#and either i kill myself or i fucking find a way to dig myself out of theses feelings

[spock-smokes-weed]

gonna get heavy for a min so scroll if you don't want to see that

it's really hard to open up to my parents about being suicidal because they always freak the fuck out about it. this is probably an ironic thing to say, but I wish I could just tell people "hey I really want to kill myself" without it being a big deal

like YES i know it's a big deal. That's why I'm talking to you about it! the last thing I need is you panicking and screaming at me "why do you want to kill yourself?!!?" gee idk cheryl, if i knew that I probably wouldn't want to kill myself.

suffering with extreme depression is bad, but my parents going in total freakout mode is somehow so much worse. because it stops being about me and what im suffering through, and becomes about not upsetting my parents.

so every day I just have to get up and tell them "oh yea im fine" when I have casual thoughts about wanting to die because I know if I told them, it wouldn't make a damn difference. i would just have to bottle those emotions right back up because my parents have the emotional maturity of toddlers

im just so fucking exhausted, ya know? I don't think I'll ever act on it cus im a coward and dying is scarier than being alive, but moving through life drained of all your joy, having your brain hold death and suicide over your head, is a miserable existence. I just want to be fucking happy again but the mountains look so large to scale

[frodolives]

1850s Tumblr Dashboard Simulator

👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow

It really makes me sick to see people giving money to penny weeklies when Franklin's expedition STILL has not been found 😭 There are good men out there trapped in unimaginable temperatures and literally all that's needed is a little more funding for another rescue mission yet all you guys seem to care about are your vulgar little stories...

🧔🏻‍♂️ queerqueg Follow

the franklin expedition is dead as hell

👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow

Disgraceful thing to say but I'd expect nothing more from a M*lville fan

10,558 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal

Sorry for posting so much about Tom Gradgrind/James Harthouse from Hard Times lately. It turns out that I was getting arsenic poisoning from my wallpaper? Anyway I took a seaside stroll and I'm normal now. Check your walls y'all

#whyyy did i assume they were committing unlawful actions together like where did i even get that from lol #hard times isn't even that good by dickens standards tbh

659 notes

🎨 asherbrowndurand

Just painted this

2 notes

ss-arctic-girlie-deactivated18540927

RIP Napoleon... you may have been unable to conquer Alexander's Russia but you sure as hell conquered Alexander's bed

🖼️ preraphaelitebro Follow

HERITAGE POST

📝 shakespearesforehead Follow

How does this have less than 100k notes you could literally not avoid this post back in the 20s lol

82,170 notes

🌄 loyalromantic Follow

poets just aren't dying young in mysterious water-related incidents like they used to :/

#as useless and degenerative as i find 'the living poets' and i'm glad we're finally moving on from them #i have to agree with op in this respect

6,884 notes

🎀 thefopdiaries Follow

I finally got a daguerreotype of myself ^_^ Porcelain urn for scaling

📜 bartlebi-thescrivener

i think i hauve consumption

112 notes

🐋 whaler4life

They found oil in the ground??? WTF. THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORSTTTT. FUCK MY LIFE FOR REAL THIS TIME

11 notes

🌿 naturesnaturalist Follow

I swear this website has 0 reading comprehension skills. Darwin NEVER claimed we "evolved" from apes like if one of you guys actually bothered to open his new book you'll see all his arguments are backed up by evidence. He actually makes a lot of sense

#sure there's nuance like i don't fully agree with all of it #but his general theory of natural selection seems pretty sound imo

56 notes

🤵🏻‍♂️ byronicherotournament Follow

🙈 butchbronte Follow

Of course these are the finalists lmao this website is so predictable. Anyway vote Heathcliff if you dont i'm going to assume you're a phrenologist

📖 sapphichelenburns Follow

It's not problematic to acknowledge the fact that Heathcliff was a brute like he literally killed dogs in case you forgot. #rochestersweep

🙈 butchbronte Follow

I love the implication here that Rochester never did anything cruel either. He literally locked his wife in the attic and lied to Jane about it 😭 like that was a pretty significant thing that happened

📖 sapphichelenburns Follow

And? God forbid women do anything

#why'd you have to pit two bad bitches against each other #anyway i'm not attracted to men but still went with rochester #bc in terms of living quarters thornfield hall > wuthering heights easily

8,027 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal

Not the Russian tsar dying immediately after hartgrind became canon

#i know dickens hasn't technically confirmed it yet but like. SOMETHING was strongly implied ok #see: my previous post #dickensposting

522 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 hartgrindisreal

LORD HELP ME. THE BODY LANGUAGE. THE WAY THEY'RE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. AHHHHHH

#this installment!!! im-- #dickensposting #i can't fucking cope #dickens wants to KILL us he wants us DEAD....

2,309 notes

⭐️ newamerican

Hi guys sorry I haven't been posting lately it's been so difficult getting to California 💀 I'm finally here now though just need to find a pickaxe and soon I'll be digging! :-) wish me luck lol

#gold #gold rush #gold rush grind #california #adventure

0 notes

[pirateprincessblog]

the other man

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: READ PART ONE HERE, also not completely proofread because i've been so tired and bloated these days i have no energy :( feel free to message me about mistakes!

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: after finding out you were used by your brother to get rid of someone he simply didn't like, you go on a break. every time you see that place or the man, you get reminded of another one who hugged your legs while on his knees, before he was dragged to his downfall. just why can't you escape it, no matter how hard you try? 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: song mingi x f!reader, ft yunho 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: prison theme, criminal!mingi, prisoner!mingi, doctor!reader, evilbrother!yunho 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: semi public oral (f!receiving)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: gore, v*olence, swearing, stalking, m*rder

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

"no! no, god, no! please!"

"get off me."

"please, please! yunho, please!"

"get" smack "the fuck" smack "off me!" smack.

you fall on the floor, knees hurting from being dragged across the floor all the way to his office, and cheeks red from all the hitting. you don't let go of his shirt yet, the fabric securely scrunched between your fingers.

"i'll do anything," you wipe your tears with your elbow, "anything!"

"anything?" he raises an eyebrow, lowering his hand that was about to land on you one more time.

a glint of hope appears in your eyes, and you straighten your posture. still on your knees, you put your palms together, ready to beg more. "yes, anything."

yunho is silent for a few moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression. and it kills you, that he can mask emotions so well. he crouches, getting down to your level. he cups your jaw in his big hand, and you suddenly feel shivers running down your spine.

"come with me."

his gentle touch turns into a painful one, his hand moving from your face to your hair in a split second. he drags you across the hallway, into the elevator, and throws you against the mirror wall. you barely have time to reach for the little pole to hold onto, he grabs you by your shoulders and lifts you so that you stand up.

"listen to me."

"please-"

"listen to me!" he grabs your face again, fingers digging into your cheeks and making your lips purse. "you act like a whore, you'll get treated like one. hell, i'll let everyone have their way with you, if that's what you want. but do not interfere with my work. never, ever again."

"but i-"

"have i made myself fucking clear?!"

"yes, yes!"

he finally loosens his grip, making your body slide down the wall and find peace on the floor. he punches the floor number, then leans on the elevator door. you look up at him, disgust and resentment painting your face. you hope the doors open and he falls head first on something sharp.

"don't look at me like that. this isn't my fault."

if only you could say something back, but fear has swallowed you whole. so you stay there, resorting in only sending him glares.

"frankly, it's not mingi's fault either."

"don't say his name, you don't get to-"

"it's your fault."

"it's not."

"oh, but it is. see, i warned you, little sissy. but you just don't know how to listen."

the doors open, luckily for him. you stand up, following him down a poorly lit hallway. you pass multiple metal doors, with a small window on top of each. until you stop by one right at the end. you gasp, then scream, along with the person inside. it echoes through the hallway, bouncing off the walls and torturing you.

"no, no!" you scream, trying to turn around. but yunho holds you still in front of the window, making you watch as mingi gets sat on a chair you thought you'd never see in real life. "god, please, please!"

"i said i'd make you watch."

"mr jeong!"

"watch."

"mr jeong!"

the voice gets closer, and mingi has more belts holding him with each second that passes. one of the guards stands aside, waiting for the final belt to be secured across his chest, before putting a metal electrode cap on his head.

"mr jeong!"

"what, what, what?!" he yells, letting go of you and turning towards the young guard running towards him. "do you wish to fucking join him?! how dare you interrupt-"

"inspection, mr jeong."

yunho takes a step back, breath halting for a moment. your fingers hopelessly scratch at the tiny window, eyes burning with tears as you watch the strapped man stop struggling and accept his fate. he doesn't look at you, but you know he hears you. he grimaces at your wails, avoids your gaze, and silently cries.

"fuck! go back to your position, tell barnes to start protocol b."

"what about protocol a?"

"are they in the building already?"

"yes...?"

"then, it's too late for that. protocol b starts now. block the doors as soon as the execution is done, and get rid of the evidence through the gate f." yunho then grabs you by your elbow, throwing you into the guard. "take her to elijah, let him escort her to my house. no witnesses."

the young guard nods, then guides you away from the doors. yunho opens the door, for a split second letting mingi's pained moans and wails escape the room of torture. it shatters your heart, weakens your knees, and makes you want to vomit right there. the ground sways under your feet as you try to reach the exit, the sign section Z being the last thing you see before collapsing.

when you open your eyes again, it feels like your lungs are on fire. you have been crying in your sleep, dried lines on your cheeks being proof of that. you remember waking up for a few seconds, elijah making you drink a sip of water before helping you into your bed again.

now, it is almost four in the afternoon, and you feel as if you dreamt the whole thing. but when you see elijah's note on the nightstand, you are reminded of the grey reality. the note states that yunho has ordered you lunch, and that it is in the fridge. barefoot, still in yesterday's clothes, you walk downstairs to the kitchen. you open the fridge, finding a plate of steak with grilled asparagus and mashed potatoes, along with a little bottle of orange juice. how kind of him to order you his favorite meal.

you scrunch the paper in your hand, anger making your vision red. you take the plate out, then set it on the kitchen counter. as you cut into it, you realize it is rare, blood dripping from it and soaking the mashed potatoes. it is like irony, red staining the yellow just like mingi's blood stained your dress in the cafeteria. is it some sort of a cruel joke coming from yunho? did he want you to feel sick and not eat? you slam the knife into the steak multiple times, ruining it and sending red drops of liquid everywhere. you slam your fist into the mashed potatoes, then take the asparagus and throw them at the white wall. the juice bottle shares the same fate, the knife piercing through it and letting the yellow juice drip on the marble tiles.

before you know it, the kitchen is coated in the sticky liquid, walls are poked with whatever your hand could grab, and the living room became the new victim. the recently bought leather couches were ripped open, cozy cushions no longer cozy, but only balls of cotton and feathers, and the glass coffee table was only a skeleton now, the glass shattered and digging into the rug.

you sit in the middle of it, pieces of collectible vases, statues and painting surrounding you. the sight is an invitation for yunho to strangle you right then and there. but you don't give him a chance. you gather clothes into your backpack, hygienic things and his spare wallet, then take his most favorite car out of five of them. you don't leave before keying the other four, despite the weird glances your neighbors throw you. you only smile at them, then nod your head as a greeting. they must think you are crazy. you can't wait until they tell yunho on you.

you have found peace in a cozy little hotel in a town nearby. you don't use his cards, in case he tries to track them down. he has enough cash to keep you there for at least a year. besides, you're already looking for a new job. working in a coffee shop seems promising. the fact that you know nothing but an espresso and hot chocolate doesn't seem to bother the manager. your eagerness to learn is enough for her to consider you a candidate.

if yunho has tried reaching out to you, you don't know. you got rid of your old phone, immediately upgrading to the newest one, with a fresh number. you didn't try finding out about him either. you don't care. you only hope elijah didn't get punished for your actions. after all, he only brought you home.

the hotel room is a bit cozier now that you've added your little decorations. from fake vines and fairy lights you bought from the dollar store, to expensive books and posters you got from the bookstore down the street. it is only temporary, until you decide exactly what you wish to do with your life. you've lived in yunho's shadow, having him decide for you and write out your future without asking you. and you never questioned it, really. did you dislike it at times? yes, you did. did you dare say anything? no, hell no. now that you have freedom, you are lost. yunho was always the one guiding you, and now you were alone.

"you're hired!" you hear the very next day, as you sit drenched in nervous sweat.

you breathe out, relief washing over your body. finally, a start. the first paycheck has you almost crying. people really live like this? the second one isn't a complete shock like the first one, but it could be better. by the third one, you have already accepted that you cannot live lavishly anymore. so you stop visiting the bookstore, stop buying pastries after your shift, and start cooking yourself. you didn't know it would be this hard. but it is too late to back down now. there is no way you're going back to yunho, not if you want to live.

"hey, can you help me out? it's like everyone made a decision to sit in my section today!"

your coworker is drowning in tickets, loose strands of hair falling out of her once perfect bun, and her apron is already smudged. you nod, hurriedly running over to the tables that have just sat down, again, in her section. your section is quiet, mainly because the sun is hitting it and it is way too hot to sit there.

three tables are done, and you have only one left. the man sits alone, typing something on his laptop. hopefully he didn't notice how long he had to wait. you finally approach it, eyes not leaving your notepad. "i am so sorry for the wait, we didn't expect the rush so early."

"no worries, i understand."

time stops around you, only the two of you stuck in a bubble. your fingers hold the notepad, losing colour in the tips from how hard you're gripping it. you gulp, audibly, before lowering the pad and locking eyes with brown ones. you almost run, seeing the bone chilling smile on his face.

"yunho." you gasp, fear swallowing you whole.

"iced americano, please."

you clear you throat, and finally write it down. "right. anything else?"

"no, that would be all." he goes back to typing on his laptop.

you are scared to pass by him, but remember that you are in a crowded space. he wouldn't do anything here, would he?

"oh, right."

"y-yes?" you turn around.

"a pistachio doughnut to go."

"right away."

shakily, you prepare the order. even the manager gives you a side eye, not used to that behaviour. but she doesn't say anything, assuming that you are just tired since it's almost the end of your morning shift.

"hey, could you please give this to table-"

"oh my god, i'm so sorry, but i can't. i have like four tables waiting for me, and i still haven't brought out that cookie for table six."

worth a try. you approach the table in the corner, trying to sneak a glance at the laptop screen. but yunho slams it just in time, depriving you of nosiness. you set the cup on the table, along with the paper bag with the doughnut in it.

"thank you." he says, handing you a big bill. "keep the change."

"uh, this is too much-"

"it's fine. you look like you need it."

with that, he sends you another smile and stands up, and if you didn't know him, you'd think it's genuine. but you know it's dripping with venom, and if you were alone with him somewhere, he would snatch you in a split second and have you in that very chair you keep having nightmares about.

"have a good day, miss...?"

"edwards."

"right, miss edwards."

you watch in terror as he exits the shop, not sparing you another glance. fifteen minutes ago, you just couldn't wait for the end of your shift. now? you're dreading it. up until the moment you hang the apron in your locker and gather your things, your hands don't stop shaking. not even when you exit the shop, head frantically turning in search of two brown eyes. walking to the hotel, you have time to think. he hasn't changed much, except a healed scar line near his eye. you wonder what happened. you wonder if the inspection managed to find anything. you hope they did. in revenge for mingi.

"good day, miss edwards." the receptionist greets, a smile always on her face.

"good day, rita."

"ah, that visitor of yours is so cute. is he single?"

you turn abruptly, head almost turning like an owl. "what visitor?"

"oh, the cute one! brown hair, brown eyes, very tall? he was so nice to me, even gave me a tip."

your legs have never been faster, bringing you into your room in under a minute. you barge in, like you were expecting to find your partner with a lover. you drop your work bag on the floor, approaching the unmade bed that you distinctly remember making. there is muddy footsteps all over the floor, and a familiar paper bag on the nightstand. you leave the door open, just in case, before approaching the bed. you take the paper bag in your shaky hands, eyes skimming over the written note on it.

for miss edwards, from her dear brother. miss you. x

the door slams shut, and you jump. the bag drops on the floor, and you squeal, turning around. but nobody is in the room. once you make sure you really are alone, you open the bag. you find the very doughnut you packed. you plop on the bed, scanning the food. it does look like originally packed one, so you bite into it, thinking about your next move. you can't stay here, now that he knows where you are. just how did he find you, anyway?

you take another bite, but this time your teeth stumble upon something hard. you let go after struggling, realizing it is not bits of pistachios, but something more dense. your eyes drop on the pastry, and when you can't decipher what it is, you pull it out, only to throw it on the floor with a scream. it is a chopped off finger, the small fix on tattoo on it very familiar to you. you gasp, hand flying to your mouth to stop a sob from escaping. how cruel, sick and twisted does someone's brain have to be to think of and pull something like this?

not even a week after the incident, you receive a call from your work that a costumer keeps leaving tips for you even when you're not here. the description fits yunho, but you haven't seen him at all. he knows that his name alone is enough to terrify you. this is worse than what you initially thought he'd do if he found you. it is slow torture, and you can't escape it.

you ask for a break, knowing damn well that you are safer there than you are in the hotel. but you keep messing up people's orders, spilling their drinks, and there's always missing cash from the register. your manager almost squealed with joy when you asked her for a few days off. you use the time to start thinking about alternatives. do you move towns again? do you go back to him? do you call police?

all three seem stupid and useless. for now, you'll focus on eating healthy and having some self care days. one thing is clear, if jeong yunho has made it his goal to harm you, he will do it; one way or another. he might be delaying it, toying with the prey before killing it.

you don't go back to work for another week, desperately searching for a way out. but you are bombed with random flowers, presents, and similar things waiting for you when you come back from your daily run. it has become a habit, for you to enter the room and immediately toss the unwanted gift into the hallway. you keep the severed finger in a tissue on the nightstand, each night patting it sleepily and saying good night in your head. crazy, but it is the only part of him you have left. and it makes you feel a little more at ease now that you know he is resting, not in pain. and at least you get to have proper sleep, since yunho never seems to disturb you during the night.

but universe loves to prove you wrong, because you get awoken by the door opening. you sit up straight, still halfway asleep. the person in your room halts, flowers secure in their hand and a hood over their head. you barely have time to react, because the person is quick to put a hand over your mouth. you don't see the face, from the dark and the hood, but you recognize that touch and smell anywhere.

"hush, doctor."

tears roll down your cheeks, horror and relief fighting for dominance in your body. you feel four fingers over your lips, the pinky missing. the very pinky you have in the tissue, now drained of colour.

"it's just me," he whispers, taking the hood off with his free hand. he still holds the flowers, not letting go yet.

you are overwhelmed by emotions. from relief, to fear, to sadness. you jump into his arms, without thinking. but there isn't much to think about. you only need to look into his eyes, to know that you are safe.

"mingi," you finally exhale, head buried into his neck.

"my doctor," he coos, hand rubbing your back as you cry into his hoodie, "my pretty little doctor."

now, you are confused. if mingi is holding the flowers, does it mean he was the one entering the room and leaving you presents? what about the doughnut and the finger? did they run into each other? do they work together now? what if there is a bigger story behind all of this?

"i can hear you thinking, doll."

"i'm sorry, i just-" you sob mid sentence, "i just don't know-" hiccup, "what's going on?"

"come on, lay down with me."

mingi sets the flowers right next to the scrunched tissue, then lays down and opens his arms for you. hesitantly, you lay on his chest, allowing him to wrap his warm arms around your shivering body.

"it is too much for you to handle, i know. you saw me on my death chair, and now i'm here. how about we go to sleep, and i'll tell you all in the morning?"

"no, i can't."

mingi nods, understandingly. "then, i better get to explaining.

when you fainted, yunho was called over, and it was too late for the execution. apparently, they never do it without him. sick bastard likes to watch. so, once again, i was saved by you, unknowingly."

you scoff through tears, hitting his chest gently. "right."

"i managed to fight them off and escape, and yunho had no time to deal with me because he had the inspection at his throat. he found me a little later, tried to kill me, but i managed to flee again. i cut him pretty bad, don't know if you've noticed. i was pretty proud of myself for that."

"near the eye?"

"bingo. glad to know that he has a reminder of me on his stupid face now. just like i have one." he looks down on his injured hand.

"were you the one leaving the presents for me all this time?"

"all this time? how long are we talking?"

"weeks."

mingi stills underneath you. so it isn't him. you let out a shaky breath, trying to stay sane.

"yunho found me."

"oh."

"he gave me your finger."

"he what?!" he sits up straight, visibly distraught. "he fucking what?!"

silently, you reach for the tissue, handing it to him. he takes one glance at it, then at his hand. his expression is unreadable, something between hatred and disappointment. you've never seen him like that.

"he has been terrorizing me since he found me, leaving me creepy presents and stalking me. i don't know what to do."

the man sighs, also thinking. "we could run away."

"where?"

"anywhere. just you and i. to start fresh."

"but you're an escaped convict."

you regret saying that, seeing a hurtful expression on his face. "i was wrongfully imprisoned."

are you finally getting his story from a first hand source? is this the right time to be excited about it? "why? didn't you kill your sister's boyfriend?"

"he deserved it. he was hitting and raping her."

"you aren't the one to decide who gets to live or die."

"and your brother is?"

you move away from him, jaw dropped. "he is not my brother, and you know that."

"you know what? you're the same as him. only using people when you see benefit in them." he spits, getting up from the bed and taking the flowers back.

"how dare you?!"

"watch your tone." his voice is no longer warm and cozy, but cold and stern. he looks at you with ice cold eyes, his posture different. "do not yell at me again, i am warning you now."

"what the hell is wrong with you? it's like you're an entirely different man-"

"i am. i am a free man. away from wrongful convictions, away from the abuse. i am a different, better man."

he steps closer to you, causing you to step back. your back hits the door, hand desperately searching for the door knob. he stops in front of you, mere inches away.

"but you don't want that, do you? you want the vulnerable mingi, the mingi that kneels in front of you and begs for your affection. guess what? things are different now."

this is what yunho was warning you about. and you see it just now. mingi is a criminal. a prisoner. an escaped one now. oh, how you would love for yunho to barge in and save you. but you fucked it up. you had it good, and you didn't even know it.

"that bastard deserved to get his head blown up, and i won't hesitate to do the same to the person that continues terrorizing you. you're mine, you said so yourself."

"i- i thought that was only-"

"what? dirty talk? no, no, my sweet little doctor. you are mine, and mine only." he takes your jaw into his hand, thumb caressing your tear stained cheek. "nobody can have you. nobody but me."

his other hand reaches behind your back, finding the doorknob for you. but instead of opening it, he locks it, then puts the hand on your waist.

"mine." he growls, before pressing his lips against yours.

it doesn't feel right. he is rough, not loving and warm at all. but you go with it, not having any other option available. he doesn't fight you on it, seeing that you aren't as enthusiastic as him. he pulls away, finger still cupping your face.

"come, you need some sleep."

and you listen. you go back to bed, getting into his embrace once again. only this time, it isn't anything like the first time. you fall asleep, scared to death, knowing that you now have two men who are a great danger to you. lovely.

in the morning, you are awakened by kisses on your neck. you rub your eyes, adjusting to the lighting.

"morning, darling."

"morning," you mumble, stretching.

you look down at the man, expecting to find the same possessive and cold gaze from last night. but his eyes are back to soft, and his tone is caring. what in the world?

"sleep well? i hope i didn't kick in my sleep. i tend to do that, since i'm used to sleeping alone and had barnes as my roomie."

"uh, no..." you say, puzzled. does he not remember what happened last night? or does he choose to ignore it?

"i ordered us breakfast. hope you're in the mood for waffles."

"mingi-"

"here," he adjusts your pillow against the bed frame so you can sit up straight, "i'll bring it to you."

you think this is a joke. a trap. is this the calm before the storm? if yes, how do you escape it? seeing mingi set the wooden tray on your lap so carelessly, as if you didn't fall asleep last night startled to death, makes you wonder if you should give yunho a call. would he even take you after the stunt you pulled? you eye the waffles, topped with various berries and honey. a glass of cranberry juice sits in the corner, as inviting as ever. but you don't touch it. you're too busy calculating in your head, even mingi notices your hesitation.

"what? want me to feed you?" the man in front of you jokes, popping a blueberry in his mouth.

when he sees your further lack of reaction and only your focused face, his smile drops. you gulp, hoping that last night won't happen again.

"i get it, i'm acting too normal for the situation we are in. but that's sometimes my only way out; to act like everything is fine. but everything can be fine, if you would just come with me."

"where would we even go?" you dare ask.

"anywhere you want." he replies, reaching for the knife and making you jolt. if he notices, he doesn't react. instead, he plays with it while thinking of his next words. your eyes follow as the tip of his finger runs down the sharp edge, as if determining whether it's sharp enough to use it. "just name it."

"with what money?"

"we'll figure it out. from the looks of it, you aren't doing too bad. i'm guessing you treated yourself with yunho's possessions?"

"you think nobody will recognize you?" you push. "you think yunho hasn't already sent out your photos and-"

"what the fuck is wrong with you all of a sudden?!" mingi roars, flipping the tray of food over and spilling the cranberry juice all over the white sheets. you shriek, then cover your ears as your body drowns into the mattress and beneath the covers. "answer me, dammit!"

his hand grips your wrists, pulling your hands away from your ears so he can yell at you more. you can only close your eyes, in hopes of making him disappear just for a split second.

"i came here knowing the risks, i'm offering to protect you from your awful brother, and i want to love you!"

"mingi please-" you beg through sobs, hands desperately trying to find their place back on your ears.

"why won't you let me love you?!" he then grabs you by your shoulders, shaking you. "answer me!"

the door swings open, hitting the wall with force and shaking your recently decorated shelves. books fall on the ground, but jeong yunho couldn't care less. he steps over them, grabbing mingi and landing a punch on his face. mingi stumbles, but regains his stability and wastes no time in giving yunho a taste of his own medicine. their faces soon match the colour of the spilled juice on the sheets, both of them wiping red trails from their lips and noses.

"get away from her." yunho demands, not having to raise his voice in order to make himself look intimidating. his calm expression as blood runs down his chin and onto his white shirt is scary enough. "now."

"i'm not letting her go back with you. not in that shithole."

"and i'm not letting her go with you."

you sit still on the bed, not moving a muscle and afraid to breathe. both of them look at you at the same time, causing you to squeal and jump out of the bed, legs carrying you to the door. yunho grabs you before mingi can, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe in his hands. you waste no time in wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your soaked face into his ruined shirt.

"i think it's pretty clear where she wants to be." yunho spits, protectively putting a hand on the back of your head and using the other one to push you further against him. "leave now, and i will leave you alone. you won't hear from me ever again. from either of us."

"no. i don't trust you one bit. doll, come back to me." mingi calls, putting his hand out for you to take.

you only glance at him, still in yunho's embrace and eyes full of tears. you shake your head, causing his face to drop. he frowns, then straightens his posture. something snaps inside of him, you see it. and you are grateful to have someone here, otherwise who knows what might've happened. something similar to the previous night, only worse?

"very well. that might be the stupidest decision you've made in your life."

with that, he passes by you, hitting yunho's shoulder in the process and causing you to jolt. but yunho doesn't budge. instead, he waits for the other man to leave before finally pulling away from you. you are overwhelmed by the situation, sobs finally leaving your mouth loud and clear as you try to process what just happened within a day.

"look at me," yunho says, voice soothing. "you're okay. he can't hurt you anymore."

when you only respond with a new fit of sniffs and sobs, he sighs and pulls you into a hug again.

"it's my fault."

"huh?"

"back in the elevator. it's not your fault. it's mine for keeping him alive."

"don't say that."

"you can't possibly- after what he's done to you? you still protect him?" the dark haired man scoffs in disbelief.

"no, i just- i don't like hearing you speak that way. can i just- have a day of not hearing anything about dying or living?"

yunho nods understandingly. "what do you want to do now?"

"what do you mean?" you ask, busying yourself by collecting the ruined sheets and avoiding his gaze.

"do you wish to come back and continue living with me?"

you halt your movements, trying to figure out if he is genuine or not. your eyes find his, and you try to read them as best as you can. but yunho maintains his poker face, causing you to step back.

"no prison, no anything. you can find a different job, i'll help you." he offers, seeing you put your walls up again.

"really?" you ask, not yet convinced.

"really. it's the least i can do." he looks down on the floor, admiring his shoes. "after everything i did to you."

you truly hope he is genuine. if not, well, there's nothing much you can do about it.

"okay."

the house looks the same as before your little renovating process. same pillows, same coffee table, same wallpapers. you forget how filthy rich he is. in contrast, your room was left untouched. messy, just how you left it when packing hurriedly. yunho didn't ask for his wallet or car back. he let you keep it all, even brought you job applications from nearby coffee shops on his way back from work.

"would you like to open your own?" he asks one morning, casually eating his cereal.

"what?!" you shout, causing him to flinch. "sorry, i just- what?"

"your own coffee shop. do you want it?"

"i'm not sure i'm ready for that. it's a lot of responsibility. besides, you'd buy it for me just like that?"

"yes. why not?"

you think about it, comfortable silence enveloping the two of you. you hear light crunching coming from his side of the table, the spoon gently grazing the bowl and milk dripping into it. it is the calmest morning you've had with him, and you can't help but feel grateful. you watch as he eats, wearing a simple nike set and fuzzy slippers you bought him when you were still a teen. he looks so... normal. like he doesn't torture people for fun during his working hours. like he didn't aim a lamp at your head and serve you a human finger. like he is your normal brother and this is a perfectly normal setting.

"what's on your mind?" he interrupts your thinking. "mingi?"

"yeah," you admit. "it's so weird. he was so nice in the cell, and when he came to my room... he was nice, then mean, then nice again. i'm confused."

he finishes his cereal, then brings the bowl to his lips and slurps the remaining milk. you roll your eyes, seeing the liquid drip down his chin and onto the table.

"yunho-" you cringe, watching him wipe it with his sleeve.

"i'll clean it up." he waves his hand, then reaches for paper towels to wipe his creation. "you were saying?"

"right," you clear your throat, gaze dropping on your own empty plate. "it's just- his behaviour is weird. he is so nice and loving, and the next second he is yelling at me and grabbing me like that. i've read his file, doesn't say anything about it. i've looked after him in his cell for months, he never had a rage fit. he never showed a hint of anger, let alone tried to do something to me."

yunho sighs. you look at him, eyes squinted. there's something he isn't telling you.

"yunho?"

"he has a personality disorder."

"what? why isn't that written anywhere? why didn't doctor maslow tell me?"

"listen, we made a deal, didn't we? me telling you this is my own free will, and i will tell you as much as i want."

you remember the deal, the one you've made the day you came back to the house again. if you're not going to work at the prison anymore, you don't get to interfere or ask him about it. and you accepted, gladly. you don't want to be connected with that place in any way.

"he has a personality disorder, i didn't inform you for my own private reasons. but since you came along and decided to help him, he was different. no more rage fits, even barnes was getting irritated because he had no reason to beat him."

but he still did, you want to say. and yunho knows, because he chuckles at your disgusted face.

"at first, he didn't remember the incident at his house. he was completely numb when we managed to enter the house, and was very much confused during the interrogation. even we were lost, because he was genuinely trying to help us figure out what happened. and then, when he heard a guard making a comment about his sister, we all figured it out. mingi jumped on him, bit his ear off, and that explained to us what's going on."

"oh."

"and that also explains what happened at the cafeteria, and why he was talking about protecting you. he was reliving the same story, and he couldn't contain himself."

you sit in silence, memories flooding back in. the prisoner with his throat bitten off, yunho holding mingi down, your dress soaking up the blood from the floor, all while mingi looks at you and doesn't fight back, only makes sure that you are okay.

"that's..." you huff, overwhelmed with the information you just found out, "...quite messed up. all of it."

"i know."

"if you see him again, will you bring him back?"

"no." he simply says, and with that, takes the bowl to the sink and approaches you. he plants a kiss on your head, something he hasn't done in... ever. "don't you worry about those things anymore. open a coffee shop, find a cute nerd and get married already."

"already? i am only-" you hit his shoulder, and he ruffles your hair.

"yeah, yeah. i'm leaving! don't wait for me, i won't be back until late tonight."

"yunho?" you call, voice small.

"yes?" he doesn't turn around, busy discarding his fuzzy slippers and putting his sneakers on.

"am i supposed to forget the lamp and finger incident?"

he halts his moves for a second, but pretends to be unbothered. you manage to see a frown on his face, no matter how much he tries to hide it. "that's behind us."

"i'll forever remember it." you admit.

"okay."

and with a door slam, he leaves you alone in the house. okay. it's not okay. not one bit. that part of this whole situation is still not resolved, and it is bugging you. will he do it again? is that why he isn't acknowledging it? you sigh, then make your way to bed. you rot in there all day, doing nothing but eating sweets and drinking cans of soda, your favorite show rolling on the wall tv. as the sun goes down, your eyes grow tired and irritated, and no matter how hard you try to stay awake, your body gives up.

you wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat. you keep dreaming of cells and mingi's screams, and it doesn't help that yunho isn't home most of the nights. everything is scarier when it's dark and yunho isn't here. especially tonight, when you reach for the bottle of water on your night stand and instead touch something soft. you turn your head, sleepily rubbing your eyes before taking a good look at the item.

a bouquet of tulips, with a note attached.

your heart stops, head frantically turning in search for a familiar figure hidden in the room. the window is wide open, a sign that you aren't or weren't alone. with shaky fingers, you reach for the note, using your phone light to read it.

𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒅𝒐𝒄. 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘? 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊.

you rip the note in tiny bits, then throw it in the trash and mask it with spare junk around the house. yunho can't see that. especially because you really plan on going.

fixing your favorite dress, taking your pepper spray just in case, and putting your newest sandals on, you make your way to the city library. you quietly walk among the shelves, like you once used to walk among the restricted sections. you pick a few books along the way, to look less suspicious. your heart pounds inside your chest, threatening to jump out. one part of you hopes he isn't here. you're not sure if you're ready for that encounter. the other part is getting disappointed with each section you pass, his figure not appearing yet.

you didn't quite think this through. frankly, you never do recently. how do you approach him? what do you say? what do you do?

you reach the end of the maze of shelves, letting out a disappointed, yet relieved huff. now what? the back of the note said ten in the morning, and it is now almost eleven. turning on your heel, your gaze remains on the random books you've picked.

"princess?"

you stop, head raising to find the source of the voice. song mingi stands in front of you, hands in his pockets and a hood over his head. words are lost in your throat, struggling to come together and leave your mouth. you step back, unsure of what to do. mingi steps towards you, and you continue like that, until your back hits the wall covered in shelves and massive history books.

"say something."

you fail to, only gulping and staring at him instead. his hands cup your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his eyes scan your features.

"please." he whispers.

"hi." you say, stupidly.

he chuckles, then presses his lips on yours. it doesn't feel wrong this time. it feels familiar, and sweeter than ever. he plants small kisses all over your face, from your cheeks, to your forehead, and then on your neck.

"mingi-" you stop him, dropping the books on the floor and putting your hands on his chest.

"i've missed you. please."

"you wanted to meet so you can fuck me?" you ask, disbelief evident on your face.

he pulls away immediately, but his hands stay on your face. "no, of course not. i wanted to talk to you, but now that i see you... i remember how much i miss you."

"this was a bad idea. i have to go."

you try pushing him away, but he grabs you by your waist and pushes you against the shelves. he drops down on his knees, hands sliding down your clothed hips and down to the bottom of your dress. you shiver as his cold hands touch your bare legs under the dress.

"mingi..." you say again, each time less convincingly.

"just... ten minutes. give me ten minutes."

his fingers find the outline of your panties, and you don't protest. remembering the last time his hands were all over you, you give yourself to him. his head disappears under your dress, hot breath caressing your clothed clit. he licks a strip over the panties, causing you to squirm. his grip on your legs hardens, spreading them in the process and making you stay still. your hand grips his hair as soon as he pulls your panties aside, hot tongue teasing the tip of your clit.

you shudder, body getting used to the foreign feeling of pleasure. mingi devours you like a starved man, sucking on your clit, licking up and down your folds, and teasing your entrance.

"you taste as sweet as you look." he pulls away just to say that, then wastes no time in picking your body off the floor and putting your legs over his shoulders.

you gasp, losing control of your body. "what if someone- ah! sees?"

"let them."

his fingers find comfort in your tight walls, scissoring and stretching you. the noises alone make you even wetter than you already are, mingi's hums combined with the slurping and squelching making you dizzy with pleasure. a knot forms at the bottom of your stomach, his fingers toying with your sensitive buttons and helping you reach the peak.

he doesn't silence you, instead, lets you moan his name as you grind your hips against him, riding out the last bits of orgasm. he licks up the remaining liquid, before putting your panties back in place and setting you down on the ground.

he finally takes his hood off, and all the pleasure and bliss you were feeling up until now disappear. his face is more wounded than ever, purple and red spots scattered on it.

"what the hell happened?!"

"yunho's men found me last night after i left your house. tried to kill me. again."

"oh my god," you put a hand over your mouth, not believing your ears. who do you even trust at this point?

"run away with me, doctor. please."

"i- i don't know." you avoid his gaze, looking at the long forgotten books on the floor.

"nobody will ever love you like i do. nobody knows you like i do. so please. make this easy for both of us and come with me."

you want to. you really do. but yunho-

"yunho is a bad man. i know he's your brother, but he is a monster. maybe you don't know, or maybe you do, but i wasn't the only one who had to endure that torture. countless of us, but only i found a way out. well, the way out found me. you found me."

you never thought about it. you only ever saw and heard of mingi, but who knows how many of them there were.

"how about this? i'll take you to my house, and while i finish some business, you can think about it. if you really don't want it, leave while i'm gone, and i'll never look for you again. however, if you do want it, there's spare clothes and a suitcase. you know what to do. that sound good?"

you nod, grateful that he is giving you time to think. he plants a kiss on your forehead, then takes your hand and leads you out of the library. you don't question where he got a car from, you like peace(lol). the house is almost an hour drive away from the library, and soon enough, you realize that it is the very same house you saw in the files back in prison. you walk the same path yunho has probably walked, only unarmed and with the person he came for.

the inside of it is mostly empty, besides a sofa in the living room and empty kitchen cabinets. there's multiple packets of cereal on the counter, and two or three unwashed bowls in the sink. is that what he has been eating since he got out?

he notices you staring at the place, a question mark almost visible above your head. "neighbors raided the house as soon as they moved out."

you hum, not sure what to say. he offers you a can of coke, which you politely take, but don't open yet. he sighs, seeing your hesitation.

"i'll be leaving now. feel free to explore, i have nothing to hide."

that was a lie, because as soon as you see him disappear down the street, you raid the house. everything seems normal, except a picture frame on the wall. you tilt it, noticing that it hangs weird. and indeed, you find something he is hiding. a hole in the wall, with a few weapons and bullets, stacks of money and jewelry. above it, a picture of you and your brother, with a knife stabbed into his face. you immediately figure out just what kind of business mingi has to finish.

yunho closes the door to your room, sighing. you texted him this morning, saying that you were meeting up with a friend. but you are not back yet, and his calls aren't reaching you. he has sent both barnes and elijah to look for you for almost an hour now, but all he has is we are close to her, sir.

he walks into his bathroom, ruffling his hair. his light blue silk sleepwear is suddenly uncomfortable, knowing that you are somewhere out there this late. he wishes you could only send him a message that you are fine. he wouldn't demand that you come back immediately, you are an adult. just to let him know that you are okay.

the man splashes his face with cold water, grief eating him inside out. every time he closes his eyes, he sees yours full of fear looking at him. as soon as you come back, he'll apologize. for everything. he will admit that he doesn't know why he did what he did. the power must've consumed him, he can't find any other reason.

he opens his eyes, looking at his drenched face and eyebags. he hasn't slept well in ages, but he is so close to it. little by little, he is working on making the prison what you wanted it to be; a place of rehabilitation, not torture and punishment. he sighs, reaching for the towel and burying his face into it. the scent of the fabric softener calms him, along with the soft texture of the towel. folding it neatly and setting it down, he glances at himself one more time. a hooded figure stares back at him, right behind him.

"FUCK!"

yunho jumps, hand grabbing the first thing he could. he shudders, for the first time ever in front of someone, when he sees the gun pointed at him in contrast to the electric toothbrush in his hand. he gulps, then glances at the open door. he runs into the dark room, hand reaching for the drawer where he keeps his weapon. but no matter how much yunho tugs, it stays shut. that bastard.

the other man catches yunho off guard, turning him around and hitting him with the weapon. yunho stumbles back, nose and teeth in incredible pain.

"fucking hell, i thought i killed you!" yunho says, spitting blood on the floor.

the hooded man in front of him only smiles, still holding the gun up. he tilts his head, somewhat creepily, sending yunho shivers up his spine. he takes a step back, realizing just how unsafe he is in his own home.

"third time's the charm, right? you failed the first two, even when you had the upper hand. now that we are even..." the hooded man tosses a spare gun on the floor, then kicks it yunho's way, "...let me see you. do your own damn dirty business."

"where is she?"

"safe from you."

"where the fuck is my sister?!"

"TAKE THE DAMN GUN AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN." mingi booms, having enough of the man in front of him.

yunho takes it, wasting no time in pointing the gun at mingi, finger hesitating to pull the trigger. mingi only laughs, not showing fear at all. yunho steps back, as if that's going to save him. he only hopes that you didn't willingly go with mingi. that no matter how bad it sounds, you went against your own will. he would be very disappointed if the first thing is true.

"pull the trigger, yunho."

something is not right.

"go on, that's what you wanted."

he is too calm.

"think about your little sister."

no, not you. he can't die and leave you behind.

"pull the damn trigger, jeong yunho!"

and yunho does, except, no bullet comes out. the weapon only clicks, and yunho barely has time to think of his next step when he hears a gunshot. he doesn't feel pain. he only feels weak, body threatening to fall. is this what it feels like to die? you don't feel anything? you just get dizzy and fall asleep?

"doc-" mingi gasps, and yunho finally looks at him. "what have you done?"

his eyes fall on your figure at the door. you hold a gun in your hand, shaking. mingi falls on the ground, and you run to yunho, handing him the weapon.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," you sob, hiding behind your brother.

"it's okay," yunho says, shielding you from mingi.

he doesn't really have to, because mingi coughs on the ground, blood spilling from his mouth and down his chin. why, he repeats, eyes piercing yours. you want to help him, even though you brought him to that state. but yunho stops you, keeping your body behind him as he points the loaded gun at the wounded man.

he doesn't need to shoot again. mingi lets out a final cough, hand slipping from his wounded chest and on the floor. his head falls to the side, eyes still locked on you, lifeless. you sob, loud. you now have someone's blood on your hands. not just anyone's, but blood of the man who your promised to heal. instead, you killed him. but it was either him or yunho, and you didn't have much choice. keeping both alive was impossible, and you didn't want to lose yunho. not your only family. family that is finally starting to feel like one.

yunho drops the gun on the floor, turning to hug you. you wail into his chest, fingers gripping the silk and tears wetting it. he hushes you, hand rubbing your back as he shields you from the unpleasant sight.

"it's finally over. you're safe now."

taglist: *i tagged everyone who wanted a part two, if you want me to remove you, please dm me :)

@mingitheii @biancaness @dionysushyung @pearltinyy @jeon-ify @staytiny23 @vantediary @mingiswifeyyyy @aricebxmb @jadenance @seoft-for-seo @sunrins @mimisamisasa @nini4m @kyolovescats

[slashthrashandcrash]

Okay, I had to go see what JedMEg was for myself and now I'm hooked. Can you talk more about them? Like does Meg ever find out the truth and how she reacts, for example?

I had to go digging for the last ask (here) about them just to remember where I left off in my insane ramblings lmao

So my original idea for this AU was that there is no fog, meaning once the Jed Olsen cover is purposely blown as per the lore, then it's totally game over, there's no Entity to whisk Danny away from the fall out. But that's part of the problem, isn't it? He's gone and gotten himself a little too attached to what was supposed to be a fake girlfriend, a girlfriend who's in love with a man that doesn't exist rather than the actor playing him.

Normally when he would snag himself a partner to accompany whatever persona he was putting on, Danny would kill them just before he skipped down. That satisfying moment of betrayal in their eyes, the soul crushing realization that everything was a facade, a convenience, that he never even liked them enough to give them a quick death no matter how many sweet "I love you"s he told them prior. As well as just another "fuck you" to the cops and community for how close under their noses he had been all along.

But he can't do that with Meg. He has no idea why, it was never this difficult before, but he's also never felt this way about any partner in general either. Fucking hell, he's really gone and gotten a crush on a pretty little redhead, huh? It doesn't matter, Jed Olsen was never someone who was meant to be around long term, and it's about high time he moves on since eyes are starting to shift towards him a bit. As much as it weirdly twists his heart to abandon Meg and leave her behind with the awful truth of who he really is to come out to the public afterwards, he knows it's for the best. Well...best for himself, anyways. And maybe for her, too, so that she's not entirely caught up in the shitstorm (of course, being the very public girlfriend of the now most wanted suspect in an ongoing murder case isn't going to be an easy ride...)

And Meg is beyond horrified to say the least. She still can't comprehend the entirety of the betrayal, that not only would her boyfriend leave her without a word, but that he would leave her because he was the very same murderer who had been harassing her for weeks! The one he was closely reporting on, the one whose ass Meg would try to kick every time he broke into her home, the one who used to threaten her "boyfriend" when they were in fact the same person. Everything she ever knew about him was a lie while she unfairly shared her whole heart to him. Not only that, but it's near impossible for her to try and imagine sweet, dorky, shy Jed being anything remotely close to a coldhearted killer. He couldn't even open a sauce jar half the time!! And you're telling her he can easily overpower multiple victims and haul their bodies around for sick poses???

Now Jed (?) is still out there, still on the loose, and Meg has no idea what to do. Reporters are hounding her for a statement. Police want to wring her dry for any clues or information that might help. People stare and spread rumors about just how "involved" she might have been from the start. And what if he decides to come back in the end, to tie up the loose end he left behind for whatever reason, is she even safe here anymore? Well, not for long, because that stupid ache in Danny's chest still hasn't subsided...it almost feels like it's gotten worse. It's not remorse or guilt, it's longing. He wants his bunny back, he liked how she felt sleeping in his bed and holding his hand and smiling so perfectly for a candid shot when she wasn't looking.

The dirty laundry has already been aired. They could start fresh, in theory. Whether she wanted to or not.

Although again, this was only the original idea I had when I first started making brainrot. There are so so so many new paths I've ended up concocting for them...if Meg found out Jed was a killer right before he left by catching him in the act or fitting in too many pieces herself...if Meg refused to believe Jed was the killer and was instead framed by Ghostface who she now has to hunt down for answers about Jed's real whereabouts...if they got taken into the fog shortly after that anyways per canon with Meg either not knowing or not believing that Jed is Danny/Ghostface while he keeps up the ruse to avoid her truly hating him (plus the outcome for when Meg does find out the truth while they're stuck in this hellhole)...if they were taken into the fog while he was still Jed and then him having to painfully confess why he was put into the killer camp and having to live with the heartbreak he's trapped her with...

[0junemeatcleaver0]

Do you think Armands real problem with Benedict is the fact he sees what an acolyte he could have become for Marius if they hadn't have been separated so tragically by supposed deaths and then abandonment because of him falling under the cults spell to survive?

Okay, so instead of taking a nap like I should definitely be doing right now, I'm going to answer this instead because I've not stopped thinking about it since I first read it hours ago lmao

Also, I'm not going to bother to go back and dig through the book, I'm giving myself full permission to go off memory and *~vibes~*

So I personally think that Armand is projecting quite a bit onto Benedict, tbh. It's jealousy, for sure, but there's a bit more to it than that, I think.

There are clear and obvious parallels to be drawn between the two characters. Benedict was a monk, Armand was basically training to become a monk. They were both made by powerful vampires who they had romantic relationships with while still in their teens. Both hopelessly devoted and in love with their Masters (at least at a certain point).

And if I weren't absolutely zapped from being an adult today, I'd probably attempt some poignant spiel about projecting onto the mirror-world image of yourself and how big a knee-jerk reaction can be when you find yourself occupying the space on the attraction/repulsion spectrum where the two feelings meet.

Because that's what I think this is to an extent.

I think, yes, Armand feels some type of way thinking about how things could have turned out for him and Marius if the Coven hadn't quite literally torched his whole life and then absorbed him.

I think Armand also has some identity issues--its a motif that follows him throughout the entirety of his character arc. Because of his backstory, I don't think he's got a clear idea of who he is outside of his relationships to other people. And while I don't think he legit would boil himself down to "I'm the teenage vampire with religious trauma and a very old boyfriend" (lol), I do think that having someone around whose history so closely mirrored his own to a certain extent would have had his hackles up.

But beyond that, I think in his mind Benedict's biggest sin is doing things Armand wouldn't do--or doing them differently to how Armand would do them.

Like when Armand is livid with him for having killed Maharet in her own home. And you might think at first that he's mad because you would be--what Benedict and Rhosh did was fucked up. But then he goes on to talk about how much he wanted to go speak with her and ask her questions and they killed her before he could do that.

And I'm thinking to myself, "Bud, you sure this isn't actually about the break in and murder? Because that type of thing would be especially upsetting to you in specific?? For reasons??"

And then Benedict was like, "Shut up, cult leader. You're not free of sin here either", and Armand tells him to hurry up and die (which is lowkey hilarious).

And from there, Benedict goes on to wrap his speech up like this (yes, I know I said I wouldn't pull out the book. I lied.):

"Those of us made young," he said, "we never grow up. Five hundred years or a thousand. It makes no difference. Time gives us room to be forever stupid and blind with the confusion and passions of the young, vulnerable to the masters who made us and ensnared us." (Blood Communion, page 107)

And then Armand shoots back with this:

"Oh, stuff and nonsense," said Armand. "I was never a child. I was a man before I was ever Born to Darkness, you imbecilic creature! Maybe you were a child, in your monkish robes, with your dark Christian longings, and maybe you still are. But I was never young. And I have learned through suffering and anguish and loneliness such as you, cowering in the shadow of your master, have never known." (Blood Communion, page 108)

And I can't help but feel like this is an argument Armand has had with himself. That he's had the thought before that perhaps a part of you freezes at whatever age you were turned. That being turned so young might have long lasting effects on a vampire. That he may have gotten the short end of some stick here.

But he cannot allow Benedict of all fucking people to be the one to point that out. Refuses to give Benedict the win there and so he pushes back in what I think is a really telling way. Bringing up Benedict's past as a monk as though it has any real bearing on this conversation ('dark xtain longings'? Weren't you prepared at one point to bury yourself alive for God? Pot, meet kettle). And then going on to throw Benedict's attachment to Rhosh in his face.

I don't know. Part of me feel like the thing in this scene that really cemented Armand's distaste for Benedict is the fact that he's walking away from his Master. He's been in his favor, under his protection for so long and he's willingly giving that up.

Part of me can't help but wonder how much of him looks up to Benedict for that, and how much of him loathes Benedict for that.

[lychnobitten]

5 Horror shorts

I can’t stop shaking. There’s a metal bar embedded in the cell wall, and they cuffed one of my wrists to it before leaving me here. The rattling of the cuff is just arrhythmic enough that it never fades to white noise: it’s always present, always distracting. I try to make myself still, and fail again and again.

The cell is cold, but it’s not that. The cop didn’t say a word to me after the first spray of terse questions: I’ve no idea how fucked I am—but it’s not that, either. The horror which has me Jacob-Marley-ing my chains is just the knowledge that there’s someone’s blood soaked into my jeans, smudged on the heel of my hand, dried across my fingers. I tried to find a pulse in the wreck of a body under my car, just made a mess. His blood seemed to shine in the headlights.

My eyes sting.

Maybe it wasn’t my fault. I was tired, but I felt safe to drive. I was even alert enough that I saw the old man standing there in the dark on the side of the back road, balanced on the curb. I was the only car coming, so I didn’t slow down. He could have waited five seconds, and I’d have been past.

I didn’t expect him to just—step out. If that’s even what happened.

The door of the cell swings open, and the cop walks in. He’s carrying a metal box. He places it on the table before sitting opposite me.

“It was an accident!” I burst out. I know, I know. Don’t talk to police without a lawyer. I can’t seem to shut my mouth any more than I can stop shaking. “He was just there, and then there was this—flash of light, just, out of nowhere, and it was...its colour, or…” I trail off there, but not consciously. I’m trying to find words for the chaos of that brief flash of light, the alien colours coiling in its refulgence, the way it pinned my eyes wide and gulped down all clarity. “He must have jumped in front of the car.” I didn’t see it happen. Didn’t see anything but—that light.

“Of course,” says the cop. “Not your fault.”

“What?” I say.

“I guess the old guy just decided he’d had enough.” He shrugs. “He had a hard life. It happens every day: people just decide to...step into the dark. Stopping that is what we’re here for.”

He shifts, centring the metal box on the table.

“Oh,” I say. “So…”

“Or maybe the body wore out, and it needed a new one. It’s not your fault.” He smiles. It’s complacent. “But if you kill the previous vessel, you become the next.”

“What?”

He flips the lid of the box up.

The light crawls out, blazing, consuming, agonising.

I shut my eyes, but it’s already inside.

“It needs a host,” he says. “And we’re here to fight the dark.”

###

The other girl and I are almost identical. We’ve got the same rounded features, the same slender build, matching pastel dungarees. But I have Rorschach blot bruises smeared over my exposed skin, and she has an expression of raw hatred as she spreads them further with a series of short, sharp pinches.

“Thief,” she says as she works. “Thief. I’m gonna tell Mom.”

I try to squirm away, to swat her pinching hands off me, but they always return. “You’re not. She wouldn’t listen. And if she did, she’d know it was a lie.” Mom knows better than to listen to girls like her.

“You’re the liar!” Her sharp nails dig viciously into my cheek. I can feel a bead of blood roll down to my jaw.

I jerk away one last time. “Let’s go see her, then.” Then I run into the house. My twin is on my heels, but it’s me Mom reacts to as we enter the kitchen. She drops the dish sponge as she gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Rose! What happened?”

My twin bobs on her toes. For a moment I think she’s going to shout out her confession, but she drops her chin and looks away, staying silent.

“I fell,” I say. “We were playing outside, and there was gravel, and rocks, and I just…” I mime landing face-first. “But it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Mom comes hurrying over to grab my chin and tilt it from side to side. “That’s...are you sure? When did this happen?”

“I guess an hour ago.”

“The marks have come up fast…”

“I was running, so I fell pretty hard.” I shrug.

“Liar,” whispers my twin. Mom doesn’t hear her, of course.

“Let’s put some cold packs on it,” Mom says. “My poor girl.”

I slip my arms around her waist and squeeze, my decorated cheek pressed against the cool cotton of her blouse.

“I hate you,” my twin whispers from behind us. We both ignore her.

Later that night, I wake from a warm dream to the feeling of a painful weight on my arm. I try to push up against it, and my arm rises, but the weight clings, refusing to be dislodged. The pain separates into into distinct patterns, running from shoulder to wrist: there’s just enough moonlight in the room to make out the letters my double has pressed into my skin.

N-O-T…

I laugh.

N-O-T R-O-S-E.

“Won’t work,” I tell her. “I can just wear a sweater.”

“I’ll keep hurting you, then,” Rose says. “Again and again. Until you give my body back.”

I laugh again. “You can, if you like. You’ve no idea. After feeling nothing for so long, even pain is worth experiencing.” I eye her floating, incorporeal form. “Well...You’ve no idea yet. You will, though.”

She screams. I’m the only one who can hear her, and I admit it hurts my ears.

But that’s just fine with me.

###

I wasn’t a runner before the end of the world. I wasn’t sedentary either: just...slow. I liked to absorb the view as I went along. I thought it was undignified to sweat in public.

It feels strange to even remember those times, as I enter what must be at least the fiftieth hour of this marathon. My shoes filled with blood more than a day ago, and the last of my toenails sloughed off before dawn this morning—I felt them go, and for a long time they were loose in my socks, biting my feet with every step. Not sure where they are now. Maybe embedded in the flesh somewhere. I can’t feel any individual pain down there any more: my whole existence is nothing but fire and razor-blades—but I can’t stop.

I look over my shoulder, a quick frantic glance to confirm They’re still behind. No, I can’t stop.

I hadn’t known, before everything changed, that there was a more potent engine for life than simply not wanting to die. That had been enough at the beginning, giving me strength when I needed it—and I had needed it, because living after the end of the world was just running, running, running. Nowhere was safe for long, and nowhere had enough food for everyone who wanted to stay. Keep moving, keep breathing.

But now something more is driving me. It’s not so much that I want to live. It’s just that I don’t want to die like this.

They clamour up the road behind me. Their heads are full of teeth. Their hands are full of teeth. They’re made from fear, not appetite, but they will still eat.

They’re catching up.

I run until I’m just raw momentum, airless, numb. And finally I stumble, just for a moment, just one hitch in my stride, a brief feeling like I’m going to fall—and I hear their screams of jubilation.

Keep going. Not like this.

I stay on my feet. I force myself back into rhythm. I can go faster. I can stay ahead.

It’s almost too much, so I do what I always do on the brink of failing: I look over my shoulder. Remind myself what my fate will be if I stop.

They’re still behind. Still pursuing. But...something else is wrong.

I throw a zigzag into the pattern, swerving to the edge of the road so that I can look past Them. I’ve never needed to before, but now—

There’s a body lying on the road. Familiar. Worn thin from constant effort. One shoe fallen off, revealing a red-brown sock.

She’s dead. Heart failure, maybe.

She's me.

I’m dead.

It didn’t even hurt.

And They—They haven’t stopped for the body. They’re showing it no interest at all. They’re still coming for me, spirit, figment, memory, momentum, whatever I am now, their heads and hands full of clacking teeth.

Not like this.

Maybe it’ll never end.

I run.

###

“This is not a prophet,” Rajeev said. “This smells like shit and corpse juice.”

Michaels was unmoved. “Just do your job.”

It took a while to set up the lighting to take photographs. Rajeev muttered to himself as he worked, and Michaels—watched him, blank, like he had no feelings whatsoever about the dead woman at their feet or the arcane scrawlings she’d painted onto the walls in her own blood.

“But seriously,” Rajeev said, depressing the shutter release. “Why would the boss want to scrape any of this for the Codex? It’s meaningless. Worse than that crap they pulled out of the underwater temple scrolls, going on about fecund tongues and...what was it, vengeful dust? Howling stars?”

“Not for us to judge,” said Michaels. He’d turned stony in the past year. Before that, he’d always agreed with Rajeev that Codexchat itself was a crazy project, some Madame Blavatsky bullshit for the new era, and pursuing it meant the boss was a few nodes short of a neural network.

That’s what you get for getting involved, Raheev told himself, and took the rest of his photographs. He’d just never expected this gig to have a body-count.

The woman was—had been—a regular user of Codexchat. Regular by both definitions. Nothing special. She’d asked it what to do with her life, how to feel less empty. Instead of the usual platitudes or abstracted prose-poetry, it gave her literal directions. Sent her here, to this cave in the middle of nowhere, to ‘find her purpose’. She’d come. She’d died, from who knew what, and now the boss wanted her ravings to feed into the scratch-built LLM with every other religious text they’d trained it on, which was all of them, no matter how esoteric or how recently pulled from newly discovered ocean temples.

“What do you think killed her?” Rajeev asked.

“Same as killed the others,” Michaels said, and wouldn’t elaborate or explain, even though Rajeev spent the entire trip home trying to pry answers out of him.

So maybe Rajeev wasn’t as in the know as he’d figured. That didn’t make him oblivious. When he got sent out again to record another body’s last testimony, then another, then another, he worked out he wasn’t the only one getting ordered on these clean-up trips. The corpses were piling up, and the LLM was swelling with their final words.

He didn’t believe in gods or spirits or demons. He didn’t even believe in true AI. But things were getting weird.

Then Michaels stepped off the office building’s roof, and the weird landed like—well. A ton of bricks, or a former friend who fell ten storeys.

Michaels didn’t leave a note. He didn’t need to. His blood, splattered all over the pavement, writhed into words by itself. higher purpose give thanks listen watching. fecund stars. howling tongues.

That night, four whiskeys deep into crisis, Rajeev used Codexchat for the first time. Prompted: Help us. Please.

Soon, was the only answer.

###

“I don’t need a lullaby,” I snapped, looking up into my mother’s thin, anxious face. “I’m almost eight!”

She pressed her hands together, fingers twisting around each other so tight that the skin on her knuckles pulled into thin folds. “I know you are, sweetie. I know you’re a big girl now. But honey, you were always so scared of—”

“I’m almost eight!” My voice squeaked with indignation. “I know it’s not real!”

“But—”

“It was never real, Mum!”

She was supposed to be an adult. She was supposed to know that.

She shut her eyes and sighed. “All right. All right, if you’re sure. But if you can’t get to sleep tonight…you’ll just have to deal with it, okay? No getting your dad or me up because you think you hear something… scary. Okay? Okay, Juliet?”

“Mum!”

I was still angry with her when I went to bed that night. I wasn’t a baby anymore. Did she always have to bring up the way I got scared when I was little? I hadn’t asked her for a lullaby in over a year: it was always her who wanted to do it.

Maybe soon I’d get rid of my little yellow nightlight too. Soon. But first I’d prove I was old enough to go to bed on my own.

I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into the pillow. The cotton felt warm against my skin, uncomfortable, so I rolled. The bed creaked loudly underneath me. The sheets rustled as I resettled my limbs. My breathing seemed unbearably loud in the small box of my room, but not as loud as my thoughts. Why had I ever been scared? My room was just my room, plain, boring, the same as it had been for years and years. There was no space for anything dangerous in the dark. There was no such thing as monsters.

Not real.

From under my bed came a sound like pouring sand.

No. Nope. Not real.

A sound like scratching.

I was a big girl now.

A low whisper, deep and hoarse.

I should stop imagining things.

I tried to stop. Tried not to listen. But I just couldn’t sleep like that, not with the sound of something scraping up the headboard, getting higher and higher, closer and closer. I opened my eyes again, blinked through the tears. I might not have been able to make out the shape in the darkness if I hadn’t known what I was going to see—if I hadn’t remembered those long fingers, the pointed nails, the folds of milky skin peeling off the bone…

I didn’t scream. I was a big girl now. I knew better. And I knew what I needed to do.

The thing under the bed was wide awake.

I opened my mouth and began to sing, shaky, tremulous—its lullaby.

[epersonae]

You've made me mad with power. Director's Cut of "I Spit On Your Grave", please.

Obviously I wanted -- no, needed -- to write a fic where Stede finds out what actually happened with Izzy while he was gone.

It is a key aspect of my Bad Ending fic in case I never make it through to where you are that Stede does NOT know, because I think otherwise he would have actually killed Izzy in that fic. I had a lovely long conversation with my therapist about that, both that fic generally and this question of knowing what was done to someone you love who is gone. Because HOOBOY did s2 kick up all my feelings about Ryn's parents, especially their mother; there was a piece of information that I found out after Ryn died that made me so angry I did seriously have a full-blown panic attack about it.

So yeah, I was always going to write something, but part of my writing process especially with shorter works is that I need a hook, something to get me into it -- an image or a sentence, something concrete to pull together whatever messy ideas have been spinning around in the blender.

And of course, I might have written it sooner (and it would have been a different fic) but I did break my leg right before Christmas, and that basically took me out not just physically but also mentally for about two months. I actually started making some notes in late January but I didn't have any stamina to do the writing until late February.

I knew the hook was going to be a bit back from the actual harm -- I've been fascinated by this question of how Izzy never says that "his captain" is actually Blackbeard since way back in my first watches of the show, and then there's kind of a running joke around here about how Stede always leads describing the meet-cute with "so I'd been gut-stabbed" like babygirl what. And the phrase "just happened upon our ship" or whatever that is, when MY DUDE HE'S BEEN FOLLOWING YOU THIS WHOLE TIME. The whole thing has this mix of Izzy having been lying through his teeth and Stede being hilariously oblivious that cries out for something to dig into.

And then I saw this post by @iamadequate1, and OH OKAY. Because weaponized therapy language and isolation in emotional abuse is something that, well. Yeah. Plus it had all the relevant bits of dialogue in one post! Plus I'd been thinking about Izzy as an unreliable narrator for almost two years, and I'd been thinking specifically about people with uhhhhhh a "flexible relationship with the truth" (to use a line from the fic), and a tendency to say different things to different people in order to evade responsibility.

So I made some notes, according to the document history at the end of January, and then probably either went back to sleep or back to watching Perry Mason. Came back to it in late February, and the first two-thirds or so came together pretty quickly and then I got stuck. I knew I wanted something with Stede yelling at the grave, but I'd sort of written myself into a corner where that didn't seem to be happening. (Basically, got to the point where he holds Ed while Ed is crying.)

And then I saw THIS post by @celluloidbroomcloset, and something clicked together about "doggie heaven" and the parallel with Ned Low, and somehow that was the rug that tied the room together. Probably because also they're both dead, Izzy and Ned, and that leads to this question of the impossibility of revenge, and that so much of the time there's just nothing you can do, really, and that also hurts. Even if they're not dead; there's just no point, like what the fuck are you gonna do, exactly? Which is sort of where the Mary parallel comes in, I think, and also not giving Izzy credit for bringing them together, because that's all them.

All in all this is a really special fic for me, trying to find this balancing point where things are pretty good for them, actually, but they still need to work through their respective hurts and be properly seen -- fill in all the blanks so they can move forward.

[that1emowitch]

Villain - Chapter 6: Arkham Knight

Chapter links: Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch.6

Summary:

Jason escapes Arkham on his own and starts planning out his villain arc.

A/N

Guys just so you know, Jason in this timeline is actually Red Hood, but I'm just using the persona of Arkham Knight as Jay's villain self. He's not gonna do the things AK!Jason did.

Pov of Jason Todd, about a few hours after the last chapter.

I don’t want to go to lunch. Some part of me just wants to let me starve. If I’m going to die again, I’d rather it be on my terms than because the Rogue Gallery beat me to death. But the guards drag me there anyway.

A more rational side of me knows lunch is my best chance to escape.

Not that I have much of a chance anyway. Even with my enhanced healing from the Pit, it’d take me at least a few days of rest to completely recover.

Good thing I don’t have to completely recover for my plan to work.

When the guards force me onto a seat in the canteen and shove a plate of slop in front of me, I take a look around. As expected, all the Rogues coming in are looking at me, but they’re still being escorted by their guards. Right now, they can’t really harm me much.

This is my chance.

I suddenly throw my elbows back, catching both my escort guards in their groins, and quickly snatch a gun and card. A few bullets shoot towards me, but I dodge and make for the doorway. There are a huge number of guards coming after me, with reinforcements on the way, but the two dozen or so guards escorting other inmates, according to standard procedure, are stuck bringing their charges back to their cells so they don’t try to escape either. I can sense another fight going on, between Bane and the guards, but I pay it no mind.

Instead, I make my way out of the door, straight to the locker room where I’m certain all my equiptment’s locked up. I’m running purely on adrenaline, ignoring my legs screaming in agony. I shoot every damn person in my way, making full use of my League training, until I find myself in the locker room. I barricade the door behind me, making sure no one can follow. 

The alarms blaring are now being accompanied by the sound of the whole place being locked down, but it’s nothing a few bombs couldn’t solve.

I find my equipment soon enough and quickly suit up. As I pull on my jacket and helmet, I suddenly feel much less claustrophobic, like the familiarity of the suit is granting me safety. 

Obviously, they don’t just leave bombs lying around in Arkham, but they haven’t found those hidden in my helmet. My trusty guns are gone, I’ll have to make do without them.

It takes me less than a second to blow up the wall. I feel the fresh, cool air, and immediately start running in the direction of the wall surrounding the prison. For some reason, there aren’t as many guards around me as I expected. That’s when I see huge plants breaking away at a wall in the distance, with an armada of guards fighting them, but I don’t wait around to find out what’s going on. 

What happens next feels like a blur— like I’m relying completely on my instincts to get me to safety. I’m vaguely aware of killing a few guards, blowing up another wall, stealing a car, driving to my safe house, then collapsing on the floor.

When I wake up I’m lying in a dried pool of my own blood. Seeing that jerks me awake instantly. My wounds mostly seem to have healed, but I can see a bullet wound I’ll have to reopen to dig the bullet out.

Fuck.

The memories come back to me in a wave— Batman putting me in Arkham, the Rogues, the J— NO!  

I lean against a nearby chair, pulling myself up and shaking the thoughts ut of my head.

First things first. I need to clean up. This is a fucking mess. And I need to know the date.

I check my phone— I’ve been unconscious for 2 days. That’s two days wasted. Quietly scolding myself, I move to clean up the area, getting it done in a matter of minutes.

My stomach’s growling, but my thoughts are elsewhere— the Batman. Bruce. The man who pretended to be my father, then replaced me the moment I was gone, didn’t even bother to avenge me. When I came back he pretended to love me again, just to throw me out the moment I broke his precious rule. Him and his little nest of birds. All fakers.

I slam my fist down on the counter, making a slight dent. I hate them.

I need a plan, I decide. The last time I did this, I made Bruce choose between me and the Joker. He chose the fucking Joker over me! That should’ve been my sign to get far, far away from this shitshow.

“You’re not leaving Gotham,” I whisper to myself. “There’s too many people here who need the Red Hood— the kids , Jason, think about the kids! ”

A snort escapes me as I realise I’m talking to myself. I really have gone crazy, haven’t I?

“You need your revenge,” I continue anyway. Talking out loud, for some reason, makes me feel less alone . “Something to make sure the Bats never haunt you again.”

There’s only one sureshot way to guarantee that, but another voice, deep in my mind whispers, No! We’re not killing them.

For some reason, I agree. But there are other ideas I have. I pull out a notebook from one of my hidden drawers and start scribbling down a name: Arkham Knight.

Arkham’s what started this phase in my life, it should get some credit.

Maybe Batsy will finally get a villain worthy of him.

[you-cant-fuck-megaman]

Thank you for this blog. I find old posts of Zero being cool and suave and having Sexual thoughts and actions when he likely literally does not know sex exists other than knowing organic life reproduces physically somehow. With how the x games ended up you could argue he has never met a human irl before other than Dr Cain. If the ambiguous consent argument is too much he might get scared and kill you (x9: WTF NEW MAVERICK VIRUS INFECTS HUMANS?)

if zero even knows what an intimate relationship is, i'll sit and fuck myself.

DID YOU KNOW, as far as i was able to dig, there is nothing anywhere ever that stated iris and zero were a couple? a lot of fandom perception is that iris is zero's girlfriend and they were in wuv, and that half the tragedy of X4 is that he was going against someone he loved. he killed someone he loved. so tragic. :(

thing is, that's kind of complete bupkis.

obviously Iris admired him a lot, and it's not like Zero hated her, but that's about as far as it went! it's one of those popular fanon things that cycles around, like samus being super-motherly to the baby the baby the baby metroid and wubbing her widdle babuu, or flandre scarlet being sealed in the basement to contain her massive power because she's crazy and could kill everyone with the drop of a frilly hat. but then you start digging for where it's from in the games and ????????????? where did it come from? where did it go?

the manuals?

that would be a nope.

the game script? you can look at both the japanese and english script for x4 at your leisure, and even go for the x5 japanese cutscenes, japanese bosses, and english script to look for mentions of Iris as well. iris' dialogue in Xtreme 2 is 95% the same between x and zero, too, but just for posterity's sake here's also the english and japanese script. either way, that would also be a nope.

what about encyclopedic material, like the X Official Complete Works or the Compendium of Rockman X?

兄のカーネルを失ったアイリスが、自らの姿を変身させてゼロと戦う。クリスタル状の本体とサイボーグ体に分離しているレプリロイド。/ Iris has lost her brother Colonel, and so transforms herself to fight Zero. She is a Reploid split into both a crystal body and a cyborg(?) body. (Most of the Japanese is difficult to make out, so apologies if this is inaccurate! I could swear that says "サイボーグ" / "cyborg", but that doesn't make sense...)

that would also be a nope.

the closest we get to this is that Zero Went On A Date, which is tucked away in the side of a Capcom Music Generation booklet for X1-X6

(Pieced together with commentary from the X Complete Works)

which is all fine and dandy, i guess, but a date can be anything. is it a hang-out date? a shopping date? a romantic date? a social date? a business date? a casual date? a competitive tournament-level date? it's difficult to argue the intent is supposed to be anything other than lovey-dovey romantic but i had to dig into page 5 of mini-booklet in a goddamn compilation album to find it and this is the only evidence they did anything other than vaguely acknowledge each other in the field.

it seems people just kind of hooked them together. and i can get that. i've got weirder ships. there's a couple reasons you could say why. you could be a sarcastic shit and say it's because they're a male and a female in a 90s anime and so get hooked by a red string of fate as soon as they look at each other because people had no idea how interacting with people work. or you could write better than capcom and say iris being emotionally tied to both zero and colonel, instead of just being related to colonel and hoping zero-senpai notices her new breastplate, is what forces her to get involved as an in-between rather than just jumping ship to be with repliforce from the getgo. or you could just say they're cute, in which case, yeah, that's cool

but the point that i am laboriously reaching around to make is that this is a consistent pattern with zero throughout the series. zero/iris is the most prominent of a companion bob capcom has pushed for him and he barely acknowledges she exists. you have to really dig for any indication that they're together. zero/layer comes next, but if you look over their interactions, she's just making anime girl blushing noises and zero has no clue what the fuck she's doing. is she overheating? zero/ferham? he wants to stab her. zero/leviathan? he also wants to stab her. zero/ciel? maybe if his preferred way of responding to a 12-year-old girl wasn't with "............" and i see you xzero shippers in the background, rubbing your hands and cackling and thinking you're getting off scot-free. zero's second favorite way of socializing with x is bailing on him. first favorite is attempting to stab him as well.

the dude is spaghettiman virgin prime, a buzzsaw with only two modes: "KILL" and "maybe don't kill". an intimate relationship? he's got a computer brain and he still doesn't even know what that means. a relationship is what you have when you fight someone, right? he's as smooth as a cactus rolling through a sandpaper factory. he's as suave as a can of worms used in spear-fishing. if you showed him a picture of sex, he'd think it was two humans attempting to strangle each other. the man installed titties on himself and he's still never touched a single one. and then he lost them in the future, so he's operating at a net titty-touching loss, which is honestly quite an impressive feat.

[polyamory-and-pot]

"You have to look at the positives. You're choosing to look at the negatives."

I AM FUCKING TRYING TO JOT KILL MYSELF. I AM TRYING TO FIGURE MY SHIT OUT. AND I CANT JUST CHANGE THE WAY I SEE THINGS AND I CANT ARTICULATE WHY I CANT BUT I CANT. AND I NEED HELP BUT THATS NOT FUCKING ENOUGH. NO I HAVE TO FIX MYSELF. IM SICK AN TIRED OF BEING TOLD THAT CHANGING MY MINDSET WILL MAKE MY LIFE WORTH LIVING. IM SICK AND TIRED OF BEING TOLD THAT I CAN JUST DO IT. ITS A CHOICE I NEED TO MAKE BECAUSE IT IT WA JUST A FUCKING CHOICE ID HAVE MADE IT. IM TIRED OF BEING TOLD THAT IM THE PROBLEM WHEN I ALREADY KNOW THAT. I KNOW THAT AND I NEED HELP FIXING THAT AND I CANT JUST CHANGE ON MY OWN. WHY DOESNT HE FUCKING UNDERSTAND THAT. WHY ISNT GETTING HELP GOOD ENOUGH?

He told me that I can either dig myself deeper down into a hole or listen to him and find a way up. But his advice doesn't make sense to me and now I'm tempted to jump off the deck so he knows I made a decision and I went down.

[midas-well]

Chance

Come join us, they said. It'll be fun, they said! I stare at the mirror ahead of me, fists clenched, nails practically digging into my palms. I see the bottoms to the ridiculous costume they had me put on, the dark gritty pavement under my feet sprinkled with random littered junk only highlighting how shitty this night was turning to be. I look up after taking a breath, trying to see the fool staring back at me. He had little red splattering on his face, and plenty of stains on the arms and midsection of the costume especially. You'd think he was the one that got gutted.

I can feel my eyes fighting back tears suddenly, not understanding the weight of emotions welling up in my chest and suffocating me. Forcing it down and coughing to clear my now sore throat, I just look back at the mirror and watch as the fists fall limply as my hands lay by my sides. I think I know why it hurts.

I decided to give these people a chance to prove they were my friends, to prove that I mattered to them. But time and time again I was left behind. It makes sense. They all have a closer bond with each other, they care for each other. If I went along with them when they suddenly leave me, I'd trip over someone. They'd all know what they're doing but won't tell me. It's how I got left in this stupid fucking tent with mirrors creating basic a labyrinth. If I called out, they'd never come for me.

You cannot imagine how gratifying it was to know that when he screamed, nobody came either. There was little talk, that's as much as I heard. But either they couldn't find him and gave up, or are still searching and having a hard time... or they left already, perhaps assuming that their friend bc will come out. Just a little spook got him!

I know it was a bad decision, acting on an impulse just to prove a point to myself. As if I didn't already know they were fake people. If they were here, they'd have picture-perfect reflections, like plastic dolls glammed up for the camera. But what's done is done. I know I'll suffer the consequences later, I don't have the energy to bother with covering my tracks. But hey, it doesn't hurt to take one last look at the prize I won, right?

"...oh."

Peeking around the corner, where there once lay the body of who I'd call a frat boy, now was nothing. At most the bloodied dirt was still there, but now it looked natural. The mirrors were also cleaned up.

I could think of what happened, how this happened, but really? It doesn't so much matter to me. The corpse is gone, and so are my problems, beyond how it was cleaned up. I may as well just leave, try and find the group of phonies. I have to get out of this costume, though.

Tearing off the blood-stained outfit of a rabbit clown--seriously, whose idea was it to make me wear that?--I toss it aside, somewhere near where the corpse once was. That could be my secret kill room, nobody needs to know. And surely, whatever took care of the body, it might just clean up that outfit, too. Doesn't matter if it does or not to me, though.

As I make my way out, I sigh as I see the exit to the tent. There's a sound of something scraping the pavement beneath me. That's when I finally gained cognizance of the fact that there was dirt in that one area. As I whipped my head in the direction of the sound, looking down, I see nothing. Yet strangely, I have this image in my mind of claws, talons perhaps, reaching for my ankles.

I brush it off. I'm out, so it doesn't matter anymore. "I'd best be off to find these losers, if they even remember they invited me," I mutter to myself bitterly, heading off into the sea of people to find one familiar group. But I feel this itch under my skin, somewhere in my leg. What I think to myself at this moment? "Maybe I'll give them all a little taste of what it means to be left behind by people who you thought cared."

[firendgold]

Dumbledore for the unhinged character bingo?

but of course!

whew boy, no bingos but this was a lot.

guess we'll go left to right row by row?

Daddy Issues: um, yeah. It might be glossed over in canon and fanon, but it seems pretty clear that Albus has at least some. Percival Dumbledore was taken from him early, after a moment where he lost control and inflicted violence on those who were both crueler and weaker than him, all in the name of protecting his family. That probably left very deep impressions on the young Albus' psyche: both I can't let myself be locked away like he was, my family needs me and doing the right thing means suffering.

Adult!Albus takes many risks and makes many choices that lead to unhappiness twined with safety, and I think it all comes back to his parents and his home life. We also don't ever see him with a mentor: we know he "worked with" Nicolas Flamel but we don't have a clear idea of how close they were, how long they worked together or anything like that. Like many men in the HP series, he's probably another one who searches in vain for a father figure to replace his original one.

*Incoherent sobbing*: me every day since I finished Half-Blood Prince as a kid, honestly. I'm still not over it. Deathly Hallows was the second of the one-two punches. And then more Dumbledore and Dumbledore family meta is coming out all the time, digging into just how lonely Albus must have been for years and years. Think about how the people he let himself love toward the end of his life all either died or nearly died. Think about how major themes of Albus' life story are trust and love and betrayal. You'll start crying too.

Angst Angst ANGST: So, Albus never gets to be a child past the age of about ten. His parents' combined choices mean that he has to spend all his school years lying to most of his acquaintances about the most intimate parts of his home life and his sister. He also learns a lot of direct and indirect fucked up lessons that stick with him until he's at least seventeen. His brother resents him. His father dies in jail with people cursing his name. His mother is killed by his sister as he graduates school. Then, at seventeen-almost-eighteen, Albus falls in love!... with a budding fascist and future genocidal murderer. They plot to Take Over the World, but in a nice way maybe?

And then The Big Fight happens, Ariana dies too, Aberforth becomes estranged from him, Grindelwald leaves and his whole worldview gets upended. Rather than take some time to go to therapy, Albus spends the rest of his life overachieving to make up for what he did, never allowing himself the weakness of personal attachments... that is, until he finds himself having budding fatherly feelings for Harry. But since he didn't do any of that therapy stuff, he fucks up at a critical moment and chooses his long-dead family over said potential-son by putting on an old ugly ring, and then he dies to try and save the wizarding world with a convoluted plan that worked by miracle's light. The end.

God fucking damn it let them be happy: This is directed more at the fandom than it is at That Woman. Can y'all please write something nice about Albus and Harry for once instead of the same mustache-twirling manipulative fascist-fucking greater good garbage? I'm so sick of it lol.

I want to cradle them gently in my arms: I mean... Albus would not let me. He's almost allergic to intimacy. But if he would...

Go to FUCKING therapy: ...self-explanatory in my other answers. I am firm in my belief that if Albus had just gone to fucking therapy he would be alive today, searching google for funny Muggle cat videos and sending them to his hot old French boyfriend. And he and Harry would meet up for tea and biscuits every week because they would have long since sorted out all their issues and moved on to just loving each other. *sniff*

WHY Are They Like This: tru. I mean... I have a general idea of Why Albus Is The Way He Is, but it doesn't mean I don't still ask this question often. The fact that we got a whole movie called The Secrets of Dumbledore but we didn't learn any of Albus' important fucking secrets kind of supports my unhinged obsessed researching though.

I'm SO normal about them: ...*nervous laughter*

I would take a bullet for them: ...or, you know, I would if he wasn't dead already. But if we're talking about all the incorrect and unnecessary shots he takes from the fandom, then absolutely this applies.

LEAVE. THEM. ALONE!: seriously, fandom, holy shit. Don't y'all want to attack some people who have slid past morally gray territory and into "actual irredeemable monster" territory once in a while? You know, like some of those green-robed fellows you lust after?

Mommy Issues: oh, broooo. if Albus has daddy issues then he for sure has mommy issues too. Kendra Dumbledore shaped the majority of his life by virtue of being the only parent around in his formative years. All the things she taught him keep cropping up in his mannerisms and decisions even a hundred years later. Secrets, misdirection, hiding people and things and ideas away... draw a line back to his mum and you've solved half the puzzle.

Hey do you want to hear a ten hour speech about this character: because I don't like going outside, it would be more of a "five hour tumblr post" that's a billion paragraphs, but yeah. I can almost always find something new to talk about with Albus. ^^

And that's everything! Thanks and sorry it took me so long!

[rabbiteclair]

okay let's try this again, this time with my brain plugged in

overall, story-wise I admire the devs' efficiency of storytelling in introducing new groups of characters, giving you a peek at the relationship dynamics between them and what makes them interesting, and then immediately proceeding to 'and now it's time for you to kill them, because you are running an RPG dungeon for hapless adventurers to dive into.' Several groups here feel like they could be the protagonists of a shorter game in their own right. sorry I killed you guys but you know how it is.

Mechanically... not gonna get too deep into the game's overall systems at this point, but I think they did a pretty solid job of making each new story encounter an interesting challenge with something new to deal with. Once I sorted out the whole 'you don't have enough good key pages to outfit the entire library, you've gotta shuffle them around a lot or you're playing on hard mode' thing, nothing has felt ridiculously hard when I first unlocked it, but very few fights have felt all that easy either. (The 'nothing has felt ridiculously hard' part may change soon though, because somebody thought it was a good idea to fight the Red Mist again. goddamn it Angela, I just did that last game. At least dig up the Backward Clock for me to fall back on if you're gonna pull this shit.)

I'm not gonna go into every single reception, but hitting some of the highlights...

Streetlight: Probably the first group I felt really bad about murdering? Sorry Lulu. (Okay these early ones are gonna be kind of short, lbr they have a lot less going on than later stuff.)

Zwei: Whoops felt bad again. This time it was ameliorated by getting Walter's key page and going 'wait you're gonna just... let me do that? Is this actually okay?'

Carnival: is the point that made me stop and go 'oh man these devs know how to do some weird transhumanism stuff,' and that basically doesn't let up for the rest of the game. On the other hand this is also the point where I kinda sighed and started finding all the endless industrial uses for dead humans a bit on-the-nose.

Dawn: well I can see no way that killing these guys could go poorly, not like one of them will have a days/weeks-long breakdown and turn into a swarm of flaming cherubs that kill tens of thousands of people or something haha. Yuna deserved more/cooler mechanics. Solo Fixer who carries her gear around in a guitar case or something and shows up like 'hey I just beat up some crazy stuff by myself.' make Yuna cooler you cowards.

Gaze: Gaze Office is cool as hell. I love them. Love their fucking C memory management joke names. (Which are apparently also Korean puns or something.) Love their weird rainbow camera heads. Too bad that they're kinda mechanically trash. They were one of the easiest fights for me, and I've never found much use for... anything they do, really.

Kurokumo: thus begins the era of Slashing Builds. this era has not yet actually ended for me.

Bremen: I actually felt a bit bad for these guys too. I mean sure they're murderers but they seem so earnest about it, and they did get their heads messed with by supernatural forces. But also why didn't you losers give me blunt power abilities. You should really take after Sayo more. I'm sure she's a fine role model.

Love Town: [banging pots and pans together] LOVE TOWN LOVE TOWN LOVE TOWN. listen the entire story here is so absurdly horrible and over the top that it's almost funny, but I feel like if you're gonna get invested in these games you've gotta be capable of looking at 'so they all spent millennia locked in a train and unable to die until the few who still retained some of their sanity sewed their bodies together into Flesh Amalgam Creatures to fight off their zombified comrades' and pumping your fist instead of pointing out that that all seems like a bit much. Tomerry was an interesting fight but at the same time, never wanna do that again. Some of my well-meaning friends warned me to gird my stomach for this section, unaware of just how much body horror media I've consumed over the years.

Sweepers: On one hand? I kinda came out of this liking the Sweepers themselves, despite everything. Aw, they're just a big happy family, makin' their way in the world. just, Their Way just happens to involve a lot of meathooks and, uh, liquefying people to make special goo or something? On the other hand fuck this fight. Even now that I've beaten it several times, I still hate it. This begins the pattern of 'nothing that is happening here, mechanically, is moral or just.'

Shi: okay look I don't have much to say about Shi itself. this is a basically-unrelated sidebar. You know how Yujin's key page gives you that broken speed die? I am cursed so that every single big attack targets it, and always with a really high speed so I can't intercept. A boss has some once-per-fight attack that's like '8-21 damage, on hit: stagger the target, apply 5 Fragile next round'? it's gonna target Yujin's broken die, with a speed of like 6-7, every single time. My friends assure me that this isn't intentional and I'm just very unlucky, but I'm this close to retiring the page and ripping the good parts off to use elsewhere. I've seriously lost four or five big fights over Yujin suddenly getting ripped in half three rounds in, or getting smacked with a 'if this hits anybody you automatically lose the fight' attack, with no ability to defend.

8 o'clock Circus: fuck this fight. Oswald isn't in it, but I appreciate his whole deal though. Like, he's not a good guy. I'm not even sure I like him. But it takes some skill to be an interesting fucked up clown in 2023, and he manages it.

Smiling Faces: I love how even after you read their books, there's no real explanation of what their deal is. at this point the game's just like 'look, they're weird old folks who chop people up or something and like to take fat bong rips, you can probably name a dozen explanations for all of this at this point.' The fight itself is an absolute pain thanks to Deep Drag, but your reward is... being able to hit enemies with Deep Drag. I don't like smoke builds as much as most people, it seems, but I'll concede that when they do work they're great. And, I mean, I still put a smoker on most teams up until fairly recently.

Crying Children: sometimes a fight is just too fucking long. I'm sorry Phil "the big sad baby" McFixer, but if you want me to get invested in your personal character arc you've gotta limit your boss fight to like five phases tops. (Angela is exempt from this of course.)

WARP Crew: see the Love Town bullet above, but also I felt pretty bad about killing these guys too. Sorry Lesti. Also I find it very funny that part of the reason behind the VIP seats is to make sure that anybody with really expensive combat augs is not waiting for them inside the train after spending about two millennia losing their goddamn mind.

Blue Reverb/Church of Gears: I really expected this fight to be harder but let's be real I haven't seen the last of this asshole.

Cane: I'm just here for Nemo, babey.

R Corp: hhhhh. For one thing, this fight is a fucking slog, and it opens up with possibly the hardest act of its three. For another, you're gonna make me kill Myo? Really? On the upside: Rabbit-based titles for everyone. I haven't beaten this reception yet since I only tried it once so far and went in unprepared for some of the tomfoolery, but I still got within about two hits of winning, so I'm confident I'll get it next time.

Night Awls/Udjat/Kim/Dong-hwan: yesssss give me your stuff. I could've gone without having to fight the Udjat though.

[talldarkandroguesome]

19th of Second Seed, Sundas

No sooner had I returned from my trip with Sildras, than I was informed that the Council had a mountain of tasks for me to complete.

And as if that were not enough, as soon as I am nearly done with one of those tasks, I get a hurried missive about a supposedly more pressing issue for my consideration that requires an answer or response by the end of the day or first thing in the morn.

Even this morning, the one day I am usually free of obligations from the Council, I was asked to work on another project. All as if I had not been given one to complete near on midnight and had to stay up to work on.

I have a nice bottle of brandy to fortify me this evening. I am a bit sore after I threw myself into the renovations we are underway in the garden. Even after having tried digging out all of the toxic materials and salting that Urtisa did to our garden and crop lands. WE had thought everything was out, but with all the rain, things that must have been buried deeper than we had thought imaginable. For much of the land has started to sprout strange weeds and many of our plans seem struck with diseases that we have not encountered ever before.

I helped the grounds keeping crew with ripping out all the awful, bizarre weeds. We dug down to a point where we needed ladders to get in and out with the buckets of soil.

Three days we have been toiling away. Finally we have either gotten it all out, or have come close to. Any further digging and it risks the foundations of the manor. Urtisa would fetching love knowing that. The foul alit deserves worse than she--no.

On second thought, Nabine gave her something that even I was unable to stomach. I cannot even be sure that anyone deserved that sort of death. I mean, of course she was an evil woman. Look at how months and months after her death we are still working to repair all the damage she left in her wake.

Yet, there is a part of me that finds it hard to feel wholly satisfied with her end. Perhaps it was just too close to my own fears. Or too close to the way the Thalmor treated me when they wanted to get information from me.

May both. I could not say. I do not dare think too much on it.

I miss when things were simpler. Those days on the run in Skyrim suddenly do not feel so bad. I sing and fuck for room and board. I kill when I need to. I was mortal, but my responsibilities were only to keep myself alive. I could pursue those beautiful moments of connection with people as I went and leave when I fell under suspicion. Then I could return when I wished to continue that relationship I had.

Now I know too much to go back to that. My heart is torn and so tangled int he brambles of my various relationships. Despite my fear and frustration and sadness, my feelings for Nabine remain as strong as ever. And despite how great the distance, my heart still yearns to return to Qau-dar.

And though I have fantasies of pulling away from the House and going back on the road, I cannot abandon my son. Sildras deserves better. And I love him too much for that. And with the House he will have everything he needs for a good life. Further, I still get to see my daughters.

When did everything become so troublesome?

How I wish that Leythen were still alive. I could just pull out a stone and get his advice. I miss when I did not have to be responsible for everyone and everything. When I just could take orders and do my mission and return for my accolades. Damn Nocturnal for her plots. And damn the betrayal of her champion.

You know, it has been a while since I spoke with Naryu. I wonder how she is holding up. I shall have to write to her. Hopefully the city's economy falling has not made it harder for the Morag Tong. They will likely have just moved to other areas.

Still... I wonder if she could put me in touch with someone. Someone willing to train in basics of assassination. My future death weavers could certainly use a dedicated teacher. I fear that for now I am not the correct person.

Once I have my finances back in order, I should look for more opportunities to work on this.

[ace-and-ink]

it’s always fucking something, isn’t it?

the story of my life

is one of tragedy

depending who you ask

but if i paint myself the blasphemer

say it’s the work of a greater god

and he’s putting me in my place

the church used to clap

but when i fold my hands of my own volition

i refuse to pray to him

i’ve made myself my savior

either i pull myself through this

or no one can say i never tried

but i still forget that 11 year olds are still children

because i forgot that i was supposed to still be one

but i

i don’t really mind

happens all the time

and now no one’ll let me cry

well

i guess that that’s a lie

it’s never said but it’s implied

so i’ll hold on until i die

hang me by the foot

call me the fool

and wave it high

i’m a warning sign

of youth that’s gone awry

the first time i drove back to my hometown was my birthday

but i wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t my best friend’s too

but we didn’t even spend it there

we left to the state to the west

we escaped our families and our homes

yet we failed that escape room

but still

when was the last time

that

i

felt

excited?

it looks could kill

then maybe i’d

finally find out

what i look like

i’ve got a big mouth

and i can’t keep it shut

i’ve got big eyes

and i can’t keep contact

i’ve got a big nose

and i can’t fucking draw it

i used to love to sing

but my brain always betrays me

and i haven’t sang for someone

other than happy birthday

in almost ten years

i used to love to draw

but my classes killed that for me

so now my writing is my crutch

except the world doesn’t value it

so at least everyone says

the way my body was

back then

when i felt hopeful

it could change

time and work would never save me

but the world

at least as it was online

only got louder

and all my work

was never enough

not for anyone

not for myself

i’ll hold my chin up

cross my fingers

when i tell you i’ll do better

but i’ll hold your hand when you need me to

i’ll do anything you ask of me

and i’ll do it with a

smile!

my

pretty little life

said i didn’t mind

but jesus christ

i always lie!

i’ll carry my head high

i’ll paint on another smile

i’ll be your perfect idol

and i’ll let you hang me upside down

parade me around

the ideal fool

i’ve always been

the panicked one

“be back by 9”

“call me when you’re home”

i know my mother

took that primal joy of mine

when she left us that summer afternoon

left us with those glossy eyes

that cold body

and that hospital bed in the middle of her room

i’ve held my own hand

and people want me

to let them hold mine too

we both know i’ll dig my own grave

i’ll be driving my own hearse

i’ll throw myself out to sea

just like we threw her too

cause who

else would

if i

can’t let my

guard

down?

cause who

would have

if

she

wasn’t

around?

i hope i crash my fucking car

i hope a deer takes me with it

i hope i haunt the tree i nail

i hope you see me in the roadkill

i hope you choke on my memories

i hope you flinch on the side of the bridge

anything i can do for you

you know i’d do it with a

— taking inspiration from an inspiration means there’s not enough left for me to name this the same

[letstrywritingmaybe]

I’m behind on reading/commenting ugh. I did read one of the fics that updated but it made me sad. But like it wasn’t even really a sad fic, it was more open.

This is getting angry and ranty so I’m hiding it under the cut

But idk I’m just so so so tired of my queen being given the short end of the stick. Again it’s why I hella overcompensate and make him suffer. But it’s v annoying to me that he can do whatever and my queen will still love him? Fuck that bullshit. I’m sick of it. I’m sure it’s cause I’ve never been in romantic love so I don’t get it, but if that’s what it’s like I don’t want to understand. All these stories I hear of women staying in toxic relationships where as the men are always able to leave their shituationship and find better matches, is so difficult for me to wrap my head around. This is just in regards to the people in my real life and from some podcasts I listen to (and social media shit) but I swear the percentage is heavily skewed to women trying to save their shitty relationship while the men are able to break out of it.

Anyways, yeah it’s why I absolutely loathe fics where he’s a scumbag and my queen suffers but ultimately he gets to keep her. First that seems very ooc to me, but I also write him ooc too but just way opposite from that. So I guess whatever. But again I ask why must my queen suffer? Hasn’t she suffered enough? Why are we putting her through all this bullshit and tearing her down and making her believe she can only love this one man? Is this supposed to be romantic? Like what? Like oh wow, guess she’s so fucking lucky he decided to choose her after fucking around and being an absolute dick. Grody.

I swear I’m just too American or at least too much of a Vegas gal to be okay with this. Because I see this shit so much in fics and irl I am fucking terrified of it happening to me. To lose my complete sense of self for an underserving asshole who makes me question love? I would rather die. Like kill me please. Cause if there’s anything I know, it’s love. I’m Lots of Love for crying out loud! All forms of it! It’s not just romantic, but the rest of the world seems to think it’s the only one that matters. And I know I’m guilty of that too, cause I am to my core a hopeless romantic. But when it is pure. Not this brainwashed mess where men can be whores but women aren’t allowed to even look at another person.

Back on my fuck first love being the only love bullshit. I fucking hate this trope when it applies to only women. Not super fond of it with men either, but that’s more of a dig at my main fandom I can’t even enjoy anymore.

Would love to read a fic where she’s the player instead of him and it’s perfectly fine. Make him the one who wonders for fucking once. Does she love him? Maybe. Is she enjoying her life and fucking around? Absolutely and as she should! Not caring that she’s stringing him along cause he’s the back up that she knows she can always go back to, and maybe she does actually love him. Go figure.

Some days I get so angry I just want to write a fuck you fic, but also I don’t cause I hate writing and I have too many other projects I would rather finish so I never have to write again. But then I think about having to read these fics and noping out or sticking it out and being pissed even though I knew where it was going and I would hate it. And I’m like hella judgey but at least I’m not an awful person who leaves rude comments for a fic not meant for me. Yeah if you do that shit you’re a fucking asshole and I want nothing to do with you.

I didn’t intend to start this post off so angry, and now I don’t even remember my main reason for trying to make an update here. I’ve just annoyed myself and I need to leave or else I’ll be too tired for my hopeful boost of serotonin tomorrow (or today rather). I’m probably just irritated from being at the airport like all day. I love traveling but some airports and airlines suck.

Anyways main point, let Shiho bejeweled! Don’t keep her locked up in the basement! She’s a diamond, so let her shine damn it!