#at face value and believe everything everyone in universe says about her and ignore her actual behavior

[witchblade]

i think vivienne was the most galling example of majority of players not understanding well really anything. but im not going to write another scary essay about that well i probably will once i replay it. sorry in advance

[thedepressedjuggalette]

Me talking with my anxiety-riddled brain.

My Brain: *constantly thinking of how would be best to reply to the weirdo stalking my page* Me: You know this is kind of stupid. My Brain: What is? Me: Replying to that stalker. My Brain: How so? Me: Remember last time? The dude stalked my great aunt's house, my online activity, my workplace, my university... legitimately everything. The dude would twist words and make it sound like I'm a monster and tricked everyone we knew into thinking we were constantly sending him death threats and shit. My brain: What does that have to do with this? Me: Everything. This guy is starting here, what is stopping him from trying to track everything I do digitally until he finds me and shoots me for daring to like some random. My Brain: Are you sure that isn't just me being anxious-- Me: Bro I'm a fucking Hispanic Ace Woman, I can't be too paranoid considering that Republicans think that anyone that isn't so pale people you disappear in a white background is some illegal immigrant. They're even trying to convince people that Vivziepop of all people is an illegal immigrant. I'd rather not risk my life. My Brain: But they're not understanding-- Me: Look I don't owe anyone explanations, and I don't need to waste my valuable time arguing with someone online. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they take this as a win and keep stalking me. It's their choice if they don't want to have a life. It is their choice to waste their entire life hating one person. It's their choice to waste their life hating me because I won't bend the knee to them. They can waste their time. I'm not wasting mine. My Brain: But- Me: They pretend like FNGR didn't go on hour-long transphobic tirades when making hate and rant videos about Lily. They pretend that I didn't say that I thought Lily was in the wrong when biting off that artist's head. They pretend that what Lily said to that artist was worse than what the Steven Universe Fandom did to a literal CHILD. And they can't get it through their THICK FUCKING SKULLS that if they're telling me the absolute put their life on the line deadass truth and actually have a mountain of evidence... then I'd LOVE to see Lily behind fucking bars. I'd LOVE IT if they were to have a court case going and have it be all on the public Youtube sphere like the fucking Iilluminaughtii shit going on right now. My Brain: True... Me: yeah but here's the problem, they never show it to me. They just EXPECT me to believe them and take their words at face value. I mean yeah, Lily is a dick half the time, especially in the past. She was on some fucking rage timing that you'd think she was constantly playing Cuphead, but that's why I never understood why she didn't just only talk to close friends and just toss the whole Discord Server idea into the fucking trash. I don't see the point in even interacting with fans at all for any fucking public figure. It always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. I mean fans are ALWAYS waiting for their favorite idol to mess up one time so they can have an excuse to maul that person alive. I mean look at Selena. The most beautiful Mexican-American artist of all time and she was MURDERED BY HER NUMBER ONE FAN. Yolanda Saldívar still has people waiting to fucking shoot her ass for what she did to Selena. To think, she murdered Selena over MONEY. My Brain: So we just stop responding? Me: Yeah, they're going to keep on expecting and believing the worst of me. That's how every stan is. I mean google is free, it's easy as fuck to find the website of the Canadian police! My Brain: Okay! Okay! Yeah. You're right. This is all stupid. We need to just ignore them. Me: Yeah, ignore them like how they'll ignore all the links and stories here because Lily is their Lolcow and they are going to keep stalking her. That's a fact. I'm going to just not engage. If they keep trying to spam me, I'll just find new ways to block them. Better than wasting my time responding. My Brain: But they are right about the whole re- Me: Yeah! I already deleted it.

[currentfandomkick]

Warning: trans!man danny and him being Ellie’s dad, and him attracting shenanigans are my favorite tropes, so they’ll be present

Danny had been cautious about going to Gotham when he decided on being a mortician and learning about the stars. He’d gotten the odd look, but for the most part everyone accepted it at face value.

The Gotham part set off the alarm bells in his head. Sure, GIW have been handled but Crime Capital of the World was just one of a few reasons he hadn’t wanted to go.

Being in the city his older brother on a technicality was raised in… was unpleasant. But Sam was there, Tucker had an in with Wayne Enterprises with one of his cousins, and Jazz had been trying to get him to come for longer than a day trip.

But it didn’t sit right with him.

Amity needing him stopped since he did his job well. He finally managed the GED program since his GPA was shot from freshman year.

Gotham University offered him a free ride for his two very desperate fields.

He had a horrible feeling about it.

But in a few years Ellie would be stable enough to live with him full time—Pandora was still stabilizing her and of the opinion Danny needed to live his life outside of being Amity’s protector.

Though she phrased it more like he was starting a new epic.

Mr. Lancer say him down and they made a deal—if Lancer could get Danny’s rogues to ‘knock it off’ and agree to pre-determined time and location fights in the Realms, then Danny would stop hesitating and ‘finally take advantage of the good hand he’d finally been dealt’ and go.

He still can’t believe Lancer lecturing them about targeting Amity in spite of it being a ‘disabled ghost child’s cradle’ worked.

He’d gotten so, so many apology gifts.

Desiree even made it so he produces less estrogen and enough testosterone to not need the injections anymore! And shapeshifting lessons for everything else.

Going to university on top of second puberty is a special hell, but he did it.

He managed to avoid the Wayne clan too. Tucker was still annoyed at times that he wasn’t using his engineering skills—apparently his co-workers don’t believe any of what they grew up making from scraps is possible and wants backup—but for the most part they’ve found a rhythm and manage to share their apartment with Sam in relative peace.

Sam is still Poison Ivy’s top henchwoman.

Danny politely ignores this as Ivy is more Anti-hero and he has a suspicion this ‘Green’ she’s an avatar(? Priestess?) of, is related to Undergrowth but way less pushy. And Sam deserves to commit eco-terrorism as a treat.

Jazz was thriving as she helped the goonion with their mental health.

And Danny was doing well.

Until he went to get another Deathwish from his favorite coffee shop and spotted Dick with one of his new siblings.

And Danny? Was not going to hear anything about growing up different or how it was a shame he didn’t follow the family business or reach out sooner.

Fuck that.

He bolted out the door, and almost lost his pins.

He really hated blacklisting this place. It was the only queer-run coffeeshop that worked for all three of them.

He hated feeling like he was a little kid trying to explain to his first parents he can do the trick, he can. Only for Dick to keep stopping him.

He fled the scene, even using his intangibility, and made it home.

Maybe he should have mentioned remembering who his bio family was when he first remembered…

Fuck.

He looked up at a knock on his window… one of his regulars at the morgue.

He let them in, and they made a sound he knew was their best ghost speak for concern worry help?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks buddy, just, fuck my life sometimes.”

The guy just cooed, leaning against him and trying to sing to him. Horrendously off key, and it sounded like a really bad rendition of something mid-century.

Danny just tried to breathe. He had one semester left, he’d be able to move soon and he could portal to his friends after his shift, and work on getting Ellie into human school.

Maybe Central? The meta population is bug enough there that no one would ask about either of their abilities, and there’s a no-kill rule with the Rogues…

He’ll work that out later.

Current him has a possible man-hunt run by the asshole brother he forgot and chose to ignore once he remembered a decade ago.

His life may be fucked, but it’s his and he won’t let that asshole barge in.

Not when he’s close to getting Ellie full-time without Fruitloop interference.

Not when he’s almost graduated, has a plan, and finally out of the vigilante life…

His buddy stopped singing and ran up to tap. Danny wrangled him to not drink from there, but the water bottle. Honestly, whatever necromancer was making his regulars, Danny’s having a Talk with them before he leaves.

—

Dick and Tim shared a look as Dick’s clone bolted from the coffee shop.

The clone was around Jason’s age, and not perfect. Face a bit too round, eyes the wrong shade and build all wrong.

Whoever cloned him didn’t even get his ass right.

But he knew he’d be going after him to uncover the nefarious plot and hopefully deprogram the guy.

“Huh, wonder what spooked Danny,” the barista frowned.

“Danny?” Dick looked at Tim.

Tim shrugged.

“I’ll let his roomie’s know to pick up their order,” the owner yelled back as she finished another order.

“So, is him bolting at the door normal or…”

“Oh, Danny’s got a thing where he can sense danger before it happens. His big sister mentioned it was why she figured it’d be safe for him to follow her here. Real sweetheart, and their parents weren’t the best about it,” the barista answered absently as she finished ringing Tim up.

Dick and Tim winced. Clone may be de-programmed already, or a sleeper.

Either way they were going to get to the bottom of it.

After they made their way out, Tim frowned. “Uh, about Danny… you did see the pin right?”

Dick nodded. “Ghost one right?”

“No, the flags. Trans, pan, and a medusa one.”

Dick twitched. He hoped it wasn’t what he was thinking.

—-

That’s all i got for now.

Not my Circus

A/N: I hate my brain and it's suckish timing...

Danny was a circus kid. He knew that, and so did his parents. Well, the once that took him in when he was five. He knew he had a loving family before the Fentons. Yet he doesn't know himself why he never put in more effort to return to them. No, wait, he had an idea what his five years old mind could have been thinking.

If Freakshow and his mockery of a circus had never shown up in Amity. Then Danny might have pushed the thought of his original family to the side forever. He had been a foolish kid back then, reckless and tempramental, unlike his older brother. He had tried to follow into his parents' and brother's footsteps, but he wasn't as graceful or acrobatic as they were. It was irony really with how much he liked flying and doing tricks in the air now. But still he remembered having a lot of frustrated fights with his brother about his inability to be like them.

When he got reminded he started to do a bit of a more serious research again and when he found out about his originals parents death half a year after he was first declared missing from the circus as well as his older brothers having gotten adopted too, he had dropped it all again. Pushing all of that back into the deepest depths of his mind again. His older brother was doing well. There was no need for him, for Danny.

That went well until Jazz went to university in Gotham and convinced him to go there to collage too, when he sort of forcefully retired from being a teen hero. It went well for a couple of years until his mid twenties.

Because despite Gotham being a city way bigger than Amity, there were still chances of you running into certain people.

The moment he entered the coffee shop and saw the others face, everything he had pushed aside in his mind came right back to the forefront of his mind.

How he foolishly trained in acrobatics behind his families back after another fight while they were moving towns and fell off the wagon.

How he had felt like he enjoyed not feeling presured to be like them and didn't put too much effort into returning to them when he was with the Fenton as well as thinking that his elder brother was probably happier without a stubborn little brother.

How when he looked them up he dropped it just as fast when he learned about their deaths and his elder brothers adoption.

He blinked wide-eyed at the man that stood before him a teen next to him while he held two cups of coffees. He, too, was staring at Danny frozen.

Now Danny had several options of how to handle the situation. And he most likely didn't choose the best one at first as usual. Because what he did in response at seeing Richard 'Dick' Grayson was to turn tail and run even using is invisibility and intangiblity.

What Danny didn't know was that Dick's first, thought, was someone cloned him and not that his missing brother from his days before the Waynes was back.

Thus a game of mouse was started...

[mashithamel]

Shield of Winter

Have I mentioned I love Vasic? I’m as happy as Aden that he gets a happy ending. Let’s get to the running commentary:

* “Kaleb didn’t see the point in informing the male of his certain demise—because there was no cure.” There are specific medical ethics that address this Kaleb, and much as I adore you, you suck for this. Do you really think it was ok to let him kill someone on his way out? Sahara needs to up her job acting as your conscience!

* “Keeping [the Es] safe wouldn’t earn him absolution, but perhaps it would give him peace for a splinter of time.”

* “If I’d meant to kill you,” he pointed out, “you’d be long dead, your body disposed of in a crematorium incinerator.” Blinking, Ivy stared at him with those unusual eyes that made him feel stripped to the bone. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t meet my mother.” It’s even funnier because he didn’t mean it to be funny.

* Vasic falling for Rabbit, and kind of healing along the way, is a nice parallel to Ivy’s recovery.

* Everyone loves Judd, and that is exactly how it should be.

* “I’ll get it.” “Oh, thank you. It’s just inside the back d—” And she was talking to air. “That could get extremely annoying extremely quickly.” Heh

* “He’d watched her as if she was the only thing in the entire universe.” 🔥

* “a warrior-priest from eons past. Strong and unwavering in the face of evil, and with a courage that defied comprehension.” It is a good thing Silence fell because this poor girl was not made for it.

* You can’t enslave my man Vasic, Ming!!!! He’s much too cool and tortured to go out that way!!!!

* Oh! He’s Lan coded! Noble, completely loyal, and with a death wish. All hard lines, emotionless expression, deadly. No wonder I like him.

* I love Rabbit with Hawke in wolf form. He waits for him to give the ok before going to Ivy! I love that little bit.

* He has a private Ivy file ❤️

* “He should have showered.” Yeah, Nalini Singh is really slacking on the whole showering thing this book!

* I appreciate that Kaleb has no reluctance to call himself a dictator, but…is Sahara the only thing keeping him from just wholesale slaughter of dissadents??

* “But he couldn’t feel her. And for the first time, he began to question his choice to allow himself to be used as the guinea pig for the experimental fusion.” 🥺

* I like how, from Aden’s view, Ivy’s shrug is written as “her shoulders rose and fell,” because they’re Silent and don’t have an automatic understanding of the movement.

* She sent him nudes and he *fell to his knees* 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

* “Your Silence is terrible, little one.” That is a baby, Vasic! Wearing a little shirt that says Girls Rule. It’s adorable.

* Kaleb (I guess I’m calling him Kaleb now—I mean, we have gotten all personal with him) knowing details about the Arrows is exactly the thing I like about him. Which makes his ignorance about Anchors that much harder to believe!!! You really think he hasn’t figured out everything thers is to know about every Anchor, as soon as they became targets???

* “Send me another image,” he said before he was aware of forming the words. “D-do you want to see me, rather than an image?” 🔥🔥🔥

* The not touching but totally losing control just at the sight of her is totally hot.

* “How could you do that? How could you value yourself so little?” He gripped her wrists, her skin delicate and warm against his palms. “Because I was already dead.” A walking, functioning shell. “You brought me back to life.” And “Why didn’t you wait for me?” ❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭

* “I won’t forgive you,” his partner said into the quiet. “Don’t ask it.” “If you were weak, you’d have killed yourself years ago. It’s your strength that doomed you—and your loyalty.” Aden and Vasic are so great together.

* Ok, I get not causing a panic as a reason not to tell people they are infected, and they are technically under a doctatorship, but not giving them that info? I mean, if I knew I’d stay away from my kids, human coworkers. I might have affairs to get in order. That knowledge is terrifying, but vital to my autonomy.

* I really like the bit where Vasic teleports to Sascha and almost instantly Lucas has his claws at his throat. It’s a nice reminder about just how lethal he is

* “I was self-destructive when I volunteered,” Vasic answered. “I no longer am. Can you remove it?” The engineer shot him an incredulous look. “I’m brain damaged, you idiot…where are my tools?” Underrated humor.

* This discussion with Judd of telekinetic damage done during sex is hilarious. And it brings us another mention of my beloved, Stefan ❤️❤️❤️. I’m just bummed we don’t get to see Vasic meet him!

* “Enough,” she wanted to cry, “he’s done enough! Let this gladiator rest.” 😭

* Sascha and Lucas showered before Ivy did.

* The awakening of the E’s is very *hand wavy* brushed over

* The end is so melodramatic. I mean, we’re dealing with E’s, so excessive emotion is a given. But still, it’s very soppy.

* “The man I was, the man I am, the man I will be, the man I want to be, they all belong to you. Always.” Goooood line

* I like that Vasic is able to close up Dorian’s order, with regards to writing a memorial to the people he had to erase.

* Yeah, telekinesis during sex is just an unfair advantage.

* “p.s. I bought a new manual just for you. I haven’t even opened it. Come home early.” That’s cute!

* I love that the Arrows find a new purpose after Silence, and the wedding in the apple orchard.

This has some wonderfully angsty and/or hot moments, but is just so goopy at the end, and the action kinda feels like the author doesn’t feel confident with that much action and so really glossed over it. Strong start, not so strong ending, unfortunately.

Number of showers: appallingly low. I feel like Ivy would appreciate getting soapy and clean, and yet we never see it, lol

Vasic: 4

Ivy: 1 (Not until 79% into the book!!!)

Rating: three cold showers, but we run out of cold water before it’s done.

[ohnominamino]

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals. 

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.) 

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain. 

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have). 

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life. 

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that. 

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense. 

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on. 

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie. 

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted. 

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are. 

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius). 

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it. 

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck. 

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship. 

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love. 

[snifflesthemouse]

This morning, I read an article titled “I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts" posted to Refinery 29. The title gives the impression of a journalist disguising one’s self as a “Meghan Markle hater” for the sake of getting to the bottom of something. However, the content of the article is nothing like its title.

Before I go further, let me stress the importance of perspective. My post isn’t an attack on the article’s author. I’ve never even heard of the author before now, and I’ve no right or reason to attack a perfect stranger because I vehemently disagree with the content of their work. Making assumptions about someone solely on what they write is lazy and sloppy in my opinion. I may be lazy and sloppy, but a hypocrite I try not to be. Therefore, go forward remembering my issues are with content, not creator.

The article starts out explaining the origins of the term “Megxit”. It continues with other hashtags, conspiracy theories, and so on. The article even mentions various media platforms “attacking" the Duchess, as well as crude posts witnessed by the author.

Then the name dropping begins. First with Murky Meg, then Sue Blackhurst, then According2Taz, then Skippyv20 on Tumblr, then Yankee Wally. Eventually, names of Royal Rota journalists are dropped. Then people like Angela Levin and Omid Scobie get mentioned, with interviews from the latter. Instead of an undercover sting, we get a “Who’s Who" of Megxit, a few anonymous Sussex Squad quotations, and Omid trying his best to be fair.

What this article accomplishes is very little when it comes to objectivity. The title is a misconception, and the content essentially paints targets on the backs of the people the author carelessly considers “Meghan Markle Haters". The article reduces anyone who disagrees with Meghan’s behavior as racist, misogynist, conspiracy theorist nutters. So, not only is the content of the article sloppy and lazy, it also lacks originality. We’ve all heard this sad song-and-dance number a million times.

I guess at face value, it becomes very easy, effortless really, for outsiders looking in to reduce an entire group of people with similar views to the basic stereotypes as old as time. It takes very little thought, consideration, or critical analysis, to assume things because they seem to correlate. But correlation is not causation. Just because some people opposing of Meghan Markle’s behavior happen to be racist doesn’t mean every single opposing person is also racist. Again, lazy and sloppy.

Just like assuming every single Meghan Markle fan is also vegan, anti-monarchy, feminist, woke warriors is downright sloppy and lazy. This author has personally interacted with and found common ground with Sussex Squad people many times. Some even became social media friends. They believe what they do, and I believe what I do. We do not agree with most things regarding Harry and Meghan, but we do agree to disagree and be civil.

So, contrary to the article, not all people “hate" Meghan Markle just because they detest her behavior. It’s important to remember extremes exist for all spectrums. Every topic, especially those politicized or made popular by media platforms, have extremes. There is no denying the fact that there are people who hate Meghan Markle because of her ethnicity. Those extremists who hate Meghan for her ethnicity ironically do not discriminate, though. If they hate her for her ethnicity, they hate ALL people of that same ethnicity.

On the flip side of this coin, is the other extreme. The face is the same on each side because the face represents extremism. There is no denying the fact that there are extremists who see anyone opposing Meghan as racists. Extremists who, by default, view every issue in the world through the lens of racism. While racism is a serious problem that deserves no place in society, assuming racism is the root cause of every conflict is also lazy and sloppy. And the same could be said that these extremists do not discriminate, either. If they see race as the only issue for why people “hate" Meghan Markle, they see race as the only issue for most everything.

The problem with both extremes is when everything and everyone is reduced to racial identity, racism only continues to exist. A racist using skin color as a disqualifier perpetuates racism. Assuming racism is the only reason behind disdain for someone only perpetuates racism. Focusing on race or racism allows no room for content of character.

Especially when people defend Meghan Markle being the victim of racism with a racist rule. When opposing critics say “I didn’t even know she was Black" or suggest her physical features, her Hollywood CV, or past involvement with Black causes were nonexistent before she became a duchess or stepped down from being a working royal, the extremists on the other side often resort to the One Drop Rule.

Which means their defense for calling Meghan Markle “haters" racists, even though they might have never knew she was mixed race, is a form of racism. The One Drop Rule was borne from the Reconstruction Era post-Civil War. The “rule" essentially said anyone who appeared to have Black features were considered Black.

The One Drop Rule was the precursor and eventual backbone to Jim Crow Laws of the South. It was used to oppress and segregate Americans based on physical appearance. Considering most people who never heard of Meghan before Harry came along were ignorant to her mixed heritage, it seems grossly negligent to assume race is the real issue. How can one be racist toward Meghan when they didn’t know she was mixed race? This author wasn’t aware of Meghan’s ethnicity prior to it being pointed out (by her and Harry. Repeatedly.), mainly because this author didn’t care.

Like so many, when I first saw Meghan and Harry together for the engagement interview, I was more excited about a fellow American joining the Royal Family. After learning she was biracial, well it was even better. It represented change and progress. Does that mean I saw the Royal Family as racists beforehand? No. It means I saw them as exactly the opposite. Had they been racist, she’d not be a duchess. Her being American and divorced was more a shock to me than being mixed.

The point of all this is there are extremists on every spectrum. For a journalist to say they went undercover, when in fact they did not, to expose the true motives behind Meghan Markle “haters", only to find they did very little to really understand the other side was disappointing. Not surprising, just disappointing. This could’ve been an excellent opportunity for someone to take the reigns and make bridges between two very passionate factions. Instead it became nothing more than a hit piece.

The article fails to acknowledge the possibility – no, the probability – that most people who object to Meghan Markle do so because of how she behaves. The article only considers one possibility behind this “hate". And by calling the objections “hate", the article in turn defines all criticisms as hate speech. Again, unoriginal, sloppy, and lazy.

So here we have it, yet another article grouping and stereotyping anyone who disapproves of Meghan and Harry as racist haters. Yet again, another article name dropping people “deemed racist haters", essentially painting even bigger targets on the backs of those people. Like they didn’t already have enough hate mail. Yet again, another sloppy, lazy, article that never digs below the surface to understand why instead of assuming it.

This isn’t new, it’s just another slop drop from the sensationalism machine that has replaced fair, legitimate journalism. It would be different if there weren’t so many questions surrounding the births. It would be different if Meghan Markle actually lived by the example she so vehemently preaches. It would be different if Meghan Markle would make amends with her own family before telling the world how they should treat people. It would be different if Meghan Markle were a strong woman instead of claiming to be one.

But it’s not different. She hasn’t spoken to her father since two days before her wedding three years ago. She denies the family connections that existed before her fame. She ghosts people once they are no longer of benefit. She preaches equality and universal service while using her title every chance given. She and her husband criticize the “family she never had" while naming their second child after that family’s Matriarch. All of those are behaviors that incite strong emotional responses. Behaviors. And behavior has no racial identity.

A final note… hypocrisy is the main reason people have issues with anything. When one group of people tells another group to stop attacking a public figure, while using assumptions as their crusade call, it’s hypocrisy. One cannot say “if you can’t take the heat, then shut up!” to another without being a hypocrite. When that happens, don’t be surprised when the same exact thing is said back. If Meghan or her fans can’t take the criticism, they shouldn’t participate in it. We all have the right to choose. Just like if I couldn’t handle the criticism, I’d not be writing this.

Life is not fair. The world is a dark, cruel place. When we expect the world to bend to the will of a few, we are setting ourselves above the majority. A strong woman would know this. A strong woman fighting for others would also know that the only person responsible for how one feels is one’s self. External feedback isn’t responsible for internal turmoil. Internal feedback is. That is all.

REFERENCE:

Amoako, A. (2021 June 11). I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts. Refinery29. Retrieved from: https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/2021/06/10518195/megxit-meghan-markle-anti-fandom

[angeldcgs]

gideon had been one of those kids that went through a close-up magic phase, and that desire to bend ones perception of reality had only morphed over the years into something more practical. his whole nice guy act, his goal as a producer and a manager was to misdirect, distracting his targets with the best equipment, the biggest venues and his coveted attention so that they wouldn't notice he was slowly sucking the life out of them. it would start ever so gradually, just one drop of blood at a time, acclimating miriam to the feeling slowly so that she wouldn't even be able to register when he thrust a straw straight into her jugular and guzzled with reckless abandon. being a complete newcomer to the industry, it's unlikely her opinion of him would've had the opportunity to be tainted— his power and influence had kept him safe from major scrutiny thus far, but people still talked. whispers between women, warnings of his true nature to prevent another poor soul from falling victim to his predatory ways but he could tell miriam absolutely anything, and she'd believe it. he gave her the outrageous, yet highly polished version of his past, glossing over how he'd spent many of those drunken, coked-out nights alone, and what more insidious side effects his drug habit led to. he couldn't feed her the truth. instead he shrugged as she marveled over his recklessness, wearing it like a badge of honor rather than the stain of shame it should've been. "everything happens for a reason, right?" he offered cryptically. more than her talent, what gideon couldn't find in many others was this sense of endearing ignorance miriam had about her, almost as if she'd stepped out of an alternate universe where people didn't pop out of the womb jaded alcoholics. it wasn't a ditzy quality, nor childish, necessarily; her worldview was like that of a changeling, some elven species swapped at birth and just adept enough at mimicking human nature to get by. in the best way possible, of course. that's why he was constantly staring her in that deep, imploring way, as if he could burrow his way into her brain and see for certain whether she was truly genuine. once she sat herself down on the couch beside him, he draped his arm over the back of the couch so it rested behind her back, angling himself in her direction. the close proximity was subtly intimate, only aided by the natural tongue-loosening quality of liquor, and he found himself with an encouraging smile on his face to provide the proper environment to comfortably overshare. "i don't think that's true," he insisted. "tell me it anyway." he listened as she spoke, the picture beginning to fill in more clearly with the more she revealed about her history with the boys. it was a simplified, heavily condensed history, he was sure, but it was what she didn't say that spoke volumes. "you're right," he admitted after a moment, leaving her in suspense as he took a drawn out swig from his glass before finishing his thought. "that wasn't very interesting. but i don't think that's the full story, either..." he looked vaguely conflicted for a moment, as if caught between whether he wanted to say what was on his mind and risk upsetting her, or sugarcoat it for her benefit. in reality, there was no debate, but he wanted her to believe he was rooted firmly in the moment, making decisions based on what his gut told him rather than calculating every move five steps ahead of time. "what i'm getting is that jude's the ringleader, fletch is the artist, and you're... the girl. you're just there, you're— you're along for the ride. which is a fine thing to be, y'know, music isn't for everyone. but it is for you. whether you want it to be or not, you've got a calling, and i'd be a pretty big dumb ass if i didn't at least try and rescue you from their shadow. i'm sure they're nice, but they're not valuing your talent."

gideon's life appeared so much more interesting than anything miriam could have ever dreamed up. his life sounded straight out of a movie, filled with excitement and adventure, the sort of things she'd never been able to do because of her tendency towards shyness. it wasn't that she even wanted to do that sort of thing, she didn't even like smoking weed when her bandmates offered it to her so if faced with hedonism of a stronger kind, she knew she would have just crumbled into a puddle of embarrassment. he'd even had the strength to recognise when he needed to put aside that kind of lifestyle which was admirable, she'd heard it was easy to fall victim to that sort of temptation and lose your life entirely to it. but not gideon, he was too smart to let that happen, and it only encouraged her further to believe that she was in the most capable hands. "oh wow, that sounds scary." she looked up at him with big, wonder-filled eyes, like a child sat precariously close to the television screen. it was crazy to imagine that people could live such insane lives and then walk away, maybe with a couple of bruises but ultimately unharmed. she'd led a relatively boring life in comparison and yet some days it felt like she'd shatter into a million pieces under the weight of everything she'd been through. he was so strong, a sturdy, broad statue of a man who was more experienced and established than she could ever hope to be; it was both terrifying yet deeply comforting to be around such a presence. "i didn't know you're supposed to take it with something..." she admitted quietly and tore her eyes away from him, not because she no longer wanted to look at him, she very much did but the intensity of his eyes on her made her squirm. she only rose her gaze to him again when he moved away from her and sat himself down on the couch, at which point she scurried eagerly over to him at the command like a well-trained pup. "oh, well it ain't really that interesting of a story..." she was careful not to sit too close to him, more so because she didn't think she'd be able to stomach watching him move away if she invaded too much of his space. holding the glass in her hand like it was something so delicate it might shatter if she applied too much pressure, miriam took a small sip and shrugged away his curiosity. "jude and i used to live on the same street when we were teenagers, his mom used to make him walk me to school in the morning." admittedly, she left out how he rarely spoke to her while they were at school on account of him trying to maintain a certain level of coolness, but that wasn't important to the story. "he met fletch at some party when we were a bit older and when he decided to start a band, he knew that i'd played the guitar a little thanks to my brother." her foster brother, one of many who she had lost contact with over the first early years as she shifted around the system. "fletch sang and could play a little too, so jude kinda just threw us together in a room and made us practice till we came up with something that sounded alright. he's a really good drummer, and he helped fletch write some of our songs and... yeah, you know the rest." miriam rubbed her thumb around the rim of the glass and smiled at the memories she'd shared with the boys, not all of them good but all of them meaningful in whatever they provided her. "they're really nice when you get to know them."

[mistressemmedi]

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

[lsholland]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - "𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?"

Word count: 3.7k

tw: addictions (alcohol, drugs), swearing, disease, murder...

genre: psychological thriller / suspense / drama

Synopsis: Tom Holland is Hollywood's #1 celebrity and is adored all around the world. But this rise to fame hasn't been easy for him. With fame comes his own demons: addiction issues, a relationship that's about to end and...he doesn't know it yet, but he's about to kill an innocent woman. How is he going to get through it?

You can also read it on Wattpad.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

"Tom! Tom!!! TOM!!!" shouts a woman in a black hoodie among a hysterical crowd of young boys and girls trying to get this man's attention. "PLEASE!!! I love you so much" her voice crackles, she's sobbing in despair.

He stops walking and stands right in front of her, a sharpie pen between his fingers and an unnatural grin on his face. Even though these people claim they love him, he's tired of them. It's something with the drama, the screams, and the perpetual inconsideration that drains his energy. His straight face says it all, if only they weren't obsessed with his looks, he'd be pleased to spend time with them. But he knows he's just an object of their fantasies. He forces a smile, or something close to it, and accepts to take a picture with her. He stands next to her, his arms in his back, his fingers intertwined and shakily holding the pen, glancing at the camera lens, lost in his thoughts. His body is present in the moment, but his mind is thousands of kilometres away in the universe that is his brain.

And she's so happy to finally have that precious picture that her smile shows all her impeccable teeth; she's sweating and rapidly breathing and laughing with the same high-pitched voice as everyone else; she's just a typical fangirl. All her friends gather around her and whisper as if they were hiding a secret from an alien.

And onto the next one. Same hysteria, same cry for help, miserable for his attention. She hands him a picture of him in a Spider-Man suit and asks for an autograph while she's filming the scene with her brand-new iPhone.

It has to do with the way they treat him. The way they pretend he doesn't notice their weird behaviour. The way they simply believe he's not a human being. That he must be good-looking, happy, nice, and funny all the time.

"We've gotta go" says his assistant as he presses his shoulder with his hand. Tom looks at him with relief and closes his eyes for a second. He lets out a sigh as a soft smile appears on his angelic face.

"A'ight, I'm sorry guys" he apologises, but that's not enough. Many of them start crying and push through the thin barrier to get a hold of him; like monsters that haven't been fed, like addicts when you can't provide their usual dose of drugs. They look so disappointed and hopeless; leaving now would reduce all his efforts to dust. Keeping a good image and reputation is the key. He doesn't want to be hated.

Guilt rushes through him like a thrill; he glances at his watch and gulps. He gives them another 5 minutes for pictures, autographs, and hugs. Even if he's late. Even if he's going to miss his interview. Because he owes his success to them; or at least he thinks he does.

And when he goes into the back seat of this huge black SUV with no registration plate, he slams the door shut and . . . Peace. Finally, the moment he's been waiting for. The pressure leaves his body like a bubble burst. He sighs and relaxes his muscles, his head falling back on the seat. His eyes are closed; he doesn't say a word for the whole ride. His time alone is so rare and valued.

And when they arrive in front of that gigantic building to pass this final interview, Tom prepares to show his usual bright smile and pretends he's happy. Nobody notices what's hidden in his gaze. But his eyes are telling the truth. His eyes show how hopeless he is. But nobody dares looking into his soul. They only see the superficial layer, the mask he puts on every day. Because nobody knows who he is. Nobody cares about him.

It's so much simpler to ignore sadness in other people. We just tend to believe only good moments are worth sharing. We just pretend we're happy all the time because that's what everyone else does. And why would he show his sadness anyway? He has it all: a girlfriend, loads of money, a caring family, success . . . What can he be sad about?

The interview is done, Tom is in the car, cruising in the city. He's finally going home after a long, tiring, and stressful day.

He unlocks his phone and checks his text messages. They're plain and all related to his fame or his work. All his conversations are so self-centred. What are his plans? What does he like? And what's his opinion on this subject? He, he, him, him, again and again!

He's so tired and wants to be entertained. This empty space laying in his heart and brain becomes bigger and bigger. It's become harder to ignore it, especially when he's alone like tonight. Besides, he's too used to entertain others that he almost forgets what it's like to be passive and watch people do things. As if the world revolved around him.

Here we go. Instagram. The most toxic of all social media platforms. He scrolls through pictures of his friends. The famous ones on red carpets or photoshoots; the anonymous ones a drink in their hands. They're all so superficial. All the same. And the algorithm showing him pictures fans have taken of him earlier today . . . Icing on the cake. Why would he watch this? He doesn't need it. But he decides to read what the fans say, because he's curious. Or because he's obsessed with what people think of him. He needs to be known, loved, remembered, at the centre of attention – adored. He wouldn't need to sell his soul to the devil because it's already in him, and he's now paying the price of this sin.

The fans he met earlier, who were so happy to finally see their idol, were bullying him on social media. They aren't even aware of it. All these people objectifying him, posting pictures of his family – invading his privacy – and saying he can't 'write' or 'walk' or do anything properly because he's just human. They say they are joking except it's not funny. Tom's feelings are hurt, again. He should have written 'you're' instead of 'your', he should have noticed there was a hole in the grass and not trip . . . These images are roaming in his brain like a car's spinning wheels when you brake at 60 miles per hour; the pressure of the tyres scratching your mind, and the intrusive thoughts that can't be stopped like the wheel. Ever. And you eventually hit the wall.

He glances at the rear-view mirror and see his driver focused on the traffic lights. He glances around to make sure no paparazzi is watching and takes a flask out of his back pocket. His trembling hands poorly hold it, but he needs to drink something to feel better; to feel energised. He spills his boose on the leather seats and sighs with annoyance. Grabbing his hoodie feels like lifting the weight of the world; he manages to wipe it off and savours the sweet taste of vodka. Just one sip can't hurt.

That's how you know it's too late.

"Do you really need it?" says the assistant in the front passenger seat who caught him.

"It's just a drink" Tom replies instantly, frowning his eyebrows.

"I'm just worried about you, you know" he adds as he turns around and looks at him in his eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about," Tom mumbles as he feels relaxed "I can stop if I want to."

"If you say so . . ."

And even the people surrounding him day and night aren't trying to help him. Everyone's aware he's slowly getting addicted and is wasting his potential, everyone but the fans. Everyone pretends to love him, but nobody truly cares. They're just after his money, power, and fame . . .

It's like watching him tiptoeing on the deck's edge of a ferry and being shocked when he eventually falls off in the unforgiving cold, dark sea.

He smiles when the car stops in front of his London house. That's the only place where he feels like he can truly be himself. Or the last of it. After all, who is he really? Spider-Man? An actor that pleases 13-year-old girls? A failure? An impostor? Or no one at all?

What happened to the young boy who was excited about everything and anything? What happened to the one who used to laugh more than he'd breathe?

He is torn. He can't love anymore. He's had many girlfriends, each one more famous and beautiful than the last, but they couldn't bring him back to life. He truly loved them though. He felt good with them and always thought they were a match until he messed up. Making up a behaviour so they'd leave him because he's not strong enough to quit. Because he is just like this. A kid who can't handle success.

He currently has a girlfriend. Everyone loves her. He thinks she's too good for him though. Too beautiful, too clever, and maybe too famous. He feels like she's achieving much more than he is and that scares him. He can't even make love to her without feeling like he's not worth it. So, he ignores her calls, takes days to reply to a text, becomes cold as stone, distant, and unstable. This is how cowards break up. But she holds on to him.

Once he gets home, he sits on his couch and starts watching TV. His stomach is empty; he hasn't eaten all day but the only thing he wants is to drink more. It's like a voice in his brain that takes control of his body. He sees everything but can't do anything about it. The smell, the thirst, the mind that can't think of anything else. His hands are shaking, breathing becomes uneasy, he's uncomfortable in his own skin; he's a stranger to himself until he drinks. He's desperately waiting for someone to help him. But they're all too busy with their own problems.

He tries to drink from his flask, but it is empty.

He groans. "One more isn't gonna hurt" he whispers to himself as he walks towards the kitchen area. He opens the fridge and grabs a cold one.

And another one.

And another one.

And another one.

And another one . . .

The saddest thing about the situation is that he truly believes in his excuses. He doesn't realise he desperately needs help.

Now, the fridge is empty. But he still doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the uninhibited state he wants to reach. He's still a victim of his thoughts; the sadness, the anger, the feeling of being trapped in a never-ending game.

He glances at his 80,000 dollars Rolex and decides it's time for him to go to a bar. He grabs his phone and calls his assistant. No answer. He calls his second assistant then. No answer.

"It's only 2AM, come on!" he grunts.

Only?

He thinks for barely a second and grabs his keys and gets into his car. There's a night bar in Kingston that he absolutely loves, and he knows he's always welcome there.

As a celebrity he's obviously welcome everywhere. But he noticed the way people looked at him with pity when he spent an entire night drinking without speaking to anyone. Alone in his thoughts that only he knows. It's different there, the barmaid usually talks to him and entertains him. And she just doesn't care he's famous, which is rare nowadays.

He's been caught drunk driving many times, but he was always released without a word because he's so famous. As if all the police officers have daughters who worship him.

Maybe his problem is thinking he's above all. He who used to be so humble, kind, and generous.

He parks in front of the venue, but the lights are off. He rolls down the window and squints to read the paper sticked to the door.

The bar is closed for annual leave.

"Fuck it!" he shouts. He checks on his phone if another bar is open tonight. Miss Jackson is. It's not the bar he usually spends his time in, but the beers are good and it's not too crowded for him. He absolutely wants to avoid fans tonight.

Most of them are underage, it's dangerous for him. One mistake and he'd become a paedophile. That's why he swore to himself to never do anything with a fan, no matter how hot they are. It's harder to respect this rule when he's drunk though.

"Let's go then" he says in a lazy way, the alcohol slowly taking control of him.

His eyes are red, everything he sees is blurred. He can't keep his thoughts straight.

He starts the car and puts some music to lighten his mood. He needs this to feel better. If something bad happens while he's drunk it ruins his mood. And when this happens . . . he starts having very dark thoughts. The kind of thoughts you better keep to yourself if you don't want people to be scared for you. Where your life is on the line, and you don't care about tomorrow because you just want to stop it . . . The sadness; the anxiety; the constant fears. Because the only moment you feel happy is when you sleep, as if you were dead. Tom feels like this all the time, and he hides it well.

But now he's focusing on the moment. The boose allows him to feel better. He listens to this pop song and its energy is spreading in his body. He's pushed by the music; the excitement and adrenaline take control over his body. He's ready to go.

He quickly backs up the car. He's so excited to go to the bar to finally drink some more and—

BOOM! His car abruptly stops, it sounds like a crash. An alarm is wailing, echoing in Tom's ears, making him feel dizzy. The shock was so intense he hit his face against the airbag of his steering wheel leaving his skin half-burnt. He passes out.

Tom startles as he wakes up, "what the fuck just happened?" he hisses. He stays still giving time to his brain to proceed the information and checks his rear-view camera. It's been disconnected.

He jumps out of his car and checks what happened. He collided with another vehicle. A much smaller car with a crushed bumper. Tom's car is damaged as well, but he doesn't care, he walks over the small Fiat 500 and scans the surroundings. His heart is pounding; air isn't traveling down to his lungs. He suffocates as if he were trapped in a cage down the ocean. He doesn't control his shaking fingers rubbing against his sweating forehead. His lips are parting, gasping for air, while his eyes are wide open looking straight to the ground.

For a second, he realises that he can be in big trouble if anyone knows about this. This can be enough to be fired by the Marvel Studios and ruin his entire career, his life. No one wants a drunk superstar to ruin a movie's reputation.

He hesitates. He wants to run away. He faintly grabs his head in his weak hands and is heavily panting. He can taste iron on the tip of his tongue. He rubs his forearm against his mouth and feels wobbly at the sight of his own blood.

What is he going to do? Has someone seen what happened? And if he leaves, what happens to the unconscious person in the car? But if he helps them, what guarantees him he's not going to be prosecuted? And lose it all? But what if he leaves and this person dies? What if they die and someone knows he killed them? Each scenario is getting worse and worse.

There's only one viable option for him.

"Hey, are you alright?" he says as he approaches the fuming car.

He glances around, but the street is empty. That's the reason why he usually loves this place; because it's so quiet.

"Are—Are you okay there?" he stutters.

He opens the door and see blood. Dark, thick, red blood. An unconscious woman with blood all over her face is lying on the steering wheel. Her car is so old there is no airbag. The shock must've been tough for her. She might even have a brain injury.

Tom places his hand on this woman's neck to check if her heart is still beating. It's weak. She needs help or she'll die because of his stupidity, because he's a drunk who can't even check his surroundings before backing up his car. Poor woman whose life is on pause for his mistake. She'll die because of him.

He dials 999 on his cell phone and repeats what he's going to say once someone picks up the phone.

"There's a woman—she's injured! Car accident!" he cries. He doesn't even try to make sentences; he just wants this to be over. "Please come quickly"

"What's your name, sir?"

His body is wavering, tears are streaming down his face – it's absolute chaos in his mind. He can't tell his name; he'd rather die than publicly suffer from the consequences of his actions. He needs to fly away; he needs to escape from this nightmare. He needs to leave, and now.

He hangs up in a hurry. No one can know he is drunk, and he almost killed someone. He walks back to his SUV and catches one last glimpse of this woman's body before closing the door and driving away.

As soon as he leaves, he regrets his decision, but sticks to it anyway. His soul is crying for him to go back there and help this dying life, but his cowardice tells him to hide and wait until this is over. He's reaching his lowest point, and the only person he wants to see now is his mum. When she holds him in her arms, the weight of his problems is bearable; he can even feel relaxed. And he wishes she'd be able to do it tonight. But it would kill her to know what monstrosity her son just did . . .

He's home, all alone. It's been a few hours since the incident happened, and Tom can't think of anything else. This woman's face, her blood all over the windshield, her crushed car.

Why didn't she see him? Why was she driving so fast in an empty street at night? So many questions roam in Tom's brain, it's slowly eating him alive.

He's sobering up as the morning lights glow on his face. It's already 6AM and he hasn't slept at all. He watches himself in his bathroom mirror and only see dark circles, pale skin, and the features of a monster. The broken blood vessels in the white of his eyes give him an evil aspect. He raises his arm and see the pink burnt skin, another scar for life. How on earth could he leave a dying woman?

He doesn't only feel remorse; he doesn't recognise himself. He's lost and wonders what happened in his life to be so miserable he considers his career more important than someone else's life.

He firmly rubs his face with the palms of his hands and takes off his clothes in a simple sweep. He crawls onto his bed and covers his body with a weighted blanket. He's almost trying to forget he exists when he squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing until his lungs pressure him to open his mouth. Nature has done a wonderful job preventing us from suffocating on purpose. What a bummer for Tom; he would be dead already if he could just stop breathing . . .

He takes his phone, his only friend and his worst enemy, and checks the local news. Maybe they've mentioned the accident and he'll be able to know what happened to his woman. Not many articles have been published since last night. He keeps scrolling until he finds what he's been looking for.

25-year-old in coma after accident in Southeast London, fugitive remains unfound

Tom's heart skips a beat; this article must be about her. For a second, he apprehends and hesitates to read the article. But his guilty mind needs to know everything about what happened since he deserted.

As he reads the article, he gently places his hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out loud. The woman was so heavily injured they needed to put her under artificial coma to keep her alive. She was on her way to meet her dying husband, in the same hospital she's at now.

Such an emotional shock inflicts a profound pain to Tom's heart. He sobs in silence and passes out due to sleep deprivation. He's finally at peace; no thought, no nightmare. His mind is off, and his body is fully regenerating. His brain is solely focused on keeping his body alive. His soul is resting for a few hours until his cell phone starts ringing.

Tom wakes up with a start and answers his phone without checking who's on the line.

"Tom, what are you doing? I've been knocking at your door for the past 10 minutes," shouts his brother "what happened to your car? Dude what are you doing? You've gotta get ready for GQ!"

"Wh—What?" he mumbles.

His brother knocks at the door. Tom gets off his bed and walks down the stairs with difficulty. When he opens the door, the lights blind him, it's too sunny outside. He'd rather stay inside for a few more hours.

His brother checks him out and sighs. "Have you been drinking? The photoshoot is in less than an hour and you look like shit"

Tom remains silent, trying to process the information.

"And what happened to your car, man?"

And here it is. Every memory comes back in his mind like fireworks and his feet are failing, he can barely stand still. He grabs his brother by his shoulder and holds him tight in his arms. He's the only one who can really help him feel better. He wants to tell him everything that happened, but he can't admit he's got a problem.

He's lost.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! What do you think so far of the story? Tom is in a very bad situation, I wonder how he's going to get through it?

Please like this post to be in the taglist.

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

Loki’s Line About Betraying Everyone

I need to talk about this line (spoiler: I’m not happy about it). I was going to just include this in the full episode response post I’m working on, but it got long enough that I decided to make it its own.

First of all, here’s the full quote: "I betrayed everyone who ever loved me. I betrayed my father, my brother, my home. I know what I did. And I know why I did it. And that's not who I am anymore."

Y'all, I'm less emotional about it now but this line fucked me up when I first heard it. It hit me like a ton of bricks while watching the episode for the first time because I was actually doing fine and wasn't significantly bothered by anything up until that point, and then came that line and I suddenly almost felt physically ill. I actually wrote up a post about it that night but never posted it because it was essentially just a lot of screaming, so I've now taken pieces of that and formed a hopefully more coherent post (though it still contains a good amount of screaming). So, I get that the idea that Loki’s betrayed Thor over and over is a Commonly Accepted Thing. It's really a lot more complicated than that, and there are a lot of gray areas involved, but fine, I'll give them that one. But - when did Loki betray his father? When did Loki betray his home?? I’m not just mad about it, this is...a legitimate question. I mean with the father thing, I guess the only thing could be the nursing home in Ragnarok/taking the throne from him? Which is irrelevant anyway because this Loki didn’t do that and doesn't even know it happened in the main timeline?? And besides, it PALES, like, hilariously, in comparison to any one of multiple things Odin did to him before that (not counting any fanon here - just the canon things that we know of!) I am just so confused, especially about the betraying Asgard thing. WHEN? LITERALLY WHEN? Guys, there is no film in which that took place.

If I trusted the narrative, I would say the most logical thing to conclude - at least about the betraying Asgard part - is that this is a setup for Loki to later realize he actually saved Asgard by causing Ragnarok (because that's the closest thing I can think of to "betraying his home"), which could even tie into something about, idk, helping him realize he’s capable of being a hero? (or something) and it would be a good follow-up to the moment he found out about Ragnarok in episode 2, but...fuck, the way these lines were framed it really doesn't feel like anything like that is going to happen. I could be wrong, but these just didn't strike me as lines that are at any point going to be contradicted or even revisited.

And moving onto another part of the quote - "I know why I did it." Uh, I guess good for Loki for apparently knowing that...but the audience sure doesn't?? This is something we're just now being told and have not been shown at all?? I have a feeling Loki thinks he knows why but it unfortunately doesn't have anything to do with some of the biggest actual reasons, which are the abuses done to him that helped make him who he is. Even more unfortunately, I also have a feeling the creators are on roughly the same page as Loki here. So yeah, that's a real shame.

The core problem here seems to be where the writers are coming from, and @iamanartichoke worded it really well here, so I’m just going to quote her: “either the writing is being lazy by oversimplifying Loki’s motives, or it’s being deliberately misleading in order to retcon the character, or the writers genuinely believe that’s what happened, which implies a misunderstanding of Loki’s character kinda from the get-go - at least on what drives his villainy and what fuels his anger, which are pretty significant things.” I do think there’s a slight chance they were using Loki as an unreliable narrator here and the audience was supposed to pick up on the subtext (more on that at the end of this post), but I doubt it, and I think it’s very likely one or more of the options listed in the quote. 

Honestly, I can explain Loki's line about betrayal (and his general lack of acknowledgement of his own trauma/legit grievances against his family) pretty easily in-universe. It makes sense that Loki himself would frame things as him betraying everyone who's ever loved him as if they never did anything to wrong him first, or that he would try to ignore what Thanos did to him in favor of putting all the blame on himself (coping with his trauma and loss of control by denying it). Or hell, maybe he would even straight up subconsciously invent a betrayal that never even happened, like the one about his home. I can totally understand Loki seeing the events of his life that way! That all lines up with his complete lack of self-worth, and to have him 1) recognize his mistakes and take responsibility for them (which has happened at this point in the show), but then progress on to 2) realize he isn't solely to blame for literally everything, and 3) recognize the role of his family and others in understanding why he is the way he is - that would be a very satisfying arc and is the natural direction that the story should take in episode 6. The problem is, I don't think the show is going that way. I think we're either supposed to take it at face value that Loki did in fact betray everybody who ever loved him (as if Loki is a reliable narrator when he's most certainly an unreliable one), or the audience is supposed to figure out that Loki's an unreliable narrator here - but the latter won't work, because the creators have to follow through on that subtext at some point and actually do something to indicate that what Loki said wasn't 100% true, and it doesn't feel like they're going to. You can't expect your audience to put any weight on subtext or even pick up on it in the first place if you never actually confirm anything, and your audience won't know your narrator is unreliable unless you tell them. If Loki being an unreliable narrator in that specific moment was their intention, only a small subset of fans are going to pick up on it. So the way they're framing it so far, the audience is simply going to see it the same way Loki does and not realize it's incorrect. 

Unfortunately, as stated earlier, I think the most likely explanation is that the writers either don’t understand Loki, are being lazy, or are deliberately retconning. So while I take a degree of comfort in the in-universe explanation, it’s pretty damn infuriating to consider where the writer’s minds were probably at in reality, and how this set of lines is presenting Loki to the casual audience. 

Tagging @iamanartichoke and @delyth88 if you guys have any thoughts?

[animatedarchives]

Can I request an imagine where midoriya cheats on the reader and bakugo finds her crying in the halls and is there for her and they grow a romantic relationship? Lots of angst and fluff pls! Thank u!

author’s note: hi dear, yes you absolutely can!! i love soft katsuki and i’m so sorry if this is not what you wanted but i hope you like it!! <3

TRUST FALL

— 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

genre: angst at first, fluff at the end :>

warnings: mentions of cheating

word count: 1.2k words

“Izuku… Why?”

“I’m sorry Y/N… I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Am I not good enough? Is that it? Is that why you cheated on me? Is there someone better?”

“I… I’m sorry Y/N…”

“Wait, don’t leave! Izuku, wait! Please! Please…”

You’ve been replaying the conversation over and over in your head for the past hour, each time failing to find the answer to your question.

Why? Why did you leave me?

The poor condition of the abandoned hallway you were in mirrored your despair; paint peeling off the walls, windows coated with grime and the dusty ground on which you sat in melancholy.

You leaned your head back against the wall, desperately trying to pull yourself together. You felt and looked like an absolute wreck. Your hair that was perfectly styled this morning was now disheveled, acting as a curtain that attempted to shield you from the hurts of the world. The trails on your cheeks held traces of all the tears you had shed. Your throat was parched for water and your eyes burned from the overproduction of saline.

Well, at least no one is here to see you like thi-

“Oi.”

Crap.

“What the hell are you doing here, sitting on the floor like a damn idiot?”

You have got to be joking. The universe just had to give you someone you knew. You shifted your body so that your back was facing him and swiftly wiped your eyes in a pitiful attempt to hide your misery.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you, shitface!” he spat.

“Dammit, Bakugo! Can you just mind your own business and leave me the hell alone?” you yelled over your shoulder.

You’ve never been very close to Bakugo and usually just tried to avoid him. It wasn’t because you hated him - because you didn’t - but you weren’t exactly very fond of him either. You just never appreciated the way he treated your now ex-boyfriend. Being fiercely protective of him, you were always the first one to come to Izuku’s defence and never backed down from a fight - whether verbal or physical - even if it was against Bakugo, one of the strongest, most hot-headed people in class. After multiple scoldings from Iida and your teachers, you decided it would be best to just avoid him altogether.

Eventually, as time went on and your relationship with Izuku began to get more serious, Bakugo’s bullying began to cease and he also started to keep his distance from the two of you. You found it slightly unusual at first, given he had years to stop picking on Izuku but chose not to until now. You weren’t complaining though. Whenever you and Izuku were together, you would also catch him glaring daggers at the two of you, more so at Izuku, but he never approached. You knew it wasn’t because he was afraid of you - he was hardly afraid of anything. Could it be that he possibly respected you for standing up to him? Your curiosity reaped no answers. Not that you cared much, but it would be a lie to say you weren’t interested in knowing the reason for his change in behaviour.

After your outburst, Bakugo’s footsteps stopped about three metres away from your curled up body, letting a tense silence settle between you. Even with your back turned, you could feel his eyes locked on your frame, watching your every move.

“Look, I don’t know what your damn problem is but if you think you can tell me what to do, you’d better think again,” his voice dripping with annoyance.

Oh my god, why was he so persistent? Could he not just go away? Your blood started to boil and the heat rushed to your face.

“Stop acting so weak and pathetic-”

“YOU KNOW WHAT BAKUGO,” you snapped, standing up and finally facing him. Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, but he didn’t look away. “YOU’RE RIGHT. MAYBE THAT REALLY IS WHAT I AM. WEAK AND PATHETIC.”

Bakugo opened his mouth but you cut him off.

“I’m constantly there for others and I always try to give everyone my all but in the end, who’s there for me? No one! I’m always the one that’s suffering, but people don’t notice because no one actually stops to think about me!”

“But Deku-”

“IZUKU CHEATED ON ME!” your cries echoed down the empty hallway. Hearing yourself say it out loud finally cemented the reality you were denying for so long. A lump started to form in your throat and you could feel your eyes starting to well up with tears again.

Bakugo’s body became stiff, a million thoughts running through his mind. You could have sworn you saw his eyes flash with anger, but you couldn’t see clearly through the thin film impairing your vision.

You choked out a sob. “I thought that someone had finally accepted me, finally acknowledged that I was worthy of being loved. But in the end, even the person I gave my everything to thought I wasn’t good enough.” You inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You wouldn’t. A wave of exhaustion finally hit you and you slid back down against the wall, curling into a ball and resting your chin on your knees. You were just so tired of everything.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s not like you even care anyway.” You watched as an ant crawled across the space between you and Bakugo. Even ants had a colony, others they could depend on. And you? You had nobody.

“I do.”

Your train of thought came to a screeching halt as his words reached your ears. Your eyebrows furrowed and you raised your head to look up at him through your wet lashes. You had been here for so long that the sun was beginning to set, bathing Bakugo in a soft peachy glow.

“What?” you asked.

He looked at you straight in the eye, unflinching.

“I said I do,” he repeated. “I do care. About you.”

You blinked at him once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bakugo Katsuki, the last person in the world you thought you would be pouring your heart out to, just said he cared about you.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed.

“Tch, I’m not lying, you idiot. You just don’t want to accept it,” he replied flatly.

Well, how could you? Words were just words after all. Izuku consistently told you that he loved you and still he shattered your heart. Trusting people just wouldn’t be so easy anymore. Your disbelief became apparent when you broke his gaze and pulled your knees closer to your chest.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You never let me finish, by the way,” he said. You made no move to respond, but you were listening to every word he was saying, weighing the sincerity of each one.

“I said stop acting so weak and pathetic, not because you are, but because it is everything you are not.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad but you couldn’t find the heart to.

“You have never backed down when it came to protecting Deku against me. You weren’t afraid to stand up and challenge me. In fact, you are always at the frontlines, defending people you care so deeply about. That doesn’t make you weak. It shows that you’re strong. Putting others before yourself is a trait that every great hero has. And I admired you for that. A lot.”

Your mind was whirring. Not only were the things he was saying difficult to believe, but the words coming out of Bakugo's own mouth being anything but foul was so terrifyingly uncharacteristic of him that you couldn’t possibly believe it was true.

“Which is why…” he muttered, so softly that you almost didn’t catch it. You waited for him to finish his sentence but he never did.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and saw him looking at the floor. You had never seen Bakugo this vulnerable before. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Which is why…?” you urged him to continue. You weren’t sure if it was the radiant sun that gave a reddish tint to his cheeks or if you were actually witnessing the infamously brash Bakugo Katsuki blushing.

“Which is why I li…” he mumbled, the end of his sentence dissipating due to lack of articulation.

“Why what?” you asked again, mildly irritated that he wouldn’t just spit it out.

He groaned loudly.

“WHICH IS WHY I LIKE YOU, DAMMIT!” he finally admitted, raising his voice as he turned to look straight at you.

Your eyes widened so much you thought your eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t even bother hiding the shock on your face. This was simply incomprehensible.

But the more you mulled it over, the more it started to make sense. The explanation for Bakugo’s behaviour towards you and Izuku could finally be explained: he was jealous. Seeing you with anyone but himself infuriated him, especially if it was the boy who was effortlessly gaining everything he had ever wanted. That was why Bakugo continued tormenting Izuku, only he never expected it would be you that he would end up fighting as you stepped in to defend your boyfriend. As your relationship became more serious, Bakugo was forced to step back out of respect, but he never stopped glowering whenever he saw you two together. The reason he stopped tormenting Izuku was not because he was afraid of you, nor was it because he respected your determination to defend the boy you loved. It was because it would break his heart to be the cause of your distress. Everything he did… was because of you.

“WELL? Don’t just give me that stupid look! Say something!” he shouted in frustration, desperate for an answer.

Part of you felt relieved to see Bakugo return to his familiar aggressive self, but another part somehow knew that he was only doing it to cover up the fact that he was deeply embarrassed. The thought made a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. You valued the fact that he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

And you wanted to trust him too. But with everything that had happened, you just weren’t sure if you were ready to put your heart on the line again. Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you tried to form a coherent string of words that could accurately express everything you thought and felt.

He watched intently as you bit your lower lip and fiddled nervously with the hem of your skirt. Although the suspense was eating him alive, he respected the fact that you needed to collect your thoughts and waited patiently for your answer. Besides, it meant that you were seriously considering his confession, which was all he could have hoped for. Finally, you got to your feet and made your way over to him, his crimson eyes never leaving yours.

“Bakugo…” you started gently. He might have seemed collected on the outside, but his heart was beating impeccably fast and his anxiety levels were off the charts.

“I really appreciate your honesty but… I’m just really unsure. It’s not that I don’t want to trust you but…” you exhaled shakily. “I’m just scared. I can’t just keep giving my heart to people I’m not sure would treasure it… I just can’t. I need to protect myself too. I don’t want my heart to get broken again. I-”

He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours, cutting you off. Caught by surprise, you weren’t sure how to respond. But as he kissed you, you could feel how much he meant every single thing he said. Suddenly, they weren’t just words anymore.

The kiss was soft and gentle as if he were afraid to hurt you, especially when you were already in so much pain. Yet, he never lacked passion, because he wanted to prove how true his feelings were for you. But above all, the kiss… his love…

It was sincere.

Genuine.

Honest.

You melted into the kiss, hesitant at first but slowly willing to give love another try.

Bakugo broke the kiss and leaned back to admire the face he thought was so beautiful. His strong hands traced down your face to your shoulders and finally came to a rest at your arms, rubbing your skin soothingly.

“You’re right, you know. You can’t just give your heart to people. If you do, you’re bound to get heartbroken,” he said.

You frowned and stared forlornly at your feet, unsure of what to say. You knew he was right but you couldn’t help it. All you ever wanted was to be loved. To matter to someone.

“Which is why,” he took your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up to look at him. For the first time, you saw his eyes up close. They weren’t the blazing hot embers everyone associated with his rageful and dangerous behaviour. Right now, under the warmth of the setting sun, they were the soft comfort of red satin that whispered a love so pure, you couldn’t help but feel enraptured by them. His eyes burned, but it was far from malicious. They burned with desire for one thing alone.

You.

“I will do whatever it takes to earn it.”

© written and published by animatedarchives 2020. please do not steal or repost. thank you.

[thanekrios]

A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

[kuroopaisen]

per auda ad astra. (tendou satori)

➵ latin. “through hardships to the stars.” you and tendou have been through everything together. so of course you’ll lend him a hand when he needs a date.

wc: 2.5k

warnings: references to bullying

“I have a favour to ask,” Tendou smiled, tilting his head at you.

You raised an eyebrow at him. Tendou had popped over for a ‘quick visit.’ But, while you were preparing yourself a tea for what would inevitably be a long conversation, he’d decided to spring the real reason for his visit on you. “Mhm?”

“Would you please come to dinner with my parents?” Tendou pursed his lips together. “Pretty please?”

“Why do you say that like you’re asking me to run a marathon in nothing but my underwear?” You bit back a smirk. “It’s just dinner with your parents.”

“Well,” Tendou took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “I need you to pretend to be my partner. Just this once.”

Your entire body froze. “Excuse me?”

“I know!” Tendou waved his hands at you, his face a strange mix of alarm and confidence. “It’s just for this one dinner!”

“Why though?”

“My parents are a trifle miffed that I haven’t found someone to settle down with.” A whisper of a blush graced his cheeks. “They’ll start taking matters into their own hands if I’m not careful.”

“Yikes,” you murmured, turning back to tend to your tea.

“And I was thinking,” Tendou hummed, propping his chin on his hand, “you already know them, right? We just need to get our little lie straight, and it’ll be easy sailing.”

“Worried someone else’ll think this is unethical?” You raised an eyebrow at him, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Maybe,” he drawled, tilting his head at you. “But c’mon, it’ll just be dinner with my parents. All you’d have to do is hold my hand and tell them you’ve had a thing for me this entire time.”

You laughed, ignoring the strange tightening in your chest. “You’re really scared of them setting you up with someone, huh?”

“They will!” He groaned, laying his arms across your kitchen counter. “They’ve already sent me a list. Do you know how awkward that is?”

“Anyone I know on it?”

“There’s no way in hell you’ll ever find out,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and propping his chin on them.

“Really?” You grinned. “Will you tell me if I pretend to be your partner?”

Tendou glared at you through narrowed eyes. “I thought I could trust you to have my back.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s really this much of a big deal?”

“Look, every time I’ve gone home alone, at least half of dinner is spent talking about my marriage,” Tendou groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to avoid that for once, you know? And hopefully stave off and awkward dates arranged by my parents.”

“Fine, fine,” you laughed, waving a hand at him. “But you owe me one, okay?”

--------  

You’d known Tendou for pretty much your whole life. He’d been your next-door neighbour growing up, and you genuinely couldn’t remember a time before he’d made a lasting impression of you.

You were young; you didn’t know what the world expected from you. You didn’t know how people could be cruel. All you knew was that you liked the little red-headed boy from next door, and you enjoyed spending time with him.

You didn’t have many specific memories of your past together, but you remembered what it felt like; free, comfortable, full of possibility. The feeling that you could do absolutely anything, so long as you believed hard enough.

Afternoons drowned in the fading sunlight, chasing one another down the street as you embroiled yourself in some fantastical game. June days spent in the mud, making cakes or starting fights.

You remembered the stars best of all.

On an evening when your parents were feeling particularly lenient, you’d be allowed to pop over to Tendou’s for a sleepover. And an absolutely vital part of that was clambering up to his roof and looking out at the stars.

And, with the sense of surety only afforded to children, you’d named them yourselves. There was a dragon, of course, and a witch. According to Tendou, the dragon had the potential to swallow the entire earth – and if it weren’t for the efforts of the witch, we would all be doomed. He also insisted that the witch was quite a looker. You’d been too young to really care.

The witch also had a kitsune as a sidekick, whose nine tails seemed to spread out into infinity. Tendou insisted that a new tail grew every one hundred years, and that soon enough the sky would be drowned by those stars.

You’d snorted at that. But the thought stuck with you, resurfacing a couple of years later when you learnt of how stars were born.

Primary school had been as awful as you’d dreaded it would be. You managed to escape it more or less unscathed; you’d managed to slip into relative anonymity. But Tendou?

It was the first time you’d noticed that he was different. Unique. And everyone else noticed, too.

But they didn’t see things the same way you did.

You remembered some days with uncomfortable clarity; sitting behind the school, his scuffed knees brought up to his chest, face buried in his legs to hide it from you. You, knowing nothing other than holding his hand.

You’d wanted to do something. But you’d felt nothing but fear. And for many years after that, you’d carried the shame with you.

Tendou knew. And, bless his soul, he insisted you had nothing to feel bad about. But words weren’t enough.

Middle school had been easier. Tendou’s modus operandi changed; no more tears. No more submission. He didn’t fight back so much as guard himself. It seemed as if he’d gained some confidence.

You knew it was a lie; a cloak he’d put on to guard himself from the cold. But it worked, to some degree.

And better yet, he’d gotten quite good at volleyball. That, more than anything, was his armour.

You’d always be grateful for the volleyball team. For how they’d accepted him. They, more than anyone else up til that point, seemed to see him as you did. As someone full of virtue. Warmth may not have been the defining quality of those relationships, but they’d given him support in a way others never had. And they’d valued what he could give them, too.

He still spoke to some of them, even after all this time.

It was all you could’ve asked for. And even though they didn’t make it to nationals in your third year, you knew that he had no regrets. That even if he wouldn’t continue on with the sport, he’d done himself proud.

And even in the midst of all that, you two still found time to climb onto that roof and look at your stars. And every year, the witch’s chest seemed to grow more and more ample.

You’d ended up at the same university by some stroke of luck. It certainly wasn’t planned, and you’d both been preparing yourselves for what would inevitably be a painful goodbye.

But, it had continued like always. You and him, arms linked and heads thrown back in laughter. And he’d flourished at university in ways he hadn’t before. He’d really found his feet, and grown into someone he could be proud of. And you’re proud of him, too.

And through all your own hardships and successes, he’d been there. Cheering you on, lending you a hand… whatever you needed, you knew you could rely on Tendou for it.

You simply couldn’t imagine your life without him.

And all that’s running through your mind as you sit there at the dinner table, doing your absolute best to appear the adoring partner.

“Well, I thought you and Satori would’ve been married years ago,” his mother laughed.

You blushed at that. “I…”

She, in particular, had been the most delighted when you’d shown up at the door. Tendou hadn’t told his family who is ‘partner’ was; surely a tactic meant to simplify the web of lies.

“Love is blind, mother,” Tendou sighed, giving your hand a little squeeze. “And deaf. And mute. And it has a tendency not to realise itself til it’s too late.”

Confound and distract. Good tactic?

“I don’t think you used that idiom quite right,” you mumbled to it.

He shrugged.

“So, when are you getting engaged?” There was a twinkle to his grandfather’s eye that you didn’t like.

You cringed.

“All in good time,” Tendou said. You almost envied his total lack of anxiety. “You can’t rush this sort of thing, you know.” He tilted his head at him, lips curling into a smile. “Besides, you’re just trying to embarrass me.”

His grandfather chuckled, but said no more.

“Now, tell me darling, what have you been up to recently?” His mother had turned her kindly smile to you once more. And even though you felt awful for lying to her, it was comforting.

So, you told her. And as you were talking, you began to realise just how comfortable Tendou’s hand felt in yours.

You’d started your trip holding hands, in an attempt to ‘get in character.’ You weren’t going to pull this off if you couldn’t show casual affection to one another. But something about holding his hand felt… right. His fingers may be long and lanky, and still calloused from his stint with volleyball, but they fit so nicely with yours. You were doing your best not to think about it.

There was plenty of talk about the old times. Not that you were surprised by that in particular. What did surprise you was how many damn stories his family had about times they’d suspected the two of you were dating.

If Tendou had brought someone else home, would his family tell them stories of you?

But all that aside, it all flowed very naturally. His parents believed you; no need for them to get involved in his private life. You didn’t have to think up some lie to keep track of; you just told the truth, with a little embellishment. It felt so easy.

You finished dinner without a slip-up. His family had been completely fooled; and some part of you felt bad about the fallout to come. You could envision the look on his mother’s face quite clearly.

While this had been easy for the two of you, you had a feeling that made it much harder for everyone else.

You tried not to think about it as you lay on the roof, looking up at the stars you knew so well.

It’s fairly easy to see the stars in Miyagi. Easier than it is in the bigger cities. It’s probably the thing you miss most about your hometown – people aside.

You still can’t identify any of the major clusters. The only constellations were the ones you’d made together. Truth be told, the outlines you two had drawn were tenuous at best. But they were yours, and you cherished them for that.

And on that roof, you felt you might talk the night away. Something about being under the stars made you feel vulnerable. It made you feel ready to bare your soul. Some of your deepest conversations had taken place up here; the trading of fears and hopes, of those feelings you dare not show anyone else.

And to think, you were back here because Tendou needed to get his parent’s off his back.

“Thank you,” Tendou mumbled. “For doing this.”

You smiled at him. “Not a problem.”

You were laid out on his roof, maybe a hand’s width apart. It was a bit more difficult to fit, as adults. But that hadn’t stopped you when you were teenagers.

“Tell me, Satori,” you smiled, your eyes wandering the skies, “what does the witch look like again?”

“I’m not letting you bait me like that,” he grinned.

“Oh? Is that… shame that I hear?” You turned to look at him. He was already looking at you through the dark. The moonlight looked quite flattering on him.

Even after all this time, things with Tendou are so… easy. So relaxed. You never have to worry about being anyone other than yourself. And nobody celebrated you the way he had.

You wanted him to stick around. It was a gentle realisation; one the came as a relief.

“You know, this almost went too well,” he chuckled, looking up at the sky again. “We’d’ve almost fooled me, if I wasn’t so careful.”

You felt his hand brush yours. Was that intentional?

Maybe it would be better if you’d been fooled. Maybe that’s how things should be.

“Hey… Satori?”

“Mhm?”

You fought the urge to take his hand. “When we get back, would you…” You took a deep breath. You had to say it. You wanted to. “Would you like to go on a date?”

His eyes were wide and bright as he stared at you.

“I mean…” God, this was a bit awkward, wasn’t it? You hadn’t even given him time to reply and you were already trying to fill the silence. “If you’re not interested, please pretend that I didn’t say anything.”

Tendou laughed. “Oh, don’t think I’ll be forgetting this any time soon. I’ve gotta take the few boosts to my ego I get.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, torn halfway between smiling and decking him in the face. “I was being serious!”

“I know, I know,” Tendou grinned, taking your hand in his as he looked back at the sky. It’d been so smooth and natural that you hadn’t really noticed it. “How does tomorrow sound?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Keep the momentum going.” He flashes you a look, grinning. “Gotta make you fall for me before you decide this is a terrible idea.”

“See, when you say it like that—”

“Please don’t take it back,” he blurted.

“I wasn’t going to,” you laughed. “You’re…” You wanted to say that he was the most important person in your life. But you didn’t quite have the words for that, yet. “You mean a lot to me, okay?”

Even in the dark, you could see his face turning as red as his hair. “Geez… you can’t just say that to a guy, you know?”

“What? I can’t be honest?”

“Well you can be honest, you’ve just… gotta prepare me for such a hit.”

“Pft,” you shook your head, looking for the dragon in the stars. Maybe it was all a bit sudden. And maybe you were being a little too honest. But it felt right. And you felt that if you didn’t say something now, you’d just come to regret it later.

“You mean a lot to me, too.” His voice is quiet, and there’s a slight tremble to it. But it’s honest.

You squeezed his hand in response. For now, there didn’t need to be any more words. Just the two of you, hand in hand, looking up at the stars. The way it had always been.

“Hey.” He tapped your hand with his thumb.

“Hm?”

“What are we gonna do about the bed?”

[galesh]

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

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

- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

[heeytwelve]

"That’s practically my type”

I remember someone really smart in internet was debating that Draco Malfoy has 100% chance to be Harry Potter’s boyfriend, cause he is, in fact his type. And if we look at Harry’s girlfriends, we kinda see the pattern (quidditch, outspoken, bravery, and have I mention quidditch? ).

But anyway, this post not about those, this post about how Chosen One of Carry On universe has his type too and why Agatha wasn’t just mistake of adolescence and how he changes his views on Baz when he become actively infatuated with him.

“I’ve wanted her since the first time I saw her—walking across the Great Lawn, her long pale hair rippling in the wind. I remember seeing her and thinking that** I’d never seen anything so beautiful.** And that if you were that beautiful, that graceful, nothing could ever really touch you. It would be like being a lion or a unicorn. Nobody could really touch you, because you wouldn’t even be on the same plane as everyone else. Even sitting next to Agatha makes you feel sort of untouchable. Exalted. It’s like sitting in the sun. So imagine how it feels to date her—like you’re carrying that light around with you all the time.

Let’s elaborate. He doesn’t fall in love with her - because of her academic success or because her parents rich or because she’s kind and caring. The type of attraction that works for Simon is so called - aesthetic attraction, attraction to beauty. 

And before you blame him for being shallow, I say, having strong preference for beauty is quite common among the artistic people, who grew up in desperate poverty, in small provinces, poor houses where beauty is rarity (for instance, famous ballet dancer Rudolph Nureyev was obsessed with beauty and collected a huge amount of beautiful things, because his poor childhood traumatised him). And, contrary to popular belief, Simon might have artistic tendencies, he sees beauty even dark creatures (goblins, *cough-cough* vampires), movements, colours and music.

Beauty for Simon is not a static thing to watch and enjoy the view, it’s not something he just want to own, it’s a force. Beauty protects him, it makes him untouchable, like nothing from of his previous (poor and mundane) life can touch him anymore, because he carrying the light, darkness will never reach him again. Agatha is not only his future, but also his shield. But - maybe it’s the same thing? Having future all sorted kinda shielding you from whatever you bump into.

He always mention her appearance whenever he talks about her - her clothes, her skin (”sparkles like she’s fairy”), her hair (multiple comparison with sun, light and halo). And when he decides to ignore the fact, that she quite possible betrayed him, it’s not only because he fear uncertain future but:

“She’s beautiful. And I want her. I want everything to be fine.”

Beauty as an attraction, beauty as a shield. Beauty is stability.

Now, before we talk about what all of this has to do with Baz, let’s bring up this quote:

“Like when I used to dream about becoming a footballer someday—or that my parents, my real parents, were going to come back for me.… My dad would be a footballer. And my mum would be some posh model type. ...

But we always missed you, Simon,” they’d say. “We’ve been looking for you.” And then they’d take me away to live in their mansion.”

I know, you probably roll your eyes now, like it’s stereotypical thing for poor kid in care to dream of, but isn’t that interesting, that Simon practically give us description of his future boyfriend and girlfriend as his dream parents? Now, don’t get me wrong, there is now perversion here, it’s just people he dreams to be with. People who potentially get him out of this awful reality and of course he will imagine them as the best people he can imagine - hence attraction to exactly those people. Now, we already know, that Agatha is beautiful as a model and she’s posh -Simon dwells how she good with regattas, polo matches, galas and he’s not posh enough for it. And right there, in next sentence, he mentions the only person who’s fit this interior - Baz. And let’s not forget about this:

“Baz walked into our room, much taller than me—and posher than everyone.”

There’s two interesting thing you notice when you will read Simon’s view for Baz. Simon never hesitates to use bold colours to describe how good Baz is. He never even doubts it, and Simon is not in submissive mode by any means. It’s just with Agatha - he sees the beauty and he admires it. But because Baz is evil, a threat (and potentially because he convinced that he’s heterosexual) AND Simon can’t just go in “I want him” mode, like he did with Agatha.  There’s a big quote above about how Simon met Agatha and here’s one about how Simon met Baz:

“and Baz was walking towards me. Looking so cool. Like he was coming my way because he wanted to, not because there was a mystical magnet in his gut.”

Though, it is looks, Simon talks about, I want to emphasise, that while Simon is not in active infatuation phase with Baz, he still unleashes his other attraction type, attraction to power/strength. Here and in quote below he indicates one of Baz biggest powers - ability to look unfazed and perfect no matter what. Power of composure.

“but he looked fine to me—not a hair out of place. Typical.”

Back to father being footballer. One might wonder, why violinist and person so into academic success went to be the lead player in sports team? All popular movies tell us that you either this (nerd) or that (jock), and Baz suddenly both. Because he’s perfect. And because he has his personality and vampire personality. One might also wonder, had Baz overheard Simon’s obsession about being footballer/football in general before deciding to enrol to the team and collect all trophies... Anyway. Baz as footballer:

“He’s the same on the field as he is everywhere else. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless.”

If you ask me, this is where Simon shows a bit his infatuation. Yes, attraction to strength, even ruthlessness (Simon is a fighter, he does appreciate good fighter too). But graceful - is about beauty. You see, I think, maybe because Simon carries traditional values he kinda does that thing: women’s modus operandi is beauty, men’s - strength, ruthlessness. Same with his parents - mum is model, father is fighter footballer. That’s ok.  BUT when he starts to consider (even at the back of his mind) Baz as a romantic partner (it’s all starts when he sees that Baz is not a monster, that he’s a boy), he starts to notice his beauty more, than strength.

“He floats out over the moat and lands on the other side. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Infamous jeans scene, where Simon talking about Baz’ clothes (like he did w/Agatha) and literally checking out his arse:

“they do look like really expensive jeans. Dark. And snug from his waist to his ankles without looking tight.”

He starts to watch him aesthetically:

“I put my hand on his chest. I don’t have to step any closer to reach him. ... Baz swallows and licks his grey-pink lower lip. .. “he throws one of his pillows into my face. (It smells like him.)

“I’m watching him read—I swear he sucks on his fangs when he’s thinking.

The culmination of this development comes with “vampire club scene”:

““Every one of them must be so jealous of him. He’s everything they are, plus magic. Plus he looks the part, like he was born to be some sort of dark king.”

“Those vampires were in awe of you,” I say. “They wanted to put a crown on your head.

He has the skills AND he is royally beautiful. And Simon projecting his feelings to those night club vampires. The longer they in relationships, the more Simon dwelling on Baz beauty, just to show you this development, I’ll quote WS for a moment:

“I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look half glamourous. Like a boy Marilyn Monroe.… My brain gets kind of stuck on “boy Marilyn Monroe” for a while.”

...

“Baz casts his eyes down and smiles—girlishly, I would have said, but on him it’s not girlish. It’s, I don’t know, vulnerable.”

To elaborate, Marilyn Monroe is depiction of feminine beauty in popular culture and description of Baz as a bit feminine is something that would never happen in the beginning of “Carry On” setting. Of course, Baz opened up more to Simon (and this is important), but also Simon willing to see, no, he actually quite hungrily looking for this beauty. He is attracted to this kind of beauty AND I think, might be cause of his somewhat traditional views, he automatically looking for this in Baz, when he considering him as a partner. 

BUT. Again as in WS - Baz being powerful and strong AND that being attractive (and arousing) to Simon is not going anywhere.  So Simon’s type qualities - strength and beauty. (Not smartness and kindness, sorry Penny) though he does appreciate it.  And lastly, let’s go back to Agatha. We talked about her beauty, but she’s also an athlete. A competitive one. 

“I smile again and jump up off the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and a purple sweatshirt that says WATFORD LACROSSE. (Agatha plays.)”

This sweatshirt Simon will proudly wear even in WS (Baz haven’t confiscated them yet :D ) - and if you think about it, it’s the way to show admiration too. And don’t forget the horse sports, she’s even more into sports than Baz (Baz would spend his summer practicing languages and violin - I believe his main passion, and football is just to unwind and fuck w/Simon, while Agatha would harvest prizes or skills in competitions). OK, no, he does play tennis :D So yes - as absolutely legit Simon’s type - Agatha do has these two qualities. They both do. Though not exactly in same proportions. Agatha radiates beauty, feminine beauty, you don’t have to watch closely to see it, it punches you in a face. But Baz is more powerful, as with Agatha, you don’t have to search for his power, it’s just there. And maybe this shift in quality proportions is what Simon needs at the end. But he certainly needs both. And let me finish this lenthy dwelling off with Baz quote, where he accidentally compares himself tells us this qualities proportions in Agatha:

“Wellbelove isn’t very powerful, but she’s gorgeous.”

There is interesting awareness between these two, but I will have a mercy and talk about it later.

[fuzipascal]

Prospect Fic “Friends Like These”, PG

Cee + Ezra. Cee angsting over her asexuality and Ezra being a Good Friend/Older Brother.  Word Count : 1400. Rough Draft with only mild edits. 

-----

              “Are you pining? Am I actively catching you in the act of gazing longingly after a person of the opposite sex?”

              Cee sighed, head dropping forward in resignation. One of these days she was going to put a bell on Ezra. Not that it would help while they were on the creaky freighters that transported them from job to job. And honestly, Ezra’s soft-footedness had helped save both of their lives more often than not, but still…

              He always managed to sneak up on her at the least opportune time.

              Frowning, Cee turned to face her partner. “No.”

              Ezra subtly cocked his head to the side, gazing beyond her shoulder for a moment before meeting her eyes. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “No? Because he is.”

              Cee’s head whipped around to find that the young man who she had just been talking to was indeed staring at her from the far end of the corridor. If she had to put a word to the character of his gaze, ‘longing’ wasn’t totally incorrect.

              At least the way he scrambled behind the corner when he caught her looking was slightly amusing.

              Ezra made a tsking sound as she turned back to him and he slowly shook her head. “You’re your own woman, Cee, but boys like that… they are nothing but trouble.”

              “You don’t even know him,” Cee protested, although she agreed with his assessment.

              “No, but I know his type. I was him, once upon a time,” Ezra said thoughtfully.

              “Ah. I thought he seemed familiar,” Cee retorted. She turned slightly, leaning her shoulders against the wall. “Which is why I sent him packing.”

              Instead of becoming offended, Ezra just gave her a brilliant smile. “That’s my girl.”

--

              “She seemed nice.”

              Cee’s lips firmed as she viciously stabbed her spoon into the gray-white mush on her plate. “Mmhm.”

              “Have you heard something of the opposite to make you say no? It might do you good to get out and about and socialize with someone a little closer to your own age,” Ezra suggested delicately.

              Cee grunted noncommittedly and did her best to ignore the feel of his gaze heavy on her bent head.

 --

                When she was younger, all she could dream of was interacting with other people, living her life entwined with those of friends just like in the Streamer Girl.

              But the reality was far different.

--

                “… Cee?”

              Cee pulled her blanket tighter across her shoulders and pressed her forehead closer to the wall of their pod. “… what.”

              “Are you alright?”

              She wanted nothing more than to whip around and burrow into his chest, but the tears had all been spent by now. Nothing remained but humiliation and disgust and an aching sort of hollowness that demanded isolation.

              “… I’m fine.”

              The silence stretched on for several minutes before she heard Ezra shift and walk over to his bunk. “Well, we both know that’s not quite true, but I’ll let it go for now. Talk to me when you’re ready, Little Bird. Believe it or not, I know how to be silent and listen.”

              The thing was… he did. He often jabbered on to anyone who would listen and sometimes even to himself, but when she spoke, he devoted his full attention to her. He never interrupted, and always waited to make sure she had said everything she needed to before replying.

              … she just didn’t know how to say what she needed to say this time.

 --

              “I don’t like boys.”

              The words burst out of her, taking her entirely by surprise.

              They had probably six more minutes until docking procedures were complete and apparently her brain had decided, without her permission, to begin the conversation she had been dreading.

              Cee hesitantly looked over at Ezra. He looked a little startled by her outburst, but not otherwise upset.

              “… alright,” he said slowly. “There are plenty of people who don’t feel any attraction to the opposite…”

              “I don’t like girls, either,” Cee added heatedly, already knowing what he was going to say. “I know I’m supposed to… supposed to want… things… with other people, but I don’t, because I think it’s gross and weird, but that’s all anyone thinks about except I don’t and I know I’m weird and, and, and broken, but I just can’t…”

              “Cee!”

              Cee plastered her hands to her traitorous mouth and hung her head, unable to look Ezra in the eye.

              “Cee… Birdie… that’s ok too.”

              Cee’s head shot up and she stared at him in disbelief. “How can you say that?!” she demanded. “Everyone has always said… Dad, and the boys who’ve… and even girls… I…”

              “And when have you ever heard me talk similar to other people?” Ezra asked sharply. “If anyone has ever said anything disparaging to you about your sexuality, you list me out their names and I’ll address that at a later time, but for now I want you to listen to me and listen only to me:

              “You are not broken.”

              Ezra’s deep brown eyes stared intently at her, his gaze practically reaching into her soul. Unbidden, tears sprung to life and started to trickle down her cheeks, but she felt frozen in place as he continued to speak.

              “It is a wide universe out there Cee, consisting of people who are attracted to opposite sexes, or their own, or to both, or all, or… even like yourself… none. There are people who enter into romantic entanglements freely and others who only understand platonic love. Each and every one of those people are valid, Birdie. So do not allow the words from a drug-addled disvarlali* or teenagers too young to understand life color your impressions of your own self,” Ezra commanded heatedly.

              Cee gazed at him for several moments, sniffling, and feeling for the first time, a spark of hope spring to life deep inside her chest. Ezra had never lied to her. Sometimes he used enough words that confused her, intentionally or not, but he had never lied.

              “… it’s… it’s ok? You’re not… disgusted… by me?” Cee asked, wiping at her eyes.

              Ezra sucked in a breath, his expression turning stricken. “Child, I swear on anything or anyone you consider holy that I could never be disgusted anything you do, or more importantly, anything that is intrinsic to you.”

              Cee sobbed and buried her face in her hands, her entire body shaking both from her weeping and the impact of the pod slipping into the freighter’s cradle. Absently, she heard the flick of switches and several soft beeps as Ezra presumably locked in their vehicle. She cried harder, because that was her job and she was slacking in her duties, but she felt like her heart was both breaking and knitting itself back together and she just… couldn’t…

              “C’mere, little sister…”

              Ezra’s nimble fingers slipped between her hip and the armrest of her seat, unbuckling first one strap and then the second of her harness. Before he had even finished slipping it over her head, she was standing and throwing herself at him, clutching the sides of his shirt and wrinkling the cloth between her fingers.

              “I’m sorry!” Cee cried, burying her face into his chest.

              “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Ezra murmured into her hair. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. “Although I must apologize for urging you to go out and meet others. I only thought for you to find enrichment; not to become more miserable.”

              Cee shook her head and burrowed closer, her tears finally starting to slow. “No… no, it’s… I want friends. I want friends like in the Streamer Girl. But everyone else seems to want…”

              “Hormones are a bitch,” Ezra said bluntly, and Cee gave a watery laugh before resting more fully against her partner’s sturdy frame.

              “You’ll find them, Cee. You’ll find those friends you’re searching for.”

              Sometimes… sometimes Cee thought she already had. It’s times like this when Ezra shelters her against him and reassures her that she is so poignantly reminded of Clo and Reive’s relationship in The Streamer Girl.

              They are different from one another in so many ways, but yet they live together and fight for each other’s life and happiness. Ezra has proven over and over again how much he cares for her; not even her own father had ever seemed to value her like Ezra does.

              Maybe he’s all that she needs, at least for now.

~ End

*I totally made up a word that basically translates into ‘fucking asshole of a father’... Because I could imagine Damion reacting very inconsiderately to Cee coming to him saying she didn’t want to have sex.