#and because i can only feel semi-normal when i don't feel like i'm wasting my life away and i'm instead making any sort of thing

[seaofreverie]

Every once in a billion years I suddenly get very lucky and pick up one band merch delivery on one day, and then get another band merch delivery from another band on the very next day

[7nsomnia]

can i ask, what’s wrong with dcc? i always hear that they kinda suck as a company, but from the vlogs i’ve seen, they’re one of the better companies. i’m not really as into dreamcatcher as some of the blogs on here even though i consider myself a stan, so i might not have the right information

okay. I feel like this is like opening my personal pandora box so this might be long. I'm pretty tired today so apologies in advance if this isn't very coherent asdkjh

dcc are a pretty decent company on a surface level, they treat the members well (which should be like the bare minimum for any company but I know that in this industry that's something to genuinely praise) and they actually change according/respond to negative feedback from the fandom etc when they or the members mess up (or they used to anyway).

for me it started in 2020 and how they handled handong's return. like the way they handled her absence was fine (good even, I would say), but the lack of hype for her actual return made things feel so underwhelming even though it was supposed to feel like a relief that she was finally back. I can't remember all the details anymore, but I do remember that the first time I felt like things were actually alright with dc was when they did the online concert crossroads in march of 2021. on that note I think most ppl were expecting ttol and dlm to be repackaged with ot7 versions and yet it's 2024 and they still haven't released them.

the handong stuff atp is water under the bridge tho, the group is fine, the members are fine, etc, I'm only mentioning it because that's when things started to feel really off for me.

so now we get into the actual things that happened that have left the fandom feeling burned out/frustrated/disconnected etc etc, whereas this happened to me at the end of 2022, I'm seeing more people now going through what I did back then:

I think the most pressing thing was that dcc didn't capitalize at all on dc's first win. they got their first win in april 2022 and didn't even do anything special in korea to commemorate it. it was a HUGE moment and they did nothing with it. usually after a group gets a first win you'll see them getting more promotions in korea, magazine photoshoots, mc deals, etc but dc just went on ahead to do festivals in europe and have a usa tour, these things are not bad but it was the lack of promotion in korea that in turn just made it all feel useless. that year dc also weren't invited to any end of year awards if I'm not mistaken so it all felt really disappointing and like all of the work we had as a fandom had been for nothing. I have to reiterate, dc/insomnias had been getting screwed over on music shows since 2019 with deja vu to get that first win, like I don't want to talk about the injustices the group and this fandom suffered through the years but it was a true story of resilience, so getting that first win in 2022 was a huge relief. to see it all going to waste was just... heartbreaking honestly.

when it comes to tours...... god I don't wanna get too much into it, but 4 tours in the usa in the span of 2 years is not normal. specially when they're prioritizing that over having a proper asia tour and the likes (AND promoting in korea??). latam tour is practically sold out rn and they're getting no merch or m&g benefits like the usa tour. I don't think doing exclusive things for a specific tour is bad per say, but you have to treat all your fans semi equally at least, specially for a group whose fanbase is majorly international (this will be important later), or it will happen what is happening rn which is ppl will leave the fandom. This is the first latam tour since 2019 (2017 for brazil!)... they've waited a really long time so personally (even tho this doesn't affect me bc I'm european) I feel like it's really disrespectful but wtv, onto other things.

now, speaking of the fanbase being majorly international, if this is the case, you'd think the company would make an effort to stream important events to their fans, like hmm the 7th anniversary concert perhaps? but nop, that didn't get streamed. a repetition of the dumbassery they did in 2022 where they split the concert and the members' solos in 2 days and only streamed one and so intl fans couldn't watch half the solo stages? and don't get me wrong, I think it's important that they have events that are korea only like they have the fansigns etc, but something as major as their 7th anniversary? when they've gotten here thanks to their international fans? that stings a little.

and lastly (maybe), we have dcc's usual lack of promotion during comebacks. fans always paying for ads, intl fans always doing the most for digitals even when it's Not their place (because this is smth that the korean fandom and dcc should be responsible for), fans having to reach out for vendors etc... Justice cb truly has been the culmination of the very worst promotions dcc has done tho and there have been some really bad promotions before... no radio shows, minimum interviews, barely any variety... were there even any ads? usually it's always fans paying out of pocket for ads. it just feels like throwing the members' and the company's work out the window for no good reason? Virtuous is one of their best albums and yet it feels like they just dumped it to go on tour again. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing btw, having short promotions in korea is fine but like... promote for real? give your fandom content that they can watch and rewatch for however long it takes your group to have another cb? specially now that it seems that they're shifting to one album per year (not sure this is their wisest decision tho all things considered), you have to make sure that you promote that album properly? which kinda also goes with like, giving your fandom enough time to save for what you release and put out, specially if you're not trying to grow the fandom anymore. if they're dropping an album then don't announce a tour on top of that, and if they're announcing a tour then don't announce a photobook on top of that, and if they've just released an album then wait longer than a month to announce a photobook, and if they've just dropped a photobook then wait a bit longer until announcing the re print of albums the fans have been begging you for 6 years to re print LOL bc all this does is frustrate fans who can't make that much money in such a short time and it's stupid. like. in 2018 I dropped like 200 euros for like their very first photobook BECAUSE I had time to save that amount from their you and I cb (may) to whenever it was announced (I think it was august), and that was the highest tier (so you could get it for much cheaper) and bc back then it was like. well they barely release anything other than albums, so it's fine (also shipping was sooooooo much cheaper I miss it everyday, ofc this is not their fault tho but anyways).

lastly actually, oh my god. that stupid ass app where fans pay a subscription to message the members privately? has been the fucking worst thing to happen to this fandom and the members imo. if fans weren't respecting their boundaries before, it's even worse now. but it's also like. yeah the members should be reinforcing those boundaries, and I get wanting to at least make a buck of those problematic type of fans but I just don't think it has been good for the members at all. I won't elaborate too much on this because it will genuinely piss me the hell off but bottom line: that app has been hell for everyone genuinely there is no bright side to it other than dcc makes money out of it. and there's better ways to make money :))))))))

anyway this is over 1k words atp and somehow I feel like this all just the tip of the iceberg and I probably have forgotten many things bc tbh in the past year I've just. been trying to make peace with it all and just accept things for what they are because dc have been really special to me for such a long time and I just don't want dcc's decisions to make me throw all of that away (like I almost did). I love their music, I love the members, and so I will continue to celebrate wtv right decisions dcc makes but I'm not going to pretend that they're a good company when it comes to business decisions bc they're really not

[dracosrep]

~Missed You~ D.M

(fluff, semi-smut)

---------------------------

PAIRING: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

WARNINGS: fingering in public

SUMMARY: Draco teases Y/N during breakfast at Hogwarts.

I just woke up, but not in a great mood. I studied all night for the charms test hoping I will get at least 60/100.

I decided to get out of bed earlier so I can get ready, for what's next. My boyfriend Draco got a break from Hogwarts because of personal causes. It's been two weeks since he left. But yesterday he sent me a letter to let me know that he's coming back today.

Me and Draco have a really great relationship. We fit perfectly like puzzle pieces. And my God, those ocean blue eyes. I feel like they hypnotize me. I'm so lucky to be with him, he's just so kind. Not to mention all the love and the attention he gives me.

I put on my uniform and fix my hair then I search for my books. I finally got myself out of the room with so many things going inside my head 'What personal causes?' 'Why didn't he tell me?'

I enter the Great Hall and my eyes are looking for him everywhere. He didn't arrive yet, I guess. So I go and sit next to Pansy.

"Hey how are you girl?" Pansy spoke to me but I didn't notice, I was too busy looking for him in every inch of this big room.

Pansy noticed that I'm constantly turning my head. "Who are you looking for- oh" Draco entered the hall, immediately he saw me and rushed to me. I quickly got up and ran to him. He embraced me in a long, big hug.

"I missed you." He softly spoke to me. "I missed you more." I whispered to him. He split the hug so he could look at me. "No that's impossible, I'm sure I missed you the most!" He seriously said. I smile at his words but I couldn't say a single thing before he pressed his lips on mine. He kissed me with so much passion.

"Draco, let's head to the table. It seems like we're being watched." He then looked around before nodding and taking my hand to go to the table.

We sat down at the table next to each other. Pansy saw that one coming so she switched seats, now she's sitting next to Blaise. At first Draco had a talk with them then he started talking to me.

"What did you do without me, hm?" He said in a deep voice. "Not much, studied, hard" He raises his eyebrows. "What for?" I took a bite of an apple,Draco watching my movements. "We have a charms test today. I couldn't sleep because of it" He sighs. "You know you should slow down with these things, you are taking them too seriously. They are just classes after all." He spoke.

"I'll try. Well what did you do?" I was really curious, he didn't mention anything in the letter.

"Oh I had some important family meetings, nothing fun really." He drunk some juice before saying again. "I would prefer to stay here with you anytime than going to those meetings." I softly chuckle. "I thought you hated Hogwarts!" He took a bite of his food. "Yeah but with you here, it's different. You are the only reason I'm still here in this pathetic school."

I smile before looking into his eyes. Like I said they take my breath away. Moments of silence and just staring at each other hit. He was gorgeous.

"Mate so you see.." Blaise broke the silence so he could talk with Draco about some new quidditch stuff. That's when Draco put his hand around my waist.

I kept eating and suddenly I felt his hand lifting up the back of my shirt. He slid his hand under my shirt. His cold hand sent me shivers down my spine. I tried to act normal but he started to slowly move his fingers drawing circles on my back.

This man. I don't know what he's doing but I know he's driving me insane. He's teasing me. He actually enjoys it.

I looked at the table looking for pancakes. They were far away on the table. I get myself up so I can reach them pushing myself into Draco as a tease. My skirt lifts up. I just feel him smirk. I take the pancakes and put them on my plate, I sit back down. My man didn't waste any time before putting a hand on my skirt.

He slowly starts to slide his hand in. He already feels my wetness. I slightly gasped when I felt his hand on my clit. He started moving his fingers. I tried so hard to act fool. He inserted a finger in my pussy. I covered my mouth trying not to make a sound. He was watching me, he was just enjoying how I'm struggling. He added another finger and started to move them in and out. I couldn't help but silently moan.

Pansy turns her head. "Y/N are you alright?" Draco kept doing his work while I was trying to respond to Pansy. "Y-yes I am. I just have- mm cramps" I finally spoke. Then I felt a familiar knot in my stomach. I was close.

Draco was almost laughing at me watching me like this. "I'm close.." I whispered to him. He nodded and approved that I can cum on his fingers, so I did. Another silent moan hitting.

Draco smiled and said to me. "I missed you like this too." He chuckled. I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Then that means I'm not gonna sleep tonight either."

------------------------------------

Hey! This is my first ever written story. I hope it's good. I would like to hear opinions. I really enjoyed writing this so I think I'm gonna keep writing. I take requests! 🫶🏻

[freebooter4ever]

I've been doing my best to stay up to date on the boots brainfog fatigue lore for a while and I have two things to say. First, I am so glad the antibiotics are working and helping you and you're able to somewhat pause your symptoms. And second, your story is so terrifying I had no idea anything like this could happen and I hope the saga ends soon with you going back to a normal livable life.

Apologies for the slow reply, it took me a while to come to grips with my story being used as a 'lore' example. Legit i sometimes forget that i have a lot more followers than just the ones who talk to me on a regular / semi regular basis. So thank you to anyone who is quietly watching this painful illness play out and rooting for me <3 i hope it ends up being a happy ending, though my depression right now is being a witch and telling me it wont. As i type right now my eyes are doing the '300 times more effort to focus' thing because i ate dinner an hr ago, and im slowly getting used to putting this much work into something as simple as writing but...gosh this is all exhausting.

I didnt know this could happen either, but i cherish all the friends and strangers who have gone through this or are going through this who immediately reached out to support me. I've met one guy in person who was a casual friend until now, but who is becoming one of the few people i can randomly text depressing symptoms to and just know he at least semi understands. He also promised to take me on his motorcycle the minute i get back into a physically stable condition so i at least have a carrot on a stick at the moment.

I have also had a lot of really really enlightening conversations with my grandma who has MS, and she's told me stuff about her own illness that I don't think she ever would have divulged to me if this hadn't happened. And I now almost understand why. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to complain about a symptom and then have a friend or loved one immediately counter with 'oh, i have that!' and then go into detail about how they handle it when their symptom is obviously fleeting and passing and much less intense. Also, there's certain people in my life who i just cant get to understand how this illness is connected to food. Every time their response is 'I'm sorry you feel bad, let me make you something to eat' and i have given up trying to explain, lol.

I think it's also important for me to note that although my blog has seen a lot of this drama that i shared...the WORST parts of it i have not posted because i simply dont know how to process or talk about it yet. And also most of the worst moments happened while with my friend G, and when I'm at their house I tend to not need social media so much.

The funniest part in all this - it took a month for me to become so terrified of food because of the intense pain/reactions after eating, that I don't miss food at all despite my diet being severely limited. I miss peanut butter, although my reaction to peanut butter is not so bad that i can't eat it sometimes (but not daily like i used to). Strangely enough, I don't miss bread at all, except I do miss the easy convenient calories bread provided so I could run/dance/exercise. There is only one thing I have been craving this entire month....this fucker from 85c:

I have dreams about this guy. I vividly remember the taste and texture and how it felt to bite into one. The joy of snacking on one in the California sun under the arroyo trees. I long to be able to eat it again ;_; But with how little food I've been able to eat, I can't afford to waste calories on anything that isn't packed with nutrition so :( no taro bun.

[paranoidandroidofficial]

Ants from Up There is genuinely the best album of the 2000s [including the 2010s and 2020s] (with 1 exception)

This is the second-best album of the 2000s, beaten out only by a life-changing transcendental experience in a cd case trying to be an album (LYSFLATH by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Listen to it. right now. it's so good.). I could ramble on for HOURS about how great AfuT is, but I wanna keep it brief, so I wanna look at it from a few angles: The album itself, its competition, why I think this beats the competition, and what could beat it.

The Album

Ants from Up There is a 2022 post-Rock album made by the British band Black Country, New Road. It's about an hour long, it has 10 songs, and it's an emotional masterpiece. I will make a more detailed review of this album someday, but here are my main pros about it, and my only con.

It only has 2 lackluster songs, and even then, one of them is an intro track, and the other is a break song and a line of demarcation to separate the great songs from when the album goes sicko mode, so I really don't have an issue with them being there.

It actually has a semi-remedy for what would normally be insane tonal whiplash with how different "Chaos Space Marine" is compared to the rest of the album, and that is by putting it as the second track, after an intro track that sounds similar in tone and energy, so that way, it feels like it and the intro are in its own little duo while the other 8 songs are their own separate thing. it doesn't completely solve the issue, but it makes it easier to put up with :)

the concorde comparison actually makes sense when you look into it. Concorde was a plane model that cost billions in the late 60s and 70s to produce, and only amounted to about 20 planes ever being made, and they only saw it through to the end because they had put so much money into it already that it would be more wasteful to quit. That's what Isaac means when he compares his relationship with a woman to Concorde; he's already sunk so much time and resources to this relationship that it would just be a waste to suddenly quit. I think it's pretty clever.

the music is so fucking good. like, no joke, this album has some of my favorite musical moments in recent memory, like the first chorus of Bread Song being in free time (basically saying "fuck time signatures, and fuck bpms" and playing without them), the insane drumming during "Snow Globes", the piano during "The Place Where He Inserted the Blade"... the everything in "Basketball Shoes". I have more to say about that last one specifically.

The lyrics are so strong. I normally am neutral towards relationship stuff in songs, since I don't truly understand the nuances and stuff of relationships, and therefore, can't really relate or get most relationship songs on first listen. If I do, they're either sledgehammer blunt, or I can tie them to something not explicitly related to relationships, or I'm completely wrong. This is sort of an exception. I say sort of an exception because while I didn't really fully get the lines on my first few listens, I was certainly able to understand the general mood of the lyrics, and that mood was unbridled pain as a result of heartbreak, and while heartbreak is something that I don't relate with at all (can't get your heart broken if you've never been in a relationship before. Haha... im such a fucking loser), and therefore, doesn't really get a reaction out of me most of the time... this was absolutely an exception, because here, you can tell that this really hurt him, and it hurt him badly. It also doesn't hurt that Isaac Wood is just an incredible songwriter in my opinion.

All of the last 3 tracks. Just everything about them. Especially Basketball Shoes. That riff during the first part, the ending of the second part, that intermission between the second and third parts... the third part in general. Isaac Wood's vocal delivery during that last part is insane. It is so fucking good. No complaints.

The only con I have with the album is that it can somewhat feel a little lop-sided. Not in the sense that 1 side is all bangers, and the other side is nothing special, but the first half of the album is still great, but that second half is the stuff of legends, and honestly, I kinda wish it were a bit more even... but if it were, then there would be an alternate timeline where I complained that the album never takes a break, because i am never truly satisfied with the media i am given and i need to bitch about something. This is mostly just a nitpick if anything, because like I said... this album's back half is the stuff of legends.

The Competition

[BTW, im only counting albums from after october 2000 to before February 2022, since the actual best album of the 2000s imo was released on October 2nd, 2000, if I remember correctly, and this album was released on February 5th, 2022.]

To Pimp a Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar: Let me get the one that'll piss off the most people out of the way first. I don't think TPAB is better than AfuT for 1 simple reason... there are skippable songs on TPAB. Now, there are 2 skippable interludes on AfuT, but the thing is, I never skip them, because Intro fits as an extended intro to Chaos Space Marine, and Mark's Theme lets me know that this is when shit gets real. On TPAB, here are the skips that I consistently skip, or consider skipping: For Free? (Interlude). I love this song, but I think it's an understandable skip. These Walls. That intro is why I skip it sometimes. Mortal Man. Once Kendrick finished reciting the full poem, that's when I just call it quits, and say the album's finished. Momma. On a bad day, the drums might get on my nerves. But that's not very often. For Sale? (Interlude). barely an interlude, but it's like an interlude in 1 sense; when i see it, my natural instincts make me press the skip button. Yeah, that might be all, and most of the time when I do stuff like listens for reviews, I don't skip these, but if I'm doing it casually, then... I might skip these! Can't say the same for AfuT, where I normally don't skip a single song! I will admit that TPAB is actually pretty close to matching AfuT.

In Rainbows - Radiohead. the only thing I can really say is that I just like AfuT more. No intricate reasonings, or any of that. Just... I like it more.

The Glow pt. 2 - The Microphones. This one is the closest one on this list. This one is very similar to AfuT lyrically, and I'd even say that The Glow matches AfuT lyrically, but AfuT easily beats out the Glow musically. I like the music on The Glow, but if given the choice between indie folk mixed with a dash of noise rock and some of the best post-rock ever committed to tape, I'm choosing the latter before you finish saying the question.

To Be Kind - Swans. Honestly... I can't really say why I like this more than To Be Kind. I guess I like Isaac Wood's voice more than Michael Gira's, but To Be Kind also has some killer music, and some great songwriting (not on the level of AfuT, but still great), so... I guess I don't really know why I prefer AfuT. I just do.

Deathconsciousness - Have a Nice Life. Simple answer... the lyrics on AfuT are just better in my opinion. The lyrics on AfuT really make you understand the pain that this breaking relationship has been causing Isaac, while the lyrics on Deathconsciousness never reach the highs that the lyrics on AfuT reach at some points... maybe except for the last verse of Earthmover, but all of Earthmover is damn near perfect.

Teens of Denial and Twin Fantasy - Car Seat Headrest. AfuT is better musically, but that's not the only reason. Teens of Denial's lyrics read like an angsty teen trying to understand his feelings and cope with them, while Twin Fantasy's lyrics are about the LGBTQ experience. Now, I understand the lyrics of Teens of Denial, since I'm currently going through the process of understanding and coping with my emotions, but I'm... not a member of the LGBTQ community, even if I support it, so I think of Twin Fantasy as just a love album so I can understand it just a little better... but AfuT's pure heartbreaking lyrics are more emotional, and just better written in my opinion, even if I respect Teens of Denial and Twin Fantasy to a similar degree.

What could beat Ants from Up There?

Now, this album is my 4th favorite album of all time, and so let's take some aspects from the albums that already have beaten it.

from (dark side of the moon), an infinitely replayable quality. While I've heard AfuT like 6 times at this point, I'm not sure if it'll hold up like dark side of the moon has, so just in case it doesn't, this is here.

from (ok computer), a dangerous level of nostalgia and personal importance. OK Computer got me into music, and the only album that's ever beaten it is literal musical perfection, so I feel like this dangerous blend of personal importance and nostalgia could be key to making the ultimate "Ants from Up There-repellant Spray".

from (lysflath), make the music sound straight out of heaven. Like, genuinely transcendental music. stuff that sounds like a sneak peek of heaven itself.

now onto the stuff that isn't on any of those albums... more balanced tracklist. make each half as equal as you can.

and lastly... have at least 1 vocal delivery that's on par with, equal to, or better than the vocal delivery on the last part of "Basketball Shoes".

Anyways, in short, Ants from up There is the best album from the past 2 decades, and BCNR have solidifed themselves as one of my favorite bands.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 23

I swear to god I had no idea today was Dean's birthday when I was making the HNT schedule. But here we are at the end of season 1.

(I also messed up yesterday's episode title, but at least it's fixed now)

"Devil's Trap"

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: Doesn't really apply here. It's not a normal first five minutes of a supernatural episode.

I...can't believe Carry On Wayward Son doesn't play at the beginning of this episode. It's such a staple of Supernatural season finales that it feels SO WRONG to not have it.

Awww! Bobby's first appearance!!

I was right about Meg being flirty in this episode, though.

Eldest sons with and incredible amount of anger threatening obscene amounts of violence my apparent beloveds. I'm fine. I'm super normal. Hearing Dean say he'll march into hell itself and slaughter every single demon if it turns out John's dead is not something I'm into.

I don't know how I feel, though, about Dean being okay about potentially killing the real Meg. Yeah, you've gotta live with that now, buddy.

I need to know what happened that Bobby tried to shoot John last time they saw each other. Will we likely find out later? That's probably a fifty-fifty shot.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck. I hate knowing how this all ends. I hate knowing that despite both John and Sam being willing to throw their lives away to kill this demon, eventually it's gonna have to be Sam who buries Dean way too early.

Did you have to pull the fire alarm without any kind of layer between your hand and it, Sam??

Dean wanting to be a firefighter when he grew up is so sad. And the only thing making it sadder is that Sam didn't know. Dean's only had this life since not long after Sam was born while Sam was able to go after his own dreams.

Does holy water not work on really high ranking demons? Or is that really John?

Wait. Can...can demons possess more than one person at once?

YOU BROUGHT THE COLT?? DEAN. wtf. I know it saved Sam's life, but...

Oh. Oh no. I hate this part. I hate when Dean realizes that that couldn't be John because John wouldn't be proud of him. John would be pissed off that he wasted one of the very few magical bullets for THE Colt. (I have had to pause the episode because it hurts too much, and I don't wanna cry about Dean on his birthday. I'm gonna, though) Like not only can he not believe his dad would ever be proud of him, he's proven RIGHT. It's everything he's ever wanted to hear, but he knows it's not real.

I'm so not okay. Making Sam choose who to believe: the brother who's always looked out for him but who is now pointing a gun at their dad OR their dad who definitely is might be possessed by the demon that killed Mary and Jess but is also being held at gunpoint. And there's no winning here.

I was right about the holy water.

Use the force, Sammy.

DEAN'S BLEEDING OUT AND ALL HE CAN THINK IS THAT SAM NEEDS TO CHECK ON JOHN. I really can't with this family sometimes. The angst is so strong. John ordering Sam to shoot him for REAL (not just in the leg) while Dean begs him not to.

Holy shit...is this really how they're gonna end season one? All three Winchesters CRITICALLY INJURED IF NOT DEAD (you know, if I didn't know there were 14 more seasons) after the yellow eyed demon possesses some poor truck driver and rams his semi into the impala?! Legitimately don't think I've ever been so happy to only have to wait one day to get to the next season of a show.

"Been On My Mind...": (Making a prediction before Carry On Wayward Son even starts playing that there will be no room for that, but Meg might be flirty while threatening the boys. That's the closest we'll get) I was right.

[redjennies]

I 100% agree that PCs shouldn't be dying like this to further another character's development. I wouldn't like it for any character but I'm already lukewarm bordering on uninterested in Imogen, no flack to Laura, so not my cup of tea.

Credit to Matt where credit is due, he does a lot for these stories and elements that seem rough or odd can turn around, but oh boy. If he can turn this around I'll be impressed because this was so railroaded (derogatory). Otohan was designed to jump around the map and had no trouble reading the Hells' minds so any attempt at negotiating could just become: I'm going to steal the information from your head and continue killing because Imogen still hasn't done what I wanted. Once they entered that encounter, barring miracle rolls, they weren't getting out until they were let out.

Then there's the final wisdom save which felt like an "oh shit if I don't do something the whole party is going to die" decision. Because yes it made sense for the character but it took the decision to not let go out of Laura's hands because killing her friends apparently wasn't motivating Imogen to pick the "right answer" and if she didn't let go the rest of the party would be taken down because Otohan is just Like That apparently.

It was just frustrating.

was kinda holding onto this one because it is honestly summing up everything I feel about the situation once I put my emotions aside.

the one thing I'll extrapolate on is as you touched on, I don't think Matt is a bad DM. I think Matt is normally a very good DM but this was bad DMing and I think these almost rookie-ieh cheap tactics are beneath his ability. this was bad DMing regardless of anything else. there were ways to up the stakes, there are ways to kill player characters, without doing -- *gestures broadly* that. I saw someone describe this combat as "feeling like a cut scene where you're supposed to lose" and I fully agree. this was some Kai Leng from Mass Effect 3 bullshit and that is one of the worst insults I can give a RPG, even more so to a TTRPG. it stops being D&D and starts being just a show when you start doing stuff like this and if people like that, then that's fine for them, but I'm not watching if that's the direction the series is going in. I'm not wasting hours of my life listening to other people argue about what to do next just so combat can become essentially cutscenes. I'm not getting invested in characters who are considered secondary.

like as it dragged on even Laura couldn't stop it and what is the point of roleplay or combat or player choice if we're doing that? I can't get into the whole Poetic Dice Rolls when bad dice rolls are the only way to end it. what should have been a beautiful moment in Imogen and Laudna's relationship, regardless of your read on it, is undercut by Matt making it all feel so forced. Laudna's decisions didn't matter, Chetney's decisions didn't matter, and Imogen's decisions didn't matter. Orym wasn't even given a choice. the only people you can even remotely argue had any agency were Fearne who kept wandering back into the fray and Ashton who successfully ran away. in my book, that's bad DMing no matter how you slice it, and my semi-sincere, semi-passive aggressive apologies for thinking Matt is so much better than that. he made a series of decisions that someone with his experience had to know would piss a bunch of veteran D&D players off and so long as I'm not harassing him over it, it's not really my fault as a viewer for hating it when it's breaking every common sense rule of how to be a DM. it doesn't make him a bad person or the Worst DM Ever, but he really should have thought better than to do something so tacky.

anyway this really is the last of what I have to say about it. I really appreciate everyone thanking me and sending me well wishes in the inbox. 💕 the good has truly outweighed the bad both in the past 24 hours and in the past two years, but this is my stop and I have to get off now.

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[the-world-of-jo]

I'm running out of titles

This is going to be a mish-mash of nonsensical stuff. Feel free to skip over or read on and marvel that you have a (semi) normal brain.

It feels like every time I make some type of progress with just about anything, I end up backsliding by ten steps.

Eating better (healthier-ish) was going well, then I got hit with a migraine while on my period and I couldn't hardly fucking open my eyes let alone actually cook.

That encouraged a weekend of take out and now? I feel like shit.

No migraine though, so I will take that as a win.

My crockpot died on me, which, it's fine. The dang thing was about 20 years old and had like, two settings. I'm thinking I'm going to invest in one with a timer, so I can actually use it while I'm at work. Because lemme just say, even something in the crockpot can come out overcooked if it's left on for 12 hours.

I'm attempting to play with a strict budget, and I'm enjoying the process because I get to play with spreadsheets. But not being able to use my money how I want is frustrating.

Though, on the flip side of that, not going "OH SHIT" when I forget about a bill is actually a relief. A big relief.

It's also helping me figure out where I can 'cut back' on things. In quotes, because it's not cutting back so much as going "Wait, I'm still paying for that?!?!" And going over my spending shows me just how much money I'm wasting on stupid shit.

Like. REALLY stupid shit. Such as soda. I mean, I am not giving up soda and/or coffee and tea. Anything with caffeine really. But at the gas station, I'm paying $4.75 for two 1 liters. At the dollar store, for the same amount of product in different packaging, it's only $2.50.

And yes, I know an actual 2 liter would be even cheaper, but I tend to drink from the bottle, and drinking from a 2 liter at my desk is kinda...weird looking? To me anyway.

The soda thing isn't the only way I'm throwing money away. I'm side eyeing everything, and I'm enjoying the process of elimination. Like. Why am I spending money on Spotify? I don't use it, and if I do I can run an ad blocker.

There are several other items, including fast food purchases that are just convenient. Like, I don't ENJOY the product. And when I see how much I spent on it, it encourages me to either cook a better product at home, or if my only option IS fast food, then find something I enjoy more.

Is this what being aware of something is like? Can I figure out how to use it in other parts of my life?

If I could do that and figure out how to get Mayhem to stop trying to murder Brawley on the daily, life would be a lot better.

[shini--chan]

Okay, I've been wracking my brain to think of an ask for you because I know your writing is fire, and I don't want to waste it! If the mood strikes you, can you write a little yandere Levi in a universe of your choosing or constructing? I'm sort of interested to see how you imagine him as a yandere 😊

Thx, fam!

As I told you once before, this is the ask that almost made me forfeit my principal of answering asks chronologically. :P

So, this will be my usual mix of headcanons and Imagines if you don’t mind, since I have a lot of thoughts on this man and just don’t want to stumble into the snare of writing a full length story … yet.

I’ ll also keep this general, since the universe any Levi fic is set in just changes the nuances, and not fundamental character traits.

Also, I have to remark that it is already too late for me - I’m hip deep in academia.  

Yandere Levi Ackerman  

Captain Levi is a very orderly person, it is part of his lifestyle and how he interacts with others and himself. It is something he is really strict about and he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfect hygiene in a lover. To him, there is nothing less disgusting than poor body hygiene and should you start slacking off in anyway when it comes to taking care of yourself, a very fundamental aspect, then he won’t shy away from taking matters in his own hands.

You gasped as a bucket of water was frigidly emptied over head and you threw yourself out as your bed, expecting your assailant to have lunged onto you, should you have remained there.

Instead, he was standing right in front of you.

Somewhat shyly, you looked up into Levi’s pale face and sneered at the accursed object that he was holding in his hand. He sneered right back at you, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards in disgust. A rather uncommon display of extreme emotion on his part, for being a commonly stoic man.

“Get up!”, he curtly barked to which you stiffly groaned. Sloppily, you got up, still groggy from being rudely awoken and not in the best mood because of it. The water running in rivulets down your body and made your sleep wear cling to your skin didn’t help either.

“What was that for?”, you whined, completely oblivious as to why he was being so imperious to you. What had you done to warrant such poor treatment?

“Don’t get cheeky now, little brat. You didn’t shower last night and went all sweaty to bed. You deserved what I did to you now.”

Him being orderly isn’t restricted to personal cleanliness, it is also about how disciplined a person is with themselves. Having had to live in harsh environments for his whole life, he is a firm believer in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. That also means that should you suffer from any mental disorder, trauma induction or not, he wouldn’t be very understanding. Not that he wouldn’t be concerned about your broken state of mind, rather he wouldn’t see how being kind and coddling you would fix it.

“You know brat, if you would stop sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, your life would start getting damn better”, he snarled at your cowered form.

Hunched over the table, you had elected to grab a beer to numb the pain that was ravaging your heart. Watching people die never became easy, especially when they were close to you.

“Just leave me alone”, you begged and raised the tankard to your mouth again. Yet before the wooden rim could touch your lips, it was shamelessly ripped away from you. Levi’s sharp grey eyes were honed on you, the fire of anger dancing in them. Just why did he have to play judge now of all times?

“No, you look like shit and you’re talking shit. Moping around wouldn’t make anything better you idiot. You need to your act together, not get piss drunk.” 

Furthermore, he needs to be in control. As soon as he feels like his vice-like grasp over reality is slipping, he does what all people do that are losing their power – he scrambles to re-attain it. And he doesn’t hesitate to utilize violence. On top of that he sees respect given, as power given, so he demands the piety that his position ought to give him.  It doesn’t matter that you’re his lover, if anything you ought to give him his due. Rows with him are literally the worst – be prepared to be swept of your feet! 

Roughly, you were slammed against the wall in a manner that knocked the wind out of your lungs with a crude sound. It was followed by a gasp as your ears rang from your skull having banged against the stone and your muscles and bones ached.

“What did you just say?”, Levi snarled, a rare look of utter rage on his handsome face. You knew it was a rhetorical question, he had heard you the first time around. But you were too steep in your own anger to not push your luck.

“Don’t be like that, darling”, you spat the last word as if it were poison in your mouth. Warranted actually, since you had been coerced and tricked into this relationship. “I said that maybe you should take a leave out of your superior’s book because all your shortcomings make you unbearable to be a runt. Somehow, I doubt that would work, though – you’ll always remain a sewer rat at heart.”

A wrong move – those handsome features contorted to something utterly ghastly.

“You know we wouldn’t have such problems if you could control that attitude of yours. And if you would show me respect”, he hissed as he pressed you further against the wall, so that you were sandwiched between stone and muscles to a painful degree. The hands grasping you by the front of your clothing didn’t help either.

Lips twisting into a snarl of your own, you countered: “Respect is supposed to be earned, Captain. I will only respect you if you respect me.” You were really insistent on digging yourself your own grave, weren’t you?

“You’re much prettier if you keep that mouth of yours shut.

“Consider the feeling to be mutual, brat. Why should I give you any respect if you won’t give me any? And remember, I’m above you, so I don’t owe you anything. You owe me the world.”

Levi also has a strict set of rules that he expects you to follow to the dot. A fair warning, however, he may change the one or the other spontaneously and not inform you of it until you’re bent over his desk. Also, it is common knowledge that he endorses corporal punishment and celebrates pain as a prim method to install discipline. He really thinks that bad behaviour can be beat out of somebody. He is also exceptionally cruel with his punishments. This can be traced back to how he was desensitized to violence at a relatively early age and revels in have people submit to him.

You had barely set foot in his study when he looked up from his paperwork and ordered you: “Come over here, and bend over the desk.”

Shocked by his harsh words, you nevertheless complied. You knew that resistance would only make matters worse. Still, as you bend over and pressed your cheek against the cool oak you asked: “What did I do wrong this time?”

Briefly, he stopped rummaging through the chest that stood by the window and glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you serious? Don’t you already know? And I though you weren’t so goddamn stupid”, he snapped.

Finally, having found what he was searching for, he turned towards you again. There was a semi-bored expression gracing his visage as he drawled: “I told you a thousand times before, pet. When you are finished with your afternoon chores you are to come directly to me. No chit-chat with somebody else, no fooling about and yet you disobey me again and again. Your ears really are just for decoration.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he carelessly cut you off: “I don’t care if they are your friends, you don’t need them. You just need me.”

Upon that you fell silent and closed your eyes in hopelessness as you waited for your punishment to commence. When do pain came after a minute of silence you dared to open your eyes and glance back.

Seeing that you were focused on him, Levi cleared his throat as if to say “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Then you remember and with a great amount of shame you bared your bottom and meekly requested: “Please Levi, my love, spank me thoroughly.”

As usual, it sickened you that he made you ask to be punished. It was his way of normalizing and justifying his abuse. And conditioning you.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he grabbed you by the nap as he pressed you against his desk. “There is a good little pet”, he whispered as leather made contact with your supple flesh. 

This man has a difficult time warming up to people. All the agony of losing those that meant the world to him repeatedly has caused him to become cold and reserved. That means that in his mind, you should view it as a privilege that you are the love of his life. Because of that, he won’t accept rejection. Also, since he hasn’t had somebody really close to him in ages, he will be very clingy and overprotective. The world has the habit of robbing him, so you won’t allow you to be stolen as well. Not to forget that he is a man of action – being passive or also relying on words to solve situations just isn’t his style. 

Your skin was on fire due to his ministrations, or rather because of the disgust they evoked. The arm around your waist that pressed you against him made you want to claw at his skin and his lips against the tender skin of your neck made you want to throttle him.

Yet you knew that it was just wishful thinking. Engaging in such protest would be futile since he was stronger and quicker than you.

“Look here Levi, I told you…”, you tried to reason with him but he just silenced your objection:

“Shush, sweetheart. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Then he resumed kissing your neck and collar bone, sometimes tugging at your skin with teeth in order to cause bruises. You tensed as his free hand snaked down your leg and hooked itself under your knee.

The captain is a military man and fairly intelligent. He knows how to deal with an enemy, how to assess their strengths and weaknesses and how to keep them contained. And also, how to best combat them and capture them. He really is the worst opponent you could meet on the battlefield.

So how to evade him? You take him off the battlefield, place him in a situation where aggression can’t help him achieve his goals. He is a military man, as said before, so he is accustomed to low context communication – words must be direct, and you must mean what you say so that they are no muck-ups. Little conversation and more orders and demands. Levi doesn’t have a silver tongue to begin with, quite the contrary actually.

That means he cares a bit for codes, since they are of use to him in his branch of expertise. But he cares little for symbolism since he has categorised that as sappy nonsense reserved for romantics. So, you have an avenue to express yourself that he won’t catch up on unless somebody explicitly told him what it meant. Consider yourself lucky, it is exactly this that will prevent you from going insane.

“Flowers? Again?”, he gruffly asked.

It made you look up from the novel you were reading to see him eyeing the tansy and peonies that you had placed in a vase on the nightstand.

You had to suppress a smirk and work to keep the self-satisfaction out of your voice as you meekly inquired: “They are there to give a bit more colour to the room. I can always put them away if you want.”

You were being obedient to him for a change and that was why he decided to allow you a few luxuries. Besides, since you were so affectionate in the past two months, why shouldn't he return it with gestures of his own.

“Keep them. I’ll just never understand why you like them so much”, he answered and then stalked over to the bathroom. Of course he would never comprehend it, with his spartan and austere tastes, just like you would never understand that the small yellow flowers meant ‘I declare war on you!’ or that the orange lilies that had been there a few days ago actually proclaimed your hatred for him.

Hopefully, he would never find out.

Intelligence doesn’t automatically mean that he is omnipotent or that he is an all-powerful overlord. It just means that he is quick to comprehend tactics and strategies and devise his own. He isn’t immune to mistakes. So, when he ropes you in, in his games, you have to play a wholly different game of your own if you want to get out. Military, remember? There are many walks of life that he is unfamiliar with, many possibilities for you to escape his clutches that he wouldn’t even account for.

Giddily, you smiled at yourself in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself, with all the paint and heavy cloth that decorated your body. Levi didn’t either, just how it was supposed to be.

You had spotted him in the audience as you had pranced about the stage, looking very disgruntled at not having you by his side or locked up in his quarters. Even you had heard the rumours of how a few days ago he had flown into a frenzy, searching high and low for something.

You were one of the few that knew it was someone and that someone was you. Knowing him as well as you did, you made the fair guess that he also wasn’t here by his own volition, rather his comrades had dragged him here in an attempt to distract him.

And you also knew that had looked everywhere he presumed you to be – in the forest, somewhere tucked away in his estate, in the taverns and at the city borders and at the docks. Just not amongst the theatre troop.

That would probably stay that way, and you could use the opportunity to escape him.  

Adding to the fact that he is bad at expressing himself like a normal human being, he is also very emotional underneath that stoic veneer. In combat situations, he has an outlet for all his pent-up emotions. Else you have to suffer his outbursts and mood swings. Nonetheless, the world isn’t a gigantic battlefield and if the right buttons are pushed, he could lose it at exactly the wrong time and place. Levi would lose badly at the game favoured in the royal courts of provoking-the-other-until-they-embarrass-themselves.

Levi was very close to unleashing his unholy rage and as a precaution, you had taken to stepping out of range. While you found the whole situation very amusing, you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

“…however, since you come short on some things, I don’t expect you to understand that. Should I repeat what I said, in bitesize chunks  so that you don’t lag behind this time”, the nobleman prattled while he looked down on your “lover”.

Said man pressed through gritted teeth: “You filthy swine, go stuff all your pretty words up your ass.”

The noble emitted a fake gasp and murmured aghast: “You really are so crass. The rumours of you being a dwarf barbarian are true.”

That was the last straw for Levi. In the following minutes, a small crowd gathered to see what the commotion was all about and it ended in the guards having to restrain him. Really, it was hypocritical of the Ackerman to threaten you about causing a scene when he was the one prone to temper tantrums.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Ma and Pa James's Second Biggest Fan (we plough a lonely furrow) continues to find Ma Jess's appeal mystifying, since everything about her is negative:

1. Signing up for Team Rocket suggests someone of a morally dubious character to start with, but the truth lies in the clothing, and she's in black!

Black!

It's code for her personality:

• Jessie wears white:

Pure, beautiful, innocent, sweet-natured, not really bad, dealt a severe hand in life but a fighter.

• Cassidy wears black:

EVIL!!! EVIL, EVIL, EEEEEEVUL!!! FOUL SIRENIC TEMPTRESS!!! EVIL HEARTLESS BITCH STEALING JAMES'S NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN WEEPINBELL!!!

Speaking of which:

2. She was Madame Boss's best agent.

You don't get there being kind.

To reach that standing requires hundreds of successful heists, and we aren't talking nicking gold bars. It's living things.

How many Pokémon do you imagine she stole with merciless efficiency?

How many children did she set upon, pinching every animal they had?

How many innocent lives did she ruin by depriving kids of the pets they loved, never to see them again, eaten away with the not-knowing and the false hope?

The glory of her reign ran on the fuel of blood and tears.

What fate do you envision awaited those Pokémon? It's not exchanging one master for another, it's entering slavery.

Jessie and James aren't the epitome of Team Rocket. They are minnows on the outskirts, despised and mocked by most of their fellow members. The actual group isn't particularly famous for prioritizing Pokémon welfare.

The preferable outcome is being handed out to agents to help catch other victims. Otherwise it's transformation into a war machine, forced to fight on and on to the point of exhaustion and death, no doubt tortured and tested on to boot.

What happens if they don't come up to scratch or are pushed for years until too aged and broken to be of any use? Are Team Rocket ready to pension them off to animal sanctuary?

As if. It's euthanasia or on to the streets to waste away, if not fed to the strongest first.

Ma Jess knew this and worse occurred thanks to her, yet paid it no mind, and felt not a single twinge of guilt in that time of service, then met her end trying to draw another Pokémon into imprisonment.

Some might say it was a case of what goes around, comes around. As her behaviour led to God knows how many Pokémon dying alone, leaving their loved ones to wonder and grieve, so in turn did she die alone in the snow, and Jessie had to carry on without her.

I'm not against Ma Jess, I neither feel like or dislike, but I don't understand how so many fans can happily overlook her murky past of inflicting pain, instead elevating her to a semi-divine tragic heroine, yet apparently Ma and Pa's heinous offences of not stealing and treating Pokémon well are beyond forgiveness.

3. It's the Red Ribbon Army! Save yourselves!

Jessie joined Team Rocket to follow in Ma's footsteps. James went with her. Both moved (upwardly in scale, downwardly in morals) from Sunny Town's gang of petty thief kids to a complex Mafia organisation stretching its wriggling tentacles around the world to crush the air from its lungs.

Why? Ma Jess's baleful influence led the two down that path.

Of course Jessie wants to copy Ma, how and where else can she feel close to her?

There's not even a grave to visit!

Rising in the ranks and Giovanni's favour is both to strike it rich and take her place, becoming Ma in essence. That would make her proud, which is all Jessie ever wanted.

What alternative is there? Stay with Chopper and Tyra forever, ekeing an existence pickpocketing and shoplifting, until mortality comes calling sooner than is welcome, or get loaded quickly and retire early?

James theoretically could've gone home at this point, but when it came to which angry redhead he preferred to beat him up, he chose Jessie.

He was henceforth obliged to go whenever she led, even if it meant following the ghost of her mother into the jaws of evil.

They have an excuse, but what was Ma's for getting involved?

However much they boast and revel in their wickedness, the motto proves the couple still believe themselves on a noble quest, despite everything to the contrary, and why?

Jessie isn't about to accept that Ma Jess, whom she's probably idolized as one of few people to love her and a role model of how a woman should be, was nasty or unpleasant. If she was in Team Rocket, it must be good, whatever the outer appearance.

Except Jessie and James are bad at being bad. They are not master criminals. All their plans fail, rendering them poor and starving in consequence. The inner circle of Team Rocket will always be barred to them because they lack the inner darkness it requires.

The joke is they flourish in any other occupation, whether that be Salon Rocquet, reporters, or flogging merchandise and food at the League. If employed elsewhere they'd be better off, but they have to stay because Jessie can't let go, or bear the thought she might be a disappointment to her mother's name. A different career looks unworthy by comparison.

What, so Ma and Pa have got no son because of Ma Jess? They just wanted him to be a gentleman!

If she hadn't set such a terrible example to her daughter she might have an increased quality of life, but then had she done so Ma wouldn't be dead in the first place.

4. Can't pick 'em can she?

What was it that first attracted Ma to Windy Miller? Does she go for the rustic charm, or the promise of a lifetime's supply of bread to feed the abundance of babies planned?

Don't do it, Ma! He's an alky!

Some birds are like that you see. It's the maternal instinct gone haywire. They find a local reprobate and somehow decide he's really a damaged soul crying out for love, the scapegoat of a cruel society.

He's not evil, he's just misunderstood!

This is why you get nutters wanting to marry the Yorkshire Ripper: they put his 'mischief' down to bad women mistreating his gentle heart, but they of course are devoted to his happiness. They can change him.

You don't know him like I do!

In their fantasy, under the influence of a 'proper' woman he'll transform in to a flower-picking hippie, but not too much, they still like him to be dangerously 'manly' (keeps 'em on their toes), then they can feel smugly superior and more truly female than the 'lesser' breed who failed to tame his sexy pashuns.

And if there's one thing Windy has in abundance, it's raw animal magnetism.

Stop it, Ma! You can't help those who don't want helping!

She put up with the boozing, the flour dust and his somewhat limited communication skills, but what really let him down was the company he kept.

Ever after she would insist Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub led him astray. That's firemen for yer.

Cuthbert? That name's died out.

Sure enough, some point after Ma Jess was stuffed up the spout, old Windy legged it back to Camberwick Green, like the rascal he is, and not a sweet penny piece did she receive in maintenance, the bastard.

At least Ma James got pregnant by a man who stood by her.

She wasn't married to Windy Miller!

Oh, you mean they were living over the brush? I see.

It's all in your head!

Do it my way, and we have Pa Jess. Do it yours, and we're back to a cavernous emptiness. Unless you can supply a picture of the 'real' (pffft) Pa Jess, this is the best available.

Anyway, 'Jessie Miller' just sounds right.

Coincidence? I think not.

5. She went to look for Mew dressed like this.

I could forgive it had she gone in her normal uniform, that's just whimsy, but to have made some effort emphasises that it's not enough!

Some part of her understood a mountain might be a bit parky out, but this was deemed sufficient coverage!

What happened?

She bloody died didn't she?!

6. Ma Boss points the way to doom.

Ma Jess was at least loyal to the mistress she served, but it was a wasted dedication. She squandered her life obeying a heartless virago who could cast aside apparently valued staff without a qualm, whatever thanks she owed them.

The millions Ma Jess accumulated for Madame are probably uncountable, yet she was so worthless that, when dispatched to the mountain, on her own, expected to catch a Legendary Pokémon, by herself, which many doubted even existed, and wasn't likely to come quietly, or put up with orders, but then didn't come back, Madame Boss allowed her only child to sink into poverty and the infamous 'care' of the State.

Everyone knows what goes on there. Entering a home has replaced the workhouse as the place of dread.

Jessie might have been killed or attacked and it didn't remotely concern Madame Boss, unwilling to spare a meagre fraction of her massive fortune to give the girl she made an orphan any comfort or security.

What did she matter? Her mother failed. Why reward that?

In her turn, Jessie became just as obsequious to an undeserving master, who went further than his mama and actively tried to murder her, and still she suffers to please him.

Team Rocket devoured her mother, and now it's swallowed her.

Oh, and Madame Boss got her way upon discovering Mew's fossil, so Ma Jess died for nothing.

7. This.

I'm not surprised Mew wouldn't go with Ma. She probably sensed the vivisection awaiting, and didn't give a toss about the avalanche in revenge.

Mew hasn't got where she is today falling for any old shallow promises from a stranger, thank you.

Suppose the mission had worked, with Mew caught and gift wrapped for Madame's delectation: what then?

Perhaps Mew's power, proving so impressive, would've pushed any cloning scheme aside, leaving Mewtwo unborn and Mew as the mightiest weapon. Or in greed Madame Boss demands more, and in arrogance the scientists promise the earth, the seas and the heavens.

Mew I could see subjected to some non-lethal form of dissection, just to understand how she ticked, that is if they could build the cage to hold her.

As they couldn't, and catching Mew was never a possibility, then Ma Jess's sacrificed herself on a fool's errand, which was obviously one from the outset. If Mew was easy to handle she'd have been captured long before now.

Either Ma dies, Mew's safe, but Madame Boss starts the cloning scheme anyway, or Ma's victorious, Mew is a tool of Team Rocket and the scientists have more sample to experiment upon. Mewtwo is still made, alongside short-lived creations and dozens of unseen freakish abominations preceding.

Now Mewtwo isn't what you call at peace with himself, nor has he received a particularly wholesome experience. One could think Ma indirectly caused that. Her branch of the project may have fizzled to cinders but she still played her role.

What would her legacy have been but to help bring forth the being that wiped out mankind? Where's the future for Jessie when there isn't one?

It's not her fault, but she died in the name of cloning a biological disaster, the creation of synthetic life leading to the destruction of it all.

8. Let's have a gander at Ma in the anime:

• Can afford rent.

• Can afford a tray.

• Can afford crockery.

• Can afford condiments to add flavour to food.

• Can't afford any actual food.

Something's wrong there.

I intended to include affording clothes too, but now I'm not so sure.

I never took Ma to be a brown-all-over kind of woman. At least she gave the fancy stuff to Jessie.

For years I've assumed she wore a brightly coloured jacket, but now I suspect it's a red one heavily patched up, because buying a replacement isn't an option.

Really old clothes are being mended with whatever can be salvaged from even more worn-out clobber.

Best agent Madame Boss has and she's practically living in her own filth.

Team Rocket takes care of its own, eh?

Oh no, let's not get a proper job, one that allows me to provide for my daughter and doesn't ask for my life. Let's stay in this one!

9. Look at Jessie's face!

By her own admission, being tricked into eating snow is the best thing that ever happened to her during an 'otherwise wretched childhood', to the extent she doesn't know it was wrong!

I don't hear Ma and Pa doing that. The only ice James got was an ice-cream sandwich.

What kind of infancy did Ma Jess give the girl for her to be nostalgic about almost dying of malnutrition?

If we say that's a foster mother as in the sub, it means Jessie's fondest memory is after Ma died, which is too brutal for me.

Yeah, thank goodness she's snuffed it.

You think Ma might have taught her not to eat snow! She left her so ill-prepared!

Consequently the sub version makes Ma Jess an awful creature, although I don't see why that Jessie would so desire to mimic a mom she apparently doesn't care about.

10. She's not even bloody here!

I have no picture to signify absence, therefore I must show whom she left behind.

Ma Jess is Pokémon's answer to Bobba Fett: background figure, barely involved, no information, dies early, yet became a fan favourite nevertheless.

If nothing really exists, what is there to like? Why are you contented weaving smoke?

When Rocketshippers put forward the manga as proof, the Anti-Ships used to insist that it 'didn't count' for being set in a 'separate universe'.

If that still goes, and only the contents of the anime apply to the anime, well then it's bye-bye to Ma Jess and Madame Boss, because they aren't real either.

I sometimes think that's true. However traumatic, would Jessie not have acknowledged her mother by now otherwise?

We grasp the characters all had two parents in a nebulous fashion, although not being real people means they don't 'technically' need them, but Ma Jess is the only one who vanished to be granted a face. Why is she then ignored?

She's briefly glimpsed in a passing scene of a single episode of the first series and is never seen or referenced again. The sub doesn't even have that. Where was the use in creating her if only to leave that thread of the tale billowing in the breeze?

We may decide her actions affect Jessie's but we're only imprinting assumptions. She might as well have remained unwritten for all that's made of her.

What we can glean doesn't bode well, irrespective of things left unmentioned.

Her one redeeming deed was dying, thus at least she didn't choose to abandon Jessie. We may presume she'd have stayed with her girl given the chance.

By my reckoning that puts her as Fifth-Best Mother Of Pokémon, behind Ma Brock, Ma James, Dame Ketchum and Ma Boss, in that order.

Then they're those who claim she never died, so she just pissed off like everyone else, rendering her devoid of a single positive quality.

This is the woman you sigh and agonise over for decades.

Ma and Pa are right there, man! Show 'em some love!

[cole-grey-writes]

No More Bad Days

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Bucky Barnes

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader (platonic)

Warning(s): depression

Request: hi ! how are you? hope you’re having a good day! i was wondering if you could do Platonic imagine? where bucky has a bad day, so the reader cook for him and try to make him happy? thank you

A/n: yaya, this was really fun to write. I tried to do my own hurt bucky x reader in the past but it didn’t turn out well at all and I was completely unhappy with it. Looks like all I needed was for someone else to request it to get the good juices flowing. Hope you enjoy ^~^

Bucky’s sort of like a semi-domestic cat. Its normal for you to not see him for a few days at a time. He likes to spend some time by himself in his apartment when he gets overwhelmed by the world. But, Bucky always comes back and he usually retains contact with you by text. There are some days where Bucky completely cuts all contact with the outside world, however. Those are always the worst days.

When Bucky does come back to you after those days, he always looks worse for wear. So, it's reasonable for you to be very worried when its been about a week since you last saw Bucky.

And Bucky values privacy so you didn’t want to intrude on him and see something he didn’t want you to see. You kept your distance and sent the usual good morning/good night texts, hoping it made a difference in Bucky’s mood.

It’s the fifth day with no Bucky when you get worried enough to actually do something about it.

You wake up on a saturday and check your phone to find out that Bucky hasn’t been reading any of your text messages from the previous days. You sigh and stare at the ceiling, at a loss for what to do.

You throw the covers off your body and go through your apartment to the kitchen, dialling your boss’ number. There’s a beep and it goes to voicemail, meaning they’re probably not in yet. You leave them a voicemail, telling them you can’t come in for the next two days due to illness.

Then you go across the hall to Bucky’s apartment. You knock on his door, but there’s no answer. You knock again, and softly call Bucky’s name. “Bucky?” You have no doubt in your mind that Bucky can hear you. Still, there’s no answer. “Hey, Bucky, I’m, uh… I'm gonna open the door, okay?” when, for the third time, you don't get an answer, you swallow and pull out the key to Bucky’s apartment that he gave you a few months after he moved into the complex.

You enter his apartment quietly. You look around, gasping with a start when you see Bucky peaking around the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hey, Buck,” you greet. The only thing that lets you know Bucky’s acknowledged you is the .2 seconds Bucky lifts his eyes and meets yours. You close the door behind you. “You okay?”

Bucky doesn't answer and plays with his hands instead.

“Um,” you stutter, “you-you weren’t answering, so I let myself in.”

“... I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him. “Don't apologize. You’re fine, I was just worried,” Bucky nods. You take a few steps forward, asking him again if he's okay. He begins to nod before he thinks better of it and shakes his head instead.

“It’s been a bad day.”

“Oh,” you say. Although you don’t know the full extent of his trauma, you know that Bucky’s had a rough past. Bucky told you that he’s been made to do things he will never forgive himself for, and you witness Bucky’s pain mostly in the form of panic attacks and nightmares so you can only imagine all the horrible things in his mind. You’ve always wanted to help, but you’ve never known how. “Okay,” you say, “well, how about, um… maybe you could go shower?”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“Yeah,” you say, gaining confidence in the idea. “Yeah, a shower would be great for you,” you walk closer, hesitating but putting your hands on Bucky’s arms and rubbing up and down gently. “Showers are relaxing and it would be great to help your mind clear up, don’t you think?”

Bucky doesn’t do anything for a moment, but then nods reluctantly.

“Okay,” you say.

“... okay.”

You chuckle and say, “Okay,” again before ushering Bucky down the hall to the bathroom. “If you need anything at all, just call for me.”

You watch Bucky slowly walk down the wall, sighing.

You’ve never seen Bucky this way. He’s only ever reappeared when the symptoms of an episode are the deep bags under his eyes and his pale, clammy skin. You feel absolutely useless in situations like this. You suppose the only way you can help now is to just be there for him. Also, making food for him because who knows when the last time he ate was.

You search through Bucky’s kitchen for anything that might be suitable for breakfast, but the fridge is almost empty except for spoiling milk and a half filled orange juice container. You shut the fridge and look through the cupboards. There’s nothing in those, either.

You bite your lips, trying to think of something. You might be able to order some food from a diner nearby or something, but you thought better of it because you don’t know how Bucky would react to strangers right now.

You hum thoughtfully, making your way back over to your own apartment and leaving Bucky’s door open so he doesn’t think that you left him alone.

You rush through your apartment while making multiple stops. You grab a carton of eggs, some chocolate chips, cheese, and all the ingredients to make pancakes. You even stop by your living room on the way back out to Bucky’s to grab a movie.

You close the door to Bucky’s apartment with full arms and immediately hear Bucky fearfully calling your name behind the soft sound of the shower going. You set down all the items on the counter, calling after Bucky from down the hall, “Hey, yeah, I’m here!” you tell him. “I just went across the hall to get some things for breakfast.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything before he lets out a quiet, “... Okay.”

“Okay,” you say back. “Don't worry, I’m still in the kitchen,” you don’t get an answer.

You go back to the kitchen to start cooking Bucky breakfast.

Over the next half an hour, you’re able to get through all of the eggs cooking two cheese omelettes, four sunny-side up eggs, and then two pans of scrambled eggs before the water in the bathroom turns off. You start to make the batter for the pancakes while you wait for Bucky to come into the kitchen when he’s done getting dressed. It’s only a few minutes before Bucky appears in the doorway.

“Hey, Buck,” you greet with a smile, even though Bucky doesn’t say anything back. You get back to mixing the batter, not bothered by his silence.

It’s not until you finish making the first pancake before Bucky speaks.

“You shouldn’t waste your time taking care of me,” you sigh heavily, choosing to ignore him and not say anything back. “You don’t have to worry about-”

“Except I do have to worry about you,” you interrupt him, setting down the bowl of batter, frustrated. You turn to Bucky. “You are my friend, Buck, and I care about you.”

Bucky hangs his head, eyes troubled. “It’s not worth it.”

“It is worth it,” you tell him sternly. You sigh, picking your words carefully. “I’ve watched you deal with shit since we’ve met and I regret not stepping in before now. You’re an amazing person, Bucky, and you shouldn’t have to deal with whatever you’re dealing with alone.”

Bucky breaths wetly, knuckles white from where he's gripping the hem of his shirt. He looks up at you for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes wet. “I care about you, too.”

You smile at him. You spread out your arms and beckon him into a hug. Bucky rushes over, burying his head in your shoulder so much so that you can feel him smile into it, and you wrap your arms around him very tightly.

“No more bad days for you, buddy,” you tell him. “Not while I’m here.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” you say, patting Bucky on the back before separating. “The pancakes will be done soon, so go sit at the table.”

Bucky gasps, asking with excitement, “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Of course,” you snort, picking up the bowl full of batter again. And then you gasp, remembering something. “Oh! I almost forgot, but I brought your favorite movie.”

“The Martian?!”

“Duh, nerd.”

“Thanks, dork.”

(NOT MY GIF)

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