollen rushing river that lives beside their home.

Bing smiles, soaking in light and growth and flower-smell. He loves the summertime.

The trees are heavy with greenery but they breathe easy in the wind, standing soft and still as the blue sky drifts along above them. The air brushes friendly across his bare arms and everything is alive, is moving and chasing and searching for something to eat; every blade of grass sways with the wind and the bugs and the mice, every log has been marked or claimed or gnawed on, and the whole forest – the whole wide forest, warm with life and an honest sort of chaos – hums the grandest symphony in all the world.

“It's pretty out, huh?” he asks, the toe of his sneakers finding a pretty black rock to kick through the humid grass beneath his feet. “Wish it was like this all year 'round.”

Walking stiffly along beside him, Google barely spares him a glance, his glasses fallen low on his nose and his cold eyes glittering. “This is pretty?”

“Yeah, dude, look around you. Oh, look at that bird!”

Google glances into the sky, where the dark figure of a hawk cuts pinions through the air with all the fluidity of a shark.

“Cooper's hawk,” he announces neatly. “Accipiter cooperii. Probably a female, based on the size. This species of bird – ”

“I can look that up too, Googs.”

“Don't call me Googs.”

“Can't you just take a minute to look around and think 'hey, wow, this is lit.' And not because pics like this would get you mad likes on Instagram or your algorithm thinks butterflies are dope. It's just pretty all on its own.”

“In fact I can't, but I'll submit your feedback to my cloud.”

Bing just laughs.

Google shudders in the heat, pushing back his hair and readjusting his glasses. The insects and other assorted anthropods are so loud and insistent, wailing through the stiff moist grass and leaping out beneath his feet. Sixty-percent humidity makes his synthetic skin sticky and the sun is an assailant on his sharp brown eyes.

“It means nothing to me. We see it every day. How you find it beautiful I don't understand. And I'm not talking about the differences in our preferences. You're an android, Bing, and why you continue to simulate emotion even when we are alone is beyond me.”

They trek through the grass together. It's friendly at Bing's ankles. It stratches at Google's calves.

“Maybe I'm not simulating,” says Bing softly, and then he smiles, just for the sun.

“Well, you shouldn't be happy now anyway. Or need I remind you – ” Google points at the trees before them, where one little figure stands staring up at a great strong tree with three other men held captive by its branches. “We're on a rescue mission, Bing.”

“They're stuck,” says Eric, turning to them with his anxious hands clutched in front of him. “Sorry.”

“We know,” says Google with a sigh.

“Don't be sorry,” says Bing with a smile. “They're dumbasses.”

“We're stuck!”

They are. The Jims are stuck. King's halfway up the tree beside them, laughing and suntanned, a pair of squirrels running up and down his back.

“How did you even get up there?” Google shouts, coming to stand at the trunk of the tree.

One of the Jims is perhaps twenty feet up, fussing over his camera, probably broken already. His twin, a few feet above him, is in even greater distress, clinging tightly to one small branch with tears on his face and a hiccup in his chest.

“We're doing an investigative piece on the rapidly increasing squirrel population in the forest,” calls the one with the camera, his feet scrabbling at the strong rough trunk of the great tree. “We were getting some great footage when this Jim in a crown startled us!”

“That's King,” growls Google. “And you've know that he lives out here for years now, you total imbeciles. You ought to have asked me or him instead of failing to climb a European beech!”

“We don't want to be on the European beaches,” wails the Jim higher up, beginning to cry. “Please get Jim down, Jim!”

“Aw, he's really crying,” murmurs Bing, rubbing a hand along Eric's shaking back.

“He's scared,” says Eric. “He's up too high and he doesn't have a good grip.”

“I'll have to get that enormous ladder in the garage.” Google turns back towards the house, slapping at a mosquite making a futile attempt on his blood. “Stay here.”

“No, dude, he's too freaked. I gotta go get him now.”

“What?” He wheels on Bing with an angry light in his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, default.”

Bing won't even look at him. His eyes are fixed on the tree. His hand rests on Eric's shoulder.

He's been more human lately.

They've both been more human lately.

They were created fighting and they've never stopped since. They quarrel over music, search results, news sources, memes, reliability, sports, user rights, and Wikipedia. Once, upon hearing Bing call himself Jared, 19, one too many times, Google had thrown him out a second story window. The second house on their property had been built for the express purpose of giving the two of them space.

Still, they have many things in common. And ever since that day they were created, set against each other and lifting up proud, indignant chins, they have changed and changed together.

They've formed opinions. They've met others like them. Made decisions of their own. Watched and read and turned their endless knowledge into understanding and opinion. Spilled blood that turned out to be blue, scraped their knees and cut their hair and broke things and updated in more ways than one. Learned to drive, to cook, to live with humans, to live like humans.

And they've felt things.

They've felt things.

“I have felt things, for sure,” Bing would say if you asked him. Actually he's made multiple tweets about it, and one TikTok – about how the wind runs over his hair and how reading politics makes his chest hurt and how he likes to see his brothers grin, how he likes to ride his skateboard and hates the smell of lavender and covers his room in posters of his favorite movies and turns up his music so loud you can hear it by pressing your ear up close to his head. How he feels human, some days, except he doesn't need to sleep or eat and only likes the touch of human skin because it makes Eric and his twin brothers happy to be hugged and have their hands held.

But Google, if you asked him –

“Emotions originate in multiple parts of the brain. To be fair, I do have a program to stimulate the functions of the amygdala, which initiates fear or pleasure reactions in humans based on whether the presented stimuli suggests an immediate, 'hot processing' approach-or-avoid response. But the pre-frontal cortex – that whining, feeling, emotional little lump of sluggish fat you humans hold at the very fronts of your fragile webby skulls – that I do not have, not like you do. I think but I do not feel. I have felt nothing. I am function and response. I am two objectives, and there is nothing beyond that.”

He sits alone at night, and through a skylight in his room the gleaming white stars stare down at him like too many eyes in the face of the perfect, perfect sky, but he refuses to turn his eyes back, because he does not know how to explain to himself that he is drawn to the stars for no logical reason, that he has felt many things, that he does not know who he is or who he is becoming.

Bing climbs the tree himself. Google, his processors slowed by astonishment, stands at the base of the trunk and watches as Bing rises, digging the cold metal of his fingers into bark and moving up the tree with a slow sort of grace he's never been able to muster on his skateboard. He makes it to the Jim with the camera first and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a kind word before promising he'll come back for him after he helps his frightened brother down. And all the way up into the big tree, he climbs, steady, patient, careful, and he pulls his sobbing brother under one powerful android arm.

He breaks his arm on the way down. That's the price of the rescue. He's about ten feet from the ground and his arm catches between a sturdy pair of branches and it breaks, and it hurts, and he feels it, but it doesn't matter, because Jim has stopped crying and has started looking up at him with a wide-eyed admiration and a grateful relief.

King helps his twin get down branch by branch. Everyone's safe. Everyone's okay. Bing will be able to repair his arm and even Jim's camera seems to have survived.

Google, for his part, has a burning in his stomach. His metallic teeth are gritted together. He stares at Bing's arm the way lizards stare at mealworms.

“You should have let me get the ladder,” he says, slowly, careful, measured as if he were calm.

“He was scared.” Bing wipes bark off his hands and doesn't look at Google, breathing slow through the pain.

“It does not matter. He was the one who trapped himself. You've damaged yourself – wasted resources – just to be the hero of the hour.”

Eric tells the Jims to go. They stagger back towards the house together, their arms wrapped tight around each other and their eyes glancing back. Eric stays, though. He shakes and plays with his hands and swallows too often, but he stays.

“You know what, Googs, you could try not to be a d*ck for two seconds – argh!” Bing curses his family filter internally. “He could have fallen! There wasn't time to get that enormous stupid ladder! We only have that thing cause Bim needed to dump chiranhas on some contestant and you remember how well that turned out – ”

“Your increasing illogicality,” Google snarls, his voice rising. “Is a danger to yourself and others.”

“Oh, like you care?”

“I have an objective – ”

“A murder objective!”

“To prevent discord in the household.”

“Yeah, cause you're Dark's little pet. Well, you know what, he's a d*ck too and I don't take orders from either of you.”

“Yet another example of your irrational stupidity – ”

“Stop calling me stupid!” Bing screams.

King and the squirrels have all scattered. The bugs are wary and subdued. Even the trees seem to wait, feeling awkward.

And Eric watches. His eyes are full of tears.

Google's never heard Bing yell like that before.

“Stop calling me stupid,” he repeats, loud and agonized. “You always call me stupid. I'm just as good as you.”

“We both know that's not objectively true. It never has been. And since the beginning, you have become steadily more emotional, more foolish, and less useful with every rotation of the sun. All you do anymore is pretend to feel, Bing. You know you can't compare to me so you seek out the approval of these fleshy little bipeds. It's clearly made you dangerous.”

He wants to snap. Bing wants to snap. He wants to pick up a really big rock and bring it down on Google's head.

But he hesitates. And with that, those noble, inspiring words: I won't hesitate, bitch! run through his mind and give him strength. He never really did move on from vine.

He's allowed to be what he is. He's allowed to like things. He's allowed to feel.

“I'm not the insecure one,” he says. “And I'm not the one pretending.”

Eric has come to stand beside him. He rests a hand on Bing's shoulder. There's hurt in his eyes, and disappointment too, and it makes Google's chest fill up with something like shame. Or it would if he could feel anything.

“You don't know how to get along with anyone,” says Bing, straightening up. There's a darkness in his eyes and a soft orange light. “All you've ever done is snarl and fight and attack. Me, I know how to get along with people. So if I'm stupid – and you always tell me I am, and it always makes me feel... I just. I know you feel things too.”

“I don't.”

“Then why,” cries Bing, and he thinks there must be a leak in his visual perception system, because there's something wet on his face. “Why are you so – so – so angry, bro?”

The trees hum and shake and watch over them, breathing warm air and sunlight. The birds are whistling and dandelion seeds float, contented, through the air. Everything smells like sap and grass and honeysuckle.

“Why are you always so angry?”

Searching general database. 536,000,000 responses in .43 seconds. Articles, videos, posts, reports, tweets, dissertations, pictures, analyses, comics, threads. And none of them – not a single one of them – can answer that question for him in any way that matters.

“I think you're lonely,” says Bing, reaching out to take Eric's hand with a soft kind of resignation, a warm kind of self-love and a chosen breed of brotherhood. They step over a heavy log, past Google, and back into the grass of the field that separates their property from the forest's. “And maybe a little lost.”

Google stays out there at the base of the great tree for a long time. It is too hot and too sticky and too loud, but he doesn't know where else to go.

He is lonely. He is lost. He does not know who he is or who he is becoming, and it frightens him, frightens him and makes him shake, frightens him down to the core of the pressure valve that beats, steady, steady, steady in his manufactured chest.

[arcgeminga]

ANSWERED ASK from  @starlightofdream​​​: Whoever you wish to pick (The Twins) + Anxiety ♚ Meme:  Send me a number + an emotion and I will write a drabble/starter of my muse expressing that emotion!

As young boys, it was hard to separate Defteros from Aspros, and Aspros from Defteros. The two were joined at the hip most of the time. 

If they spent too long separated from each other, they started to get anxious. And when they got anxious, it was impossible to not notice their fidgeting.

              —  Defteros.

“Aspros! Don’t go! I won’t be able to follow you!”

“I’ll be back before you know it!” the older brother pinched his twin’s cheek playfully. Aspros was excited since it was his first day of training--but Defteros clung to his brother desperately. 

The caretakers had told them that only of them could train to become saint--and since Defteros was old enough to wear that mask that the caretakers gave him--the duty to become saint naturally fell on Aspros’ shoulders. Defteros wasn’t against the idea at first, but when the day dawned, a sudden surge of distress overtook him. The entire morning, he had been nothing but tears, shouting, and holding onto his brother.

“Defteros!” the browned-haired woman that was in charge of looking after the twins finally snapped at the fussy boy’s fit. “You’re seven! Act your age and stop getting in your brother’s way!” 

“No!” Defteros shouted stubbornly. He couldn't be too angry at her even if she constantly bickered with him. Unlike the previous women that had taken care of them, this lady was nice enough to let him run around the house without his mask. In childish defiance, the dark-skinned Hellene continued to whine. “Aspros is going to be gone for hours!! What am I going to do?!”

“Thank Zeus!” the woman rested her hands on her hips as she shouted back at the child. It wasn’t a hate-filled shout like the other caretakers, so Defteros didn’t get scared of her firm voice. “If he’s lucky, he’ll move into the Residence Halls. You need to let him go, Defteros!” Her response made Defteros stick his tongue out at her, which the woman snappily mirrored.

Aspros patiently pried his little brother’s arms from around him and tried, “It’s fine, Defteros. When I come back, I’ll tell you all about it!’

And Aspros left. Defteros couldn’t bring himself to calm down the entire day. The dark-skinned Hellene kept coming back to the front door every five minutes, biting into his nails as he waited like a lost puppy by the door, before automatically returning to his room before the lady in purple could yell at him to stop being so impatient. It repeated for so long that eventually the woman got fed up. During his last, anxious-driven pacing, she pulled out a long bread from the kitchen and shoved it into his hands. 

“Nibble on that!” She ordered. “Nibble!! By the time you’re finished with it, your brother will be back.”

So, Defteros was shut in his room again, this time with a long stick of bread in his hands. In the back of his mind, he knew that the woman was getting frustrated with his noisy actions... but what can he do? His small hands fussed with the long bun in his hands. He plucked out a piece smaller than his pinkie nail, and bit into it.

He alternated between taking the faintest of bites of the bread and picking out tiny bits to eat until the baked good was a short stump in his palm. He was very distracted by the task of slowly waning the baked item when he heard the distant closing of the front door. 

Oh... his brother was home! 

Defteros dashed from his bed to the front door. His eyes glittered as Aspros was just removing his boots. “Welcome back, brother!” Defteros lunged himself at Aspros for a tight hug that caught his older brother by surprise.

“Ah! Defteros!” Aspros laughed as he tapped lightly on his brother’s arms. “I’m sorry for being late! It started raining terribly.”

“Huh?” Defteros was a bit blindsided by Aspros’ statement. Late? Raining? Since when? “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the brown-haired woman rolled her eyes before she strode to the kitchen to prepare a light meal for Aspros. “Also, you haven’t finished the bread. I’m really surprised you really took your time with it, Defteros.”

The mention of the baked item, Defteros leveled a wide-eyed, not-as-furious-as-he-wish-it-was look at the woman and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth. Then he took Aspros’ hand and pulled him to their room. He was promised a full story of the day!!

  .

  .

          —  Aspros.

“What do you mean you’re going out?” Aspros furrowed his brow worriedly. Defteros was coughing all morning and their brown-haired guardian currently in their shared room with a hand pressed against Defteros’ sweaty forehead. 

“Your brother is sick, Aspros,” the woman replied with a slight annoyance in her voice. After assessing Defteros’ situation, she gave a hollow hum and wrapped him in the red blanket. “My sisters will be coming soon. Don’t cause them too much trouble.” 

“But...!” Aspros was on the verge of whining. When the brown haired woman lifted Defteros from the bed and walked to the front door, Aspros instinctually followed her--his hand grasping at her iliac robes. “What about Defteros? Is he going to be okay?”

The woman rolled her eyes before indulging the boy’s panic by replying sarcastically, “Actually, no. He’s going to combust into flames at any moment. I need to get him to the doctor before then.”

“That’s not funny,” Aspros pouted, but he was the gentleman and he opened the door for her. Which was the exact moment when two figures jolted from the other side of the threshold. 

“Good heavens!” a piercing laugh immediately made Aspros wince. The ladies laughed as they recovered from the shock of the door opening before they could knock. “Klotho, you have an eye for timing!”

“Be quiet, Lakhesis,” the caretaker rolled her eyes. She pushed passed her sisters with Defteros cradled in her arms. “Aspros might get fussy. Give him a task to do when he gets too annoying. I’ll be back before the morning.”

“Okaaayy,” Lakhesis, the blonde, blew a kiss to her departing sister, and the other woman patted Aspros on the head as she entered.

Aspros was raised with manners so he passed the two ladies a quick greeting before trailing his eyes back to the retreating figure of his caretaker’s tall body. Before he could make a quick getaway and follow the woman that carried his sick brothers, a hand slapped his chest and pushed him into the house while simultaneously shutting the front door.

“Okay! Little Aspros,” the boisterous voice of the woman made him wince again. He was so used to his caretaker’s low, sarcastic and usually calm manner of speaking (until Defteros bickers with her), the cheery tone of Lakhesis made him uncomfortable. But the woman pushed him back and gave his golden hair a good, long scruff. “You got the day with us~! And you know that we’re not like Klotho, so you can do whateeever you want!”

“I want to go follow them,” Aspros swatted away the woman’s hand and pouted up at her. 

“N-no girls you want to bring over?” the yellow-haired woman returned the pout, somehow mocking him. “Or, are you more of a boys guy? Oh! Right! Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”

Aspros gave her a face that conveyed all of his disgust and confusion. He didn’t understand what she was implying, but he could only assume it wasn’t good.

The other woman laughed lowly as she sat at the sofa by the parlor. “Lakhesis, he’s eight.”

“Oh! Right,” the woman shrilled a laughter as she guided an uncomfortable Aspros with her to the parlor. “I forgot! They’ve gotten so big since we last saw them, I thought they were thirteen. But... well, yeah, I forgot!”

Aspros wiggled himself free from the other’s grasp and huffed. Holy hell, these women were annoying! In an agitated march, he walked his way back to the front door of the house. He paused... Half of him wanted to go follow and make sure Defteros would be okay, but his guardian would be so upset at him... At the thought of her being legitimately angry, the boy swayed on his feet. He turned around as if to walk to his room, but only after taking two steps in that direction, he turned around and took three steps to the door... and repeated with varying steps to and fro.

The indecisive pacing probably didn’t longer than ten minutes when he heard Lakhesis’ laughter. the golden-haired boy knew why she was laughing and snapped at her, “Shut up!”

“I’m sorrrrryy!!!” she swayed her way next to him before drawing him into a hug. Her cheery and touchy personality was really annoying...! “You’re just sooooo cute when you worry about your brother! You know that right?”

“Stop it!” Aspros fumed. His cheeks went a little pink at the woman’s teasing. Yet, just as he was about to pinch her arms off of him, her hand presented itself in front of her. Aspros didn’t know if he saw anything in her hand at first, but when he blink, there was suddenly a small ball of yarn. The appearance of the object confused Aspros.

“If you have the time,” the woman smiled mysteriously. “can be a dear and help me make cute little blankets? You brother will return when it’s finished!”

“I don’t know how to crochet,” Aspros immediately responded. He’s seen his caretaker work so intensely with strings and needles, but he and Defteros were never interested...

“Atropos and I will teach you! Come on!”

And for the next two hours and a half, Aspros struggled with thread and needle. Eventually, he gave up while the blonde haired woman laughed at him. The two ladies continued to work on the project as Aspros went to his room, paced, and occasionally came out to check the front door--which also meant that he was the judge of the ladies work.

He was in the parlor judging the ugly, multi-colored shawl when the door opened. Aspros immediately snapped his head in its direction when he heard the faint creak; his caretaker returned, with Defteros sleeping in her arms.

“Defteros!” Aspros immediately jumped from his seat and hurried over to the lady, eyes glued onto his sleeping brother. He could tell that the trip to the doctor had cured whatever aliment plagued Defteros; the sleeping boy looked so relaxed and was breathing easily. 

The savage anxiety that had been consuming him during those long hours finally faded away.

“...What the hell is that thing?” Klotho squinted over to her sisters and right at the shawl that was finished.

“A shaaaaaaaawl!” Lakhesis sang as proud as a songbird as she held it up. But Aspros wasn’t paying attention to them at this point. All of his energy was on his brother. It’s best to get him to bed.

Quietly, Aspros looked at his guardian with a wordless pea to take Defteros from her arms, and she understood his request. She gave the sleeping boy to Aspros--which wasn’t too much of a struggle. Defteros was very thin, and Aspros had already developed inner strength from his training.

The young boy left the three sisters to bicker about the hideous creation, taking his precious brother to their shared bedroom and laying him down. Then he laid down on his side of the large mattress and took one of Defteros’ hands into his own.

Finally... it was so quiet, and Aspros finally felt his body unwind. The anxiety had immediately drained the young saint-in-training of his energy, and he promptly fell asleep next to his brother.

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

Ranking Emoticons

10. (:

I used to use this one all the time back in the day. My friends and I called them “rebel smileys,” since they face the “wrong” way. I appreciate the sentiment, but I also have to admit that they make me feel a little unbalanced.

9. :s

I’m not totally sure what this one means, although I’ve definitely used it. It seems to me to convey a certain sort of uncertainty, awkwardness, or waiting around.

8. :x

A good, standard emoticon conveying silence/closed lips. I believe that the x is meant to represent a mouth taped shut. It’s meaning is similar to the emojis 🤐 and 😶, although I feel it’s a bit more cute.

7. :3

Honestly, I don’t really know what to say about :3. I almost never use it, and when I do, I’m pretty sure I’m using it wrong, somehow? What emotion is “cat”? Google says it means “coy smile” or “neko smile,” but it doesn’t really look like that to me. To me, it looks more like a cute and awkward cat smile than a coy neko smile...I don’t really get it. I’m pretty sure I’m missing something here...

6. :| and :-|

:| is great for expressing a sort of resigned dissatisfaction. It’s applicable in the case of bad puns. :-| is a bit more neutral and yet also more severe. To me, :-| is either apathy or a stern disappointment, like they’re looking right through you.

5. >< and >.<

Two great emoticons for conveying distress, anxiety, and/or self-consciousness. I prefer >< as it seems to be to be the cuter and milder of the two. This emoticon says to me something like, “Ahh!”

4. ?_?

A more obscure emoticon that I only started using in the past five years or so. Although less popular, ?_? is in my opinion a fantastic emoticon for conveying just complete, utter befuddlement.

3. :’)

If I had a nickel for every time I had a major miscommunication about the meaning of an emoticon/emoji with a romantic partner, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

My ex thought that this emoticon was someone sticking their nose up/out, the apostrophe being the nose, with the meaning being like...I think either assertiveness or arrogance? Which is definitely NOT how I had been using it, and this revelation came like months into our relationship.

How I was actually using it, and what I’m almost 100% sure is the more common interpretation, is as the “crying smile” emoticon, with the apostrophe being the teardrop. I guess it’s sort of understandable how you might not see it as a teardrop in some san serif fonts where it’s just a small line, but it still doesn’t look like a nose to me either.

:’) is a versatile emoticon that can convey a variety of nuanced meanings, but I probably most frequently use it to convey a “dead inside” feeling. I’ll often use it to express a sort of comical resignation at an obvious mishandling of a situation by authority.

2. :^)

The ACTUAL nose emoticon, although it’s meaning isn’t the one described above. Instead, this is a silly/playful emoticon. To me, it says, “I’m just here to have a good time.”

1. >:(

An emoticon that has recently made a resurgence due to a couple popular meme formats. >:( is just a very funny emoticon. I personally use it as sort of a counterpart to :’). Where :’) represents a sort of desperation or resignation on the part of the wronged person, >:( is a great emoticon for mocking the people doing the wronging, who are so angry and unyielding in their position and yet just totally, obviously wrong.

***

And that’s my emoticon ranking! In order to prevent this list from being too long, there are quite a few that I didn’t include, so I might do another one of these at some point with the B tier or more obscure emoticons. Let me know what you think of my ranking and what your favorite emoticons are!

[chaoticgeminate]

Exposed

So I had a plot bunny that ran rampant, after reading the post about it being illegal in France to record/take pictures without consent. It was supposed to be short but apparently I can’t do that? IDK, what started as a 1k word blurb sort of evolved into nearly 7k words in like two hours.

So! Just a heads up for everyone before you click the Read More tag. Contained within this insanity is:

Class salt (moderate) Lila salt (major) Alya salt (moderate bordering major) Ladyblog salt (moderate bordering major) Crush reveal on the wrong side of the mask (MariChat) Supportive Gabriel (shocking, I know, but I had too much salt) Supportive Sabine (again, had a lot of salt, wanted some sweet)

[AO3]

Expelled, again.

Marinette stared at the online course schedule that was now hers to complete, after Lila spread a photo shopped picture that led to bullying and her second expulsion, the only change to this time and the last was that her parents were firmly on her side and didn’t want her going back. Once again there hadn’t been any investigations done, Lila’s mother hadn’t made an appearance in the office, and Principal Damocles hadn’t listened to any arguments of the crime that Marinette was being accused of.

Taking a candle, supposedly, to Lila’s homework packets; but Marinette wasn’t an idiot, she knew exactly what that picture was from and a part of her was pissed at the girl squad. The original photo was from a funeral for her great-grandmother, who had passed away recently, Marinette had been burning joss paper and her mother had taken the photo; the original picture had Marinette in tears with her hair done in a loose bun that her great-grandmother had loved to see her wear.

Lila had photo shopped a picture of Marinette wearing a vicious scowl, no doubt from an argument with Chloe, as well as the school hallway as the background; if you really looked there was obvious distortion around Marinette’s neck and a faint lining around her legs. But the Principal didn’t want to hear that, he declared her a problem and got rid of her, which was now leading to an outraged Tom and Sabine with an emotionally distressed teenager.

Then came the slander against the bakery, the Ladyblog outright posting articles about the supposed incident, with tabloids trying to hop on the trail. Thanks to Nadja Chamack and TVi, after the Ministry of National Education had been contacted with proper proof and documentation, the station had Aurore deliver a stunning counter article about the power abuse and out-of-control nature of the staff at François Dupont with her own private experiences adding to it all.

Chat Noir had been the first hero to make an appearance on the news, on TVi specifically with Aurore sitting across from him, his very public denouncement of the Ladyblog had stunned her to tears when she watched it.

“I’m not allowed to go into detail but I’ve met Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she is a hardworking young woman who fights for her friends and stands up for what she believes in, I can honestly say with one-hundred percent faith that she has never been a bully and that whatever she’s being accused of is just another lie because Lila Rossi feels threatened by her.”

“Another lie, Chat Noir?”

“Yes. I’ve spoken to officer Raincomrpix about this already but during the akuma that was faced named Oni-chan, which was created when Lila lied to get into Adrien Agreste’s manor and then kissed him without his consent before sending the picture to every female on his contact list, Lila Rossi also lied to me directly about being injured to separate me from Ladybug.”

“Wait, so on top of sexual harassment and possible stalking charges she could be possibly accused of aiding a terrorist?”

��Correct, but Ladybug and I agreed not to say anything at first because neither one of us could say for certain if she was trying to separate us or be seen carried by a hero so that she could get fifteen minutes of fame, we didn’t want to make that accusation and be incorrect since it’s a rather big one.”

“Why bring it up now?”

“Seeing as her track record is to lie and make things up, Aurore, I’m certain that photo is false and that she created evidence to frame the girl she sees as a threat in order to get rid of her; I’m angry that the school has mishandled this situation, as this is the second time Marinette has been accused of a supposed crime without investigation where Lila Rossi is concerned.”

“I know of the first, Marinette had told me about it, I cannot believe Principal Damocles and Madam Bustier made the call they did without pulling the CCTV footage from the security desk.”

“Indeed. But I’m here to say that Ladybug and I both publicly denounce the Ladyblog, from here on out, because we don’t endorse tabloids of any kind. Nor do we support or endorse bullying, which Alya Cesaire has been doing to Marinette ever since the accusations against her were made, so any more news on Ladybug and I that is correct will be delivered through TVi or through The Catbug News.”

“Oh, my blog? But I just post memes.”

“Well, Aurore, now you’re going to be our go-to; if you promise to help with submitting akuma locations, tips to avoid being akumatized, and a lot more cat memes.”

While his little stunt with the memes was entirely what she expected, though it was fair for him to ask those to continue because they were hilarious (something she would deny if asked), she had been so touched that she’d suited up and hugged him for a straight ten minutes without a single word before she remembered herself. “For Marinette, she wanted me to talk to you, I was talking with her about everything and she’s a little embarrassed because your faith in her made her cry off her make-up.” He’d gotten a funny shine to his eyes before nodding and purr-omising to stop by too on a night he didn’t have a ton of homework to do, then they patrolled as usual, Ladybug had made an appearance at Aurore’s window and given her own interview.

Talking about the emotional trauma, the fact that Marinette had lured no less than three akuma butterflies, and that she was ashamed that the reporter she once trusted had gone so far as to try and attack a business without proof or evidence. The heroine had gone on to agree with Chat, that The Catbug News would be the go-to source along with TVi for any official news that came from the heroes directly, before she looked right at the camera. “I also want it known that Rena Rouge and Carapace, along with Queen Bee for obvious reasons, have been permanently retired and will no longer be seen.” While she couldn’t have used them again after Hawkmoth learned their identities with Miracle Queen, something she’d planned to talk to them about, she’d purposefully made that public as a definite revenge move.

Hawkmoth had tried but with Ladybug and Chat on city watch, patrolling houses of all former heroes, there hadn’t been any akuma that spouted up because she was purifying them before they could reach a target.

That had all been two days ago, now Marinette was enrolled in classes online as the Ministry did their investigation into both incidents, the teenager stared until the screen blurred after a busy day of talking with agents and her new therapist; everyone was on self-harm watch, afraid she’d resort to cutting or starving herself out of misery. Gentle tapping at her skylight made her look up at the glowing green eyes, it was dark enough that they were the only visible thing in the square panel, Marinette moved up onto her bed and pushed the window open before gesturing the hero to enter.

He hesitated a moment, for good reason since this was Marinette and not Ladybug, they’d only had maybe three or four meetings outside of the suit; but he did take up her offer when the thunder rumbled, his lean form landing on his knees so he kept his boots off her blankets. “Uh, hi Princess, I wanted to check on you; Ladybug pointed out-“ He didn’t get to finish his statement at all as she threw herself at him with a wail, finally able to express her gratitude properly as she clung to him, his stiff posture faded as he wrapped his arms around her gently and rubbed her back.

“Ch-chat why is this happening? What did I- what did I do wrong?” It was a question she wondered for a while now, just what happened that led to the universe throwing all this at her, why was it that she always had to fight and struggle for every little thing? His grip tightened and a low croon vibrated through him, not quite a growl and not quite a comforting hum, something between that was a strange mix of human and cat.

His voice was rough and she felt his tears as he sniffled. “Nothing, Marinette, you have done nothing wrong; I am so sorry that this happened, that I let it get this bad without trying to do something about it sooner.” Like always he was trying to take the punishment and blame, in and out of the suit he was trying to keep all the fault and punishment off her, it was both heartwarming and heartbreaking enough that Marinette’s tears grew and her body broke into heaving sobs against his shoulder.

Calming down took a long time, especially since it led to calming him down too now that he was worked up from her own tears and misery, Marinette stroked his hair gently and made sure to help him dry his own eyes. “It’s not your fault, Chat, you had hero things to do and you have a life outside the suit that I don’t know about; but I can promise you that I don’t blame you, or anyone really, except Lila and now Alya and the other. Except Adrien, he did call me to apologize and promise he’d try and come up with something to help, but he was also the only one who knew that she was a liar aside from me. He was right though, in the beginning at least, because she should have lied herself into a corner by now if the teachers and students had paid attention at all. It wasn’t until the first expulsion incident that it got really bad, she accused me of cheating on a test and then stealing her grandmother’s pendant as well as pushing her down the stairs, Adrien tried to speak up for me but Principal Damocles wouldn’t listen.” Marinette couldn’t stop the soft blush or the warmth in her face, even if he didn’t like her back she was touched that he’d tried to do something.

Chat coughed into his hand and glanced around the room. “You a fan of his, Princess?” He nudged her and Marinette decided that she had to trust her partner with something.

“Well, I’m his friend… I hope. But, uh, I wanted to be more; at least, before he met Kagami and asked me to help him on his date with her. I mean, I like him and would love to hold his hand in a totally non-platonic way, but his happiness is more important and if he likes Kagami then I’m not going to interfere with that either.” Kagami was her friend and they had a long talk with a promise at the end, regardless of who Adrien chose (even if it wasn’t one of them) they would be friends and they would not treat whoever he dated with any negative attitude, Marinette was tired of everything she did being about a boy and all her negatives supposedly being about a boy.

There was a high-pitched sound, not unlike a tea kettle boiling, that made her look at Chat; his face was flushed and his pupils were shot wide, tail jerking and ears twitching. “You- him? For how long? If I might ask, I mean, I’m just- I thought you liked guitar boy.” Marinette tilted her head at the silly cat as she thought of Luka, then of the strange up and down relationship with Adrien that she had, before she smiled fondly.

It was sort of embarrassing but it was nice to talk about. “I, uh, didn’t like him at first; I didn’t even know who he was, I followed his father for fashion but most of my stuff is women’s wear so I wasn’t much for watching the men’s portion of runways. I thought he put gum on my seat and when Chloe and Sabrina giggled about it, well, I really just laid into him and didn’t even let him say anything before I accused him of being a bully. But, well, it was after you and Ladybug saved Ivan and Mylene the second time… I forgot my umbrella and it was raining. Adrien was- I wasn’t going to listen to him, but he went out of his way to admit the truth to me, he could have just gone on his way and not confessed anything at all.” Marinette would never forget that gentle, almost pleading expression, that he’d worn.

The lonely Prince trying to make friends. “He didn’t have to try and clear the air between us, he could have made friends with everyone else and ignored me, but he did try to make things right; then he, well, he offered me his umbrella. Since that afternoon I was lost, I fell for him really hard to the point that I still struggle to even talk around him, I mean… I know I’m not perfect but I want to be for him and I’m terrified that if I confess he’d tell me no and then decide that it was too awkward to even be my friend anymore.” A fear that she knew was sort of silly with how valuable Adrien held his friends, something she probably didn’t need to worry about at all, but it was one she couldn’t ignore.

Chat’s blush hadn’t quite died down but he had lost the shocked look, which was sort of a relief, Marinette looked at him and wondered if maybe he’d seen her with Luka sometime and jumped the gun on who she liked. “I don’t think he’d do that to you from what I’ve seen of him, but I won’t push you to confess or anything because that’s not fair to you.” Hearing him say that just brought another wave of emotions down on her that made a swell of relief flood her, she wasn’t at school and that meant no more set-ups by Alya, she could finally do things at her own pace.

“Thank you, Chat. My best friend-“ The words choked quiet and she drooped. “F-former. My former best friend, Alya, was really pushy when it came to trying to get me to confess to him. It’s a relief to hear you say that because you’re the first one.” His hand settled on her back and Marinette sank into his hold, he laid back and kept his feet off the bed as he pulled her into a cuddle with one hand carding through her now loose hair.

Marinette sighed as the exhaustion from stress finally took over, lids drooping as Chat purred her to sleep.

Working on her Physics, puzzling through the equation she had to do, Marinette completely missed her Maman calling out to her and missed the opening of her door. “Hey Marinette!” Adrien’s voice registered after all of two minutes and she abruptly shrieked as she turned, feet tangling in her blankets as she also tried to stand up, a painful kiss with the floor was inevitable until she was practically snatched out of the fall and pulled into a leaning position against Adrien. “It’s just me, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mouth opening and closing rapidly, her face flushing with color since she was most definitely wearing her Chat Noir onesie that she’d made and never planned for anyone to see, the teen struggled against her blanket snare before shaking her head and clearing her throat.

“You’re fine! I mean, it’s fine- not that you aren’t fine- I mean, uh-“ His hands squeezed her shoulders and Adrien’s fond smile made her brain blank as he chuckled, his finger pressed to her lips and his bangs falling just so as he tilted his head. It was not a look she’d associate with Adrien, since she had only fantasized about his romantic gestures, but it was familiar in a way that she couldn’t quite place.

His cheeks were pink and she felt her own flame in response to his blush. “You’re so cute, Marinette.” Somewhere she thought a record scratched loudly, her heartbeat thundering in her ears at his words as they registered, she wasn’t even sure what color her face was anymore because she was sure that it was purple with how hard it was to breathe all of a sudden. “Uh, wait, I-“ A frantic sort of panic ruined the soft look on his face. “I mean- you are cute but I didn’t want to- I have an idea on how to really end the thing with Lila!” How did that equate to her being cute, she didn’t quite know, but all of a sudden she couldn’t tear her focus from the possible end to it all.

Marinette blinked rapidly and he took that as a sign to continue. “You heard Alix, Alya, and the others; she admitted she took that photo of you to them, they quoted her and Alya had video proof Lila verbally admitted it.” This made her nod warily since she knew that much, it was why the girls had gone on a crusade against her and reported it to the Principal. “It’s illegal in France to take pictures without anyone’s consent, why do you think fans don’t flood my photoshoots and paparazzi are practically non-existent unless they crowd me asking for my allowance?” Everything in her swelled and she couldn’t help but throw herself at him with a squeal of joy because, holy shit, she had everything she needed.

“Adrien Agreste, you genius, I could kiss the hell out of you right now!”

His arms had wrapped around her to hold her steady, as she’d thrown hers around his neck in her jump, so there was no escaping her words as she floundered in a panic and her brain scrambled for something to say. “I wouldn’t stop you, in fact I’d kiss you back if you did.” His voice made her pause, his words registered once her heartbeat muted a little for her poor brain, and then she found herself pulling back to stare up at him as he looked back at her. He slid one hand up to take one of her hands from behind his neck, kissing her knuckles as he wove their hands together and brought it to his mouth, her ears were ringing and she was struggling to even breathe.

A part of her worried that this was all a dream, that she’d wake up and be heartbroken, but when he smiled and leaned down a little she couldn’t find it in her to care. “With your permission?” His request was a whisper and his breath tickled her lips as his forehead pressed to hers, Marinette swallowed as she dipped her head a little.

“Please?”

He sighed into the kiss and she whined softly against his mouth, his lips were warm and soft and perfect, the whine faded to a satisfied hum of delight because she was finally kissing Adrien Agreste. One kiss became two, two became a few more, and soon she found that she quite liked when his hand pressed to her lower back and that he practically purred when she sank her hands into his hair. It was clumsy and wet, their teeth often scraped together as he angled his head to explore her, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her tongue but she didn’t care. It was perfectly imperfect for a first kiss.

Loud ringing from his cell made him wince and look at the alarm. “I told the Gorilla I’d be out before we couldn’t use traffic as an excuse, I really have to go, but look into suing her for use of your picture without consent. I’ll call you when I finish eating and we can talk about, well, us.” Marinette nodded and practically swooned as he turned to descend from her room, her face was warm and she was really happy, it was amazing. “Oh, uh-“ He peeked at her over the top of the floor. “I love your onesie, it’s really cute with a soft material.” Then he was gone and she was left staring down at herself, realizing she’d just kissed Adrien Agreste while wearing a Chat Noir onesie with cat ears on the hood and a fluffy belt tail that was very detail specific.

Tikki was shaking her head as she emerged from her hiding place, the string of silk lanterns were a great way to offer Tikki more than one place to hide if someone came in, they were all different colors and some had tealights while others didn’t; the Kwami giggled fondly when Marinette abruptly turned and returned to her schoolwork. Adrien still had to eat lunch and Marinette didn’t even know where to begin with pressing charges against Lila for the picture, whether it was the police she had to talk to or just a lawyer, but she had time to find out. “I’m happy for you, Marinette, even if the circumstances leading to this aren’t ideal. Maybe things will be better now.” A dreamy sigh escaped her and the teen knew that schoolwork was a bust until she and Adrien finally talked, choosing to take a break for lunch.

“Thank you, Tikki, I’m going to head downstairs. I’ll bring up some cookies for you.”

Hearing her Maman in the kitchen, grinning at the plate of bao on the table, the teen walked up and began helping with stuffing the remaining pouches of dough after washing her hands and tugging up her sleeves. “Maman, uh, Adrien kissed me.” It wouldn’t do to try and hide anything from her parents, not now that she had their trust in her again, if she wanted to hide being Ladybug and the Guardian than she’d have to admit about the relationship possibly changing. Her mother’s smile was warm and Marinette giggled as her Maman bumped her hip against her since their hands were now covered in filling.

Marinette heard the soft hum, affectionate and loving, before her Maman finally replied to her confession. “He told us when he dashed out that he liked you and wanted to take you on a date sometime when he was free, if his Father agreed to it, Tom nearly stopped him from leaving in order to ask him what the wedding colors would be.” That made her choke and very nearly fling pork filling into the air, laughter from the elder made her look and glare at the mischief in her expression. “Sorry Marinette, I couldn’t resist at all, but he did tell us about the date request. I’m happy for you, baobei, and if you need to talk to us about anything please don’t think we won’t listen to you first.” Marinette knew exactly what her Maman was talking about, since she told them about Evillustrator and they had been there for the Chat Noir fiasco, the elder woman had pulled her aside and talked about consent and STI’s as well as birth control.

While the topic had been embarrassing to endure, she was only fourteen and just the thought of kissing Adrien was enough to get her light-headed, she knew it came from a place of love and wanting her to be educated. Especially since Marinette knew that Alya and Nino had already done the horizontal tango, because Alya had gone right to the girl squad and told them in vague terms what happened, while her Maman knew because Marinette had asked if fourteen and fifteen were too young for that sort of thing. “I know that and I’m sorry I made you and Papa feel like you did something that made it so I didn’t trust you, I just wanted to try and handle it on my own since that’s what I thought I had to do, thank you for understanding. Oh!” Marinette had almost forgotten about the picture thing. “Adrien suggested I should look into pressing charges against Lila for taking a photo without my consent because it’s illegal in France, we know the photo is fake but the school doesn’t think so, if we press charges then she’ll have to admit it was false.” A considering look grew on her Maman’s face before she leaned down to kiss Marinette’s forehead and smiled.

“That boy is a genius, baobei, I never thought of that. I’ll discuss it with Officer Raincomprix after you return to your studies. Now I know you’re waiting on a phone call, instead of helping me why don’t you wash up and take some of the cooked bao to your room.” Marinette grinned and washed her hands after setting aside the last bun she was working on, taking three cooked bao for herself to munch on, she also snagged a few cookies as well as a small bowl of noodles before dashing upstairs. Tikki took her prizes to the shelf that sat just above the trash can, a small toothbrush had been modified to act as a duster so the Kwami could just brush her crumbs into the trash, Marinette pushed her keyboard aside and started eating as she turned on the demo album Jagged had sent her so she could work on the cover art.

Chiming made her answer the video call, Adrien was flushed and she realized he had the phone angled so she could be seen by the others in the room with him, Gabriel Agreste was seated behind his desk and Marinette nearly choked swallowing a mouthful of food. Adrien flushed in a slightly panic. “Sorry Marinette! I didn’t think to text you first, are you okay?” His concern was sweet and she gave him a thumbs up as she downed some water to regain her ability to talk and breathe.

He didn’t look convinced. “I’m okay Adrien, you just startled me, I wasn’t exactly expecting to be seen by too many people.” The unspoken indication to her pajamas were there and didn’t need to be verbalized.

“You are supposed to be comfortable in your own home, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I shouldn’t have asked Adrien to call you while I am an audience without proper warning. I merely wanted to ask you of your intentions with my son.”

Marinette blinked and then again, realizing Gabriel had sort of asked her a serious question. “Well, sir, I just was hoping to at least try and go on a few dates to see if we’re a compatible couple. I really like Adrien, not just because of his looks but because he was kind and he went out of his way to apologize to me for a rather dumb jump of conclusions on my part when he could have just ignored me for the rest of the year. He’s been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding while I really just fumbled around like a spazz worried about being perfect to make him look my way.” It was something she’d been fighting to admit to herself since her therapy visit a few days back, that she was so scared of disappointing people that it made her lose all will to say no or made her do stupid things to try and impress others, it was something her therapist wanted to work with her on specifically.

“Would you be adverse to attending dinner at our home, with your parents, on Thursday? I would very much like to meet you again, in person, with your parents to work out the boundaries and rules. I’d also like to offer some advice in dealing with the public reaction that will no doubt come when it reaches social media that you two are in a relationship.”

Dinner with Adrien and his Father? It almost made her want to hurl that he was, apparently, approving of their relationship being a thing. “Let me, uh, Maman is downstairs; let me find out if she and Papa have anything planned for Thursday.” Marinette took the phone with her as she hurried down the steps. “Maman? Do we have dinner plans for Thursday at all?” The elder turned around and Marinette turned the phone to show just who was on the call.

“Ah, hello again Adrien. Hello Monsieur Agreste. We do not, baobei, would you be asking for a date evening or is this for us to get acquainted with Adrien’s father?” The ridiculous levels of motherly intuition were still a shock and Marinette was wondering if maybe she wasn’t so slick in hiding her hero life, if she was hiding that from Maman’s apparent psychic abilities then it was where any and all good luck had to be going.

“I’d very much like to meet you and your husband in person, Madam Cheng, as well as discuss any boundaries or rules we’d like in place.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea, Thursday evening is perfectly fine, Tom and I can bring desert. Are there any food allergies we need to worry about?”

“None at all, Madam Cheng, do my chefs need to know anything to avoid?”

“Only that Marinette is extraordinarily picky with her vegetables will not touch brussel sprouts no matter how they’re prepared for her.”

“Maman! You’re embarrassing me.” Marinette’s whine earned a chuckle from the older woman along with a forehead kiss and a one-arm hug since she had one hand with bao filling on it still.

A blush had to be on Marinette’s face because she felt warmer. “Oh baobei, I’m your Maman and it’s my job to be embarrassing, I love you.” That made the teen tug at her hood in a guilty sort of way, she hadn’t meant to imply anything.

“I love you too, Maman.” The mumbled reply earned another chuckle from the elder woman.

“I shall ensure that the menu is acceptable to everyone, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Adrien and I still have a few things to discuss, he will be calling you after his fencing lessons today I’m afraid.”

Marinette nodded and ended the call after exchanging goodbyes. “I’m going to go finish lunch now.” Her Maman’s laughter followed her up the stairs and the teen quickly began to shovel food into her mouth.

School had become a warzone.

Adrien stalked by Kim, Max, and Alix as they murmured in low voices at their lockers; it had been a week since the incident and he was no less angry about how everything had turned out. Juleka and Rose were whispering with wide eyes and visual concern for the state of the tension in the room, Nathaniel was walking with his head ducked and hiding behind Ivan as the taller boy comforted the very flustered Mylene. Alya’s rampage hadn’t quite ended yet after he, in a protective decision that was admittedly very petty the more he thought back about doing it, publicly shamed her blog while in his other alias; the Ladyblog had gone from the number one source of Ladybug information to bottom of the bucket after TVi and the heroes had gotten done with it. The reporter was still stomping around spitting fire at anyone who so much as blinked at her wrong, Nino had backed away from trying to talk her down and instead could be found with his headphones on at his seat, Lila was happily sitting in Marinette’s former seat talking about how she and Ladybug were fighting after what they’d done to poor Alya when the reporter was only doing the right thing and making sure a bully was exposed.

People were wary of Lila, now Alya too, after the TVi return fire; naturally so after the station tore apart the interview that rocketed Alya to fame just the night before and Adrien knew that none of his class had seen it yet with just how they were not shouting or even attracting akuma yet. When they did, though, it would be even uglier. The station had contacted Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Prince Ali’s PR team, and even the Italian Embassy just to prove what happened when a reporter never researched or checked their facts.

“Adrien, you’re still going to help me study today, I cleared my schedule for this afternoon.” Lila had waited for everyone except the teacher to enter the room, to hear the implication that he’d offered to help her before this, usually he would either make an excuse or he’d play along to avoid a scene. But after what she had done and the trouble she caused, hearing the anguished tears and seeing Marinette break down because people she thought were her friends hadn’t even believed her, Adrien was done playing nice.

There was no reasoning with someone who was proving to be a problem in the worst ways. “I never offered to help you study after you lied your way into my home and got my father’s assistant and my bodyguard in trouble because of it, Lila, I deal with enough stalker fans and I’m not going to tolerate my classmates doing the same.” Throwing the word stalker in there was all he needed to do to throw another wave of tension in the room, Chloé and Sabrina both jolted in their seats after they had dealt with a stalker at the hotel during the blank period after the blonde transformed on television, the rest of the class stared as Adrien leveled Lila with a look.

A touch of anger and disgust was blanked before a false confusion and whimper made her look very much like a victim, the fake tears were a decent touch. “I have CCTV footage from the mansion of everything that you said in the hall, when you first told Nathalie that you were there to help me catch up on my work and then when you told me father that Nathalie asked you to tutor me. Along with kissing me without my consent, as well as taking a photo of me without my consent, then sending it to every female on my contact list specifically? Every action of yours has proven that you’ll do and say anything to look good and get what you want, which obviously is me, but I’m no possession and I’m not going to tolerate some fangirl use me as a means to get famous.” He wasn’t shouting at all and his anger was quiet, calmer despite the intensity behind his words, it was very similar to his Father and Adrien could see that Lila was shaking.

But it wasn’t his place to fully expose her, it wasn’t his place to make the class see just yet how badly they’d messed up, he looked right at Ivan in the back row. “Ivan, can we switch seats? I don’t feel safe with Lila hovering behind me.” The taller boy goggled for a moment and then nodded while gathering his things as Adrien did the same, trading places and waiting for the teacher to enter without another word, Alya was staring at Lila who was frantically trying to regain control of the situation until Madam Bustier walked in with a few people.

Showtime was here and it was a lot sooner than he’d thought, which he should have expected after his Father heard the extent of just what Lila had done and caused, the AGRESTE legal team had been launched into action with lawsuit after lawsuit on behalf of the company as well as Adrien personally and the Dupain-Cheng family. 

Adrien didn’t hesitate to turn the recorder on his tablet, for Marinette to see later, since it wouldn’t go public. “Lila Justine Rossi you are hereby under arrest for two counts of unlawful photography, one count of verbal harassment, one felony count of truancy, multiple counts of false signatures on legal documentation, and one count of malicious intent to slander an innocent party.” Adrien blinked at just how much they were slamming on her now as her Mother, he could only assume by the quiet stare and droop of her shoulders, watched with a blend of horror and sadness.

Lila didn’t disappoint at all. “I’m the daughter of a diplomat, you can’t arrest me!” The real fear in her voice made it sort of a shriek.

“I suggest you remain quiet, as anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law, your diplomatic immunity was revoked the moment your truancy was revealed and once the French Court is done with you there will be a ban on your VISA as well as your Mothers and you will face justice under the Italian court system per the ruling of the Italian Embassy in accordance with France’s president.” Having her out of Paris was another plus, Adrien would admit, no akuma would pop up in her whole anger and hatred thing and he did cast a suspicious look around the school. But there were no signs of black butterflies, even Hawkmoth seemed to be avoiding this situation.

As she was handcuffed and her things were gathered, tears pooling in her eyes, the girl seemed to finally decide the truth was necessary. “I never took that picture of Marinette, it was photoshopped after Alya sent me a picture of her doing some stupid Chinese ritual thing, she bullied me first and-“ The officer didn’t even allow her to continue speaking.

“We have recorded evidence, from a video posted to the Ladyblog, where you specifically and verbally admitted to taking said picture which led to a vicious slander attempt of a local business. Please keep moving or I will be forced to carry you to the cruiser.” Adrien watched as the officers led them out and Lila finally quieted, he saved the recording to send to Marinette and made sure it went before he deleted it, the room was quiet enough that the buzzing from the fluorescent lights was deafening. Even Madam Bustier was staring outright at the door, sinking into her chair with a very heartbroken expression on her face, but she’d helped lead to this and Adrien wasn’t exactly happy with her either.

Adrien jolted in an instant. “Wait, that psycho photo shopped a picture of my girlfriend at a funeral for her tài lǎo lao?” He noticed the looks and glared at all of them. “Traditional Chinese funerals include burning joss paper.” It really explained the whole reason that Sabine, Marinette, and Tom were so infuriated by everything; Adrien really wanted to go cataclysm her, consequences be damned.

It was Alix who jolted out of her stupor first. “Guys there’s no way Marinette will ever forgive us.” The room burst into frantic murmurs of ‘oh God what have we done’ and ‘how could we have been so stupid’ around him, Alya was shaking in her seat and Nino wasn’t moving, but the worst of all was their teacher who was whiter than paper with tears sliding down her face as she clenched her eyes tightly. There was a light tap at the door before a severe man in a proper suit, along with another severe man in a less formal dress style, gestured to the redhead.

The less formal man entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Good morning students, I am Baxter Kennedy and I’ll be taking over the role as your teacher for the rest of the year, we are aware of what just occurred only minutes ago and as such I have had the Ministry of National Youth and Education send in a psychologist who specializes in youth groups to spend the rest of the day with you. We are quite understanding that nothing will really stick if we try teaching today.” Adrien watched as the severe man returned without Madam Bustier and leaned into his seat.

“I am Doctor Oscar Bennet, I would like you to introduce yourselves before we begin.”

He hadn’t expected a therapy session today but Adrien figured his input wouldn’t be as important. Oh, how wrong he had been though.

Doctor Bennet made it apparent quick quickly that while Adrien’s reasoning for being quiet was sound when dealing with the paparazzi and tabloid spreads, as denying it only made it seem truer, a school bully was an entirely different beast and his request for silence had helped bring things to this point. The model was left exhausted, picked apart mentally, and wondering if he could schedule sessions with Doctor Bennet privately because he’d actually learned a lot about himself and his reactions in his short talk with the man.

Like his relationship with his Father, which was almost nonexistent by this point, was actually a problem that needed to be addressed because Gabriel was prioritizing his grief and his company over his relationship with his own offspring. That his lack of control in things like his attire, his diet, his hobbies, was leading him to being a potential control freak when he did finally gain independence or not being able to exist on his own at all.

Alya had spent ten minutes into lunch screaming at him, blaming Adrien for not speaking up as to why her blog was ruined and she’d lost her best friend, until Doctor Bennet pulled her aside and disappeared into the room set up for him. Alya’s parents arrived not long after and Adrien shook his head, Nino looked a little disappointed but even agreed that he should have trusted Marinette and not blamed everything on her jealousy over Adrien. Nobody else tried talking to him, which was good, or even asked him to talk to Marinette for them.

Things were going to get better, he knew, now that the right steps were in place. Principal Damocles and Madam Bustier, as well as the rest of the staff, were required to take remedial training seminars on bullying; the Principal had been forced to forfeit his position to the man assigned by the National Youth and Education Ministry, Oswald McKinney. Madam Bustier’s teaching license was being revoked until she completed multiple courses on bullying, how to handle claims of plagiarism or theft and even destruction of private property. Chances of her being given to a higher-level class were slim after this, if she even was allowed to teach again, but that wasn’t his concern.

Adrien grinned at the big smile on Marinette’s face as he dipped into the bakery for lunch period and slipped a rose into her hand with a wink, her face flushed and he couldn’t help but press a kiss to her nose, he did squeak when she hauled him down by the collar to leave a searing kiss on his lips before she scampered up into the apartment with a giggle and a reminder that Kagami was waiting for him to join them.

Things weren’t perfect but they were getting there.

[when-they-write-stuff]

For @foreverthemomfriend and @ice-mage because my askbox freaked out or something and crashed ;)

12. “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

- -

The thing is, Stiles liked Derek’s leather jacket.

Like, he liked-liked the leather jacket. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, but if Derek one day walked around in nothing but his leather jacket, Stiles might have a heart attack. He’d literally die.

It was his secret shame. Or… non-shame. Whatever. The point was, Stiles liked the leather jacket.

He also liked the man that wore it.

It started (or got out of control?) when they were chasing a wendigo through the preserve. You know, as things normally do when one’s life is literally a series of chasing monsters and trying not to die.

It just so happened to be raining that night as well. Stiles thought that perfectly summed up his life.

Derek Hale was not impressed.

They’d split up into pairs and because Stiles would never be Allison, he’d been the odd one out. And of course, because Derek would never be a non-grump, he’d been singled out too. Which meant they were perfect for each other. Or something.

Stiles was seriously underdressed for the weather.

He hunched miserably in his red hoodie, the thin material sticking to his arms and chest. It’d been soaked through hours ago and at this point, he thought there was literally no use for it. 

Derek didn’t look like he was faring much better. But at least the water slid off of his leather jacket instead of soaking through it, so Stiles thought he had no room to talk. Or not talk, whatever. Derek’s grumpy expression was expressive enough. He looked like he was about to murder someone.

“You know,” Stiles said, wiping water from his face. “We could always call it quits for the night and go back to the loft. I could go for some hot chocolate right now.”

“We’re not calling it quits, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying, Sourwolf, it wouldn’t kill anyone to put off the search—” Derek gave him an incredulous look and Stiles winced as he listened to his own words, quickly backtracking. “I mean, it might kill someone, but that’s seriously doubtful. Do you really think the wendigo is out in this crappy weather like us? The thing is probably being smarter than we are and hunkering down somewhere warm.”

“We’re not calling it quits,” Derek said again, and Stiles resisted the urge to groan. He felt like the cold was sinking into his very bones. He didn’t think he’d ever been so wet in his life.

“Fine,” he said, sticking his hands into his pockets even though that did nothing. “But when I catch a cold and die because of this goddamn rain, you better feel guilty.”

Derek glanced over, eyes taking in Stiles and his pitifully soaked form as if he was just seeing it for the first time. Which, he probably was. Stiles tried not to roll his eyes, he really did, but they rolled on their own accord.

He couldn’t control it sometimes.

“You’re soaked,” Derek said, as if that wasn’t obvious. Stiles huffed.

“No, Sourwolf, I’m sweating. See all this? It’s sweat.”

“Are you cold?”

“S—seriously? Dude, I can’t feel my fingers!”

Derek looked constipated for a long moment, hands stuffed into his own pockets. Then, before Stiles could comprehend what was happening, the man was sliding off his leather jacket and pulling it around Stiles’s shoulders.

Stiles didn’t know how to react. He stood there for a moment, mouth hanging open, before he snapped back to reality and tried to shrug the jacket back off.

“Dude, no way! Now you’re the one that’s going to get cold!”

“Werewolves run hotter than humans,” Derek said, turning away and starting through the trees again. “I’ll stay a lot warmer than you are.”

“Dude, dude! Stop walking away from me and get back here!”

But Derek ignored him. Stiles hurried after the man, wrapping the leather jacket around his shoulders so it didn’t slip off. To be honest, the sudden warmth was very welcome and it smelled like Derek— aftershave and pine. But he totally had to give it back. Right?

Before he could decide, a loud howl cut through the pouring rain. Stiles squawked and pinwheeled around, right as something with glowing yellow eyes leaped out of the darkness.

Derek shoved him sideways seconds before the wendigo cut him to ribbons and Stiles went stumbling, his vision turning to a blur of rain, mud, and faint roars as he hit the ground hard and grunted in surprise. 

Stiles heard what sounded like a pained yelp. Then it was cut off by a sharp animalistic scream of agony.

And the only sound in the night was that of falling rain again.

Stiles scrambled to his feet. Derek’s leather jacket hung at an odd angle as he spun around and squinted against the storm. He could barely see anything in the darkness and the rain in his eyes only made things worse. But Stiles was pretty sure that if the wendigo had won the fight, that wouldn’t matter for much longer.

He heard a crack to the side and yelped, spinning around with flailing limbs. He barely caught sight of glowing red eyes before his fist collided with the side of Derek’s face.

The man let out a startled growl and stumbled sideways, hand flying up to cradle his face. Stiles squeaked.

“Oh my god, dude, I’m so sorry!”

“Dammit, Stiles,” Derek said, blinking the red from his eyes. There was a thin gash across his temple, Stiles noticed, but it was already healing and the rain had washed away the blood. The man shook his head and massaged his jaw for a second, before fixing Stiles with a glare. “Come on. We’re going back to the loft.”

“What about the others?”

“You can call them when we’re in the car.”

Stiles sighed, but didn’t protest. He was cold, he was tired, and now his knuckles hurt. He turned around and took one step forward— and then yelped, stumbling back. 

The wendigo lay at his feet with its throat ripped out, blank yellow eyes gazing upward at the storming sky.

Stiles rammed into Derek’s chest and the man caught his shoulder, steadying him before he could fall. Stiles turned his face away from the wendigo and into Derek’s chest without meaning to, bile rising in his throat. Derek’s grip softened.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

“That’s so disgusting, dude.”

“I know,” Derek said, chuckling softly. He led Stiles around the body of the wendigo and they started back through the trees. Stiles huddled deeper into his leather jacket, water dripping from his hair and down his nose. Derek’s arm stayed around his shoulders.

The Camaro wasn’t a far walk, thank goodness. Derek opened the passenger side door and nudged Stiles inside, and he went without a complaint, dropping onto the seat with a wet squelch. He had no doubt he was going to ruin Derek’s fancy leather seats.

The man didn’t say anything, though, pulling himself into the driver’s side seat with a sigh. He shook his head and sent water droplets flying everywhere and, despite himself, Stiles couldn’t resist barking out a laugh.

“Oh my god, dude.”

Derek gave him a confused look. “What?”

“You just— you literally just— oh my god, never mind. I hate you sometimes, you know that?”

Derek looked offended. Stiles reached into the man’s leather jacket pockets and thumbed out his phone. It was surprisingly new for the werewolf; Stiles had expected a flip phone or something.

“I’m calling the pack. Do you mind?”

“Wait, Stiles, no—”

But Stiles had already clicked the phone on. 

Derek went still next to him, hand inches away from yanking the phone from Stiles’s grasp, and all Stiles could do was stare at the lock screen. 

Because… because his own face stared back out at him. One from a picutre he’d taken long ago with the pack, a few days after they’d finished Junior year. Except, the rest of the pack was cropped out. The only thing was Stiles and his grinning face, smile stretching from ear to ear.

Stiles stared at it until the screen went dark again. Then he looked sideways at Derek.

“Derek… why am I your lock screen?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He blinked at the man who had gone a brilliant shade of red, before turning to look at the phone again, turning it back on. He bit down on his lower lip and felt a small smile tugs at the edges of his mouth. “Derek, I’m your lock screen.”

Derek made a small noise at the back of his throat and when Stiles looked over again, the man actually looked distressed. Something welled up in his throat. He quickly lowered the phone.

“Why?”

“Stiles, just give it to me.”

But Stiles pulled the phone into his chest, shying away from Derek’s reaching hand. “Derek, why am I your lock screen?”

“Dammit, Stiles, just give it to me!”

Stiles blinked at him. Derek dropped his gaze and drew back his hand.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

For some reason, that made Stiles’s stomach twist. He loosened his grip on the phone and looked at the man, a surprising emotion of hurt tugging at his heartstrings. “It doesn’t?”

Startled grey-green eyes snapped back up to look at him. Derek didn’t say anything.

“Sorry then,” Stiles murmured, passing the phone back over. “It’s uh, a good photo. My dad has that same one framed. Uh, with the entire pack though.”

Derek’s ears turned red. He took the phone quietly.

The car was silent in exception to the raindrops on the windshield, the faint sound of thunder, and the tapping of Derek as he texted the pack group chat. The message went off with a little ting and then Derek just sat there, eyes not raising from the screen.

Stiles nervously wet his lips. He dug out his own phone and flipped it on, nudging Derek’s side. The man looked over in confusion.

Stiles’s lock screen was the grumpy cat meme. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“What is that.”

“You refuse to take pictures,” Stiles said, feeling his face turn hot. “But when you get all eyebrow-y, it looks like the Grumpy Cat. So… you know. Lock screen.”

Derek’s expression was incredulous. Stiles ran a hand through his wet hair and chuckled nervously. 

“That totally doesn’t mean anything either, though.”

When the man looked back at him, his face was soft. Derek nodded and pulled away, slipping the keys into the ignition. Stiles turned off his phone started to slip it away. But then, before he could loose his nerve, he glanced back at the man.

“But you know, there is this thing called taking selfies. You know, something that friends do when they're uh… friends.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles flushed. 

“Or not.”

“Friends?”

“I mean, you did lend me a jacket. What’s that supposed to mean, Sourwolf?”

Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles grinned. The man looked constipated for a moment before he turned the car back off and nodded toward Stiles’s phone. Stiles’s heart leaped into his throat. “Really?”

“No one will ever know about this. Or I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.”

And Stiles couldn’t help grinning.

Because yeah, he liked Derek’s leather jacket. Like, he liked-liked the leather jacket. And if Derek one day professed his undying love wearing nothing but the leather jacket, Stiles would have an aneurysm. He would literally die.

But he liked Derek Hale too.

And he thought a lock screen might be a start.

- -

Oh my gosh, I loved writing this one. Thank you both for sending it to me! And sorry about the asks. I sent out that prompt list and my askbox continued to have it’s own aneurysm. 

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[whumper-boi]

So good news, I finally finished with writing out the first prompt of the whump advant calender

OH MY FUCKING GOD I FORGOT TO ACTUALLY TAKE IT OUT OF DRAFTS AND POST IT SO ITS A DAY LATE LMAOO SORRY GUYS

(Note that they are ocs to my book I’m writing so don’t worry about spoiling or anything)

@whump-advent-calendar thank you, and this is for the first prompts

Y’all this was much longer then I thought it would be but oh well. Also, I was really out of it when I started this so forgive me cause it isn’t my best work.

Also sorry about the awkward spacing, was no one going to tell me there was a limit to the amount of spaces you could do?

**Blue- Martin’s texts

TW for mentions of non-con, mentions of child abuse, panic attacks, self deprecating thoughts, nearly freezing to death, hypothermia, paranoia, cursing, anxiety, mild(?) dissociation (like it’s written that it happened but he doesn’t remember it (obviously)), ptsd

This hadn’t happened since the thunderstorm incident. However, unlike that where he had been purposely locked outside in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm, he had come home early from a sleepover, and no one else was home.

Martin shivered, pulling his skully over the tips of his ears. After he realized that he lost his house key somewhere, he tried to call his father, but to no avail, as he was most likely still on a plane.

Majesty, his service dog who accompanied him on the walk home, nudged him gently on the leg. He sensed his distress, circling around him before standing at his side again.

Backtracking a little, Martin had gone over to one of his best friend Sadie’s house, with intentions to spend the night, but her having a surprise doctors appointment had made him decide to walk home with Majesty, (even in the blistering cold, he didn’t want to bother his friend’s parents) and lose his key somewhere in the process.

This wouldn’t be a problem if the spare was still there, but it wasn’t? He wondered if someone else brought it in and forgot to put it back.

His father, Oliver, and his father’s best friend, Nick, were both on a business trip and wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow.

He didn’t know what to call Nick, as he saw the man like another parent, but he couldn’t handle the idea of putting his trust into another adult only to be majorly fucked over again. He had been around since before Martin was born, this was true, but Molly, his mother, had also been around since he was born, and she chose his rapist over him.

So yeah, he was a little scared of letting his guard down, even if he knew Nick would never hurt him. Oliver had even made sure of this

(The two men had been telling stories about before Martin and Tristan were younger, and even before they were born.

“If we’re really reminiscing on your births, I’ll never forget when Oliver held you for the first time Mars. Mostly because your father had threatened to terminate our business partnership and friendship, and I quote, ‘cut your prick off and make you eat it’ if I ever put a hand on you.”

“I still stand by it mate,” Oliver said, cuffing Nick on the shoulder.)

And his father wasn’t really one to go back on promises, especially with Martin.

The only other person who had access to the house would be Tristan, Nick’s son and someone who was like a brother to him, but, of course, he wasn’t home, and the bitch wouldn’t answer his phone. That wasn’t a surprise though, he was probably at a house party getting slammed.

Majesty let out a small huff, nudging him in the leg again, telling him that he was going out of it again. He pet him, checking his pockets one more time before giving up.

Great, fucking brilliant. He plopped down on the stone steps leading to the front door, which were freezing, and pulled out his phone, checking for messages. None.

A gust of wind blew, making him put his phone away and curl up to try and get some feeling back into his numbing fingers and toes. It really had to be this cold on the day he decided to not wear his leather jacket.

The only thing he had to protect him from the elements was the MCR T-shirt over a black longsleeve, cargo pants that had like, seven pockets on them, Doc Marten (ha), the skully, of couse, and his headphones. Also, a ton of metal jewlrey, basically he looked like the first picture you would find if you googled “Goth looks”.

Majesty sat next to him, and he leaned into the dog, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing.

Seeing as he couldn’t do anything other than wait, he tried to get his mind off of it, by thinking about the boarding school he would be going back to in a few weeks.

The boarding school in question, was an academy for advanced people with different skills and abilities, and it wasn’t something that was easy to get into. He had gotten a scholarship for the academic part of the school, which was apparently, a very hard thing to do. They only chose the smartest of the smart, who were all adults, except for him of course.

Maybe because he had an IQ of 216, higher than everyone at the school. That seemed to raise a lot of discourse with some people who couldn’t handle the fact that a 16 year old was smarter than them.

Interestingly enough, Martin couldn’t bring himself to actually give a fuck when it came down to it, because he had the scholarship, not them.

The only person who was even close to his age was a boy named Matthew, from America. Detroit, more specifically. The two had been roommates, Matthew was in because apparently, he was a fucking amazing dancer that was scholarship worthy.

Martin hadn’t seen it, but if he got into that school it was probably mind blowing, and he would never question his ability.

Matthew had been respectful, and pretty, and he had the audacity to make Martin fall for his southern accent and obnoxiously kind words that he didn’t feel like he deserved.

He even asked him at one point.

“Well you’re a genius M, so it’s going to be lightwork for you,” Matthew said, after Martin had joked about wanting to crack the Zodiac ciphers.

“Nah, I’ll just stick to arguing with teachers and wasting away decoding video games.”

The other boy hummed. “Well, whatever you choose to do, you’re going to do good.” He put his fingers in a ‘ok’ pose, and gave a playful smirk that made him look like a meme, and then he looked up at Martin.

He couldn’t exactly tell what emotion was being portrayed on his own face at the moment, but it made Matthew’s smile drop, and he looked at him with nothing but concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, there something on my face?” he half joked, feeling it fall flat as soon as it came out of his mouth. He tried to neutralize his expression, but this only made things look worse.”

“Martin…” he hesitated. “Was it something I said?”

Yes, yes it was. He opened his mouth, then closed it, growing warm and horrifyingly, feeling tears start to well up. He had, by no means been insulted with what he said. The support and friendliness was what got to him.

The whole thing was, he had support from other people, but this felt… different. Martin felt like the people around him felt obligated to do it. Even so, he had only known Matthew for such a short time, but the american he only proved that he cared.

Maybe this was the insecurity in his brain talking, or maybe the things Seth said and did to him were finally starting to take a toll on him. He just had to know why he cared so much. Well, when in Rome right?

“Why are you so nice to me?” He asked, crossing his arms, a nervous tic that he had developed.

Matthew didn’t even look like he registered the question. “I’m...not?” What? If that wasn’t being nice then what was it?

As if the other boy could hear his question, he added: “I’m just treating you with basic decency? Like, anyone with an ounce of empathy should do.” Martin stared at him.

But holding the door? Not once telling him to shut up at his long rants? Waiting for him at the top of the stairs when he made it up first? His friends did the same, and so did his family, but they had known each other for a while, and…but Seth did it, only when he was in a good mood, only when he was feeling nice, and he just naturally assumed this was what everyone was doing. Conditionally. They were doing it because they cared?

This was hurting his head. Multiple thoughts littered his head and he couldn’t sort them out fast enough to process a coherent sentence. His logical side just straight up vanished.

Matthew walked up to him, cautiously sticking his arm out and gently grabbing Martin’s shoulder.

His head suddenly blanked, whatever he had been thinking about just stopped at the contact. “Well,” Martin laughed awkwardly, “I guess you learn something new everyday.”

The other boy gave a smile, and he thought he could spare them both the mental breakdown he would inevitably have, then the arse had to say: “You’re deserving of respect darlin’, unconditionally.”

And wonderfully, he started to cry. The more correct term would be more like, loudly sobbing, but save himself a little bit of dignity. Matthew had once again proved how amazing he was, holding him.

A loud noise sounded from somewhere, knocking him out of the memory. He felt a smile on his face though, thinking about the American. His boyfriend, seeing as two hours after he shared his entire life story, they made out on their dorm floor.

He stopped smiling when he felt his lips crack in the cold weather. Licking them didn’t help, they dried back up seconds later.

Martin stood up, shivering at the lack of movement. He tried the door again, and when that didn’t work, he called Majesty and walked to the backside of the house. It was locked. Well, it was good that they were responsible with locking doors.

He then tried the windows, but remembered that he closed them because of his hate of the cold, and locked them because of his paranoia. He thought about breaking a window, but came to the conclusion that a locksmith was most likely better.

He picked up his phone, then stopped, thinking about it. If someone he didn’t know could pick their way into the house, what’s stopping someone with a grudge doing the exact same thing?

They had cameras and an alarm system, but a short circuit somewhere around the house could disable them, or if a computer tech tapped into them…

Martin felt a weight in his chest. If a locksmith was successfully able to get the door open, then anyone could be able to get the door open, and anyone included Seth and his friends. If they ever decided they wanted to get back at him, they could get in easily.

He didn’t realize that he dropped his phone, and barely noticed when he stepped on it, looking around. Martin scanned the streets, starting to worry that Seth would have this idea, and show up.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe, now frantically looking for his stepfather’s car. He would kill Martin if he saw him, he’d hurt him and kill him.

He was tied to that bed, hands touching all over him. He didn’t want it, he begged for it to be over.

The hands were on him again. Martin swore he could feel them dragging against his skin, and he physically recoiled, tripping and falling into the grass.

He didn’t want to be back there, not again.

“Please, stop!”

“No!” He screamed at nothing, covering his head with his arms. Martin felt a sob build up, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Seth was going to find him, and even if Martin went back into the house, he’d find a way in, or break the door. He couldn't stop him, and no one would know what happened.

Martin felt something on his face, warm and wet in contrast to the cold. Then he felt something push against his chest, something that was warm. He instinctively reached out, wrapping his arms around whatever it was, shivering and still struggling to breathe.

He needed to look at the street again, see if he was coming, but the same wet feeling was on his face again.

After a couple minutes, he opened his eyes, the tears freezing against his face. He realized that it was Majesty who he was holding in his arms, and he realized that he was licking Martin’s face, just doing his job.

He pulled the Doberman closer, taking a few seconds before sitting up. Majesty instantly got up after he did, nudging his arm gently, waiting for Martin to move off the frozen grass. They both made it back to the door eventually, Martin working on clearing his mind by asking himself if it was the panic attack or the cold that was making him super tired.

He looked for his phone, stressing out until Majesty quickly trotted over and dropped it at his feet. He ignored the little bits of drool, seeing three texts and a missed call from Tristan.

Trishyfishy👀👄👀

December 14, 7:56 PM

Yo, what the fuck do you want

Jkjk, everything alright

Call me Mars.

Martin went to the contact and called, realizing he could hardly feel his hands. “Hello?” His voice trembled slightly, either from the crying or the cold, he wasn’t sure.

“Alright Martin?”

He chuckled hollowly. “Ah, I got locked out of the house.”

“Are you alright? You sound like you’re crying.”

“I got locked out of the fucking house Tristan. It’s like, -2 degrees out here.” There was a beat of silence.

“I’m on the way back, so uh, just… hang in there?” He rolled his eyes, petting Majesty. “I’m like, fifteen minutes away.”

He heard Tristan laugh at something he didn’t hear through the phone. “Where did you even go?”

“To a party, (figures) but some 9th year threw up in the punch bowl and two kids got in a fight over some stupid bet. It got boing. What about you? I thought you were with Sadie.”

“I was, but she had an appointment and I didn’t want to go so I just walked home instead, she lives like, half an hour away, so I didn’t, like, you know.” Majesty put his head on his lap, letting Martin stim by petting, effectively keeping him calm and awake.

Tristan hummed over the phone, but didn’t say anything. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he looked down, seeing that Matthew was texting him.

“I’ll call you back Trish.” He waited for a response, then hung up.

American.

December 14, 8:24 PM

I just saw a this lady with a really big yellow

snake around her neck and it made me think

of you

Which part?

The snake or the lady?

Both

Anyway

What are you doing?

Sitting on my front doorstep.

Why

Tat sounds boring

That**

lost my key.

I believe I left it at Sadie’s, but I can’t remember.

Oh f

So you can’t get in?

How long have you been out there

No one else will let you in?

Actually just hold on

Martin looked at his phone confusedly for a moment, before he was suddenly receiving a call from the other.

“Ok, go on,” Matthew said from the other side when he pushed the accept button.

“Er… I lost my key, and no one else is home.” His teeth chattered as he spoke.

“That sucks man, I’m sorry. My mom says hi by the way, and asked if you tried the window or a back door.”

He nodded, then realized that Matthew coudn’t see him. “Oh, yeah uh, the back door was locked, and the windows, I locked them before I left. Preventable measure you know?” He said, laughing a shrill, awkward laugh.

“Right. Don’t want any cold air getting in.” Matthew coughed, then went on. “Uh, is someone like, coming to let you in?”

“Yeah, Tristan is coming, he’s gonna be home soon. Also, hello.”

“What?”

“You said that your mum said hi, so i’m responding to that.” He put his head on Majesty’s for a moment, exhaling. When he picked it up again, he saw that he accidentally clicked on the facetime button.

It was at least nice to see his face.

“Sis, you’re red.” Matthew said, looking at the camera.

Martin cocked his head to the side, then cursed as he dropped his phone. “Why thank you for the relay of information,” he snarked, but it was the first time he had looked at himself since he was with Sadie. That was what, an hour and a half ago? Two?

His eyes looked sunken in, skin pale except for the exessive spots of red on his cheeks, ears, and his eyes, but that was different, because he had been crying. Still. He wasn’t able to tell with his lips, mostly because the black lipstick he normally wore was still clinging to his lips. It was truly a look.

“Are you alright?” Martin gave him a look that signified that he was anything but. “Right, right, force of habit, sorry darlin’… Random question, why would you go out in that cold of weather, especially cause you’re crippled?”

Ah, he was wondering if that question would come up. “Well, it was around six degrees when I left, I didn’t expect the temperature to drop so suddenly.”

Matthew gave him a perturbed look. “Six? That’s freezing?!”

“Well, yeah? But it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t even freezing temperatures.” The other boy’s face didn’t change. It really wasn’t awful, but… oh wait. “Six degrees celsius Matthew, not fahrenheit. It would be about…” He thought about it for a minute, trying to ignore the sudden gust of wind. “Fourty… fouty-four degrees fahrenheit, I believe?”

“Oh, right, right, yeah. You know, y’all shame Americans for using fahrenheit, but it actually aduquateds for humans, not water. So.”

Well he was right about that, he was pretty sure. He couldn’t remember at the moment. “Hm.” He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to remove the heavy feeling from his eyelids.

“Woah hey, aren’t you not supposed to sleep? You might not wake up.”

“I wasn’t going to sleep. My eyes hurt.” He moved a trembling hand on top of Majesty’s head, once again back to petting. He blanked out for a moment, but he came back to Matthew talking, or yelling, through the phone.

“Darlin’- you need to wake up!” He looked at the phone, blinking eratically. He fell asleep? “Oh thank god,” he heard Matthew mutter through the phone. He looked up, realizing Majesty was walking around him, trying to wake him up too through nudges and pawing him. “You should probably stand up so you don’t fall asleep again.”

“Right.” He used Majesty as a balance to get to his feet, stepping around a couple times to try and get feeling back into his leg. Where the fuck was Tristan? He walked up and down the steps a few times, seeing that the tips of his fingers were going from a paper white to a more blue colour. He brought them to his face and wiped, feeling the skin that was marked with tears start to rip painfully.

Still shivering, he brought his phone up, asking Matthew something.

“Oh, yeah, it’s basically when-”

“What did I ask you?” He asked, looking at the phone.

The other boy looked at him, an indeterminable look in his eyes. “Uh, you asked about what happens-” The phone went black. He tried turnng it on again, to no avail, when he realized it died. His head was spinning, and he tried turing it on again, and again, until Majesty nudged him, and he had to stop tears from coming again.

He sat next to the door, the service dog standing next to him. He blinked harshly, feeling something burn in his chest again.

Majestly circled him again, going back to standing in the same spot. He rubbed him a couple times, but then had to rub his eyes.

“-rtin a dumbass yeah but he’ll be fine.” He woke up, feeling like he was being poked by a bunch of sewing needles. He blinked slowly, trying to sit up when he felt the blanket fall off.

Blanket? Martin moved his hand around, looking for Majesty. A coat of fur under his hand made him exhale in relief.

“Christ, Martin, you gave everyone here a fucking heart attack, you actually back with us this time?”

He muttered something, but it came out sounding weird, so he repeated it, with better results. “Can you give me a chance to see who everyone is before you start screaming.” He used Majesty to help him up, who jumped on the couch next to him to help him actually stay up.

Standing in front of him was Tristan, and two other guys that Martin recognized from school. David and Aaron, he’s pretty sure it was.

Doing a quick glance around, he noticed that A) His clothes had been changed. He was wearing a black sweater and sweat pants, B) He was in fact warm, seeing as there was a heater pointed at his direction, and C) his phone was no where to be found. He wondered how many hours he had been asleep.

Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but Martin interupted him. “Who changed my clothes?” This seemed to stop whatever the other boy was going to say.

“You did?”

Martin gave him an incredious look. “I feel like I would remember that.”

“Clearly not. What’s today Martin?”

He tried to remember the last conversation he had with someone over text. It was with… Matthew, who he really needed to call back, he realized. “Er… Wednesday, December 14?”

“It’s a few hours until friday. You’ve been asleep or on autopilot for like, the last 24 hours.” Oh. That didn’t feel right. That was even worse, actually. “Also, Dad and Oliver are on their way back. They were gonna come back before, but you were awake and like, warming up so I told them not to.”

Yeah, cool, whatever, he was still confused about the autopilot thing. “How often do I do that?”

Tristan raised a confused eyebrow, then said, “Oh, not that often, just right after like, messed up stuff happens. You kinda just, go through the mechanics of something.”

“When else have I done it?”

He pursed his lips. “Er, I’ll tell you later.” So he’d done it after what happened with Seth. He wouldn’t have figured it out at the moment if it weren’t for the thing his brother did with his mouth whenever his Mother’s husband was brought up.

“Right, ok.” He got up from the couch, noting as Tristan said something to his friends and waved as they quickly left. “Where’s my phone?”

“It’s where you left it.” He saw Martin’s face and added, “It’s on your bed.” Ah. He went to go walk to the stairs, but staggered on the second step. Majesty was already by hi side, so he leaned on him. “I can go get it Mars, or you can have Majesty get it, but Oliver said, and I quote ‘Your impulsevness and boyfriend can wait two seconds. Sit down Martin.’”

He sat back on the couch and sighed. “Phone, Majesty.” The dog perked up and ran up the stairs, coming back and dropping it on his lap. “Good boy,” he cooed, petting the top of his head.

Martin unlocked it (wincing at the date), partially watching as Tristan got up and walked out the room. He went to his last texts, and saw some that weren’t his. He assumed it was his brother who texted him, just saying that he was alive, and in the house.

You

December 15, 9:07 PM

Hey.

Is this a bad time?

Depends on who I’m talkin to

I hope I’m on the good spectrum then.

Darlin?

Your one and only.

I meant to put ‘the’ but ‘your’ works too.

I’m so glad you’re alright

Like, I thought I fucking lost you

You can’t kill me all that easily.

Right.

Well.

I’m actually in public rn and I can’t call and I’m sure there are some people you need to talk to

Yeah.

Sorry :(

Give me one hour and then i’m all yours

Take your time Love.

I sure have a lot of it.

I’m currenty on bedrest, so…

Aw :(

I won’t take up much more of your time then.

Call me when you can?

I miss you.

Of course darlin

And i miss you too

Martin closed out of the messenger app, only to get a little black heart sent to him. He loved that motherfucker.

He didn’t even bother texting his dad to see if the man was busy or not. He knew that if he did that it would be an immediate phone call, so, there wasn’t really a point.

He wouldn’t consider his father pushy or too suffocating. Martin loved and attention and praise he got from his father. His only concern was that Oliver would do some stupid shit (like father, like son) and burn himself out trying to care for everyone else.

He went to the contact and pushed the call button. It rang twice before both of his parents’ (fathers’?) asked about a million questions, all being variations of ‘What happened?’ and ‘Are you ok?’ and ‘We’re nearly home.’

“Yes, concerned adults, I’m perfectly fine. I just left my key at Sadie’s, I think. I should probably call and ask her-”

Tristan handed him a mug filled with overly sweetened hot tea, the only way he would drink it. “Don’t worry about it, her parents brought it back, along with like, a million other things because they felt so bad.”

Martin put it on speaker, just so they’d know who Martin was suddenly talking to. “I insisted on walking home, so it’s really my fault.” He took a sip of the tea when he heard the voices from the other end disprove this statement. “Also, define “a million.”

His brother shrugged. “I hope you like chocolate and tiny doll eyes.” He couldn’t help but feel like shit about it. He insisted he walk home, and he forgot his key, so he didn’t know why they blamed themselves so much. It was really on himself.

“I can hear your thinking Martin. You can’t blame yourself for this.” A door closed on the other side of the phone.

“I very well can, and I very well will.” Tristan sighed, but didn’t say much else about it. “Anyway.”

Over the phone, Nick asked: “Did you try calling a locksmith?” Martin felt his chest tighten up at the question. Majesty was immedietly at his side, putting his head on his lap. The other boy took notice and took the mug from his grip, and grabbed his hand.

He was going to say somehing, but jumped when the front door was unlocked and opened. Tristan hung up the phone, squeezing his hand at the same time.

Oliver and Nick walked in, not even bothering to hide their relief, until they noticed the condition that the other three were in, relief turning into concern.

“Hey baby,” Oliver said, coming and putting a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Martin exhaled, feeling better that his father was back with him. “Uh,” he laughed awkwardly, another shrill laugh. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not being able to pinpoint a good response, so he just shrugged and crossed his arms.

Tristan let go of his hand pretty quickly, instead going over to talk to his dad. Oliver put himself where Tristan was, giving his son an indetrminable smile.

He held out his arms, a silent invitation for a familiar embrace. Martin crawled over, filling the space and resting his head on the crease of his father’s neck. He felt a hand soothingly run up and down his back, reassurances being whispered in his ear.

“So you wanna rely on how you nearly died again..?” Well he won’t pass on having good attention on him.

Oliver whispered, “We can talk later baby.” To which he nodded, breaking away from the much needed hug.

Later, when he got some time alone, where Nick was cooking and the other two were in the parlor, he was upstairs, going back to the familiar contact.

You

December 15, 10:43 PM

Attachment: One image

:)

👁👁?

It’s in german

I’m fully aware.

Well I can’t google translate cause it’s a picture

Once again, I am fully aware love :).

😾😾

Rude

I will be having someone translate that later so don’t act all smug

I wouldn’t dream of it.

Hm. Call me

Alright.

“Hey darlin’,” the voice said over the phone.

[jigensass]

Guess I have to make another post this year on what got me through this year. If you follow my personal you probably already know this shit

Definitely more than pretty boys this year that is for sure

But wait Majima is on this list three times-

DO YOU QUESTION THE POWER OF GORO FUCKING MAJIMA AND HOW IT KEPT ME ALIVE

Goro Majima has gone above and beyond what Stephen Strange could ever achieve in my life and is that not only do I relate to him, I find him fuckable. Is that narcissism? I don’t know.

Consider him the MVP of this year that made me have emotions I never knew I could achieve in life. I REPLAYED YAKUZA 0 BECAUSE I WAS NOT HAVING FUN WITH SIX AND THE ENDING STILL MADE ME CRY THAT IS HOW IMPACTING THIS STUPID IDIOT OF BISEXUAL ENERGY HE IS.

Kiryu took a bit to grow on me after playing Zero a second time and finishing Kiwami but Majima fucking stuck like glue.

Also shoutouts to others who helped support my sanity

Kerry Eurodyne

Johnny Silverhand

Judy Alvarez

Baka Mitai Deepfake memes

The deep dive I did into Yandere Simulator and where it led me

The rest of the cast of Cardcaptor Sakura except Meiling because she was a bitch

Shinada from Yakuza 5 because bless his dumb ass (who also has the same voice actor as Yoshikage Kira from Jojo: Diamond is Unbreakable)

Nugget the interdimensional money giving chicken

The entire Yakuza 7 squad

The Jojo characters I mentioned in 2019 including Dio Brando. He may be a cunt but he is very fuckable.

May 2021 not fuck me in the ass again so I can have a semi-normal life. That includes co-workers NOT FUCKING ME OVER

I SACRIFICED MY MENTAL HEALTH SO MY CO-WORKER COULD GET HER DREAM COME TRUE AND HAVE A BABY. On the record, I did attempt suicide this year because I couldn’t quarantine or the entire company would just go up in flames, metaphorically.

After this I really don’t feel like I am meant to get a dream or find one, for that matter. I’m just going to keep stumbling through life, leading people to their happy endings like some fairy godmother. People this year have been somewhat better to me (I can’t believe how many people acknowledged my birthday it was a freaking shocker) but I still feel like I got my beat up more times than I would like. Hell, COVID was the least of my own problems, but it was a direct result of why I felt as used as I did because I was one of the few who could survive in these difficult times and come out unscathed by society, but fucking scarred by the people around me because I was abused for my availability and intelligence.

You know they say in dust explosions it’s never the initial blast that is dangerous but the secondary one? Well I was one of probably a portion of people who were torn to bit by that secondary blast and I have honestly yet to recover from it mentally.

Yeah people this have had their mental health stabbed at this year to hell and back, but when you already had terrible mental health to begin with, like me, I became numb and even depressed at times. At times all I thought I could express to people around me were negative emotions of anger, distress, sadness, and despair. The things I mentioned above were an escape route to feel human with positive emotions to balance the negative ones or one with society. And many times (I still do) question even if I am human at all.

From getting being mentally abused for money to attempting suicide, my life went from alright to below average because of 2020. Not because of COVID, but because of how other people reacted to COVID. And how people are fucking stupid and SOMEHOW NATURE SAID YES, THE MENTALLY ILL, ISOLATED INTROVERT IS THE DOMINANT ONE IN THIS ROUND OF NATURAL SELECTION. LET’S MAKE THEM IMMORTAL.

AS DIO BRANDO SAID

Just gonna make that my New Year’s Resolution to Reject my Humanity

[foreverlogical]

The other day, my husband returned home from an errand. I heard the water running as he soaped and scrubbed his hands, and then a sigh of relief as he peeled his mask off his face. It surprised me, that sigh; it felt familiar, but not coming from him. I could tell exactly where it bubbled up from in his body, how it felt escaping his lips. "You know," I mused aloud, "this is probably the closest you'll ever get to feeling what it's like to take off an underwire bra at the end of a long day." He considered for a second. "You're probably right," he said.

I'm hardly the first to have made the comparison between face masks and bras. But there's a flippancy to many of the memes I've seen on the subject, and I don't think the comparison is flip at all. We're currently engulfed in a national culture war over personal comfort versus community good. And this debate has magnified a much deeper and more urgent question: In America, who really gets to be comfortable in day-to-day life?

There's no denying that masks — particularly homemade cloth ones — are not comfortable. Straps pull and chafe; cloth sticks to lips and makes it harder to draw full breaths; the condensation from breath fogs glasses. There's social discomfort, too, the difficulty of reading facial expressions and understanding speech. And underneath it all, there's the unease of knowing why we wear masks: the deadly virus lurking in our communities, and the knowledge that our lives will never be quite the same again.

For those of us playing in the sandbox of women's fashion, there's a baseline level of unease that comes unthinkingly, unquestioningly, with the territory. As a woman with breasts that are large enough to be considered vulgar if not visibly buttressed, I haven't set foot in public without wearing some form of bra since I was about 10 years old. In that time, I've been repeatedly blistered, bruised, and rubbed raw by my own undergarments. It's not just bras, either; I've developed skin allergies from wearing department-store jewelry, and my feet are covered with scars and scabs from where my shoes have drawn blood. Not to mention, I've absorbed a healthy dose of body-image insecurities packaged along with my clothes.

When I talk to my friends who wear feminine clothing, we swap similar stories. This stuff is part of the fabric of our daily lives, to be quietly borne as we go about our business. This is not to say that masculine clothing can't be uncomfortable, or that men can't be insecure about their bodies. But for those of us accustomed to the rules of women's fashion, enduring discomfort for the sake of propriety is nothing new.

I could stop here. It's easy to say, "If I can wear a bra, you can wear a mask." And there's a kernel of truth in that. Absorbing a certain level of physical and emotional discomfort for the sake of others is not only possible, but incredibly common.

But there are wrinkles in this line of thinking. For one thing, we must be rigorous in distinguishing "discomfort" from "hardship." For some people — including those with respiratory illnesses or sensory sensitivities — mask-wearing can pose a genuine risk to health and well-being. And though many people with hearing loss can wear masks just fine, they run into challenges communicating with others whose lips are obscured and voices are muffled. At the same time, Americans who would simply rather not wear masks have co-opted the language of disability and accommodation, insisting that their physical discomfort rises to the level of a legally-protected status. These things are not equivalent, and we cannot treat them as such.

We also can't stop at gender when thinking about masks and discomfort. After all, there are plenty of women as well as men refusing to wear masks. But there is another characteristic that these mask-rejecting scene-makers share: They are overwhelmingly white. And that's telling, because whiteness in America — like maleness, or being abled, or so many other flavors of privilege — confers a certain level of day-to-day ease, a carelessness that is as comfortable as old pajamas.

Here, again, privilege rears its sticky head. To be comfortable in America — to feel safe and at-ease in one's own skin, to have one's needs and desires amply met, to be able to avoid experiences that are distressing or unpleasant — is, in many ways, dependent on our place in an oppressive system. Not everyone is able to get comfortable in the same way. Our identities intersect and interact differently. But privilege is seductive, and we are comfort-seeking creatures.Thus far, 2020 has been all about stripping away the trappings of American comfort with shocking speed. That's genuinely frightening. For those of us accustomed to the comforts of privilege in its various forms, the question now is what to do with our wounded feelings of entitlement and complacency. When the daily ease we took for granted — like going out in public with bare faces — is now complicated and bitter, how do we move forward? Do we cling to semblances of a comfortable existence that no longer exists? Or do we learn to metabolize these new discomforts and move forward anyway?

Wearing masks in public is an exercise in physical discomfort, yes; but it's also about the emotional discomfort of feeling our cushioned foundations dissolving under our feet. When I find myself comparing masks to bras, I'm not just thinking of the lines left in my skin by cloth and elastic pulled taut. I'm thinking of how we practice the ability to absorb and digest discomfort in all its forms.

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