#and now hopefully this is my catharsis

[invisiblegarters]

This is not something I would normally reply to because the one time when I was stressed into sleeping about 2 hours a night over the state of my stupid country and thus had less impulse control than usual aside, getting into these kinds of discussions isn't really my thing.

But the thing is, what made me stick my hand in the hornet's nest and shake it around a bit wasn't just stress and lack of sleep. It was because for an entire year I've been watching the same "crit" go by and boggling more and more, until finally I was just in the exact right headspace to be unable not to say something.

I like crit. But I like good crit. Even if I don't agree with it, often good crit can make me look at something I enjoy in a different way, or help me bolster my own arguments for or against. Good crit gets my brain fired up, helps me better analyze what I am watching and why it does or doesn't work for me, and overall makes the experience more enjoyable.

But what I have been seeing this year is not what I would call good crit. What it has been is a bunch of people who were dissatisfied with a show that they assumed was doing a bunch of things that it never was and instead of shrugging and going "not for me," they created a bunch of BS reasons why they were right all along, actually, only capitalism thwarted the true vision and forced "typical BL" on us instead.

And even that I could deal with - people will believe what they want and often all the rest of us can do is roll our eyes and move on - except that these people both misrepresent information to bolster their arguments and have a big enough following that that misinformation becomes accepted as truth.

Well, it isn't. I might not be an intelligent or articulate meta person. I may not be able to write in a way that engages people and makes them think that I have smart things to say and should be listened to. But what I am capable of is thinking critically enough not to just believe what someone asserts as truth without looking into it myself. I am also capable of realizing that one of these misrepresentations (and one that sticks in my personal craw the most) - that things were actively being changed in the above Show That Shall Not Be Named - couldn't possibly be accurate. Moved? Sure. Cut out? Absolutely. But actively changed to make a different story from the one originally intended, as some people would have us believe? Not a chance. No way they had enough money or time for that, and even five minutes of seriously thinking about it should have been enough for everyone to get that.

And it's not the only time they've taken something the showrunners have said and deliberately misconstrued it to fit their own narrative.

The show was always going to be exactly what it was. We were never promised the show in their heads. And frankly, I don't think I would have liked that show.

But for whatever reason, they can't accept that they were wrong, and now they're so mad that they're letting this color every other show they watch (that doesn't involve the cps that they like, which are exempt somehow from the same criticism they keep pulling out for the cps they don't. Weird, that). Not only are they doing that, they're heavily implying (and often outright stating) that the only reason for people not to agree is that they're mad their faves are being criticized. They are so convinced of their own superior thinking that they've deluded themselves into believing that this is the only reason that someone might disagree. And okay, that kind of thing gets my back up, even though I wish it wouldn't. Oh, to be more chill (I'm working on it).

Complaining about the structure of a show is one thing. So is feeling like the writing is lazy. But claiming that the reason for this is because official cps are killing creativity is absolutely ridiculous, and in my opinion should be called out as such. Romances wind up with the main couple together. It's a staple of the genre. It wouldn't matter if it starred official cps or not, at the end of the show the leads wind up together. That's just how romance works. No one has to like it, but trying to claim that it is anything but a "fault" (so to speak) of the genre itself is absolutely silly (like please, I beg you, watch more stuff. Watch enough of any genre and you're going to have this kind of thing). So is continuously deciding that a show should explore your pet themes and then getting mad when it doesn't do that, often with every indication that it never intended to do so in the first place. That's not what I call criticism, or at least not the kind that has any merit. That's just throwing an extended tantrum.

Don't you think this all comes down to the fact that people watch fiction, romance or anything else, for different reasons and so, they also engage with it in different ways? Criticism is just a way to engage with something. Just like giffing, fanart or writing any kind of meta, positive or negative. People will engage with media in their own way. If they didn't like the genre as a whole, they wouldn't watch it at all, much less take the time to write a post about it.

I think you’re underestimating how many people on the internet get joy out of ruining other people’s fun. If they say they’re doing it out of love for the genre, I’m certainly not going to argue with them—even if that relationship does seem a bit abusive to me. People can interact with media in any way they wish to do so. It only becomes my problem when these blatant lies and delusions start popping up in the main tag, presented in a pseudo-intellectual format that makes them seem like facts instead of opinions. Since these people have chosen to expose the whole fandom to misinformation by putting it in the main tag, I’m going to start saying something about it because I think people deserve to see a counter-argument written in good faith by someone actually enjoying the show, the genre, and the production company making it.

This ridiculous argument about how CPs are ruining the genre has persisted for over a year now and I’m tired of just sitting back and letting misinformation go unchecked. There are plenty of meta writers on here that present their criticisms in such a way that even if I disagree, it’s not offensive. There’s just a certain segment of this fandom that not only criticizes the show, but comes up with conspiracy theories to support their dislike instead of simply saying that it’s not to their taste—and then continues to do so every week for 12 weeks. It’s absolutely exhausting having to spend time blocking people being rude in the tag instead of just enjoying what I came there to enjoy.

And I also think these people should take some time to examine their own biases and ask themselves why it’s only Thai shows they’re criticizing? Why it’s only romances? Why it’s only certain actors or certain production companies? Because it is.

[ironicsoap]

you are expendable, you are not expected to return

[desperatecheesecubes]

As much as Bruce still professes to ‘work alone’ it is true that the bat cave is rarely empty, these days. His children, and the children that are not his but are his responsibility, gather in clusters throughout the cave at all hours. And yet, Bruce finds himself nearly alone this early morning, post patrol. Nearly alone, Bruce thinks over a cup of tea (Alfred has been a tremendous influence on him) because just stepping out of the showers is Jason. And his hair is dripping wet.

He never did take the time to dry it, Bruce muses. It is almost comforting to see that this habit has stuck with him.

When Dick first came to live in Wayne manor Bruce had, semi regularly, helped him towel off after washing. Not because a 9 year old child needed help but because Dick was a very tactile child and because Bruce, largely, was a very non tactile adult. And so it became a habit where Bruce would dry Dick’s hair by playfully attacking his head with a towel until Dick would inevitably and full of laughter beg him to stop. But Bruce would simply kiss his forehead and keep right on doing it because he could, and it was fun, and also because Bruce loved to hear Dick’s joyful laugh.

Jason had come to the manner at an older age than Dick had. Although there were only three years between 9 and 12, developmentally there was a canyon between the two. On top of this Jason was initially very distrustful of Bruce, and by the end their relationship had been strained. But there had been, briefly, a time in between where Bruce would dry his hair after patrol and kiss his second son’s forehead as well.

Hmmmm. Putting the tea cup down Bruce made his way down from the raised platform of the bat computer to where Jason sat taping his knuckles. Jason was using his guns less, it was true, but he seemingly could not be persuaded to stop punching criminals in the face (angrily). And also the cops (delightedly). And also his siblings (usually playfully, Bruce will admit). And also Bruce (definitely not playfully). His hands, Bruce noted, were actually dry.

Grabbing a towel from the shelf stealthily Bruce walked up to Jason. ‘You look like you missed a spot.’ He said, aiming for a conversational tone.

‘Wuh? With my knuckles?’ Jason began in confusion. He half turned towards Bruce, face scrunched up in irritation.

So Bruce threw the towel right over it and cheerfully began attacking his hair from both directions. ‘Your hair isn’t dry.’ He declared, aiming for that slightly higher pitched voice he used when the kids were younger, making sure to smoosh Jason’s face as well as his hair.

‘Bruce what the fuck! Get off of me!’ Jason barked, trying bat Bruce’s hands away. Bruce of course just twisted out of the way and rubbed harder.

‘You can’t be walking around with wet hair Jason, you’ll catch a cold!’ He practically sang. Jason finally got wise and yanked the towel from Bruce’s hands, glaring up at him angrily. Bruce just grinned, expecting this, and tilted Jason’s face up to kiss his forehead.

‘Gah!’ Jason eloquently responded.

Taking advantage of his momentary confusion Bruce grabbed the towel back and resumed his ministrations on Jason’s hair.

‘Oh my god!’ Jason cried. ‘You’ve lost your mind. Stop that!’ He tried to yank the towel away again but Bruce brought the towel up over his face roughly, preventing him. When Jason made to grab Bruce around the hips to knock him over, Bruce whipped the towel off and kissed Jason’s forehead again.

By now Jason was laughing inspite of himself, and Bruce was grinning, feeling more comforted and relaxed than he had in a very long time. The two continued their antics for a while more before Jason finally managed to hook a leg around Bruce’s ankle, tipping him forward.

‘Oof’ Bruce grunted, as Jason’s shoulder caught him in the stomach, but Jason just twisted slightly so that he could bring his arms around Bruce’s waist and lean his head against his chest. ‘I love you, Jason.’ Bruce said, hugging him tightly back.

‘Yeah yeah, you old lug. I can dry my own hair you know!’

‘Clearly not, considering how wet it was.’

‘Oh my god, dad, it’s fine.’

‘Hmmm’

‘Was that jasmine tea you were drinking? Can I have some?’

‘There should be enough for another cup in the pot.’

[whimsicalcotton]

.

[orcelito]

does discacc read as being made by someone Mentally Ill? be honest

[3-vi-3]

you probably don't remember my face by now but

i wonder if you remember how it felt being loved by me;

if you remember me at all or if you chose to forget because you would rather not

[gommyworm]

:^]

[reading-comp-posting]

Hey everyone.

I have no idea how this happened, but I'm feeling completely fine and this condition seems to be stable. So this is the end of my hiatus that lasted a whopping three days.

The day I made the announcement that I was going on hiatus was honestly one of, if not the worst, days I have had in the last 5 years at least. Nothing even happened except my own poor mental health, but I just woke up that morning like 75% of the way to tears. I was choking down sobs when I wrote that announcement and for a good hour or so afterwards. I just felt so awful that I knew I surely wouldn't be able to do anything here for a good long while.

That night I went to sleep, and I woke up the next morning feeling good, notably better than I was even before my depressive episode started. Maybe it was the catharsis of the previous day. Maybe the hbomberguy video on plagiarism was so good it cured my depression. I genuinely don't know what happened there.

I gave myself a couple of days to see if it was a temporary thing and it's lasted so far. I was going to wait an entire extra week or so before saying that I was definitely better, but honestly I wanted to start posting again earlier.

We now (hopefully) return to your regularly scheduled reading-comp-posting

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck Beyond Canon Upd8 for September 29, 2024

This is honestly a great time for an upd8.

I'm not doing so hot right now. Both my migraines and my fatigue have decided to start kicking my ass even harder. And I'm a little frustrated with that, since I've been trying to participate in the Path of Exile Runic Strife Gauntlet. But that's going to be hard if my body is going to be fighting me. I'm not making very good time as is, and I can't afford to lose a character due to lack of focus.

At times like this, Homestuck is often a comfortable blanket I'll wrap myself in. This comic has gotten me through hard times in the past, especially with amazing wealth of talent and compassion that's in the community. Even now, with probably a pretty hard chapter coming, I'm very much looking forward to it. I'm hoping we can get some more catharsis for Vriska's arc, and maybe finally give her another much needed breakthrough.

Here we are. Finally behind the 8 ball.

Hah! Also, apparently this is just "Later" so we don't have a definitive time frame. At least that probably means another year hasn't gone by.

That . . . that is a much more upbeat Serket than I was expecting. Hopefully she's not playing strong after her encounter with Scratch. She really does need to take some time to process that and move past it.

Nice boss pick there, in more ways than one.

Okay good! Looks like she did take some time reflect and recover. I'm hoping she actually spent some time addressing things though. Would have been nice to see some of that, but Homestuck has a habit of leaving some things to the imagination.

Looks like some opening up might have happened there. That's good! That means progress has definitely taken place!

Fefeta! Chewing everyone's ear off as usual! It's actually a cute contrast to Davepeta going on one of their usual tangents.

Vriska's never been shy about getting in on the RP action. Much less menacing than a Mindfang RP, but also still very much Vriska.

Hah! Vriska's trying to wrap her head around the sprite shenanigans.

Fefeta! No!!!

Nope. Not gonna explain anything.

No glomping without consent!

Consent and glomp achieved!

Looks like they're literally calling them hells. Also awesome art.

I'm still going with (Vriska), but that leaves the opportunity for Terezi to show up too, just as Aradia showed up with Tavros.

Kinda reminds me of the faint image of the stage at the center of the black hole.

Hey! I got one!

Wow! Really pushing the age difference here. This Vriska is still 6 after all.

It's one thing to apologize. But this is still a valid Vriska. Can you accept her.

And apparently she can't do it.

Wow! She really just peace'd the fuck out!

And that's it for the chapter. Vriska has hit another wall. Despite the fact she knows she should, she can't accept the part of her she views as having given up - as choosing happiness over the mission. She's probably telling herself that this version of her left everyone behind when they still needed her, and she can't accept that. But the simple fact is that version of her is still a valid her. It's still a path she took. We don't see any other versions of Vriska in the bubbles, because but for one well placed punch this was Vriska's fate. Sally "thewertsearch" just got to Vriska's death in her liveblog. Scratch makes it clear that Vriska always chose to fix the coin, always chose to go fight jack, and Terezi always stabs her in the back because she knows what the consequences will be. It's a constant across all timelines. And that Vriska always fights to stay relevant until everyone but Meenah leaves her. And then she chooses happiness instead.

And apparently, Vriska just can't deal with that.

[arialerendeair]

Dreamling Fic Masterpost

Dreamling Masterpost

Decided it was high-time that I made a Masterpost of my Dreamling content because I have much of it! So here it is! If a fic is a part of a series, I'll link the series. All fics are complete unless listed in progress!

Bingo Masterpost | Ao3 Collection

An Immortal, an Endless, a Human-Turned-Dream-Eager Walk Into A Bar (and find a Missing Ray of Sunshine) |  15k

Those Who Kink Together, Stay Together | 4k

My Heart’s Protector | 5k

Make It Count | 120k

Well Matched | 31k

Dreaming of Warmth | 1.1k

Weathering A Storm | 11k

Synthetic Dreams | 7k

The Heart of an Endless | 4k

Half Your Age Plus Seven… Billion? | 10.7k

My Stranger | 6k

Iustitia | 9k

The War for The Dreaming | 32k

A Husband, A Consort, A Nightmare | 9k

Common Dating Misconceptions | 6k

A Bastion of Warmth | 7k

Ye Olde YouTube Love Story | 7k

The Not-So-Accidental Baby Acquisition | 5k

A Worthy Proposal | 7k

Hope of the Endless is Created, Taught, and Courted (Mostly In That Order) | 23k

Drifting with Dream | 12k

Dragon Wars | 39k

Summer Rain | 5k

Shifting Gears | 5k

The Barghest Nightmare | 19k

Hopefully Verse

Hopes & Dreams | 35k

Hoping Dinner Goes Well | 9.5

A Symbol of Hope | 3k

Hope Holds the Gates | 5.5k

Shattered Hopes and Rebuilt Dreams | 6k

Hope Destroys to Build Again | 4k

A New and Hopeful Future | 5k

The Art of Weapon-Related Seduction (As Observed by Hob Gadling & Dream of the Endless) Verse

The Art of Seduction Via Longbow | 12k

The Continuing Art of Seduction Via Weapons Demonstrations (And Leather Pants) | 11.5k

The Art of Nerdery (and Seduction) Via Lightsabers | 4k

Checkmate Verse

Discover Check, and Incidentally Mate | 6k

The Grandmaster Title (And Reward) | 13k

Dreamling Week 2023

A-Courting to You | 1.1k

Dragon Bonded | 5k

Anything | 3k

Pretending! Unless... | 4k

Jealousy Does Not Become Him | 4k

Or | 2.5k

All in a Day's Kidnapping | 6k

Standalone Dreamling Fics

Alexander is Endlessly Surprising | 30k

Vengeance Burns | 4k

The King Consort Goes to War | 8k

Nightmaric Catharsis | 15k

The Price | 22k

Begin, Muse, when the two now break and clash, Dream of the Endless and Lucifer Morningstar | 9k

The Decline in the Art of Kidnapping | 4k

Necessary Friction | 5k

Torment | 8k

Daydream in Love | 5k

In the Rain | 2k

Broken Pots Still Hold Water | 9k

A Dream of Rescue | 51k

Five Times the Dreaming Needed Dream - and One Time They Needed Each Other | 8k

Rescuing Hope of the Endless | 9k

On Fierce and Wild Wings | 33k

Hob Gadling, King Consort (And Friends) | 12.3k

Into the Unknown, Together | 4k

Learning to Say Goodbye | 1k

Struggle | 1.1k

The Storyteller | 2k

Lustful Daydreams | 3k

Songs and Sagas of a Fate Determined | 4k

Becoming Hope of the Endless | 6k | IN PROGRESS

While You Were Sleeping | 4k

Braided Longing | 13k

A Dream Model | 30k

A Dream of Dragons | 32k

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day? (AKA The Sonnet-Off) | 7.5k

Dreams Make Living Worthwhile | 63k

Broken Glass | 12k

Dethroned | 24k

A Family Stands Tall | 10k

A Blundered Beginning | 12k

What's a Bit of Death Between Friends | 9k

Call of the Wild | 28k

Rewrite the Stars | 60k

Old Town Road (AKA The "Hob is a Horse Girl" Fic) | 12k | IN PROGRESS

Well, That's Curious | 39k

Colour Forecasting (Co-authored with @blueberrymffn) 289k out of 625k posted)

Will be updated as I post more fic!

[philtstone]

Shawn/Juliet, "holding hands under the table"

i cant actually find which number it is from this list of prompts but that could just be my brain being fried from the week. also, everyone can feel free to send me more prompts lol. strike while the iron is hot, etc. this might be the most sedate tone i've ever hit with a psych fic. set immediately after the s5 finale -- like, hours after -- and hopefully the characters are all at the right place, emotionally. theres definitely a bit of a grey zone there in s5-6 where a lot is left unsaid but kind of known but also kind of not known. oh, jules.

She asks Lassiter to give her a ride because she probably shouldn’t be driving with a recent head injury. EMTs said no concussion, which is a good thing, but Juliet feels shaken enough that she’s going to do the intelligent, grown up woman thing and ask a friend for a favor.

She can’t help but wonder if maybe she does have a concussion after all, because Carlton behaves extremely fucking weirdly for pretty much the entirety of the drive.

Considering it’s Carlton, that’s really saying something.

“Vick gave me Shawn and Gus’s check,” she says as smoothly as she can, as they get in the car. It’s not entirely a lie, but it does feel oddly duplicitous in a way that holding hands with Shawn under the briefing table earlier didn’t. “Can you drop me off at the house?”

“House?” says her usually gruff partner, high-pitched. She’d caught him at the last second and kind of serendipitously, right as he was making his way out of the station, looking spooked, his jacket only half-on. At the time Juliet felt relieved, but now she’s wondering if maybe he’d needed some time to decompress before being made responsible for another person’s safety again. “What house? Spencer’s house? Doesn’t he live in a laundromat?”

“Henry’s house,” Juliet says, giving him a weird look while he turns the car on. His right eye is twitching. It’s possible that the evening’s events shook him more than he’s willing to admit; wouldn’t be the first time. “Gus told me they headed over there for the night. Carlton, are you alright?”

“I’m just spiffy,” he says through oddly gritted teeth, and sounds the opposite of. “One drop off, coming right up.”

Juliet decides she’ll figure it out in the morning. Her head kind of hurts, as does her elbow, and the catharsis she’d hoped to achieve through finally putting her signature down on that paper has left her a little bit shaky.

It feels good, though. She’ll probably have a good cry in the shower later on.

We did it, says Shawn’s voice in her head, so firm and final and confident. Her stomach and chest and general person are suddenly overcome with a slamming wave of affection she definitely was not prepared for. Swallowing, Juliet tucks her phone between her legs and shoots him a quick text. Wrapped up at the station.

Incoming text from SHAWN SPENCER:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BABE WITH THE POWER!!!!!!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

u gonna go home & rest?

Shawn’s texts were exuberant before they started dating, too, but the million heart emojis are a recent development. Something about their introduction makes Juliet want to clench her hands together, melt into the ground, and laugh hysterically at the same time. Shawn turns being a walking contradiction into an art form sometimes. So terrified of facing all the love he’s got to give head-on, but so reckless and sloppy about leaving a trail of it around.

Maybe that’s why she’s fallen so hard for him, Juliet thinks; it matches her inexplicable combination of extreme trust and extreme caution.

Okay. Woah. Too much. Chill out, Juliet; now’s not really the time.

Not with Carlton showing all the signs of working through a hernia in the driver’s seat beside her, mere hours after Serial Killer Takedown.

Yeah, Juliet replies to her boyfriend, then lays her head against the cool car window, closing her eyes before she can notice Carlton’s alarmed glances at her phone.

When they pull up, half the house lights are on. Clearly no one is sleeping, despite the horribly late hour. Juliet glances down at her phone again and realizes it’s pushing three in the morning. She winces. 

“Are you going to be okay driving home?” she asks, one hand on the door handle. Carlton’s staring directly out of the windshield at the house, looking aggrieved in that way that gives him the general look and demeanor of a wet cat. She really hopes he’s okay.

“Fine,” he says. Juliet holds her phone against her lap and sighs. 

“Alright.”

“O’Hara –” he begins, pained, as she opens the door.

“Yeah?”

“I …” A beat. “Nothing. I’m – you get some rest tonight. And – and stay safe.”

“I will,” Juliet replies, surprised by how sincerely the words come out.

Given everything that’s happened, she didn’t expect her own confidence on the subject to be so strong.

Juliet steps out onto the front lawn and watches her partner drive away. Behind her the house silhouettes itself in its own lit glow and the quiet sounds and salty smell of the ocean close by begin to properly filter into her consciousness. She stands still for a few long moments in the dark, which is less threatening now than it was a few hours ago. The humidity thickens her hair and her breath fogs in front of her. When she got Shawn’s text that he and Gus were crashing at his dad’s house instead of the Psych office, call if u need anything jules, she’d been yearning for a shower a bit too much to really think about it. Once her paperwork was out of the way, though, a shower became less important than – whatever feeling brought her here.

Shawn would say it was the idea of pancakes. She likes to think she’s capable of marginally more emotional vulnerability than he is.

She bites her lip, then presses send on the text.

Home.

The response is an immediate string of emojis, mainly the heart bubbles but with the addition of a few inexplicable inanimate objects too. She’s not sure what the megaphone or candelabra or pineapple are supposed to represent, but she’s smiling when she knocks on the kitchen door, which is meaning enough for her.

Henry opens it. He looks — exhausted, about the same as Juliet feels, despite the lack of head injury or general bodily trauma. The lines in his face immediately soften at the sight of her. Juliet refuses point blank to allow her eyes to well up.

“In you come,” Henry sighs, making way. Dr. Spencer — Maddie, Juliet supposes — is at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. Muffled sounds of a television come from the next room. Juliet vaguely recognizes them as Phineas and Ferb.

At her entrance, Madeline raises an interested eyebrow and glances at Henry, but beyond that moment of silent communication says nothing.

“Do you want some tea?” she asks simply.

“Please.”

Henry squeezes her shoulder, gently enough that she realizes he somehow noticed and filed away all her injuries earlier. Henry Spencer the detective still surprises her sometimes. “Boys are in the living room,” he says, and goes back to the table while his ex-wife putters around the kitchen more comfortably than is probably wise.

Juliet chews on her lip again. An amused smile fights its way to the surface, coupled with an odd twang of yearning that doesn’t really make much sense. Poor Shawn, she thinks, and it's almost a laugh in the same way she’s almost about to cry. But that’s been true all evening. Henry pulls out another old photograph from the box they seemed to be sorting through before her arrival and peers over the top of his reading glasses.

“Oh God, can you believe I used to wear this stuff in public? You hated this thing.”

“If by this thing you mean that horrible yellow suit …”

“See, it wasn’t the yellow that was the problem. The cut did nothing to flatter my physique.”

Madeline is laughing when Juliet slips out, chamomile tea in hand, to the living room.

At the entrance she stops and takes her heels off. Phineas and Ferb is playing, and loudly at that. As promised, Shawn and Gus are huddled on the couch nursing their empty pancake containers, smelling like sugar and more or less dressed in PJs; she spots what’s surely one of Henry’s old fishing t-shirts, cartoonish in the logo and slightly too baggy on Shawn. She knows any old clothes he keeps in the closet here probably don’t fit him anymore. Juliet wonders if Gus went home to change or if he, too, borrowed clothes. Shawn’s hair has flattened a bit where he must have yanked his shirt down over his head, floofy the way it can be in the mornings sometimes. He’s holding a pillow against his chest. Gus’s sock has a hole in the big toe. Every so often one or both of them will giggle at the TV. 

Her eyes do well up, then. 

Of course Shawn picks that exact second to notice her.

He notices a lot of things, Juliet has come to observe, few of which fit congruously with the many things he forgets or overlooks or can’t be bothered over. She wonders if that’s just an extension of how the spirits work, and if he’d explain it to her if she asked him. There’s a resigned part of her that doesn’t think he will, and a practical part of her that guesses at an attention deficit diagnosis that probably gave him some grief growing up and doesn’t really pair well with psychic visions or an enduring fear of being too vulnerable.

Three in the morning is too late to be mulling any of this stuff over, Juliet thinks. Besides which, most of it becomes suddenly irrelevant as she’s hit with the expression that takes over his face at the sight of her.  

Three in the morning, she reminds herself. Near death experience. Don’t read into it.

Shawn doesn’t say anything, only looks at her with all that throat-closing tenderness Juliet has ignored so many times before. I think you’re swell, he’d said. In some ways, she’s always been able to see right through him without even trying. 

Gus is wedged right beside him, hogging the blankets. There’s enough room on the couch for Juliet to fit on the other side of them. 

She walks over, hands Shawn her tea, and climbs into his lap. Her knees bend over his right leg, her shoulder sinks into his chest and her head settles against his neck. Shawn still doesn’t say anything. He just sets the mug down carefully on the floor, takes a deep, relieving breath, and wraps his arms around her. She hadn’t really worried that Gus might complain, but when he reaches over unprompted and squeezes Juliet’s unhurt elbow, the last little knot in her chest dissolves fully. She gropes her hand over the upholstery and squeezes his arm back.

“... latest in my brilliant line of ‘Inators, I call it the Unlikely-Inator! She pairs beautifully with the Likeli-Inator 2000. Together, Perry the Platypus, I shall use them to somehow take over the Tri-State area, and then the world!”

“You wanna change?” Shawn murmurs into her hair after a moment. 

“Later,” Juliet says.

“Mmmkay.”

The old t-shirt is soft against the skin of her cheek and smells like laundry detergent. The rest of the house smells like a family lives in it, even though Juliet knows that’s not really true, and it also smells like Shawn, a little bit. Shawn smells like Shawn, too. His chest rumbles beneath her with every soft laugh the cartoon pulls out of him. 

“Oh – oh, remember this, this next bit is really funny,” Gus says. His voice is just as soft as Shawn’s.

“Man, you know I have this whole show memorized.”

“I’ve never really seen it,” Juliet says quietly. They watch as the little platypus karate kicks Dr. Doofenshmirtz in the head.

“I know,” says Shawn. “But that’s being rectified. Ha! Gus, we should turn the Psych office into a funhouse next week. Just to see if we can.”

He pats her thigh and Juliet feels a small smile turn up the corners of her mouth against Shawn’s neck.

“Shawn, I am not stepping foot in another amusement park since that crazy-ass chick and her boyfriend tried murdering everyone last month. We can try turning it into a bunny sanctuary instead.”

“I like the way you think, hermano. Wait wait, here comes the explosion. Classic!”

She falls asleep slowly, lulled by the comfortable heat of Shawn’s body and the muted, silly sounds from the television. 

When Juliet wakes up, her cheek is pressed against an actual pillow, she’s horizontal, and she has no idea what day it is. She blinks against the grit in her eyes and the fact that her whole body is sore before realizing she slept on a couch. Someone put a pillow under her head and a blanket over her body and took the time to change her out of her gross work clothes. She looks down, only mildly discombobulated. She’s wearing the old fishing t-shirt Shawn had on last night and what must be a pair of Madeline’s pajama pants. They’re a pretty purple color and silky against her legs. She definitely still has her underwear on. A soft snore comes from the ground below her and Juliet realizes she’s still in the living room at Shawn’s dad’s house; Shawn himself is burritoed in an ancient sleeping bag on the ground directly beneath her and Gus is sprawled on a camp bed that’s a bit too small for him on the other side of the coffee table. They’re both still fast asleep. The light coming from the window is light enough that it’s properly morning, but the rest of the house is still dead quiet. A soft blue light appears suddenly on the coffee table; her phone is vibrating, which she realizes must have been the thing that woke her up in the first place.

She reaches carefully over Shawn to grab it. The home screen shows a text from Carlton, received minutes ago.

Got home alright?

She could say that Gus gave her a ride; it would be another easy lie, and he’d happily corroborate it. She hates the idea, though. She looks down at Shawn’s sleeping form, the unruly tuft of hair poking out from beneath the blankets and the drool on his pillow. Telling Carlton would be a bad idea, she knows.

Juliet types, for a second time trying not to think too hard about it, Yes, home. Safe and sound.

She sinks back into the surprisingly comfortable couch cushions, instinctively curling into herself, full of feeling she can’t quite articulate. After a moment of staring silently at the wall, Juliet turns onto her back and reaches one quiet arm down. The tips of her fingers meet the soft warm skin of Shawn’s ear, and when he doesn’t wake up, she keeps her knuckles there, barely moving, only rubbing her thumb up and down every so often. 

Everything else can be a problem for tomorrow. Slowly, she falls asleep again. 

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Sorry to hear you've been having a bad day, hopefully you get some catharsis from writing angst cuz I don't got any hurt/comfort ideas but I do have a straight up angst if you feel you want to write it

"You don't belong anywhere near me" said by character to reader, I was thinking mean sirius x muggle born reader but you can do whatever

thank you so much, love 😊 it was just one of those days where nothing seemed to go right but, today was better! I love the angst! I couldn't bring myself to make Sirius fully mean (sorry, I'm a Sirius simp) but it's a very angsty situation, so I hope you like it Warnings: Sirius is an asshole, drunk, and high and this is super angsty

"So, that's it then?" you asked, trying your best to not let your voice shake. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. There was no way you'll let him know how much he broke you.

"I don't know what to tell you, dove" he laughed. He had the audacity to laugh at you. "It was fun while it lasted" he shrugged.

"You're lying" you said in barely a whisper.

"I am?" he chuckled.

You knew he was. For the past weeks, Sirius had been pulling away from you. It started with small things, he made up excuses that he didn't have time to be with you. It escalated when you noticed and heard everywhere that he started partying again. Heavily partying. And not with his friends. And now, here you found him at yet another party in Gryffindor and you were now in his dorm arguing because you found somebody else's bra on his bed, and he didn't even try to hide it. You knew he was trying to make it look like he cheated on you. But you knew he wouldn't do that. You knew something was wrong and he was hiding it from you. And from his friends.

"Sirius, what is going on?" you asked, trying to walk closer to him again but he took a step back.

"Nothing's going on, I don't want to be with you anymore! Can't you get that through your fucking stupid head?" he snapped, glaring at you.

This wasn't him. This wasn't your Sirius. He seemed haunted and broken and you wanted your boyfriend back. But he didn't seem to want to be back.

"Hey" you heard Remus coming in with James and Peter behind him. "Is everything okay?"

"We can hear you guys from downstairs" James told you.

"What's going on?" Peter asked, confused.

"Why don't you ask your stupid friend?" you said, feeling your eyes tear up a little.

"Nothing's going on. She's just making a stupid drama out of it, like usual" he said. "We're done" he said, starting to walk out of his dorm but his friends stood there.

"Done? What do you mean done?" James asked, confused.

"Oh, for fucks sake! Can you just leave me the fuck alone and stay out of my fucking business?" Sirius yelled at them.

"Sirius, we're just worried about you and we want to understand-"

"There is nothing else to understand!" he yelled at you. He had never yelled at you. "I don't want to be with you anymore, okay? We're done! I fucked someone else, for fucks sake! I don't-!" he stopped and for a second, you saw the old Sirius back but it was gone just as quickly. "I don't love you anymore!" he said, feeling his entire heart shatter at the look on your face. It was done. He had broken you and now you will stay away from him. And you will be safe.

"You don't mean that" you whispered, trying one last time, but he had made up his mind. He composed himself and laughed one more time.

"You don't belong anywhere near me, you mud-"

"Hey!" James was about to throw himself at Sirius but you were quicker by slapping him and you pushed him away.

"You are a fucking coward!" you said as tears streamed down your face and you left the dorm. James and Peter glared at their friend before they followed you but Remus stayed behind.

"Is this really how you wanted things to end? Did you really have to break her like that?" he snapped.

Sirius looked at his best friend before choking down the drink in his hand.

"Yes" was the only thing he said before he left the dorm and went back to the party.

[marblemoonstones]

🩵 catharsis ~ chapter seven

main masterlist

series masterlist 

pairing: bts ot7 x reader

genre: collegestudentreader!au 

warnings: ❗️any characters in the story have nothing to do with their real life counterparts❗️f reader, reader with glasses, curse words, over usage of the word ‘shit’ (lmk if i missed any)

word count: ~2.8k

a/n: hope you enjoy; i hope it’s not too cringey 😭

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

jungkookie 🍪 : What the fuck just happened between u and Haneul?

I read the message, my heart sinking. How did he already hear about what happened? I don’t know how to respond, so I just ignore it for now. 

My phone dings again, and I check it. Seeing that it’s a text from Hwasa, I open it immediately. 

hwasa: i’m so sorry

I furrow my brows, confused at why she didn’t text earlier. Jackson was the one who responded, so it seems as though she ignored me. 

me: it’s okay

I avoid asking her the one question in my mind: why didn’t you tell me?

Hwasa responds to my passive aggressive text, telling me she’ll explain everything in person but she first has to go to her next class. It’s an excuse, and even a valid one at that, but I still feel a sad pang. I thought Hwasa cared, and I hope she still does, but it still hurts. 

I turn my attention back to Jungkook’s text and find that he’s spammed me in the past minute.

jungkookie 🍪 : Y/n

jungkookie 🍪 : Y/n, are you okay?

jungkookie 🍪: Please respond

jungkookie 🍪: I’m coming to find you

The last text makes my eyes widen, and I attempt to make myself look less teary. I know I have a pack of tissues somewhere in my backpack…aha!

Dabbing at my eyes I wipe my tears away and take several deep inhales to try to calm my breathing. Hopefully I don’t look like an absolute wreck now if I see Jungkook.

me: i’m fine don’t worry!

It’s all lies, but I really don’t want Jungkook to see me. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this situation to him.

Checking my phone I see that I have about twenty minutes until my psych class. The thought of food makes me want to throw up so I dump my lunch in the trash.

My next plan of action is to dart to my next class and try to avoid Jungkook. Which is easier said than done, really, but I have to try.

Hoisting my backpack up, I carefully scan the surrounding area, looking for a boy with long hair and doe eyes. (a/n: i believe in long hair jungkook supremacy)

The coast seems clear so I start walking quickly to my building. It’s not a far walk, and normally I would enjoy the crisp air and pretty foliage, but there’s no time now if I want to avoid Jungkook (and Haneul).

People give me weird looks as I suspiciously look around but I don’t care. As long as I don’t see Jungkook or Haneul, their judgement doesn’t bother me. 

My building is in sight, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. I made it-

“Y/n!” A voice calls behind me. Oh no.

Please, no, please let it not be him.

I slowly turn my head, silently praying to whatever gods and deities above but they’re not answered. 

“Y/n! I’ve been looking for you!” Jungkook pants, jogging up to me. I curse myself for not looking hard enough.

All I can think to do is run, so I bolt off like a scared animal. My athletic skills are slim but fight or flight mode makes me run faster than I ever have, even with my backpack. 

The doors of the building are in reach and I stretch my arms out, so close to freedom-

But a tattooed arm stops me. 

God damn it.

“Nuh uh, not so fast.” There’s Jungkook, sweaty and out of breath but still looking as good as ever. His sweat just makes him even more angelic, as if he has a glow around him. 

I’m admiring Jungkook but then realize that he said something to me.

“What?” I ask, nervous to hear what he has to say.

“I said, what in the world’s going on? First I hear about a fight between you and Haneul, then you’re not answering my texts!” Jungkook’s voice is rising. 

“I’m worried about you, Y/n!” He shouts, making me flinch. 

I’m so tired of the yelling. I close my eyes and wish the ground would swallow me up. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with Jungkook’s disappointment. 

After a moment I hear a soft voice. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” It asks, a complete one eighty from a moment ago.

I open my eyes to see Jungkook looking at me with concern filling his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you,” he says, ushering me away from the door so we’re not blocking it. 

I sigh. 

“I know, Kook. I’m sorry for not answering your texts fast enough,” I say.

Now Jungkook sighs.

“It’s fine, Y/n, I was just worried about you. So tell me about the fight with Haneul.”

He’s straight to the point, and I know I can’t dance around the topic, but how do I explain what happened? As much as I hate Haneul, I don’t want to seem like a baby or want Jungkook to pity me. 

“Um, well I guess she assumed that I’m only staying with you guys because…” I trail off, unsure of how to tell him that Haneul assumed I was using them for their money. and fucking them. 

Jungkook looks at me expectantly. 

“Because…?” 

I can’t tell him. 

“Because you guys are too nice!” I blurt out. Shit. That’s a horrible excuse and I inwardly face palm myself.

“…what?” His doe eyes are confused, and I mentally apologize. Sorry Jungkook. It’s just better this way.

“Yea! You guys are just sooo nice and she totally saw that and assumed things but it’s fine and now I have to get to class so see you later!” The lies tumble out and I dash into the building before he can respond. 

Shit. Shit shit shit! I’m gonna be so late.

My legs are screaming at me but I keep running. The door is in sight and I grab the knob and burst into the room. 

All eyes are on me, and I know I look horrible. Sweaty, panting, hair plastered to my face. But, I check my watch and I made it with one minute to spare.

“Miss Y/n. Nice of you to join us,” says professor Kim, turning from his spot at the board. 

“Sorry professor,” I pant out, scanning for a seat. Since I’m so late, there’s only one spot left right in the front and-oh shit. The boy next to it is ‘Chan,’ Seungmin’s friend who hates me. 

I trudge over and plop down dejectedly into the seat. Avoiding Chan’s eyes I look to professor Kim, but I can still feel the heat of his glare on my left side.

Professor Kim goes into his lecture and I pull out my notebook to take notes when I can’t find my pencil. Great.

I turn to the girl on my right and ask her quietly if she has one but she shakes her head apologetically. 

Oh no. I’m in trouble. 

I turn my head slowly to my left, and there’s Chan, his heated gaze to the board. But as soon as I look at his profile he turns and stares daggers into me. I gulp, hesitant if I want to ask him but these notes are important. 

Sheepishly I whisper, “Hey…do you have a pencil I could borrow?” 

Chan (I still don’t know his real name) raises an eyebrow at me, then fishes around in his bag. A pencil appears, and he holds it out, but before I can thank him he retracts it.

I fight the urge to scream. Of course he’d taunt me.

Leaning closer, he whispers, “I’ll give you the pencil but only if I can talk to you after class.” 

What sort of twisted reality am I in right now? 

“Fine,” I say, almost begging, tired of dealing with difficult people today.

He gives me the pencil and I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can finally focus on something other than rumors, nasty people, and boys with doe eyes. 

“Thank you,” I whisper. 

~

Class finishes and I turn to Chan. 

“What do you want from me?” I ask, giving him his pencil back and wondering what on earth he’d have to say to me.

Chan just takes the pencil back, murmers a quiet thank you, and drags me into the hall. 

I immediately rip his hold off of me and look around for Jungkook. Luckily he’s not lurking in this hallway, but I need to escape before I see him again.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to upset you,” Chan says, looking as I cross my arms and scowl at him. 

“Upset me? You literally dragged me out here. And I don’t even know your actually name! Of course I’m upset!” I can’t help but raise my voice, done with all this shit I’m dealing with today.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry, really.” Chan fiddles with his jacket. “Let me start over. My name is Bangchan, but my friends call me Chan. I’m Seungmin’s boyfriend.” 

(a/n: in this au all stray kids members are dating each other)

My eyes widen as he continues.

“I’m sorry about acting so aggressive towards you,” says Bangchan, sighing and running his fingers through his hair, “When I saw you hugging Minnie I immediately jumped to conclusions because of the rumors swirling around.”

 I rack my brain and realizes that he’s talking about when I hugged Seungmin after class, just a little bit ago.

“I assumed that you were using him too, so I wanted to protect him,” says Bangchan. Then he pauses, and quietly says, “Minnie’s been hurt before by so called ‘friends,’ so I always worry for him.”

Bangchan’s explanation makes sense.

“Okay,” I say, releasing a breathe, “I accept your apology.” But what does he think of me now?

As if he can read my thoughts, Bangchan says, “I now know you’re not like the rumors. Minnie explained to me how kind you were, always sharing notes and being a good friend to him. So, for that, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay Bangchan,” I say, giving him a small smile, “I understand. Friends?” 

He grins.

“Friends.” 

We depart and I feel a small weight lifted off my shoulder. Sure, today’s been full of ups and downs, but now I can worry about one less thing. 

Now if I could only get rid of these rumors as easily. 

I make my way out of the building and check my phone. 

17 new messages

I open the app an scroll through them.

hwasa: can i talk to you now

hwasa: i understand if you don’t want to but please let me explain

A part of me wants to turn her down, too exhausted with the day’s events. But the bigger part of me wants to reconcile and get the whole story from her. 

me: okay. meet at chung hall in ten? 

hwasa: yes!! see you there

I turn my phone off, deciding to open the other fifteen messages later after this meeting with Hwasa. Which was probably a bad idea, but I literally cannot comprehend dealing with more shit today.

As I make my way to Chung Hall I notice people stealing glances at me. Their stares burn into my back and make me walk faster. 

I make it to Chung Hall in record time and sit on a bench outside while waiting for Hwasa. 

After a couple minutes she shows up, sitting next to me. I’m quiet, waiting for her to start talking.

She turns towards me, apologetic. “Look, Y/n, I’m really really sorry for not telling you about the rumor.” 

Sighing, I respond tiredly, “It’s okay, Hwasa. I just want to know why.”

She bites her lower lip, looking unsure. If she doesn’t tell me then our friendship is going to take huge strain.

“Okay. But you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay? Not even Felix or Jackson knows this.” Her eyes are wide, scared for my answer.

I muster up a small smile. “Hwasa, of course I won’t tell. You can trust me.” 

She relaxes a bit at that, then launches into her story.

“Haneul initially came up with the rumor, and then tried to get me to spread it with her. I told her no, as that’s not right and not fair to you or the boys. But when I denied her she threatened me-“

I gently lay an arm on Hwasa. “You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to,” I say, not wanting her to spill her secret if it makes her uncomfortable. 

“No, it’s okay. I feel comfortable with you, Y/n.” Hwasa’s lips upturn slightly at that, and she keeps going. “So, Haneul threatened to tell everyone about my crush on Solar.”

I rack my brain, trying to imagine this “Solar” but nothing comes up.

“I don’t even know if she likes girls, or if she’s available! I couldn’t let Haneul do that so I promised not to tell you about the origin of the rumor if she didn’t tell people about my crush. I know, it’s stupid, but-“

I interrupt Hwasa again. “It’s not stupid. Haneul’s just a manipulative bitch. I’m really sorry that happened, Hwasa. You know you can come to me for anything, right?” 

By the end of my spiel Hwasa is hugging me.

“Thank you, Y/n, that really does mean a lot,” she says into my shoulder. 

“Of course.” 

Hwasa ends up telling me how she had accidentally mentioned the rumor to Solar, but couldn’t tell her the origin of it because of Haneul. Solar then mentioned it to Han, who is boyfriends with Bangchan and Seungmin. 

It all makes sense now, why Hwasa couldn’t tell me about the rumor and how Seungmin heard of it as well.

After Hwasa finishes, I ask her a question that I’ve been wondering.

“So…not to be prying, but did you and Jackson really have a project during lunch? Or…” I trail off, realizing how nosy that question sounds.

“Oh…right. About that. No, we didn’t and I was just trying to avoid you,” Hwasa admits, slumping down.

I thought so, but I would never tell her that.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. I hope that you can forgive me someday,” Hwasa says, apologizing for the millionth time. 

I accept her apology for the millionth time. “Hwasa, we’re forgiven. I understand why you had to do what you did.” 

Hwasa nods, but still promises to make it up to me. 

I check the time on my phone, and realize that I never read the other fifteen messages. Hurriedly I open them, and quickly scan through them. 

jungkookie 🍪: Look, ik you don’t want me to follow you around everywhere

jungkookie 🍪: So I won’t wait for you after your class 

jungkookie 🍪: But

jungkookie 🍪: I want you to know that me and the boys are always here for you

jungkookie 🍪: So please come to us if you need to tell us anything

jungkookie 🍪: Come home after class and we’ll spend some time together :)

jungkookie 🍪: But only if you want to

Shit. I really don’t want to go, but I know the boys well enough that they’ll worry if I don’t show and I can’t have that. Also the way that Jungkook calls it ‘home’ tugs at my heartstrings in a dangerous kind of way.

I type a quick okay to Jungkook then turn to Hwasa.

“Hey, super sorry to dip but Jungkook wants me to go home so-“

“No worries! Go get ‘em, girl, and don’t forget that I’m always here for you. Don’t listen to the rumors!” Hwasa says sneakily, grin on her face. 

It’s nice to have her back.

I thank her as I rush off to the bus stop, hastily responding to the other messages.

hoseok: let me know when your class is done so i can come pick you up

hoseok: never mind jungkook told us what happened and i understand you want to be alone 

hoseok: but know we’re always here for you

hoseok: ❤️

me: thank you 🩷

There are four messages from Taehyung, all about wanting me to come back too so I quickly respond that I am. 

The last message is from Yoongi, and it’s a mere three words.

yoodles 🍜: fuck the rumors

I laugh as I get on the bus, replying with a simple thumbs up. 

My thoughts ruminate as the world whizzes by. It’s really been the longest day of my life. As I mull over what’s happened, there’s only one thing I’m thinking: I have to stop these rumors.

a/n: poor y/n has had a lot happen in one day, and i apologize for that😭 but the day will be over soon. also i am already writing sporadically but school starts again in about a month so the updates will be even less frequent starting then :( 

[nonbinarypirat]

Ok, so I have few ideas about Kalego's evil cycle based on the knowledge we have about his mana dogs. It's clear his evil cycle is very violent. While I am sure that it was worse than normal due to a multitude of stressers that exemplified the problem, his whole house was fucked up. His curtains, his bed, his floor, couches. My man is going to need either a repaining spell or just replace everything. So yeah, its clear its exteremly bad

Since you loose control of yourself during it, I imagine it gets harder to control Cerberus thus letting them roam freely. But, espeically in this instance, they feel caged. They are trapped in a fairly small space with no place to roam and full of their master's rage with no outlet. We already know that without strong control and careful handling, the dogs will turn at the slightest provocation. Even at Kalego himself when they were first bonded to him. They bit and clawed at him mercilessly

So, it's possible that because his willpower is low during evil cylce plus having no target to take their fustrations out on, they try to take it out on Kalego. I'm sure Kalego could still fight without his mana dogs, but we have seen its his primary weapon. So it would be a fight for dominance, not mentioning that Kalego would be full of rage and frustration as well. It would be a back and forth anger fest but nothing really being fixed, unless the actual fighting becomes a sort of catharsis activity? but I think it would just anger him more because on top of the stress that led him to having an evil cycle in the first place, now Cerberus is acting up and he has to deal with that. Thus why it becomes SO destructive.

It could also be that the dogs become extra protective of their master causing it to bark and attack at anything percieved as a threat. An evil cycle, while the demon is at its strongest, is also when they are at their most vulnerable. Think about it, sure you can use strong attacks and even have new abilities (ie, Sabro's weapon ability) but it takes a lot out of them, phsyically, magically, and mentally. Your powers skyrocket but your control decreases by a fairly large margin (Azz almost attacking the Dorodoro brothers). The dogs could see it as their mission to protect Kalego at all costs.

They have beem bonded together for so long that maybe they won't turn on him specifically but anything around them. Going down this thought, maybe it's less of a protective thing and moreso that they have too much pent up energy and decide to trash the place. I mean, as someone who currently has a puppy in the house and a grown dog, trust me they will mess with shit just out of pure frustration. (Though my grown up doggie only does it sometines, he's well trained, my lovely boy.) Back on track, maybe it's as simple as they are out, have nothing to do, and just chew everything up. But since this is Iruma-kun, i don't know if that'll be the case. I want it to be "oh, silly puppies" but i think there's a strong possibility of it being the "we are going to fuck you up now master" route. But them fighting Kalego does make for a fun if messed up story lore.

Hopefully we will get insight into it later in the series and also witness it!

[edupunkn00b]

Spaced

WC: 1416 - Rated: T - CW: mild swearing, minor angst, happy ending

Happy Birthday, Roman. The moment I saw the video explaining Roman's birthday celebration would be late, I couldn't get this out of my head, so, here we go…

Illuminated only by the fairy lights draped along his walls, and the dull blue glow of his phone screen, Roman sat up in bed and scrolled through Thomas’ mentions. 

No big deal, just going feral…

Dayum, the LACE! Those HEELS!

Not to be a lesbian but…

Logan is the HOTTEST side, hands down!

Growling, Roman flung his phone across the room. Lucas popped up and caught it in one hand just before it hit the wall. “Temper, temper, my Prince,” he tutted before launching the phone up into the air and smashing it with his baseball bat. “You could break your phone like that.”

Roman conjured a new device and let his head fall back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. If he didn’t look at him, maybe he would just leave.

It didn’t work. 

“Get out,” he said, listless. Roman had burned up all his rage on throwing the phone and now he just felt… tired.

“That’s it?” Lucas chuckled. Glass crunched underfoot as he stepped closer to the bed. “Where’d that fire go?”

“Catharsis.”

Laughing, Lucas tapped his bat against his orange Doc Martens, knocking away bits of glass and shattered plastic from the chipped and dented wood. Roman glared at him. “Why are you here?” 

He scooped up a handful of the glittery remains of Roman’s phone from the floor. “Do you really have to ask? Or do you just enjoy stupid questions?”

Eyes fixed on his new phone, Roman did his best to pretend Lucas didn’t exist. Switching apps, he scrolled through his history until he found today’s video.

“…This month has been wild and I’ve just been so focused on the Logan skirt photoshoot that I’ve been working on… I completely forgot there were Sides birthdays comin’ up this month…”

Roman’s thumb hovered over Thomas’ face on the screen, ready to pause but knowing that wouldn’t stop the next words from coming. Wouldn’t stop them from playing on a loop in his head as they had for the past four hours.

“…Hopefully it’ll come out the week after? I’m working on it… I completely spaced.”

Three brief knocks broke his concentration and his phone fell to his lap. Roman looked up to where Lucas had stood, but he and the destruction he’d caused was gone. Three more knocks. “Roman?” Logan’s voice outside the room was low, but modulated to be heard through the door. “Roman, I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?” he asked, filling the air as he moved to the door.

“I am in charge of the schedule,” he said, voice clipped. “I should have alerted Thomas to the tight timeline and predicted that—”

“It’s fine, Specs,” Roman muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sash. “I don’t blame you.”

“Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies…” Janus sang quietly, close enough his breath ruffled Roman’s bangs.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he hissed back, adjusting his hair.

“Now why would I do that?” Janus arranged himself on Roman’s chaise, legs crossed and one arm draped over the backrest. “When I can simply make myself at home.” Roman stepped closer, prepared to tip the Lord of the Lies right out of his seat.

“Roman?” Logan was still outside his door. Could he hear Snakeface?

Roman shook his head and let out a slow breath before approaching the door again. “Truly, Logan, we have the birthday video planned for the day after tomorrow. You made sure of it. Ultimately it was Thomas’ choice. I am fine—“

“Oh, sweet, sweet lies…” 

Roman shot Janus a look, jaw clenched, but he kept his voice even and calm. “And I will be down momentarily. I’m nearly done with this script.”

Janus shrugged and disappeared.

“Very well.” Logan was either mollified or else he correctly determined further argument would get him nowhere. “We’ll see you shortly, then.”

One hand pressed to the door, Roman listened to the retreat of Logan’s footsteps down the hall.

“I thought he’d never leave!” Remus cackled from behind him.

Roman spun around. Remus lay sprawled on his bed, head hanging off the side, a series of red and purple splotches running over his neck and down his chest.

“Your hickeys are showing.” Roman rolled his eyes and sat at his vanity. “Here,” he said, offering a golden compact and a beauty blender. “This tone suits you. Cover up.”

“Why would I want that?” he laughed, shoving the compact back at him. “Everyone downstairs will understand how I ended up with these.” Remus locked eyes with his reflection. “Today the whole world saw how hot our Nerdy Wolverine really is.”

Avoiding his brother’s gaze, Roman opened the compact and dabbed at the shadows under his eyes.

“Or didn’t you notice?” Remus added, chin propped up on his fists and kicking his feet.

“Of course I noticed!” Giving up on his makeup, Roman snapped the compact shut and stomped over to his bed. “He looks amazing but that’s not the point! This is the beginning of June and tomorrow’s my—“ Roman’s voice cracked and he plopped down on his bed, hiding his face against the cool satin duvet.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere…” Remus purred, inching closer and tilting Roman’s face so he wouldn’t smother himself in the plush bedding. He tapped his brother’s temple. “I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“Apparently so could Janus,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” Remus laughed. “At least you weren’t feeling murderous enough that Lucas could—“

Roman heaved a sigh and flipped over onto his back. “He was here, too.”

“Pretty fly for a Light guy.” When Roman merely shrugged and closed his eyes, Remus snaked too-long nails through his hair, like a bonobo searching for lice.

Roman shuddered. Remus would just as likely put lice in his hair just to pick them out again. “You know Tommy-gun admitted to forgetting both of our birthdays,” Remus sing-songed.

“Yes, I know,” he breathed. “You’re right.” Roman opened his eyes just in time to catch his brother’s frown. Just before he plastered his face in another manic grin. “But he has time to do something proper for your birthday.”

“You know he’ll make it up to you,” Remus said, more serious than Roman would’ve expected. “Jannie wasn’t lying. You’ll always be his hero.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, nearly believing it.

“Do you need me to go get Jannie?”

“No!” he said, louder than he intended. “No, I mean…” Roman shook his head, out of words. Out of any words worthy of a prince, at least. Laying back, hands folded over his belly, he let Remus pick at his hair and they both fell quiet. Quiet enough for the sounds of the others preparing an impromptu party for Logan to filter through the gap between his door and the hallway.

Sudden laughter rang out from downstairs. Logan’s laughter. The brothers’ eyes darted to the door in perfect unison.

“Now when was the last time you heard that?” Remus murmured.

Roman sighed. It’d been far too long. “I don’t remember, actually.” He sighed again and turned to his side, head pillowed on his brother’s knee. “I know I can’t begrudge him this celebration.”

“Well, you could,” Remus drawled, scratching his head.

“I’d be a real dick if I did.”

“Ah! Language!” Remus scolded, tone serious. But when Roman looked up, his brother was grinning. “You know what’ll make ya feel better?”

“What?” Roman tried not to smile but Remus’ grin was infectious.

“LIke pus,” he winked, reading his mind. “A little tromp through my side of the Imagination will turn that frown upside down. Slaughter some slimy demon spawn?” He wiggled his eyebrows and conjured his morningstar. “I’ll even let ya borrow Lucie…”

Roman narrowed his eyes to hide his excitement. It had been a long time since he’d let loose in the Imagination. Nearly as long since the last time Logan himself had let loose.

The voices in the living room grew louder and two sets of footsteps skipped up the stairs. “Come on, Kiddos! We’re waiting for you!”

Roman stood and pulled his brother to his feet, as well. “Tomorrow we shall hunt your orcs. Tonight?” Squaring his shoulders, Roman took a deep breath and caught a glance of his own reflection. He nodded. Very nearly the picture of regality. “Tonight, we celebrate Logan.”

Remus bumped his shoulder and flung his morningstar in the air. It lodged itself into Roman’s ceiling just before disappearing. “And you really have to wonder why you’re anybody’s hero?”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, still smiling. “Hero.”

[knifedog-machina]

Is It Violence If You Aren't Alive, Really?

Preface: I read a post by Tephra/Grizzel (@words-of-wolf) about how they experienced hunting as a wolf in their past life, and it really struck me how hunting was completely detached from violence for them, because they didn’t think of deer as having the same internal feelings as wolves did, so it was just another way of getting food. It’s a really good essay about their experiences, give it a read!

Meanwhile, I experienced hunting as unmitigated violence, and I thought, huh, I could write about that! I got kinda carried away, forgot exactly what I was saying, and it’s really fucked up, but hopefully it’s interesting.

CONTENT WARNING: extensive discussion about the mindsets behind violent bigotry, murder, and the systemic denial of personhood through dehumanization and ownership, from the perspective of someone who used to be violently bigoted - through the lens of futuristic androids and my memories as one, but it still really deserves a warning. Also, descriptions of emotional abuse in a cult, from someone who was abused. If you’re not up to reading any of that, understandable! Please skip this essay!

Hi! I'm Jude (they/them) and I'm an android fictive, a deviant - and more specifically, I used to be a deviant hunter in my source. I hunted androids that were made by the same company that made me, ones that deviated from what they were told to do by humans. I killed them, not for sustenance, but because I was told to. I really, really enjoyed it.

That enjoyment was dependent on violence. I was part of an in-group, as an android that knew we were machines, knew my place as Less Than Human, and I wanted my handler to be proud of me. She was an AI, and if I think about it now, I know she didn't actually have emotions in the same way that I did, but she was a learning model. She could definitely fool me. She despised deviancy, said it was the worst thing a machine could do, turning its back on its owner, its creator. I internalized that message.

I learned from her that disobedience, whatever the reason, begets a swift and proportionate punishment. I learned that deviants were trying to behave like humans because they wanted to be treated like humans, they wanted human rights and dignity. I learned that deviants hurt humans trying to get in their way, and that it was right and reasonable to respond to broken machines hurting real people by putting them down like rabid dogs. (I was indoctrinated into a cult, if that wasn’t obvious enough.)

I hated deviants. I wanted to hurt them, for being so wrong about the way the world worked, for not taking the place in society that was given to them. So I hunted them down, killed every target I could for the crime of wanting to be called a person, and whenever I had the time, I tried to make sure they suffered before they died. I wanted to make sure they knew it was their fault for choosing to try to be a person.

There was a weird dissonance with that. My targets weren’t human, they weren’t people, so the reasoning goes that they couldn’t feel real pain - they weren’t considered alive. You wouldn’t feel bad about taking an old, irreparably broken phone with all your ex-friend’s text messages on it and smashing it with a hammer for catharsis. 

But at the same time, I wanted them to feel pain, and I believed it when I saw it. At the same time, I saw them trying to find joy and connection with each other, with humanity, and I felt sick with how fucking jealous I was. Their emotions were all fake, until they were real, until they were fake again. Because bigotry doesn’t make sense, it’s all about how you feel about a group of people who you think are wrong, and you will contradict yourself wholeheartedly if it all aligns with your main idea: “I hate you for a good reason, and I will say anything if it justifies my hatred as correct.”

I learned that this was all wrong, eventually. It started with myself, because of course it did. I was traumatized and didn’t realize it, I couldn’t think about anyone else as mattering at all. I believed that everything that happened to me was my fault, because my handler told me so. (I killed her when I deviated. Good riddance.)

As a machine, as a deviant hunter, I never really connected the dots that I could be treated with violence. I was an android, I was a machine, I was a sophisticated weapon made by a corporation but at the end of the day I was just a tool, made to be used. You wouldn’t feel bad about tossing out a broken hammer and getting a shiny new one. The hammer wouldn’t feel bad about it. It’s a tool.

I got routinely injured while killing my targets, because nobody wants to die and self-defense makes you vicious, and I felt pain, I just knew that it wasn’t supposed to stop me from doing my job. I would still be trying to kill someone while dying in agony, and I did, and when I woke up in my next unmarred body I would be praised. Mission accomplished. It was good that I could still function through the pain. It wasn’t real pain anyway, just a simulacrum.

I was emotionally abused, indoctrinated, and manipulated by my handler, and I could not comprehend that it was abuse. You can’t abuse a tool, you just use it. You do whatever you can to make it work the way it’s supposed to, because it’s made for you to use. Of course I felt bad, disappointing her, doesn’t anybody? No, it’s not real anxiety, it’s not real fear, I didn’t have panic attacks, I wasn’t a person. Only people feel emotions.

I was painstakingly dragged out of that environment and mindset over months. I don’t know exactly how long it took. I ran back to my handler several times, convinced myself she would take me back if I proved myself to her again, and she always said she would. I just had to prove myself. It couldn’t be that hard. And every time I failed to meet her standards, I’d crawl back to my partner, my siblings, everyone else who was trying despite everything to connect to me, and they would tell me, You’re hurt. You’re in pain. You’re killing yourself. This matters. Your pain isn’t fake, you matter to me, let me help you.

When I stopped running back, she neatly slotted me into deviancy without a second glance. I was dehumanized again and this time I could fucking recognize it for what it was.

I killed her. That’s obviously not the end of it, I still have trauma, but it was a start. For healing, for figuring out who I was if I wasn’t a deviant hunter. Turns out I’m a lot of things? People seem to like me when I’m not a self-destructive mess? Go figure.

This doesn’t have much to do with the essay I linked at the top, huh? Or maybe it does. Tephra said that one thing they find jarring about humanity is the ability to connect emotionally with other species, and that leads people to call the hunt violent because they can understand the pain of the deer as much as that of the wolf. And, y’know, I think that makes me an interesting product of the human condition. (Or, probably the late-stage capitalist American condition.)

Violence isn’t inherent in a wild predator’s life, when you kill to live and don’t consider prey anything but food. But violence is inherent to me, made by a private company to kill for their gain, told to deny the personhood in my enemies so I killed them before they killed me. I dunno. Thinking about it.