#and never listened to the entire system message. apparently.

[tharizt]

i'd say interstellar song contest falls somewhere in between the zygon inversion and kerblam on similarly iffy politics.

actually let's compare this in more depth. because both the zygon inversion and kerblam feature revolutionaries who are presented as extremists who have "gone too far". but i still love the former story and hate the latter.

kerblam has charlie. inversion has bonnie. both are explicitly framed as rebels who want to overturn what they perceive as oppression. and both are framed as extremists whose ideologies are quickly dismissed as irrational and dangerous.

neither story meaningfully explores the root cause of rebellion. charlie’s automation-focused ideology is undercut while bonnie’s grievances are left vague or incoherent (treated like cattle how, bonnie? the story doesn't care enough to ask).

kerblam ends with vague reforms and no structural change. judy may propose the organisation becomes majority-organics, but there’s no guarantee anyone will listen. all of the worker characters die. the two bosses survive.

the background worker characters get one month off but only paid for two weeks. and instead of the horrible minimum-wage jobs being automated, they'll just hire more human workers to inflict further misery upon.

meanwhile; inversion sees the doctor enforce a fragile truce that resets the same failed peace repeatedly. kate’s memory has apparently been wiped multiple times. people keep getting slaughtered. each time, the doctor resets it to more or less how it was at the start.

both feature climaxes with the doctor confronting the antagonist; in both, the terrorist gets an appeal to emotion and neither seriously proposes alternatives to the existing system. radicalism is treated as inherently flawed or harmful, not a potential source of systemic change.

so, where do they differ?

first of all: kerblam addresses real-world issues like amazon-style capitalism, automation, and labor exploitation head-on. inversion uses metaphor.

zygons can never truly be about isis or refugees or imperialist wars or dysphoria, but it can orbit that territory. which lends the story to ambiguity, multiple possible readings, and prioritising a more coherent moral purpose.

inversion follows a clear moral arc with bonnie’s redemption paralleling the doctor’s trauma. she’s equated with him in the time war, framing her feelings as valid. she just needs to find a non-lethal third way, which ends up being stepping into the role of the missing osgood.

charlie gets no such treatment. he is killed off with no emotional payoff, no redemption, and framed as a generational pariah. he’s radicalised by being a millennial.

kerblam is cynical. it lacks any emotional sincerity. it undermines its initial setup with a confused message. but inversion is constructed with nuance, ambiguity, and clear intent by harness and moffat the entire way through with a coherent, optimistic moral.

it also helps that inversion is a major narrative climax in series 9, led by capaldi and coleman, who are the two greatest lead actors in the history of the show. they both deliver all-time nuanced and emotionally devastating portrayals.

so; the main difference comes down to empathy. the zygon inversion has deep empathy for bonnie even if it doesn't have an interest in her specific motives. it has deep empathy for the issues it explores. it has deep empathy for its audience. moffat (+harness) prioritizes empathy.

kerblam has no empathy for charlie and randomly kills him off in a blaze of fire. it has no empathy for the issues it explores and actively inflicts further misery on even more workers. and chibnall (+ mctighe) seems to despise the disaffected youth that is its own audience.

so, where does the interstellar song contest land? well, sort of in between.

there's nothing as explicitly fascist as "the systems aren’t the problem", it does have empathy for the oppressed, and it does end its story with giving the group a voice at eurovision.

naturally; none of this is enough. the story is still about how one individual person of a genocided group went "too far for his good cause" instead of being a story about the oppression.

the doctor still tortures this "evil freedom fighter" but does nothing about the corporation that is behind their oppression (if he's even aware of it).

and the liberal solution to the problem doesn't imply that the material reality of their home planet has actually changed at all, so the killing will likely just continue.

it's a horrible move to write this sort of story in this current political climate. rtd's entire modern doctor who era is deeply cynical in how it tries to faux-appeal to its liberal audience.

but there's just enough wiggle room there that i think you can place it between the zygon inversion and kerblam on this specific axis. moffat's attempt isn't as leftist as it should be, but it's still the best shot so far. let's hope future doctor who stories do better.

[bubblestree]

Limited

Part 1

"Want another slice?"

You looked up from your phone--trying to respond to Ijichi’s frantic messages of you and Gojo being gone from the expected pickup zone. Gojo had a section of cheek stuffed with some slice of chocolate cake that was able to fit in his giant mouth.

"No thanks."

The place he was so eager to drag you into was some konbini that had a space for indoor seating. You guessed he was right, they did sell sweets and mochi here as per his earlier statements. However, unlike the Strongest Sorcerer and apparently the strongest sweet tooth, you had met your end. "Ijichi is looking for us." You continued on. Gojo's eyes darted over to you where your eyes were still looking at the texts popping up. "I thought you were going to tell him the location?"

"I guess it slipped my hand." He swallowed his cake slice and leaned into his arms, folded up on the tables, "Sorry." He pouted while his eyebrows were irked. You took notice.

"It's fine. We never really had that discussion." You hadn't meant to come off as scolding but to hear him apologize as sincerely as he did was quite a shock for you. Especially with his usual 'sorries' were met in teases or exaggerations of sarcasm and excuses (always to his coworkers and even more to specific superiors).

"I'll just send him the--" You felt your train of thought and voice stop from something lightly brushing against your leg. It was Gojo's foot. You looked over to see him looking deeply into your eyes again. His pout was gone into a more simple press of his lips, his head still resting in his arms. His foot was still brushing up and down against your leg. Light and almost non-existent.

"I prefer if you didn't."

"Why is that?"

"Because..." He froze before sighing and broke his gaze to star out the window, "I like it being just the two of us." His voice was unusually soft and almost felt scared just for the last sentence he muttered out. Any confidence or sense of tease from him was nowhere to be found.

"Are you aware you have a meeting in 5 minutes."

"I'm always late."

"It's with the higher-ups."

That got him to sigh in annoyance and roll his eyes. He let out a simple 'tch before going on,

"Please all they want to do is harp on something I'm doing wrong and push forward for the execution of Sukuna's Vessel." He rubbed his hand into his hair.

"You mean Yuji Itadori?"

"Hm, yea. Sorry most people use Sukuna Vessel for professional terms."

"That makes him sound like an object."

"I know right! It's so irritating and honestly they just make me want to rewrite the entire system and remove their damn arrogance from the whole equation."

You kept your focus on him as he kept moving his head around in his arms, likely trying to vent but also maintain some level of comfort as well due to the fact he replaced his blindfold for his glasses. You looked back to your phone to see Ijichi begging politely asking for you and Gojo's location.

"They might complain about you being late."

"Like I said. I always am."

"Not when it comes to your meetups or our dual missions." You tried to tease back but you said it so fast you worried it came out as some way of critique.

Gojo turned his head to look back at you and smirked,

"Awww are you keeping track of me? Want to make sure I'm a good boy for you?" He smiled and the pouted at you while blinking rapidly.

"I guess I was just confused on your selectiveness of time management." You tried again at a tease, this one to you sounding much better however it caused Gojo's pout to falter and he looked back to the street from inside the konbini. You gulped and leaned over to him, "Listen I was just trying to joke--" Your attempt at an apology was interrupted by Gojo's fingers fiddling with your own.

His fingers brushed over yours and eventually lead to occasionally entangling them together. This was going on for quite a while and during this, his eyes were drifting from the street over to your hand and eventually back up to you while your eyes stayed focused on him the entire time.

"So--" You tried to start things back up before he interrupted you once more,

"I like being around you." It was soft and felt more like a whisper. "You never say no to spending time with me. Barely even takes you convincing." He stopped for moment and looked back down to semi entertained hands--more so fingers. He moved to hold your ringer finger. "You also let me talk freely." He looked back up to you, "Wish you did more. Wanna hear your voice too."

You felt yourself tense up as his sudden proclamation yet you didn't try to move your hand away nor did you feel the need to interrupt his broken rambles. The tenseness was less of fear or misunderstanding but rather shock at being such a main discussion and overall someone's general enjoyment.

"The world is quiet with you." He felt his voice waver and he ended up looking away into the street. "I can be just Satoru with you. Not this stupid 'honor one' and 'strongest sorcerer' bullshit everyone else needs to use."

You felt your breath go still and you finally broke your eye contact from him to look back at your phone, Ijichi's unanswered messages glowing into your eyes.

Your fingers were still intertwined.

"Meh, I guess call him now. Before we give him a heart attack." He laughed while pushing himself up from his seat and moved his hand farther up to where it finally enclosed yours and he lead you out into the slightly cold night sky, wind blowing at a moderately light level.

You texted Ijichi and eventually placed your phone back into your uniform pocket.

A few minutes pass and you still feel his gaze on you. It wasn't quite as intense as right after the mission concluded but it still had some level of seriousness and hidden passion that you couldn't decipher as admiration or just curiosity. At this point you ignored the fact both your hands were still intertwined. Your hand had closed a lot quicker than it did when he first sprung it on you.

You felt your phone buzz and you reach back down to see Ijichi texting a simple thumbs up and ETA of around 3 minutes. You smile and look up to Gojo to inform him but the words fall flat as you see him still staring at you, glasses tucked into his sweater, with a gaze that looks like you just hung the moon and stars for him. You looked away embarrassed and try to reform your words in your head.

That was until you felt his free hand go up to your cheek and rest it there. His infinity was still off. His hand was a bit colder than usual but with your cold skin it didn't really cause any issues for you. He leaned his lips closer to you, his eyes nearly shutting but he then stopped near you to whisper out,

"Can I kiss you? Please." It didn't sound desperate and not much like a plead but more like a hope. Like a little kid making a wish on a star. You simply nodded and said,

"Yes Gojo."

He broke your hand holding to cup your face with both of his hands and placed his lips against yours. It was soft and he would break it slightly just to kiss you again. You felt your hands go up and grab his wrists, softly as well. As if to keep his hands where they were. You both weren't sure how long the kiss lasted for but he broke it, hands still cupping your face to whisper,

"Satoru. Call me Satoru." His eyes still looking at you with deep adoration and hope that he wasn't going to wake up all tucked up in his room--the cruel twist being that this was all a dream.

You felt your thumbs brush against the tops of his hand and nodded.

"Ok... Satoru." The name rolling of your lips with some hesitance yet still smooth enough.

All he could do to that was smile with a slight show of his teeth and a small chuckle.

"Perfect"

[witchofthesouls]

I do think it's a good thing to point out: violence is always the answer to violence when it's the system that creates the violence.

Megatron in every continuity was right that it needed to be a violent overthrow because the upper castes would not listen and would not change.

The title of Prime is a god-king status above the caste system entirely, but it does beseech its own violence just by existing.

Even if Optimus is a good person, that doesn't erase the damage and cruelty Primes are apparently known for. He is patient and he is imperfect and the tragedy of it is, does he even know that he's changed? How much of the difference is he aware of from his time before the Maxtrix to what he's become as a direct result of it?

Skyquake said he'd never side with a Prime. Not that he'd never side with Optimus, or the Autobots, but A Prime. The idea. The symbol. The Decepticons are fighting to be free from the shackles of a lineage of god-kings endlessly creative in their cruelty who, by some irony, they are compelled to follow by the nature of the relic.

Ratchet is a very good example of the hypocrisy. He was medical- upper middle to upper caste- and in TFP, we know Iacon hoarded a lot of resources. We see his prejudice plain as day just from how he describes Orion Pax and Megatronous. Hell, I'd say he flat out hated Megatronous for teaching a young Orion to speak his mind. He doesn't understand the righteous anger that the gladiator carried, and I don't think he cared.

Tl;Dr: there's a reason the Decepticons are more appealing, honey, most people just don't want to think about it too hard

Uh, I don't know if you're new here, anon, but yeah? Keep on cooking!

I don't know if this is a response to the reblog from nukeli about shattered glass, but under my 'analysis' and 'tf headcanons' and 'gladiator soundwave' and 'cybertronian culture' tags, I do talk about the roles of violence and how it's cemented within Decepticon culture as well as the 'appropriate behaviors' of low-caste vs high-caste of the Golden Age, especially between Orion Pax and Megatron and how it essentially fucked them up after the disaster meeting. Plus, I have posts about the potential cultural damage caused by the Quintesson occupation on Cybertron since they were the ones to implement the caste system.

Ratchet is such a great example of the show's use of unreliable narrator and how he encompasses a higher-caste sensibilities, especially when you take in his background. Compared to Orion Pax, who literally bypassed all the regulations and went from uneducated bumpkin from the middle of nowhere to a cushy and prestigious position underneath Alpha Trion, Ratchet had the correct frame and went through the right channels, so he never had to deal with the kind of discrimination others would speak about. I think of him like that prideful, racist grandpa who the "but you're not like them" locked and loaded. There's a lot of those instances across the show, but I really enjoy it since it fleshes out the story and the character. Ratchet isn't subtle. Not at all. And no one calls him out on it, so it's super telling on what kind of society Golden Age Cybertron was.

Personally, I thought it was really interesting when Skyquake had said that, especially with how Aligned/TFP done the Thirteen since Megatron literally took his name from Megatronus Prime, the direct opponent of Prima, and had tried to legitimize the movement with the Primacy. That's how I read Megatron's demand since it was proof of real change, but there was no way the High Council was going to allow that. Instead, they decided to take advantage of Orion Pax as a way to break the Decepticon movement and send a message to everyone else. Orion wasn't meant to be a Prime. He was just a figurehead, a token of empty promises, until it went off the rails, and he actually unearthed the damn Matrix.

Going back to Skyquake, I guessed that the TFP!Decepticons do have devotees to outlawed sects along with atheists as Megatron has no issues with getting Primal Artifacts, even if he needs to commit corpse desecration to a Prime of the fucking Thirteen to use the Artifact. (Which is another wild event under that mech's belt. It's a good thing they don't have balls because nothing could carry his.) So Optimus was basically barking at the wrong tree. But a majority of the Decepticons would be like that since Optimus represents Prima's reflection of a Prime and civilization. That distinction is really important because after the death and exile of over half of the Thirteen Primes, very few were actually left to guide the fledgling societies. Each Prime represented different Aspects and Domains, so with none able to challenge Prima... is it really a huge surprise it went wayside?

Prima was the Firstborn and Eldest. He was literally the God-King as the Prime of Light. Megatronus Prime was the only one who could truly challenge him, but he laid down his weapons and chose self-exile, and with death of Solus and Liege Maximo, Onyx, Micronus, and Thirteen joining the Allspark to kickstart it, Nexus separating himself, and Quintus, Amalgamous, and Vector leaving... Alpha Trion and Alchemist weren't enough to stand against Prima, who had a vision on how Cybertron should be.

My point is that the Decepticons stood against Prima's Champion by fiercely declaring their own leader. Megatron would have been an uncrowned Prime, a call to return to the long past before city-states, or a symbol a future without them.

[theamazingaxleyax]

Talking about that Separated Disaster Twins AU again

So, I never really got into detail with what exactly happened to Donnie Violet and why he needs a prosthetic arm and eye. I haven't exactly gotten too detailed on the story but here's a basic outline I've got:

Early on in their mercenary career, Indigo got caught, let's just say he received a job to take down a member of a gang, and got a little careless. Violet, who was certainly not as athletically inclined as his twin, knew he would probably get caught as well. So, in a moment of desperation, he went to one of the biggest figures in the Hidden City underworld.

Big Mama.

Of course, she was incredibly intrigued in the intelligent young kappa who came to her for help. She listened, she plotted, and she knew she could his inexperience to her advantage.

A deal was struck. Violet would provide her with some of the mystic weaponry he had created that she could use in her nexus, and in return, his brother would be free.

Vio made the mistake of telling Big Mama how impressive and skilled his brother was and it reminded her of a certain movie star. Big Mama now knew how she could get this to work to her advantage.

Meanwhile with Indigo, he had been stuck in a cell for a few days at this point. He was actually being treated pretty well all things considered. (The members of aforementioned gang weren't super comfortable with the idea of offing a literal child, but they couldn't exactly just let him go after he tried to kill one of them.) After a week, some big tough looking guys take him out of the cell. He's trying to remain stoic, but internally? Freaking tf ouf. He's dragged to the Nexus Hotel, where he meets Big Mama, and she reveals the heroic story of his brother rescuing him. Indigo then notices Violet in the corner, and great Titan, he looks awful.

See, Big Mama has been working Violet overtime, and combing that with constantly worrying about his brother, Vio has not been sleeping all that great, and it shows.

The brotherly reunion is quickly interrupted as Big Mama does what she does, and alters the deal last second. Ten minutes later, the two are being suited up for a fight and being thrown into a free-for-all fight.

Indie is doing surprisingly well, but he's not exactly fighting offensively. Anyone who comes anywhere near Vio is his target. Vio is slow an sluggish due to lack of sleep and high stress.

Then, the worst possible thing that could happen, happens. Indigo fumbles and trips over. He looks up to see a large (insert random yokai/species here because idk what kind it'd be) yokai charging up to hit him with some sort of mystic blast.

Vio sees this happening and suddenly finds the energy he needed the entire time, diving in front of his twin (yes, I know, it's cliche) to take the hit. It's his fault they're in this mess after all. He should have never made that deal.

Indigo quickly deals with the last remaining yokai in a fit of righteous fury, and anyone left alive, including Vio, is quickly ushered to the Nexus medic.

The medical staff were apparently all cowards, and combining that with years of learning how to get out of sticky situations due to living on the streets, Indigo manages to escape with a brother who is now half blind and down to three limbs. Indie is going to do everything he can to make sure his twin is safe. It's his fault Vio is like this after all. He should have never gotten captured, or even taken that job in the first

After that incident, they set up a system. New rules were put into place, and most importantly, they set up a contract system.

Now, all deals made are iron-clad, and there's no room for changing up the deal last minute like Big Mama was inclined to do.

And what's Big Mama's view on her fighter escaping? Well... she went after them for a while, but after a she sent a group out to find them, and only one came back with the message "Leave us alone", she decided it wasn't worth it anymore. They were making her lose time, money, and staff.

Of course, she's always on the lookout and ready to tangle them up in her web again if they happen to fall within her reach.

(If you read all this, thank you for indulging me. If anyone has ideas for a name for this, I would love to hear it.)

[mariacallous]

In many ways, I love living in the digital age. As someone who grew up in the analog world (my first journalism job, as a college intern, involved a manual typewriter and carbon paper), I am still delighted to be able to find out, within 10 seconds, whether a particular movie star is still alive or to share my latest column with the entire world through a social media post.

But the downside of digital life is driving me batty – so much so that I sometimes consider trying to go off the grid altogether to seek a less frustrating existence. I have a fantasy of this simple life that I describe as Full Bore Thoreau. It involves listening to birdsong and reading Russian novels while occasionally using a landline to maintain contact with other humans.

What has brought me to this point? Consider, as one of many examples, my recent adventures with usernames and passwords, involving E-ZPass, the device that allows you to travel through toll barriers without stopping to hand over cash. When I signed up for it many years ago, I apparently got a username and password. And I gave them my credit card information so that it could be charged when necessary.

All went well for years; I would get hard-copy statements in the mail from time to time, but never kept them around for long. I gave this arrangement no thought, until the day I got a voicemail message, claiming to be from a law firm, saying I had accrued massive E-ZPass debt.

I thought it might be a scam so decided to check my account balance, something I had never felt the need to do before. Signing in involved that original username and password. But, horrors! It turned out that my username was not my email address. I tried to retrieve it via my cellphone number or email address but only descended into concentric circles of digital hell. A phone call – old-school, I know – to customer service resulted in a demand for my account number, but in order to get that, I needed to, yes, sign on to my account. Round and round I went.

Of course, an issue like that is minor, one tiny piece of the daily puzzle that involves all the ways that we (and institutions like banks or employers) try to protect digital security. Two-factor authentication now stops us at every turn. To log in, you need to put in the code that’s just been sent to your phone, but as you go to your text messages to find it, the original question somehow has disappeared into the ether.

Those of us who do any freelance work descend to a special torture chamber that comes with registering as a “vendor” with part-time employers. This involves layers upon layers of proving your identity, submitting tax forms and navigating multilayered payment systems with weird names and byzantine processes. Not long ago, I got an email from the accounts payable department of a large media company that began with this less than promising line, including the capitalized F: “Your Form has been received and forwarded for processing.” It then directed me to the “secure onboarding portal”, where many other incomprehensible steps awaited.

All of this, I remind myself, is a result of privilege. These are the very definition of first-world problems, and I’m lucky – in a sense – to have them. But it doesn’t feel that way. Often, I wish I could step off the digital merry-go-round.

At best, such challenges help me to develop patience as I plod through the steps, ask for help when possible (often from a digital native, possibly including my son or daughter), and eventually solve the problem – as I did with the EZ-Pass puzzle.

The solution there, it turned out, was marvelously old-fashioned. I dug out a small notebook from a drawer, filled with scrawled usernames and passwords going back for years. And there the answer was, in all its inky glory. My login was successful, my account balance was fine, and I deemed it unwise to respond to the self-described lawyer.

Victorious for the moment, I moved on to the inevitable next hassle, while dreaming of fishing for my meals from the banks of Walden Pond.

[perecreate]

Paprika: An Explosion of Imagination (Revision)

Dreams, free of all physical forms and logical thought system, is an unpredictable yet imaginative experience that occurs in bits of our lives. The film Paprika released in 2006 is a masterpiece directed by Satoshi Kon, as it jumps back and forth on the boundaries of real and imagined worlds. Following the sight of Paprika, or Dr. Chiba Atsuko (Megumi Hayashibara), we get to witness different dreams of many characters as their minds rip away from reality, and dive deep into a complex conspiracy.

Launched by Dr. Chiba and her colleague Dr. Kosaku Tokita (Toru Furuya), the dream device DC Mini is invented and in development for purposes of dream psychotherapy. DC Mini gives those who are connected to the device the ability to enter one’s dream, which allows the patient and therapist to be in the same dream created by the patient’s subconscious mind. Such a therapy method was introduced in the beginning of the film, when policeman Konakawa and Paprika dives into his dream relative to his pursuit of a criminal.

Interestingly to say, Paprika’s motif on the topic of dream and reality penetrates throughout the entire film; the boundaries of reality and dreams are meant to be the reflection of one’s self, the outer mind and inner mind. Neither can be dismissed.

Let’s observe Chiba Atsuko and Paprika, they originate from the same person, which is Chiba herself. But the way they talk and interact is apparently distinct from each other. Chiba is an attractive woman that speaks stoically. She barely smiles, and tends to distance herself away from everyone else except Tokita. Her dark blue hair is clipped up as she always walks fast like the wind. Ever before the end of the film Chiba stands as the definition of permanence. Same suit, same High heels, same attitude to almost everyone around her. If anyone were to be the “antonym” of Chiba, it would be Paprika. She exhibits an expressive kind of beauty, making her a lovely and friendly woman just from her appearance; the color of her bright red blouse t-shirt makes her someone attractive and a tolerant figure like the sun. But is it really possible to say that they are not the same, and should be judged as two different figures?

Paprika: “Leave that irresponsible fatso!”

Chiba Atsuko: “Why won’t you listen to me? You’re a part of me!”

Paprika: “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re a part of me?”

Here comes the paradox, Paprika and Chiba are different people, but similar enough to call each other the reflection of themselves. Just like what we previously said, Paprika originates from Chiba, nevertheless, Paprika prefers to be identified as herself, and not Chiba. In fact, Paprika never once says that she is part of Chiba, and she sees Chiba as another individual: “If anything happens to Atsuko, use the…” is what Paprika tells Dr. Shima (Hori Katsunosuke) in dream of finding Tokita’s consciousness. Therefore, Chiba and Paprika both sense the difference between them, and does not consider their existence presents because of the other’s presence; they live with their own minds.

The lack of logic is perfectly explained by the imperfect yet powerful imagination of dreams. Which eventually concludes a paradoxical message regarding dream and reality. They stand as two sides, having their pros and cons, and inseparable of one another.

Feel free to check out my personal film blog site: https://perecreate3.wordpress.com/

[safyresky]

Jesus fuck I have had a WEEK. I'm laying flat on my back finally just trying to decompress and I'm just gonna unLOAD for a moment here. I'm all good! No need to read or anything! I'm okay and stable and just need to do a vent. A little Dani yell. So feel free to move on along lads! GODSPEED 🫡🫡🫡

[TW for descriptions of fights, mental illness, physical illness, narcissism, parentification, stress, stress, and MORE stress. I am not fucking around with this do NOT read on if this shit triggers you. Click J right now, right FUCKING now]

Y'know how like. On Monday I was like. WOW WHAT A WEIRD DAY! I FEEL IT IS GOING TO GET WEIRDER!

Well, it did. But not in a nice way.

This week has been an absolute clusterfuck. I'm tired, worn out, over stressed and too cute and pretty for this amount of nonsense my GOD.

This week has been, to put it succinctly, a week almost my entire family has deemed as LET'S STOMP OVER THE BOUNDARIES DANIELLA HAS SO CAREFUL CURATED AND PUT DOWN IN THE LAST 5-7 YEARS! Like, all in one go, with other nonsense sprinkled on top.

Do you know how hard it is to continuously place boundaries with people who don't care and don't understand and don't want to understand?

I hope you never do.

Because it is exhausting. It is tiring. It wears you down bit by bit until you find yourself thinking "I will only be free from this hell when they are all dead" and that is a horrible feeling to feel.

I turned to Richard on Monday and said as much and he went "it's time to get back in touch with your old therapist, I think" and I went "yep! yep yep yep!"

And I did! I'd been thinking about it for a hot minute after I found her new practise, and on Monday I was like yeah. It's time. Especially since what happened that afternoon and into the evening after my odd morning was UNHINGED and made me physically ill, hence the plead to the masses for nice things. Just needed a tasty little distraction or two!

(And also to throw up from worry and anxiety, apparently).

I need you to know. Whoever you are, bc idk who I'm even really addressing here as I'm just venting. But whoever you are. I need you to know. These mother fuckers in question are over THREE HUNDRED KILOMETRES AWAY FROM ME (that's 185 in miles for the anything but the metric system crowd).

THREE HUNDRED KILOMETRES AWAY AND THEY STILL. IN TWO MESSAGES AND A PHONE CALL. MANAGED TO STRESS ME OUT SO MUCH I GOT PHYSICALLY! ILL!

My brother is having a shit time. He (like most everyone else) can't find a job. He is stuck at home with our insane parents. I get it. He, however, does not seem to get it and doesn't want to address his mental health. Instead, he calls me.

Have I placed boundaries? Yes! Multiple times! To his face! Do I enforce them? YES! If I don't have the capacity to talk or listen I tell him as much and he listens.

But sometimes he calls me. And he is in the middle of a "crash out", as the kids say. And I spend anywhere from 10 to 40 minutes helping him get his feet back on the ground and regulate.

So that happened Monday afternoon. He was crashing out about the messes in the family house. The messes in question, you ask? The dishes waiting their turn for the dishwasher and the cast iron pan drying on the counter. That's it.

I knew then and there the MOMENT I saw the photo he sent that he was crashing the FUCK out big time.

One thing I've learnt in 5-7 years of on and off therapy is that, generally, when we're doing real bad, and feel like we're out of control, we seek to control things, like messes. And usually a little mess is sups controllable! You know, putting away clothes or washing a dish or two or tidying the desk.

This man was trying to control every single non-mess mess in my parents house.

This was above my pay grade.

So! I told him as much! And told him he can't control things this big and to take bites of things and no, they won't clean up clutter because they are used to clutter, YOU'RE going to have to be the change you wish to see in the world and keep up on it. Eventually they will follow suit. OR they won't! And you can't MAKE them change! They can't suddenly become neat and tidy! You can only really take care of yourself! Change your ways! You can't make anyone do anything!

And it SUCKS when it's your parents, or people you are close to, I KNOW. I HAVE BEEN THERE. I AM CURRENTLY THERE. You want them to change so bad because you love them. But you just can't make them or force them to do or change anything. Especially our parents. They will yell and scream and disagree about everything you do. I am almost THIRTY and they STILL give me crap for all SORTS of shit! I'M NOT EVEN THERE AND THEY STILL HAVE ISSUES WITH ME WHEN I AM JUST TRYING TO STRAIGHTS VIBE. LIVE MY LIFE. ETC ETC.

Anyway. Talk him down. He sighs, resigned. We hang up. It was only 12 minutes (a new record!).

I burst into the washroom where my husband is about to shower but is waiting expectantly bc he heard my half of the conversation and he knows how these people be, god bless his whole entire ass he is TRULY the Blaise to my Winter, AND the Winter to my Blaise, and I will love him forEVER (I hope you find someone like him, too. Everyone deserves a partner as attentive as Richard. EVERYONE). I go off and he nods and validates and comforts and consoles and cracks shit ass jokes and goes to shower and we go to run errands and get in at 8pm.

I check my messages.

Big mistake.

I had muted whatsapp notifications AGES ago because that seems to be my family's preferred method of communication. I don't blame them--I LOVE the convenience of the voice note feature, hell fucking yes. But so do they! And they LOVE doing stupid shit like fighting in the whatsapp group chats!

So, I muted the notifications YEARS ago. Now I only see the messages on my terms and can easily see when a message sent and replied to is going to be a fight or stupid or the coldest take you ever did hear. And they have gotten better lately. Usually it's very silly messages, just general whatever the fucks, etc etc.

But not Monday night.

No.

I open whatsapp and see one new message: a DM from my mother.

She had sent me a long, whiny message while I was chatting with my brother THREE HOURS PRIOR that amounted to "your brother is out of control he doesn't do SHIT he yells and screams and throws things at us we are living in fear I know he is talking to you but idk what he's telling you, all I'm saying is don't believe everything you hear, there are two sides to every story."

"That's some reality TV bumper segment shit" says Richard as I read this out loud to him, and he's right.

And ALSO, as my beloved bestest friend since childhood said, there's actually THREE sides to every story, the two stories and the middle ground that's what ACTUALLY happened, so THERE! Take THAT, Jane.

Anyway. This sets me off all over again right as I had felt better. I message back the bare minimum because leaving her on read is always much, much worse: "We were talking about messes and things being out of ones control. That's it. Chill out"

THIS WOMAN. REPLIES RIGHT AWAY. WITH A PHOTO OF FURNITURE MOVED AND SOME STUFF ON THE FLOOR. AND ANOTHER WHINY MESSAGE. "Look he came downstairs afterwards and made this big mess while yelling and calling me names we're so scared we're just waiting for him to come back down and yell again"

And she CHOOSES to make this MY problem. Like. MA'AM! WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT IT? NOTHING! I DON'T CARE! YOU ARE MY MONKEYS BUT THIS IS NOT MY CIRCUS ANYMORE. STOP TRYING TO DRAG ME INTO YOUR SHOW MA'AM! YOUR SON IS OBVIOUSLY GOING THROUGH IT AND CRYING OUT FOR HELP IN A VERY DESTRUCTIVE WAY, AND THIS?? THIS IS YOUR REPLY?? CRY TO YOUR ELDEST???? FUCK!

I think that message is what really did me in tbh, what really got me sick to my stomach and having a gnarly stress response short of an anxiety attack. I replied with an "I've already talked to him today and that's that on that" bc the way she wrote that message, you'd think I was ACTIVELY TALKING TO HIM ALL EVENING.

NO! I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO! LIKE PLAY VIDEO GAMES! PETER PAN JUST GOT TO THE VALLEY AND DO YOU KNOW HE WAS SUCH A BITCH TO UNLOCK? HE HAD ME DOING SOME G RATED SAW ASS PUZZLE SHIT JUST TO FIND HIM!! FUCK! I HAVE TWO FUN ONE SHOTS ON THE GO AND SILLY DOODLES ON THE MIND AND A WHOLE ASS SEQUEL TO PLOT, AND YOU THINK I AM SPENDING MY EVENING LISTENING TO MY BROTHER BADMOUTH YOU AND NODDING MY AGREEMENT? SWEETIE. I ALREADY THINK POORLY OF YOU! HIS THOUGHTS DON'T INFLUENCE THAT LMAO! THAT'S ALL ON YOU BABY! I NEED TO GO TO DESKTOP. I NEED TO TYPE ANGRILY. I NEED TO HEAR CLICKITY CLACKS. AH.

SO YEAH. She sends that and I think it just reminded me of what happened back in 2023? A big old fight like this that led to my brother having to stay with us for a year and a bit and that. That sucked in so many ways I could never articulate to you and I am STILL feeling the hurt all these months, this year and a bit later and it's been rough. I should've contacted my therapist MUCH sooner, but I had my reasons: money, mostly. Also, she was on mat leave, and I was unsure if it was a short or long one, but I waited just in case. Stuck with the same clinic and tried two other therapists when I felt really low. The first one didn't care to investigate my feelings at all, and instead said that my husband was jealous of the relationship I had with my brother and how do we think he feels?

Well. I knew damn well how Richard felt and it WASN'T LIKE THAT, THAT'S FOR SURE. Everyone was like "what about him how does he feel?" I KNOW HOW HE FEELS IT'S MY ME I'M WORRIED ABOUT! CA ANYONE HEAR ME? LIKE. AM I NOT SAYING I NEED HELP? FUCK! AH! OFF TOPIC!

Suffice to say, that therapist got one session with me and that was it. Months later when I went back after another low point, I set up with a new one who I THOUGHT was my old therapist bc they had the same first name. Check the about us page after booking--different person. Fuck. I ponder for a bit. Think of finding old therapist. Do the math and realize if it was a long mat leave, she's still not quite back yet. Okay. Let's see how it goes with this one then?

And it went...fine. I think we had like 4 sessions over 5 months and in February she completely invalidated ALL my feelings and I went WELL FUCK THAT, looked up my old therapist, FOUND HER, and kept that info on the back burner.

Good thing, too, because last week I came to the realization that I was at stress levels I had never seen.

Which lead to the thought of I WILL NEVER BE FREE FROM THESE PEOPLE and telling that to Richard and e-mailing my old therapist before leaving for errands and coming home to that message from my mother and getting sick about it. GOD.

Great news was that I checked my e-mails after that and my old therapist had e-mailed back, REMEMBERED ME, said she'd often wondered about me and was v glad I reached out and we could pick up again as early as TOMORROW which, at the time, was TUESDAY.

I fully thought I'd be at work Tuesday so I said SURE LET'S TRY TUESDAY AND IF NOT, I CAN DO THURSDAY.

Chat. I did not go into work Tuesday.

I recovered enough to eat some food, and then, THREE HOURS after my mother's initial message, which puts us back at 11 fucking PM, my brother finally breaks his worrying silence.

"I think I need help. I crashed out and spent 3 hours on the floor of my room stressing about messes. I think I need inpatient care. If novody is going to take me in and I need help, that's my only option."

OOP. THERE'S THE STOMACH ACHE AGAIN.

BUT ALSO. I WANT THIS LITTLE MANS TO THRIVE. I WANT HIM TO TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AND GET OUT AND LIVE HIS BEST LIFE! I WANT HIM TO THRIVE ON SPITE! I WANT HIM TO SURPRISE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING FAMILY MEMBER WHO HAS PUT HIM DOWN, YELLED AT HIM, TOLD HIM HE WAS WORTHLESS, etc. etc.

So I encouraged it! I was like "that could be an option, yes! but do it properly. Talk to the family doctor first because maybe there's a better treatment plan for you to take back your life." and so on and so forth.

He. Did not reply.

I was worried. VERY worried. Got sick about an hour or so after that when I went "I am tired and cold and think I'm good? Let me go brush my teeth." Chat, my body did NOT like me doing that and that was THAT. Richard had to hold back my hair. THEN I HAD TO BRUSH MY TEETH AGAIN! AND THEN IT HAPPENED AGAIN! At that point I'm like. fuck. I need to lay down. Fuck work tomorrow. I'm staying home and figuring this shit out with my therapist because I am way too stressed and this should not be effecting me as much as it is and yet, HERE WE ARE! WERE!

I have a moment late at night and text my bestest friend since childhood. Told her I was having a rough night and loved and appreciated her and missed her and hoped all is well with her. She is TERRIBLE at texting so I didn't expect a reply, got one ASAP, LADS. I DID A CRY. FUCK. I still gotta text her back actually lmao, BUT ANYWAY, HAD A ROUGH GO MONDAY NIGHT INTO TUESDAY FOR SURE.

I did eventually get to sleep with one more near-miss in the washroom, BUT! MY STOMACH STEADIED! I WAS OKAY! BRUSHED ME TEETH AND CRASHED. A word I am using a lot, it seems. I blame the youth.

ANYWAY. I wake up the next day exhausted and text my supie and my coworker and throw my sick request onto our day off system, and immediately fill out intake forms therapist sent me. the day goes by quietly and I do NOT poke ANY bears. I reach out to pals. I try to catch up on sleep and relax and Richard comes home for lunch to check on me and I am able to eat a bowl of cereal and then it is therapy time and Holy Shit.

Do you know how reliving it is to feel validated? To be told you're not crazy and what the other therapists did was NOT great and that YES you HAVE been having a time, and you HAVE been doing what you can, and that's amazing? It feels good. It feels really good and so, so reliving and I wish that for you, for every single one of you.

We chatted for 1.5 hours. we came up with a meeting plan and goals and a treatment plan. I'm gonna be working on my me. I'm going to learn not to let this stuff bug me. I am going to take the steps to heal my me and get in touch with her and know what she needs, what I need, because my GOD I am TIRED of feeling like this! I just want to eat hot chips without my teeth hurting because they were CLENCHED ALL NIGHT! I JUST WANT TO NOT FEEL BURNT OUT FROM ENFORCING BOUNDARIES WITH PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT MEANS WHEN YOU TELL THEM POINT BLANK! FUCK!

And breath. Right. SO.

That went well, and we came up with a plan and she gave me some homework and book recs which I have dug into and are helpful, so far. She's linked me to a few more fresh informative tools and a new type of therapy she wants to try with me that she's really into, and I feel really, really proud of myself for reaching out. The first step is knowing you need help and finding it, a very important thing for my NEXT bout of venting!

I assumed I'd hear from SOMEONE after "work" hours and low and behold, my brother calls me. I pick up. The tl;dr: "I got sleep. I'm feeling better. I decided therapy isn't for me. Wanna see my new dnd maps?"

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRUSTRATING IT IS. KNOWING SOMEONE NEEDS HELP. AND SEEING THEM CONSTANTLY GO ACTUALLY NVM. THEN COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW EVERYONE ELSE IS FUCKED UP AND SHOULD SEEK HELP?

IT IS SO FUCKING ANNOYING. I HOPE YOU NEVER HAVE TO FEEL THAT FEELING. AND IF YOU DO, I FEEL YOU AND YOU ARE NOT! ALONE! WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS, WE WILL.

So that was Tuesday.

Wednesday, I am feeling MUCH better; stomach is stable and my teeth aren't hurting so...progress? I've grabbed the two book recs therapist gave me that i didn't already have and go to work, and do my best to focus and what have you, and MY BROTHER CALLS ME ON LUNCH. LUNCH!

He then texts like "hey sorry to call just wanted to bug ya on lunch but I didn't know what time you lunched? Carry on, will chat later"

(I am inhaling and placing my folded together hands in front of my lips as I exhale and mentally scream BOYYYY)

BOUNDARY STOMPED! AGAIN! FUCK! I HAVE ONE STRICT RULE: DO NOT CALL ME AT WORK. FULL STOP. I HAVE ONLY EVER MADE 1 EXCEPTION AND IT WAS WHEN MY SISTER CALLED ME FROM HER TRIP IN ICELAND. THAT'S IT!

I am INFURIATED.

I make it through the noon, and after work Richard comes to get me and he's sniffly and his throat has been bugging him for two days straight and I'm like "keep that shit AWAY from me THANKS love" and I tell him about this and how I need to call him back and assert that boundary AGAIN. APPARENTLY. But that I'm going to do it gently and say "hey man lunch time at work not a gr8 call me time. It's never consistent with events and desk schedules. best keep it to after work" cause like, this mans is on the edge on any given day AND REFUSES TO GET HELP AND I CANNOT FORCE HIM TOO.

And Richard misunderstands and asks why I don't just assert that boundary. Which is what I said I was going to do, just. Gently. Y'know?

And I wanted to cry! And did! I am SO TIRED of people telling me what to do and that I'm not doing things properly and it's like, OKAY! OKAY! I HEAR YOU! IGNORE THEM ALL! UNFORTUNATELY I DO LIKE MY FAMILY MOST DAYS AND DO NOT WANT TO CUT THEM OUT OF MY LIFE COLD! TURKEY! I JUST WANT TO KEEP THEM AT A HEALTHY DISTANCE! SO WHY IS EVERYONE ALWAYS QUESTIONING IT!!

Richard apologizes profusely and realizes he misunderstood and is very sweet, as per the usual, and I am reminded for the 20th time this week that holy hell I should've reached out to therapist WAY sooner because I am really, really, really not doing well if something THAT SMALL has made me do the big cry.

So I get in touch with my brother. Tell him what I said. He goes cool. got it. And chats about his day to me. There are sprinkler shenanigans at Grandma's house. It's a whole THING and they all try to make it my problem and I say THAT'S NICE. STOP IT. And we carry on. Richard and I get home.

It is Day 3 of a heatwave. It is going to break that night. A relief, but between the cold at work and the cold at home, I'd yet to overheat thank god.

That is, until I walk into the house Wednesday afternoon.

The AC is on, I hear it shaking the 100 year old timbers of my abode.

But it feels like it's 25 plus in the house It's stuffy.

And I have just spent 4 months straight in the stuffiest building ALIVE while they replaced the cooling system at work, so I've gotten pretty good at judging temperatures by feel.

I am, however, super chilly bc now that the chiller at work is fixed, it's 18 degrees CELSIUS (that's 64 Fahrenheit for all you anything but metric folk) in the main area, about 15 in the back area (60F) ON THE DAILY, so the chill stays in me bones for a while.

Well, maybe power went out. We'd gotten home a few times the last two weeks during the heat to see the oven and microwave time reset, so...not out of the realm of possibility.

But then RICHARD, who THRIVES in the heat, says it's too warm as I am glancing at the thermostat which reads TWENTY-FIVE (25) DEGREES C.

BUT IT'S RUNNING.

W H A T.

So we shut it all down, he checks the filter, the insides, and it's all fine, so we turn it back on and he goes to nap bc his throat is sore and he's feeling sick and I hang out in shorts and a tank and post that silly comic and go to see if the AC has cooled down--

It has gotten HOTTER.

Okay. Okay. What the fuck. Okay.

I go outside to look at the outside portion and the fan isn't spinning, which I imagine means that the HOT AIR isn't leaving the house and that the COLD AIR probably isn't getting chilled and the cold coming from the VENT is simply. The cold air from the basement, and I'm like fuck. This shit is probably broken.

SO THEN COMES AN EVENING OF LANDLORD-AC COMPANY-SISTER CHATS, BECAUSE IT'S WEDNESDAY, AND ON WEDNESDAY MY SISTER AND I HAVE A WEEKLY PHONE CALL AND CHAT ABOUT OUR WEEKS AND UPCOMING THINGS ETC ETC. So while talking to her I had to put her on hold to get the AC sorted with the landlords--my Dad and Aunt (this will be important later) and I'm basically doing like, the world's most impressive balancing act, ALL WHILE COOKING DINNER.

After some NONSENSE bc my aunt didn't know when we'd be home, I end up calling the AC people and booking our appointment for TODAY to diagnose. They try to push several useless sales, I say, multiple times, CAN WE PLEASE JUST GET SOMEONE TO LOOK AT OUR AC AND SEE IF IT'S FIXABLE OR NEEDS A REPLACEMENT

"Of course! Now do you want me to send you to sales in case you do need to replace--"

NO I WANT TO DIAGNOSE IT.

"Okay but--"

"JUST DIAGNOSE IT PLEASE."

"Okay :D!"

Get that sorted, call sister back, chat with her some more and cover our bases for her visit next weekend. She tells me about the sprinkler shenanigans in a way that DOESN'T make it my problem and just tells me what actually happened. My uncle is shitty and my brother is crashing out again. What else is new. ANYWAY, she says she's fine, Gran is fine, my brother is chill bc he ALSO calls me after all this and holy HELL. I go shower and rest my weary bones because god DAMN it's been. A long ass week and it's only Wednesday. But hey! At least the heat broke. It's been delightfully cool and breezy!~

Thursday is remarkably uneventful. Thank fuck. Richard gets worse and it seems to be a proper sickness--that or allergies gone WILD because windows and such. But he's dad sneezing and has napped every day this week so I'm more inclined to believe it's some kind of low key sickness which has seemed to spread to me, but more on that at 1.

Thursday is chill. As previously stated, thank fuck.

Friday. Today. LORDY LORDY.

The heat broke and it's been 19 and breezy and that's been great for the house given the dead AC unit bc guess what, it's dead.

The tech came out today. She was super chill. Took one look at the ac unit (slanted, 19 years old we learnt) and declared it dead. Said to turn it on so we can see/hear. I did. Fan is begging to be killed; motors aren't running, compressor is shot. Oh, and the coolant? The coolant that cools the entire house? FUCKING ILLEGAL NOW.

I'm like oh my godddddd

The landlords--my dad and aunt--tell us when we booked the appointment to let them know when the tech arrives and they can do payment. We did.

Do you think they picked up? Either of them?

NO.

So we go the whole appointment not hearing from them and then we get the replacement news, still no reply from them, and finally Dad calls back first as our super chill tech was scouting the basement to make sure everything down there was safe (it was! :D).

My Dad is chill, confused but Richard remembered ALL THE SHITS and told him the deets. He says he will have to confer with his copilot. We say good luck, she hadn't picked up. HVAC lady is getting ready to leave, she's got us set up to start the replacement process bc I mean like. 40 degree weather as the norm? In an old house made for KEEPING WARM??? Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. She sets us up with the sales guy tomorrow at 9am, and then starts paperwork, and then my aunt texts back "call for payment" and I text back, "need to replace the unit totally". She didn't reply; Richard goes, probably best to call her. So I do and put it on speaker.

And guys. If I hadn't lost it before with ANY of the events of the week so far. This is where I broke, I just. HUH CAT VIBES.

I tell her what's happened, and that they have the guy coming tomorrow--

"OKAY. STOP. I HEAR YOU. WE HAVE TO REPLACE THE WHOLE THING. BUT THAT'S EXPENSIVE!"

I blink. Look at Richard. He makes a confused face. I blink again. Reply.

"YES I know, but trying to repair it is way more expensive."

"Okay, but Daniella. Where is the money going to COME FROM?" The LANDLORD asks me.

I blink. Probably out of sync. I called this woman at a 2 maybe and she is at a 9. My throat has slowly been hurting more and more since like, after break this morning. I do not have the mental capacity to deal with this today.

"We don't even know how much it's going to be yet--"

"OKAY. OKAY. I GET IT. I GET THAT IT'S SHOT, WE GOTTA REPLACE THE WHOLE THING. I GET IT. BUT WHERE IS THE MONEY GOING TO COME FROM?"

I am. SO confused at this point. I am also ANNOYED. Two days ago it was fine; she was good to cover it. Now she's like, WHERE'S THE MONEY GONNA COME FROM??

Annoyed, I grit my teeth (ouch), look at Richard apologetically and go, "RICHARD AND I CAN REFINANCE AND COVER IT IF YOU GUYS CAN'T."

We rent from them, so this is technically illegal; they should be the ones covering this thing NOT us. they should ALSO be the ones getting eavesdrops on our house so we can stop getting a soaking wet basement and stop getting MOULD SPOTS.

But hey, who gives a shit, right? It's just Daniella, and we've ALREADY SEEN OVER THE PAST 3 YEARS THAT NONE OF THIS FUCKOS ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT MY ME. I am sorry I am very bitter. It feels VERY TRUE though. ANYWAY.

She gets mad and goes "NO NO DON'T DO THAT. DON'T REFINANCE ANYTHING. I JUST WANT TO KNOW, WHERE IS THE MONEY GOING TO COME FROM?!!?"

I DON'T KNOW LADY!

I can't even remember what happened at this point or what I said, all I know is we hung up shortly after and I was LIVID. HVAC lady knocks on the door so we can pay the diagnostic fee, which will be reimbursed once they replace the unit. Y'know. The fee the landlords said they'd pay?

Yeah. I'm not fucking with THAT now.

So I go to cover it; Richard beats me to it. As he's talking trade shit with the HVAC lady, my phone rings. I go to get it. It's Dad. PHEW.

He's trying to conference in my aunt. UNPHEW.

He succeeds. They ask if the tech is still there. I say yes. they wanna talk to her. I say are you going to yell and be mean. They say NO and IT DEPENDS. I grit my teeth and go "LET me see if she's got the time" bc she has already told us everything and we have repeated it, VERBATIM, to both landlords.

Folks. This was the most gruelling conversation of my life. AND I WASN'T EVEN SAYING SHIT! I WAS JUST LISTENING TO MAKE SURE THEY DIDN'T MAKE JILL'S DAY WORSE! Jill was HVAC Tech's name. She was so cool. ANYWAY.

They ask her what tf is up. She tells them what she told us and we already told her. Aunt goes on a rant about it being expensive and how much will it be we can't rush into this--Jill cuts her off like an ABSOLUTE G. I don't like giving prices, she says, because I AM JUST THE TECH [emphaiss is mine] and don;t know about all the sales,c redits,d eals, etc. we have going on. HOWEVER--she says loudly, as my aunt strats up again--if I had to ballpark it, it'd be 6 at most and here's why.

She then proceeds to list all the things wrong with it, AGAIN, and explains which parts will be the most costly and why.

"But that's so expensive!" Aunt complains.

"I know," Jill replies. "THANKFULLY. We stoked up on AC units and components pre-tariffs, so price wise you won;t have to worry about that and are already saving 2k."

"But it's still so expensive!"

At this point, Richard and I are smacking our heads into the nearest surface (one another) and my eyes are probably BULGING out of my head in frustration. Jill remains unmoved. A furnace electrocuted her today; this is nothing compared to that. What an ICON. She says, wihtout any sass or a sigh or anything, "Well, there are other cost-saving measures. You can rent. And if this is an income property for you, that's what I'd recommend."

"So how does renting work?"

"You don't pay an upfront and are eligible for multiple tax credits."

"But how long do we rent it for?"

"Well, ACs don't last forever. If I had come here today, and this was a rental, I still would've called for a replacement."

"...So we don't make money on renting? Then what's in it for us?"

AND THAT, FRIENDS, IS WHERE I LOST IT. EVERYTHING ABOUT THE WEEK--THE SPRINKLERS, THE BOUNDARY CROSSING, THE AC CRAPPING OUT, THE STUPID FIGHTS, EVERYTHING, COMES TO A HEED AND I LOOK AT RICHARD, AND HE LOOKS AT ME, AND I LOOK AT HIM, AND HE LOOKS AT ME, AND WE JUST ABOUT DIED OH MY GOD. "We don't make money if we rent it?" SAYS THE LANDLORD. WHO I HAVE BEEN RENTING FROM. FOR TEN FUCKING YEARS.

Jill doesn't say no, because she's chill and knows my aunt is like. LORD ONLY KNOWS WHERE SHE IS TBH. Instead, Jill says, "Well, you don't pay up front, and maintenance is covered since we own it, and you can claim it on your taxes and get reimbursed. So it kinda floats itself a bit here."

Baring the fact that we live in a world where you RENT PARTS OF A HOUSE FROM CORPORATIONS and how ANNOYING that is, I'm not understanding WHAT about this is so hard for my Aunt to understand, oh my god. She splutters for a bit and is like "but where does all our money go? we can't rent to own?"

And both my Dad and Jill go "Lease." And then Jill goes yes, leasing is an option, AND ONCE MORE REITERATES THAT SHE IS JUST A TECH. THE SALES GUY COMING TOMORROW, WILL KNOW ALL THE DEETS AND BE ABLE TO HELP US TOMORROW. HE KNOWS MORE ABOUT DEALS AND OFFERS AND SALES AND PAYMENT STRUCTURES AND CREDITS AND WHAT NOT. SHE! IS! JUST! A TECH! WHO HAS HAD A SHITE DAY!

So we get that sorted and I'm like "I never want to talk to these people EVER AGAIN" but I rent their house so, y'know. But also, they got the house for me to rent from in school so I could one day OWN it. They did it to HELP, my Aunt says, and I'm like ok so why don't you have a budget for this house knowing it is one of your many properties that floats itself/CAN make income when, y'know, you're not LOSING INCOME from your SHIT HOUSES YOU GOT IN NIAGARA REGION THAT KEEP GETTING TRASHED. FUCK.

Off topic again. Holy hell.

SUFFICE to say. That was TAXING. "We don't make money if we rent" YEAH. YEAH. I THOUGHT YOU KNEW THAT? BEING LANDLORDS? GOD DAMN. I cannot WAIT to be a homeowner and hope to GOD my saving is worth it and we CAN afford the house three years from now because having a landlord SUCKS like. You can't do SHIT. Oh my GOD.

Anyway. That ends that. We apologize for the way they do be. Jill replies with "No worries, my mom is exactly the same way." Solidarity, I guess, and also, holy shit Jill I am so sorry. Richard sends her off with two fresh Arizona Ice Teas bc he has been hoarding them like a dragon all week. She's very grateful and gives us a cheery little wave as she goes off to finish her day--one last stop! She even came EARLY because she could and we were home.

So YEAH. I bbq'd and vented. Tried to eat but was too wound up and also, throat hurty, and then lay on my bed at 8pm and started doing a vent and now it is a quarter to 1am, I am still awake, I have had a WEEK and feel nowhere NEAR ready for tomorrow's conference call with the landlords and the sales guy and am very very glad I have a WEEK OFF because my god. This week has been taxing. I'm now having some pre-bed me time. My brother called at 10. I am NOT calling him back. I am tired, worn out, AT AND SURPASSED MY FUCKING LIMIT ("we don't make money if we rent" fucking SHIT I am still shooketh by that), with a sore throat and the prospect of a very humid day tomorrow with none AC so. The decompressing and venting is needed.

If you actually kept reading? And made it this far? Thank you. That's very sweet. I really appreciate it. Thanks for letting me take some space in your evening scroll 💖

[missfay49]

To my Alma Mater: to America

A message to Wellesley College and the people of America broadcast from Chungking on June 13, 1942, on the occasion of the awarding of the degree of Doctor of Laws to Mayling Soong Chiang (Mme. Chiang Kai-shek) at the 64th Commencement of Wellesley College.

President McAfee and friends: I find it difficult to thank you adequately for the foundation fund and the personal tribute being paid to me today.

Although primarily speaking to my fellow alumnae I realize that my voice is reaching all my American friends who are listening in. My words are meant equally for them, especially for those who are holding luncheons today in my honor. But I own that I am apprehensive as well as gratified because those conferring high honors have a right to expect that they should be borne worthily. From those to whom much is given much is rightfully expected, and although I would not knowingly betray their trust I feel a chill of doubt whether my frail shoulders can support such a weight of honor.

Still I gladly embrace this opportunity of thanking you for your belief in me and I realize that yours is a genuine and spontaneous expression of friendship and good will, not so much for me personally as for China's womanhood, and is intended to testify to your admiration for the consistent and unfaltering devotion shown by the women in China in our resistance against aggression. Furthermore your complete sympathy for our common aim and your desire to symbolize our oneness of purpose is thereby manifested.

Your confidence in me makes it easier to tell you frankly and unreservedly things passing in my mind. True friendship is based upon knowledge of each other's thoughts. To our friendship is based upon knowledge of each other's thoughts. To our friends we can express our innermost thoughts freely and thus reach perfect understanding. Therefore, I open my heart to you.

39

On July 7 China is entering upon her sixth year of war. You are no doubt wondering how our outlook has been affected by five years of intense struggle and strain. I can assure you that the Chinese people are confident of their ability to hold on in the face of apparently insufferable difficulties if China is given the necessary equipment now. The morale of our people has been the main factor of its resolute determination never to admit defeat but to plug on in sheer dogged resistance.

Their resolution was buttressed by the belief that, after the war, there would be a new world society with a sure foundation of freedom, justice and equality.

Remember that China has never claimed to possess a mechanized army comparable in equipment to that of the enemy and capable of meeting him in pitched battles. Lacking such an army, we were compelled to adopt our magnetic strategy. By forcing the enemy to conform to it we kept him at bay. We have not been conquered nor shall we be. Our ill-equipped army has held the foe back for all these years. We shall throw him back as soon as we are given the badly needed war planes and artillery that we lack.

The people of China recognized throughout our war of resistance that they were fighting for freedom of body and soul and this not for themselves alone. I personally during these years encouraged them to believe that after victory was won the world system could be entirely altered; that we would all be free peoples and that nations strong or weak would deal fairly and squarely with each other. If our people and army had not been induced to believe this the war, as far as China is concerned, would have been over long ago.

Just pause for a moment to consider what that would have meant to the other Democracies. Recently Japan conscripted all males of nineteen and upward for military service in the puppet state that she has established in Manchuria. Supposed China had not elected to fight her war of resistance or had collapsed. All the manpower of this nation of 450,000,000 people and the resources of a country larger than the whole of Europe would have been thrown into the scale against the United Nations instead of being on their side. Even if this had not spelled defeat for the United Nations it would certainly have lengthened the war by at least several years.

40

At first when the Chinese people were told that there would evolve a new world order after victory they remembered 1931 and were skeptical. It was evident that promise did not always mean performance. When the invasion of Manchuria took place I confess that I myself was bewildered because, although China's sovereignty and territorial integrity has been guaranteed by international treaties, none of the powers signatory to those treaties took any effective action.

America, however, through Colonel Stimson warned Japan against her aggressive policy and endeavored to awaken other nations to the necessity of preserving the sanctity of treaties. Diplomatic representatives of some powers loftily explained to me that their countries were only responsible for not breaking the treaties themselves, they were not international policemen.

In other words, if it was some one else who set fire to a neighbor's building and thereby incidentally endangered your own homes nearby, it was not for you to stop him and you were not morally obligated to do so. This reductio ad absurdum attitude had its tragic but logical consequences.

Notwithstanding the Manchuria disillusionment, China's leaders urged our people to fight on assuring them that a new era of international justice was certain to come when victory was won. Upon that I personally staked all my hopes of being of service to my country in the future. Consequently if, after the war, the world is allowed by the Democracies to lapse to the outworn ideology and system of the past the Chinese Army and people will feel that I have misled them and that they have suffered and bled and died in vain. They will conclude, and rightly, that those of us who believe in the Democracies and who have given assurances of a better order had deceived them, in which case we shall not be able to justify ourselves before our own conscience. We hope and believe that we shall not be called upon to face the charge. To err is human, and who is not human? To progress, however, we must acknowledge and rectify our past mistakes and not repeat them.

Let me continue to be frank with you. What we must have in the new era is a concrete implementation of the principles we uphold, not empty slogans. We must not allow our fervor to exterminate aggression and willingness to make sacrifices for the common cause to subside after victory is won. There must be international policemen just as in ordi-

41

nary life there are policemen to see that lawbreakers and brought to justice. Nations who break the law should be no less liable and subject to punishment and it is the duty of every nation to participate in active maintenance of peace and order.

Unless nations which offend are brought to book they will repeat their crimes whenever opportunity offers and the world will be compelled to undergo an endless succession of devastating wars. Gangsterism does not change its nature because a gangster is a nation instead of an individual and it should be similarly dealt with.

After all that China has sacrificed for the common cause it is certain that those who believe in impartial justice will insist upon her having an effective voice at the after-victory peace conference in the remodeling of the new world system. As she was forced to take up arms against aggression, her advice and experience will be of value when the implementation of the principles for which we are fighting comes to be discussed and new international machinery set up.

In this new world society we must all be indeed our brother's keeper and act accordingly. Then stronger nations will help the weaker, not patronizingly as before but as elder brothers in whom trust can be felt, guiding the younger ones until they are able to stand on their own feet.

I recall that Dr. Sun Yat-sen, the Father of the Chinese Republic, said that all the world races started from the same metal and that it is a moral duty of those more advanced to help those not so far advanced.

Child prodigies seldom succeed in after life to achieve the distinction in the broader world that they had received in the model sphere of home and school. Nations similarly will not succeed whatever their potentialities unless they harness their abilities not for self-seeking but for the common good.

The time has passed when we can determine a man's status or his nations by the color of his skin or the shape of his eyes. We must create a world society to fit the need and requirements of all races instead of adopting the procrustean method of lopping off a nation's territories and liberties to fit that nation into the existing order.

I have faith that from the crucifixion experienced in this war the Democracies will learn the lesson that prevention is better than cure,

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that it is better to prevent wars than to win wars. But war can only be prevented if world society is so constituted that all races are given equal opportunity to develop their native genius not hampered but aided by the stronger and more advanced races.

It is paradoxical but true that nations like individuals can only permanently enjoy privileges and rights if they are willing to share them with others. If they attempt to reserve them solely for themselves they will lose them. History has illustrated this time and again. Exploitation, imperialism and all the other anachronisms of pre-World War society must be swept out of existence.

Therein you can render invaluable help. Hundreds of my American friends have written me asking how they could be of service to China and the world. By marshalling all your power and influence to see to it that America helps to confer upon all races the freedom, the justice and equality that America herself enjoys. You would thus also help me because this is the vision I have held out to our people.

Before I conclude I would like to say a few words expressly to my Wellesley friends. I am not speaking figuratively when I say that I am with you in spirit today. I often recall with abiding affection my happy college days and you my friends whose problems and ideals I shared. We have greater and graver problems confronting us in these days when freedom is fighting for survival, but I am convinced that we will carry on the fight with serene courage and bring to the lasting good of mankind with rich fulfillment of our Alma Mater's ideal, "Not to be ministered unto, but to minister."

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[chorusfm]

Keane – Hopes & Fears

There was something in the water in 2004. Not every year delivers even one classic debut album; 2004 was serving them up like it was going out of style. Hot Fuss; Franz Ferdinand; Funeral; Bows + Arrows; The College Dropout. Not all of those albums have aged well, but they all left an indelible mark on music, and most of them delivered at least one iconic hit – the kind of deathless single that will live on forever and ever on wedding dancefloor playlists or supermarket sound systems. I have, at one time or another, loved all of those albums. But in 2004 proper, if you’d have asked me which brand-new artist I was most excited to follow over the course of their career, I would have answered Keane, and I’d have done it without hesitation. Keane were never going to be cool. They were pitched as the heirs apparent to Coldplay, which is probably a pretty big “strike one” for most tastemakers. They also made big, grandiose soft rock that wore its heart on its sleeve; there was no wit or irony here, just uber-emotional songs about unrequited love and the pains of growing up. Probably fair to call that strike two. And perhaps least cool of all, Keane were a rock band with no guitars. Even Coldplay, as wussy as their reputation would suggest they were, still had songs with Big Ass Guitars. Keane were a three-piece with a singer, a drummer, and a keyboardist, and the pianos were front and center in every single song. Do I even need to say it? Strike three; get outta here! While those three things may have caused a lot of people to turn their noses up at Keane, though, they were all extremely attractive to 14-year-old me – especially the piano thing. Growing up, I wanted to play the guitar. I was the classic “raised on rock music” kid, who thought there was absolutely nothing cooler than a person standing on a stage and playing a guitar extremely well. In an alternate universe, maybe someone gives me a guitar for my 14th birthday and I devote my entire life to mastering it. In this universe, though, I spent my childhood suffering a form of eczema that caused my hands – and especially my fingertips – to dry out, crack, and bleed. My fingers were such a problem that I couldn’t hold a pencil the normal way growing up, much less try to play an instrument notorious for tearing up your fingers. And so, I learned to play piano instead. That sometimes hurt, too, and I definitely bled on the keys once or twice (the things we do for our art!) but it was a hell of a lot easier than trying to push down metal strings. Needless to say, I didn’t get a guitar for my 14th birthday. What I did get was a copy of Keane’s Hopes & Fears. Seeing Keane emerge and turn into a big fucking deal was, for Craig the piano player, a formative moment. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of piano’s status as a rock ‘n’ roll instrument; I’d obviously heard my parents listening to Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel and Elton John over the years, or my brother listening to Ben Folds Five, or the likes of Five for Fighting or (again) Coldplay playing on the radio. But Keane coming up just as I was starting to take ownership of my own musical journey was different somehow. Maybe it’s because it felt like I was discovering them for myself; maybe I just liked the songs better. Whatever the reason, when “Somewhere Only We Know” started cropping up on radio playlists and in TV commercials, it sent a message I’d never really heeded from any other music before: You could play piano and still become a rock star. I’d been taking piano lessons for five or six years at that point, but I’d never invested my heart into it. I dutifully practiced every day, and I took on the classical pieces that my teachers assigned me, but there wasn’t much passion there. Hearing Keane got me thinking about piano in a different way. Soon, I was bringing my own ideas into piano lessons, taking pop and rock songs in and telling my teachers that this was what I wanted to learn. And before long, I was learning how to play and sing at the same time.… https://chorus.fm/reviews/keane-hopes-fears/

[yarns-and-d20s]

Something I find especially difficult is explaining to others (*cough*allistics*cough*) the way being pushed "outside my comfort zone" is a thoroughly zero-sum game. It either works, or it doesn't. And just because it looks like it's worked doesn't mean it has; that's just outside perspective, not what's going on inside me. I know I can pin this directly on the rigidity and inflexibility that autism gives me.

I was terrified of roller coasters that... go upside down. I don't know if there's a technical term for this. Has loops? Whatever, you know what I mean. When I was an entire adult in my early 20s, my older brother bullied me into "finally" going on one. I fought tears the entire time; it's possible I fully left my body, I'm not entirely sure. It was awful. I've never been on another roller coaster, even one that doesn't have loops. So, I survived it, yeah, I didn't throw up, but I've never been able to make myself go on a roller coaster.

There are other times that I've pushed past my comfort zone and succeeded. Music was one of the hobbies I gave up in exchange for being able to read more because You Can't Write If You Don't Read Voraciously(tm), but I was a really fucking good musician. But playing alone, without others accompanying, with more people than just my parents listening to me? I thought my music teacher had thoroughly taken leave of her senses.

It was fine. It was great, actually. I didn't screw up once. I went on to do solos many more times. I enjoyed it.

But beyond being able to provide specific examples, I don't know how to explain to the non-autistic--or another autistic person, even, but that's only because it's never come up--how this all feels. How just because it looks like everything went fine, it doesn't mean it was/is. It doesn't mean that the next time I'm shoved outside of my comfort zone, it'll just get easier. I don't know how to explain to them what's going on not just in my head but in my entire body when I keep being forced to do the thing again and again and again. Because it is a whole-system experience for me.

This can be anything from outright fears (eg, the roller coaster thing) to pushing me into doing seemingly very mundane things the way I don't normally do them. The way I clean, the way I write fiction, the way I cook, the way I bake, the way I crochet.

I have found myself so thoroughly disgruntled because I wanted to make soup but was being helped and things were being done out of order that I had to stop, put everything away, take a break, and then come back and do it properly.

For an entire lifetime, I was pushed to go to celebrations/parties even though I didn't want to. People would make faces and disappointed noises and oh they wanted me there so badly (whatever I might have wanted be damned), and I forced myself through it again and again and again. Finally, this past October, my brother (same one who bullied me onto a roller coaster, yes, I only have one brother) called and left a message about a Christmas party at his place the weekend right before Christmas. I started having panic attics in early November.

That is the price I pay for being pushed outside my "comfort zone" again and again. The more I'm forced to do things I don't want or like to do, the more I'm forced to do things in ways that don't make sense to me or outright feel wrong, little pieces of me just... wither up and die. Until I'm left an absolute wreck. Until I'm being pushed into panic attacks, meltdowns, shutdowns.

I did something a couple weeks ago that was entirely outside my comfort zone. It took me a dreadfully long time to accomplish, and the entire time I was doing it, it felt like walking barefoot on Lego while fondling a microfibre cloth and listening to someone chew with their mouth open. My skeleton wanted to walk away from my body. And I absolutely hate the result of being pushed like this. It might have actually been good; apparently what I made while I was being pushed like this was good, but I can't see it. I don't like going back to it. It hurts me.

And I'm being pushed to do it again and I... can't. I can't make myself do it. It's actually due today. I can't do it.

But I don't know how to explain any of this in a way to make the allistics understand. I don't know how to make them not say "oh, you just need to keep doing it, it'll get easier!" I don't care if they're trying to be encouraging or if they actually believe it or anything like that; if that happens, it'll feel like being badgered and nagged, just like my brother and the damn roller coaster or his fucking party.

[cardboard-aliens]

You're getting a big fat kiss too, blue. Adding Julie into the ring as well because like lol what does her death convey that wasn't already apparent? Her death doesn't add anything extra to Ryan killing the trees, especially when you have to use her recording to come up with a cure. It wouldn't be any different if she was alive giving you directions.

Diane at least gets more than three talking lines, but her existence is still just to get screwed over by the male cast. A majority of Ryan's comments towards her are direct insults and wanting to use her for a child and it gets so exhausting so fast. I know she's supposed to represent the population of Rapture's disillusionment with Ryan and falling for Atlas' lies. But you start to wonder what purpose finding her bloody corpse serves when you've also found Culpepper's, Jolene's, Andersdotter's, Lutz's, Langford's, and Denu's dead bodies after going through the same disillusionment. BioShock has never been one for subtly but its like. We got it. Message received. You don't even get to find Sullivan's corpse.

Even in BioShock 2 Nina Carnegie has to die tragically, sacrificing herself for others. When every woman has a dead body you can find it all starts to get grating--after all the men in the franchise get to be active players. They get to kill, betray and be heroes. The male characters making sacrifices always come in the heat of battle, while the women get to starve to death off screen. Or serve to make the men look cool when they get betrayed. Women in this franchise still serve to be brutalized eye candy. The best we get is Tenenbaum and I love her to bits, but she's far from a fighter and is always on the sidelines. She's powerless against player empowerment, and if you go against her to kill the sisters she won't pose a threat at all.

I think there's a bigger conversation you could have about Grace, especially with the mammy stereotype. But that's a whole other topic and it's hardly mine to discuss.

And like. This extents to Infinite as well. Lady Comstock only serves to be brutally murdered by Comstock, as if his sinister nature isn't clear. (It's almost embarrassing how Ken just wrote Jasmine's story again in Lady Comstock. If either had been more fleshed out they could feel like independent characters, instead of bad writing.)

Elizabeth is constantly brutalized and tortured across the story, and she's deemed the franchise hero with her death at Atlas' hands. Only allowed to be called an active player when she becomes another sacrificial corpse to tell us how evil Atlas is.

LISTEN THIS MAKES ME CRAZY TOO. Sometimes it feels like they want you to react to Jasmine as "Oh isn't it so sad Jack's mom is a stripper" and not "Oh it's so sad Jasmine was manipulated by Ryan into taking classes to make herself more desirable to him under the guise of making her a star. And then with that game guise he tricked her into moving to Rapture where she had no support system and was stuck hanging on Ryan's whims so he could abuse her knowing she couldn't stand up to him"

We spend the entire game learning about multiple men that defined Jack's life but there's absolutely nothing for his biological mother?? no remorse for the tragedy of her situation? How she was forced to sell her body in every way just to have financial independence. How she was constantly lied to, taken advantage of and insanely abused. Wouldn't it benefit Jack's journey of independence to look at Jasmine's situation? How many people fall victim to abuse and lose their independence? To mourn her properly as a victim instead of making her a footnote?

The game cannot happen without her, but there's hardly half a thought for her! Why do i get to hear more about how sad SULLIVAN is after murdering Jasmine's friend then Jasmine talking about her own situation. Her own relationship with Anna. You'd think this would be an intentional representation of how sex workers are silence from talking about their situation but nope! BioShock just hates its female characters.

It legitimately makes feel crazy how Culpepper exists only to prop up the male characters. She has one speaking line, and then every other comment on her existence is men insulting and killing her. Her death isn't about herself--it's to highlight Ryan's hypocrisy, Cohen's thin skin, and Sullivan's, her murder's, grief.

Maddening that we're supposed to feel bad for the cop who killed Culpepper, and then stole from his victim's home, and sympathize with his sadness instead of focusing on Culpepper's actual death. Her death isn't hers, more focus is given to the men in her story than her own thoughts and feelings. She doesn't exist outside of men, she doesn't even exist for herself. Her relationship with Jasmine isn't even in the game, it's something added in the book and even there, their relationship is only explored in male characters talking about them behind their backs. Never on screen interactions.

She's not a character in the story, she's a prop for the rest of the male cast, and this can be said for a majority of the female characters in BioShock.

[the-masked-ram]

Don’t Ignore Me- Dabi x Fem Reader

CW: implication of stalking, dub-con, kabedon dark content style, mature content, fem reader A/N: One day I will find my way back to this style ---- You probably should have been more aware that night. Probably should have been listening to the steady thud of the boots behind you because he sure wasn’t trying to cover up his footsteps. Instead you were to focused on the glow of your phone and taking slow drags from your cigarette. Letting the nicotine lovingly caress your lungs and shoot of shocks of endorphins through your system. Even with the stress relief you still managed to regularly cuss out the messages appearing in front of you.

           “Stupid, fucking…,” you muttered, probably a bit too loudly, because a choked back laugh sounded and that’s when you realized that those steady beats had been the noise of someone following you for close to twenty minutes.

God, you were dense. Your steps became less harried, but you didn’t stop instead you kept your phone in front of you and your eyes flicked to each side to take in your surroundings. Fuck, you were lost. How unlucky could you get? The one night some creep decides to follow you and you get so sucked into your friend’s misfortunate choices that you take a wrong turn into some seedy part of the city.            

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’m here, doll, it hurts my feelings,” the sweet tone to his voice was followed by a chuckle.

You didn’t engage, you couldn’t let yourself fall into his trap. But apparently your admirer…or stalker? Did not appreciate being ignored, because the next thing you knew you were being shoved up against the rough brick of a near by building, hands stopping your from falling face first against it and in the process losing your access to nicotine. All followed by the sound of a heavy palm slamming above you, causing your head to snap up to it.

“There we go, such beautiful eyes when they are wide and nervous, doll face,” his voice was gruff and rubbed across your senses tauntingly.

His breath feathered over your nape, and he scoffed, “Fragile little things like you shouldn’t be out at night on their own, you know? There are some nasty people in this part of town.”

His teeth nipped at your ear lobe, and you shuddered, though you couldn’t tell if it was from revulsion or from the heat coiling in your stomach. You turned your head just barely and when you met no resistance you shifted to your back.

The gaze that met yours was so impossibly blue, and a mix of dulled pain with a deepness that would drown you if weren’t careful. His skin seemed to be held together by staples and there were obvious seams where scars made his skin into patchwork designs. This man, you’d seen him on the news.            

“You’re…” you swallowed as his other hand came up to the side of your head.

You were scared, nervous, and burning hot in the way that made your thighs ache to rub together. He just radiated arrogance and power; it drew you in like a moth to his blue flames. You knew you’d burn alive as soon as you touched them, and sadly, you found your self-preservation slipping even more.

“What, doll? Who am I?” he grinned toothily, dull eyes sparking for a moment with sadistic pleasure.

“You’re the Blue Flame…,” you said with hitch in your breath.            

He clicked his tongue, “Yes, but you can call me Dabi. We are after all, about to get to know each other quite well, aren’t we?

You tilted your head, “Are we?”

His smirk was back, and he gripped your chin, “Oh, a bit of the brat is back, is she? That’s fine, I can take my time making you beg.”

He rubbed his thumb along your lower lip, dragging it down before lapping lightly at it with just the tip of his tongue, watching the entire time with those intense eyes. When your eyelids fluttered traitorously his lips pressed to yours, rolling and brushing against the softness of your skin. Teasing tiny touches, never pushing deeper and then when you whined, he responded by gripping the back of your neck tight, forcing your head to tilt up as he licked into your mouth when it fell open on a moan.

The stud on his tongue blazed a distracting path along your palate. And you could just barely keep up, because honestly you were still stuck on the fact that not only was this man a villain, and a big one. You also didn’t know him; and he’d been following you. Yet here you were, unable to do anything but whine and whimper into his mouth because he kissed like a fucking gift from god.

“Don’t worry, we got all night. And I plan to make use of every second.”            

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Grunge-Metal Geralt

Hi, im fucking trash for the idea of Geralt being the front man for a Five Finger Death Punch type band and my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. This music genre is my bread and butter and I think Geralt’s repressed but highly emotional ass would fit right in. Yes im using another Hozier song, no i dont wanna hear anything about it. I’m a basic bitch and ive made my peace with it

Warnings: i honestly have no idea, its a little horny, little emotional, but theres no actual character interaction?, its at a concert venue? idk yall.

_________________________

Jaskier was… out of his comfort zone.

It’s not that he didn’t like the grunge-metal music, he just hadn’t listened to much and he was not used to the energy. People were yelling and screaming and the opener hadn’t even come on yet. He didn’t feel unsafe, far from it. Several people had checked to see if he was okay, seeing as he was the only person in the entire arena wearing a sweater that wasn't ripped or faded to hell. It was just a far cry from the shows he was used to. 

He played folky-blues. This was nothing like his shows. 

When the lights went down the crowd was deafening, all moving as one to rush the front of the floor, not giving a single fuck about tickets. 

The openers were exciting, and Jaskier was surprised by some of the concepts and messages behind the music. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all and he found himself searching them up on Spotify to listen later. 

Then came The Witchers. 

Eskel and Lambert made their energetic entrance, followed by Aiden calmly walking to his drums and sitting as if he were walking into a college class. But Geralt was nowhere in sight. The one person Jaskier had actually come to see. 

He’d seen a video clip from a previous concert where they covered one of his songs, and he was praying they’d do it again. It was lovely in a haunting-almost-threatening way, and the expression in Geralt’s posture alone was enthralling. He had to see it live. 

But Geralt was still absent as the band started to build a song. First Aiden with the beat, then Eskel’s bass, then Lambert with a melody on his electric guitar. It built and built and built to a fever pitch, taking the crowd with it. People were already jumping and screeching. Jaskier had to stand on his seat to see the stage clearly. 

Geralt’s voice echoed through the venue, low and closer to a growl than singing, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier thought he’d been prepared, but his whole body was covered in goosebumps. He briefly wondered if this was what his friends were feeling when they listened to ASMR.

Geralt remained hidden for the whole first verse, getting the crowd even more excited than Jaskier thought possible, only for the band to go completely silent for a whole measure. When the crowd's screams reached their absolute loudest, Geralt dropped from on top of one of the jumbotrons, landing on one of the horse-sized speakers before launching into the chorus. 

Oh fuck, he was even more beautiful in person. 

He was… well he was a beast of a man. Jaskier really didn’t have another word for the way his muscles bulged and how lithe and powerful he looked springing from the speaker to join his bandmates on the main stage. His thighs filled out his black, tattered jeans and there were clear faded spots where his muscles strained the fabric too often. The thin black tank he wore did nothing but pretend the man was semi-modest. It was so tight, the only thing left up to the imagination was tan lines and the color of his nipple piercings. 

Jaskier was most entranced by his long, white, wavy hair falling past his shoulders. As the show continued and he started to sweat, a lot, it got curlier and curlier at the root. Jaskier wanted to give him a mask and some curl cream, but only after a, uhm, rough night of getting to know each other. He’d heard rumors about Geralt from hitting arenas not long after they’d left. He was quite sure they’d have a great time.

As he focused on the lyrics more and more, he was more inclined to want to wrap Geralt up in a hug and worship every part of him until he felt whole again. 

Either he’d been shown the shitty side of the genre, or The Witchers were exceptions to the rule of content. Jaskier was almost moved to tears a few different times.

Finally, about an hour into Jaskier mindlessly feasting his eyes on the front man, Geralt leapt onto another speaker and sat down, breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear. 

“You still with us?”

The unholy screech from the crowd left no doubt they were just as excited, if not more so, than when they’d arrived. 

“Good! Good..” he trailed off, chuckling as he lowered the mic to take a breath, “We’re gonna slow it down for a minute,” he leaned forward and held the mic away as Eskel shouted something up at him to which he laughed and flipped him off. 

“As I was saying, we’re gonna yearn for a minute or two and do a cover. Song by Jaskier called ‘Talk’.”

The crowd lost their shit again, various pride flags popping up throughout the stands. 

Geralt chuckled and raised his combat boot, showing off the bi flag colored treads, earning another round of screams. If this is what the grunge-metal scene was like, Jaskier had been missing out his entire life. Sure his fans were sweet and supportive and loving when he’d come out. But this was electric and feral and completely addictive.

Lambert struck the opening chord to Jaskier’s song and the crowd settled to a gentle hum, setting the tone immediately, as if they all knew exactly what was coming. 

Geralt closed his eyes as he tapped his thigh with one finger, keeping time before his rumbling baritone hit Jaskier like a freight train. 

“I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found…”

Jaskier could have collapsed right there. He knew he was staring like a lovesick idiot, but hell, everyone around him was too. When the chorus hit and Eskel came in with a heavy bass line he nearly fell off his chair. Geralt’s intensity raised with the addition of the backup but he didn’t move. He stayed seated, swaying slightly, with his eyes closed as he crooned out the words Jaskier had sobbed as he wrote, broken hearted and miserable. 

It was surreal. 

Sure he’d seen other covers. Sure they’d been lovely. But he wanted to listen to this and only this as he fell asleep for the rest of his life. He’d never play it again if he could only hear it one more time. 

After the last verse Lambert launched into a guitar solo while Geralt jumped off the speaker and meandered to the center of the stage to slot his mic back in it’s stand. He gripped it like a lifeline when Lambert held one last note for as long as his instrument would allow and only started singing the last chorus when it was almost silent. 

“I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you”

His expression looked hopeless and utterly desperate as he crooned out the last two lines. He let his hair fall to cover his face and Jaskier could just barely hear his panting breath over the sound system as the crowd exploded. Geralt tipped his head back and took two deep breaths before straightening up and getting on with the show but Jaskier was stuck. 

He was vaguely aware of someone taking a picture of him, but he really couldn’t care less. The fact that Geralt moved right on to a song called ‘Burn Motherfucker Burn’ didn’t matter either. 

Jaskier jumped down from his arena seat, whipping out his phone and sending the band a tweet, because apparently that’s what musicians did now?

“Record it. Please. It’s either that or sing me to sleep every night. You choose.”

He stayed for the rest of the show and walked to his car in a haze. Before he backed out of his spot he checked his phone like always and his heart nearly stopped at the two top notifications. 

One public reply: “Both? -G”

And one direct message: “If you’re still here and want to grab a drink, I’m just backstage.” 

[bubblegumbeech]

My first Phic Phight fic!

For @ecto-american’s prompt

His name was Danny.

That was the first thing he knew for sure was true, when he had first woken up it was what everyone called him, and it fit just fine, wasn’t something off or uncomfortable so he let it settle over him before he tried to speak.

His voice didn’t come at first, and it hurt to try so the nurses made him promise to take it easy for now, to sit back and listen. So he did.

He listened as the people around him spoke at length about how much they missed him, about how they couldn’t wait to get him home again, about how glad they were he’d survived.

The loudest and most talkative of the people that visited him and called him Danny, was a large man in an orange jumpsuit that went on long enthusiastic tangents that Danny had long stopped paying attention to. He was almost always with a smaller, authoritative woman named Maddie, who insisted He call her Mom. They told him they were his parents.

They told him they loved him.

And then they told him everything else.

The first time Danny remembered something it was with excitement, he was still in the hospital room and between the visits from the men in the starched white suits, his parents, and the doctor, he had been wrestling with the feeling that something was missing.

It had only been when Maddie had finally taken off the hood and goggles of her jumpsuit had Danny gotten a flash of familiar red hair and asked, “where’s Jazz?”

His heart buzzed at the question, sure, so sure that it would get answered, that he had remembered something.

But both Jack and Maddie had just looked at him, disappointed, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, once the doctor declared him competent and unlikely to slip back into his coma, his parents had taken him home.

There were streamers all over the house and a giant party banner that read “Welcome Back” in thick black lettering and Danny forced out a small smile as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Maddie walked up behind him and he flinched, his body acting before his brain could catch up.

She had frowned at his reaction, and when Danny, stuttering, tried to apologize she said it was okay, and with a tightlipped smile, she pulled him into a hug.

He forced himself to relax, frustrated with himself. This was his mother, there was no reason for his instincts to be so afraid. Jack had joined the hug and eventually Danny found himself relaxing for real, sure maybe getting his memories back was a slow uphill climb, but at least he wouldn’t do it alone.

Eventually his parents let him go and told him he was free to walk around the house and reacquaint himself with it. His room was the first door on the left upstairs, the bathroom was down the hall and the basement, apparently, was off limits.

So Danny went upstairs into his room. It looked something like a teenager’s room he supposed. There were the posters hung haphazardly on the walls and they were torn at the corners as if someone had ripped them all off the walls before hastily taping them back up. The bed was made too, and there was a lot less dust than he was expecting after being gone for a whole month.

In fact, it looked like he’d cleaned and organized the whole room before he’d fallen into his coma and Danny didn’t know why, but that thought set him on edge. Maybe he was just an organized person?

It was just… he didn’t feel very organized.

He kept looking around. There was that feeling that something was missing, something important to him, and he walked over to the nightstand by his bed. Placing a hand on the polished wood Danny fought the flash of a model spaceship that appeared in his memories. It wasn’t here though and Danny frowned. Was that something else he’d thrown away and simply forgotten?

Shaking his head Danny headed back downstairs, maybe he should just ask Jack, er, his dad? He should really get used to calling them mom and dad. But before he headed down he went to the room across from his and knocked.

Maybe he was being foolish, but he had expected someone to answer, had a name even come to mind. When no answer came he opened the door himself only to find a storage room, nothing but shelves and boxes and Danny scolded himself for the painful ache he felt in his heart.

It was another week before Danny had another memory, and just like the last two, it didn’t fit quite right. Like a piece from another puzzle jammed where it shouldn’t fit. So he’d asked Maddie.

“Sam?” she’d said, a carefully blank look on her face, “Oh! I remember Sam, she was an old friend of yours you used to talk about her all the time. Shame she moved away.”

And just like that, he’d had his answer as ill fitting as it was. Sam was a girl he knew that moved away, the memory he’d had, of her crying face screaming at him to stay awake just stay awake damnit, was probably from a long time ago. The pain he felt in his chest -just to the right of his heart- at the thought of her not being near and that he’d probably never see her again? That was nothing important.

It was another couple of weeks of sleeping in that house, waking up and going downstairs to eat with his parents, to chat about memories he didn’t have and tell stories he never resonated with, before he woke up screaming for the first time.

Maddie had instantly run into his room, Jack not far behind and Danny scrambled away from them both. His mind filled with images of painful green light and the ominous glint of red goggles twisting his reflection in their lenses as they looked down on him.

His parents had pushed past the barrier of pillows and blankets he’d made and pulled him into their arms, rocking him and shushing him until eventually he’d tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep again. The nightmares returned.

Eventually Danny stopped asking questions about his memories.

Either they were incomplete, fragments of something real that had been twisted in time, or they were wrong entirely, figments of his own active imagination. He’d never had a sister, they insisted. It was his mother, Maddie that had stayed up late some nights to help him with his homework and bake him safe, edible cookies as a reward. Tucker was a kid he knew at school, yes, but he’d moved away years ago and they hadn’t spoken in person since.

He had blue eyes, when he looked in the mirror, not green.

It was frustrating, being unable to trust himself- his own memories. If it was anything more than broken, incomplete fragments he’d have argued, insisted they were real.

But then again, he also had memories of Maddie leaning over him, scalpel in hand to cut away at his flesh. And he knew that couldn’t be true; the woman that smiled every time he came downstairs, called him sweetie and kissed him on his forehead every night, wasn’t the monster in his dreams. She couldn’t be.

So he ignored them.

He ignored the moments of instinct when Maddie or Jack went for a hug or a kiss and he flinched, ready for an attack. He ignored how he never seemed able to give a straight answer when they asked about his day, even if he hadn’t done anything interesting at all. And he ignored his nightmares, stuffing towels under his doorframe to muffle the sounds of his screams. There was no reason to keep waking up his parents like that.

But no matter how much he ignored, he compartmentalized, or he forced himself to smile, to hug back, and to spend time bonding with his parents, he never felt safe. Maddie insisted that he was, of course she did, this was his home. But even as he smiled and agreed and let her hug him again, he wanted to leave.

This time his dream wasn’t a nightmare. No scary, well lit labs with beakers and glowing buttons, or disgusting, painful flowers shoved into his mouth. Instead there was the ticking of clocks, rhythmic and constant. A gloved hand gently soothed his hair back, and Danny’s fear seemed so far away.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d had since he’d gotten “home”.

That morning he’d asked for an analogue clock. His parents had been confused, but they acquiesced easily and took him to the store to pick one out. The one he’d ended up choosing was a large ornate antique with little clockwork gears and a loud tick. He was excited to put it up in his room, right above his bed.

He slept better after that, and some of the tension that had been building in the house eased.

His dreams were still mostly nightmares, attacks by inhuman ghostly figures were the most prominent. But they didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste, fear and uncertainty as the ones with the table, the scalpel, and the round, red goggles.

But now they were interspersed with better ones, fuzzy hugs and fields of blinding white, sitting in a garden pruning flowers as a soft, familiar voice gave him instructions, playing video games as the player character, confident and excited with a familiar presence at his back. And his favorite ones, the ones in the clock tower with the hooded figure and his soft smiles. The ones where he felt safest.

The ones that couldn’t be real, not if what his parents told him was true.

The next time they went out as a family after that Danny had wanted to go to a garden, and while at first Maddie was hesitant, Jack had insisted the great outdoors were perfect for helping him recover properly. Danny had been thrilled and hugged both of them in thanks, their answering smiles were soft and Danny had the thought that it had been some time since he’d seen those smiles reach their eyes.

Danny had a video game he apparently liked to play called Doom, and he was pretty good at it, judging by the level of his character. When he tried to message either of the two friends he had on his contact list though, the game glitched and his info got deleted. Frustrated he tried to reboot the system but the game itself had somehow gotten corrupted and there was no hope in recovery.

Just another thing that was apparently important to him that he’d destroyed or couldn’t find.

The worst was the time he woke with Maddie sitting next to him in his bed, she had a troubled look on her face and he didn’t know what it was he’d done wrong. Had he screamed in his sleep without knowing it?

“Danny honey,” she had said, looking over to him but not meeting his eyes, “do you remember what you dreamed about?”

He’d answered no, he hadn’t, which was mostly true. The only thing he really remembered about his dream was the feeling of safety and the ticking of a clock.

It took a month for Danny’s parents to feel comfortable leaving him alone in the house in order to go to work. He watched them walk out the door, fending off forehead kisses and muttered reassurances that they’d be home soon to check on him and that he should call if he needed anything, anything at all.

Once the door clicked shut however, the smile dropped off of Danny’s face and he set his eyes on the one thing he’d wanted… no, needed to do since he had that first nightmare.

He went to the basement.

The feeling of going down the stairs stumbled over a vague, blurry memory and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. This was just to be sure, just to prove to himself that all those dreams, all those nightmares he’d been having since his parents brought him home, were just that, nightmares.

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, confused when there was no lock, no resistance at all. Hadn’t they said he was banned from being down here? Why wouldn’t they lock it? Even Bluebeard locked the door his wife wasn’t supposed to enter.

The basement was…

A basement.

There were no spooky ominous beakers of strange and unrecognizable fluids, no haphazard lab equipment lying around without safety devices, nothing sterile or blinking and there was certainly no large metal table to strap someone down on.

It was just a normal basement with boxes and a desk, some chairs, a couple of old pieces of random furniture and Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This meant that Maddie was right, they really were just nightmares, probably some subconscious latent fear of going home with strangers that he couldn’t remember. That was all.

So why did he feel disappointed?

The next week was full of Danny waiting for his parents to leave before exploring the house more thoroughly. More than once he’d gotten caught in a half remembered routine that didn’t actually fit with his surroundings. Like bracing for a fight every time he opened the fridge, or expecting another flight of stairs after the second floor. Once he’d even risked going outside for a walk, trying to find his school based on half remembered directions that only served to get him lost.

It was a new routine that Danny found himself thankful for.

Not that he didn’t love his parents, he did! But for some reason, when they were gone, and it was just him with his space posters and his ornate ticking clock, and the piles of modified schoolwork that was supposed to help him when it was time to reintegrate into school, he felt a lot more relaxed. More carefree.

That was why, when he’d found the picture, it had felt like his world had crashed around him.

His parents had come home to find him sitting in the middle of the basement, tears long dried, and with the picture clutched tight in his hands, crumpled now with how long it had been.

“You lied to me.” he accused once they were within earshot. He didn’t have the energy to speak much louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence nonetheless.

“Danny-boy we can explain-”

“No!” Danny shouted, getting to his feet, “You lied to me .”

Jack flinched back and Maddie stepped in front of him, protective, as if somehow, out of the three of them Danny might be the threat. He growled.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, I trusted you with my memories, memories that were lost to me . I had a sister! You had a daughter . She existed, she was real, she’s in this photo! Smiling! ” Danny couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, it was all too much. To know that the girl in his shattered memories, the one with the soft hugs and the floral scents, that baked him cookies and held him when he cried at night, was real. And that she was gone, erased by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

He moved to storm past them, to go upstairs or maybe even outside and look up at the sky and try to make something of the twisting, knotted mess that was his emotions, his mind, his everything right now. But Maddie grabbed his arm before he could, tears spilling from her eyes.

“We didn’t want to hurt you Danny.” she said, voice soft and broken, “we didn’t want to give and then take away.”

She pulled him into a hug and Danny didn’t bother to struggle or try and break out of it, just let her cry into his shoulder as he stood there, waiting for his own tears to dry.

The next day Jack and Maddie left for work with more reluctance, neither one willing to leave Danny on his own again. But worry didn’t pay the bills and whatever it was they were doing at their job, it was clearly important. That was something Danny was starting to remember, all the things that were more important than him.

Danny went to the library this time, determined to start figuring things out on his own. His parents had said that his sister, Jazz, had died in the accident that had put him in a coma. They said they didn’t want to hurt him, or risk him not wanting to recover his memories if they were painful and that grief was difficult to deal with even without the head trauma and emotional conflict.

His parents said a lot of things, Danny was starting to realize. And almost none of it could be trusted to be true.

The first thing he did was look for a death certificate for his sister, Jazz Fenton. After hours of searching, reading every single name that existed in every obituary for this town in the entire month when his parents claimed the accident had happened.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So next he looked up phone records. Any Tuckers or Samanthas he could find, but he couldn’t remember their last names at all, just what they looked like.

How they had been crying over him.

He didn’t know if he believed that they’d just moved away. Then again, it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t know what to believe, if he believed anything at all. By the time he’d gotten home it was late, and his parents were already there.

At first they didn’t believe he was just at the library “trying to catch up on stuff” but they calmed back down once he’d shown them his library card and snapped that if he couldn’t even do that much why did they bother bringing him back from the hospital at all.

Dinner had been a quiet affair.

It took another week of library visits and recurring nightmares of dissection tables and glowing ghostly figures that attacked him before Danny gave up on finding out anything about Sam or Tucker. But he still didn’t stop searching for Jazz.

There was something almost obsessive about his search for her, he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know where she was, and if his parents, against all odds, hadn’t lied to him about that ... Well that was something he’d have to come to terms with when he came to it, not before.

He started scouring the Internet for her name desperate to find something, anything on her. And eventually he did.

There was an old article, from at least half a decade ago, that had her picture under the title “Four Teens go Missing in wake of Fenton Investigation”.

Next to her were two equally familiar pictures. Sam and Tucker… and then Danny himself.

Scrolling, desperate to find something, anything to add up the memories he was getting into a clear picture, he began to read the article.

In wake of the Investigation into the Fenton‘s possible abuse, Danny Fenton (15), his sister Jazz Fenton (17), and two friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley (15), have seemingly disappeared.

The discovery came shortly after Jack and Madeline Fenton were released on parol and allowed to return home to spend time with their children since no physical proof could be found of any alleged wrongdoings.

What could have caused their disappearances remains a mystery. The prevailing theory is that they were involved in a cult that may have demonized the Fenton parents due to their controversial occupation as “ghost hunters”. Another popular theory is that the children fled the results of the case, afraid of the alleged illegal experimentation. Other theories include kidnapping, witness protection, the possibility of murder, and tying up loose ends.

Will we ever discover the truth? It remains to be seen.

Ghost hunters …

Danny felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea rolled through him and he had to fight off the urge to relive his lunch.

Experimentation?

Nightmares and half remembered memories started clicking into place, finally , and Danny couldn’t stand it. Why were the only answers that made sense the ones that hurt the worst?

Would it have been better if he’d just let it go? If his memories never returned at all? If he just kept living, eating homemade cookies and flinching from hugs until eventually the itch underneath his skin dulled and he could just be happy as he was.

He closed the tab.

There was no one home when he got there, and it gave him the chance to pack what little belongings he had that held any meaning to him at all. The motions were familiar and he had the faintest feeling he had done exactly this before.

Maybe he had.

He’d made it out the front door by the time his parents pulled into the drive.

There was the urge to run, to go back inside and hide and pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what they caught him doing. But he was tired. He was so tired of feeling wrong and scared and uncertain and never knowing why.

So he held his head up as they got into the car and approached them with their hands raised, cautiously, like he was a wild animal they were afraid of spooking.

Was that what they thought he was?

“Danny, we can talk about this,” Maddie said, beseeching.

He met her eyes with his own. “Will you promise not to lie anymore? I don’t even know how old I am-”

“You’re fifteen son-” Jack interrupted, lying again.

“I was fifteen five years ago!” Danny yelled, his hand tightening into a fist, “I found the article! I read about the case! Five years ago.”

“Danno…”

Oh, he was crying. It was novel almost, Danny had thought he was too tired to cry, that there wasn’t anything more that could hurt him enough to create such a response and he didn’t quite know how to react to it.

He raised his hands awkwardly to scrub the tears away and stepped back, frightened, when Maddie tried to move closer to comfort him.

“Stay back! Stay back…” he looked at his hands, they were young hands, his reflection too, hadn’t changed from the picture in the article at all. Experiments. “What did you do to me?”

“It was an accident.” Jack said, before Maddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“We didn’t know Danny. How could we have?” She said, keeping her distance, cautious. “We tried to fix it-”

“Fix what? ” He hissed, “you haven’t told me what happened! You haven’t told me anything!”

“You!” Maddie finally snapped, tears falling heavy down her cheeks. “We were trying to fix you… but it wasn’t working and you just kept getting sicker… weaker… we had to stop.”

It was too much for her, and she turned away, leaning into Jack’s large frame as he comforted her. “We didn’t want to lose you, Danny.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You already did.”

Danny left his parents there, crying on the driveway of a house that could never have been a home. He had a clock tower to find.

[the-decaying-ramskull]

Don't Ignore Me- Dabi x Fem Reader

A/N: Was originally written for @rougekithes was back when CW: mature themes, stalkery Dabi, kabedon Dabi style, dub-con, descriptive kissing, smoking ----

You probably should have been more aware that night. Probably should have been listening to the steady thud of the boots behind you because he sure wasn’t trying to cover up his footsteps. Instead you were to focused on the glow of your phone and taking slow drags from your cigarette. Letting the nicotine lovingly caress your lungs and shoot of shocks of endorphins through your system. Even with the stress relief you still managed to regularly cuss out the messages appearing in front of you.  

“Stupid, fucking…,” you muttered, probably a bit too loudly, because a choked back laugh sounded and that’s when you realized that those steady beats had been the noise of someone following you for close to twenty minutes.

God, you were dense. Your steps became less harried, but you didn’t stop instead you kept your phone in front of you and your eyes flicked to each side to take in your surroundings. Fuck, you were lost. How unlucky could you get? The one night some creep decides to follow you and you get so sucked into your friend’s misfortunate choices that you take a wrong turn into some seedy part of the city.            

“Don’t act like you don’t know I’m here, doll, it hurts my feelings,” the sweet tone to his voice was followed by a chuckle.

You didn’t engage, you couldn’t let yourself fall into his trap. But apparently your admirer…or stalker? Did not appreciate being ignored, because the next thing you knew you were being shoved up against the rough brick of a near by building, hands stopping your from falling face first against it and in the process losing your access to nicotine. All followed by the sound of a heavy palm slamming above you, causing your head to snap up to it.

“There we go, such beautiful eyes when they are wide and nervous, doll face,” his voice was gruff and rubbed across your senses tauntingly.

His breath feathered over your nape, and he scoffed, “Fragile little things like you shouldn’t be out at night on their own, you know? There are some nasty people in this part of town.”

His teeth nipped at your ear lobe, and you shuddered, though you couldn’t tell if it was from revulsion or from the heat coiling in your stomach. You turned your head just barely and when you met no resistance you shifted to your back.

The gaze that met yours was so impossibly blue, and a mix of dulled pain with a deepness that would drown you if weren’t careful. His skin seemed to be held together by staples and there were obvious seams where scars made his skin into patchwork designs. This man, you’d seen him on the news.            

“You’re…” you swallowed as his other hand came up to the side of your head.

You were scared, nervous, and burning hot in the way that made your thighs ache to rub together. He just radiated arrogance and power; it drew you in like a moth to his blue flames. You knew you’d burn alive as soon as you touched them, and sadly, you found your self-preservation slipping even more.

“What, little mouse? Who am I?” he grinned toothily, dull eyes sparking for a moment with sadistic pleasure.

“You’re the Blue Flame…,” you said with hitch in your breath.            

He clicked his tongue, “Yes, but you can call me Dabi. We are after all, about to get to know each other quite well, aren’t we?

You tilted your head, “Are we?”

His smirk was back, and he gripped your chin, “Oh, a bit of the brat is back, is she? That’s fine, I can take my time making you beg.”

He rubbed his thumb along your lower lip, dragging it down before lapping lightly at it with just the tip of his tongue, watching the entire time with those intense eyes. When your eyelids fluttered traitorously his lips pressed to yours, rolling and brushing against the softness of your skin. Teasing tiny touches, never pushing deeper and then when you whined, he responded by gripping the back of your neck tight, forcing your head to tilt up as he licked into your mouth when it fell open on a moan.

The stud on his tongue blazed a distracting path along your palate. And you could just barely keep up, because honestly you were still stuck on the fact that not only was this man a villain, and a big one. You also didn’t know him; and he’d been following you. Yet here you were, unable to do anything but whine and whimper into his mouth because he kissed like a fucking gift from god.

“Don’t worry, we got all night. And I plan to make use of every second.”            

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 57: Text Message

As part of the Muggle Studies class, all of the 8th years received cell phones.

Draco didn't really understand all that much about it (and he hadn’t been listening especially carefully when their teacher had talked about it), but it did come with a little snake game that you steered the snake around to help it eat apples and avoid running into itself.

One of their assignments had also been to put in their peer's names in the phones with what seemed to be random coordinates. He wasn't entirely sure how that works either, if it was meant to transport you some how or something else entirely. He'd overheard Granger say something about it allowing you to essentially firecall someone, but he wasn't sure how that worked either.

He was sitting in the common room late one night (he didn't sleep well) playing around with his phone when he found a little button beside each of his classmates' names that opened up a little box that he could put words into.

It was like a little filing system for letters that Pansy would never be able to snoop through! Perfect.

Grinning, and thinking how cathartic it would be to get the words out of his head without the risk of anyone ever seeing them, he clicked on the bubble next to Potter's name and started typing.

Dear Potter, I know that you won't read this, which is why I feel like I can write it. I've wanted to say thank you for quite some time but haven't been able to work up the nerve. Thank you for saving my life, thank you for killing Voldemort, thank you for keeping me out of prison. I'm grateful, truly. And I know it's none of my business and it's not my place, but you've always gotten under my skin where you don't belong and I can't help it. You always look sad. You are always withdrawn and distant, even from your friends. It bothers me. Are you okay? I know that none of us are okay, but you know what I mean. Anyway, like I said, you won't read this but it makes me feel better to write it down. Best, Draco Malfoy

He tapped the little arrow button that would, he assumed, put it into the top part so he'd have it for later.

With that off his chest, he went back to playing his snake game until his mobile buzzed and pinged, startling him so bad that he dropped it.

Malfoy, you know i can read that, right?

Draco stared at the screen where a little box had popped up under his, uncomprehendingly.

Who is this? If this phone is even a horocrux, I'm done. Get away from me.

it's Harry. Harry Potter.

Came the reply and Draco thought for a moment that he was about to pass out.

don't freak out

Too late for that, certainly, he thought hysterically.

it's okay. this was nice, actually.

What was?

getting your text message.

What's a "text message"?

this. what we're doing right now. we're sending text messages.

But how?

that was the point of putting everyone's numbers in your phone. that way we can call and text each other.

Interesting. You must get a lot of texts since everyone has your number. How have you managed to make time for little old me?

not really, actually. no one really texts me or talks to me for that matter. killing a person makes you unapproachable, apparently.

I find this hard to believe.

you can believe what you want. but it's true. you said so yourself.

So... are you okay?

He found himself asking, afraid of the answer but Potter hadn't hexed him yet. He wondered if it was possible to hex someone via text message.

none of us are. not really. but no. no i'm not.

Of all people, it seems you should be allowed to be not okay.

i literally laughed out loud. startled my poor owl out of her sleep. of all people, i am the least likely to be allowed to not be okay. no one wants to know me. they just want me to be who they think i am.

Well, if it makes you feel better people feel that way about me, too.

i know. but i don't feel that way. i wouldn't have testified for you at your trial if i did.

I ought to say thank you for that.

you already did.

Well, I ought to say it now that I know you can hear it. or read it, rather.

your welcome you're*** i'm not an idiot, i promise

Well, I wouldn't go that far.

ha. ha.

I mean, your master plan for defeating one of the most powerful wizards of all time was to use a disarming spell.

well it worked, didn't it? i've successfully murdered someone by the age of 18. wouldn't my parents be proud?

He stared at the text for a moment, processing, trying to understand what that was supposed to mean. Did Harry feel guilty?

It bothers you. That you killed him.

don't pretend it wouldn't bother you.

Potter, I would have strangled him with my bare hands if I'd thought it would have worked. I won't pretend to understand what you're going through but self defense and saving who knows how many lives, ought to give you a little peace.

There wasn't an answer for a long moment and Draco worried he'd overstepped. He sat there, tapping his forefingers against the mobile, waiting.

it gets hard to see the big picture sometimes. like rationally, i understand what you're saying but...

It's harder when you're the one who has to live with the consequences.

yes

I don't sleep well.

neither do i which is probably obvious since I'm texting you at 2:00am

He typed and erased the starts of sentences repeatedly. 'would you like to come and not sleep well tog-' 'I'm in the common room-' 'do you want to actually talk in per-'.

I'm at the astronomy tower.

I'm in the common room. Some of us can't afford to get caught where we don't belong.

it sounds silly but do you want to sit together? just it might be nice not to be alone ?

Come back to the common room.

He sent before he could change his mind. Then he began to slowly panic; what was he thinking?

A few minutes later, the portrait that guarded the 8th year common room opened and Harry came in, looking a bit windblown. "Uh," Harry said inelegantly. "Hi."

"Hello," Draco replied carefully.

Harry stared at him for a long moment before taking a few steps closer. "Can I sit?"

"Please," Draco replied, gesturing to the couch beside him.

Harry sat and pulled his legs up to his chest. "I don't really want to talk."

"Okay," Draco affirmed.

Harry glanced over at him, "Does quiet bother you?"

He gave him a little smile and shook his head, "Maybe we would just be quiet together."

"I'd like that," Harry whispered.

"Me too."

And that was the first of many nights sitting together quietly, and the first of many hard conversations had via text message.

-------

Day 56: Phone call | Day 58: Voicemail