#because all of them care so goddamn deeply for each other in so many ways on so many levels

[toptenpeeps]

Something I find really interesting about the mouthwashing (game) fandom is how much unfiltered love Daisuke receives from the fandom.

I don’t think I’ve even seen a character so universally loved by everyone that I haven’t seen a single negative thing about them, like at all. It’s so fascinating to me because Daisuke’s fatal flaw was that he was a people pleaser, one that was so desperate to please it quite literally killed him. He so desperately wanted to be liked by the people around him that he was willing to sacrifice his comfort, morals, and safety in order to get the approval of someone that didn’t even seem to care that deeply about him overall.

And to have that character not only be the most well liked, but to be considered one of the most loved is such an ironic twist. Because that fact is if anyone who had played the game was in the ship, Daisuke most likely would have gotten what he wanted. He would have had someone that cared for him deeply, someone who was willing to tell him that he was someone they were proud of, someone willing to be honest and kind to him.

While Swansea and Anya most definitely cared for Daisuke, neither of them had the time or methods to give Daisuke the care he truly wanted. I don’t blame them, the situation at hand made it so they were dealing with bigger issues, and Jackass definitely didn’t make anything better. Anya couldn’t give Daisuke the care and support he wanted because she was to stressed and afraid to focus on him, Swansea was too depressed and hopeless to be able to tell Daisuke in those moments that he was honestly proud of him. If they had gotten off the ship and were given enough time to heal, they probably would have been able to give out that care and affection to each other easily.

That’s just it though. Daisuke was never able to get the care he wanted, because he tried to get it from someone that was using that desperation to save himself from danger. Had Daisuke put his foot down, refused to listen, decided he wouldn’t please someone in this moment, he most likely would have survived. That’s where the tragedy really strikes, the fact that Daisuke died purely because he was an unlucky kid that wanted to please the people around him really twists the knife. With the icing on the top of this horrific cake being that the care he blatantly sacrificed himself for was only given to him in his very last moments, when there was no possible way for him to recover.

Then to have that character, one that only got a glimpse of that care they craved, be the overall most loved. It feels like the fandom itself is trying to make up for the lost care, to unabashedly drown Daisuke in love as a way to make up for how little he got in the end. Daisuke is called “a useless ray of goddamn sunshine” by Swansea, with many fans repeating this idea, minus the useless part. That idea, the idea that people could care so deeply about someone, to compare them to a piece of the sun and desperately try to keep their light going after they’ve been snuffed out, that was ultimately the very thing Daisuke died for.

Sorry if this wasn’t accurate, it was already way to long for my taste, I just wanted to rant about Daisuke from the hit game Mouthwashing :P

TL;DR - Daisuke Mouthwashing was fighting for his life for some care that he only got when he was fucking dying, interesting that the fandom’s reaction to such a character was to immediately care about them a lot.

[carmineskiesandspidereyes]

A Softer Trigun, part 15/?

pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

[barcaatthemoon]

clash || katie mccabe x reader ||

katie gets jealous of leah's constant flirting with you.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning.

"good morning gorgeous," leah greeted as you walked into the locker room. she shot you a little smirk at the way your cheeks turned pink at the compliment. since your move from chicago to london, leah had been your best friend. briefly, she had even been your girlfriend, but the two of you had decided on sticking to being friends after your little relationship trial was over.

"morning charming," you flirted back. leah wrapped her arm around your shoulders as she led you towards your cubby. the two of you had always been right next to each other. it was a staple of the locker room, you and leah just being near each other, bantering and flirting amongst yourselves.

nothing would ever come of it again. especially not while you had katie and leah had lia. the two of you were just good friends, and while lia understood that, katie definitely did not. it didn't matter how many times you reminded your girlfriend that leah as just your friend, katie would get upset every single week it seemed.

you had pulled back on the flirty banter, but this week was a bit of a slip up. katie had been behaving herself for nearly a month, not getting worked up nearly as easily. you and leah had taken that as a green light to go back to the way that things were. that proved to be a mistake because the moment that katie had seen leah kiss your cheek during practice, it was like a switch had flipped.

leah had noticed katie's change in behavior first. it was nothing major, just an eyeroll as some of the girls laughed at a joke that leah told. you were across the field getting a drink of water, so katie really had no reason to be acting so annoyed. if you had to take a guess, that was the moment whenever leah decided that she needed to up the flirting.

"here let me hold that for you, it looks heavy," leah said as she grabbed your hand. it was cheesy, but both leah and katie knew that those lines tended to actually work on you. much to leah's delight, you blushed deeply as leah took your hand. you tried to roll your eyes and play it off, but it was far too late.

for the rest of practice, leah was extremely flirtatious with you. at times, it felt a bit excessive, but you honestly loved the attention. that left katie to sit fuming by herself up until lunch. a few of the girls were going out to get some food, and you had assumed that katie was one of them until you felt her pull you away as you made your way towards the bathrooms.

"i'm going to fucking wring her neck out," katie growled. it didn't take you very long at all to figure out who katie was talking about. "that arrogant little blonde bitch. she had her fucking chance, but now that you're with me, she just has to put her goddamn fucking hands all over you. i'll fucking kill her next time she touches you!"

"katie, calm down." you gently placed your hand on her chest. usually, that did the trick to calm her down, but she pushed your hand off of her. "katie please don't start a fight. leah and i, we're just messing about. it's nothing to be upset about, i promise."

"if it's just you messin' about with each other, then why do you blush like that?" katie questioned. you didn't have an answer to that. any sort of compliment or attention had you turning red in the cheeks. katie knew that, or at least you thought that she did.

"katie that's not fair, you know that anybody could tell me i look nice and i'd be red as an apple," you told her. katie's jaw clenched as she moved a bit closer to you. her thigh slotted in between yours. you could feel it there, wondering if she had something planned.

"it isn't the same when leah compliments you. i've noticed, trust me. it's not even the same when i do it. i could sit here all night telling you how fucking gorgeous you are, but you wouldn't care. no, not unless it's leah calling you her gorgeous girl. i bet you wish it was her in here with you, don't you?"

"no, i don't want anybody except for you right now," you promised her. that seemed to please katie, who rewarded you with a bit of friction. it was quick, but enough to pull a small moan from you.

"do that again for me," katie ordered. she moved her leg again, this time pressing a bit harder as she did. you didn't want to stand there moaning, just barely hidden around the corner of a door from the hallway. you wanted to do this somewhere private, like your place or katie's, but katie had other intentions.

you let the tiniest of moans slip again before you clamped your hand over your mouth. katie tutted at that as she moved your hands away, warning you to stay how she had you. katie seemed intent on seeing how far you would let things go, when you'd stop her. unbeknownst to her that you were quickly reaching the point of no return.

"katie, don't tease me," you warned her. if she were to leave you high and dry, there would be hell to pay after training. katie knew that your wrath was generally worse than anything she could think of, especially when she'd turn herself on in the process of teasing you. katie loved watching you cum, often getting off of it to the point of nearly cumming when she ate you out. "it'll start a whole new fight."

"no teasing, i know," katie said as she dropped her head to press a kiss to your neck. you could feel her fingers rubbing against your shorts, playing with the wetness that was gathered there. your hips bucked up to meet her fingers, grinding down as hard as you could against them.

"i want your mouth, show me why i shouldn't just go to leah right now," you said. it was mean to tease katie like that, but you didn't care. she could get mad about it after she ate you out. you'd make it up to her at home, where she had a plethora of toys to use in order to take her frustration out on you.

"excuse me?" katie paused completely, but she didn't withdraw her fingers.

"you. heard. me. i. want. your. mouth." you punctuated each word with a harsh grind against her fingers. katie looked absolutely gobsmacked for a moment, but she still did exactly what you told her to do. katie spread your legs even wider once she had your shorts and underwear off. you grabbed onto katie's ponytail as you placed one of your legs over her shoulder. "you look so fucking hot on your knees for me."

"don't get on a power trip," katie warned. the two of you had found a pretty good balance, and you were toeing the line of breaking it. still, katie grabbed onto your hips and pulled you forward. she kept you securely pressed against her face as her tongue probed around teasingly.

"katie please," you whined. she chuckled at how quickly you had lost all of your fight. all it took was getting a fraction of what you wanted before you were putty in her hands. you weren't even grinding yourself against katie's face anymore, instead just making absolutely pathetic sounds as she lazily dragged her tongue around your cunt.

katie hummed and pulled you closer as your hips started to rut a little. you were close, and katie could tell from the way your moans started to get higher in pitch. she couldn't move to silence you, so your cries rang out in the empty room she had pulled you into. silently, she prayed that nobody was in the hallway because they definitely would have heard you crying out her name as you begged for your release. as much of a showoff as katie liked to be, she didn't want anybody else to hear the way you sounded whenever you came. that was for her and her alone.

"shh, shh. hey, it's okay, i've got you," katie cooed as she held you up. it was a bit of a hassle getting you redressed. lunch was just about over, and katie knew she had to move quickly to get you something to eat. katie left you outside of the cafeteria as she grabbed a couple of plates, opting to eat in the hallway with you.

"are we good now?" you asked as katie passed you a bottle of powerade. she had to open yours, your hands still shaking from before.

"hmm, i don't know. that was pretty cheeky talking about leah like that while i'm trying to fuck you," katie answered. it was honest, which you were grateful for. katie didn't look that upset, but you also knew that she didn't like to be that way around you.

"well, i am sorry about it. i really do only love you like this. i'd never let anybody else even try touching me like that in public." katie didn't doubt your words. there was a conversation looming between the two of you, one that katie was dreading just as much as you were.

"i'll start keeping my hands to myself, promise." katie held up two fingers, most likely the two that had nearly been inside of you just moments before. one look at the cheeky grin on katie's face confirmed this for you.

"yeah, you'd better mccabe."

[fanby-fckry]

You know what, I’m just gonna say it. I think that Alastor being aroace is part of the reason he’s so shippable to me.

Before you come at me, check the flag in my pfp; I’m aroace-spec.

Maybe it’s me projecting, maybe it’s because I love exploring relationships through an aroace lens, but goddamn. I ship him more than any other character and every time I do, his aroaceness is a major component in the ship.

Examples below the cut because it’s gonna get long:

📻🍎 || RadioApple:

There are so many versions of this dynamic and I am here for all of them.

We have the pre-canon kinky QPR that I show in UH3. I could talk about that all day, but to summarize:

Aroace x genuinely respectful allo is a dynamic that heals my soul.

Lucifer is less tied down by human constructs like amatonormativity, having never been human himself.

The Devil values consent.

Kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky cannibalism, kinky ca- *I am removed from the stage with a comically large hook*

Then we have the Evil and fucked up QPR dynamic:

And of course, trying to get along for Charlie’s sake and eventually bonding over their shared love of dad jokes and musical theatre, both being violinists (yup, Alastor plays violin too, check the wiki) with niche hobbies/interests (ducks, furby organ) and accidentally winding up in a loving, healthy QPR.

📻🕸️ || RadioDust:

There’s something about an aroace and a sex worker who very rarely falls in love.

Angel would know that Alastor isn’t with him for sex, would know that he values Angel beyond his body.

With greyro Alastor, Angel and Alastor would both be inexperienced with romance, but in wildly different ways. Angel has never had a healthy romantic relationship and therefor tries not to fall in love. Greyro Alastor has probably experienced romantic attraction like less than three times in his 100+ years of existence.

And if Alastor never gains romantic attraction for Angel, that’s a whole other level to the dynamic.

It’s got some great angst potential with Angel wondering if he’s not good enough to love romantically or Alastor feeling guilty or confused as to Why It Hasn’t Happened Yet when he cares for Angel so deeply, and eventually it gets resolved with the two of them accepting that their attractions don’t have to match up for them to love/appreciate/care for each other and they smash the amatonormative relationship hierarchy as queer platonic partners.

Or, Angel’s just totally cool with it from the start because he’s spent decades in the kink scene and has potentially been exposed to more relationship anarchy than Alastor.

Kink and queerness have a great deal of historical and cultural overlap, and that includes aroace queerness. Because Angel’s had way more canon exposure to both, it’s possible he knows more about Alastor’s orientation than Alastor does, and I love the idea of Angel introducing him to terms or just being super chill about not labeling things.

📻♥️ || RadioHusk:

Drawing like 90% from pilot dynamic and headcanon on this. They’re just two old men. They get drunk and cuddle. Alastor is one of the few people who knows Husk can purr and takes advantage of this fact. Alastor considers Husk a friend in a fucked up, possessive way. Husk considers Alastor a pain in the ass, but does care about him on some level.

It’s Fucked Up and Evil QPR: Remix Edition.

And the versions where the author puts them through fanfic couple’s therapy and actually gets them into a healthy point in their relationship? One where Alastor no longer owns Husk’s Soul? *chef’s kiss*

📻🌹 || RadioRose:

For me, personally, this is an exclusively nonsexual, non-romantic ship. They’re besties; they’re QPPs. They’re married for the tax benefits and so that they cannot be forced to testify against each other in court.

Rosie knew Alastor was aroace before he did and rather than sit down and explain it to him, she decided to make ace puns.

📻🖤 || RadioSiren: [edit, context here] RadioFemme

Ok, so this is entirely based on non-canon-compliant Lilith. Or, I guess, non-series-compliant Lilith. More of the old WOG stuff from the pilot era, with a healthy dose of headcanon for flavor.

I love the idea of Lilith and Lucifer having an open marriage; I love the UH3 style polycule dynamic.

Lilith being the original seductress and Alastor being aesthetically but not sexually or romantically attracted to her is very near and dear to my heart.

I’m an aroace with a voice kink who is aesthetically attracted to Lilith and I think Alastor is an aroace with a voice kink who would be aesthetically attracted to Lilith, ok?

📻📺 || RadioStatic:

I’m gonna be real with you, 90% of my interest in RadioStatic is in the one-sided version where Vox is a pathetic little incel simp and Alastor is either oblivious, mildly annoyed, or finds the whole thing hilarious.

Whenever there’s any reciprocation on Alastor’s part, I always imagine it being in a very aroace, very Alastor-esque way. He needs to be get something out of it completely unrelated to sex/romance. And he needs to be manipulative and sadistic in the process.

Whether that something is kink-related, a business transaction, or simply the quality entertainment provided by Vox being a cringefail TV-headed little bitch, I love to see it.

[revenantghost]

Tristamp Wolfwood is a bit different than his counterparts, yeah? And I don’t mean that in a bad way, Orange is going somewhere with it, but it’s very different from what they’ve done with Vash and Meryl imo. With them, I feel like we got a glimpse of pre-canon. With Wolfwood... Orange is up to something, and it goddamn terrifies me. I love him dearly, he has some many moments that make me smile and go, “Yeah, that’s Wolfwood, my beloved asshole.” But it’s different. Oh so very different.

I’m just gonna point out a few examples of things I think are different enough to note here (drawing comparisons from Trimax since that was the source for Tristamp, but I’ll try not to spoil much--just don’t Google names you don’t recognize), and then go a little off the rails with a couple theories (spoilers there, click the read more at your own peril). This is DEFINITELY not everything, and maybe my takes are a bit off, idk. If there’s something you’ve picked up on, definitely feel free to add it!

Well, here goes:

My dude is a mess. Wolfwood is typically put together and some would call him smooth (he’s a mess inside always, though) in his other incarnations. Orange pointed out at Sakuracon that the characters are supposed to look younger and more immature in Tristamp, and Wolfwood specifically is supposed to look like he can’t dress himself (lmao). They said they have their reasons but just didn’t have time to explore them in canon. So, I can make assumptions, but I’ll wait to see what comes in the future.

Another one that staff talked about in a recent interview is that Wolfwood is technically a priest according to his contract, but he calls himself an undertaker. Yeah, yeah, edgelord Tristamp Wolfwood and all that, but I’ve seen people call back to how, in the manga, it’s Vash that always takes the time to bury the dead. Wolfwood even chews him out a bit for this. But it’s literally in our introduction to him in this version. He carries the weight of the dead with him enough to make it part of his title, and that’s different for him.

I could be misremembering with this one. But I distinctly remember being surprised when I read Trimax because Wolfwood going into the Eye of Michael seemed more of his own choice than it is in Tristamp (not that a literal child could consent to, you know, torture and abuse)? But either way Wolfwood loathes the Eye of Michael from the get-go here, he doesn’t stay by choice and actively tries to escape. Just like all these choices he makes in Tristamp (which is MASSIVELY different in general), he does it for someone else. He can’t try to escape again, because they have Livio.

Speaking of! Livio!!! This was another thing that caught me by surprise going from Tristamp to Trimax, their relationship is so much different here, so much softer and it hurts in a beautiful way. I feel like less is more here to avoid spoilers, but this introduction pre-Trimax-canon and any future conflict with this backstory... is very different.

Holy hell, a moment like this happening so early?! Vash and Wolfwood having ideological differences and not understanding each other takes up so much time in Trimax. But over the course of three episodes, we go from Wolfwood killing someone that Vash wanted to save (props to Tristamp for making that gutpunch even more personal, ouch--though points deducted for not having the, “Shoot,” moment there), to Vash seeing how very similar they are and getting a grasp of why Wolfwood is the way he is. Wolfwood is so much softer in Tristamp. He’s way more emotional, he cares so deeply for things outside of himself, and he doesn’t have that apathetic bitterness. Staff have said that our main characters will be a lot more recognizable post-timeskip, so some shit is gonna happen to this man, but this is a fundamental shift in the early days of their relationship.

AGAIN!!! Wolfwood is doing this whole mission, betraying Vash, to save the orphanage. He didn’t have to listen to Vash trying to save the sandsteamer. It doesn’t matter if Vash is pissy if Wolfwood blew up the ship to save the orphanage, because that’s his end goal. He has a giant laser that just blew through an entire giant worm, this ship is nothing. Wolfwood’s trying to cling to the monster that he sees himself as, trying to stay the Punisher, but he’s not. He already has enough faith in Vash to trust him with everything he cares about. This takes a lot of development time for Wolfwood to trust Vash like this in Trimax--and even in the very end, he still doesn’t trust Vash with this. (If you know, you know.)

AGAIN!!!!! Wolfwood cares!!! He does not need to question if Vash is sure, if he thinks he can make up with or convince Knives or whatever, in fact he shouldn’t. He should give Vash no reason to question getting to July. But Wolfwood, be careful, your feelings are showing. Wolfwood’s getting worried about Vash. Even though all he needs to do is keep his head down and get this dork to July.

This was never Trimax Wolfwood’s motivation. Whatever drove him left him hollow and empty, he did not care. Even when he saw things starting to go south and he wanted out, Vash ended up being right: he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. (If you know, you know.) I had wondered, after Legato tried to bulldoze everything he loved, why the hell didn’t Wolfwood just desert the mission and team up with the gang. He already has such a deep connection with them. But this would be why.

WOLFWOOD IS NO LONGER CONTRACTED BY THE EYE OF MICHAEL AT THE END OF THE SEASON??? Some people say that Wolfwood still works for them, but tbh for what reason? They’re about to end the world. And then what about this line? He wouldn’t exactly have a choice, would he? I do think we’re gonna meet Chapel (right before Livio shoots himself, you’ll hear a voice and see a silhouette (not Razlo, though he’s there too) that seems to be a “new” character), and Wolfwood might end up working under him for some fucked up reason... But if not, this changes everything. It already changes everything considering how big Wolfwood escorting Vash to Knives is. But that’s done now. And because Vash saw right through him the first time, if Wolfwood comes back to do the same thing again, it might feel cheap and a little silly.

MERYL!!! Trimax is basically the Vash and Wolfwood show, right? The girls are around, but mainly their interactions are with Vash. But he and Meryl interact so much just over the course of twelve episodes. They even have that adorable group shot. She matters enough that he came back to rescue her, and the two of them worry about Vash together in the finale. Who knows what happened post-finale, but Wolfwood’s self isolation is already shot to hell. He’s more big brother Nico than he’d had the chance to be in awhile, he has so many people to care for.

So the danger has passed, Vash’s roots are back inside of him, the orphanage should be fine. But Wolfwood comes back for them. Yeah, yeah, the stupid cigarette excuse, but this is Wolfwood, not Vash. He didn’t come back because of the cigarette debt and we all know it. (Also kinda hoping that him saying what he does about fighting Knives being crazy is foreshadowing for some ridiculous 1v1 fight between them, had to throw that in there)

Now, theories Trimax spoiler time bby (I’ll also post any corrections under the cut):

EDIT 1: I was bonkers wrong on the Tristamp timeline (it takes place from May 25th to July 21st, not including the epilogue), so I just deleted that bit from the og post. I cannot remember where I got that number in my brain.

They are doing something with this man and I hate it as much as I love it. Every other character can go off and follow similar paths but they just nuked the entirety of Wolfwood’s storyline by having him be finished getting Vash to Knives and him choosing to trust Vash so goddamn early. And in less than a week of canon time!!! ORANGE WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!

They’ve knocked everything out of the park so far, I had so many concerns about what they were doing while watching, and they squashed most of them. So I choose to have faith that Orange has a brilliant plan that will crush my emotions in mind. It will probably eviscerate us just like Trimax did. But I have two theories as to how this could go:

First: And by far the most likely: all roads lead to that goddamned couch. They changed a ton of things, but just to make it all hurt in a new and exciting way. Don’t get me wrong, this was the final straw in making Trimax one of my favorite manga ever--Wolfwood’s character arc is one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever read. I’m a bit nervous because we’ve already shifted that arc so much, but there’s a lot of room to fuck us all up in this one. I imagine the final confrontation will still be between the two brothers, but I imagine the context will be different.

Wolfwood’s already chosen to spare Livio, so that won’t be the clincher, but there are so many things that Wolfwood wants to fight for now to use against him. Something in the timeskip will probably firm up his ideals to be the opposite of Vash’s in a different way than before, but I imagine we’ll get at least a season of them being goofy and learning how to live and regain their humanity together before they’re couched. :’) And now the girls are going to be a bigger part of it to make the grief all that greater :’))) Thanks in advance, Orange :’))))))

Second: No couch??? I know, then what would be the point? He’s doomed in every universe, how will it be as powerful if they don’t do that here??? And I agree, I think this is way less likely. But Wolfwood has already accepted the power of anime Jesus friendship into his life, and that’s a huge part of what lead to his death. Not that I don’t think it’s still likely for Tristamp Wolfwood to think it’s too much to ask Vash to step away from the conflict with Knives for whatever his personal struggles are, but... man that sandsteamer incident is foreshadowing something and I’m afraid. It shifted so much in a way that is so significant, I feel like I’m not doing it justice with my words.

Speaking of possible foreshadowing: Wolfwood isn’t the product of random experimenting like he was in Trimax, he’s the product of plant experimentation. And Vash can heal plants. Again, that’s a big ol’ stretch, as I think that they made the Gung Ho Guns a product of plant experimentation to try and explain the magic powers they all have, and it’s a very smooth idea imo. But it haunts me. Also, given that Conrad has probably been kept alive through fucked up plant methods and how long Rollo remained the same, and Conrad said the only flaw in his experiments were that they had to eat and drink... does Wolfwood and Gung Ho Gun friends have an extended lifespan??? Okay, getting off topic, sorry :’D

Basically, Wolfwood has already made huge leaps and bounds in trusting Vash, even listening to Meryl, and growing a heart for humanity. To the point I was half-afraid this guy was going to die in the finale, because we’ve already seen so much of his character arc. (It would have been a poor choice and I’m happy it didn’t happen EVEN IF I’M STILL AFRAID). And he’s based off of Trimax Wolfwood quite heavily! You can see it in the core of his personality still!!! WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO WITH HIM???

I doubt either of these ideas are going to be quite right, watch as Orange works in a secret, third thing that I can’t even imagine lmao. But this has been driving me absolutely bonkers and I had to share. This is still Wolfwood, and I have a feeling he’s only going to be more and more of the lovable asshole from here on out. But I have no idea where we’re going with it.

Holy hell, this was a long post. If you made it to the end of my insane ramblings well, uh... congrats??? I hope it was somewhat worth the read???? I’m so sorry?????? Thank you??????????

[sol-thorne-shitpost]

I am once again having a thought™ and I just went on a full-on rant to a friend, thought I'd share my thoughts with y'all to see if anyone agrees.

Yes, it's about Hadesgame Patrochilles, buckle up.

Currently reading the Iliad, I noticed that not only are Achilles and Patroclus extremely well-written in Hades (that we're all aware of, I think), but also that there are many many layers to their relationship and the one they have with Zagreus.

First thing that hit me while reading the og Patrochilles and how they're written is how drastically different they are in Hades compared to their original alive selves. They're basically each the complete opposite of what they were when they were alive: Achilles, once prideful, arrogant and impulsive, once his rage was appeased, now became wise, patient, calm, an actually good mentor to Zagreus, in whom he must see a lot of his younger self. Patroclus, on the other hand, once famously gentle and kind, became bitter and dismissive. That can easily be explained by the fact that decades and decades alone after death can drastically change someone. Achilles, so guilty about what his pride did to Patroclus, matured and became wiser; and Patroclus, because of years alone abandoned, lost his faith in the glory of war (and in Achilles).

They basically became the opposite of what they were when they were alive, because of years of loneliness and longing and reflecting on this war they were a part of.

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL GUYS. When you dig a bit (mostly by chatting with Achilles and listening to Patroclus ramble to himself), you learn that what made them mostly change, aside from the circumstances of their deaths, is their longing for each other, and that despite all that change, they both retain the ONE TRAIT that caused their deaths.

Achilles, even in death, remains unbelievably stubborn, unshakable in his decisions (or in this case, his decision to stay away from Patroclus so that he can rest in Elysium) until Patroclus (through Zagreus) manages to shake him out of it.

And Patroclus, ever so bitter and depressed Patroclus, remains deeply kind and generous. He broods there in his glade, but when Zagreus shows up, polite, just passing by, in need of help, Patroclus offers him what little he has to keep going.

It drives me insane to see that after dying, Patroclus is the one who became impulsive and ready to 'risk it all', because he simply has nothing left to lose. Meanwhile, Achilles, so scarred by Patroclus' death (caused by him and his hubris and his pride), is terrified of risking anything, because the one thing he has left to lose is Patroclus' place in Elysium, and he simply can't bring himself to understand that Patroclus wants to be by his side anywhere rather than alone up there.

And they could have never reconciled without Zagreus' intervention. Because somehow, Zagreus is a mirror of both of them, in his own way.

And because on top of being impusilve and stubborn (like Achilles) as well as kind and caring (like Patroclus), Zagreus is the one guy down here, the only one who fights against his fate with all his goddamn might.

Because he wants to see his mother. He wants to find his place in this world. He wants to be acknowledged and respected. So he fights, against the Fates themselves (by just being alive, he does, I'll remind), against Hades, to get what he wants. Achilles and Patroclus both succumbed to their own destinies in the worst way. Of course it would resonate with them.

Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this. But there are so many parallels to draw here! Think about Achilles, who practically raised Zagreus, instructed him in myths, history, combat and arms. Seeing this kid, a prince, gifted for combat, craving for recognition and respect? That would ring a bell. And Zagreus is already a dual kind of person, he's the red eye and the green eye, he's the Olympian and the goddess with a mortal father. He's rage and fierceness (Achilles) and he's kindness and generosity (Patroclus).

And Zagreus hates the status quo. In his own life, and in the one of others. He does this for multiple people in Hades (Sisyphus, Orpheus and Eurydice, Hypnos and Thanatos, Nyx and Chaos...), he just can't stand people suffering when he knows there is something that could be done. He rattles the house and wreaks havoc in his father's well-ordered world, because he knows damn well he's the only one with enough balls to do it.

The thing is that if Zagreus had never intervened, Achilles and Patroclus would never have seen each other. Achilles took the first step toward redemption by giving up his place in Elysium (his glory, his pride, what he fought so hard for) so that Patroclus could stay there instead, as a way of apologizing for what he did to him and atone for his mistakes; but after that, he was left frozen in his own guilt, refusing to try and think of a way to see Patroclus again. And Pat, well... He's given up. Like how he gave up on reasoning with Achilles back in Troy. So he just waits there, even he doesn't know what for. It takes this bisexual disaster of a god to barge in and shake things up, until Patroclus finally reached out to Achilles, gives him that message (risk it all), the last push Achilles needed to finally move.

So yeah I just think they're neat-

This concludes my thought™.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Entirely Unconventional

Part 10: Once, And Again

Enjoy the show? Have a fun night? Did you and König recover?

Nicht so süß und unschuldig kleines Kätzchen

Damn fucking brat

“Hey LT!” He felt pain behind his eye, the sudden sharp twitch had come within seconds of his mind registering Soap McTavish’s voice, and the weight of another trip back to that hell-hole in the middle of the same desolate state.

That armoury and artillery compound they’d invaded had been secured, everything inside was transported. But the man who was funnelling money into the operations in the middle of God knows where, was still hiding. Captain Price had given the objective, for the two of them, to head back to that place and flush him out.

The man who had funnelled money into this compound, this storage facility for munitions and artillery, was squirrelling himself somewhere in the backwoods and rural properties of the villages and farmlands. It made him both an easy target and a little rat bastard hiding in the crawl spaces of abandoned farmhouses.

“Looking forward to going back, sir? S’been nearly two months since you saw her last! You wanna make a stopover?” Soap’s suggestion was as much of a jest as this emotionless exterior as it was a genuine attempt at getting the cold Lieutenant to relax.

It was your fault, you had done this. You had started this fucking problem with your fingers, and your moans. The sound of your pleasure had centred itself in his mind again, a reminder of the passion that was thickened by the bond of being each others soulmates.

You, and your damn masturbation habits, had broken the straw that kept their own hunger at bay.

It was one too many bands that had snapped, and that pressure led to both Ghost & König experiencing the first rolling snowball of desire. The first initial shove that made them crash into each other, devouring the other with lust, all because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.

And now, all Ghost could focus on was the need to have König pinning your hands above your head, trapping you. Giving you no room to leave, so Ghost could return the favour and devour you wholly.

His traumatic past couldn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his deeply seeded desire to fuck, to crave and taste and unleash his fated passions upon you.

“Fucking hell, you don’t fucking quit.” Ghost’s ire was vehement, his eyes stormy and dark. “Goddamn wanker!”

Soap held no more fear of Ghost than he did König, knowing that both his commanding officers were feeling the effects of their little soulmates late night excursions. The late night hours that had driven them crazy, has made the two men cantankerous, although Soap was more amused than not.

“We got leave soon, LT. Heard my little bird Em say your American spitfire is coming to visit for a few weeks.” Soap grinned in the way he usually did, like he had no real care in the world or any real-world consequences waiting for him.

John Soap McTavish was the kind of man most of them wished they could be. He still wasn’t jaded from what they saw, he wasn’t bitter and closed off. He had this natural youthfulness to him that had followed him all his life. He still had the ability to feel like a kid, like someone who wasn’t battered, bruised and dragged through hell.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones, one of the soldiers who had someone waiting for him at home when he went on leave. Johnny had someone who was writing him letters and caring for him with the intensity of a well-known lover. No matter what happened, Johnny had his wife to lean on.

Ghost was bitter, he was closed off and inflexible to love. Even when he was awarded two soulmates who could be everything he needed, he was still unable to see how he deserved them. In his mind, he was damned, and they were damned with him. He didn’t think he would ever feel free enough to endure such love.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny.” Simon’s voice was less guarded now, more honest and natural. “Don’t take that for granted, don’t fuck it up!”

“You do too, LT!” Soap called back, nodding his head in Ghost’s direction as if to extend the invitation without having to say it.

Ghost was silent, he had revelled in the silence that stymied them both. He had endured the quiet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. He squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go, until he felt his resolve regaining itself.

There’s no where for a place like him; like them. They’re phantoms, shadows more than people now.

No you’re not, you never have been. Your voice countered his, and Ghost verbally hissed from the gentility. It was unwarranted, it was a direct attack on the shell he had surrounded himself with.

Damned fool, you’re gonna burn with us

We’re connected, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, I’m yours.

And you’re damned for it. You’re breakable, it’s inevitable. He was condescending, of himself and of König’s dependency on you, the three of you all meant to be twisted and broken together.

It was innate, it was their future.

What you want, we could never give you. We could never give you the future you want. Ghost’s voice went through your head, and König’s. We’re not meant for it. We’ll only break you.

It all felt like a step back, like he was land-sliding further from this new openness. You had broken off pieces of their guard, and Ghost in his fear of losing something real and true, again, was trying to shove it all back together.

You were silent, for a moment, and then your voice echoed in his head. Soft like a bell or whistle, yet with the ability to further crack that detrimental shell around his heart.

It's amazing how someone can break your heart, and you can still love them with all the little pieces.

Silence rang out, the bridge that bonded the three of you was silent.

And Ghost remained in that silence, his eyes staring ahead as he fixated his attention upon the wall of the helicopter. Transportation back to the States, back to that hellhole had begun, their task to track down that little worm was started.

You wouldn’t be an ocean away, you wouldn’t be across the world. You would be within his fingertips. And Ghost, irregardless of how hard he wanted to keep you at a distance, was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Damn him, damn himself to hell, he had to see you.

To spite himself.

To spite every damn bone in his body that hated you, that absolutely loathed you, he wanted and had to see you. It was innate, it was incredulous.

Simon Riley could’ve cursed you, he could have damned you with every breath. He didn’t need you, he didn’t want you, he had no use for you.

Yet, your ability to make the ice around the old soldiers heart chip away was beyond what he could control. If it were up to him, to Ghost, he would have frozen his heart in a cryogenic chamber away from yourself and König.

But damn you, damn you American woman with all he had in him, Simon Riley couldn’t turn off from you.

He was driven, by an unseen force, to find you. Despite the warring denial that they required you, that they wanted you, Ghost thought about Soap’s advice.

“You know you’re thinking about it. About seeing her. Trust me, LT...showing up to see her is exactly what you need.”

“Not happening, Johnny. We have a mission.”

Still, the thought was tempting.

Fuck, you better be around. His thick gravelly voice echoed in his own head, a thought shared with you as he let that shadowed and tiny piece of him have a small victory.

Regardless of how scared shitless, he was over letting that tiny little piece of hope win.

************

Simon Riley was not damaged, not like he had thought. Rather, he was traumatized from events of the past, and the cruel hands of fate handed to him.

You knew that, you had been warned of that, but you’d never fully understood to what extent he had hated any chance of happiness.

It was clear that of the two, Simon & König, König had been less physically damaged a than Simon.

You had seen more of König than you had of Simon. You’d seen more of his memories than Ghost had allowed you to see, with much of König’s thoughts and memories centred around his home life in Austria & Germany.

Not only that, but you’d seen the memories he had of his mother, the blood sweat and tears that she had shed for her little boy.

Young König, who wanted so desperately to go on school trips, leading his mother to prevent herself from eating food to save him money. She had done everything she could to give him the ability to go.

You had seen his memories and the bullying he suffered from being a poor boy who was bigger and taller than all his classmates. The kind of bullying that made König develop social anxiety that followed him all his life.

You saw his memories, and he had seen yours. He had seen your love of being on the water on a sandy, smooth beach and the crystal-like water that stretched for miles.

It was Devonshire Beach, someplace that had you had adored and craved to be at, a place where you were endlessly wishing to be at every chance you got.

You had been able to communicate your love for that place, the place where you were most comfortable and happiest. That place where you had longed to be day after day, week after week.

König had seen your memories of your short-term relationships that never gone anywhere for your fear of being taken too far emotionally into something that was doomed to fail.

You and König had created a new level of this bond; Ghost and yourself were still at a crawling point.

“I can’t wait for you to get here! Ugh, there are so many places I want to take you!” Em’s excitement bled through the phone as you’d pinned it between your ear and your shoulder.

“Three weeks in Scotland away from work, what a dream.” You were ragged, you were tired, and you wanted to go to bed.

Upon approaching your village townhouse, you dug your keys out from your scrub pockets, twirling them around your finger twice before you stepped up the porch.

Though it had been more than 12 hours since you left, you’d felt as if it were just seconds ago since you stepped outside for your shift.

Your keys were stuck in the lock, as usual. You jiggled the keys in the lock, grunting your irritation and annoyance, your ire for the damned thing.

Your frustration grew, and you’d just managed to turn the key to unlock the door when you heard audible footsteps behind you. You turned your head and cast your speculative gaze behind you, a squeaky shriek ripped from your lips.

“Y/N-” Johnny Soap McTavish was less than three feet behind you, with one half of your soulmates in tow.

Your immediate reaction was to strike him, your fist balled as tightly as you could manage, and you’d driven it into his shoulder. Though it hadn’t actually hurt him, Johnny still cursed under his breath and rubbed his arm. His blue eyes were narrowed, annoyed at you for striking him, and causing him minute pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing here?!” You screeched at him, panic and fear rushing through you at the sudden appearance of them on your porch. “Do you have a death wish?! Do you know how many people have guns here?! You could have been shot!”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” You were only aware of Em still talking when she raised her voice through the phone, reminding you that she could hear everything.

“You almost became a widow!” You struck Johnny again, anger coursing through your attack on your best friend's husband.

“Johnny! You didn’t shoot him did you?” She chirped with wonder, while you glared heavily at the two men.

“You got a minute?”

“You could’ve been shot, you idiot!” You struck Johnny again, only once being aware of Ghost’s eyes on you, and the striking blue eyes alight with amusement.

Strike him again, love

“You—!” Your eyes darted from Johnny to Ghost, your soulmate looking deadly and intimidating, like a demon at night.

He had stood behind Johnny, wearing that familiar skeleton mask and the black eye paint around his eyes.

He was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, starting with a thick Kevlar vest and a balaclava beneath the mask. He hadn’t gotten rid of his weapons, not a single one, but rather he had kept them on to give himself a more intimidating appearance.

Honestly, despite his aggressive look, having Ghost appear on your doorstep wasn’t even close to the most negating experience of your night. Despite his intense distaste that he seemed to have for you, seeing him here was almost relieving. It had almost heartening to see him, to have him this close.

Even if he would rather not adhere to this bond, you were happy to see him again. Regardless of how they scared the shit out of you, having Ghost here was almost exhilarating.

Being in the presence of your soulmate, irregardless of his feelings for you, was affecting you almost as intensely as it had the night you met them.

“What,” your voice had taken a hard edge, your eyes narrowing in on them, “are you doing here?!”

Johnny grinned, boyishly, in a manner that made you irritated. His natural penchant to be a man riddled with good-natured humour, and humour at others expense, had been vexing to say the least. But no more than his ability to also make you forget your qualms with a man like him.

Johnny would have been a good friend, but you couldn’t have handled someone like him continually trying to get under your skin.

“I guess we need another favour.” Johnny’s voice first caught your attention; however, it was Ghost that had kept it.

Another look at him, and another remembrance of his size, was yet again capable of producing a sort of enchantment that took hold of you. He was at least 6’4” if not 6’5” and seeing him in person, for only the second time, had reiterated your feeling of being a sprout compared to him.

Between Ghost & König, you felt like a little sprite, a little gaiety creature surrounded by giants and beasts. Hell, even compared to Johnny, you felt short.

“Ghost.” You spoke his code name, far more airily than you wanted to.

You were captivated by him, and his aggressive nature. He was your soulmate despite denying you and attempting to push you away, and want was only natural. The desire to be around each other, to hear each others voice and grow deeper connected, was only natural.

Fate was not to be ignored, fate was not going to let any of you, not the three of you, part from the other. You were, and always would be, connected and bound together.

You were watching Ghost, and he was watching you, his chin tucked ever so slightly. His eyes had narrowed, minimally, and his fingers flexed around the gun he held in his hands. The tension between you was skyrocketing, thick and heavy, and bubbling over with desire and mutual need.

“You want some privacy-“ you struck Johnny again, as hard as you could with everything you could.

“Y/N! Did you kill my husband?!” Em’s voice was far more panicked than before, concern for her husband's well-being at your hand was not understated.

“Not yet.” You reassured her, though you felt tempted by the idea of murdering her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We had to deal with something—“ Johnny trailed off, ending the half-sentence abruptly. You thought it had been the end of it, and then you heard him speaking again. “Gonna let us in, love?”

“You don’t call me that.” You grit your teeth and bend down to gather your thrown items, ultimately standing and bundling them in your arms. “Why are you here? Didn’t think they allowed stop-offs when you’re doing the military’s work.”

“Got a job, went sideways. We only have an hour, two at max. Can we come in?”

Your eyes had been caught by Ghosts’ again, and your heart racing. There was such a draw to him, beyond the fear and the apprehension, you just wanted to be around him.

“You wanna come in?” Your question was aimed at Johnny, but looked at Ghost, and then turned back. “Your cut looks good, healed okay. You have another?”

“Not me. Got time?” Johnny’s grin seemed permanently affixed to his face, another layer to the charming Scotsman.

“I do now.” You mumbled under your breath and turned back to your door, opening for the three of you.

“If you murder me...” you looked back at Johnny, your stomach flipping end over end. “... I’ll haunt you.”

“So paranoid, lass.” Johnny’s retort was airy, and he was clearly amused, though you hadn’t seen the humour in it at all.

“Are you allowed to be here? Aren’t you on a time constraint?” You questioned them both as you stepped inside and waved them in.

There was hesitancy on both, parties, neither of them immediately wanting to step into your house.

Though Johnny was more receptive to coming in, even he had waited a moment before he stepped over the threshold and entered your place. As he had, you dropped your bag down onto your floor and kicked off your shoes. You flicked on the light switch and cast another look back at the two of them.

Both were wearing tactical gear, although Ghost seemed to have more, and while you could see the flag of their respective home countries on each of their uniforms, you were drawn to the UK flag on Simon’s.

“You can come in, maybe explain why you thought it was okay to give me a heart attack.” Your invitation was both ambiguous and intimate, depending on the two men who heard it.

Johnny had spared no effort to step into your townhouse, almost needing to step sideways with his gear; however, Ghost hadn’t been so eager. He stood on the other side of the door, staring you down with piercing blue eyes that struck deep into your soul.

And as you got a better look at both of them, you noticed the distinguishable sight of blood. Soap had seemed to be better off than not, with the man only receiving specks of the hemoglobin on his arms and forehead; however, it seemed like Ghost had a gash on his arm.

It didn’t look deep, but it was open, and it needs to be taken care of.

You didn’t want to know the details of how it happened, you didn’t think you could stomach the idea of it; however, you knew it must’ve been a sporadic event. His sleeve was ripped, torn or cut to find the wound, and there was already dried blood around his gash.

“Shit.” You winced at the sight of it, knowing that this was the explanation for their sudden appearance at your house. “You need that looked at, and it needs to be sewn.”

“Thought we should make a house call. Em gave me your address.” Johnny set the rifle in his hands down, much like Ghost had, and started undoing the Velcro straps of his Kevlar vest.

It is unclear to you why you didn’t notice before, why you hadn’t seen the wound on his arm and the missing portion of his sleeve, but now that you had, you knew you needed to fix it.

You didn’t need details, you hadn’t wanted details, and even if you had, you doubted they would tell you. Or at the very least fabricate a lie like Em.

That’s what you expected, that’s what you had anticipated, however you were once again surprised when Ghost had stepped forward toward your couch, littered with folded clothes you had forgotten about, and spoke with a gruff thick accent.

“Dealing with leftover shit, damned bastard set traps.” His gruff British accent had a surreal affect on you, the visible tremble of your hands and the definite acknowledgment of how attractive you’d found it, mentally at least.

It came naturally to your mind, and settled into your thoughts warmly.

An innate desire to hear it again, whispering the same kind of sexually fuelled words that had been uttered on the night that you had gone out drinking. It had been a turn on for you that night, the uttered sounds fuelling your need to find self-pleasure, and that had been shared with the two of them.

And you’d just as easily found yourself captivated by his thick British accent, and König’s German one.

“I have a habit of asking doctors for extra supplies just in case. I have surgical thread, I can sew it up.” You spoke quickly.

You were far more anxious being in your house with these two men, one being your soulmate, than you were in the hospital room with a crowd of them.

There, you felt standoffish.

Here, it felt intimate.

“I’ll just...” you glanced at the folded clothes, thanking your self-preservation for hiding your underwear in stacks of scrubs instead of keeping them out.

Still, you’d felt momentarily embarrassed by the state of your clothes folded and left out, and you’d quickly picked them up and set them back in the basket.

You’d wanted to put them away before you’d gone to work and never had the chance, your morning starting chaotically by your phone alarms failing.

“I’ll be right back. Umm...sit, make yourselves....just sit.” You turned away from them and headed toward the stairs, grabbing hold of the railings. You held onto both as you climbed the steps to the bathroom, stepping inside and opening the cupboard to the left.

You grabbed your first aid kit from the bottom shelf and tucked it under your arm, using your free hand to grab the antiseptic and gauze. With everything you needed, you headed back downstairs and to the living room, side-eyeing the two of them as they were in very different positions.

While Johnny was unceremoniously draped across one of your second hand armchairs, Ghost was standing near the couch, however he wasn’t sitting. He was staring dead on at a picture of you when you were younger that was taken at your favourite spot in the world.

Devonshire Beach was at the cusp of a massive lake, one that stretched for miles upon miles. The water was warm and relatively clear, with a sandy bottom. The lake had remained shallow enough to touch the bottom for what seemed like a mile before your feet wouldn’t reach, and the soft sand had continued well onto the shoreline.

In the picture you were seven or eight, covered in wet sand with a wide grin on your face and the sun at your back. You had just come out of the water after spending all day at the shoreline, and in the water, and there was no shortage of happy weeks there.

Devonshire Beach was one of the only times and places you’d actually enjoyed being in your dad’s presence. Every other time, you’d found ire for the man who would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his child.

But when he took you to Devonshire Beach, and let you run wild, you were truly happy. When you were in that water, on that beach, your father's indiscretions didn’t matter. You had the water, you had the sand, and you had the endless lake to spend your time in.

“That’s my favourite place in the whole world. I spent weeks there every summer when it was my dads turn to take me.” You set the first aid kit on the coffee table, talking to both of them, but mostly Ghost, as he had looked at your picture.

“I try to go back once a summer for a few weeks. Honestly, if I could live there, I would.” Your small conversation attempt with the roguish soldier was one-sided though you knew he, and König, acknowledged what you said and thought, when you felt that flourish of warmth in your body.

You thought of it, of the lake and the beach that you loved. The untouched source of happiness you experienced with your divorced father, and the soft glow of the sun. You were sharing that memory with them, all while Ghost was studying the coutures on your walls and Johnny looked like he was sleeping.

“I have the first aid kit, I can fix your arm.” You broke the silence and drew his attention away from the pictures on your wall, back to yourself.

His eyes had been striking, impossibly bright against the dark around his eyes and the bleached skeleton mask. He had turned further to face you, only taking two long strides to the couch, and sitting down almost silently.

“This might hurt,” you reached into the first aid kit for the kit of needles you had, as well as the gauze and wipes, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghost was silent but observant.

He had extended his arm to allow you access to the gash, and a better look at the tattoos he had on his arm. You had taken a brief look at the ink marking his skin, the story of each tattoo simultaneously cohesive and almost.

Although you knew there was some meaning to them, to him, you weren’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You apologized prematurely and dabbed the antiseptic wipe against the edge of the wound first, watching him carefully for any indication that it hurt.

“Does this feel okay? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?” His answer, predictably, came through your mind.

Doesn’t scratch the surface, love

“I don’t have any numbing gel or cream, so this might hurt more—“ you were cut off, rather abruptly, by his thick accent verbalizing his state of mind.

“I’ve been through hell, this is nothing.” His blue eyes bore into your own, and there was a cathartic minute where your gazes had been locked on each others.

Heat, intense and deep, had struck you like lightning. It was powerful and all encompassing, an internal combustion that was directly rooted in your fated bond.

Soulmates intertwined with each other in every captivating way.

Eventually, you dropped your gaze and finished cleaning the gash on his arm.

You had exchanged the antiseptic wipes for the surgical thread you’d taken from one of the doctors there. While there was no trauma bay, nor really, or any surgery rooms, a few of the doctors that worked there also worked in the city.

And they had known you wanted to stock up on your own miniature medical stash at your place. All it took was a conversation, a simple favour the next time they were in the city hospital, and at least one would try to abide by your request.

As you threaded the needle, you hummed a song under your breath. You worked quickly to tie and cut off the excess, only to hesitate before you made the first mark.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Your concerns for him, about hurting him, were high. You hated the idea of not having some numbing cream or gel, and without freezing it could be incredibly painful.

With his silence, you had started the process of stitching his wound, weaving the needle and the medical thread in and out of his skin to close it again. You worked in silence under the weight of his icy gaze, a slight tremble to your hands as you worked.

You hadn’t been this close to him in months, not since you’d first met him, and he was intimidating. He was built like a mountain, with his height and weight relative to his thick size and strength. He could easily kill you with his hands, and everything else about him was just as pertinent to terrifying anyone he came across.

“Are you okay?” You questioned Simon again, doubling down on your insistence that you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “Simon..?”

You sat up on your haunches and reached for his mask, fingertips grazing the hard shell before he stopped you. His hand snatched your wrist and squeezed enough to make you startle. His eyes narrowed, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you figured he might have been scowling at you.

In exchange, you had tried to tug your wrist away, stumbling forward as he held you firm. He had leaned down, drawing himself closer and allowing you to see the darker flecks in his blue eyes.

“I never take my mask off.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice was tight, squeaking almost. “I won’t touch it again.”

Johnny, to his credit, had noticed the shift in tension and flipped himself right, placing his boots on the ground. His own wondering gaze had flitted between the two of you, and his lips had become pursed.

“Y’okay, Y/N?” There was a protectiveness, a kind that would be present between a brother and sister.

“I’m fine. I’m almost finished.” Your hands shook, and you felt real fear, real apprehension. You worked as quickly as you could, tying off the rest of the stitches and giving it a final wipe with antiseptic.

When you were done, you threw everything back in the first aid kit and zipped it shut, hastily returning it back to the bathroom.

You’d almost hoped they’d have been gone by the time you returned, both were still present however they were getting ready to leave. You shuffled into the living room, still on the edge of fear, with your heart racing.

“The stitches need to stay in for 4–14 days, depending on how fast you heal. You could cut them yourself, but if you have a medic or doctor on your...base or wherever—“

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve said our asses twice now.” Johnny had finished securing his Kevlar vest, and the Velcro that kept it in on place, and then he picked up his gun. “Three weeks in Scotland, yeah?”

“Mandatory time off. I haven’t used my vacation hours and they won’t give me anymore.” You explained softly, not being able to look at Ghost for longer than a few seconds. “Plus it's been almost 4 years since I’ve seen Emilia.”

“You mean for more than 12 hours.” Johnny added, stretching his arms above his head. “She’s excited for ya, been talking nonstop about you and her going out for your birthday.”

I forgot about that, your thoughts betrayed you, 25 in two weeks

Birthday? When is your birthday, schätzchen? König’s voice had crackled in your mind, his question softened.

“Apparently 25 is a big deal.” You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t celebrate my birthday usually.”

“Please for the love of God, humour my wife.”

Johnny practically begged, teasing her endearingly. “Let her take you out.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and hummed, watching Johnny leave your house first, stepping forward to clsoe the door behind them. “I promise I’ll let her drag me out.”

“I love my wife, I’d die for her, but sometimes...” Johnny grinned, only minutely serious, and then he glanced back at Ghost. “LT...?”

You watched him standing just outside the doorway, his eyes once again boring into yours. As you stepped forward to close the door, one solid hand had pushed you back against the doorframe, and another cupped your chin.

His hand was large, fingers partially obscured by gloves that were cut off at his first knuckles. He had stepped close to you, trapping you between his body and your door. With one hand cupping your chin and his unrelenting eyes keeping your gaze hostage, you were breathlessly waiting for...something.

Tension was climbing, and it felt as if everything else surrounding you had become dull and stagnant. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, you were unable to stop your heart from beating wildly.

Slowly he leaned in, closer and closer until his voice was nothing more than a whisper to you.

“Shouldn’t have scared ya, love.” It was as apologetic as you imagined he could get. “Fixed me good.”

“Don’t....get shot or anything. At least not before you get to an actual doctor.” A dry, humourless sound was heard between you, and then his hand tightened on your chin.

“LT! We gotta go!” Johnny called out from the front steps of your place, urging Ghost to leave.

Another moment, brief as it was, and then he pulled away. “Have a good night, love.”

He stepped away from the front door, watching you with intensity until you closed the door behind them and switched the lock.

[that-bipolar-mood]

hey, my therapist thinks i might be bipolar and I’m really scared. it makes sense but it’s not something that I had thought about

I don’t know what to do what if I am bipolar??? im so worried that my friends will see me in a different way and I can’t loose them, I need them there all I have. I don’t know anyone that is bipolar and I have no support groups for bipolar disorder near me the closest one is almost 4 hours away. are people really going to see me so differently? Is being bipolar as bad as it sounds? Would meditation help or make it worse? I know nothing and I’m so worried about what’s going to happen. I know nothing about being bipolar. I’m sorry for the rambling I don’t know what to do, I’m just looking for help here.

-Axel

Hey there, sorry for my rambling, and thanks for stopping by.

Basically, I can assure you that all of us who were diagnosed went through something like this.

It's a long process, not gonna lie, but a good way to start is researching this condition. If you like books, fiction, or nonfiction (though I suggest non-fiction first), a quick google search will give you plenty of suggestions. My fav being Kay Redfield Jamieson, p.h.d. There are also movies, some more realistic than others. Probably among the top three is "Touched with Fire".

Anyway, once you get the basics and perhaps come to the conclusion that your therapist was right, you step on the path towards recovery and acceptance. (Not talking about full recovery since bipolar is a chronic condition)

1. You are still you

I know how deeply profoundly sucky the point of view becomes. You might see life through lenses of this illness, even yourself, your interests, and so on. But the cliché is true: your illness doesn't define you.

2. Acceptance isn't linear

Maybe unconventional, but I found that worrying and thinking about bipolar 24/7 made it worse. Some days I'll feel normal, some days I'll curse the day I was born. I'll mourn the losses I suffered from this illness, but I also will remember that there are is light.

3. This illness is dangerous

So many of us underestimated the consequences( of particularly mania). Depression is well known nowadays, but mania is often romanticised, glorified, and brushed aside. Meds, if prescribed, are your weapon.

4. What happened sucks, but...

Reexamine your life, goals, ambitions, needs, and wants. Even though I refused to accept the diagnosis at first, I still forced the evaluation. Because I felt my life was ruined, I, for the first time, realized what was truly important to strive for. Plus, I got rid of many universal bad habits. But it's okay to take time. Please take time, self care and love are priorities.

5. Let others be

This is probably the hardest part. Some people never tell they are bipolar. But having Carrie Fisher for an inspiration made me stop hiding. Either way, some will leave, and some will stay. It's not your job to educate them, to force their narrow views wide, to in any way lose your energy over their ignorance. BUT. Others will actually try to understand. Your friends, I dare say, will want to help, be there, because you are you, and this is just an illness. Be patient and kind with those. Family is trickier, but in the end, they love you. Remember, when someone leaves, it's their loss. However, in the 21st century, people tend to be more open-minded. I never received a negative comment from my peers. When I "came out," people were kind and gentle, even though I expected them to start throwing stuff at me, literally.

I am certain that you will find your own way of dealing with this load. You will grow and evolve, like a beautiful flower, and this will seem easier, with each step down the road. You can find many successful and happy people with this condition. I personally cannot live without mediation, yoga, my dog, my wonderful friends, and yearly Skam rewatches. These keep me grounded, even when I punch my pillow in frustration, because goddamn universe why me.

Finding your way is therapeutic. the internet offers great advice, people gave great lectures, and you can even find podcasts, specifically about bipolar disorder. But in the end, it's just an illness, yes, a giant part of you, but also the unimportant part. Your thoughts, emotions, interests, desires, and more - this is you - and more. and more. infinite. a whole universe. perfect. While bipolar is merely a dot. And if you two are ever in opposition, my bet will always be on you.

If this is remotely close to an answer, I am glad. If not, my dms are open. Or if I can help in any way, don't hesitate to let me know. With Love,

x

[bitimdrake]

rereading nightwing (2011) #30 and god i have. so many thoughts about it. And also I still cannot get a coherent hold on it.

This post is really just a mess of me rambling for myself and spewing thoughts out, so I'm putting it under the cut and read at your own discretion and curiosity.

first off, we basically only talk about the middle part, but this comic is actually three sections and it's. bad?

it's just so awkward. This is a transitional issues, but it's not even a well executed one. It's not even a mediocre one. It's very blunt and inconsistent in abruptly shoving the story forward to make way for a Grayson status quo.

The three sections all have different styles and very different tones, but they are also directly related to each other. So it's not like they work as three different vignettes sharing an issue. But they also don't make a particularly cogent whole.

And they definitely do not come even close to the kind of satisfying ending you'd typically want to see at the end of a run.

Like: the first section is Leslie recounting to Bruce how she ran into Spyral. A section which, you will note, does not include our lead and title character in any way, nor is it remotely emotionally relevant or meaningful to him on first read, nor is it remotely related to anything in the run previously. It's a Batman Inc scene that got lost and landed in the wrong issue.

And then the second section (Bruce fights Dick until he agrees to go undercover) and the third (intro to Grayson with Dick doing international crimefighting to lure in Spyral recruitment) are plot-wise directly connect and yet. Could not be more at odds.

sec. 2 Dick has a very bad time being pushed into this by Bruce, and he hates it, and the whole thing is very violent and dark and grim, and Dick ends the section saying things can never be the same between him and Bruce.

and then sec. 3 Dick has a classic inner monologue about who he is and where he's been, that includes how Bruce saved him from being an angry, revenge-obsessed kid, and how he loves his family and is defined by being a legacy. And shows zero concern at what he's doing except a mild mention that after the Crime Syndicate he wanted to go back but he couldn't.

are you seeing what i'm talking about here. are you seeing how this is technically a continuous plot, but on every other level makes no goddamn sense

anyway let's talk about dick and bruce, but first specifically about Bruce because I still do not get him here

"get him" does not mean "agree" (or even "empathize") but literally just get it. Even when I fucking hate him I have at a basic level understood what was going on in his head previously. I do not now.

Bruce was already abusive ofc, but the thing that really threw me off the first time I read this--and that still feel jarring--is how completely different this is from any of his previous violence towards his kids.

He's not suddenly lashing out in a moment of high emotion. He waited for Dick to be ready and laid out the rules (non-rule) of the fight. And it's not even about some deeply personal matter that he's getting emotional over. Yes, Dick's recent brief death is a key part, but mostly Bruce is monologuing about the danger of this one random secret organization.

The whole thing is so planned, which is never something I've thought of his previous physical abuse, and it feels fucking awful.

It also just feels so irrational. And not in a "people who are very emotional make questionable decisions" way, but in a "I'm genuinely struggling to understand how the character got here way"

Bruce is upset that he recently watched Dick die. No question there. And so he....wants to send Dick undercover with Spyral?

??????

Like I can try to explain this as some variation of the classic 'push people away so caring about them won't hurt me again', but that's really not how it feels? It doesn't track. Bruce has pushed Dick away plenty before, and he does it by some combination of explosive anger, complete emotional shutdown, and literally telling Dick to leave. But like. This is not that. He's instead ensnaring Dick in a long fight and longer conversation and telling him not to leave, but to go do something specific. And it's not even really pushing him away!! Because Bruce is still asking Dick to do a thing for him, under his control! No. wrong vibe. Explanation rejected.

Second attempted explanation: section one of this issue ends with Leslie telling Bruce that, because of super Spyral interrogation powers, she might have revealed his identity and can't even remember. So Bruce is deeply troubled by that, and Dick's identity was just revealed to the world which compounds things ("you let them give your secrets to the world"), and now he is deeply concerned with figuring out what Spyral knows/stopping info from spreading and sending Dick to handle that.

I also hate this explanation. It feels dumb. Ridiculous priorities. (also, boy, it does not paint Bruce in a good light. but the bad light it paints him in is an all new one.) Ugh.

I really really just cannot create an explanation for Bruce here that feels coherent with my understanding of him, and I hate that.

And my understanding of him is of him as an abusive father!! So imagine how inexplicable this must feel! But this is the wrong kind of abusive father for what he's been before idk i don't even know if i make sense anymore

new thought time

for the first ~2/3 of the fight, I was thinking that on reread, I could kinda see how some very dumb and oblivious writer would not see how horrific and abusive it would be in the end:

Two characters are disagreeing, and one is going to convince the other by the end. So it's dramatic, and makes the art reflect the story, to have them spar as they're talking! Both script and art are a spar!

Bruce is trying to ~prove Dick will never break~ so it'll be fitting for him to fight Dick, and then call it off when Dick indeed proves he won't give up an gets the upper hand!

Misjudge just how violent the fight will come off. Write panels where Dick is on the ground looking up/being beaten by Bruce/getting injured, because you're going for the classic structure of the hero getting their ass kicked at the start before turning things around later on, but accidentally make those too pained.

blah blah blah, completely overlook the fact that these two are father and son with the power dynamic that implies, and fail to tune the dialogue so that you don't realize it seems less like Bruce is convincing and more like he's coercing

and maybe, theoretically, a writer with real bad instincts could think this would be less horrific than it is

...I thought for the first chunk of the fight, still trying to come up with a rational explanation for this scene, even if only a Doylist one

EXCEPT

Towards the end of the fight, Bruce literally says he knows he's hurting Dick, "my family," and calls Dick "my boy" and then punches Dick in the face so like. I'm sorry you can't do this by accident. If you wrote this by accident you are simply too stupid to be alive and I refuse to believe you can exist.

so anyway I don't have a Doylist explanation for this either :/

they really did just straight up have bruce beat up his son and have said son literally say it could never be the same between them after this, and then were like. yeah :) this is fine :) back to bruce solving crimes as batman :)

FINAL SECTION: random assorted things that make me mad

right before the fight when Alfred can't get into the cave and Bruce, who planned this, lies about it being a malfunction he's fixing

alfred tries to ask if he's alright after "master richard's... the boy's passing". Quote Bruce "Dick was never a boy." (this would make me want to slap him in the best of circumstances but I just want him dead)

the beat early on where Bruce gets a good shot in and Dick is sitting, and he pauses to ask Bruce what's really going on, and Bruce kicks him in the face

genuinely just the number of panels in this that are Dick on the ground, Dick getting punched/kicked/hit, Dick slamming into some solid piece of the environment

Dick keeps questioning this idea and bringing up new points and then just outright asking how Bruce can do this to him. And literally never once does Bruce reply to any of it.

Literally the entire fight Bruce spends monologuing, completely ignoring everything Dick says, as if he's not talking at all.

The only thing that Bruce does respond to is how Dick is doing in the fight. He breaks his monologue to commend Dick on fighting well, but not even once gives the tiniest acknowledgement that Dick is also saying things.

Just the fact that Dick "wins" by dropping down to Bruce's level of violence.

when bruce says the "we fall so we can get back up" and Dick says, no, someone pushes us and we get up to push back, it's fucking sad. I think this is meant to be his victorious moment of turning the tides, but it's upsetting to me! That Dick "it's about catching people when they fall" Grayson has been pushed to reject all of that and is now only talking in terms of fighting!!! I don't like this quote I judge anyone who uses this as a great quote representative of dick grayson, sorry, it's not, it sucks

Dick cracks his head on a railing owie

as soon as Bruce gets properly decked and hits the ground, he calls the fight off :) Because this proves to him that Dick won't break in Spyral, of course, and confirms his stupid plan will work :) and definitely not because Bruce can dish it out but can't take it :)

unreal how much I hate him

And finally! Amidst all of that, amidst all the blood and violence, the single moment that made me most want to shove Bruce through a woodchipper!

"I know I'm hurting you. My family. I'm making that sacrifice. Because I don't give up. I don't give in."

shut the fuck up you fucking martyr hurting your family is not sacrificing shit

man, I really did start this post with story analysis and a genuine curiosity to find sense in chaos. My primary emotion was the fervor of solving a story like a puzzle. But now I am simply going to kill.

[000life-is-meaningless000]

Law's are Useless, we don't need Law and Order, We Need Dominance and Supremacy.

The world needs to know that morals are a mental illness, and Extremely Schizophrenic.

We also need to do is to unite, the world also needs a much less amount of people as well too many assholes too many sinners too many fucking heretics the abrahamic faith needs to be completely fucking destroyed and erased and a lot of pagans are assholes.

Satanism needs to fucking die out, the world needs a lot of good things but it can't have any of them because the weak and inferior rule this world they massively overpopulated, even if you had a massive mouse population eventually they would kill all the humans, and then they would die a starvation.

I care not if it's immoral, the world Need's to become a superior place to conquer other worlds and not give a fuck about what anybody thinks, the Creatur's of 🌎 should be superior and women should Devour the life of other worlds and care not for an army should come out of her womb.

Baby after baby as the women's stand 9 ft tall and Men stand six if not five.

We need a world of worth you know world of value but every time I come with good idea how to make things better or anybody else we are screamed down for being immoral and mentally ill by a society that is insane and weak.

Stupid people hate smart people, weak people hate strong people and crazy people hate Sane people.

your immoral and psychotic for wanting absolute power on supremacy of the universe, even though we make up less than an atomic fraction of the whole fucking Multiverse, you are an absolute monster for trying to conquer other worlds wipe out other race alien race in the universe and show off your Divinity is Greater than theirs.

🤨 - Oh ?! Ok, Buddy Retard !

Doesn't matter no one's ever going to listen to me no one ever does, if one is Reading this and wanted to know what supremacy who supremacy I vote for Female supremacy to be honest cuz women are much better than men.

But, Then again that's from the planet I came from Before I was Forced here ( 👽👽👽 ) even though the world was a matriarch and women would slaughter one another for men, and they Were extremely cannibalistic and dominant as fuck it was men that ruled the bedroom even though women would eat the men dominate The Man kill men for fun it did not matter there was so many people on the goddamn world so many insectoids it's only life forms everywhere that the women could slaughter all day everyday and commit Mass genocide and they wouldn't do a fraction of damage in the numbers of the world.

But, that is not here and now.

. . . . . . .

I'm very aware of where I am, I'm so trying to give the truth of the keys of success even though everyone's calling me every goddamn name of the damn book people can't shut the fuck up and people turn their fucking mouth to a minigun and let it rip right at me and fucking hate this world you can when I ever when I get my goddamn way the world actually comes a wonderful fucking place.

There's a Reason why Fairyland is Fairyland because insectoids only bred with the absolute strongest and best of their kind and they eliminated the weak if not just cannibalistically devour them that was the women not the men because the women were sacred and the women will worship the men but they still knew that was more sacred, sacred-er !

but the women will still deeply love the man and worship them to in a way.

we also would worship each other's, Ego.

. . .

we would empower one another but the women will all about domination and destruction and devouring all life if not just slaughtering everything in their path but they're Almighty feminate Wrath.

they truly were more violent than Mortal Kombat and I played a lot of Mortal Kombat my fucking life and other fighting games and they were ( the fairy women aka Insectoid ) So God damn violent they made Mortal Kombat look like it was fucking family friendly, and for kids.

🙁

I hate this world that I'm in and I'm on and I don't know if they ever get any better I'm sick and tired of the humans and they're in completely shit for brains, I'm tired of being shun and calling more on evil I'm tired of being called a psychopath and mentally ill I'm tired of all our intelligence Supremes Superior ways that got nothing but good things happen I'm tired of them all being hated by an inferior retarded dumbass race a species that's doomed to go extinct.

A species that's obsessed with their goddamn Light Side it won't even acknowledge their dark side so yet they're doomed to go extinct they will not love themselves entirely only part of themselves when you must love your dark side as much as you love your light side.

😡 - IDIOT'S ! ! ! ! !

But, oh no I'm a piece of shit ?

I'm a bad man !

I'm a real bad man ! ! !

oh God forgive me !

as aliens do the very goddamn thing throughout the universe that I suggested for a fucking supremacy for this world I'm not saying any race I'm not saying really any gender besides female because they need to be fucking Superior they are lacking in so many God damn fucking ways I think all the power and all the strength and all the money and all the resources is just go to the fucking women.

Boost them up and make them God damn Ultra Almighty.

😡 - I hate my fucking life, I just want to go home with things were right and intelligence with bread widely.

wear them with a heart or the morals didn't get in the way of the progress and the success or supremacy and domination weren't dirty words.

for being Almighty and dominant in the universe would understand to be a holy thing for a world that understood that they were a team against the universe and that there is no such thing as a friend out there 🌌

but sadly I live in a world where I can't find the other hybrids of my people 🧚🏻‍♀️/👽/🧚🏻‍♂️

and every time I bring it up people just thinks Schizo.

🙁/😠

i Don't Belong, Here -> 🌎 <- This is Not My Home !

[vipier]

sorry , i've got … i've got a lot of work to do .

WHERE MOMENTS BEFORE HE WAS ALL FIRE, IT TAKES ONLY THOSE FEW WORDS TO TURN TRISTAN TO STONE. somehow, he manages to avoid flinching in the face of cassian’s practiced apathy. nothing creeps beneath his skin worse than being treated like just anyone by the one person who knows him best of all — especially because it means @k4ssa knows there’s no better way to make him feel small. tris casts his gaze around the disorganized workshop, the captain’s haven in the bowels of yavin iv, and for a moment, he sees the hours upon hours he’s spent here with him flash before his eyes. nothing and nobody else ever would have brought him to this planet. he’d never developed a taste for any of this, for the martyrdom, for the fight against one tyrant that he’s sure will immediately create another. he stays for one reason, for one person, because he needs cassian … and cass needs at least someone who places his wellbeing over some intangible ideal.

a thankless goddamned job, clearly. exhibit a: this fucking conversation.

“ you always do these days, don’t you, ” tristan answers in little more than a hiss, a sneer. standing, he kicks the chair he had been sitting in back against the table with a loud clang. there has always been so much love between them, enough to nearly suffocate him, but that love has many dimensions, comes with baggage that has built and built over the years until tris swears he can feel his back physically strain with the weight of it all. “ fine. you want me gone, I’m gone. just do me a favor, cass, and don’t fucking apologize to me when you’re not actually sorry. I can read it all over your face, even with this bullshit ice queen act of yours. ”

it’s a dance they’re used to doing by now. cassian pushes him aside for his rebellion again and again, utterly obtuse and willfully ignorant to tristan’s motivations, even though there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to read them, brilliant as he is. tristan lashes out, grasping him violently close with one hand while pushing him away with the other, seeking to wound, seeking to punish at times, to force cassian to feel some fraction of his own agony, his own sense of worthlessness. it is as if to remind him, you may hold more power over me than I do over you, but don’t forget I can still hurt you back. he can’t successfully pretend at this point in his miserable life that he simply doesn’t care about his lover, that he could walk away permanently without tearing away a vital part of himself — but he certainly has a storied history of being willing to harm himself deeply for lesser reasons and he’s more than willing to allow that silent threat to linger, to make cass wonder if he might actually follow through one day, despite the damage it would do to him, too. it’s his only defense.

“ don’t call, ” he snaps as he strides toward the exit. please call, echoes in the back of his mind, almost in a whimper, all the more pathetic and humiliating, all the more reason to push himself out the door before he can embarrass himself further. “ I know when I’m not wanted. trust me. plenty of experience. I’m sure all your rebels will throw a goddamned party when they realize I’m gone. a win for everyone, it seems. enjoy your work, captain. ” he braces himself as he pushes through the far door, jaw set and brow furrowed, all coiled and furious energy, each step more determined than the last, despite the way each one tears at his chest.

if only he weren’t already silently willing cassian to call him back.

[resmarted]

starting to remember my real life again. every time I go through a breakup or some deeply traumatic period of my life (see: most awful year of my life out of many awful years) I slowly re-emerge out of my finsta back into my real account which usually makes me physically ill to look at and it takes me so long to take back my identity. but then when I do I am like ohhh yeah. I am v cool and it does not matter if there is a slew of people that believe rumors or facilitate them or whatever like who cares. there are some people that still think for themselves and even if there's not even if everyone is a robot built from the safety of their little covens and hive mind factories like literally who cares. I can still exist in a world that serves only as an illusion and be the realest motherfucker in it over and over and over again and that's also fine. sometimes people pleasantly surprise me and that often comes from the expectation of disappointment. mostly I am depressed by the crusade against sincerity or this idea that you can't be multidimensional because god forbid you make people uncomfortable. allah forbid you do anything in a way that is not the way it has always been done. as your resident queen of cringe I have to say I am very seasoned in people not getting it for a prolonged period of time and then getting it years and years after the fact. and I don't hold this against them. I know it's way more normal to want to be part of the pack and not adamantly insist on being the alien to the point of borderline neurotic self-protection. like I get that it is easier to seek acceptance through the vehicle of collective abuse against a chosen target or even just the cultivation of identity through the concept of otherness. like I am very well aware that this is the human experience and we are all out for ourselves and we seek out shelter through each other and the veil of protection that we think is our only source of comfort, and maybe it is. fuck if I know. as if I have ever even known comfort. I have no idea about anything, none of us do. not really. all we can do is keep it moving regardless of what has happened to us or who is responsible for it and just accept things for what they are, leave it all behind and so on. sometimes I re-enter the same snake pits that tried to kill me after healing from the venom just to let them look at the wounds up close and give them the chance to admire their own work. like what else is there to do? samsara is so boring. many days I am ready to tap out. it doesn't feel worth the exhaustion and the good times never seem to outweigh the bad. I want you to know that if I ever show up to anything at all it will always be the biggest deal ever because most days I prefer to recluse into a state of oblivion. I feel like I've been breaking my body to make this life work for so long with nothing to really show for it and I hate all my art and i am in a constant state of having to re-evaluate my life and who gets to be in it and what mark i will leave on this earth on my way out. it seems like it should have been more impactful by now. it seems like all the things I have survived up to this point should have earned me a purple heart or at least the right to exist freely without persecution. I harm no one I demand nothing I want for naught I am not without sin but goddamn it if I haven't tried my best in this awful little mess of a life. the attacks have been nothing short of gruesome and I am still pretty nice despite it all. I feel like people think I don't know what's going on and I let them because it's less embarrassing for the both of us that way. very weird to still be here.

[ina-nis]

Apparently, you're not supposed to fall in love and confess to your friends, huh? So how exactly are you supposed to do it? Using some dating app and going on dates with a stranger with the goal of knowing each other so you can start a romantic and/or sexual relationship?

I don't know about others but I cannot do romance without friendship first.

So that probably means all of my friendships are "doomed" right? Because I will fall in love with my friends, and I will confess to them and I will make things awkward and uncomfortable to them when I could've shoved my feelings up my ass to not ruin our beautiful friendship, right?

I was reading something earlier today that got me thinking and, of course, I got really defensive at first and also really worried and sad but... thinking about it more deeply and calmly, I can see it's a matter of emotional maturity and communication.

Many friendships won't survive a confession, that's true, but it doesn't mean the friendship would survive anyway.

Can you help who you fall in love with? Not really, but you can do many things to mitigate the issue, such as putting up a distance or walking away entirely. Whether a confession occurs or not, once the feelings are there and you're not able to "get rid of" them, you can confess, you can suffer in silence or you can leave. Regardless, that relationship will not be the same, if it survives at all.

I find it funny how people think a friend not confessing will save their friendship. It's very much excruciating to be in love with a friend and suffer in silence, I personally have walked away from many friendships, most of them, for that exact reason.

I really, really, really loathe the idea of dating a stranger with the goal of building a relationship with them... like you start going out with someone, and then become friends with them. It irks me out in so many ways and it's not, at all, something I'd like doing or feel comfortable doing.

Honestly, I don't care about making my friends "uncomfortable" with my love confessions because I'm a goddamn adult who happens to have communication skills and maturity to deal with these things without everything leading to complete destruction.

For some, friendships are these closed "contracts" that are never supposed to change, and you cannot add or removes clauses.

For others, like myself, friendships are foundational relationships. They're not set on stone and the "contract" can be changed to fit needs and other things.

I guess it's all a matter of being able to communicate properly.

And understanding that there's at least two sides to this. Even if it works for one of them, at some point things can change for the other, and that disruption cannot be always easily addressed.

For my own life, I take measures to keep myself from dealing with unnecessary drama and heartache. I can deal with rejections. I can deal with many things because I'm able to communicate how I feel and to inform, and enforce, my boundaries.

If confessing my feelings is enough to "destroy" a friendship, I will move the fuck on. I don't need or want to chase. The friendship is dead. Big deal. I can't really make my feelings disappear and I can't undo a confession, so I'm not suffering over it. That kind of thing happens. It's alright.

Now it might feel as if I don't value my friends as friends, right? Or as if I'm okay with simply walking away because it's impossible to have any kind of relationship now, right?

There's not really a separation between "friends" and "romantic partners" in my head. I want to date my best friend. I want to marry the friend I'm the closest and most vulnerable with. As a friend and a partner. I cannot have a "partner" without the "friend" piece.

So... I value my friends as friends while also desiring a romantic partnership, and I'm okay with walking away because people have their own personal reasons to not want to be friends with someone who is/was in love with them. It's none of my business, really. I'd rather spend my time and energy nurturing friendships that can handle these kinds of conflicts favorably (namely, talking things out and staying friends).

Besides, I'd not want to be (or remain) friends with people who see a love confession as a death sentence, as something bad, as a trap, or anything unpleasant, even if it comes from a place of trauma, etc. That's not my problem to sort out. Protect your own peace, and I'll protect mine.

[suckthatskittlebiiitch]

Get it RIGHT

Pairing: Steven Grant × black Reader (marc and jake make an appearance too!)

Warnings: just lots of cussing

A/N: this is an idea I had about how reader would react to Donna being an asshole to Steven and calling him "Stevie" also i was a little buzzed while typing this up just now so there might be a few run on sentences but honestly who gives a shit lol

"ok girl ill call you tomorrow i just pulled up to steven's job! bye love you!" you hung up with your best friend excited to show your man the new braids you got from your trusted stylist. every 3 months you switch it up and when you do hes always so amazed, sometimes he just stares in awe at how your hair could do so many things, styles, colors it was so cool to him.

After parking you pulled down the mirror to make sure ya makeup was still looking bomb as fuck, baby hairs still swooped to the gods and...ya titties looking damn good in the new shirt that was bought yesterday. thankfully steven didnt see the numerous bags in the back of the closet.

Every other day when your jobs had the same lunch break you and steven would have a lunch break date. Honestly it was the best part of each other's day.

Walking inside you walked straight to the gift shop, waving slightly at the security guard who did a double take at your appearance. "Nope still with steven grant buddy! sorry not sorry!" The man waved back but grumbled something behind the newspaper he was reading and covered his face with it.

Rounding the corner your smile faded slightly as she was standing in front of steven. His boss donna was pointing at him. Being a little ways away you couldnt hear the conversation but moving closer her words started becoming clear.

"i'm telling you all this shit is still unorganized and uncounted for! looks like you'll be on inventory again tonight i dont care if it takes you all night!" "Donna im doing my best but shipment has been coming-" she put a hand up.

"oh no the fuck she didnt shush my baby" you mumbled to yourself

Doing so made steven stop talking immediately and frown deeply.

"i dont care when shipment comes..you get it done! you're so bloody useless Stevie!" Hearing her degrading and calling him by the wrong name set you OFF. Before realizing it you stomped over to where they were, eyes seeing red, curses spewing under your breath. Out the corner of his eye he sees you coming, a first he was relieved then he saw the look on your face which let him know all hell was about to break loose.

"oooh shit ive never seen her that pissed before..." Marc from the reflection of the glass.

"That's the sexiest fucking thing ive ever seen LET HER HAVE IT MI AMOR RIP HER APART!" jake smiled

"oh dear" steven sighed heavily. Donna looked confused but that expression worn off when she noticed you coming over to where they were; it soon turned into fear. "i-uh ill be in my meeting-" you stopped in front of them with a big smile on your face "donna let me tell you this one time and one time only" Steven looked nervous as fuck " love its okay donna was just leaving for a meeting and my break is in 5 so lets just-" you cut him off by grabbing his shirt and planting the deepest, tongue fighting kiss then pushed him back slightly.

steven gained control of his balance, licked his lips and just nodded his head. "Donna let me tell you something..in the nicest way i can. his name is steven, steven grant. says it right there on his name tag and fucking birth certificate. Stop calling him Stevie, stephen, stanely anything with S.T in it that aint fuckin steVEN. That is MY man im tired of him coming home looking damn near doorknob dead because your overworking him .Sometimes he's to tired to even fuck me and that's a goddamn problem." Steven started to turn red but he wasn't embarrassed in the slight.

Donna stood there like a fish out of water; mouth just opening and closing dumbfounded. She looked around making sure customers couldn't hear what's going on but you honestly couldn't give a shit. "well..i mean sometimes he just needs to catch up-"

"Catch up bitch all my man does is catch up! but your lazy ass think just because your the manager ya can do whatever you want but let me get you straight on this donna. Let me find out you've insulted him, degraded or humiliate him in any possible way and bitch i will stuff you in pharaoh's tomb myself. do we have an understanding??" You glared at her with eyes that said dont fucking try me.

She nodded her head, fixed her shirt and cleared her throat "mhm i-i understand..i uh..i apologize steven please take an extra hour lunch on me" She nodded again, turned and quickly turned on her heels to her office.

"Oh my god LOVE!" he laughed "that was amazing i never knew you could get that vulgar or angry!" You just giggled sweetly. "i told you baby nobody can disrespect you in front of me..ever." He leaned over kissing you deeply. "ok ill go clock out then we can go to lunch!"

"Okay baby after we eat seeing as you have an extra hour how about you show me the back room?" steven looked at you confused, you've seen the backroom maybe twice now before. "oh okay but what for?" you smiled walking over to him, grabbed the back of his head and licked the side of his face slowly then bit his earlobe.

"So you can tell me a story while deep in this pussy love.." you whispered in his ear

"Oh my god please give me the body steven" marc whined

"AYE No give ME the body!!" jake countered

Steven shuddered at your naughty moves and ignored his alters, he suddenly didn't want to eat the lunch he brought in today but something else vegan friendly.

[blackgirlsuperherorants]

Stuckys, we need to talk. Like, seriously.

I understand you're upset that Stucky is not canon in the MCU, but you have got to stop yourselves from using that fact to shit all over Black characters just because of their newfound proximity to Bucky Barnes. Seriously. No, seriously. I'm going to call a bunch of you out, now, but I hope you listen and take heed.

1) This isn't about queer representation for you. It's about Chris and Sebastian being hot white men and you wanting to see them make out on screen. And that's literally fine, who doesn't want to see that? But you need to start admitting that's what it is. Because if it wasn't about that, and it was really about queer representation, so many of you wouldn't be calling Sam Wilson "sloppy seconds", and y'all wouldn't treat both Sam and Anthony like an afterthought. Even with a lot of y'all becoming Sambucky shippers, you're doing it under the guise of Sam being some sort of consolation prize because Bucky can't have Steve. Sam has no agency, and also is treated like he isn't as good. Literally, I saw a TikTok with some girl pretending to be Bucky and Sam, and having Bucky literally tell Sam he's sloppy seconds because he can't have Steve. Literally yikes, guys.

Also, it's always girl fans who do this. I'm not saying there aren't any, but I never see gay men who are MCU fans shipping in this toxic way. And I definitely have seen gay men ship Stucky, but I swear to God there seems to be a clear difference in the way they ship vs the white girls who clearly just want to watch Chris and Sebastian make out. Literally every toxic Stucky I've ever seen who does stuff like this is a white girl. I'm not going to say no gay men are toxic fans, because there probably are some, but the amount of fans I see shitting on Sam who are white girls far outweighs any toxic Stucky gay man. Like I always say on here, Stucky is an obvious ship and I understand why people ship it, but it never had to be canon and treating it like it's the end all be all, and especially shitting on other ships like Sambucky, is really weird and, again, makes it obvious that it's not really about queer representation for you.

2) Bucky is allowed to flirt with Sarah Wilson. The same girl I saw saying Sam was "sloppy seconds" also said Bucky was only flirting with Sarah because she's an "extension of Sam", and because Kevin Feige won't let Sambucky happen so Sarah is the stand in. How insulting and sexist to insinuate that a woman is simply an extension of her male family member. No matter how you meant it, that's a really sexist notion. I've seen people make funnier jokes, like Bucky can't decide which Wilson sibling he likes, or he's going to become a Wilson one way or another. Neither of those jokes takes autonomy and humanity away from Sarah. ALSO, Sarah is a dark skinned Black woman being portrayed as desirable to the white boy fave on a major TV show that is part of the biggest film franchise in the world. I'm not sure if y'all know how much colorism effects Black women, especially dark skinned Black women. Hollywood almost never casts dark skinned Black women as desirable love interests. Especially one that isn't super modelesque with basically European features and bone straight hair. This is a positive thing for representation of dark skinned Black women, and I KNOW you've seen how happy Black girls were just seeing that 2 second interaction. How dare you reduce it to being there because Marvel stole your Stucky, and especially not because she's simply "an extension of Sam." At this point, there's no clear indication that Sarah and Bucky will literally happen, but goddamn, you can't let Black girls be a love interest for just one second? Even if you like "queer Bucky", bisexual men exist, damn. Sticking Bucky with Sharon for no reason, like they did with Steve, would have been weird and bad and you would have been more valid for questioning Marvel's motives for doing it, but letting Bucky be himself and flirt with a cute girl on a boat for 2 seconds isn't a bad thing. And if Sarah does actually become his girlfriend, it's an absolute win, and you need to let Black girls have this.

Like, I get Stucky, and I also understand wishing Marvel would just finally let any main character be actually queer. I seriously understand. But can you complain about that without shitting on the Black characters and the fans who are happy about them, right now?

I never was a fan of Stucky, because I don't think you have to have romantic feelings for someone to care about them that deeply, so I don't understand the Stucky shipper assertion that Marvel somehow stole something owed to them... but I also do understand why you ship it, and it's honestly not a bad ship. You guys just take it too far and make things uncomfortable for everyone else. And, as I've been saying for years, sometimes you make it lowkey racist. People have been shipping Stevesam since CA:TWS and you guys have downplayed it the entire time, and even used Sam as Steve's stand-in for Bucky in your fics and all of that. I remember reading fics tagged Stevesam where Steve would be having sex with Sam and then reminiscing about how it was with Bucky and wishing he were still with him, and y'all literally never saw how gross that was. Using Sam like a consolation prize. Now Steve is gone and you're still treating him like that.

And Sam and Bucky have never once treated each other like a stand-in for Steve. They treat each other like individuals with autonomy, and they even care for each other on the level that the other person needs it. It's actually really fucking good, the canon version of their relationship that's unfolded with the show. If y'all could let go of Steve for a second, literally, you would see how great Sambucky's dynamic is and that neither of them would ever see the other as "sloppy seconds" or some kind of consolation prize. It's gross.

Also, I hope Sarah gets that super soldier dick just to piss y'all off.

I'm done.

[huntershowl]

SATORU'S WORDS TERRIFY HER. each admission feels like a punch to the gut, a bullet loaded into a gun.

i am worried about you, you idiot. the fact that he has been tracking them and the unseen for all this time, ten years too late. that he has no idea what happened to make her this way because he was too far to hear their cries. but then, it wasn't satoru's fault. how was he supposed to know? persephone was across the sea, under a new name, hidden behind veils and white dresses and a smile.

she remembers sitting at the vanity table, snipping her hair to her chin with those little bird-shaped scissors and thinking of how far she had fallen. how terrible and helpless and weak she had become. after all that goddamn training, training by satoru fucking gojo. so much raw power she could destroy a building if she wanted to, and she couldn't manage to win a single fight against adeo. she hadn't expected how goddamn fast he would be, how strong, and how ineffective her technique would be against someone completely outside of the jujutsu world. that was a lesson learned the hard way: never underestimate someone who grew up in the dog-eat-dog criminal underworld. no matter how kind he seemed to have become after leaving it.

that day under the sakura tree and so many times after, satoru had promised seph that he was her ally. he'd told her that if she needed help, he would be there. but he was a world away, and she was locked behind bars, and maybe, maybe, they could have asked someone to borrow their phone at a gala while their fiancée was in the bathroom, but they told themself the risk was too high. the truth was that they didn't want satoru to see them like this. even after everything, they worried that a trip to the united states would take too much time out of his chaotic, warlike life. they worried that they would lose his respect, if they'd ever really had it to begin with. they worried that adeo would ruin his life before he could get close enough.

and yet, though she held back, she never stopped thinking of him. satoru was an anchor during the worst of times, a reminder that the world outside existed, that people outside had once given a shit about her.

she'd never gotten a chance to kick satoru's ass at mario kart.

there were so many things she'd never gotten a chance to do. they'd had such ambitious plans to show him all of the human experiences he missed out on by being who he was. taking him out on their bike with infinity down, feeling the wind whipping his face and the thrill of flying through winding countryside streets — that was her favorite idea, the one she was so goddamn excited about.

but most of all, cruelest of all: if they died here, or gave into the constant, looming threat of an unending future in this life, satoru would be alone. persephone owed him too much to allow that to happen. even if she never called out for him like she did in the rare dream that ended well, he has no idea how much he's helped her.

i'm afraid of losing you.

it's this that nearly tips them over the edge. something bright and pained flashes across their eyes and their throat chokes up, threatening to spill tears she hasn't shed since she was nineteen and holding the body of her first love in her arms. it echoes through their mind even as they sit up next to him, hold his jaw in their gentle palm. even as satoru finally, finally breaks, as he crumples in her lap and his body is wracked with sobs.

persephone does not cry. she cannot cry, refuses to, not now after all these years. mechanical fingers leaf through satoru's snowy hair, the other hand running up and down his arm with a firmer, but still gentle, touch. there is something so strange about this body — these hands that have spilled so much blood, split flesh and snapped bone — being used to comfort someone rather than harm them. it's... nice, to be a refuge for someone she cares so deeply for. sure, persephone's power will never compare to his, and protecting him from physical harm simply isn't possible for someone at her level. but this they can do. they can wrap around him and provide a safe place to rest.

and maybe, just maybe, they can let down their guard and curl into him when the world threatens to tear them apart, too.

there are no words that will take satoru's pain away. they know this. ❝ it's okay, blue, ❞ they murmur, voice low and even and unspeakably soft. ❝ i'm here — i'm not going anywhere. ❞ and they mean it, they realize with a start. they're not going anywhere. even if they have to fight the exhausted and self-destructive parts of them to do it, they're going to have to survive past all of this, past the day they finally drive a knife into adeo's heart. she swallows; her hand tightens on his shoulder, just a bit. ❝ and — for what it's worth. i'm afraid of losing you, too. i'm afraid of you trying to carry too much alone. so stop it, you dork. i'm not — leaving you again. promise. ❞

HAND COMES DOWN ON HIS KNEE and he lets out a shuddering breath, a slow, shaky feeling starting to thrum up inside of him. he had thought that he had buried this down  ––  that he had finally locked it away in the depth of his mind that he wouldn't open again. a suguru shaped box that held so much pain, so much hatred, so much anger toward every single upper at jujutsu tech that had never once looked at suguru and thought to help. that looked down at young students and thought them expendable. he's held it in, let it simmer, let it fester  ––  he is no longer as reckless as he was as a teenager, who would burst out without so much of a thought, cocky and sure of what he could do and what would happen if he did it. but now, now he is more calculated, quiet, biding his time  ––  he will take them out one by one some day, but today isn't the day. that pain and anger has to be locked away again, back into its box, because he cannot afford to falter. 

he has been on the edge for so long now. he has walked that tightrope between pain and anger for so long that prada boots have slipped on it, over and over again. but he's fallen every time, landed in a net, and gotten back up. there is only one way to find some sort of solace through all of this, and that will come only with time. time until he can destroy every single one of those bastards for ever thinking of any of them as expendable. none of the sorcerers are expendable. they are failed. failed by the people who are meant to protect them  ––  they had known that so long ago, when they had been willing to take down tengen if it meant that amanai got to walk free. 

maybe persephone had been another obsession to fill the void  ––  he had been dispatched to the first few scenes, reading the heavy cursed energy that coated everything until it was thick on his tongue. he had given them a half assed report  ––  probably some new sorcerer testing out their technique, untrained. it happens; that's how yuta had come to them, anyway. but he had his own list that he had kept, one that screamed of the things that he had seen in training  ––  and more importantly, one that had smelled of persephone's cursed energy that he had known for so long now. no one had bothered paying her much attention when they were younger, but he had taken her under his wing, had demanded to train her and help them find that careful balance that kept tipping over constantly. there had been some casualties to the gardens at the gojo mansion that's still healing even now, but he knew their cursed energy just like he knew suguru's. 

persephone had still been out there and their outbursts were getting more deadly, more powerful. he had seen that tonight, the way that her body had nearly given out after such a thing  ––  the training had helped slightly but not enough. they're more powerful than ever before and he wants to know why. he wants to know what the tower is planning, why he's moving chess pieces into place. whey they're suddenly all across a board when they have no right being there.

❝ i am worried about you, you idiot. i've been worried for years, trailing and tracking you and that damn organization. whatever happens to you matters to me. ❞   there's a fierceness that flares in blue eyes, that blazes as hard as infinity does when it's normally around him. as much as he had been aloof when they were younger, he had reached out to them for a reason. even finding them today, without the damn school even sending him out on a mission, he had been there for a reason. maybe he had watched too many good people die as of late, has watched them walk away even when he wished they would stay, but stilled his tongue. maybe he's tired of watching it happen, and if he can reach out and secure himself around them, then he can do his damn duty in protecting someone who still matters.

❝ i care about you, persephone. i care what happens to you. i care about what kind of pain you're in, in and outside of what your cursed technique can do. i get why you're trying to protect me. i'm not afraid of them. i'm  –– ❞    for a moment, satoru stays his tongue again, afraid of scaring them off. afraid of saying something that will make them run because he knows all too well the same tightrope that persephone walks with the organization that punishes and punishes hard. but he's so tired  ––  his mind is going too fast for him to keep up and the words are out of his mouth before he has another chance to doubt them, swallow them down as if they could mean nothing.  ❝ i'm afraid of losing you. ❞

six eyes track as she sits next to him, an openness in them that he hadn't expected. he's vulnerable, nerves and heart exposed. he keeps it locked away in that box next to his pain from suguru most days. he puts on the facade that he needs to for his students, because they will always come first, no matter what he thinks and where he steps. but in this moment he feels like every touch rubs those nerves even more raw. 

their hand comes to his cheek, pulls him so he can't look away. it happens before he knows it, the sliding of the first tear from his eyes, curving his cheek and landing in her palm. eyebrows furrow for a moment as he glances to the dampness on their palm, and then the floodgates open before he can even prepare for it. 

he hadn't cried when suguru died. he didn't have a chance to. he had to meet his students, had to make sure everyone was in one piece. he hadn't cried later one, either. he had been numb, shock and guilt trailing through his body in tandem, breaking him into the pieces that reformed and came back as a carefree, happy teacher in front of his students and someone quiet, forlorn when he no longer had to don it. sometimes he wonders if the bandages and blindfold had been another part of his seclusion  ––  no one can read his emotions if he can hide them away. 

satoru slides down the couch and curls into her lap as the sounds slide from his lips, sobs wracking his body  ––  head cushions in their thighs as he breathes shakily and finally, finally lets go of the pain that he's held onto for ten years, from the moment that suguru left him there. from the time that persephone disappeared. from the time when he had to kill suguru and held his lifeless body. from every single damn time he's had to pretend.

and at the same time, he keeps his hand anchored on their knee, mirroring the fashion that she had for him. he holds on too  ––  it's okay for both of them. no one is watching; they don't have to be weapons anymore. they can weep.