#and have only recently realized how emotionally distant i was. well that i will deal with next week or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

catnherthoughts · 3 months ago

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the note 10/7

*hopefully one day i'll look back on this and just be grateful that the only way to get past it is to go through it.

As much as everyoneeee hates to hear it, i always knew it was gonna come to this. most people who feel suicidal get help or find some sort of meaning to life that makes it all worth it. you don't just go through all of life wanting to kill yourself and just never do it. The feeling is like a distant friend. sometimes she is just a memory and sometimes she is with me, staying in my apartment. then of course as all good house guests do, she knows when its time to leave but still keeps in contact. so i dont forget her of course. like i could ever.

maybe i wouldn't have had to come to this if my life was different. i would say if i was prettier but i think i look very gorgeous.in fact, that's one of the few things that keeps me going. when i was ugly i used to attempt every other day. now its just a voice screaming at me that i try not to involve myself with. maybe if i had a more emotionally available father. maybe if i had a more emotionally mature mother. maybe if my friends reached out more. i could blame every person on this earth for not doing something but at the end of the day this is my fault. i'm the one who let the brain disease get to me. i take my meds regularly. i exercise and try to eat well. i do self care and still, i cant get myself to care about myself.

i came to the realization the other day that i am not living for myself. that was such an insane realization. i was driving to my human rights and digital media class and the thought came into my mind. i am only alive because i don't want to make people sad with my death. how sad is that? my mom would be devastated and maybe off herself. i hope she never has to read this but if she does i would want her to keep going. my friends would be in eternal torment wondering what they could have done. you did all you could. my dad would maybe just be a bit more numb. or maybe he'd upheave his own life, then again i don't think he'd care that much. he gave me the opportunity to have a good life while i could. my boyfriend would have everlasting grief. "my dad died, my mom threatens to kill herself, my brother has tried multiple times." gosh how guilty do i feel even mentioning anything is wrong. i understand i have a certain amount of accountability when it comes to sharing my emotions but how do i say anything in that situation?

i'm usually very good at hiding this feeling. i used to never let anyone even for a second know what i was going through. i have a twitter account where i sometimes indulge in the idea i have some feelings about things. it has been very concerning recently. i don't know if the feeling has been this strong in a very long time. every morning, i rise to start the day and i dread going out and doing things. i know its like hashtag dont wanna go to school but it may become an issue when the work becomes so suffocating that i can't bear to do it. i push through because my grades are one of the most important aspect of my being to my father. he is also spending a great deal of money on my education so i get it. whatever. i go through the day and count the hours until i can be in bed. once i'm in bed, i rot and rot and rot. i torment myself in every free moment, asking myself why i keep going. i dont know. i dont know. i dont know. i see my boyfriend and as much as he doesn't want to believe it, he makes me feel better. he is the person i can be emotionally vulnerable with, or at least who i feel comfortable enough with, so i show how i feel when we are together. he sees how tired i am. he's worried. he would be very upset if he knew what i was writing right now. i love him very much and i'm glad that in this life i have someone who showed me what love was like. maybe if heaven is real i'll watch over him like an angel and make sure his life is the best that it can be. i'd negate his suffering as much as i could. maybe i'd get a therapist for my mom. maybe i'd give my dad signs that its okay to feel things. i hope he'll cry at my funeral. i wonder if he'll bring his girlfriend and her daughter. i wonder what they'd think. he would probably make a joke about me starving myself to death. he tries his best to get it but i don't think he even gets that i have depression, clinically diagnosed. i dont think my mother knows that it isn't about her. she'd have more to talk about with her friends if i did it.

i wish i had some advice to give. like; "If you're ever struggling, make sure to ask for help so you don't end up like me". I wouldn't know how to ask for help if it hit me in the face. I used to, very often. it didn't go well. i've never even been hospitalized. one time the morning after my attempt my dad yelled at me and told me to stop being stupid. my mom, in one of my deepest pits, told me i need to eat breakfast and stop taking my meds at such a high dosage. i've been told recently that i should get help for the sake of my relationship, if not myself. i've been told to talk to someone about it. i don't want to talk to anyone about it. i dont need to make anyone worried and then when i get to the point where it does happen, leave them thinking they could have done more. they can't stop me.

i can't keep going through everyday wishing for it. crossing the street ever so slowly. even stopping in the middle. smoking so much maybe my lungs will never recover. pursuing a communications degree that i know i'll regret. i'm just an unlucky woman. i was born to kill myself. that was the plan. i wish that instead of the other baby, i was miscarried. that i never got the chance for people to love me. if no one cared then it would make things so much easier. alas, i care too much for those around me that its killing me slowly. i wish i was in a coma. i wish i was diagnosed with a disease that gives me 2 weeks to live. i wish that i had a way out. everytime i drive my care i imagine going 100 mph straight into a tree. then i remember how mad my dad would be that i messed up his car, and i drive safely. the thought of me taking a razor straight down my arm and letting myself bleed out in the shower, then i think about who would find me and everyone finding out. i wonder who would show up to my funeral.

my roommate just asked if my writing was going well. if she knew she'd have a panic attack and i dont need her to suffer. how much longer do i have to suffer so others don't have to. its my life and if i decide it's over for me, i should have the right to end it on my own terms. there is no free will, if there was i'd be dead a long time ago. because of everything that has lead up this point, i am simply a piece of seaweed in the ocean, drifting by waiting to be eaten.

i'm too tired to keep writing but i feel like this this isn't a sufficient enough note. if i could, i write a suicide letter book. that way at least i'll be able to say i published something. in a perfect world i would be a philosopher and have a phd and people would read and love my work. sadly, life is not perfect, not even good enough for me to want to be apart of it. thank you everyone for making it so hard to say goodbye.

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ncssian · 4 years ago

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A Favor: Part Twenty

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait yall this month really kicked my ass,, but also we reached part 20!!

tw infertility discussion

***

Gwyn: isn’t he beautiful <3

In the freezing February air outside the tea house, Nesta clicks on the picture attached to Gwyn’s text. It’s a distant shot of a man in his mid-thirties hunched over a library desk while working, unaware that there’s a camera on him. She’ll give it to Gwyn, though—he is a little handsome.

Emerie: the stalker levels are through the roof, gwyneth. seek help.

Gwyn: no i’m gonna marry him

Nesta doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, but she types out a brief response before her thumbs fall off from the cold: Will give my opinion on him later. Got to go.

Gwyn’s crush will have to wait, Nesta thinks as she finally puts her phone away and pushes her way inside the exquisite tea house. Immediately, blasting heat thaws her frozen fingers and toes, and farther inside she spots the table she reserved for three. Right now, only one person sits at it.

Nesta grits her teeth and approaches the round table, heels clicking softly on the parquet floors. Elain doesn’t look up from the menu she’s reading. “This place would be nicer to visit in the spring,” is her only acknowledgment of Nesta.

“I like the winter,” Nesta answers simply, taking her seat across from Elain. She likes how the ice creeps over the garden outside until everything looks frozen in time, and she likes how the colorful flowers and trees become dulled by white snow. Not that her sister would understand or care.

“Of course you do,” Elain mutters, setting down the menu with all the careful elegance of a debutante. “I’m only here for Feyre, anyway.”

It almost saddens Nesta that she doesn’t feel hurt or offense at the words. She thought she would care more about Elain’s opinion than she actually does. “Where is Feyre, then?” she says, looking pointedly at the empty seat between them. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“I’m right here,” a breathless voice says, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Feyre appears, looking flushed from exertion and the cold. She sets her bag down and joins them at the table, scooting her seat all the way in. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nesta bites. “I was just about to order.”

“So was I.” Elain smiles breezily.

Feyre glances between the two of them, clear concern on her face, but she covers it up and says, “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

It was Feyre’s idea, of course. After Nesta told her off for never being interested in what she wanted to do, Feyre actually listened. She asked if Nesta wanted to hang out, and then let Nesta fill in the rest of the details on her own terms.

Which brings them to the tea house. Unfortunately for her sisters, however, Nesta doesn’t really know where to go from ordering tea and biscuits.

“How is school going?” Feyre asks her after their drinks arrive.

Nesta sips from her tea, already bored. “It’s been fifteen minutes and you have yet to say anything of substance, Feyre. It makes me miss being alone with Elain and her mood.”

Feyre looks taken aback, and Elain levels a glare at Nesta. An unsurprised, of course you have to ruin everything like this glare.

So Nesta clarifies, “That wasn’t an attack. I just hoped that after driving out here, I would get something better than shallow small talk.”

“And how do you know it was shallow?” Elain steps in harshly. “How do you know she isn’t actually interested in how you’re doing at school?”

Nesta slides blunt blue eyes to Feyre. “If that’s the case, then I commend you. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if I was in your position.”

To her surprise, Feyre snorts. She looks resigned when she says, “No, you’re right. I don’t care about what’s going on at school, not if you don’t. What would you rather we talk about then, Nesta?”

Without hesitation, Nesta says, “Ask me something you really care to hear the answer to.”

Elain shuts her mouth and sits back at that. Feyre twists her lips, thinking her next words over carefully. “How is your therapy going?” she finally asks in a cautious tone. “What do you talk about there?”

Remembering that she’s in a formal setting, Nesta stops herself from crossing her arms. She settles on wrapping her fingers delicately around her teacup instead. “We talk about whatever I feel like talking about,” she answers honestly. Although lately her conversations with Lana feel more restrained than usual.

“And what’s that?” Feyre urges.

Nesta shrugs, fitting apathy onto her face like an old mask. “Recently? Childbearing.” But it isn’t her favorite topic of discussion, not at all.

“You’re pregnant?” Elain jumps in, leading Nesta to throw her an unamused look.

“No, idiot,” she says. “My therapist just has the idea that if I end up being infertile it’ll screw me up, mentally and emotionally and whatever. She thinks I should deal with that baggage now instead of saving it for later.” She rolls her eyes thinking about it. How many times does she have to repeat that she doesn��t care about her body’s reproductive abilities until Lana gets it?

Feyre chuckles, confused. “Why would you be infertile?”

Nesta forgot—she didn’t want her sisters knowing anything that has to do with her health. She even made Cassian keep her doctor visits secret from Feyre. But that was months ago, and the sisters are… not exactly in a better place now, but looking for the way there. Nesta thinks she can tell them without any severe regrets. “I have endometriosis.”

When she’s met with silence, she adds, “You know, with the tissue growing on my ovaries and stuff. It might affect all the babies I don’t care to have in the future.”

Elain is the first to speak. “You always wanted to be a mother.” Her voice is soft, almost mourning. It irritates the hell out of Nesta.

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps back.

“You did,” Elain insists. Feyre still hasn’t said anything. “You took care of our cat, Mittens, until the day she died. You taught Feyre her alphabet. You raised me when Mama and Papa were too busy to do it. You never carried dolls around in strollers or anything, but you loved being a mother.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Feyre says, blinking. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the endometriosis part?”

Nesta sips from her tea, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from Elain’s words. “What about it?”

“How long have you known?” Feyre demands.

“It isn’t cancer. And I’m getting treated, obviously. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Nesta sighs, setting her cup down. “October. Cassian made me go to the doctor because he was worried about my periods, we had a big fight about health insurance, and now I use my salary from your boyfriend to afford medication so I don’t feel like dying every month. Is that everything you wanted to hear?”

Feyre only stares at her, for once revealing no emotion. “I keep forgetting,” she says finally, “that we’re not at a place to share things like that with each other. I keep being surprised every time I realize how much of your life you keep from us.”

“I don’t,” Elain huffs under her breath while she tears a croissant in half.

Nesta is still watching Feyre. “You remember how bad my cycles were? I would cry loud enough at night to wake the house.”

Feyre flinches at the memory, and Elain goes still.

“But no one ever woke up,” Nesta says. They never talked about it before, and she has no desire to keep speaking about it now. If they start to tally all the hurts they’ve dealt to each other, Nesta fears they’ll be here for hours. Worse, she fears she will lose.

She reaches for a lavender macaron and delicately pulls it apart, studying the cream filling inside. “Did you know they make these using the lavender flowers from the garden outside?”

“I hate lavender,” Elain says.

Spying her chance to shift the subject off herself, Nesta goes for it. “Because Azriel smells like lavender?” She pushes one half of the dainty cookie past her lips, chewing. “It’s an interesting cologne choice, I agree.”

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Feyre looks around, unaware that they’ve moved onto another topic.

Elain’s innocent brown eyes turn into daggers pointed at Nesta, betrayal written across her face. Nesta feels no pity for her—especially not if they’re going to sit around judging each other for keeping secrets.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she turns to Elain. “Is it about your,” she lowers her voice and whispers, “crush?”

Nesta raises a skeptical brow. She doubts whatever Az and Elain have stops at just a crush.

“No, it’s not,” Elain answers determinedly. “God, do you have to bring men into everything, Nesta?”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Quit it,” Feyre snaps at the both of them. “Or I’ll grab my things and leave.”

Do it, Nesta almost dares. But she has a feeling that Feyre means it, that she won’t submit to being taunted, so Nesta reins the words back from the tip of her tongue. After all, this tea is expensive.

The sisters take a moment to settle, and Feyre is the one to restart the conversation. “Either way,” she tells Nesta, “it looks like counseling is going really well for you. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it really gives your skin a certain glow,” Elain drawls.

Nesta doesn’t rise to meet her sarcasm. In all seriousness, Elain and Feyre could probably use a therapist themselves. It might make Nesta’s interactions with them less headache-inducing.

“You should visit one day,” she throws the suggestion out without thinking.

“What, like a therapy session?” Feyre says.

Realizing the implications of her terrible idea, Nesta forces herself not to backpedal. “Yes,” she makes herself grit out. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Elain and Feyre share a glance of hesitation and concern. It’s a glance that grates on Nesta’s nerves, but she keeps her mouth shut and waits for a response.

Feyre answers first: “We’ll do it.”

Elain looks more doubtful, but seems to realize that refusing to go would paint her in a negative light. We can’t have that, can we? Nesta thinks wryly. She reaches for some macarons and starts stuffing them into her purse. “Sounds good. Great.” It is not at all great. Having her sisters in the same room as her and Lana might just be terrible enough to ruin Nesta’s next month or two.

“I’ll text you the details whenever I feel like it,” she tells Feyre and Elain as she rises out of her seat. Likely not for as long as possible.

“Where are you going?” Elain demands.

“I’m leaving.” Nesta pointedly drapes her coat over her shoulders, picking up her purse. “I have plans for the rest of the day, sorry.” Plans to get home and rate Gwyn’s work crush on a scale of one to ten. Maybe she’ll rewatch a sitcom if she has time.

“But it’s only been an hour,” Feyre protests.

Did Feyre think they would be spending the whole day together? Nesta wants to shudder at the mere idea of it, but she somehow… feels bad for her sister. “Maybe another time,” she promises vaguely. To provide some sort of reassurance, she adds, “I had fun today. Thanks for pulling this together.” The words are hollow, fake, and she’s probably a hypocrite for not being able to return the same sincerity she demanded from Feyre. But honesty isn’t going to get Nesta very far today, so this false politeness is the best she can manage.

Elain looks somewhat relieved, and Feyre looks disappointed but unsurprised. “Alright.” The girls nod at her. “Get home safe.”

She turns and leaves as soon as she’s given the green light.

A stale scent greets Nesta when she enters her apartment, reminding her that she hasn’t been around in days. In her defense, the winter months are easier to bear in Cassian’s heated cabin than in a poorly insulated basement.

Flicking the lights on, Nesta books it to the thermostat, her teeth nearly chattering out of her body. After turning the heat as high as it can go, she climbs beneath the covers of her bed without bothering to take her coat off. She doesn’t take out her phone to text the groupchat like she promised she would. She doesn’t even get her laptop to turn Netflix on. Rather, her focus is caught on the framed picture of her and Cassian sitting atop the dresser.

Everything was okay as she stepped out of the tea house. It wasn’t until she was inside her car that it came upon her: the whirlwind of emotions that had stayed so carefully hidden while she chatted with her sisters. All throughout the drive home, her mind kept returning to that one topic. Children.

Elain said that Nesta used to genuinely enjoy playing substitute mother when they were children, and she was right. But that was all fun and games, like playing teacher. What Elain left out was what happened after their actual mother died and their father went into debt, leaving all three girls in need of a parent figure. Nesta wasn’t a mother then—or at least, not a good one.

Now, she stares at the picture full of smiley cheeks and windblown hair, remembering the night that she realized she wanted to hold Cassian’s hand in hers.

She can’t imagine Cassian not wanting kids. They’ve never discussed it, but it’s so obvious to anyone who’s ever met him: he has too much love to give away to not one day end up with a whole brood of children. The thought makes Nesta’s stomach churn.

***

“Thanks again, guys.” Cassian shakes hands with his team as they file out of the conference room, all of them dressed professionally while he lingers in his hoodie. As soon as the last worker is out the door, he pulls out his phone, ready to shoot Nesta a message. She met up with her sisters alone today for the first time in a year, and he can’t wait any longer to find out if their brunch ended in a fight or not.

He clicks on his phone to find two texts from his brother, sent not too long ago.

Rhys: You’re in the office today for the monthly check-in, right?

Rhys: Don’t leave after the meeting is over. I’ll be there in an hour to introduce you to the new guy heading the Milan project.

Cassian frowns, confused. Rhys and the new guy are coming all the way up here to meet him? He didn’t know he was that important to the project.

While he waits for his unexpected guests, Cassian texts Nesta twice, and only receives a single short response saying she got home safe. Resolving to call and have a real conversation with her later, he gets up to change into the spare buttondown and pressed slacks he keeps in a locker in his office. If Rhys wants him to play the part of company boss, then he might as well look the part.

He’s adjusting the cuffs of his dark-colored shirt when the door to his office opens without warning, and Rhysand strides in followed by a stiff-looking young man.

Cassian eyes the stranger up and down first, trying to get a read on him the way he’s seen Nesta and Rhys read others. He doesn’t come up with a single thing, as usual, but he hopes he achieved his goal of looking intimidating.

“Cass,” Rhys greets him with a subdued nod, in full CEO mode. “This is our new hire, Keith O’Connell. I snagged him from right under Vanserra & Co.’s noses.” His near-violet eyes gleam with pride. “He’s going to be working out of Milan for us starting this summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cassian smiles lazily, and this is something he doesn’t need to fake—confidence. He reaches out to shake Keith’s hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian Madani.”

“Good to meet you.” The other man shakes back, but his grip is too tight, like he’s trying to break Cassian’s hand. Try-hard, a voice that sounds like Nesta tells him. Uses arrogance to cover up his insecurity.

Cassian takes it all into account as he pulls his hand away, seeing Keith through clearer eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, and a shrewd black gaze takes in every detail of the office. He stands like he’s attempting to seem taller than he actually is.

A typical white-collar worker looking for a way up the corporate ladder, Cassian concludes. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but there must be a reason Rhys is so excited about him.

“Keith is starting here at your branch next week,” Rhys is saying when Cassian refocuses.

He blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. “What, all the way out here?” Away from Velaris in this modest mountain town?

“We agreed it was best if you two work together as closely as possible while preparing for the summer launch. Since you can’t come to Velaris, that means Keith comes here.”

Cassian looks at Rhys in astonishment. He thought that once he rejected the Milan position, he’d cleaned his hands of the job for good. Clearly he was wrong. “Just how involved am I going to be on this project?”

Rhys grins back at him. “You’ll lead from home base, of course.”

Cassian glares. Rhys responds with a look that says they’ll talk about this later.

Keith seems to find the idea of working alongside another person as distasteful as Cassian finds it unexpected, but he says anyway, “I can’t wait to start working together. I have a lot of ideas for the Italian outpost that I think you’ll appreciate.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cassian hums. “When do you start again?”

“Next Monday.”

“Then we should talk then.” Cassian gestures out the door. Keith looks taken aback, likely having expected more out of this meeting. But Cassian can’t meet with this guy until he gets a hold of what the fuck is going on. After shepherding Keith out of the office and shutting the door after him, he turns to Rhys with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys warns. “Your role in this project is serious.”

“This project isn’t even part of my job description. What am I supposed to know about international business conductions?”

“You know enough to keep an eye on that O’Connell kid for me.” Rhys leans against Cassian’s desk as if it’s his own and crosses his feet. “He’s an asset to the company, but he also worked for our competitors up to a couple of months ago. I can’t trust him to manage this thing on his own, and I don’t have the time or resources right now to watch over him myself. That’s why the duty falls to you.”

“I manage security,” Cassian states, in case it wasn’t obvious. “What about Az?”

“Az has his own things to handle.” Rhys waves him off. “Just do what I tell you to, will you? Pay attention to O’Connell for the duration of the Italy venture and make sure he doesn’t steer our ship off course. You’ll get paid triple for the extra hours.”

“I don’t need triple,” Cassian grumbles, but Rhys is no longer listening. He’s typing on his phone and already heading for the door.

“Feyre and I are having dinner here before heading back home,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you later; I believe in you!” The door shuts after him, leaving Cassian alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies to the empty room.

Cassian leaves not long after Rhysand does, having no excuse to linger. Outside, he’s greeted with a surprise leaning against the hood of his truck.

Nesta pushes off the hood as soon as he catches notice of her. “Long day?” she asks.

He laughs for the first time all afternoon, the sound surprised and genuine. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard your thoughts.” There’s a light in her pale eyes that only burns whenever she looks at him. It’s the same light that powers her ability to make jokes and let her guard down around him in a way she can’t with most others, and Cassian is especially grateful for it today.

Nesta reaches out and takes his hand into hers. He watches the way their palms fit together in endless fascination, his brown fingers a stark contrast against her white ones. He squeezes once and looks back up at her. “How did meeting your sisters go? You never told me.”

The light flickers so briefly Cassian wonders if it’s a trick of his eyes. But then Nesta is there again, at full brightness. She squeezes his hand back. “Take me home. I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

a/n: i love writing stuff related to cassian’s job i’ll just be throwing random words in there and calling it business jargon

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years ago

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Obviously I can’t get through one fandom event without bringing Jongerry into it.

Aspec Archives Week Prompt: Confusion

(AO3)

Jon caught him in a kiss as they passed in the hallway, and these days that always meant trouble. Once upon a time, in the distant past of around last month, he’d been bashful about it. They both had—Gerry especially, after Jon had sat him down to explain a few things about his preferences. But that was last month, and that hurdle was well behind him. Now the question wasn’t finding the nerve to start; it was finding a reason to stop.

On a lazy Sunday morning like this, those reasons were few and far between.

They wound up on the couch, because it was closer, and that was the direction Jon had been heading, and Gerry was happy to let himself be steered. Kissing Jon was like that, now that they were both past being shy. Even with his mouth occupied, he never failed to let Gerry know exactly what he wanted and where he wanted him.

The backs of Jon’s knees hit the couch. Gerry broke the kiss for a moment, just to enjoy looming over him a bit. He liked this view of Jon—this close, staring nearly straight down while Jon tilted his head back and met his eyes.

Then he reached up, tugged Gerry back down, and kissed him again.

The noise Gerry made came out like it had been punched out of him, and he had to draw back just to catch his breath.

Jon’s hand was on his jaw, carefully tilting it so Gerry would look at him, which really wasn’t helping with—whatever was going on. His eyes were dark and serious, scrutinizing Gerry’s face as if inspecting him for an injury. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Gerry said, more hoarsely than he meant to. “Mm. I’m good.”

“You’re sure?” Jon pressed, frowning deeply enough to form a crease between his eyebrows. Gerry kissed it before he could think better of it. “Ah—”

“How about you?” Gerry asked, even as a small but very loud part of him screamed to kiss him again, to hold him close and never stop.

“Like I said,” Jon replied, his voice raspy but warm. “This part I like.”

Gerry grinned and let himself be pulled down to the couch cushions.

Jon wound up mostly under him, propped halfway up against pillows and armrest with Gerry hovering over him, tugged down by Jon’s hand at the back of his head. He kissed Gerry the way he always did, so gentle and unhurried, but with just enough insistence to make his heart race with an unfamiliar thrill.

Felt a bit dangerous, sometimes. And while Gerry was no stranger to it, it was different now, when he finally had something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Lots of things were different, with Jon. But different could be good, different could be new and exciting before it settled into a comfort, like hands in his hair sliding down to the back of his neck, like the teasing warmth of his mouth, like arms around him holding him close—

Then Jon turned his head, fingers digging firmly into the back of Gerry’s neck, and mouthed at the corner of his jaw with just a hint of gentle teeth. In an instant, Gerry went hot with want. His body moved before his brain caught up, canting his hips forward into Jon’s.

Beneath him, Jon startled and pulled back, and Gerry belatedly realized what he’d just done.

“Shit—” He shoved himself off of Jon, face heating—not desire this time, just mortification. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine—”

“I didn’t forget, I just—that’s never happened before—”

“Gerry I’m serious, it’s fine.”

“—and I don’t know where the fuck that came from,” Gerry went on, mouth running with nervous, frantic energy.

Jon was sitting up, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” His eyes flickered vaguely downward.

There wasn’t much he could do about that particular situation, so Gerry sat back and drew his knees up to his chest, breathing deep to slow his racing heart. All traces of warm excitement were gone, replaced by hot, prickling shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Jon scooted closer and carefully took his hand. “It’s alright,” he said. “I mean it. No harm done—look, can you just sit properly? You look horribly uncomfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“What do you mean by—oh, for God’s sake.” Jon sighed, infinitely patient and—fond? Maybe? “Gerry, I’m asexual, not a prude. I’m not going to faint at the sight of a clothed erection.”

Gerry choked on an unexpected laugh, then slid his feet down to sit in a more comfortable position, Mercifully, he was already softening.

“I’m—” He bit down on another apology.

Jon hadn’t let go of his hand yet. “If it makes you feel better, that’s probably the fastest anyone’s gotten off when I asked.” Gerry stared at him wordlessly. “I mean—don’t look at me like that, I meant literally—physically gotten off of me when—oh, you know what I mean!”

“Right, right.” Abruptly, the words sank in, and he went stiff with alarm. “Wait. Jon, does that mean—have other people…?”

“What—? Oh!” Jon’s eyes widened. “No. God, no—I’m sorry, that came out wrong. No one’s ever—right. What I meant was that, of the very few times I’ve been in this situation before, the other person was usually… I mean, they stopped when I asked, but I had to ask, and sometimes I got the feeling that they were… sort of reluctant? It made things extremely awkward, more often than not.”

“This isn’t awkward?” Gerry asked dryly.

“In comparison? Hardly at all.” Jon squeezed his hand. “And even if it were, I’ve had my share of awkwardness.”

Gerry squeezed back, finally starting to settle. “That so.”

“I’m going to regret telling you this, but my first kiss was an absolute disaster,” Jon informed him. “I went for the cheek, he went for the mouth.”

“Yikes,” Gerry said with a wince.

“Oh, but I haven’t told you the worst part,” Jon went on. “I turned my head away, and he went for the side of my neck—no, stop laughing—he latched on like he was a bloody vampire—”

He couldn’t help it. Gerry dissolved into laughter, ducking his head and muffling it behind his fist. At some point he looked up again to find that Jon had scooted closer in his distraction. He liked when Jon got sneaky.

But did he like it the right way, was the question.

“Alright?” Jon asked, tentatively brushing their shoulders together.

“Guess so,” he replied, with another long breath. “Better, at least. Could be loads worse.”

Jon was running the pad of his thumb over each of Gerry’s knuckles now, in slow, back-and-forth swipes. “You don’t sound very sure of that,” he said after a moment.

“Maybe not.” Gerry sat back, leaning his head on the back of the sofa. Jon continued to play with his hand, tracing the outline of each tattoo. It felt—nice. Not the dangerous sort of nice that he’d just now managed to dodge. Just comfortable. Fond. (Loving.)

“If you—” Jon began. He hesitated, pressing Gerry’s hand between his palms. “I’m not the best at this. But if it’s really bothering you, then I need you to know that you don’t—you don’t have to feel guilty about this, it’s not like you can—I don’t know, make yourself stop feeling… whatever it is you feel.” He paused again. “Anymore than I could make myself feel it at all.”

“That’s the problem, though,” Gerry admitted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just shouldn’t!” Frustration welled up in him, and he tugged his hand out of Jon’s grasp without thinking. “I never have before, but now I am and I don’t know why. I’ve lived my whole life without giving people a second glance, and it never crossed my mind because I just—I never had the space for it. Good thing, too; dunno what I would’ve done if I had to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Right,” Jon said softly.

“And then I met you,” Gerry went on. “And we had that talk. And I thought, fuck, there’s a word for it, it’s just a thing and it’s fine, it’s not just me being—being not right. There’s a reason why I’ve never given anyone a second glance, not even you. At least—not at first.” His voice trailed off, words running dry. “I dunno. It’s just been different recently. I look at you and… and I think about things I never have before.”

“Me?” Jon stared at him incredulously. “You feel that way about me?”

“I know you don’t like that,” Gerry answered, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

Jon gave a quick shake of his head, though whether it was denial or just to clear his head, Gerry couldn’t tell. “No, that’s not—I just mean, why? Why on earth would you—me, of all people?”

“Because you’re hot, apparently. Can we not argue about that while I’m having a crisis?”

Jon shrank a little, looking ashamed. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Surprised me too, to be honest.” Gerry looked away. “Feels like—more like greed than lust, sometimes. Like the more I get of you, the more I want.”

At that, Jon sat up straight, and Gerry realized how that must have sounded.

“I’m not gonna ask you for any more,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Jon was about to say. “We had that talk, and I listened, alright, and it’s been—it’s been good. Really good. I don’t need anything more, especially if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Jon assured him.

“Oh.” He deflated a bit. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jon asked.

“I’ve about spilled my guts already, but sure, maybe there’s a bit of spleen I missed,” Gerry said wearily.

“It’s a bit personal, but… have you ever been close to anyone before?” Jon asked. “Emotionally close? Friendships, anything like that?”

“No…? No.” Gerry shook his head. “Never had the chance. I don’t have that kind of life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I mean, far be it from me to impose a label on you,” Jon said cautiously. “But from the way you describe it… it’s possible you might be demisexual?’

Gerry frowned. Another new word. Demi usually meant half or partial. “What’s that one mean? I only want it sometimes?”

“Sort of.” Jon had grabbed his phone off the side table and was scrolling through it. “It’s on the spectrum of asexuality. To my understanding, it’s when you only experience attraction when you’ve formed an emotional connection with someone.”

“That’s a thing?” Gerry leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. “Don’t tell me there’s an app for this.”

Jon laughed. “No, but there is a wiki—here it is. Demisexual. Have a look.”

Gerry took his phone and read through the definition, frowning in thought.

It certainly sounded like what the past month had been like. And it explained a few things—he’d been alone his whole life until Jon, and even with Jon he hadn’t wanted him at first sight. It had taken time. It had grown into it—as far as he could tell, it was still growing, still changing.

“Say you’re right,” he said at last, looking up from the phone screen to Jon’s face. “Say this is me. Where does that leave us?”

Jon shrugged. “Same place as usual, I hope,” he answered. “If… this doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Should it?”

“Maybe.” Jon shrugged again. “I don’t know. I’ve just found that it helps to have a word. Makes things simpler if you can at least name them.”

With a sigh, Gerry passed his phone back. “Would’ve been even simpler if I could just be like you, not feel this shit at all.”

Jon put the phone down. Then, turning so that he was fully facing Gerry, he took his face between his hands.

“You are,” he said, as his dark, serious eyes bored into Gerry’s. “You’re just a step to the left, that’s all. But you are like me.”

It was enough to rob him of speech for the better part of a minute. When he found his voice again, he leaned forward until his forehead was on Jon’s chest.

“See, you say things like that and then turn around and wonder why I think you’re attractive.”

Jon spluttered, even as his arms wrapped around Gerry’s shoulders and pulled him back down. They didn’t kiss again, just lay squashed together on the couch with Gerry sprawled on top, enjoying the warmth and closeness without feeling like he was scratching an itch that would never settle.

“Thanks,” he said, after the silence stretched long enough to circle back around to comfortable again.

“Whatever for?”

“Dunno.” Gerry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Glad you’re here. Glad you’re you.”

Jon gave a noncommittal hum, like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or how to answer. His fingers combed softly through Gerry’s hair, and after a moment Gerry let himself lean into the touch, Jon’s quiet amusement.

He was no stranger to wanting things, but—all he needed was this, right here.

It was more than he ever would have dared to hope for.

#AspecArchives #the magnus archives #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerard keay #tma fic #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years ago

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When she was 18, Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Fifteen.” “Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine,” she sang, sounding more like a wizened great-grandmother than a rising senior.

“Fifteen” is evocative, if a little sanitized: Nimble mandolin strums mimic the nervous-excited butterflies of the first day of high school, as Swift sings of wide-eyed hope that “one of those senior boys will wink at you and say, ‘You know I haven’t seen you around before.’”

There was a certain emotional truth to the lyrics — do several years’ age difference ever seem more consequential than when you’re a teenager? — but some older listeners were skeptical. “You applaud her skill,” wrote a critic for the Guardian in a mixed review of Swift’s second album, “Fearless,” “while feeling slightly unsettled by the thought of a teenager pontificating away like Yoda.”

Swift, now 31, sings, “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” on “Folklore,” an LP that is both compositionally mature and braided throughout with references to the specific, oft-denigrated wisdom of teenagers. By the end of that song, “Cardigan,” the narrator has excavated such a heap of florid but emotionally lucid memories that she must conclude, with the force of a sudden revelation, “I knew everything when I was young.”

Though it’s not as flashy a topic as exes, fame or A-list celebrity feuds, age has long been a recurring theme in Swift’s work. A numerology enthusiast with a particular attachment to 13, Swift has also released a handful of songs whose titles refer to specific ages: “Seven,” “Fifteen,” and, of course, “22,” the chatty “Red” hit on which she summed up that particular junction of emerging adulthood as feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” Like her contemporary Adele, Swift seems to enjoy time-stamping her music, sometimes presenting it like a public-facing scrapbook that will always remind her what it felt like to be a certain age — even if, with their millions of fans and armfuls of Grammys, neither of these women is exactly typical.

Swift’s critics have often seemed even more hyper attuned to her age. Perhaps because precocity played such a role in her story from the beginning — at 14, she became the youngest artist to sign a publishing deal with Sony/ATV; at 20, she became the youngest to win the album of the year Grammy — many listeners have been fascinated with how her evolution into adulthood has, or hasn’t, played out in her songs. People comb Swift’s lyrics for allusions to sex, alcohol and profanity as meticulously as MPAA representatives do a borderline-PG movie. Particular attention was paid to her 2017 album “Reputation” and its several mentions of drunkenness and dive bars — even though Swift was 27 when it came out.

The relative puritanism of Swift’s music up until “Reputation” did feel like an intentional decision: Unlike the female pop stars who broadcast their “loss of innocence” as a sudden and irrevocable transformation, Swift seemed acutely conscious that she did not want to repel younger listeners — or lose the approval of their parents. At best, it felt like an acceptance of her status as a role model; at worst, it had the whiff of a marketing strategy.

But the mounting obsession with whether Swift was “acting her age” also reflected a larger societal double standard. Famous or not, women face much more intense scrutiny around age, whether it’s those constant cultural reminders of the biological clock’s supposed ticking or the imperative that women of all ages stay “fresh-faced” or risk their own obsolescence. (“People say I’m controversial,” Madonna said in 2016. “But I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around.”) And while girlish youth and ingenuity are rewarded in some contexts, they’re also easily dismissed as silly and frivolous as soon as that girl strays too close to the sun — as Swift has experienced time and again.

Despite having once been a teenage girl myself (unlike a lot of music critics), I confess that I am not completely free of these internalized biases. I was initially dismissive of “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince,” a song that appeared on Swift’s 2019 album “Lover.” The first few times I heard it, I wondered what a grown woman on the cusp of 30 was doing still writing about homecoming queens and teenage gossip.

But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the song and its dark vision, which acknowledges cruelty, depression and the threat of sexual violence (“Boys will be boys then, where are the wise men?”) more directly than any of the songs Swift wrote when she was an actual teenager. The senior boys in this song are not the sort who wink and say to freshman girls wholesome things like, “Haven’t seen you around before” — which, unfortunately, makes them feel more authentic. Even the title “Miss Americana” alludes to a larger world outside the high school walls, and the greater systemic forces that keep such patterns repeating well into adulthood.

“Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” now feels like a precursor to some of the richest songs on “Folklore,” which finds Swift returning once again to her school days with the keen, selectively observant eye of an adult. Consider “Seven,” an impressionistic recreation of her perspective at that age. The second verse, charmingly, plays like a first-grader’s breathless sequence of unguarded observations:

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why/And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry.”

But “Seven” is not cutesy so much as poignant, because of the tensions that result when Swift’s adult perspective interjects. “Please, picture me in the trees, before I learned civility,” she sings in a yearning soprano, prompting the listener to wonder what sorts of feral pleasure she — and all of us — have exchanged for the supposed “civility” of adulthood.

Quite a few songs on “Evermore,” Swift’s second release of 2020, also toggle between past and present, conscious of what is lost and gained by the passage of time. The playful “Long Story Short” passes a note to Swift’s younger self (“Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things”), while “Dorothea,” like “Seven,” revisits a fevered childhood friendship from the cool perspective of adulthood.

Most striking is the bonus track “Right Where You Left Me,” a twangy tale of a “girl who got frozen” (“Time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it/She’s still 23, inside her fantasy”). That language echoes something Swift admits in the 2020 Netflix documentary “Miss Americana”: “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. And that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a lot of growing up to do just trying to catch up to 29.”

But Swift’s recent songs, at their best, understand that “growing up” isn’t always a linear progression in the direction of something more valuable. Take the “Folklore” songs “Cardigan” and “Betty,” which use an interconnected set of characters to chronicle teenage drama and celebrate the heightened emotional knowledge of youth. “I’m only 17, I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you,” Swift sings in the voice of James, a high schooler who broke Betty’s heart and has shown up on her doorstep to ask forgiveness. Maybe that is a melodramatic thing to do; maybe it is the sort of thing adults could stand to do more often. Swift’s music helps us to remember that growing up doesn’t automatically mean growing wiser — it can just as easily mean compromise, self-denial and growing numb to emotions we once felt with bracing intensity.

In a gesture to regain control of her songs, Swift is currently rerecording her first six albums (her master recordings were recently sold by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings to the investment firm Shamrock Capital). Last month she released a note-for-note update of her early hit “Love Story,” and has promised to release an entire new-old version of “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” later this year. It has been amusing to think of Swift going back and inhabiting the voice of her teenage self: On the face of it, “Fifteen” is particularly surreal to imagine her singing as an adult.

In another way, though, “Fifteen” — with its distant reflections on the youthful folly of expectations — makes more sense and carries more emotional weight being sung by a 30-something than it does an 18-year-old. Perhaps Swift was preparing for such an exercise when she made “Folklore,” an album that shakes off years of scrutiny and finds her reveling in the creative freedom to be as young or as old as she wants to be.

#posting the whole article with my emphasis because i thought this was very interesting #taylor swift

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maxbegone · 4 years ago

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AND WE ARE BACK!

Part two of the Schitt’s Creek Community Fic Rec is here! This time, we focused on celebrating our favorite AU’s! Once again, this is dedicated with love to the the authors of this community! Every participant chose one AU (which was a little hard to do for some) to share and why they enjoyed it.

Thank you to everyone who submitted!

@bestwisheswarmestregards // @brighter-than-sunshine // @danieljradcliffe // @devilstelephone // @fishyspots // @imargaery // @justwaiting23 // @patrickbrewsky // @rockinhamburger // @roguebabyinyourstore // @rosebuddsmotel // @stuck-on-your-heart // @the-13th-wheel // @thedidipickles // @thisbuildinghasfeelings // @yourbuttervoicedbeau

And a very special thank you to anyone who has ever written anything in this community!

Everything is posted below the cut, and you can check out part one here!

**As always, if I missed an author’s tumblr handle, please let me know!

@bestwisheswarmestregards

Odd Man Rush by @samwhambam

It’s David and Patrick and Hockey! Three of my favorite things! Also the ending is one of my favorite endings. It’s so sweet! It’s part of the series score and all of the stories are so cute but this one is my favorite!

@brighter-than-sunshine

Thanks For Choosing Bagged! by dinnfameron

I love this one because the dialogue is so adorable, and true to David and Patrick! I can totally see the characters getting involved in something like this, like a different version of a rom-com.

@danieljradcliffe

Going Down by concannonfodder

This is one of the best stories of NYC!David and recently out Patrick while they're both trying to find themselves. It's beautifully written and my favourite part is that each chapter switches between David and Patrick's POV. It does a great job of highlighting the aspects of their personalities that we know and love but shows them to us in a new light.

@devilstelephone

sustineo by @rockinhamburger

The contemporary art discussions between Patrick and David are interesting and important to the story. Patrick still cares for and emotionally connects with David In a world that is so different than Schitt’s Creek. I liked that Sebastian Raine was the evil force without being included as a character.

@fishyspots

Welcome to Cabaret by @vivianblakesunrisebay

It's lovely from start to finish! In this 'verse, Christmas World didn't pull out, so David didn't get the lease for the general store. Instead, he gets roped into helping Moira with Cabaret, and meets Patrick (kind of) through that. I love the way this author writes. The dialogue is in-character, and the plot is wonderful and pulls out moments from canon and reimagines them in some truly inspired ways. I'm such a fan of all of this author's works; this was the first one I read, and it remains my favorite.

@imargaery

David.; or, a Tale of Misapplied Sense by Siria

A Jane Austen D&P AU and it is BRILLIANT. If you're an Austen fan, you will be able to immediately pick up on how well this author adapted Austen's style, wit, character descriptions, and ability to whack you over the head with romance when you're not even ready for it yet. Siria is a very experienced fanfic writer, but writes for many fandoms, so I think that's maybe why it doesn't have that many hits? I'm so glad I clicked on it. I want to wrap myself up in this story. I want to make a podfic out of it. I want to put it on a t-shirt and wear it every day. Also, it's in a regency AU where homophobia isn't a thing, so you don't even have to worry about that. I want to tell you more, but that would spoil it. Just read the damn thing and thank me later.

@justwaiting23

You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone by @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons

The image of a curly haired fisherman Patrick is enough but this whole fic is such a sweet concept. Their interactions in this are so reminiscent of the show but also so different because they already know each other vaguely, and I come back to this fic over and over just because it's the perfect mix of angsty miscommunication and fluff.

@maxbegone

Known and Be Known by ahurston

As someone who tends to lean toward canon/canon-divergent stories, this was a refreshing take on an AU. Beautifully written and wonderfully raw, ahurston conveyed the vulnerabilities between both David and Patrick so wonderfully. “The mortifying ordeal of being known,” personified in fanfiction format. With humor and some wonderfully hot scenes peppered throughout, this fic was just brilliant from start to finish. I love when authors explore Patrick's insecurities and vulnerabilities - they aren't written about as often as David's are. I implore you to read this, if you're able.

@patrickbrewsky

Bound by Symmetry by barelypink

They say write what you know. I instead read what I know. David is the accidentally fantastic teacher we all wished we'd had in high school, and some of us wish/hope we are or might be one day. This fic is a great exploration of combining everything David knows he is (creative, bright, v.knowledgeable about art) and all the things he thinks he's not (empathetic, a role model, great with kids, selfless, kind, & big hearted) The selling point quote: "And it feels good, David realizes, to have a job that means something, a purpose beyond himself. A place where he feels like he belongs, just like his students." (David Rose proves he is both a good and nice person).

@rockinhamburger

Blackbird, Fly by distractivate

This is a post-apocalyptic story about love, connection, and hope, with a central theme of growth from destruction. I could not put this one down; I read it feverishly in one sitting, desperate to soak up every word. I love this fic because it is what I like to think of as an exemplar for transformative works (one of ao3’s top values). I love the way the fic stretches toward the light in the dark. It makes me think: about the quintessential elements of these characters, what remains the same despite changed circumstance, and what inevitably shifts when these characters we know and love are faced with a situation far outside their experience or comfort. This story likely hits differently in 2020, when post-apocalyptic narratives feel much less distant than they might have just a year ago. And yet, all the more reason to read an incredible work about hope and resilience and transformation.

@roguebabyinyourstore

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman

Where do I even begin with this fic? I was at first skeptical about what reason David Rose would have to willingly subject himself to a trek through the wilderness out of his own volition. Well I’m so glad I ignored that admittedly stupid part of me because this is one of the mostly beautifully crafted stories I have ever read. Patrick and David are individually on their own journeys of self-discovery, but the way they help each other find what they sought... It’s breathtaking. Their feelings for each other bloom so organically over their time together that despite the circumstances laid out before them, the miles that they stumble and walk and run bring them miles closer to each other. Closer to the love that they both didn’t know they needed. The characters come alive and are identical to their canon selves. The dialogue and banter are spot on David and Patrick. The writing itself is superb. The tropes are incredible, the pining and *oh no there’s only one tent.* The slow burn is tantalizing but in a way that feels true to a genuine love story. The way the setting somehow breathes in tune with the characters, the way they leave messages behind in the trail register—conveying more than they can utter aloud— and the way their families communicate with them throughout their time on the trail through letters. All of the elements of this story ground it in universal truth, in feelings that are not only relatable, believable but demand to be felt. I can wax poetic until I am blue in the face, but really... Read this story. And then reread it a million times.

@rosebuddsmotel

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You by @ladyflowdi and @ships-to-sail

There are over 180,000 words in this WWII AU, but not one of those words is wasted. It is gorgeous in its prose, and incredibly romantic without romanticizing the very real pain and tragedies of the era in which it exists. It's not an easy read by any means, but it's the kind of cathartic emotional journey that is more than worth it in the end.

@stuck-on-your-heart

kiss from a rose by mihaly ( @davidroseshusband )

What can I say about this very special fic that would do it justice? In this story, Alexis stars in a Bachelorette-style dating show and it’s every bit as brilliant as it sounds. On top of the incredible characterization, there are little surprises at every turn, there’s pining, and of course, there’s love. Secret love, even. This fic is truly addicting – I promise you won’t be able to stop once you start reading, and it will leave you feeling so satisfied (and if you’re like me, a little misty)!!!

@the-13th-wheel

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by @mooodlighting

It is a wonderful short AU where Patrick and David where they meet at an airport after they get snowed in. It is cute, there is longing and pining that just make it a wonderful read!

@thedidipickles

Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate

The writing is so utterly gorgeous all the way throughout that I frequently needed to take breaks to breathe. The author *perfectly* builds an Olympic world that I can totally see my favorite characters inhabiting, and the resolution is gorgeous. All of Distractivate's AUs are amazing, but this one still stands out.

@thisbuildinghasfeelings

How Do We Get Back by @unfolded73

This one deals with a literal alternate universe, which is the first thing I loved about it because I had never read a fic quite like it before. It's a beautifully written 60,000+ word masterpiece that definitely makes me feel ALL the feelings. In addition, it is absolutely riveting. I could not stop reading until I got to the end.

@yourbuttervoicedbeau

Make It To Me by figmentof ( @rosesdavid )

Epistolatory fic is SO hard to pull off and the author does such an incredible job with the way the characters shine through even though we only see them interact via text message. This fic is my comfort food and I reread it regularly <3

Anonymous Recs:

Just Breathe by olivebranchesandredwine

I love this one because it's got Patrick as a yoga teacher (hot!) and shows David being proactive about anxiety and it's just such a lovely story.

Shall I Stay? by alladaydream ( @maybewecandreamalittle )

This is so worth the 100k wordcount. 18-year-old David and Patrick sweetly leaning into first love, a lot of angst and pining in the middle that allow them both to heal and grow, and a heartfelt reconciliation. Plus, two bonus cherries on top with artist!David and a beautiful epilogue in which they (spoiler) live happily ever after. The tone and pacing of this fic is so good, and I always go back to it when I want to read something comforting.

Your Heart is Keeping Time with Me by @yourbuttervoicedbeau

I haven't seen 50 First Dates, but this fic is better than the movie could ever be. The author's writing is so beautiful and her David who has amnesia and her Patrick who wants to help him are just PERFECT. I want more and more and more of this.

Once again, thank you to everyone who participated and thank you to every single person who has written something in this community! It would be wonderful to do a part three, but for now, enjoy some alternate universe fics!

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ramblingguy54 · 4 years ago

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Binged The Owl House in one sitting recently and besides the interesting chemistry Luz has with Eda being such a rough around the edges mother figure catching my intrigue and Eda & Lilith’s very complicated sibling history between each other, another highlight of the series that struck a serious chord with me would have to be Amity Blight’s character arc and her development thus far.

In its first several episodes the way Amity acted caught my interest. Particularly her interactions with Luz in early episodes gave me the idea that she was raised to be an arrogant student not only due to the stereotype of magical natural talent she was born into that was expected by her peers, but also that she had an abusive upbringing, much like Pacifica Northwest from Gravity Falls. However, what sets Amity apart from Pacifica’s much harsher attitude in Season 1 is that she isn’t as intense as the latter was per say to the main character of their own respective series anyways. Amity in the Covention episode lashes out at Luz when she’s faced with the reality that Lilith had amplified her magic powers in the Witch’s Duel against Luz, showing her serious insecurities and visible regret for how much she’s had to sacrifice up to this point, like say her close friendship with Willow, to achieve what she’s been forced to believe is the “correct” path. This is more than just being upset at what happened in their Witch’s Duel. It’s Amity showing the years of regret she’s been bottling up and seeing that it hasn’t made her feel any happier about the choice of reluctantly following what her parents demanded the kid follow. Mae Whitman’s performance really nails that.

Pacifica took until Season 2 of Gravity Falls to actually start really socializing with Dipper & Mabel Pines, but Amity here is more than willing to interact with Luz from the get go, despite how much of snobby attitude she tries to carry at first. Even so much as encouraging and in a sense compliment Luz, too. Amity makes a strong first impression of being a kid with a lot on her plate emotionally to deal with, as well as lingering regrets of turning into what she is currently. The writers did an impressive job of hitting this right spot that while Amity can be a jerk, she isn’t without her moments of moral clarity either in Owl House’s starting round of episodes. That’s never an easy thing to accomplish in writing like this. It’s no wonder Amity started to have an eventual romantic connection with Luz, given that no matter how much of the odds are stacked against her capabilities, she still aspires to be what resembles her inner desires and that’s something Amity was robbed of in early childhood. Luz’s unwavering determination is bringing out the best in her conflicted nature as a blossoming aspiring Witch. That’s why she broke the Everlasting Oath between them at the end. Amity’s respect for Luz was beginning to grow toward her optimistic nature.

Human’s don’t have magical capabilities, but I doubt that will stop you.

Soon afterwards we get to see another big hint laid out of Amity’s family background and how that reflected upon the kid’s emotional growth in the episode, Lost In Language. Amity’s older siblings, while nothing like her parents, do like to tease her a lot. So much so, they wanted to go the extra mile and make copies of her private diary to not only get back at her uptight attitude, but also teach her a lesson about lightening up as a person and spread those copies around school, which Luz doesn’t take that idea too well. That was when the notion really started to cross my mind more that Amity most likely had very tough parents that contributed to her stunted emotion issues. There’s clearly makings of a troubled family life that stirred up Amity’s behavior into becoming this cold, emotionally distant, and harsh character. Quite a few poetic seeds are planted throughout Lost In Language’s story that surround Amity’s character and the kid herself comes to a realization that she needs to be better.

I saw that human girl again. I may have overreacted. I don’t want to come off as cruel. I just can’t show weakness.

I’ve been trying to figure out what your deal is. Are you a poser? A nerd? I know... you’re a bully, Luz.

Why are you doing this!? I’ve been reading you since I was kid! I know you’re not like this! Someone changed you!

Maybe you’re not a bully. I haven’t exactly been the friendliest Witch, either. I’ll think on that...

All of this comes to a headway in my favorite episode centered around Amity’s character, Understanding Willow. This story hit all the right notes for me on what a character’s redemption arc should be like. The emotional payoff between Amity & Willow’s dramatic tension against each other is terrific, as it shows both perspectives are empathetic. You feel for Willow getting turned down so badly by her best friend and being led to believe that she wasn’t good enough for Amity. However, you feel for Amity too because she only turned away Willow to save her from never being able to attend the same school since her parents threatened to pull strings to have their way, giving this a bittersweet new light over Amity’s conflict with Willow. Regardless, this doesn’t take away from Amity’s actions either that are brought into question by Willow’s emotional manifestation of raw anger. Amity may have been manipulated by her parents that much is greatly true, but who is to say she couldn’t have eased up on Willow after cutting her off as a friend? Amity’s parents aren’t obviously always around, so whenever she was at school Amity could’ve simply not just paid her any mind at least, instead of going above and beyond to mock Willow as a late magical bloomer with help from her so called friends too for years no less. That’s what made this episode around Amity a real stand out. Amity understands that she gets a fair share of the blame for treating Willow the way she did and could’ve made things easier for her former friend at school, as well. This particular statement from Amity’s deep remorse spoke to me.

That line, “I was too weak to be your’s...”, made me tear up because I’ve had my own fair share of being a shitty person to an old former friend I used to speak to years ago before having a nasty falling out with him. Granted, he was toxic toward me and did some nasty stuff, but I also returned that toxicity back at him, which only added more fuel to the fire between us and ended the friendship on bad terms. I did email him months or so later to clear the air giving my sincerest apologies, regarding being so awful toward him after seriously reflecting on it afterwards and went my separate ways from there. The point I’m trying to make here is I understand Amity’s pain of hurting someone you once had as a friend and feeling so terrible after the fact. This is where I grew to love Amity’s arc because even after she’s apologized for all the crap she put Willow through, she doesn’t look for forgiveness, but only wants her to know the painful truth.

Amity’s one of my favorite characters from Owl House for how well they tackled the idea of someone who was once close with someone, but had a falling out, due to an abusive upbringing that had a negative affect on their personality.

Can’t wait to see more of her development in Owl House’s future.

#the owl house #the owl house analysis #amity blight #willow #luz #my two cents #a breakdown post

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b0ttl3d-up-st4rs · 3 years ago

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Well I'm gonna do what I do best and self reflect to an insane amount. This is probably gonna be a long post so buckle up.

To be honest my behavior for nearly the past year now is concerning to say the least. There's this little voice in my head that just desperately wants to get more and more hurt, more and more traumatized. Why is that? At first glance the negative approach could be to say its some sort of masochistic behavior and any negative repercussions as a result of this behavior is deserved, but I don't really think thats the case.

Self sabotage is a characteristic that can be exhibited in many mentally ill people and I am no exception. I think this behavior, of seeking to be hurt by grown men on the internet is partially self sabotage.

And I remember when I first started this shit show, I just wanted attention. Sounds mean to say, but craving attention is something the human soul desperately wants. And I was starting to feel some sense of self beauty but I didn't feel as though anyone around me was appreciating it so I tried to get attention from grown men because being showered in compliments and attention felt so good when my whole life I've never gotten any of that.

I think there's more too it, though. Looking back my whole life it's almost as if I've wanted to get hurt. In books I liked to sit around with the pain the characters felt. And its almost like I wanted to get traumatized. I've heard that people with trauma that they don't acknowledge is trauma or think its bad enough to be traumatizing seek put worse forms of trauma, in order to feel that pain is valid. And I think that's part of my issue too.

I do have unaddressed and repressed childhood trauma. I was given unrestricted internet at a young age and was exposed to the horrors of the internet. Nothing like straight up porn, but a lot of suggestive content. And in general being exposed to that caused me a lot of catholic guilt as I was raised catholic. I remember feeling like knowing these things were my fault. Many days I felt so guilty that I would pray to god to let me not wake up in the morning.

As a child I also questioned my religion a lot, which i think was traumatic in itself. Religion is a big thing. And as a kid I had a big issue knowing reality from fiction. Heck I still do. I remember as a kid my friend telling me that we were all demigods and one day we were going to run away to camp half blood. That the percy jackson books were real. It sounds stupid now, but I processed that as real and it was so stressful for me.

And I remember being 12 coming out as trans and as a part of the lgbtq community to my parents. They didnt react well. They said I was confused. My mom said I was both too young and too old to know. I fought a lot with my mom. And in general have a lot of unhappy memories from then. I was outed multiple times in my life.

My relationship with my parents still isnt good. My mom has a tendency to be toxic. I hate that I have to stay in the closet around my family its so painful. Like a month ago I mentioned the lgbtq community for the first time in years, asking my mom her opinions on it and if it changed since 2017, and it turned into her yelling at me and making herself a victim. It really hurt. I forgot how much it hurt.

I don't really have much of a relationship with my dad. We barely talk. Hes very emotionally distant. When I'm at my dad's house I sort of fend for myself. Its the exact opposite at my moms house. She's overbearing and never leaves you alone. It's like going between to extremes.

And honestly I can't wait to move out. My mom and I have arguments a lot. But hey at least I have some relationship with her, I don't really have a relationship with my dad.

I remember one time this year, I was during the end of a school semester. I needed to catch up on work because after talking to my abuser for like 5 months and then unlocking him I was left in shambles and fell into a really bad depression to where my motivation for school just disapeared. Im still dealing with that tbh. Anyways I had to go to a online meeting to choose my classes and I didn't get to choose the classes I thought I would be able to, and that made me really upset. But after the meeting I had to go to do am act of kindness (I chose picking up litter at a graveyard cause i like graveyards) for my school project but I was still distraught. If I was given some time to myself I probably wouldve been able to go without issue, but my mom wanted to go immediately. We argued. And when I got there I refused to leave the car because I felt so much like shit. We argued more. It was the worst argument I ever had. She even swore at me. Which she's never done before. And she ended up playing victim again. She does that a lot I guess. And doesn't really listen to my feelings. Whenever I try to communicate about my feelings with her it turns into an argument and she makes it about herself. So yeah our relationship isn't the greatest. And I think having mommy and daddy issues is a trauma in itself. Ppl deserve to have happy healthy supportive families.

Oh right and another trauma I completely forgot (funny how that happens) is when I was 14 and admitted to a mental hospital because I tried to off myself. It was so surreal and they forced me to learn how to make eye contact with people cause apparently thats "how they know im doing ok". Which is kinda fucked considering the fact I recently realized I might be autistic. And eye contact is literally so painful for me. It especially was back then. Anyways the place itself wasnt too bad but the feeling of being trapped overall sucks and being disconnected from the rest of the world isnt fun either. Also I dissociate all the time but I especially dissociated hard thru the whole experience. And sort of made myself into the perfect patient, repeating all their bs and literally lying to myself to convince myself that I was ok so they would let me go. So that was kind of weird.

Anyways I know I have it better than others. And honestly sometimes it's hard to tell what exactly was traumatic in my childhood. I probably forgot and repressed other parts of it too and am forgetting things. But needless to say these unaddressed traumas didn't help my mental state. And i do think that's a big part of the voice in my head begging me to just get hurt more.

Overall my mental state is fucked, It's been really hard for me not to be taken advantage of by another internet pedo. Heck the only reason that isn't happening rn is because no ones dmed me yet. Also I unblocked my old abuser and we are talking again now so thats fun. It definitely doesnt help the cognitive dissonance in my brain of him being actually a nice and supportive dude. I think thats also a part of me wanting to get more traumatized. Since my abuser is a nice person that should counteract all the fucked up sexual things he said to me in the past right? I mean others have it worse, had worse abusers that were actively cruel. That's part of the bitch in my subconscious brain talking. It sucks tbh.

Anyways yeah I probably need therapy but I don't feel comfortable talking about this to my current counselor and honestly its really hard to say out loud. I can talk forever about it by writing it down but the moment I speak words from my dumbass mouth I break down in tears and can't do it. Plus idk, I'm scared if I say anything she'll have to tell my parents and that my phone might be taken away or I'll have less privacy and for a closeted queer where my only current life line is the internet and my online friends: that is a terrifying idea. Idk. I'm fucked basically.

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

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Whumptober Day 19

Grief | Survivors Guilt

Ao3

-o-o-o-o-

It's a cold autumn night when Tim enters the manor. There's been an early snowfall this year, one that has Tim shrugging off his winters coat and hanging it up beside the manor's front door along with his gloves.

He looks around the foyer, thankful to immediately spot Alfred walking towards him from the familiar hallway leading towards the study. However, any kind of good mood Tim was in from being back at the manor for the first time in what was probably close to a month leaves when Alfred gets close enough for him to see the little, worrying details.

He's not wearing a suit or tie. Just dress pants and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There's spots of red on Alfred's sleeves... and a rag is held in his wrinkled hands, stained with blotchy pink spots.

And Tim suddenly remembers why he's here.

"Hi, Alfred," Tim greets as Alfred finally finishes approaching. He looks haggard. Likes he's been up all night. He probably has been.

"Master Tim," Alfred says, offering a small smile. "I apologise for not greeting you earlier. I trust the travel wasn't unpleasant?"

Tim shakes his head. Roads were scary slippery, but because the snow is still fresh and the time’s approaching dawn, there wasn't much traffic to make Tim's drive from the penthouse towards Bristol too horrible. "It was fine. And you don't need to apologise… I'm sure you've been busy. Where is…?"

Alfred sighs, his hands running through the rag without much purpose. Alfred's shaken. Tim heard it was bad, but he didn't think it was this bad.

"Masters Dick and Bruce are both downstairs with Doctor Thompkins. Master Dick has yet to wake, but considering we've just finished surgery, I don't expect him to be awake in the near future."

"How bad is he?"

Alfred sighs and moves so he drapes the blood stained rag over his wrists. "Major head trauma is the worst of it. Some broken ribs, a snapped wrist, mostly bruises and cuts. Doctor Thompkins is hopeful that he'll make a full recovery in time."

"And… Damian?"

Damian was there right? He was a part of this whole catastrophe? Nightwing and Robin were supposed to be on a team up. With a sinking stomach, Tim realizes Damian must have watched Two-Face repeat his ever so famous beating of Nightwing tonight.

Tim hopes Harvey Dent and his stupid grudges stay in Arkham for a very long time this time around. If Tim sees him any time soon, Tim's not sure he'll be able to pull his punches as much as he should.

Alfred's voice pulls Tim out from his thoughts. "Master Damian is… outside. Near the Graveyard. I was just about to check up on him, it's rather cold out..."

"Know what?" Tim says. "I'll get him. You look like you could use a nap."

Alfred's face softens. "If you're sure… then I will begin making some hot chocolate for the two of you to warm up."

"Thanks, Alf," Tim replies, a genuine smile rebelliously appearing on his lips.

After he shoves himself back in his jacket and gloves, he's sure he’s prepared for how cold it is outside in the October air.

Immediately, he's pelted by a harsh, gray colored wind speckled with small, glittery flakes of snow. The snow is wet, immediately melting when it touches his coat, and just managing to glaze the grass, but regardless of that it's still cold.

What's Damian doing at the Graveyard at this time with this weather?

The trek towards the Wayne Graveyard is mostly uneventful besides a few slip ups on the stone path. He almost falls on his ass once, but by the time he sees the gate towards the family graveyard, he's relatively unharmed.

The moment Tim walks past the gates, his eyes immediately fly towards the back of the plot where a giant angelic statue stands, her face shrouded with a hood and her hands brought up in prayer.

Jason Todd's grave, Tim feels, has always been a part of Tim's life. Because his life never really began until Robin, didn't it. Which is… depressing to say but he can't really call the years spent practically alone with his emotionally distant parents anything close to a life. Tim decides to head that way. If Damian is sitting at any grave, it's probably near the ones dug recently, and not the old, weathered ones filled with names belonging to Wayne's no one actually really knows about.

Ya know, no one knows about until they’re revealed to have been a part of some super secret old-timey cult or something.

He's probably at Martha and Thomas's graves, wondering what it would be like to have known them. The most experience he has with grandparents is Ra's Al Ghul, and, well, no one wants that guy as a grandfather.

However, when Tim finally sees the form of a small teen squatting besides a grave, it's one that's no longer… valid. But one that keeps it's gravestone anyway, the dates scratched off.

Tim feels something try to crawl into his throat to choke him.

Of course the grave Damian's visiting is Dick's.

Tim immediately decides to make his approach more cautious than what he was initially planning. He can't… really think of a time where he's seen Damian sit at this grave, even while they thought Dick was actually dead. Tim was… off with the Teen Titans and if he remembers correctly Damian wasn't even in the country for long after he came back to life. Bruce got amnesia and for quite a long time, it was only Alfred and Bruce in the manor, living in a carefully constructed illusion that Bruce wasn't Batman and had never taken kids into his home.

Tim wonders when Damian found out Dick "died". How did he react? Did anyone even try to reach out to tell him gently, or did he find out on his own?

"Hey," Tim greets softly, lowering himself down to Damian's level in front of the fake grave. He sits on the balls of his feet and curls his arms over his knees before he turns to really get a good look at Damian.

The kid huffs in response, just staring ahead of him like the gravestone was the most interesting thing in the entire world. His cheeks and nose are red, a stark contrast to his normally dark complexion. His green eyes shine vividly too beneath his sopping wet black bangs. Tim wonders if he's been crying. However, he doesn't dare ask.

"Alfred's making hot chocolate," Tim continues, really feeling out of his league now. He doesn't know what to do. He's never had to confront a clearly vulnerable Damian before. "I don't think we should keep him waiting."

Damian blinks slowly, his gaze finally leaving the gravestone to flicker towards Tim.

And if eyes were the windows to the soul, then Damian's eyes have always been barred for as long Tim's known him. Barred and locked and shielded by blackout curtains. Now though? They're a stained glass window, shattered and hanging by twisted metal framework thanks to a rock that has been thrown through.

Tim can't recall ever seeing Damian like this before. It makes him ponder what really happened tonight. If Dick's injuries were simply because of an unfortunate Two-Face run in. Bruce called Tim over to help go over evidence, but now Tim gets the feeling the real reason he's been requested is because Damian's hurting in his own way too, and Bruce doesn't know how to deal with it.

Not that Tim knows how to deal with it either. The only person that really knows Damian inside and out is the very person who's just finished fighting for his life thanks to a brutal beat down via a psychopath armed with a wooden baseball bat. Again.

"Timothy…" Damian finally speaks, and Tim suddenly feels a chill enter his bones that's not from the wind. "What is Robin's purpose?"

Tim swallows, forcing surprise to stay off his face. Where has this come from?

"What do you mean?" Tim asks slowly.

"Tt." Damian turns back towards the gravestone, his usual sound of annoyance sounding half-hearted and incredibly tired. "Just answer."

And it must show how wrong this all feels because Tim doesn't even get the urge to roll his eyes at the demand. He lets out a breath that turns into a visible vapor the moment it leaves his mouth.

"I guess… it's different for everyone. There's no… job requirement when it comes to Robin. What it means can change on who wears the suit. As long as you wear the colors and fight alongside Batman, then you're Robin."

Damian frowns. "I was told Robin is supposed to be Batman's partner. Robin is supposed to watch Batman's back and protect him."

"Who told you that?" Tim asks before he could stop himself. Damian gives him an unimpressed look. "Oh. Lots of people, huh? Um… I guess protecting Batman is a big part of Robin. I know… that's the reason I became Robin. To save Bruce from his own darkness."

"Then… I am truly an awful Robin."

The words are so shocking that it takes Tim a second to realize a single drop of clear liquid that wasn't snow has dropped down Damian's cheek.

"Richard died while I was gone," Damian continues, water in his voice. "Even if his death was really a ploy to go undercover… he still got captured and tortured. I wasn't… there to protect him. And now, all I could do was stand uselessly while Dent…"

Damian brings a hand to his cheek to wipe the next tear that tries to fall. The sleeve of his jacket folds up around his wrists to reveal rope burns that definitely look like they sting.

Tim thinks he has a clearer picture now. Damian was definitely there, tied down and held back as Two-Face beat Nightwing to a bloody pulp.

Tim is so caught up trying to imagine what Damian is feeling, that he almost misses what's said next.

"If Robin is supposed to protect Batman, then… then it should have been me."

"No," Tim turns so he's facing Damian more head on. More tears drip down his cheeks and Damian looks done with trying to wipe them away. He's looking at the gravestone like he's the one who put it there. That the only reason it's there in the first place is because he wasn't there to stop it. "No, you're not allowed to say that. I take it back, Robin isn't meant to protect Batman-"

"You just said-"

"I was wrong, okay?"

Damian opens his mouth, then closes it.

Tim has to take a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. "Look… Damian… you're a kid. It's never a kids job to protect the guardian. It's their job to protect you."

"That's the issue, Timothy, he was protecting me." Damian wipes his eyes furiously, his cheeks growing redder but not because of the cold. "Two-Face wanted me, but Richard tricked Two-Face into letting him take my place. Richard died because of me, and stayed away because of me, and now he's- he's hurt because of me-"

"Stop it," Tim snaps. He can feel his heart beating so quickly. His stomach feels like it's in knots. Damian snaps his jaw shut with a tiny, barely choked off whimper that almost has Tim wanting to stand up, go to Gotham, and show Two-Face what a baseball bat looks like from the other end of the beating. "Just… stop. It's… none of this is your fault. And if Dick heard you saying things like this… that it should be you… he'd tell you the same stuff.

"You didn't do anything wrong Damian. Sometimes… Batman gets hurt. But you can't hold yourself responsible for that. Sometimes Dick gets hurt to protect you… us, and we can't blame ourselves for that. Dick did what he thought was right, and it's our job now to make sure he gets better. Okay?"

Damian's silent. Sniffs. From the cold or from tears, Tim doesn't ask.

He wakes in the chilling silence of the Wayne Graveyard until Damian finally jerks his head in a tiny, ridged nod. "I… understand."

"Good." Tim then rises to his feet and grabs Damian's bicep, dragging his little brother up with him. Damian stiffens at first, but eventually complies. Soon, Tim has his arm wrapped around Damian's shoulders. Damian sniffs again and wipes his eyes.

"You said… Alfred was making hot chocolate?" He asks, and Tim smiles.

"He sure is. You think we can convince him to put in marshmallows this time?"

Damian puts on a watered-down thoughtful face. Then nods. "I'm sure if we work together, we can also get cookies."

"Sounds like a plan, gremlin."

"Tt."

"Oh, don't give me that look. You like the nickname."

"I do not."

“Yes you do. Look! You're smiling!"

"You're seeing things, Timothy."

#damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #robin #red robin dc #drake #nightwing #fic #fanfiction #jin writes #whumptober2020 #no.19 #grief #survivors guilt #dc #dc comics #batman comics

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zekejeagrs · 4 years ago

Note

Hi friend! This is mha-adore; I'm on my main blog because my mha blog is a side blog and I can't send a question from that blog. Just to prove it's me - you came to me asking about a matchup exchange and I asked you to explain what it is and I agreed, and the day after I wrote my side matching you with Shoto, and in our personal messages your recent message is, "I'm so excited to do your matchup!" something to that idea. I hope that's enough to prove it's me.

I'm asking for a matchup with mha please.

I'm a quiet and well mannered person who strives to appeal to everyone I meet. I happen to have a personality disorder and as such, some people get a different idea of who I am. I consider myself friendly but emotionally distant, a friend of mine has accused me of not caring at all because I'm naturally a distant person. I'm mostly very respectful and try to avoid any conflict or fights, but the moment someone insults or fights a friend of mine or my partner I drop my friendly exterior and hone in on the person, insulting them, spilling any tea I know about them, I say whatever comes to mind that I know will make them feel terrible, and I end it by stomping on their foot. With close friends or my partner I'm more talkative - not loud or boisterous, just more talkative. I insert my opinions more, I hold a conversation and I openly give my thoughts about different topics without worrying that I'll upset them.

I'm a trans male who uses he/him and they/them pronouns; I'm pansexual. I'm 19 and a Leo sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising. The only characters I don't feel comfortable being matched with are Endeavor, Dabi and All Might.

My hobbies involve drawing (I'm working on a comic), I love to play both Pokemon and Animal Crossing, I enjoy writing fan fiction, studying and playing card games. (Like Old Maid, Go Fish, Crazy 8s, Blackjack, Solitaire, you get the idea.)

My love language is to show my love in subtle ways. Cooking someone a meal they love without being asked to, spending time with them doing whatever they want, giving them hand made gifts and giving them cute pet names like love bug, sweetheart, sweet tea (a different way of saying sweetie). I offer genuine advice to them, even if I know it'll hurt or upset them. I want the best for my partner, even if it means taking the path of most resistance. I want someone who can aim an arrow into my heart. I look for someone who shares my taste in music and who will listen to music we both enjoy together. I like the area of Melanie Martinez, Billie Eilish, Ricky Montgomery, lofi beats and some of the older country music, like from the 80s and 90s. Generic, I know.

As for anything specific, perhaps my matchup's opinion on having children? I'd really like to have a child someday.

Thank you again so much for the matchup exchange offer, it's very kind of you 💗

— matchup exchange

ty sm again for doing this exchange with me! you seem so nice i’m v down to be mutuals/friends with you (only if you want ofc)! also, what would your quirk be? i’m v interested in what it would be since i mentioned what mine would be on my submission to you. i hope you enjoy your match!

i match you with...

fatgum

| hi yes i matched you with a human marshmallow. one of the reasons why i matched you with taishiro is because of the difference in your personalities and the way he would work well with your personality because of how much he cares. the way you’d meet him would probably be by working at his office. he’d find you to be so sweet that he wants to get to know you better. he actually doesn’t mind how proper and emotionally distant you are because he understands that everyone is different and present themselves differently.

| you’d take some time to open up to him and become friends but he’s completely fine with that! he understands reserved people because of tamaki & only wants you to feel comfortable around him. because of that,,, taishiro definitely always starts the conversations. “how’s your day?” “what did you do over the weekend?” “what did you think of that movie?” once you become more talkative with him and have your conversations, he’d be so happy because he sees it as a new level of friendship.

| that’s when he starts realizing he actually has a crush on you. he’d confess at the end of a long work day and explain that he’d like to be your partner,, “i really enjoy your company and i want to be your partner for a long time- oh i just realized what i said, only if you also want to be my partner- or i mean would like to give me a chance to prove myself-“ idk how he managed to get himself out of that one but it would end with you accepting to have dinner at his house.

| like i’ve said before, taishiro doesn’t mind that you’re emotionally distant. he knows you care and just show it differently than others. the first time he saw you angry at someone he was very scared & shocked because he’s never seen you that way before. he just stood behind you as you absolutely slaughtered the person you were angry at and watched with wide eyes before trying to diffuse the situation. he asked if you were okay and that it wasn’t a big deal that that person was insulting him but he expressed how grateful he was for you standing up for him. he never wants to see you like that again but he’s glad he got to see every part you.

| HE IS VERY RESPECTFUL ABOUT PRONOUNS!! that was probably the first thing he asked you! “oh! he/him and they/them? i go by he/him too!” he’d even write it down to remember because he doesn’t want to make any mistakes or offend anyone.

| taishiro would be so supportive of your comic! he’d check up on you when you’re working on it and bring you cut fruit and water. he’d genuinely be so interested in your drawings and writings— he’s not artistic so seeing it come so easily to someone would be so cool to him. he’d only read and look at what you’re comfortable with sharing though! if you ever ask for any creative help, he’d be 100% down to help you. he comes up with the coolest ideas too and you wonder why he says he’s not artistic.

| on his days off you guys either stay indoors and play animal crossing or walk around and collect pokémon. his island would be so messy so he’d always try to copy your island. island visits & he always leave you gifts. he’d have so many pokémon because he plays when he’s on parole (oops!). he’d jokingly brag about it to you and would offer to take you with him next time but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. he seems like the type to be secretly very good at card games?? he’d just surprise you with how good and competitive he is when you play together and with other people.

| taishiro listens to old country music. he knows every lyric to every dolly parton song and sings when he thinks he’s alone. you’d have to introduce him to your other favorite artists & he’d absolutely love their songs! ricky montgomery makes him cry a little but he’s fine! he swears! even though there’s tears rolling down face!

| PLEASE COOK HIM FOOD! the first time you cook him food to show your love he just blushes and smiles the whole time. he can’t. HE CAN’T! HE JUST LOVES YOU SO MUCH ALREADY HOW IS IT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO LOVE YOU EVEN MORE??? every other food is ruined for him after you cook for him because your cooking is the absolute best to him.

| he’d love the small gifts you give him, he’d treasure every single one of them and display them around the house. sweet tea would be a perfect pet name for him- he loves it so much. he’d call you love bug in return and cook you dinner and give you small gifts. he’s definitely an acts of service and quality time guy. just being in the same room as you doing separate work is good enough for him. your presence just soothes him and he has a blast!

| taishiro values your opinions very much. he always tries to be the best partner for you and listen to you because you have so much insight. he also trusts you so much and knows you mean well when giving him advice. he just loves you so much, he doesn’t want to disappoint!

his opinion on having children

| he basically already adopted tamaki & kirishima, of course he wants kids!

| you’d have to be the one to bring it up because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s forcing you into anything.

| he’s so relieved once you do bring it up though! “yes! i want to have a family with you!”

| it doesn’t matter if you have them biologically, adopt, or have a surrogate— he loves his child so much and cried because he was so overwhelmed with love and finally being a dad.

| he’d be the best dad! (although a bit clueless) he wouldn’t imagine having a family with anyone other than you. you’re just perfect for him.

| he’d also ask if you could adopt a dog

| he is so protective over his family too. if anything were to happen to either of you, he would be so upset because you’re his life.

| overall, taishiro would try to give you and the child the best life!

i hope you enjoyed! pls lmk if anything is inaccurate or if you want me to make it longer.

@mha-adore @space-cowbop

#iidastiddiesmatchups #iidastiddieshcs #mha matchup #bnha matchup #mha #bnha #fatgum #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum headcanons #bnha taishiro

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ttopswordvomit · 4 years ago

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anger

march 25th, 2021. @ sonic.

This isn’t going to be super well written because I could edit it and edit it until I die, but I have decided not to care. I’m sitting here cross legged in my car at Sonic. It’s 9:42 on a Thursday and I’m just sitting here eating a Reese’s blast. I needed to leave my apt or else I was going to go to bed at 10 pm and this would all carry to tomorrow. No matter how bad I didn’t want to deal with it.

I’ve had that feeling all day. Where the day isn’t really bad, I’m doing things that are good for me, but there’s that thing sitting in the corner. Festering so slowly and quietly that I don’t even fully know it’s there.

It’s been hard to focus on work today. Maybe that was my sign that something needed my attention. Even now, I still haven’t cracked. Crying and shit. I think it’s because I don’t feel sorry for myself? I’m not just. Desperately sad. Maybe that means I’m numbed out. Which happens a lot so probably.

I didn’t know what to do with this feeling. So what else is there to do but to push on and make the best of it? I wish I could describe the tangle of feelings that happens. I look at it and I only barely know it’s there. Much less what the hell is going on inside of it.

I’m afraid of explaining all of this to Michelle. How do I summarize this feeling when I don’t even really know what it is? And I’m afraid that once we figure it out it won’t feel as big as it does. Like it’ll be chalked up to the things I can’t change. To the things I’ve been working on, that I should know by now. I’m afraid it’ll be dismissed. Maybe I’ve felt dismissed before.

I feel like this hurts a lot. Like I’m not ready to have conversations or look it in its ugly face. I’m not ready to do the hard things it’ll require.

It scares me.

It scares me because I know it’s going to hurt. And peace feels so far away. And especially now that I have a deadline to talk to my mother by... I feel so scared. Like it’ll never happen. Like I can’t possibly do it no matter how much I’ve told myself I can do it. No matter how much work I’ve done towards it.

And this shit I’m avoiding.. it hits hard because it is so painful to know how absent my mother is. Realizing that the other day felt agonizing. The weight of it is heavy. And it makes me realize just how abandoned and alone I feel by my parents in general. It makes me so angry.

I see how far removed, detached, gone my mom is. She glazes over. She does it all the time. And I’m mad at her for it. I’m mad at myself for being mad at her for it, because I know it’s just her coping mechanism. That’s how she deals with things. I understand that. But it hurts me, and I can’t seem to ignore that yet. Because her coping skill leaves me standing by myself.

It leaves me alone. Alone to deal with my feelings that I don’t even understand myself.

I’m angry that she gets to just check out. Especially when I lived at home, I felt such a burden to deal with everything she chose not to. She used me to numb out. To pretend things were good. She used me emotionally to escape the pain of her divorce. And when that happened, I feel like I dealt with that pain alone. I couldn’t go to my mom. Not when I was carrying her weight. My sisters were all on different pages so that felt unsafe. I didn’t know how to talk to my dad yet. I suppose there wasn’t really a choice but to deal and move on. I kept going to school, I tried to pick up help around the house and with Stephen. My mom had never done the independent mom thing. She suddenly had a house to take care of all by herself. And me and Stephen. So I picked up the slack the best I could I guess. But that sort of backfired when I offered myself up as an emotional punching bag. My bad.

I’m angry at my dad too. Because his physical abandonment hurts too. I’m glad he’s happy, I really am, but god. He’s so far away. He’s so far removed from the situation with my brother. He lives a totally different life. I don’t even know if he’ll be at my graduation and I’m assuming not frankly, because how weird would that be. Plus he hasn’t flown down here in over a year. That’s another thing. He’s good with me flying down there any time but he won’t come down here? I get it with Covid but. Damn. Why can’t he come see my sisters when he’s seen me way more this past year? They’re mad at him for it and I’d say they’re right for that. It’s shitty to not come see your other kids when you’ve seen me so much. I have the luxury of coming to California, they don’t. They have families and jobs. God I hate being in the middle of shit. And I always am. Curse the 9 in me. To see both sides and peacemake, and to be left alone in the middle with nothing. A curse and a blessing.

I think I’ll always be hurt by my dad’s distance. We miss out on the time we used to spend together. And it was a lot. Seeing movies, going out to eat, hanging out in general. He couldn’t come to my band concerts anymore. I don’t know what I wish for here. Maybe that he’d stayed a little longer? But I know he’s happy. So I don’t know. I guess it’s just always a little sad. Perhaps the way he left too was hurtful. One day I came home and he didn’t live there anymore. And from there he got farther and farther away.

My parents are gone in their own ways. So far removed from the realities that neither of them can stand to look in the face. And I’m mad at them for it. Because look at my brother. He needs help more than ever and what do they do? My mom pretends it’s not as literally life threatening as it is. Her dissociation from reality puts all of us in danger, even though I believe she’s a good mom at heart. She approaches no situation with the gravity it deserves because she pretends it doesn’t possess that gravity. It’s dangerous. And my dad? Bottom line, he’s not here to do anything. He can say all he wants over the phone to my mom but she won’t listen. However it seems that as of recent his best advice is to “keep trying” and encouraging her. Which I guess is good in a way if she won’t take his suggestions. Idk. I won’t ever really know the truth of their private conversations. My brother won’t answer his phone for anyone, especially not my dad. So what’s he to do if he’s so many miles away? Which I still can’t excuse to a degree. Stephen is still his son. I get how hard it is to have any impact from that far away with a mom that won’t really listen, but damn, that’s your son.

I’m just angry. Angry and hurt. There are so many repercussions from their far removed ways, and I feel so frustrated that my efforts to change that don’t even hold weight. I feel like I’m sitting on an island watching a fire burn in the distance. I feel abandoned and disregarded. Powerless. Pained. I can’t imagine how Stephen feels. And I’m so worried for him. I’m worried for my mom too. I genuinely want her to be happy. But the chaos she allows could get her hurt. And hell, I’m mad at her for allowing that. I want to scream at her to wake up, to care about herself and about her family. But she’s so wrapped up in her own misery that she dissociates and walks through life that way. Just getting by.

And for no reason at all, I can’t help but to think back to all the times I needed help emotionally. Especially in high school when I was so stressed and taking on too much. I would have a breakdown and if, god forbid, one of my parents saw it, they’d hug me and comfort me. But god. I wish they’d told me to drop an AP class or something. Told me to not overwork myself so hard. Instead it felt like... they just sat with me maybe like a friend would? But more removed than that. More distant. My dad would try to make light of it too fast. My mom would be so confused by my crying and try to offer solutions but. Something was missing. And I think it’s the fact that I needed some sort of... parent intervention? Some sort of reassurance that the number of AP classes I took didn’t define me. Or that my mental well-being was more important. I wish for those sort of lessons back then.

Writing has been relieving. Something about it untangles that web of feelings for me. It puts names to them and allows me to explore where they come from and what they look like for me. Maybe will try to emotionally release later, lol. Still sort of numb in that department, but thanks for listening.

#journal

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i-will-be-forever-yours · 5 years ago

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Trust Issues

A/N This is my first writing...that has actually been posted so it might be pretty rough. anyway... feedback is welcome! thanks for reading

Warning: Angst, some language...umm idk what else

Summary: Shawn and Y/n have been married for a year and a half and he seems to be drifting. Will trust put this marriage at risk?

Word Count: 1.8k

posted 11-18-19

Don’t know who made this gif but if u did hmu so I can give you credit

Y/n breathed a sigh of relief when she walked into their two-story condo. The paparazzi decided that they would not leave her alone since the news of her marriage to Shawn Mendes, even eighteen months after the fact. For them it was like being a kid in a candy shop.

They had dated for just over two years when she found herself in front of a kneeling Shawn, velvet box in one hand. She was happy, to say the least, and let the tears flow as she nodded, being at a loss for words. However, prior to dating they had been friends since they were both young, and they couldn’t be happier. Their wedding was a romantic day one with only close friends and family. It was a special day, filled with laughter and tears of joy shared between the couple.

However, at just a year and six months of marriage, it was already hard. Of course, the first year was pure bliss, and they were very much newlyweds. However recently Shawn had been more distant and Y/n didn’t like it. For the better part of the last five years, they had been inseparable, but he seems to be drifting. Longer nights at the studio, early morning at the gym. Even when he was home, his mind wasn’t, and a part of Y/n felt like they were falling. She wasn’t sure where they were falling. Whether it be out of love, or falling deeper into confusion, she had no idea, but she knew that something needed to change.

Shawn was getting ready to go on tour again, but that was nothing new. They had been through a couple of his tours while they were friends and even while dating. However, something seemed off with this upcoming one.

Y/n tried to brush off the uneasy feeling that settled in her stomach when she thought of her husband, but it just wouldn’t go away. To take her mind off things she decided to scroll through her twitter feed. The first thing to pop up was a picture of her husband and Camila, with the caption saying “Shawn’s new lover?”. She knew not to believe rumors and tabloids and had even grown accustomed to these stories. However, with Shawn’s recent behavior, she wasn’t so sure. Her mind told her to just stop but nevertheless, she clicked on the link that was provided.

She didn’t expect to find a picture of her husband’s face nuzzling into the neck of Camila, while she laughed and smiled. There were a handful of pictures of the two holding hands and laughing. It reminded her of when they first started dating. Young and in love, only having eyes for each other.

Pain and numbness spread throughout her chest at the thought that her husband no longer loved her. These thoughts were interrupted however by the sudden urge to throw up.

Jumping off the bed, she made a quick dash to the connected bathroom. She emptied the contents of her stomach and sat there on the bathroom floor. Her breathing was ragged and she kept dry heaving into the toilet, while trying to suppress the urge to cry.

She looked like a mess, with her hair in disarray and makeup running down her face from her shed tears. Her brain couldn’t form coherent thoughts, and she felt the sudden desire to sleep for hours. However, she picked herself off the floor to examine herself in the mirror. Wiping off the makeup and putting her hair in a messy bun she decided to get back on her phone. They had plans to go to dinner tonight, so y/n decided to call Shawn.

However, before the second ring, the call was denied. Deciding then to text him, she texted, “Hey honey, are we still on for dinner?” As she waited for his response she decided to check her calendar for her upcoming appointments and plans. While looking through it she realized something was missing. She had not had her period in two months, almost three.

She sat there on her bed in a nervous panic. What if she were pregnant? She hadn’t had sex with Shawn recently due to his busy schedule at that time, but based on the last time they had it would make sense. They were always so careful. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe it was just her body being irregular like it sometimes tended to be. The logical part of her brain denied these excuses though, because that’s what they were, excuses.

She immediately put on some shoes and a hoodie and drove to the nearest drugstore to pick up some tests. She was lucky to make the trip there and back without anyone snapping any pictures. The downside to having a famous husband was the unwanted pictures, but she loved him, so she made it work.

Once back safely inside the master bathroom, she undid all three tests and took them. She waited the time and when her phone alarm went off she froze. What if she were pregnant and Shawn didn’t love her anymore?

No time to think about that. She had to be positive, maybe this was the jumpstart her marriage needed. Taking a deep breath she grabbed the tests. They all read POSITIVE. She sat there for nearly five minutes before the waterworks started. Tears were streaming down her face, but there were so many emotions going on. She was ecstatic, scared, and angry. Ecstatic because she already felt so much love for this baby, but also scared to be a mom. However, she was angry at Shawn, angry that he didn’t reply and angry that he wasn’t here to share her joy.

She moved back to their room and hid the tests in the closet in some old shoes. As she made it back into her room she saw a message from Shawn saying, “sorry love, can I cancel tonight? I’m just really busy here at the studio.”

She let out a sigh because she was hoping to talk to Shawn over dinner. It seems she’ll just be eating alone again as she has for the past couple weeks.

Y/n is lying in bed when she hears the slam of the door. Looking at the clock she read that it’s midnight. She waits until she hears the heavy footsteps of her husband before she decides to get up. However just as she’s about to she hears his hushed voice saying “No i don’t know how i will tell her. Well, she will just have to deal with it. I know, it’s just that she is so fucking clingy sometimes, always calling or asking to go to dinner or do this and that.” ... “yeah i will, okay goodnight.”

She decides to pretend to be asleep when he walks in. Usually Shawn takes care not to make noise, but tonight he is taking no care to be quiet. She can hear him move about the room until he finally goes into the connected bathroom to shower. Not until the water turns on does she let out her emotions. Tears yet again stream down her face as she thinks about what her husband was saying about her. In her misery, she doesn’t even hear the water turn off nor does she hear as Shawn comes back into the room until she hears his soft voice.

“Y/n, what’s wrong love? Why are you crying?” he asks while reaching out for her.

She turns around to see the concerned eyes of her husband. She almost gives in until she remembers the pictures and his earlier conversation. Instead she looks away and answers “I am fine Shawn, just go to bed.”

“No, tell me what’s the matter! Why are you crying y/n?”

She looks up at him and bluntly asks, “Do you still love me?”

He is a little taken back by her question but is quick to reassure her. “Of course I do, why are you asking?”

She has to scoff at this. “What do you expect me to believe when I see pictures of you and Camila laughing and looking in love? And that conversation earlier? hmm...I think your exact words were she’s so fucking clingy!” she spit out at him.

His confusion quickly slips into anger. “What do you mean “looking in love”? I kissed her cheek, y/n! That’s is! You should know how close we are by now and yes I said you were clingy because sometimes I just need some alone time...ever think about that huh! I thought relationships were supposed to be built on trust. I guess you don’t trust me. Is that what I’m hearing?” He yells.

Y/n is now backed up to the headboard is fear and shock. Not once in their years together has he blown up on her like this. Her hands immediately reach for her stomach, even though she isn’t showing. It is almost a comfort, even just finding out. A way to protect the unborn being that rest within her, relying on her to keep them safe.

“I don’t know what to believe! You don’t talk to me anymore! I love you, Shawn, please just talk to me.” She sobs in a defeated voice.

However, his anger just seems to build. “I need to get away from you sometimes! You never give me a break, and you always want to talk or cuddle or whatever shit it is.”

She is crying now and just wants this nightmare to be over. However, it has reached its climax. “Get the fuck out of my face y/n. I cannot handle this anymore. Just go stay somewhere else.”

In a state of shock, she sits there. Until she makes eye contact with Shawn and that’s when she knows he means it. She rushes out the door with her car keys in hand. Once she is driving away she finally breaks once again. With a hand on her still flat stomach, she drives. She has nowhere to go because all her family and friends are in the states. They had moved to Canada to be close to his side of the family and his hometown.

However, being distracted while driving is not good. Especially when she’s been on the road for over an hour and emotionally exhausted. She looks down to see a message from Shawn saying “sorry love, please come back home...we can talk when you get back” As she is reading this she doesn’t see the car that ran a red light and barrels into her car, causing her car to roll multiple times before coming to a halt when it came into contact it a pole..

All she can hear is the sound of her phone ringing with the picture of Shawn filling her screen. She soon hears sirens before she slips into the comfort of darkness that is pulling her deeper into the abyss.

#shawn mendes #shawn x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes imagine #reader insert

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laurazepamwrites · 5 years ago

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The Chemicals between us ~ Chapter 1

The numbers on the digital clock screen turned to 03:00 am. The watchpoint was silent save the few still functioning Domiciliary bots quietly moving through the corridors and the screech of some local wildlife far off in the distant. The world was dark and still and peaceful. No sane person would be awake at this hour.

She didn't feel sane.

It was that dream again. The suffocating nightmare that woke her up most nights thrashing and tearing off covers before finally leaving her huddled in a ball, dampened with cold sweat and whimpering. Mei’s breathing had finally slowed enough to a steady rhythm. Slowly and tentatively she sat up brushing her tousled hair out of her face. She wiped away the tears with her palms and took a deep breath. The only light in her small room came from the soft blue glow of Snowball the Droid silently charging nearby.

She had been in Gibraltar for 2 months, part of a skeleton crew in a forgotten watchpoint for a forgotten organization. She certainly had concerns of coming here, she still did. The Petras act made any overwatch activity illegal and its participants prosecuted. Mei was struggling to come to terms with her malfunctioned cryostasis and now had ten years of change in the world to catch up on. Seven months ago Winstons message had woken up the eco point, waking Mei up to a world that had abandoned and moved on without her. She threw herself into her work, there was years of data and information stored in the various ecopoints around the world. Not strictly working within Overwatch but still having to get permission from the UN to access the sites, this was made even more complicated by the fact she was declared dead. She had to work, if she stopped she would think, then dwell, then sink into despair. She had no family left, her sister had grieved and moved on with her life. Her mother had passed away whilst Mei slept and her own father no longer recognized her and murmured that his little Xiǎoxuě was gone as he rocked back and forth in his room in the nursing home.

So she had worked and travelled, occasionally checking in with Winston who urged her to always let him know where she was. She had put this down to guilt on his part as head of science in Overwatch. She had never confronted her feelings on blame. She buried them, donning her well known cheerful optimistic persona, and worked. It wasn't until her friend Dr Angela Ziegler had called her, telling her to look at a recent article in the news from Greece. A former Overwatch agent had been found murdered at their family home. Further research showed they were not the only former agents killed. She had angrilly called Winston demanding answers, now realizing why he needed to know where she was. She and other agents were potentially marked people. For all Mei knew she was walking around with a target painted on her. It was a long and an emotional call, Mei also learning that Commander Morrison and Captain Amari were both alive and moving against Talon.

Mei didn't want to be involved in a war. She joined Overwatch for scientific purposes, to better the world and preserve it for future generations. Now being an unassuming climatologist for Overwatch had potentially put a mark on her head. Now she was urged to go to Gibraltar where past agents answering the call could work against a terrorist organization and the looming threat of a second crisis brewing in Russia. New recruits had even been silently brought in based on merit and skill. The Mech fighter Hana song, newly recovered from injuries sustained whilst single handedly fighting omnics. Lúcio Correia dos Santos, a freedom fighter, revolutionary leader and musician. Aleksandra Zaryanova, Sergeant within the Russian defence forces and former Athlete. Brigitte Lindholm had come with Reinhardt and was a highly skilled armourer. Fareeha Amari had also travelled to Gibraltar and had stayed despite a heated argument with her Mother. Even two Omnics Zenyatta and Bastion had joined their ranks. All fighters, all skilled combatants. Mei was no soldier. She could barely call herself a fighter. She was a scientist and she felt useless here, cut off from the eco points and only so much data to work from.

Still, at least she was safe here. Wasn't she?

She looked at the clock, 03:55. It had taken her nearly an hour to settle after her nightmare. A few more hours and she would be in the morning briefing. She moved her hand along her bedside table feeling for the small lamp and turned it on, squinting slightly at the sudden light. She put on her glasses and picked up her tablet, absentmindedly scrolling through the latest news, a headline caught her eye of the two criminal Junkers who had apparently blown up a corporate building in Sydney, their whereabouts now unknown. She gave a soft ‘hmph!’ They had travelled the globe near as much as she had. How on earth had they not been apprehended yet?

‘How long before ‘you’ are apprehended?’ Her mind asked. She ignored the question and continued to scroll through headlines...An interview with LumeriCo CEO Guillermo Portero… Speculation on Dva’s ‘supposed’ dismissal from duty...Lucio’s cancelled tour...Tensions in Russia, a climbing death toll…murders….

Mei sighed. She was still emotionally charged and worrying news would not help her relax. She shivered slightly and pulled her cover back over herself, settling back into bed and began playing a silly game on the tablet. It wasn't long before she fell back into an uneasy sleep.

Jack Morrison walked into the 07:00 morning briefing and looked around the room. Winston was talking to Fareeha who stifled a yawn. To her left Lucio, Hana and Lena avidly spoke about a race around the watchpoint. Jack noted to maybe nip that in the bud before someone breaks their neck. Next to them was Mei, sitting quietly holding her tea in both hands, smiling politely when Angela sat down beside her. Torbjorn was sitting back in his chair, both hands folded on his stomach as he dozed, grumbling a curse as McCree used his prosthetic to light his match for his cigar then proceeded to put both feet up in from of him. Zarya gave him a distasteful look from across the table.

‘This isn't enough’ He thought to himself. A team of barely twenty people with very limited resources operating under the radar against a large, well funded, terrorist organization. And things were only getting worse. He cleared his throat and the chatter died down, eyes turning to him.

‘Good morning, as you know those not here are currently on assignment and will be due back soon. We are still pursuing leads in Iraq, Western Africa and Russia, however we need new intelligence before assigning any agents to the field there. I won't have anyone going in blind whilst we are this limited. Now, I called this meeting this morning because my sources have traced known Talon agents moving across Australia.’

Jack turned on the large projection in the centre of the rounded table bringing up a map of Australia and highlighting towns and cities of the sightings.

‘Now..we have a pattern. They are moving purposely, town to town. It's my belief that they are following these two…’ Jack brought up two photos of the Junkers Mei had read about much earlier that morning. ‘...If you are not aware who these two are, The one in the mask is Mako ‘Roadhog’ Ruthlege. Mercenary for hire and Killer. The other, possibly more dangerous one is Jamison ‘Junkrat’ Fawkes. Demolition and explosives expert. Both from the settlement called Junkertown in the Australian outback. After their little crime spree around the world both touched down In Adelaide. They've certainly been keeping quiet until totalling a building in Sydney. Since then they have been on the move, coincidently being in the same areas as Talon. Whether they have been hired by Talon or being followed I have yet to learn. But what I do know is either way I want them in. They Are too dangerous to let Talon have and if Talon do want them than I want to know why..yes Jesse?’

McCree had lazily raised his arm to speak. His gave his cigar a long drag before he spoke. ‘I know of these boys Jack, got a pretty bounty on their heads. Now they’ve slipped through every sheriff in every countries fingers. What makes you think we can find them?’

‘Genji is currently in Darwin northern Australia, he's been surveying theirs and Talons movements for over a week, he’s been using old contacts who are less than savoury but they had the information on where they may be. He’s sure he’s got a location down. A team will be on route tonight.’

Winston cleared his throat ‘Err..Commander Morrison? Surely If Talon wanted to hire them they would have approached them by now? It seems a great deal of effort to track them the length of the country. What could they possibly want from them?’

‘Maybe they want more firepower?’ Suggested Torbjorn.

‘No they got plenty o’ that’ said McCree, stubbing out his cigar on his prosthetic hand ‘I heard a rumor from an old Aussie bounty hunter looking for those two..he told me the kid supposedly found something in the Omnium ruins. Something valuable.

Zarya scoffed ‘Anything shiny is valuable to those scavengers. Its nothing’

‘Regardless,’ continued Jack ‘We get to them before Talon does. Myself, McCree, Winston and Lena will be leaving tonight. We’ll rendezvous with Genji at his location, find them and bring them here.’

‘Here?’ asked Fareeha in a worrying tone ‘Im sorry commander but is that a good idea? You want two criminals who take fun in destroying things..here?'

Zarya nodded in agreement. ‘They bad people, you bring them here this whole base blow sky high.’

‘We have a lot of valuable equipment and wouldn't our data be at risk if-’ Began Mei, until Hana thrust her arm in the air for attention.

‘Ooo ooo! Can I ask them about the Mech fights they have?’

Lucio laughed ‘They’re not here to hang Hana.’

‘Have you seen those things Lu? All spikes and flamethrowers and then there's the undefeated champion called Wrecking ball and no one knows what he-’

Winston coughed getting the young girls attention whilst pointedly looking at Jack who stood with a look on his face that suggested his patience was wearing very thin.

Hana gave an apologetic grin ‘Opps, sorry’ she whispered and settled back into her seat.

Jack sighed. The scars on his face taut as he frowned.

‘Talon wants them so I want them’ Said Jack with a steel stubbornness ‘They can choose to cooperate and come quietly or kick and scream, I don't care. What I do care about is knowing Talons next move. Once I get the information I want then I’ll toss them to the authorities. Any more questions?’

If there was no one spoke. Jack grunted.

‘Good. Those going we leave at 12:00 hours and with good time touching down at 22:00 hours, prepare yourselves and the Orca. Lena I want you to make sure stealth and auto modes are good for flight.’

Lena saluted ‘Aye aye!’

‘Everyone staying here, wait on your orders. Amari is due back tonight, should our mission in Australia be successful or not we will debrief on return, but for now you are all dismissed.'

The room began to empty slowly as Jack stayed behind, seemingly studying the holographic map in front of him. He glanced towards the door as the final person left, watching it shut completely. Once he knew he was alone he turned off the large projection and brought up a smaller screen in front of him. He types in a code, a small ping noise signalling granted access. Jack glanced at the door again, then proceeds to type on the interactive screen in front of him. He was contacting someone.

:Are you sure they are at the location you gave me?

He typed He stared at the screen, waiting on a reply. Another glance toward the door. What felt like an eternity passed when finally a return message popped up on screen.

:You know it's polite to say hello first?

Jack grunted, and swore under his breath. He was not in the mood for games.

:Is the location correct? :……………

He waited.

:I am offended you have to ask… :(

As Jack began to type a rather angry reply another message appeared on screen.

:Location correct. Keep your Ninja on visual. Strike team moving tonight. Time unknown.

:Why these two?

:The Tank is disposable. They want Fawkes. I don't know why.

:Anything else?

:I give it two days before you try to kill him.

:Anything important?

:No, but do let me know why Talon wants him.Did I tell you no one wants to tell me anything here? I feel so left out and the big bosses are very angry after your cowboy got involved in the great train heist. Whatever he threw into the canyon was vital.

:Just do your job. Both of them.

:Oh how you two sound so alike.

:I mean it. And be careful.

:Im offended. You know one slip up and i'm dead? Dr Lucky charms will do the deed herself. Now she really doesn't like me.

:Signing out

:Wait!

:What is it?

:….You know it's polite to say goodbye!!

Jack signed out hoping it was as passive aggressive as it possible could be, deleting the message file as he had done for years and turned off the projection. He stood for a moment as if deep in thought before sighing deeply and walking to the door, letting it softly shut behind him.

#overwatch #meihem #jamison fawkes #mei ling zhou #junkrat #fanfic

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firelxdykatara · 5 years ago

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2 and 16

2. What is your current OTP?

More like what isn’t my current OTP, lmfao I have so many!

But just focusing on ones I’ve been thinking about a lot recently, off the top of my head: Zutara is the big one, obviously. My blog has been themed after them since I remade, and I love them with everything I have–everything they could be and, I’d argue, should have been, but canon can bite me because we have an amazing fandom of fanworks and headcanons and honestly, considering what happened to the canon relationships, that’s preferable to me lmfao.

I’m super invested in RWBY right now as well, and as is probably obvious by my icon, my biggest otp is Renora. Blacksun is a close second, but we haven’t seen Sun in two volumes (though I do miss him) and I spent literal days screeching about finally getting a Renora kiss so they’re definitely the stand-out for me.

And while I haven’t been reblogging as much lately bc I’m waiting for season 4 and have been very RWBY focused, gotta give a shout out to the Love Square of MLB. I love everything about Marinette and Adrien and the four damn relationships they have between the two of them, and I just cannot fucking WAIT to see how they further develop.

16. Are there any ships you just can’t/don’t understand? What are they?

Not typically, at least in terms of fanon ships–usually, even if I don’t ship something, I can at least understand why it gets shipped. Unless it’s some sort of wild crackship, but that in itself is often an explanation–some people are just intrigued by the potentials of a dynamic that was never explored in the source material, and that’s totally valid.

However, in terms of canon ships, there are absolutely some that make zero sense to me. One of the biggest that comes immediately to mind (at the risk of poking the wounds of a lightly dozing ship war lmao) is Maiko–just, canonically, they didn’t even like each other. Like, I’m sorry, but ‘I don’t hate you’ is some teen angst crap but it’s not conducive to a healthy long-term relationship, nevermind marriage and life together. (And yeah, I know, Bryke refuses to confirm who Izumi’s mother actually was, but let’s not kid ourselves. If they wanted to let Zuko be happy, they wouldn’t have done him so dirty in the comics.) Plus the fact that the entirety of Maiko’s relationship development happened off-screen (something it has in common with Kataang, incidentally), because they were barely even childhood friends before Zuko was banished and hadn’t seen each other for three years, and got together in a bridge comic that most fans never even read (and shouldn’t, it’s horrible).

Then, in their actual relationship, Mai was cold and distant every time Zuko tried to connect with her emotionally, and then he eventually got sick of it on top of everything else he was dealing with and blew up, causing her to blow up, and then… they got back together, I guess, only for him to break up with her via a letter, which she never even bothered to try to understand–she may have said ‘I love Zuko more than I fear you’ but she certainly never showed it, and there’s no indication that she actually came to realize the Fire Nation was wrong, or that she believed in what Zuko was trying to do. (Incidentally, in the comics, she sides with her father who is literally trying to murder her boyfriend and then gets angry with him when he gets pissed off about that, and… ugh.)

It’s just ugly. I don’t understand why they had Mai and Zuko get back together in the epilogue when it was obvious for the entirety of their on-screen relationship that they were absolutely toxic influences on each other, could not communicate in ways that the other could understand, and barely seemed to tolerate each other’s presences when they weren’t actively making out.

send me asks about ships!

#atla #rwby #miraculous ladybug #ask meme #maiko salt #blueeyedamethyst #asked

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felicismagic18873 · 5 years ago

Text

We’re there, Kid (3)

Summary:Tony wrapped his arms around the kid who had barreled into his chest with a broken whisper of ‘Mr.Stark’. He almost joked about the kid’s obsession with trying to hug him but stopped when he realized something that sent a chill down his spine. The kid was crying.

His shoulders shook under Tony’s hands as he took shuddering breaths, a wet spot formed on Tony’s T-Shirt. Tony tightened his hold, what could have happened to the kid in the last few hours to do this?

—Peter finds himself back in time before everything happened. Somehow it is too much and not enough at the same time.

Part 2

Peter woke up with a start, going from sleep to wakeful in a single instant, his hand lashing out to grab the wrist that was about to touch his face. It took him one second to realize whose hand it was and another to feel internally horrified that he could have easily broken May's wrist if he hadn't subconsciously controlled his strength.

"May?", Peter whispered, his voice laden with sleep. "Wha'?"

May who still seemed to be in shock, quickly pulled herself out of it and proceeded to glare at Peter, "Get up Pete, we need to talk."

Peter sat up slowly, letting go of May's wrist gently and running a hand through his hair. May seemed to be gathering her courage, she crossed her arms and Peter recognized the look on her face with an internal sigh. It was her 'I am gonna parent you whether you like it or not' look, it usually appeared when May convinced herself that she needed to be more strict with him.

"Look, I know I said I was okay with you being Spider-man and all but we made a deal, Pete. You get to continue this hero stuff as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies, "

"But it's not," Peter insisted.

"Well, apparently it is cause you decided it was okay for you to leave school halfway through the day without a word and then return home as if nothing happened. This can't go on, Peter."

Peter leaned back, suddenly tired. "It wasn't that,"

"What?"

"It wasn't anything Spidey related," He managed to say, his voice breaking a bit as the events of the day rushed back into his mind. Peter mentally prayed to whatever deity that was out there that this was actually happening that it wasn't some fever-induced dream.

May sat down next to him on the bed, her anger fading away in wake of his obvious sorrow, "Pete," she said in a soft manner, "Are you okay,Honey?"

Peter choked down a chuckle, knowing that it might actually lead to him bawling his eyes out again. He heard that sentence way too many times in the past four months that by now the answer was a reflex of his,

"Yeah, I am fine," He pretended he wasn't holding back from rushing out of the window once more and going back to the compound. It took everything in him not to run back to Mr.Stark.

May clearly didn't believe him, she just waited silently for him to continue.

"I'm fine May, really. I just...uh-It was stupid. Flash was being a jerk and I wasn't feeling well anyways so...it was rash, I know. It won't happen again, "

May stared at him for a while before dropping the matter, it was clear he had no intention to continue the discussion, "Yeah, that'll be ideal really. But Pete," She waited for him to look at her, "You know you can talk to me about stuff right? I know you didn't want me to make a complaint against Flash but just-anything...anything you wanna talk about, I'm here,"

Peter almost broke down right there, almost admitted everything that was going on, the empty feeling he had for the past few months, the pain and loss, how hard it was to do anything.

Almost.

Outwardly he just nodded his head and said, "Right,"

May reminded him that as it was Sunday she would probably have night duty and left to get ready.

Peter watched her go.He couldn't tell her, he couldn't be that selfish. He knew how these stories ended, if he was in the past he couldn't babble to anyone about the future, not even Mr.Stark. But he needed help, a sudden idea flashed through his mind and it might be stupid, it was something at least. He got up from his bed and opened up his Stark Tablet. He took a deep breath before typing in 'Doctor Stephan Strange'

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

There wasn't any recent news about Doctor Strange, it seemed like the surgeon (and wasn't that a shock, he was a real doctor) had disappeared a few months after his accident. And while that was disappointing, he was sure he could find one way or another to contact the wizard.

It was weird seeing him in pictures without his extravagant attire, even more so when looking at him reminded Peter of endless space, of the battle he didn't think he'd survive but he managed to somehow. It reminded him of death.

There was a reason Peter had pulled back from everything Spiderman and Avenger related since taking off his uniform for the funeral, and it definitely wasn't him being too busy.

Finally, after hours of research Peter finally reached the conclusion that there was no way to approach this delicately, he'd just have to barge his way into the wizard's lair ( what was it called again?) and speak to him.

Doctor Strange had been missing for over a year, it was enough time for him to...gain his powers or whatever, wasn't it?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Peter cast one glance at the spidey suit peeking through the wardrobe, then turned away and pulled on his sneakers.

Even if he'd only visited the lair once, he was pretty confident he'd be able to make his way there. He double-checked that he had his phone with him and grabbed a web shooter on the way out. It never hurt to be prepared.

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

Peter struggled not to fidget as he stood in front of the plain door of the not-so-plain place. He took a deep breath and raised a hand to knock on the door when it opened with a creak, which seeing there was no one visible through the glass panels on the door, was kinda creepy.

Peter made a face, he didn't remember the lair being this...disorienting. Maybe it was because the last time he was here, he'd focused most of his energy trying not to scream at the sorcerer (Spoiler, he failed). He straightened his back and walked in with a confidence he didn't feel.

"Who are you? And what is it you seek from the sanctum, trespasser?", spoke the kinda familiar voice.

Peter looked up the stairs where Doctor Strange's friend, Kong? Wong? was standing. He looked tense.

Peter prepared to say what he'd rehearsed in his mind multiple times on his way there but what came out was, "I don't think it classifies as trespassing when you open the door for someone, I mean you kinda invited me in, not to say that I am not grateful for that but-"

"What is it you seek?", Wong cut him off, asking in a more stern voice.

Peter stopped his rambling and got to the point, "I wish-ah, no, I need to speak to Doctor Strange? Like, Stephen strange?"

Wong looked expressionless, " Stephen Strange isn't here."

"What?" Peter managed to control his tone, even if he did feel like screaming out loud " But-But, that's not. He should be here, the time is right. He is a wizard, isn't he? He has to be here!"

Anxiety gripped his insides, Strange was supposed to be here, what was he going to do now? What if he wasn't even a wizard yet? What if him telling Wong the doctor's name somehow jeopardized the doctor becoming a sorcerer? How was he-

"Calm down, Kid. He's just not in right now," Wong shrugged a bit, walking down the stairs. His tone changed as though he had realized that Peter meant no harm." Though I would like to know who you are and how you knew of the sanctum, only those that know its location can see it."

Peter let out a relieved breath and absently nodded, "Yeah, I know. It is like Harry Potter style wards, right? Like the Fidieus "

Wong looked like he didn't know whether to be insulted or not.

Peter took a deep breath, " Look, My name is Peter Parker. And I- Just tell Doctor Strange it's about the stone, alright? Just tell him I need to talk to him. Can you do that for me, Please?"

"What about the stone?"

Peter turned around startled, and there he stood, Doctor Stephen Strange, In all his wizardry glory. He looked unimpressed.

"What about the stone?" The doctor repeated the question, raising an eyebrow.

Peter let out a sigh of relief, then stuffed his hands in his hoodie's pocket, "Its.....a loooong story."

Strange crossed his arms, "Well then it's good that we have the time, yes?" He opened one of his magical portals, showing the view of a study room with a table and chairs.

Time. Peter felt like laughing. No, they didn't have the time. There was never enough time.

They walked in.

Strange waited for him to finish his tale, asking a few clarifying questions on the way but not giving any input. In the end, Peter's throat felt hoarse, his eyes burned from the effort of not crying. He kept the story as informative and emotionally distant as possible.

"-He snapped away half of the universe. I was one of them, I got snapped away too."

A sentence, just a sentence not showing the tragedy that lies behind it. It was hard enough living with the whole battle playing in his head constantly, he couldn't bring himself to tell all the details. Not the painful ones, the deaths, the loss.

"He...I-Iron man saved everyone. He used the stones to destroy Thanos's army."

Screams. Tears. Burning flesh. Him, screaming.

"And then you found yourself here, no idea how?"

Peter forced himself to nod, He took a huge gulp of the water Strange had provided him halfway through the story. The water helped soothe his throat a bit.

"Thanos. You said he needed all the stones to work?" Strange was frowning, looking bothered.

Peter nodded again wondering where the doctor was going with this. Strange stood up from the chair looking agitated.

"It doesn't make sense," Strange's hand seemed to gravitate towards his necklace.

He's from space, he came here to steal a necklace from a wizard.

"Yes, it does. Come on, Mr.Strange" Peter stood up as well, "All we need to do is destroy the stone." He pointed at the necklace, "No stone equals no gauntlet and the universe remains protected." He pleaded a bit, remembering how stubborn the Doctor was about protecting the stone but surely even he could see that it was the only probable plan, a foolproof plan.

"Not possible," He shook his head.

"Look, " Peter took a calming breath, " I know you're like the protector of the stone and stuff but it didn't work! All it did was destroy half of the population, you can't protect the stone. Even if we destroy the other stones he'll just use this one to bring them back!"

"Mr.Parker-" Strange began.

"He'll find you and it will begin all over again. You have no idea what it was like and now that we have a chance you won't even-"

"Mr.Parker!"

Peters's mouth snapped shut, he was breathing heavily. Strange was pursing his lips.

"It is not possible to destroy the stone, " He held up a finger when it looked like Peter was about to interrupt, " because it was already destroyed," The necklace opened with a click, it was empty. Strange looked at him intently, Peter didn't have any idea what he looked like. All he felt was shock. Disbelief clouded his mind.

"Destroyed?" But it couldn't have been destroyed, this didn't happen before! The stone was fine and Strange gave it to Thanos and-and-

Strange nodded, "Destroyed. Five years ago, during the-"

"New York invasion." Peter breathed out, the words hanging in the air between them as silence took over both of them. What was going on?

#Marvel #Irondad #Spideyson #spiderson #tony stark has a heart #protective tony stark #peter parker #timetravel #fix it #Hurt/comfort #fluff and angst #fanfiction #We're there kid #I just need Tony back #tony stark

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