#but it's depressing. it sucks that people see people whose lives are already so fucking hard

[coquelicoq]

the major practical/pragmatic issue with my framing here is like. what if they do start to bother somebody? it's quite possible, as they are people, and sometimes people are noisy or do things that could be construed as disruptive in some way (slash some housed people are ready to be disrupted by the most mundane things possible as long as it's a houseless person doing them). especially if you don't have anywhere private you can go when you need to do something noisy. my whole argument for why my neighbor should consider not harassing these folks collapses as soon as she can justify to herself that they are bothering her. but they shouldn't be harassed regardless. there have been people living on this street before who have been noisy and at times even violent and they didn't deserve to be harassed or swept either. people are allowed to exist.

context: i just got home and there was a trailer parked right in front of my building that wasn't there when i left about an hour ago. it's not blocking anything. it's probably being lived out of. i opened the door to the building just as my neighbor was opening the door from her unit to the entryway.

her (clearly joking): that's your trailer, isn't it? me (innocently): what trailer? her: oh, you didn't notice? [she opens the building door. the trailer is visible from the door and is probably 15 feet away] i'm taking a picture. me (still innocently): oh, what for? her: [pauses] me: is it hurting anything? her: uh, my serenity? me (as though it's not rhetorical): i mean, where are they supposed to go? her: well, i don't know… me: if they're not hurting anything…i don't know. her (somewhat abashed): well, now you're making me feel like a shitty person… [closes the door] me: you're not a shitty person. i just don't know where they're supposed to go. her: yeah. me: they don't bother me, i don't bother them. you know? her: i'm a compassionate person. i just don't like it to be right in my face. me: it's hard. i think it's harder to be them, though. her: oh yeah. it does make me appreciate my life more. me: totally.

i had to pretend to be a lot more sympathetic with her than i actually am, and kind of implied other things i don't believe (e.g., that homeless people only have the right to exist in public insofar as they aren't bothering anyone), and it left a bad taste in my mouth. but ultimately, she didn't take the picture.

[fucklifehurts]

Today has been hard. Maybe it's because we've worked a 12 hour day and were surrounded by people until 9pm, maybe its because we ate like shit all day and had no water, maybe its because we miss being able to disassociate and break away from the world.

I'm so fucking tired, and living is hard. Especially with how much absolute bullshit is on my feed. Palestine, Sudan, Congo and those are just the ones I know of. Women having to try to argue our side of the man vs bear bullshit and seeing all of the grotesque things that have happened to women at the hands of awful animals (not the bears). Children being preyed upon, the economy crashing, the fact that we'll literally have to choose between a bag of dicks whose definitely a criminal and an old man with dementia who supports the genocide of a people. Protect 2025 which is going to turn the whole country upside down and roe v wade being overturned, basically turning women into second hand citizens again.

And yet, no bad things have truly happened to me specifically and I'm the one who's exhausted, and the guilt I feel for being so depressed and wanting to be anywhere but here (mainly 6 feet under) when I have a life most people would be jealous of. I have people who love me, and I have to remind myself of that every day in order to keep going, and I'm tired. I want to sleep and never wake up but I know if I don't I'm letting themm down, they are all cheering for me and I feel like I'm throwing it right back in their faces. Like I'm ungrateful of their love. And they just helped me get out of a truly awful place, and I want to go back. I miss the darkness, I miss drowning in dake realities and dissasociating so hard I lose track of hours. I miss smoking till I'm numb and I miss him. And he's the worst thing for me, and here I am crying because I can't let go of someone who treated me worse than dirt.

It hurt even writing that he treated me shitty because of the lovebombing afterward. I hate having to push myself down memory lane to remind myself of the abuse. I hate missing him, wishing I could speak with him . And I hate crying to my therapist, family, and friends over someone they can't stand, so I keep it in. I doom scroll to try to forget but get sucked right back into the shit. Everywhere I look, there's suffering, and no one who already has the power to make a difference seems to care. And here I am crying over a man?! A man who abused me, who brainwashed me, who rewrote my whole existence so I could be the perfect little partner. I'm tired of myself most of all but with so many other things, too.

Fuck I'm so exhausted but I have to keep going. I need to keep going, and it sucks. Hopefully, one day, we'll look back, and this will be a merry to laugh at, at how dramatic I was. Or a memory to smile at and be proud of how far I've come, but right now, I just want to cry and scream. And we're going to feel ok about it.

[makeste]

BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

um

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[whumpster-fire]

Something I haven’t really seen talked about in the His Dark Materials fandom (for all the like 2-1/2 weeks I’ve been here) but I think would definitely be a thing is Pre-Settling Anxiety.

Like, that story that sailor tells Lyra about the guy whose daemon settled as a dolphin and was never able to go ashore at all, and how he just more or less goes “Well if your daemon settles in a form you don’t like that sucks, but that’s life deal with it?” Lyra and Pan didn’t pay it that much mind because (a) they’re pretty darn resilient kids, and (b) they had a lot more immediate things occupying their minds.

But seriously... imagining pre-teen me, growing up in a world with daemons, Jesus Christ hearing shit like that would have traumatized me, and any living manifestation of my fucking soul would have been traumatized by that too, and I doubt I’d have been anywhere near the only one.

Because... I mean I’m still like this now but I’ve gotten better about it as an adult: when I was a kid I was not someone who just accepted that things were the way they were, I was someone who hyperfixated and worried. And not just about big stuff like climate change and politics and smaller but still out of my control shit like health issues and bad things happening to my family. I was scared of growing up, and not just in the sense of not wanting to have adult responsibilities and all that.

I remember, not so much when I was actually going through puberty (by then I was just depressed), but I remember in the years before, when I was being told that I would be changing soon, and of course not in a way that acknowledged that asexuality wasn’t just something you grew out of, and being exposed to the American media landscape of, like, old “teen” movies and other that portrayed puberty and adult sexuality in a really twisted, hypersexualized way that I don’t think was even accurate for the vast majority of allosexual people, I was afraid and repulsed. And not even in a Mrs. Coulter way: I was afraid on a deep, existential level that growing up would destroy the person who I was and I would become someone I didn’t like, someone I wasn’t comfortable with.

And growing up with a daemon would have made that so much worse, because then it wouldn’t have just been a fear of losing my identity and being unhappy with who I was, it would have been a fear of being unhappy with the one being I wasn’t unhappy with half the time, the one being who actually truly understood me and that I could always trust, and it’s not that humans and their daemons can’t argue or fight or be angry at each other - and God knows we probably would - but I think we’d have been the pair who had screaming matches and threaten each other’s lives knowing damn well what that meant, but could never stay angry at each other because the idea of losing that bond, of having it damaged, would be too terrifying.

So the idea of my daemon settling as a form that damaged that bond, that pushed us apart or limited us, would be such a huge source of anxiety. And that fear of becoming something I didn’t like, of not knowing and not being able to choose and not being able to control my self, is such a deep-seated part of me that I don’t believe for a second that my daemon wouldn’t be the same way.

We wouldn’t be like Jerry the sailor and Belisaria, who loved being a porpoise while her human worried about her settling that way, or like Lyra and Pantalaimon who kind of brushed it off and didn’t think about it. A being that was my soul given form would have to be just as much of a bag of nerves and insecurities as I was, and might never take a form like that again after hearing the dolphin story because we have the kind of personality that couldn’t not think about all the implications of being settled in a form, and what that meant losing. We’d be the sort to read an article or see a documentary about a daemon settling as a form that completely limited their lives, and the fear of changing and not being able to change back, of getting stuck like that, would always be at the back of both our minds. Because it doesn’t seem like daemons truly understand it either, and that would be scary.

And as we got older it would just get worse, because we’d be close and it could happen at any moment so taking a form she wouldn’t be okay with spending the rest of her life as, and that I wouldn’t be okay with her spending the rest of her life as, would be so risky. We’d be up until 2 AM making charts on spiral notebook paper and reading about animals on Wikipedia to try and feel some kind of control over it, and she’d just keep taking fewer and fewer forms.

Nothing aquatic because water is fun but being bound to it is obviously bad. No invertebrates because they’re so cool and different but they can’t feel things in quite the same way. No cold-blooded animals because what if she could never change into something with fur or feathers on a cold day again? Nothing too small that would have to be carried all the time in public, but definitely nothing too big to be carried at all because the fear of someone touching her by accident, kicking her or stepping on her or running into her in a crowd or being trapped and forced away from each other by a wall of oblivious human flesh. How could a wolf or a mountain lion daemon ever feel safe in a city? But nothing too small to defend itself from large daemons because other people are dangerous and anyone could be a threat. But no large birds that need to perch and their humans have to wear arm bracers or shoulder pads so they don’t hurt them and can’t just sit on their laps, and then no birds at all because being able to fly makes having to stay close together feel limiting since the tops of buildings are still out of reach and what’s the point of flying if you can’t go high?

And because of that fear of settling in the wrong form, the number of forms that were okay, that were safe to take, would just keep getting smaller and smaller, until one day we’d notice that she hadn’t changed for weeks, and we’d just be like...

Oh.

It’s already happened.

And then it’d probably be such a fucking relief just knowing it was okay and it couldn’t go wrong anymore. Occasional nightmares about just turning into an animal neither of us even liked completely against her will that wouldn’t stop until like halfway through college aside.

So yeah, I hope this is relatable to somebody out here in this community because seriously I think the uncertainty around settling would be a major source of anxiety for a lot of kids and a lot of daemons.

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

They are so freaking domestic and married and functional the whole time I can’t!!! They bicker and banter with ease of two people who feel secure and confident around each other and know each other’s boundaries and limits and don’t need to worry about offending the other person or the conversation turning antagonistic which allows them this sort of brutal honesty, at times, and frank criticism.

Issei gets the edamame shell husband treatment and he literally can’t believe it Hayame did that to him right in front of his salad when it already helped to ruin her previous relationship. It seems Hayame didn’t understand his lesson about the difference between the edamame shell and skin, well, she was in the middle of confronting her cheating ex so I suppose she was otherwise engaged.

Though, poor Issei doesn’t know the depth of Hayame’s culinary disability until he discovers her special lemon and cereal gyoza! HA! I admire that he doubles down on his criticism and even if he tries to back pedal, he simply can’t make himself lie to her even to please her when it’s so awful.

Unlike her ex-husband, he doesn’t put on a fake smile and swallows it so he wouldn’t hurt Hayame’s feelings but actually tells her it sucks bigly, showing that not only won’t he ever lie to her or keep secrets from her, he won’t feed her white lies to avoid conflict either. You almost never see portrayed in Asian dramas how these little mundane details can lead to a complete failure of a relationship once they pile up. Quite the opposite, they often depict swallowing food that makes you puke as something romantic and a proof of love without giving any thought to the fact whether the person can manage that for the rest of their life, considering it’s suggested most of the OTPs live happily ever after. The issue shows that Hayame and Issei are already more than one step further regarding the growth and functionality of their relationship than she ever came with Masahiro, illustrating their suitability. It’s not about a relationship being conflict-free, it’s about confronting the problems, argue about them even though it’s exhausting and uncomfortable and solve them through communication and misucommunication, not about hushing the issues up and staying silent about them in order to avoid arguments.

The drama might be called Promise Cinderella but it has been turning the Cinderella stereotypes on their head since episode 1. One of them is Hayame not fitting the bill of a girl who is amazing at cooking, sewing, reading, embroidering, polite conversation, dancing and generally being more princess-like than all the princesses and noblewomen, even though her mother died in her childhood and she couldn’t have taught her all those things, neither could her father, nor the mice or the other animals she spent all her whole time with. Let’s face it, Cinderella has always been the fairytale counterpart of Richardson’s Pamela and Hayame - divorced, almost thirty, penniless and jobless - is the modern real-life version of an orphaned abused virgin fallen on hard times. 

On the other hand, while Hayame might share Cinderella’s origin story of her mother dying at an early age, this sad event tragically affects her whole life in a much more realistic and darker way. Her father falls into a depression and becomes neglectful and she has to grow up overnight, having to learn everything by herself as she is left with no one to teach her, guide her and defend her so she ends up turning into a fiercely independent tomboy who is a self-taught cook and, as such, her cooking, well, sucks. She is literally the farthest thing from a Mary Sue ever. 

Then, Issei may be a modern version of a prince but while young, he has been taught since an early age and has a very unconventional unique upbringing in a modern world - he is the one who excels at cooking (because he had someone who actually taught him), can tie kimonos, knows the proper etiquette, can arrange flowers and knows their language and meaning. 

You would expect all those things from a woman, not a man; however, he is not only educated and good at them, he has a natural talent for them. In this way, the drama re-invents the Cinderella story, gives it a new original meaning and a breath of fresh air. 

Thus, you can see all these details in which Hayame’s relationship with Issei differs from her marriage - they are left to live together alone in what is basically a simulated marriage, but she doesn’t end up in the traditional role of a woman and housewife whose purpose is to provide dinner/food for her husband who comes back from work. She used to work back then, too, even if only part time. Now, it’s her who works full-time while Issei works part-time but despite it they share the cooking and he, fittingly, ends up being the better cook, completely changing up the dynamic of the traditional roles both in the original fairytale and male/female relationships in general.

Except for a brief denial stage caused by his confused feelings, Issei has always been honest with Hayame, sometimes brutally so, be it regarding the major issues or mundane everyday things like her cooking skills. 

He treats her the way she wants her to treat him, and, as a result, he rightfully expects the same honesty and consideration in return from her. He doesn’t want any lies or secrets between them, he wants a conversation not a deafening silence, regardless whether they are lovers or friends. 

He wants honesty and equality and instead, Hayame is trying to dismiss him as a child again in an attempt to avoid the problem because it’s uncomfortable and she doesn’t want to have a messy argument or worry him. She should have known by now that that’s exactly the attitude which led to the failure of her marriage. Not that they are an excuse or justification for cheating, but Masahiro raised some good points about the things he disliked about her and it’s time Hayame learns from her past mistakes.

Marriage/romantic relationship is not a one-person show, the point of it being you are not alone to deal with your problems, some burdens should be shared and if not, the other person feels left out because their partner keeps secrets from them which then leaves many opportunities for misunderstandings and creates a rift that keeps growing between the couple. Hayame’s greatest strengths - her self-reliance and independence - which allowed her to survive on her own so far become her greatest weaknesses and drag her down now. 

Issei immediately realizes Hayame has been putting a mask around him, trying to make herself look cheerful and happy, he can see through it right away as she can never fool him because he knows her so well and, frankly, she couldn’t pretend even if her life depended on it just like him. She fails to notice that this sort of consideration and selflessness are a double-edged sword. 

It’s both apt and ironic she tries to dismiss him as a child because her stubborness, discomfort and avoidance maker HER appear like a child and Issei the one 10 years older with his patience, calm and and persistence on discussing and solving the whole issue. This time it’s him who calls her out on her bullshit and childishness.

Issei notices everything about Hayame, including her mood swings which also refer to the mixed signals she’s been sending him, and how could he not when he always watches her so searchingly as if he were trying to look inside her soul, trying to spot every quiver of her lashes and nervous press of her lips. 

Thus, he can sense and predict what she plans to do because he can read her like an open book after watching her so closely for so long but also because he’s been there where Hayame is right now - he had been running away for the past 10 years before he met her and she saved him by making him realize he had been fucking up his life that way, therfore he gets angry seeing her repeating his mistakes. 

Moreover, he is scared shitless he may one day wake up and end up like Seigo, abandoned by her, not even left with a direction where to look at her, because she thinks she is not good enough and fears she might drag him down and mess up his life.

Despite it all, Issei doesn’t think about himself first, he thinks about Hayame and what it is she truly wants. She feels so lost and conflicted, fretting and completely panicking and he pretty much tells her ‘fuck the world and other people! You are the only person who matters! Think about yourself first and do what you truly wish to do even if it makes them hate you.’ And from the hopeful way she looks at him, it’s exactly what she needs to hear and wants to truly do but lacks the courage to go through with it just yet. 

Finally, THIS SHOT on the sofa! It pretty much says ‘married, in the middle of marital crisis and before a huge life-changing conversation’!

[lassieposting]

Hi i havent read the books post-resurrection so im kinda lost on why you dont like phase 2 val? She was easily one of my favourite characters ever, she was flawed (and the books took time to acknowledge them) and relatable and still really admirable (intelligent, brave, loyal) and i really liked her and really appreciated that she wasn’t perfect unlike every other young adult heroines. What went wrong😢😢😢😢

Okay I'm gonna put this under a cut because I very strongly dislike phase 2 val and I know it bugs people who don't feel the same, so. Dead dove dont eat

Okay so first off, phase 1 val and phase 2 val are completely different people. literally. phase 1 val was based on an ex-friend of lardo's who used to apparently be involved pretty heavily in like, editing the books and "she'd react like this" or "val wouldn't say that", and that val she was one of my favourite fictional characters from when book one came out to the release of resurrection. phase 2 val is based on his whiny little girlfriend who likes to start shit with 14yos on twitter, and you can absolutely tell she is no longer the same person. so the long story short of "what went wrong" is "the original irl val's friendship with dirty laundry ended for whatever reason and he decided to retcon her entire personality to suit his gf"

Phase 2 Val, in my opinion:

Weak, like won't even fight back when she gets jumped bc boo fucking hoo she's so awful, bitch get up already, nobody signed up for ur pity party

Whiny. So fucking whiny. All the time. And she's the POV character so it's inescapable.

"Pacifist" but in a really pathetic virtue-signalling kind of way like "Oh, I've done such terrible thiiiiiiiiiiings I'm so awfulllllllllllll look how good I'm trying to be nowwwwwwww pay attention to meeeeeeee" kind of way, it was both boring and a massive eye roll. It's a book about magic and asskicking. Kick some ass. We're here for escapism not "realistic" whining. Yes, irl she'd be a mess. As an author it's his job to strike a balance between the "realism" he wants to portray and making his readers so depressed and done with his heroine that they quit reading, and in my case, he absolutely failed.

Everything must be about her at all times. Skug is having personal problems? Fuck him, they're about her now. Everything is about how it affects her, and her feelings, and be damned to the person actually having the problem. Fucks phase 2 val cain gives about anyone except herself: 0

Bitter and jaded. Which yeah I get why but it's like jesus christ what do we get out of reading about this? It's not even good bitter and jaded where it makes you empathise or admire her strength in adversity or whatever, she's just become a really nasty person with no redeeming features that I could see. Which? Landy outright said she's based on his gf? If your boyfriend is gonna drag ur entire personality through the dirt like that and write "you" as just a collection of incredibly negative traits...yikes.

Really ungrateful about the awesome life she leads? Which bugs me bc I fucking hate mundanity and knowing that all there is to life is fucking working and bad mental health. I would kill to live her life. All she does is moan about it. Like? Quit then. Fuck off back to being a mortal if it's that bad and live the shitty life you wanted to get away from in the first place. That way we'd get no more books, and quite honestly, thank fuck for that. But anyway, she needs to pick one, stick with it, and stop complaining about whatever she chose.

The girl wallows in self pity. And if someone else isn't indulging her enough, she'll wallow harder and louder and more obviously. Yawn.

Her POV is now so depressing to read that Resurrection literally tanked my mental health. I'm not kidding. I fell off the self-harm wagon, the suicidal thoughts came back, reading her dissociating would make me dissociate, I just did not cope whatsoever. Being in her head was just like being in my head during my worst points, and I hate myself, so naturally, I hate her too. Like I get why some people like phase two val. I get that her depression is "realistic" and that trauma does just make some people completely dislikeable and self-pitying, and if people want to read about that, then...sure. you do you, my dudes. But I live that reality, I am that person whose trauma made her a dysfunctional, isolated bitch, and I hate, passionately, having it infest the media I consume to escape.

Essentially if I wanted to engage with a bitter, spiteful, depressed piece of shit in her 20s who pushes everyone away and sucks at everything, I'd live my gd life. Yall see me tryna engage with my real life? Hell nah I'm on tumblr dot com burying my head up the ass of whatever fandom will force my brain to produce some s e r o t o n i n and that is what I need this series for

Also? The dynamic she had with skug in phase one? "Until the end"? "You save me, I save you, that's how we work"? Forget that, it doesn't exist anymore. I stopped reading after Midnight, because she was written like he was a coworker she could barely tolerate. They went from "Lardo confirms on twitter that they talked on the phone a bunch while she was in america and he'd always ask her to come home" to "she comes home and proceeds to blank him for five months while she sits in her fuckin multimillionaire's mansion feeling sorry for herself". Their friendship completely disintegrated, they were totally separated for most of the book, she's written as not giving a single shit about him. She treated him like dirt, and their dynamic basically felt like it was becoming "Local Man With History Of Gravitating Towards Abusive Women Makes Same Terrible Choices For Fifth Time" and? that was the point of no return to me. he supports her unconditionally, no matter what he's going through at the time, he's walked on broken bones to try and get to her when she was in danger, she can tell him anything and he'd never use it against her. I did not, for one second in phase two, believe she felt the same about him. tbh it felt like she could - and wanted to - drop him at the first opportunity and not even feel bad about it, and that's not the dynamic that made me so emotionally attached to phase one. i signed up for "until the end", not whatever bullshit phase two has going on.

Apparently she's "less depressed" now and their relationship is "better" in the books published since midnight, which! might well be true. but I haven't read them and don't intend to, and she's gone from one of my favourite fictional characters ever (which! was impressive! because i almost never bond with the female lead - i normally get attached exclusively to the character i crush on, which would be skug here. val was the first female lead i actually cared about since xena! so im deeply salty about losing her!) to a character i? honestly prefer to pretend doesn't exist. i live in war era dead men/generals crackship land because that way, i don't have to acknowledge her or the fuckin character assassination phase 2 pulled on her.

so yeah, no hate towards phase one val at all. phase one val was awesome and flawed and gave me something to aspire to despite my shitty mental health and trauma, and if she'd kept her original personality she might still have been those things. but the original "real life" val is no longer involved (and doesn't talk to landy at all anymore, apparently), and the val based on landy's insufferable gf? i cannot get behind her at all ever, four for skug and none for phase two val cain bye

(tldr; you're not missing anything by quitting after spx)

[alittlefrenchtree]

l know you don't want to talk about PR, but if you were managing Timmy's PR , how would be your way to do it ? Cause tbh his team his horrible about it.

Hey there! I love this "I know that you don't want to talk about this, but let's ignore that and talk about it anyway" vibe you're giving here, Nonny 😁 (Don't worry, I'm kidding. I don't mind at all 😉)

It's not that I don't want to talk about PR. I love talking about PR in general ways. I've always been interested in marketing, public images, public relation strategy, etc. It's just that, I now try to avoid talking about Timmy's because I realized it kills the conversation pretty quickly. I was trying to talk about things, marketing concepts that are well known and studied and used (I was going to say by every business, but now it's literally everyfuckingbody with social media including your own mom) and yet, the moment I start talking about Timmy's one and how Timmy seemed to be slightly shifting his image at this or that moment, why and how he could need this or that right now, the majority of what I get in return in my inbox is "you keep saying he's lying all the time and fake, why are you still pretending to love him" or "hahahaha totally agree with you, he's a slut for fame and a fake guy, let's roast him together" and I'm just "why do I even bother writing something if nobody is going to read it anyway?" (because I like reading myself write, that's why I bother 😬). It makes me want to scream at someone's, or like at said before, multiple someones. Then I remember it's the Internet and you never know when you're talking to an innocent 13 yo so, it's ok. (If you're 13 yo and love Timmy, you're right. I'm the liar, he has never lied or do something he didn't like just for work, never fart in his entire life. He's the prince charming, keep dreaming. Everything is good. We'll talk again in 10 years.) Surprisingly enough, I don't get as many passionate reaction about pr when Timmy's name isn't mentioned anywhere, so I rather do that now.

And also many people keep thinking or at least acting like PR only means public romance/sex life and it's a) boring b) lowkey insulting for the art of PR so I'm not usually keen to entertain the conversation.

Talking about Timmy's PR is now also frustrating because the majority of the conversations going on about him for over a year have been... so fucking dumb? I get that COVID is to blame in many ways but it would be naive to think that it's the only reason. In every situation, we're doomed to talk about what color is hair is and where he does or doesn't put his dick because that's how things are. Shallow. And I get it's not only the audience's fault and even if it was, it wouldn't be Timmy's audience's fault specifically because it's how human beings generally are, always gossiping. The guy could spend days talking about interesting stuff about himself, his artistic vision, his career, the shitty industry he's evolving in and all people would talk for a month would be "but where does he put his dick???"

And to answer your question(s), I'm pretty sure I've already talked about it in a few asks but since tumblr sucks, it'll be easier to write it again than to look for links. I apologize to those who've read it back then and still remember it.

I don't think his pr team is doing a terrible job. I think they made mistakes, like everybody but they're far from being terrible. Just because you (or I) don't like what we see at this or that point, doens't mean they're terrible. When you have a client who's career looks like Timmy's, who's global image's looks like Timmy's, whose everybody used any excuse to talk about, to be seen with just to be associated with his image because he does has a good image, you can't say his pr team is doing a terrible job. A few hundreds of people on Tumblr or a few thousand on Reedit or Twitter or wherever saying it's terrible doesn't make it terrible. Like I've said before, talent and personality can only make you go so far. The world is full of talented people with sweet personalities. It isn't full of Timothée Chalamets.

That being said, there are three answers to your question.

I could do my PR job according to my personal taste, but then I would be a terrible job as a PR for him. Like if I was listening to me, I would shut his twitter and his instagram accounts for example. But it would be a bad thing to do at the moment. Maybe there will be a window to do that in a few years, but right now it would be tricky. I consume a lot of live content these (and always talking about Twitch, i know) so I maybe it's something I'd like to do that but Timmy would not be very good at it. For him to be, it would entirely re-shaped what it means to be an Hollywood actor so, so kind of time consuming for an unknown and uncertain result.

So yeah, a lot of what I like wouldn't be very fitted with what Timmy is or needs at the moment soooo, maybe I'd be the terrible PR person.

I could do my PR job for him as a human being and I wouldn't change much to what's happening, to be honest.

I could do my PR job for him as an actor who's leading actor on a sci-fi Warner Bros franchise and a big public person and maybe I'd do exactly the same as they are doing right now.

The only important thing I'd do (and hope he has people to do that for him right now) is trying to protect him. There are way to many example of famous people who have been teenagers idols, walking wet dreams for young adults, global superstar when they were teenagers or young adults themselves who come back at thirty saying how difficult it was. How at first it was a dream come true and so cool but that it too quickly turned into a living nightmare. And you probably can't protect these people that much trom constant attention from millions of people, but I think I'd still try. Nobody deserves to be suffering from depression (if not worse or more) by the age of 25 just because their childhood dream happened to become their daily job.

Should I still apologize for the length of my answers or does everybody is used to by rambling by now?

Anyway, thank you for the question, Nonny. Have a nice day 😘

[wreckofawriter]

Can't Forget, Won't Forgive

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader [post war]

Word Count: 3,420 (nice)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, mentions of depression and anxiety, slight PTSD, a bit angst with fluffy ending

Request: @perfectlyimperfectcrystal: Can you make Draco x oc post war fic?

Summary: Four years after a war that she believed ruined her life reader is forced to reenter her past for a party with an unexpected guest [Reader is abt 22, 23 Draco is 21]

A/n: I ligit re wrote this three time, I could not figure out what to do and eveything I wrote was cringy as fuck, I'm so sorry this took forever, I'm hopping to finish up a few old requests soon. Love u all <3

    Your heart seized in your chest. Everything in you was begging your legs to turn and run. You bit harshly on your lip, this was a bad idea, teeth sunk into flesh and you tasted blood. A really bad idea. The grip on your small gift bag tightened. You could turn around right now and no one would know. You felt like throwing up, were you panicking again? You couldn't tell your chest felt too tight. You could text Harry and tell him you were sick. It would be fine. You don’t have to. 

    You turned on your heels, tears nearly springing into your eyes as you opened the door to your car. You slammed it shut gripping the steering wheel and leaning your forehead on its center. Sobs stung your eyes as your knuckles went white. You felt so weak, this wasn't you, you had fought death eaters, saved hundreds, survived torture, killed people. Now you were crying in a 1998 Corolla because you were too scared to go into a house full of nothing but old friends? It was pathetic. 

    Your teeth found your already raw bottom lip, you sucked in a breath and released it. You could do this. You snatched the paper bag beside, left the safety of your car, sprinted up the porch steps and knocked three times before you could change your own mind. 

    You could hear shuffling inside before the door was flung open and you were greeted by a freckled red-head. 

    “Y/N!” George shouted, “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show!” 

    “I guess I’m fashionably late.” You laughed awkwardly cringing at your own words. 

    The twin just chuckled, “Come in, we’ve got tons of food and even more alcohol because ya know were actually old enough to drink now.” He laughed dragging you inside. 

    You giggled your heartbeat slowing, “I missed you, George.” 

    “I missed you too kitty.” He answered by pulling you into a hug. You welcomed it, heart throbbing at the nickname his late brother had given you. 

    You followed the man into the house which was already crowded with people. What else could you expect of an engagement party of the Boy Who Lived? Although you were sure Hermione planned it. You ran into Ginny and made small talk, looking at the ring and congratulating her on her wins in quidditch. Harry then stole her away after a quick greeting explaining something about Seamus breaking a pool cue. 

    You were suddenly left alone, you took a deep breath. You decide a drink would be best, a beer or two would do miracles for your nerves. You found the kitchen surprisingly empty, you opened the fridge grabbing a beer. You glanced around for an opener but opted for a small knife in the block to your left. You popped it open and took a sip, the cold liquid giving you a warm sensation.

You hopped up onto the counter glancing out of the door and watching as George arm-wrestled Ron over a coffee table. 

You snorted as the elder smashed the others arm down leaping to his feet and letting out a cry of victory. It still hurt a bit to look at him. Fred was so similar. But you would never let him know that you were sure he knew well enough himself.

You turned as you heard footsteps approach and your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes locked with deep grey as your heart stopped beating.

"Oh um hey y/n.," Draco spoke his hand scratching at the back of his neck. 

You had heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were about to die. You thought it couldn't be much different than the memories you had worked very hard to bury that flashed through you as you stared at the platinum blonde in front of you. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You hissed your jaw clamped shut as you felt hot tears rise to your eyes. 

"Oh, I was invited." His laughter was empty and suffocating at the same time. 

Your eyes stung. You lept from the counter slamming the beer in your hand down so hard you heard it crack. Draco flinched.

"Y/n I-," The man rushed towards you grabbing your wrist. 

Without a second of hesitation, your other hand shot up and you slapped him clean across the face. The sound your hand made on his pale cheek was loud, the smack gaining the attention of a few who sat in the living room.

"Stay the fuck away from me." You seethed stepping away from him. 

"Y/n?" You turned to see Luna, her pale blue eyes wide. You couldn't even offer a smile as you turned, sprinting to the door. 

You made it into the cold November air and realized it had gotten dark out. The light filtering from the house paired with the few buzzing street lamps cast a yellow filter over your surroundings. You fumbled with your keys as you made your way towards your car. You were leaving this time, that was non-negotiable. 

“Y/n!” A small voice yelled from the porch.

You didn’t want to look up but you did. Your keys slid into the door and you twisted click, your it was unlocked. 

“Y/n, please, I just want to talk to you,” Luna begged from the steps. You bit on your lip again, it stung harshly. 

    Turning you fought back tears as you pulled your keys from your door and stepped away from the car. Luna smiled softly at you. “It's good to see you, Luna.” 

    “It's great to see you y/n. I was quite disappointed when we lost contact.” She explained aloof as ever. “But guess you blocked us all out on purpose.” Blunt as ever as well.

    You swallowed thickly not sure how to respond, she was right after all. 

    “It’s alright, no one blames you. You went through a lot. We were all very surprised to see you here today. George has missed you dreadfully.” She hummed leading you back inside where you could no longer see your breath. “I’m happy you came too. I always liked talking with you.” She continued up some stairs stopping midway and sitting down, patting the spot next to her which you took. 

    It was quiet for a while, you could hear laughter and music, a loud gasp followed by more laughter. You wondered if they were still arm wrestling. Tears clung to your eyes, you swallowed them but the world remained blurry. 

    “I can’t be around him, Luna.” You choked out, “Not after what he did to us.”

    “He didn’t do anything to us.” She shrugged playing with her large necklace. 

    Your brows furrowed, “How can you say that? How can you say that after those months Luna?” 

    “He didn’t do anything, his father did.” She explained her eyes now trained on you. 

    “And where is he?” You spat, “In his mansion with zero consequences.”

    “I suppose you’re right.” She mumbled, “But it does no good to take it out on Draco he didn’t do anything.”

    “That’s the issue Luna,” You hissed, “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything as we were locked in his basement.”

    She hummed, “He couldn’t do anything.” You wished you could disagree, “He’s quite nice you know. It was a bit awkward at first but he’s quite nice now, he's going to be one of Harry’s groomsmen I believe.”

    “What?!” You exclaimed.

    “They are good friends now, he is quite nice like I said.” She had begun to fiddle with the ends of your hair, “He asks about you a lot. Always wondering how you are now and if you are going to come to parties and such.” 

    “He shouldn’t ask.” You huffed, “I don’t know why he does.” 

    “I think I do.” She hummed, you waited for her to explain but she didn’t. “He was just a child back then, he was a scared kid, we can’t blame what he did on him. He thought he had to.” 

    Anger fought through you taking your mind hostage. You could feel your face flush, eyes narrow, expression darkening, “You know what, I was a scared kid too, I was fucking horrified. He may get a free pass from the rest of you but he won't from me. I won’t forget what he did.” You seethed standing and walking down four steps. 

    “You wish you could forget though. I know you do. That's why you don’t return our calls or come to birthday parties. You want to forget yet you refuse to. You confuse me y/n.” Luna claimed. She didn’t stop you as you left the house, refusing to look back. You peeled out of the driveway less than a minute later tears of anger and frustration streaming down your face. 

   

    You got home and swore, finding the only liquor in the house to be rose strawberry tequila, something you had bought, opened and hated. You drank it anyway plopping down on the couch with cold pizza from the night before and turning on the TV to see an episode of some anime you couldn’t keep track of. The main character yelled too much and the main girl was obsessed with a boy. It pissed you off, a fuckin pushover. 

    You were about an episode in, swearing as a character whose name you couldn’t remember was flung from a rooftop. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, you flipped it open struggling to read the small writing on the greenish background. You gave up closing it and chucking it across the room as the boy stood back up blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. You cheered. 

    Draco isn’t sure what prompted him to show up at your doorstep at 2:32 in the morning. Maybe it was the constant nagging from Ginny or maybe the fact that you had seen but had not replied to his text or maybe it was the fact that he had been in love with you since he was 13, never had the guts to tell you, was forced into letting some fucked up things happen to you and now you wouldn’t even look at him. Or maybe it was simply because he was hammered. In all honesty, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was now banging on your apartment door. 

    You weren't quite sure if you were imagining it or not as you jumped from your sleep. The loud banging continued as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, brushing your hair out of your face. You stood up head aching slightly as you felt a hangover in the near future. You stumbled towards the door swearing as you tripped over a chair leg. 

    “Jesus what!?” You shouted flinging opening the door. In seconds someone came stumbling at you. A body collided with yours at a fighting force knocking you straight to the ground. You shrieked feeling your lower back ram into your hardwood floor. 

    “Fuck sorry.” The body mumbled propping himself up straddling your waist, his hands on either side of your head. Draco soaked in your image, your cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips pursed. “God you’re so fuckin beautiful,” he mumbled one of his hands moving to stroke your ruffled hair. 

    You slapped his hand away, jaw clenched, “Get off of me!” you yelled lifting your knee and connecting it with his stomach. 

    He wheezed face contorting in pain as you rolled him off of you standing up, “What the hell are you doing here Malfoy?” You spat his name like poison. 

    Draco now lay on his back staring up at your ceiling he groaned running his hand through his hair, “I missed you.” he mumbled upwards, “I missed you so fucking much.” his words broke.

    “Oh my god, you’re drunk.” You groaned slamming the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

    “I'm not drunk.” He fought back sitting up quickly. 

    “Oh yeah?” You asked, “What's 2 plus 3?” 

    He furrowed his brows in thought, “23.” he replied about twenty seconds later. 

    “You’re definitely drunk.” You sighed.

    “I just wanted to talk y/n and you wouldn’t answer my texts so I had to come here so we could talk.” His words were slurred and hard to understand. 

    “We have nothing to talk about.” You sneered, “Now get out of my house.” 

    “Please y/n, just for a few minutes.” He begged, getting to his feet and grabbing your wrists pulling you towards him, his breath was warm and smelled of beer as it wafted over your face.

    You pushed him off cringing, “If I let you talk, will you leave?” You bargained not really caring where the drunk ended up.

    He nodded vigorously, stumbling into your house a little ways before sitting back down, back against the small island in the middle of your kitchen. You slid down the fridge sitting across from him. For a second you thought he had fallen asleep, his head lolled to one side, his right leg stuck out straight, the other bent towards him. But he snapped to attention looking at you with wide eyes. 

    “Well?” You asked.

    “Oh yeah.” He mumbled taking a deep breath, “I did miss you ya know. I always did. When we were in school you wouldn’t even talk to me unless you were yelling insults and god I wanted you to talk to me sooo bad. I was so fuckin in love with you.” He was interrupted by a hiccup, “And then everything started falling apart and my parents got mad and wanted me to kill people and I was so scared.” Tears welled into the blonde's eyes. His voice straining against him, “And then they caught you because of your dad, and- and I-” More hiccups, tears sliding down his cheeks, “I just wanted to help you and I couldn’t I was such a fucking coward. And I'm sorry y/n/n.” your nickname rolled off his tongue, “I so so fucking sorry.” 

    The kitchen was silent for a long time. The soft sound of sniffing and the drip of tears on tile. The hum of the refrigerator providing a background for the nothingness. Darkness almost seems to muffle everything, the only light coming from the time displayed on the microwave and the moonlight filtering through your few windows. 

    “Fuck Draco,” You cussed, “This is not how I wanted my night to go.” your voice wavered. You could feel tears sliding down your cheeks cooling in the dark air. You sniffed wiping your face. “Well I guess since your drunk as fuck and won’t remember anything anyway I might as well get some things off my chest.” 

    Draco gazed up at you his eyes rimmed with red, his pale cheeks blossoming with beer thirsted roses. He looked so fragile, like a glass figurine or a dried flower. 

    “I’m kind of a shit person.” You chuckled sadly, “I mean I try to blame it on my parents and their nuclear marriage, which was dead long before I was in the world, but they kept mercilessly reincarnating it like some sort of monster from an old movie. They yelled more than they should have, my dad especially, he had anger issues he blew up easily and never got help for it.” You had tears pouring so thickly from your eyes you could hardly see.

“I was messed up in the head, I was rarely happy and when I was it was only for a few seconds, I got panic attacks and I-” Your voice broke with a sob, “I never really dealt with it and you always managed to piss me off. Maybe it was the fact that you seemed to get everything you wanted or maybe that I always thought you were so cute despite the fact that you were a complete asshole. Hell, I had a stupid school girl crush on you from the minute I laid eyes on you and I hated it so much.

 “And I don’t know, I pushed people away, fuck I broke up with Fred three months before he died because I was scared when he said he wanted me to meet his parents.” Your voice broke and you whimpered, “And then I got locked in your house because of my shit father and since then I’ve been avoiding everyone and everything hoping that I can just forget it all but being too stubborn to forgive it so I’m just stuck and it sucks.” You were sobbing now, “It sucks so fucking bad.” 

Draco turned around and pushed himself towards you. He put his arm around your shoulders and tucked his head into your neck, inhaling your scent and mumbling something you couldn’t make out over the strength of your cries. 

You woke up the next morning head pounding, eyes stinging as you opened them. You were sprawled on your kitchen floor, your lower back aching with pain. Your head rested on Draco’s chest, his legs tangled with yours, arm around your waist as yours rested around his neck. You groaned carefully sliding from his grasp, this was not how things were supposed to go. You were not supposed to be blushing because of Draco Malfoy. You huffed heading to the bathroom and taking a quick shower before changing into a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. You walked into the kitchen crouching next to the man on your floor and poking his cheek. He didn’t even budge. You sighed stepping over him to your coffee maker. 

    Two hours later as you sat on your couch with a book in your lap you heard a loud groan from your kitchen. Rolling your eyes you stood up and made your way towards the newly awakened blonde who cussed as he attempted to get to his feet. His eyes locked with yours and widened, “Y-y/n?” he sounded mortified. 

    You smirked, “Good afternoon Draco.”

    His cheeks blossomed with color as he ran his hands through his hair nervously, “Um what am I doing here?” 

    “Well, you showed up here at two in the morning drunk as fuck and proclaiming your love for me.” You explained. 

    He paled eyes getting impossibly wider, he slumped against your counter burying his face in his hands. “Oh, Merlin y/n I’m so sorry.” 

    You sighed biting your abused lip, “Look Draco, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

    He looked up at you, visibly confused.

    “You said some crazy shit last night but so did I and I-” You sighed again swallowing harshly, “I would actually like to take up your offer on dinner, ya know the one you probably don’t remember texting me. We need to talk, like when one of us isn’t wasted and the other isn’t an emotional wreck.” 

    “Really?” Draco asked.

    “Yeah,” You confirmed, “Can you pick me up at seven tonight?” 

    “Umm yeah.” He said not really remembering if he could but also not really caring, he would anyway. 

    You took a step towards him standing on your toes and placing a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you Draco.” 

    The man shook his head, “You did it wrong.” he whispered.

    “What?” You asked, suddenly feeling his hands on your hips pulling you closer. 

    “I said you did it wrong.” He repeated.

    “I know what you said, I just-” Your sentence fell short as he bent forward his lips inches from your own. 

    “Can I kiss you y/n?” He asked so quietly if you were any further apart you wouldn’t have heard it. 

    Your mind reeled but before you could really think about it you were nodding and his lips were on yours. He pulled you flush against him, you could feel his heart hammering in his chest, or maybe it was your own. His tongue swiped the seam of your lips and you opened them allowing him to deepen the kiss, he still tasted of beer and tears for the night before. 

    You broke away panting lightly staring up at his icy grey eyes. “You taste like shit.” You whispered. 

    Draco broke into a barking laugh, “You really know how to kill a mood.” 

    You shrugged, “You better brush your teeth before tonight.” 

    He smiled his heart still beating erratically, you looked so pretty with swollen lips, “Does that mean we are going to be kissing more?” 

    “Maybe.” You shrugged again smiling, “Now get out of my house Draco.” 

    “Of course.” 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

Masterlist

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Won’t You Stay (Part 9)

Summary: The reader and Ethan talk about their pasts where they learn they have more than a few things in common...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language, depression, self-doubt, past domestic abuse, mention of death

A/N: Please enjoy!

_____

“Hey,” said your dad half an hour later, handing you some tissues as you sniffled and sucked down your milkshake at a park nearby.

“Thanks,” you hiccuped, getting an arm around your shoulders on the bench. 

“How bad was it?” he asked.

“What?” you said, wiping off your face.

“Y/N. There are things you don’t know about your mom, your birth mom, things I never wanted to tell you but you deserve the truth, not the story I made up,” he said. “I used to make up stories and lies too.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. He leaned back and stared out at the dim park, a few lights turning on.

“I didn’t love your mother. I feared her,” he said. You stared at him and he shifted around, pulling up his shirt and showing you his side. “You know that scar I got from skateboarding as a kid? She threw a glass at me.”

“She hurt you?” you asked.

“I moved to LA to run away from her,” he said, staring at the ground. “She was...awful. We were only teenagers and she was awful. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like as adults.”

“Dad. Did she hurt you?” you asked. He sighed and closed his eyes. “You said she threw a glass. What else did she do?”

“What did Logan do?” he asked.

You sighed and sipped on your milkshake, your dad rubbing your back.

“Alright, I’ll go first. Your birth mother was controlling. She was mean. She got physical at times. And I was a kid that didn’t know what the hell to do,” he said. “Then she did something without me knowing and after I left, I found out what that was and then I heard nothing and then I got a call she was in an accident. That’s when I found out about you. Sweetie, I was never depressed because I loved her and lost her. It’s something that’s been a part of me since I was thirteen years old. I’ve always been a bit like this. The thought of you growing up with her though, alone, mortified me. I am happy that she is gone and that’s the honest truth.”

“What did she do to you?”

“...You were planned, by her,” he said. “She poked a hole in a condom.”

“Dad,” you said. “Dad...she-“

“I didn’t know. Not until it was too late,” he said. “I thought it tore. A few weeks later I was told by her that it was on purpose, right after I left. She said she got her period though and I believed her. I believed her. I never should have. Who knows what I was leaving you with? She knew exactly what she was doing though because by the time she would have had you and she came back to me, she knew I would do it, for you, and then she’d have the both of us.”

“Did you ever tell anyone?” 

“Mom knows. No one else,” he said. “I’m not proud of that time in my life.”

“You were eighteen and you left. You should be proud,” you said. He smiled and gave you a hug, releasing a shaky breath. 

“You left whatever was going on too. We must have done something right,” he said. You nodded and blew your nose, tossing your garbage in the nearby trash can. “Whatever happened with Logan, kiddo?”

“At home he got controlling,” you said with a swallow. “I didn’t even notice it at first. Then he started to pick out my clothes and what I could eat and he put me down and then he got rough in bed one night and I knew I had to leave before it got worse. So I broke up with him and two days later he was dating someone new already.”

“How rough?” he asked softly.

“It hurt. I kicked him and then punched him and then left,” you said. “I got a hotel room that night.”

“How do you feel now? You ever tell anyone?” 

“No. The book and movie made me happy for a while,” you said. “It didn’t work all the way but I am feeling a little better lately.”

“You really like Jensen, huh,” he said, giving you a smile.

“I had a mini freak session this morning and he was so nice about it. Logan would have put me down and belittled me. Jensen made me feel safe though.”

“He’s a good kid. He didn’t have to drive me home the other night and hang out and help keep mom and you calm. But he did. Be with a boy that does stuff like that, sweetie,” he said.

“He’s kinda like a big fan of the book,” you said. “Like big fan.”

“Does that bother you?” he asked.

“No. I just...I hope he likes me because of me, not because I wrote his favorite book,” you said.

“Didn’t he ask you out before he knew who you were though?” he chuckled. “I think you got him on the hook all on your own.”

“You’re not gonna like, go murder Logan, are you?” you asked.

“Do you want me to?” he asked. 

“No. I just want to forget about him,” you said.

“Then forget about him. Stop giving him control and move on with your life,” he said. “You were really good for me in that regard. Really good.”

“I’m sorry about what I said back at the house,” you said. “It wasn’t true. I wanted to be mean because I knew it’d get you to back off.”

“You were scared and trying to push. I knew that,” he said, fixing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You didn’t see your face.”

“You didn’t see yours,” he said. You nodded and took a deep breath. “Can we talk again? Be thick as thieves like the old days?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” you said with a small smile, wiping off your face with the back of your hand.

“You want to come stay back home?”

“No,” you said with a smile. “I’m a big girl. I do like having my own space. But can we do a family dinner every week or something?”

“I think that’s a good idea for all of us,” he said. “Offer is always open though.”

“I know,” you said. “I’m still sorry about earlier.”

“Apology accepted. You want to get some sundaes to bring home?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel like the other guys are gonna be pissed at me,” you said.

“You’re a good secret keeper. They should let you slide without an explanation,” he said. “I mean, no offense but does Anthony think we’re idiots? I knew years ago he liked guys.”

“Really? I was a little surprised when he told me,” you said. 

“Well, you can catch your son checking out men’s asses only so many times before you start to wonder,” he teased. You felt yourself giggle and got a boop on the nose. “That’s the sound I like to hear out of her.”

“What’d you think about Ella?”

“I think her big sister did a good job of making sure she gets treated right,” he said.

“Jensen kinda helped out during that talk,” you said.

“He’s just racking up all the brownie points, isn’t he?” he said. 

“You think he’s a good actor?” you asked.

“Yeah. He’s got the potential to go big. This movie will change his life,” he said. “He certainly knows Lyle inside and out.”

“What’s a good date idea?” you asked. “I kinda ditched on one with him tonight.”

“Oh, boy talk? I missed that for sure,” he teased. “I am sure you’ll come up with something good. Why don’t we head on home and maybe mom can help us come up with something.”

“Okay. Dad...I won’t tell anyone about what you said. Ever,” you said.

“I know. I will give you the same courtesy. Come on, sweetie. I’m starving.”

“Hello, Y/N,” said Jensen with a big grin when you let him into your apartment Sunday afternoon. “Your apartment building is very fancy.”

“A doorman and security were a requirement from my parents to living alone. I had to appease them somehow,” you said.

“It smells pretty in here,” he said as you locked up behind him. He pulled out a bundle of flowers from behind his back and handed them over. 

“Thank you,” you said. You set them in a glass of water, Jensen following you into your kitchen. 

“Nice. It’s very cute,” he said, leaning against your counter. “So. I heard someone was going to make me the best grilled cheese and tomato soup I’ve ever had before we watched some football.”

“Not to brag or anything but I am pretty spectacular at grilled cheese,” you said. 

“So humble you are,” he teased, taking a seat at the counter as you pulled out some ingredients. “How’s your dad doing?”

“Better. Everyone kind of aired their crap last night. It was good,” you said. 

“Good. You seem a little more relaxed than normal,” he said.

“Wait until I’m filming again in the morning,” you said as you whipped up a light dressing to put on the bread. “Your ribs feeling better?”

“Oh, I’m fine. They were only bruised. I should be ready to do scene 12 on Friday,” he said. “I hope. I’m kinda nervous about it actually.”

“Afraid of heights?” you asked.

“No. It’s just the big stunt for the first act,” he said. “I know it’s like an ‘oh fuck’ moment in the book. It’s important to get it right.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jensen. No one knows Lyle better beside me,” you said.

“Not to go full nerd on you again-”

“Ask away, fanboy,” you teased, Jensen giving you a smirk back.

“Cute,” he said.

“Does it bother you?”

“No. I like my little nickname,” he chuckled. “I’ll have to come up with something good for you.”

“In the meantime, ask away. I like talking about this stuff with you,” you said. He hummed and watched you work on the sandwiches for a moment before you switched over to the soup.

“So how did you come up with the story? It’s a bit dark sometimes. I like that but I was always curious. Scene 12 for example. Lyle’s going to get caught, interrogated by Hale, he’ll escape and then nearly get killed by Hale when he catches up to him.”

“I think there’s two ways of focusing on that chapter. One is Hale is hellbent on revenge for his son and lets that rage take over and he nearly kills an innocent man for it after terrorizing him. The other is the way I think you see it, the way I think I lot of people see it. A man who lost his son and another young man whose family hurt him. Hale hurts, Lyle hurts. Hale shows Lyle eventual kindness after he realizes his mistake and Lyle finds a father figure, he finds someone that will protect him, not hurt him. Two lost souls and all that,” you said.

“I totally get it. I just wonder how a Hollywood girl who grew up with Ethan Y/L/N as a father comes up with a story like that,” he said.

“I had a single dad for the first ten years of my life, Jensen. I love my mom, I do, but our whole family knows that me and dad, that’s something special. He was my father and my mother back then. He didn’t know what he was doing. We figured it out together,” you said. “Plus I like the flawed hero story. Everyone does.”

“True,” he said. “Those are always more interesting.”

“Is that the kind of role you like to play? If you had your choice I mean,” you said.

“Yeah. I’d play a good or bad guy. I don’t have a preference,” he said. “Happy to have a steady job right now mostly.”

“I know you guys get a pretty good paycheck,” you said, stirring the pot a few times.

“I heard a rumor that I wasn’t supposed to get as good a paycheck as I got. Apparently our director pushed for me,” he said. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“I feel like you should be compensated for your work,” you said, shrugging as you covered the pot. “It’s a lot of pressure and this is going to be a multi movie thing someday.”

“My agent told me this movie will change my career. I’ll get to pick my next project instead of scraping for it,” he said.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked.

“It is. It’s going to be hard to top working on The Dark Woods is all,” he said. 

“Oh yeah because this working experience is so awesome I bet,” you laughed.

“Actually, yeah, it is. I have never met a director like you. Even when shit goes wrong, I’ve never once seen you yell at someone, even when they probably deserve it. You’re kind and prioritize cast and crew over a schedule and money. People notice that, Y/N,” he said.

“It’s how people should act,” you said, shaking your head. “Alright. How do you like your grilled cheese? Barely crispy or extra crunchy?”

“Somewhere in the middle,” he said. “Need help with anything?”

“Nope. Just grab yourself something to drink from the fridge and this will be done in a jiffy,” you said. Jensen hummed and took a bottle of water out for you and himself, carrying them over to where you had set your table. 

Ten minutes later Jensen was moaning around the grilled cheese, giving you a thumbs up.

“Okay. You are allowed to brag about your grilled cheese skills anytime,” he said. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in forever.”

“You don’t cook?” you asked. “I’m not great but slowly trying to learn. Instant pot is a girl’s best friend.”

“Well I mean, no one’s cooked for me besides my parents or your parents in like a year,” he said. “It’s kinda nice. I will be sure to return the favor soon.”

“Might have to wait until the weekend. It’s going to be crazy busy this week,” you said. 

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” he said, dipping his sandwich in his soup. “Mmm, so good.”

When you were finished eating, Jensen helped you clean up before you sent him into your family room to settle in for the game. He wandered over to your bookcases on either side, scanning the rows while you turned the TV on.

“I didn’t know you had other books,” he said, looking back with a smile. You quickly hopped up and saw him pull out one. “This is not a Lyle Sullivan book.”

“No, it isn’t. I’ve written a lot, since I was a teenager. I uh, only the one is published right now, the other two on the way,” you said. “This other stuff is crap. Only my parents and siblings have read it really. Also Logan but he said they were bad.”

“Logan is an idiot, full offense intended,” he said with a smirk, flipping through one. “I finished The Dark Night yesterday which holy crap by the way. It was amazing and I have so many questions.”

“You liked it?” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“It was so good. Lyle’s like a full on badass but he still fucks shit up and he and Molly are like living together and they’re so cute and she’s actually like learning from Hale how to be a badass too so she’s safe and Hale’s like his actual dad and Lyle called him dad and I was like fucking finally but-”

“Okay,” you laughed. “I see you liked it.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I did. Since I’ve read the Lyle prequel before too would you mind if I read one of these? I get bored in my trailer sometimes.”

“Sure,” you said.

“Any you recommend?” he asked.

“Oh they’re all horrible,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I see. I guess I’ll just have to read all of them,” he said with a smile. “I’ll start with this one. Oak Street. I wonder what it’s about.”

“Jensen,” you said as he pulled out the first one. “I’m really not a good writer.”

“We have very different opinions on that,” he said. He hummed and he sat down on the couch and set the book on the end table to take home later. You rolled your eyes and sat down next to him, Jensen putting an arm around your shoulders. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” you said, leaning against his shoulder as you turned your attention to the TV. You shut your eyes, the game drowning out in the background.

“Y/N, wake up,” said Jensen. Your eyes flashed open and you shot up, both his hands on your arms. You looked around, still on the couch with the football game going on. “Hey. It’s alright. You were having a nightmare. You were taking a nap on me.”

“Sorry,” you said, rubbing your eyes. 

“S’okay. I’m pretty tired on the weekends. I can’t imagine how exhausted you must be,” he said, sliding a hand up to your cheek. “Bad dream?”

You nodded and looked away, Jensen turning your cheek back towards him.

“I get bad dreams too,” he said. He smiled and returned it, dropping his hand away.

“People aren’t sweet like you, you know.”

“They are. You just haven’t been around too many quality people lately it seems,” he said.

“I can’t really disagree with that,” you said.

“Your friends aren’t sweet?” he asked.

“Are yours?”

“I ditched the bad ones. The ones I got left, some are guy guys, they don’t talk about the serious stuff but they’re good. The other guys...yeah, we talk about feelings and shit. One of my best friends we talk everyday about that stuff,” he said. “We have a tag up. We just check in, make sure the other is okay.”

“Like I said. You’re sweet,” you said. 

“Like I said. You should hang around with some better people,” he said. You nodded and sat back, tucking into his side. “Not a lot of friends?”

“Never had a lot. But then when I broke up with my ex, all my friends stopped talking to me and kept hanging out with him,” you said. “Always was kind of hard, growing up the way I did, knowing if people liked me.”

“Well I know someone that likes you very much,” he said, smirking at you.

“I wonder who that is,” you said. 

“He’s quite adorable,” he said. “Very handsome.”

“Lucky me,” you laughed. “Sounds very humble.”

“For sure,” he said. You glanced up at him, Jensen rubbing your arm. “If you’re up for it, want to go do something fun?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Your hair is a hot mess,” teased Jensen three hours later. He tried to fix it back in place but you quickly felt his baseball cap on your head, ponytail pulled through the opening. “All better.”

“I cannot believe you took us to Disneyland,” you said, looking back at the rollercoaster you’d just gotten off of. “I haven’t been here in years!”

“Best part is we can totally drink now,” he said. “Want to hit a few more rides first before we get a snack?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you said. You got bumped as you walked, Jensen grabbing your hand and pulling you around to his other side. He didn’t let go once you’d made it past a crowd of people and you gave it a squeeze. “Hey, Ackles.”

“Y/L/N,” he said as you headed for another coaster.

“Thanks for saving my ass that night we met,” you said.

“I’m sure you would have handled it on your own,” he said. “I got your back from now on though if that’s cool.”

“I’m okay with that, Ackles,” you said.

“Good. You watch mine and maybe it’ll all work out,” he said. 

“Maybe it will,” you said. He hummed and leaned over to kiss you, smiling when you blushed. “Don’t say a word, fanboy.”

“Mhm,” he said, a smug little look on his face. “Alright, let’s try another one of these coasters out.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 10 here!

[rpbetter]

what's the nicest possible way to tell a close friend their roleplay blogs suck and if they want followers and interaction like they keep complaining about they have to actually put effort into it instead of just making blog after blog and slapping a character on it like that's they need to do. I've tried to suggest this to her before by comparing other blogs that play her muse but she just feels inadequate instead of inspired to emulate them which I understand but it's very frustrating when I suggest a million ways to make her blog better and she brushes them all off for one reason or another and I don't want to say anything because she's like a sister to me. sigh.

Unfortunately, the short answer to this is that there really isn't any way you can make her see this unless she's ready to see it.

But, I don't like giving those sorts of answers, they feel hopeless and shitty, so, let's try this...

Understanding what the problem with your friend and her connecting with this information is, is important. It might help in talking to her about the issue.

What I find in these instances, and a lot of similar ones, is that the mun is unhappy about the results but quite happy with the process. She's enjoying some part of this, it's just not the lack of interaction, obviously. It's the very things she's doing to turn people off of her muses.

I think a lot of people get kind of addicted to new muses. I mean, the entire process of having a new muse:

interest to outright fixation, no matter how short-lived, in a new, inspiring muse

who is almost certainly in a new fandom, and probably, one that is very busy and popular at the moment

"someone stop me" phase, even though they've already decided

picking the perfect URL, creating the new blog, making the graphics and batches of icons

reblogging All The Content about the new muse, at least, the visual content and maybe, a couple of "oof, right in the feels" style short meta posts

plugging the new muse on the old blogs, through friends, etc.

mass follows

new mutuals! Shiny new meme asks in the inbox! New threads!

It's about the newness, the excitement, and the irrationally promising feeling that damn it, this time, the blog and muse is going to be successful, popular even, beloved, the actual favorite iteration of the character in the RPC. Like anything exciting, it's addicting for people. And like anything addicting, it can take hitting rock bottom and going several more feet down, a few times, before they're over it and want to change.

Which is, of course, where you come in with your as-yet failed RP interventions.

What makes what you're trying to do here very difficult is that there isn't a total bottoming out she's going to reach. There will always be something new and exciting coming out with a new and exciting muse that'll fix the problem, in her mind. There will always be the option and availability to create another blog, slap another muse on it, rinse and repeat. With shampoo and conditioner that never runs out.

You definitely had the right idea by trying to get her to contrast between why what she is doing isn't working the way she wants and why what someone else is doing is working out that way. It's just, as you found out, often not the best idea, no matter how well-intentioned it is. With her blogs constantly failing for reasons she refuses to believe, it's incredibly likely she's already done some comparison in all the wrong ways, ultimately going back and forth between blaming the other iterations, finding nothing but errors in the way they write the character and set up their blogs, and feeling depressed that she's not good enough, but they are.

So, you might have unintentionally inflamed all of this! She could be in a place where she's even more likely to believe that what she's doing is great as a defense mechanism for being hard on herself.

I'd also like to say that I'm aware the "right" advice here is, "there's nothing you can do, you'll just make her feel bad, people have a right to RP however they want." But, you're also her friend, and you have to be around the complaining and upset when this just keeps happening.

Furthermore, when we have very close friends like this, we automatically keep trying to fill in the gaps for them at cost to ourselves - every time they make another blog/muse, we get roped into writing things we know are just going to be dropped, making them things we know are going to left on a deserted blog, and so on. Eventually, it makes you feel bad about yourself because your efforts aren't good enough, either. It can really ruin the hobby for you, sucking away enjoyment and creativity you could be spending elsewhere.

I don't think you're wrong in trying to help both her and yourself.

Keep being honest with her. When she complains, be honest about why this is happening. And you can, indeed, be kind and honest!

Let's say that she says something about how she wrote all these opens and no one is going for them.

You could say something like, "that sucks. I liked this one, it's the one that feels and sounds like the character to me. What were you doing when you wrote that? You should rewrite the others to be a little more like that, I think people are looking for more of the character like we saw them in the series."

You're acknowledging that she's right, it does suck, it's a shitty feeling no matter how at fault for it she is. While pointing out something she did good (and, okay, maybe she didn't, maybe they all categorically sucked lol but find one that was even a tiny bit better/that has elements you can use to both boost her confidence and show her what is right, not just wrong). Then, giving her an idea - whatever she was thinking, watching, listening to at that time, she tapped into something more like the actual character, and she could do it again. And telling her what the problem is, at least with this, that people don't want a cardboard cutout muse, they want the one they like from the fandom book/show/movie.

No need to actually compare with another active mun and muse, or tell her that it's because what she's doing is terribly and driving you nuts. Even if both are true.

If she's the one that compares herself to another blog this time, seize the opportunity!

"Well, people like that the muse is developed and like the character they know. When you interact with another canon, don't you want them to be like the character you liked? You liked -current muse- for a reason. When I've felt like that, I reminded myself of why I was drawn to the character and worked harder on writing them accurately and getting their voice down. I think this other blog has done that and you haven't yet."

It's a little harsher, but she may very well only be looking for validation from you that this other blog actually sucks and she's doing great. A lot of complaints on tumblr are that - seeking validation, not help. The entire culture of that shit is not at all helpful. You don't want to try to sort of shock her out of it by being too harsh, but you do want to make it clear that you're not going to just give ass pats and tell her what she wants to hear.

You're telling her why this other blog is more successful, that the muse comes off as the character and is enjoyable to write with. Because the mun put in the effort to make them both accurate to the character and a muse that's fun/interesting/engaging to write with in RP.*

*Not all characters transfer over well to RP, either, and this might also be some of her problem. For whatever reason, some people are deeply drawn to the worst possible choices for them. They will find the least applicable character in a whole series, one with a billion characters that spans decades of material, plenty of viable options all around, but no, it's got to be this one. The one that's impossible for them to pull off, boring or disliked by the fandom, is incredibly difficult to interact with (think manic pixie bullshit, villains that are extreme loners, incredibly quiet and reserved characters, or those who are only ever seen in their canon to be bantering with friends and enemies - people they have established relationships with, unlike someone else's muse, even if that muse is a canonical friend or enemy), or is an active turn off in RP, like an outrageously overpowered character whose entire existence is based on being OP as fuck. That's going to be what they go for. Every. Damn. Time.

If you notice she's doing this, she could be compensating without even realizing it by turning the string of muses into identical and empty clichés she thinks people want to interact with, but that she can still handle writing. And unfortunately, your job is even harder, OP, because everyone has a character type...and your bestie's is Fucking Impossible to RP for 90% of the RPC Population Type lmao I'm...I'm so sorry.

Maybe if this is the case, you can get her to try out a different character that has some of the traits you've noticed she seems to always be drawn to, but without the complications. Work smarter, not harder, though! Propose this as you desperately wanting your muse to interact with x. Some people react very badly to being told "you'd write a great -muse name," others are flattered by it. If you don't know for certain that she'd be flattered, or at least not offended, that she doesn't hate this character or anything, do not say this. Just tell her that you love this character, you think she could handle them as a NPC in a thread, could she please try?

And make that the single most interesting thread in the history of threads. Specifically, for her. Give her tons of engagement with this NPC of the sort she tends to want the most. It might stick and reset some of her perspective on the types of characters she keeps choosing.

You're reminding her that she's a RPer, too, which sounds like a crazy thing to have to remind a RPer, but we do weirdly lose track of this. We get very invested in what we're putting out more than what we've successfully been given, especially when we're not being given much of what we want. So, you're prodding her to recall that there are two parts of this equation, she's been on the side of it - she's wanted to interact specifically with a canon muse because she loved the character/ship with hers/whatever, and has, as we all have, experienced both the disappointment of running through a ton of them who just are not that character and also finding the version that very much is.

This helps to put other people back into perspective in a way that isn't just "interactions." (Read as "desired attention." Which isn't a slam, it's true. It's also not a problem, we all are here to interact, we all enjoy having devoted mutuals and such. It's only a problem when we stop seeing them as anything other than a means to an end for ourselves.) She might be able to relate to them, thus, why they don't like her muses, if she can put herself back into their shoes.

You stick with that and transition it into why she picked the current muse. It's the same deal, there was something about the muse that sparked interest, creativity, etc. What was it? Something that isn't there, or there enough, in her writing. In all the excitement of muse-creation, she's probably let whatever it was slide right out the door. If you can get her to recall that feeling of interest and identify for herself what all triggered it, she might be able to stick with it.

And you've encouraged her again to give people what they want if she wants interactions by developing her muses. You've also done so, if it all applicable and true, by using yourself here, making it feel like not just a common problem, but one experienced and overcome by someone she cares about and trusts.

She might have an issue with needing a lot of high-interest, high-reward scenarios, too.

This is a high-effort, minimum reward situation for her. A lot of us in the RPC have shit like ADHD that can really make this difficult once we're experiencing it in this way, but even those who don't absolutely fall into it as well. So, you'll need ways to make it fun, but...I think if you can sort of kindly trick her into experiencing the effort as its own reward, it'd go a long, long way.

I can't really say what I do, having this problem with high-effort, minimal reward because I don't tend to experience that in RP. The writing is the reward for me, as much as I lose it utterly with happiness every time a writing partner is loving what I've given them. My reward system is set up around the writing and exploring characters. Hers seems to be set up around the reaction to it and amount of engagement with it. You need to try to use the latter to give her some of the former.

If she likes Halloween or Christmas, Fall or Winter, this could be your way into doing it!

Get her hyped about a seasonal prompt list you're doing. This does, yeah, mean you will have to do it, too lol but in the end, any time you aren't able to produce something daily like these lists usually are set up for, you're showing her that it isn't a job she's got to fulfill - the rules are only as strict as she wants to make them for herself. And if you keep yours short and fun, she'll feel like it's perfectly fine and good to do it this way as well. That it doesn't need to be a damn masterpiece or anything, just fun, something different to show off her muse.

While what she's actually doing, in addition to that, is getting in touch with and developing her muse. Importantly, when we write in a way that is just for ourselves like this, we tend to kind of...bond, for lack of a less weird sounding way of putting it, with a muse. It makes them stick with us longer, raising their importance and easier availability to us.

Let her know you're doing this, pick one out you genuinely like, and don't expect her to be down with it immediately. It's work with no foreseeable reward. Except, it's very hard to listen to our friends be excited, proud of themselves, enjoying themselves without wanting to join in. It'll be especially helpful, though, if you think people you interact with will like the posts and comment on them, or even try to turn them into threads if you include their muses (with their consent, of course, and no pressure). If she sees that, it might make it even more interesting to her. You might also have to pose this as her helping you out, that you don't think you'll get more than two done if she isn't doing it as well, as a sort of a challenge she can hold you to.

Whatever you think might work best for engaging her, you know her well, you can do it!

Be there to help her out with ideas if she goes for it. Throw out some easy, fun suggestions you think she might like, that even give her some opportunity to write something with her muse that she doesn't get a chance to. Pull from the muse's canon, is there something in their canon that goes with the prompt word "snow," for instance? Is it something she enjoyed about the canon story? Suggest it. Thinking about both the muse and your friend, is there something else that came to mind about that prompt you could suggest? Do it!

Again, whatever she's most into, it's an angle. Humor? Her serious muse is forced into a ridiculous, funny situation that involves the snow. Angst? A sad memory associated with the snow. Shipping? A romantic, fluffy scene (or steamy one). And so on.

Be there to express interest and encouragement while she's doing it. Don't do things that are going to come off as pressuring or helicopter moming her, of course! Like, asking how much she's gotten done, did she start working on it yet? That's a bad idea, unless she enjoys that sort of thing. Instead, tell her how much you can't wait to see this, ask about how it's going, tell her about yours to encourage her to talk about it.

And be there to be her audience when she posts it. This really seems to be her highest reward, so give it to her. Like the post, comment on the post, tell her in messages. Not individually, all of those things. If you can find a way to that doesn't mess up what you've got going on with your blog, mutuals, other friends, etc., mention it on your blog.

At this point, people might be both aware of her RP habits and wary of engaging with her, but someone might bite if you're enthused and go like the post. If it's applicable, make some jokes about it on the dash, turn it into a moment of inside joke-like crack for people to see. Mention that she wrote this and you loved it, link it or outright reblog her post. Hell, mention that you and her are doing such and such prompts for whatever holiday or season before the fact, that way, it doesn't come out of nowhere to your mutuals, either. Again, if applicable, you can ask to turn it into a thread.

The point, at this juncture, isn't to attract people to her blog and posts, it's to demonstrate to her that this is fun and rewarding. If you can get people to go like the posts, great, but you can only count on yourself to do it at first.

Most people enjoy those sorts of prompts on their dash from mutuals, though. You're always going to have some who feel like it's annoying because it wasn't strictly a RP reply, but whatever, they're not the majority in most fandoms anymore, thankfully. Point is, it's literally showing her mutuals that she's capable of thinking as her muse and working on her muse. It's showing off good things and making her muse more interesting and uniquely hers in a good way. And it's totally possible that she's going to organically generate likes, people wanting to use this as a plot with her for RP, and mutuals who are increasingly following along with every post made.

The hope is that she experiences the beginnings of more interest in the muse than she does making muses, gain some confidence in doing this with the enjoyment of it, and stick with a muse longer than five seconds so that she can actually end up with the interactions she wants.

There are definitely other ways of doing this, the prompt thing just came to mind because it's major prompt season. You've got a prompt list floating around for literally every popular point of interest right now, from whump to extreme fluff to horror to humor. And it's going to keep going until January. It's also something that can be as short as a paragraph or as long as several thousand words, and that a hell of a lot of people don't do all of. So, it's easy, so long as she's got a reason to find it interesting and stay on course with it even a little bit.

You could also try getting her into doing something like moodboards for her muse but with little additions of writing that go along with them. Nothing major, just things like a quote from her muse or a sentence from a starter, thread, whatever.

So long as you can get her to start refocusing on RP being enjoyable from the inside and not just the outside, it's valid as hell to try it! She seems to be experiencing RP as instant gratification and basing that gratification on things she can't control, like popularity.

Right now, even giving her the sober truth that one can write the best version of a canon muse there is to be found, be someone enjoyable and interesting in OOC interactions, and be an amazing writer without that being enough to garner popularity, or even the plots that are wanted. That being a very popular RPer and having more interactions than you know what to do with (honestly sucks ass) isn't a set of absolute values, but rather, variables that are always in flux and often, totally mysterious. It's usually a mixture of total luck, visual appeal, and both mun being on point with what people want to see right this second and muse being the mixture of fanon that is desirable, also, right at this exact second. It is seriously not within anyone's control, no matter how much effort, quality, or even outright bullshit they have to put out there.

If she's ever going to stick to a muse and not find herself envious, upset, and bored it's absolutely got to come from herself. She's got to be popular with herself, enjoying herself regardless of what others are seemingly achieving or want to give her. It's not going to be recognized no matter how harsh or sweet you are about the problem, unless she's capable of really looking at those problems as problems, and I don't think she's going to get to that point through negatively bottoming out. She might get there through the opposite, though!

It's...just going to take a lot of effort and patience from you, with no expectation of reward yourself.

Because it's still likely as hell it's just not going to happen. And while it seems like you are the kind of friend who would find the effort worth it because you care and are invested in her, please know that there's no shame in merely contemplating this and noping right out.

You've got a life and are trying to enjoy the hobby as well! And if it seems like something that could sour your friendship? It's not worth it. You're better off just accepting that she'll inevitably tire of doing this and move on to another hobby, maybe decide to do fandom blogs or something instead that you can support her in.

It's definitely an unenviable and frustrating position you're in. All you can really do is try not to let this negatively impact the friendship, to keep refraining from just outright telling her things she'd find hurtful, and try your best to show her that it's rewarding to develop the muse and stick with it, not a task. That there are improvements she can make to her blog, and that it isn't a negative reflection on her that they can be made. You can try all the compassionate trickery in the world to lead her there, but it's ultimately up to her whether she brushes this off as well, don't let it hurt your feelings or exasperate you too much!

Also, it's totally possible that even if you met through RP and/or it has been a big part of the friendship, you might have grown in different directions in the hobby.

Growing within the hobby is inherent to any hobby you stick to for long enough, especially if you started out in it young. Some people seamlessly just keep growing to things that make them happy, others experience a lot of growing pains along the way as they're maybe ready for change, but only in select areas they have to discover for themselves. Still others grow in a way that doesn't make them very happy, but they're both not ready (or willing) to approach why and what they can do, and also still too attached to the good times they had to reassess whether it's still something they want to do, or if it's something better moved away from into something else.

That's always very difficult as a friend. Difficult in watching your friends not go the same directions as you anymore, even in something as comparatively silly as a hobby, in seeing them not enjoying themselves, and in the possibility that it could signal the end of enjoying the hobby with them. It's sad and frustrating, and can feel lonely, but if you're close enough friends, you've got so many other things to still be good friends over, so keep that in mind!

She might need to keep doing this with her blog and muse situation until she comes not to the realization that she needs to change how she's RPing to get what she wants, but rather, that she wants to stop RPing. That could be the burnout that happens here eventually, but again, not only can you still be great friends, if it makes her happier, it's good.

[spaceskam]

touch me (just try it)

for @insidious-intent ❤️

ao3

warning for implied depression and depression-influenced shitty eating habits

Most people didn't remember the day their gifts kicked in. Typically because it was gradual, it would just start one day and then eventually they'd notice. Alex didn't have that luxury.

Alex remembered the exact day his life changed: May 3rd, 2003.

He woke up to his dog running into his bedroom, barking and jumping into his bed. He'd reached out to pet him and then watched first hand as his dog begin to seize beneath his hand until he died right there. He was fine and then he wasn't. Alex called for his mom, crying and running to meet her halfway. She touched his face like she always did and, just like that, she fell on the floor.

Thankfully, since the power was still developing, she was able to survive via his father giving her CPR and having her rushed to the hospital. They were able to restart her heart that Alex had stopped.

The doctors had brought in a gift specialist to speak with Alex and they all but quarantined him to do so. It was the scariest moment of his life when they told him he'd have to be extra careful now. He couldn't touch anyone. He was considered legally a weapon. They put him in secluded spaces in school but it didn't stop him from being bullied, he took pills that were supposed to subdue it but didn't stop the neighbor's cat from dying when she brushed against his leg, and he adapted to being covered head to toe at all times but it didn't stop people from treating him like a plague. Nothing stopped his father from suggesting he be sent away and nothing stopped his parents from divorcing, his father taking his brothers and his mother taking Alex because she was the only one who wasn't scared to be in the same room as him.

The closest thing he got to human interaction these days were talks with his gift specialist and his mother. Even then, he couldn't touch them. When he cried, they couldn't console him. "Don't be silly," they said when he suggested a hazmat suit so that he could get one more hug, "there's no guarantee that'd work." Instead, he got a weighted blanket for Christmas.

He regretted not appreciating all the hugs all his mother gave him before this happened.

"Earth to Alex."

Alex looked up to see his mother handing him a plate of food. He involuntarily scrunched up his nose, slipping out of his seat.

"Not hungry."

"You never are," she said, tossing a Ziploc bag of cereal at him. He caught it and put it on his backpack. "Eat that at least."

Alex hummed in agreement though he knew he wouldn't. She kissed her hand and blew it to him.

"Love you, have a good day."

Somehow that always felt like a joke.

Alex walked to school on autopilot, no longer phased as people crossed the street to get away from him. Everyone in town knew about him for their own safety. As soon as he was positively diagnosed with a deadly gift, the entire town was notified. He tried not to think of how he was on the same level as a sex offender.

He walked through the halls at school and people parted like the Red Sea. The worst part was he couldn't blame them. He didn't know what a simple brush of his hand would do. He'd hurt three living things in his life and they all involved prolonged touching. He didn't know what he could get away with and he didn't want to try.

He got to class first, a class full of other "special" gifted people. People whose gifts definitely made it more difficult for them to integrate with the rest. Like Cara who could hear people's thoughts but only the negative ones or Max who had electrokinesis to the point no one really wanted to touch him either.

Alex sat in the far back in a chair that was separated from everyone else, a circle of desks around him that no one sat in. He fiddled with his gloves mindlessly as he waited for class to start. Then he could go home and watch YouTube until he fell asleep and then repeat. He figured that's what he'd be doing the rest of his life. He'd never get a job like this, he'd never get a boyfriend. It was just... this.

And then a ray of sunshine entered the room.

Not a literal one, of course, but a boy with glowing curls and a bright smile on his face. He walked in with skip in his step, bringing a piece of paper to the teacher. She smiled and welcomed him and told him to sit wherever. The boy scanned the room and, when his eyes landed on Alex, he smiled brighter. Alex swallowed hard and kept his face as neutral as possible despite the fact he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

"Hey, I'm Michael," the guy said as he took a seat right beside Alex. It was the closest anyone really got to Alex these days and he couldn't help but eye him weirdly. Michael still smiled. "Cool gloves."

Alex pulled his hands into his lap.

"So," Michael continued, clearly having it in his mind that he needed to get Alex to talk to him, "Let me guess. Gloves, so, something to do with your hands. Cryokinesis? Tactile empathy? Oh, I knew one girl, whoever she touched just suddenly found her to be the hottest person in the room. Sounds cool at first, but it kinda sucked long term."

Alex continued to stare at him like he'd lost it. He must be new in school. How come no one told him already to stay away from Alex? That seemed to be the first thing people did. But... He was in this class too. Maybe he had something special too. Alex didn't ask.

"Not very talkative, are you? Oh, maybe that's apart of your thing!" Michael said, excited enough to make Alex smile without warning.

"No, it's not," Alex told him. Michael's eyes seemed to light up like the goddamn sun and he was so gorgeous that Alex could hardly take it. Was this a special torture method? Send someone sweet to him just so he could be tempted to touch before the end up hating him like everyone else. "But I don't like talking about it."

"Fair enough," Michael agreed, "What's your name?"

"Alex."

"Alex," Michael repeated and it made Alex melt. Definitely torture. "Can I borrow a pencil?" That put Alex firmly back into confusion territory.

"Why?"

"Because I need something to write with?" he said slowly, laughter in his voice. Oh God, Alex was going to die. "I forgot to bring anything, sue me."

"Okay," Alex agreed, pulling out a pencil from his bag. He held onto the very tip and held it out to Michael, careful that they wouldn't touch.

Except Michael took it and his fingers grazed Alex's.

Alex snatched his hand back, staring in horror as he waited. He waited to see that brightness drain from Michael's eyes, waited to see him fall, waited for his heart to stop beating. But it didn't happen.

"Relax," Michael laughed, curls bouncing as bright as ever as he leaned back into his seat. But Alex couldn't relax. Someone just touched him, albeit barely, but they did. "So your power is something negative. I get it."

Alex didn't pay attention in class that day. He was far too busy waiting for this beautiful man to die.

He never did.

-

"Alex, wait up!"

Alex was more than a little shocked when he turned his head to see Michael jogging his way. He was still smiling when he caught up to him. Did he ever not smile? He hoped not.

"You walk fast," Michael laughed, "Wanna go get coffee or something? Ms. Daley said I should talk to someone from class to catch me up and you're the only person I've talked to, so."

"Coffee?" Alex clarified. Michael nodded. "I... I can't."

"Why not?" Michael pouted. He pouted. Who the hell told him he could do that? "Please?"

"I..." Alex trailed off, trying to think of something before he ended up just holding up his hand as if that was an answer. "Can't."

Michael eyed it and pursed his lips. He seemed to do some hard thinking before he got that grin right back.

"No worries. There's a little cafe a couple blocks away. They serve anyone with whatever power, I asked them, so we'll just sit in the back and we'll tell them you've got a hand one so they can be careful," Michael solved like it was that easy. 

“I can just give you my notes.”

“Nooo, I wanna socialize. Socialize with me,” Michael pleaded. Alex didn't know how to say that it wasn't an option, he didn't know how to say that everyone already knew about him. But he also couldn't say no to spending time with him.

"Okay," Alex agreed hesitantly. Michael looked awfully proud of himself and gestured to the right.

“Let’s go,” Michael said. Alex didn’t know what to say, so he just started walking.

As they headed towards the cafe, Michael brushed his arm against him. Alex again looked at him in horror and moved away and waited for him to die. But Michael just laughed and kept walking. Alex was failing to see how this was funny. In fact, he was freaking the fuck out.

He was being touched. And no one was dying.

Alex didn't say anything though. Maybe it just wasn't enough contact, maybe those pills subdued it just enough that he could have slightly brushes of contact and it'd be okay. Still, it had him confused enough to the point Michael had to carry the entire conversation.

By the time they got to the Crashdown Cafe, he knew Michael had come here from Alberquerque, he'd moved because his foster parents were and they actually wanted to keep him, and that his favorite food was frosted Cheerios. And, still, all Alex heard was his heart thumping in his ears. A pretty ball of light touched him and didn’t burn out.

“Hi!” he cheered to the people working at the cafe. Even though he was new, they seemed to know him and waved to him. It was strange.

Alex could feel eyes on him as he followed Micahel to the back of the cafe, being extra cautious not to bump into anyone. They got the booth farthest to the back and Alex slid close to the wall, putting his bag on the other side of him. Michael sat across from him, still smiling.

“Okay, Mr. Alex. Teach me a thing,” Michael said. Alex could barely take it. Was it even legal to be that fucking cute?

Alex took out his notes and slid them over to Michael.

“That’s basically everything we’ve learned so far. Which I could’ve just given you in the first place,” Alex pointed out. Michael gave a little prideful shimmy and wiggled his eyebrows. Who the fuck allowed that? He had to look away.

“So, since we got that out of the way,” Michael said, taking the notes and removing them from the table, “Tell me about you, about Roswell, about anything.” Were boys always this forward? Alex didn’t know that was a real thing boys did. He thought that was just a movie thing.

“Um,” Alex said, looking around so he didn’t have to look at how painfully adorable he was, “Not much to tell. I’m boring, Roswell’s boring.”

“I don’t believe that,” Michael insisted.

“No, really, I don’t do anything. I-I don’t even go out. I go to school and then I go home because...”

“Of the hand thing, right,” Michael said. They fell silent for a moment. Alex hated himself for it. He couldn’t even hold a conversation right. “Well, tell me just one thing.”

“What?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“How many queer people are in this town? Like, am I gonna have to play it straight or what?” 

And to think Alex assumed this boy could not fuck him up more.

Through a clearly playful grin, Michael said, “Man, you are the easiest person in the world to make blush, you know that?” Alex dropped his chin to his chest. “I kinda love it.”

“Um,” Alex breathed, trying to gather his thoughts. Why? Why? Why? WHY? “Th-there aren’t many out people around town that I know of. But I’m not the right person to ask, I don’t know anything, I don’t hang out with anyone.”

“Oh,” Michael said, “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. That was a shitty way of asking you if you were queer.”

Alex looked up at him with wide eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. Could he be more forward? Actually, Alex didn’t want to meet someone who was more forward than him. He might explode.

“I...” Alex said, swallowing hard, “Yeah.”

Michael flashed a smile so wide, his cheeks made his eyes scrunch up. “Cool.”

Alex had never been more thankful to see another person when an older man walked up to the table, a notepad in hand and ready to take their order. Michael turned his smile onto him and Alex finally felt like he could take a breath away from the spotlight. 

“What can I get for you boys?” he asked.

Michael ordered for them both and the man gave Alex a kind smile that said ‘I know but it’s okay’ and that was just a lot to deal with. This in itself was a lot to deal with. Michael was too much and too nice and too forward. He needed to process this. He needed to go home.

“I think I should go,” Alex said, grabbing his bag and going to slide out of the booth so he could leave.

“Wait, Alex,” Michael said, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

He grabbed his hand.

He grabbed his hand.

Alex snatched his arm away so fast that he elbowed the back of the booth hard enough to hurt. Michael just looked confused that he would want to get away from him that badly.

“How are you not dead?” Alex asked, voice hushed and slightly horrified as Michael didn’t croak from grabbing his hand.

Michael blinked a few times in shock, slowly registering what was happening. Alex didn’t know how he hadn’t figured it out earlier. Maybe he was all looks and smiles and no fucking brain.

“Oh. So... you can kill people,” Michael said. Alex pressed his lips into a hard line and prepared for the backlash.

“Less of a can, more of an I don’t have a choice,” Alex retorted. Michael nodded slowly and that smile slowly, slowly started spreading across his cheeks.

“Well, isn’t this very convenient,” Michael said. Alex’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I can’t actually die.”

“You’re immortal?” Alex sputtered out. Michael scrunched up his nose and tilted his head.

“Invincible is the word they used. Like, I can’t get hurt. So, whatever your power is, it isn’t like a straight death thing, it’s a hurt then death thing. But since I can’t get hurt, you can’t kill me,” Michael said proudly.

Again, Alex could hear his heart thumping in his ears. His face was getting hot and he felt a little lightheaded. He didn’t know how to react to that. He didn’t know how to feel about possibly having someone he could touch... and that person being attractive and also impossibly nice. It didn’t make sense.

Besides, he’d never heard of someone being invincible. It just wasn’t possible.

“I... I don’t believe you,” Alex said. Michael put his hands on the table and made a grabby motion.

“Let me prove it to you,” he said. Alex gulped hard and shook his head.

“What if you're wrong? I don’t want to kill you. I’m considered a weapon,” Alex insisted. Michael pursed his lips for a moment before his eyes lit up with an idea.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera, turning it on himself. Alex felt like his lungs were fucking failing. What was happening?

“I, Michael Guerin, totally consent to be touched by Alex... I don’t know your last name, Alex. But if it kills me, then it’s totally my fault. Video evidence, see?” Michael said, promptly dropping his phone before making grabby hands all over again. “Lemme show you.”

Reluctantly, he raised his hand from beneath the table. He was too scared to reach for him or even meet him halfway, but... he could do that.

“Can I touch you?” Michael asked, a little more serious now as he fed off of Alex’s straight fear. 

“Okay,” Alex whispered. Michael gave that comforting smile and reached across the table, grabbing his hand between both of his.

Alex didn’t breathe basically the entire time. Michael held his hand for a moment before asking if he could take off the glove and, when he got the okay, he did. 

For the first time in years, Alex had skin to skin contact.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Michael said which was the only reason Alex knew he was crying, “It’s okay.”

“Everything I’ve touched since I was 13 had immediate heart failure,” Alex admitted, voice weak and crackly. But he didn’t care. He didn’t realize how much he missed being touched. 

Which was scary because he already knew he missed it a lot.

“Oh,” Michael said, blinking hard and eyes going wide like it just clicked. And maybe it did. Maybe he didn’t get it. Honestly, Alex didn’t think he ever would. “Well, sounds like we make a pretty good match then, huh?”

Alex let out a wet laugh and stared down at his hand in between Michael’s. He got to watch and feel as Michael rubbed his thumb over the heel of his hands, his fingers stretching up past the cuff of his shirt to feel his wrist. His other hand traced over his palm and dedicated time to play with each of his fingers. Alex didn’t even care as a tear rolled over his cheek.

“So, uh,” Michael said after a moment, “Where else can I touch you?”

Alex managed to steal his eyes away from their hands to look at him, laughing as he shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so goddamn happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been happy at all. But right now was amazing.

Right now, he didn’t feel alone.

“I barely know you,” Alex pointed out. Michael shrugged slightly and Alex felt his foot drag up his leg.

“I’m excited to know you,” Michael said decisively. 

Alex couldn’t lie. He was excited too.

[graphicabyss]

?人 NEWS

I wrote an enormous post, or rather an essay, concerning NEWS, Tegoshi, and everything that went through my mind in the past month. Honestly, it’s mostly my way of coping, getting it out of my system and sorting out my thoughts and feelings. But I decided to also post it here for those who might want to read.

It was a long time coming. The rumours were lurking around for years and a month ago they bloomed. And yet, the full realization is yet to dawn on me. When something devastating happens, our mind tends to shake off the pain by either exonerating the beloved person who hurt us, or blaming them and distancing away from them. It's really hard to stay objective. But I'll try.

Coming into this fandom, I prepared myself for disappointment. Once I was a TVXQ fan. You know, the 5-nin TVXQ that was going to be "together forever" and all that. So I wowed never to get that invested in a pop band. When NEWS came along, I tried not to get too attached. I knew it would hurt me, sooner of later. And for awhile, it worked. But, as years went by, I knew I lost the battle. We humans need to cling to something. Thus, nearly 7 years have passed.

To me, Tegoshi has always been a key component. He was the one that led me to NEWS. Or rather, how pretty he looked in a dress. Tegoshi always kept me interested. Sometimes he excited, sometimes he annoyed, but he was never ever boring. He was made of contradictions, both in words and in actions. Nothing ever adds up with him. He made me want to understand him but I could never quite grasp it. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was because he doesn't really understand himself either.

In these years, I had several crisis points where I considered leaving the fandom, all caused by something shitty Tegoshi said or did. But every time I bounced back. Of course, I didn't do it for him. I did it for myself. However, his selfishness has always been offset by his kindness. The last time was him crying at the end of Neverland tour and how sorry he looked. Till the end, I wanted to believe that his common sense and loyalty won't let him do something reckless and stupid. Yet, here we are. The interview he gave to Bunshun led me to believe that he would do the right thing. He said he would show his gratitude to JE and would definitely make his fans happy but now it's the furthest thing from the truth. The fandom is disappointed, confused, angry.

Some people say to get over it, that Tegoshi was meant to leave or some shit. But I think those people fundamentally misunderstand the heart of the problem. It's not that he left that infuriated the fandom. It's how and when he left. Most fans would support his decision to leave if the transition was done properly. He owed us that much. A proper apology. A proper gratitude. A proper farewell. The announcement had me in disbelief. I expected him to at least finish the contract, do the Story Tour, no matter how long it takes, and show the members, staff and the fans the respect they deserve. To cut it short feels like a violation. At the very least, we need a closure. The last goodbye. The last concert. The last something. He just left JE after 17 years like it was nothing.

More than anything, what he did seems so stupid. He had it so fucking good. He was always in the spotlight, both on stage and in TV shows. The other members did most of the offscreen work allowing him to shine. He was supported by endlessly patient members and staff. He had the freedom to choose and all the work he wanted for each of his passions - ItteQ, Soccer Earth, OpenRec. And he had fans that always supported him, no matter how many scandals he had.

What was so important that he had to give up on all the amazing benefits he had? To betray all this trust? And on top of it, at a time like this? When all world is going through so much shit? When the fans need moral support more than ever? What were the "dreams" that he talked about?

The ability to rant on Twitter? Making duckface selfies? Fucking around? Assembling a shitty rock band? Performing with strippers? Some kind of unique business opportunity? He talked for years about wanting to perform overseas or hosting fan events but right now these things are offlimit anyway. Why couldn't he at the very least explain his decision properly? Just that alone will definitely hurt his further career in the long run. The press-conference lasted 2 hours but it answered none of the questions that really mattered and there was no remorse. Though at this point, I can't trust anything he says anyway. He created his Twitter account the the evening it all went down and didn't bother explaining himself. He just jumped off the ship and let other people deal with the damage.

Even now, it all seems like some kind of bad dream. Then again, all of the 2020 does.

When I first saw "手越退社" trending on Twitter back in May I felt like I was spinning into a downward spiral, like all air was sucked out of me. And it wasn't the "oh, no! what will the band do?" I never went to a NEWS concert and never brought any merch. To me, it wasn't really the feelings of a fan whose band faces a crisis but rather that of an entrepreneur who invested too much money into one asset and watched it plummet.

Fandom stuff is a currency that can devalue in a blink of an eye. Its valuable as long as its core message is intact. This is why I can't stand people being petty over scans or videos. I share when I can knowing it will make someone happy because I know that tomorrow that someone might move on. When I stumble upon old closed journals with password-protected downloads they feel like ancient abandoned temples. The treasures in them turned to dust.

4nin NEWS were based on unity, the combination of 4 unique characters. Four components, each of them essential. Now that concept failed. It's like standing in front of a collapsed building. I try to assess the damage. How much of it can I salvage? Repurpose? How much is lost and needs to be cleaned up? Should I even bother?

What do I do with hundreds of live performances and TV shows, in HD, lovingly downloaded and stored?

What to make of thousands of scans, magazines, pamphlets, almost each image edited and sorted? Thousands more stored neatly in folders, waiting to be posted. Countless screens and gifs.

What of the member ai fanvideos that gained over 100k on Youtube bringing joy to so many people? I already got the first heartbroken comment saying "we won't ever see them like that again, will we?"

What to make of my unfinished stories? Honestly, it's one of the things I'm most proud in my entire life. Now their future is uncertain.

Do I take down the poster on my wall? The CDs on my shelf? Soon I will have to looks at my enormous stash and decide for each item. Things that once brought joy now cause pain.

NEWS weren't selling music, they were selling ideas and dreams. The cute band photos now cause hurt and anger. The uplifting songs about unity won't be convincing. All the concerts lost their charm.

Am I being too dramatic? Probably. Perhaps the issue itself may seem trivial to an outsider but our grief is real.

Tegoshi keeps saying he loves NEWS and adores the members. But to me, loving is doing everything you can to avoid hurting the ones you love. Perhaps he means it, but that love will never compare to the love he has for himself. Despite what he says, I doubt we'll even see them together again and I'm not even sure I want to. I knew apart from Koyashige, the members aren't really that close personally. Tegoshi is shallow and seeks popularity more than anything. I'm sure than now he'll hang out with even shadier characters than before. The members used to provide him with the much needed tough love. Now, with nothing and noone holding him back, he'll give in to his overblown ego.

I'm not sure how I feel about NEWS continuing as 3. I mean, I support their decision and that's probably what most fans want but to me, I don't know if it'll work out that well. They were already a band with a lot of luggage and now, just like in 2011, they are a band that induces pity. They would have to rearrange so much to try and fill this huge gaping hole. Not to mention they will struggle vocally. No songs, no choreography can be unaltered. It might be better to go on within the agency doing their own things. But then that would just mean Tegoshi was indispensable and all the work they put in will be wasted. The Story must be competed.

In the past week I went through various stages of grief. The anger was strong and so was disbelief. Now it's finally subsiding, giving way to acceptance. It won't come soon but I'll let all the emotions run their course. The fact is Tegoshi remains very entertaining and the temptation to keep following him and rant about him is strong. I probably wouldn't even fight it if he were to leave with at least a shred of dignity. But with the way things are, I refuse to support him in any way. And I will at least try to phase him out as much as I can as I realize that even my anger is playing into his hands as he wants nothing more than attention, good or bad. Instead, I'll try to focus on those who do deserve support.

I'm not yet sure how to proceed with the blog and everything else but I'll take my time and figure it out. The truth is Tegoshi was one of the two major things that have kept me here for so long. And no, the second reason is not Shige. It's the people. Out of all the fandoms I've been in over the years this one really felt like home. I met so many amazing people here, even though many of them have since moved on. I felt accepted and appreciated.

This week has been an emotional roller-coaster. But today I feel fine. I have a dozen reasons to be depressed. But I'm not miserable right now because of the fandom. I've had about 10 people write to me within several days. Some of them I haven't talked to in months, some I've never talked to before, and some from other fandoms. They reached out to share their thoughts and feelings, and I appreciate it so much. I felt less alone. I felt a sense of solidarity, a sisterhood. Many agreed with me and it was touching but even more touching were the people who didn't necessarily agree with me and still wanted to hear what I had to say.

Perhaps it's patronizing but I feel like right now the best I can do is stay connected and go through this together. If I can help others, through informing, making someone smile, or supporting emotionally, it's all worth it.

[treh-co]

A Hard Place To Stay

Words: 4750 Chapters: 1/1 Characters: Michael Jones, Gavin Free, others mentioned Pairings: Gavin Free/Michael Jones, Lindsay Tuggey Jones/Michael Jones (Mentioned) TW: Description of depressive symptoms, reckless driving, mentions of violence Other Tags: FAHC Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Making Out

"How about you, then?"

"How about what?"

"Do you think you'd be happy?" Gavin pressed, the flecks of yellow in his irises burning like sparks. "If we hadn't met?"

Michael can't always solve his problems with pipe bombs or expletives. Gavin can be helpful, in his own way.

Read On AO3

Since Michael had reached Los Santos and met the Fakes, his life had been pretty good. It wasn’t perfect, but hell, whose was? When he looked at what he had, now- a team, a roof over his head, a job that he loved and money in his pockets- he really couldn't complain. Most of the time, his life was great.

That being said? Some days fucking sucked.

It wasn't really that surprising. He'd always been like this, ever since he was a kid. He just got mad sometimes. Real fuckin pissed, for no good reason whatsoever. It wasn't like a new place, a new alias, and a few thousand bucks would just fix everything. His own fucked-up brain was bound to catch up with him, eventually.

No, what was confusing was that all of it- his job, his friends, his new life- almost made it worse. Not to say that he was upset about the situation itself. Far from it, actually. But it was just frustrating, in a way his old life hadn't been. He supposed that was because it just made sense, back then. He was in his twenties, shit-broke, stuck in a dead-end gig as an electrician with no plans, no aspirations, barely any friends. His life fucking sucked, so of course he'd be pissed about it. That was par for the course.

Now, though, his life wasn't shit. He was happy- or at least, he should be. He had everything he'd ever wanted. All the excitement and spontaneity he could handle, money and cool cars and a group of people he loved, who loved him back. Fuck's sake, he got to shoot people, blow shit up, and cause mayhem with his best friends for a living. He should be the happiest goddamn person on earth.

But some days, he just wasn't. Some days, like today, he was laying in a fuming pile on his bed, paralyzed by how much he hated everything in the world, losing his mind with anger over absolutely nothing. And that was the real kicker, when he thought about it. The fact that he could fix everything, make his life as amazing as it could be, and the universe would still find a way to kick him in the balls. Even now, he couldn't just be happy. Because that'd just be too easy, wouldn't it?

Almost on cue, his mental hurricane of self-loathing and miserable introspection was rudely interrupted by the sound of his bedroom door- which he could swear he’d locked- being thrown open. The carelessness and lack of warning told Michael who it was before any grating, British syllable could even make it to his ears.

"Michael!" Gavin called, chipper and sunny, and Michael could swear he'd never been so close to strangling the other boy in his life.

"Fuck off," he groaned, turning onto his side, refusing to give Gavin the satisfaction of full acknowledgment. He heard an offended squawk from behind him, and hoped that Gavin would take the hint and leave it at that.

If only he should be so lucky.

Instead, he heard the door close again, followed by a quiet click! The ceiling light flicked on, and Michael practically hissed.

"Goddamn it!" he shouted, grabbing a pillow and chucking it blindly towards the other side of the room, pulling the other one up to cover his face. "Turn the fucking lights back off, asshole!"

Of course, Gavin ignored him. In less than five seconds, Michael heard a hup, and the mattress dipped beneath the sudden weight of Gavin landing full-body beside him. He hit the blankets with a grunt, which dissolved into a small laugh. Another time, Michael might have found the other boy's antics amusing- maybe even cute. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw him out and slam the door in his face.

"I'm gonna kill you," he growled. "I'm actually gonna fucking kill you."

"What?" Gavin put on his playing-dumb voice, and Michael could feel him sitting up and leaning over his shoulder to try to meet his eyes. "Why would you say that, Michael?"

"Because I mean it, dumbass!" Michael snapped, throwing the pillow off his head and whacking Gavin in the face with it, receiving a shocked yelp in response. "Would it kill you to not be so goddamn obnoxious for once in your stupid fucking life?!"

Gavin frowned as he rescued his sunglasses from where they'd fallen on the mattress in Michael's pillow-based assault, replacing them on his head, but he only shrugged at the other boy's berating. "Probably."

Michael groaned, falling back down onto the bed, too exasperated to bother yelling anymore. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

"Would you just leave me alone? Please?"

"No!" It was apparently Gavin's turn to be irate. He pushed himself up onto his knees, crossing his arms and glaring down stubbornly at Michael. "You've been alone all day, Michael. You've hardly left your room all weekend!"

"I'm brooding," Michael replied tiredly, muffled as he turned to press his face into the mattress. "Let me brood."

"Absolutely not!"

Suddenly, Michael could feel Gavin's weight leaving the bed. There was a tugging on his leg, and before Michael could finish the instinctive string of expletives he was shouting in response, Gavin had pulled the sweatpants Michael was wearing off of him completely, dropping them on the floor.

"What the fuck, Gavin?!"

"Get dressed!" the brit demanded, looking rather proud of himself. "We're going out!"

"Like hell we are, asshole!" Michael snapped.

Gavin rolled his eyes and returned to the bed, seemingly unconcerned with any potential retaliation Michael might have in mind.

"Come on, Micool," Gavin whined, butchering his name in that way he knew only he could get away with. "You've been locked up in here for ages! I can't stand to see you all mopey anymore."

"You mean, you got bored," Michael said dryly. Gavin shrugged.

"Well- yeah, okay, that's part of it," he admitted. "But I'm also right! You can't stay in your room forever! You need fresh air, and sun!"

Michael glanced at the window. "The sun went down, like, an hour ago."

"...Just fresh air, then!" Resorting to drastic measures, Gavin threw himself onto Michael's shoulder, putting on the best puppy-dog eyes he could manage. "Please Michael? Just for a little while?"

Michael humored Gavin's staring contest for about three seconds, weighing his options. Then he slumped back against the headboard and sighed.

"If I do, will you leave me alone when we get back?"

Gavin nodded vigorously, already lighting up with the knowledge that he'd won. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He already regretted this.

"Fine."

After he finally managed to get Gavin out of his room, Michael begrudgingly threw on some clothes- he considered locking Gavin out and going back to bed, but knowing him, he'd just find Trevor and convince the younger boy to pick the lock for him. Trevor was concerningly easy to talk into things like that. So, against his better judgement, Michael simply got changed and made his way to the front room of the penthouse, where Gavin was already waiting for him. The other boy was perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, kicking his feet and staring down at his phone. He looked up and smiled when he heard Michael walk in.

"There you are! Thought you were gonna stand me up, boi."

"Yeah, whatever," Michael crossed his arms. "Where are we even going?"

"Don't know!" Gavin chirped happily, and Michael had to catch the keyring that Gavin flung at him without warning. "It's up to you!"

Michael glowered at him. "Seriously? All that to get me outside, and you didn't even think of something to do?"

"Would you have been happy with anything I picked?" Gavin replied pointedly.

"Whatever," Michael scoffed, choosing to ignore the fact that Gavin was probably right. "Let's just get this shit over with."

To Gavin's credit, the act of offering Michael access to his personal garage was a surprisingly generous one. They took the elevator down, and Michael took a moment to assess his options. The room was filled top to bottom with an array of gaudy vehicles, from chrome to neons to his signature gold. Michael felt like he'd get a headache just from standing in the room; eventually, he decided that a red 9F Cabrio was one of the least offensive items in the collection. Gavin didn't try to hide his disappointment in the decision, but climbed into the passenger seat regardless, on the condition that they pull the top down immediately.

"Won't you mess up your hair?" Michael pointed out as he pulled the car out of the garage.

Gavin shrugged. "Who cares?"

Michael thought about bringing up the fact that Gavin spent about fifteen minutes every morning just on his hair, gelling and combing it into some specific array of spikes that only he understood the purpose of, but then decided that it was probably pointless. He'd never met someone who managed to simultaneously care so much and yet so little about their appearance. It was almost impressive.

Michael took the first couple of minutes on the road to get accustomed to the car. He didn't have one like this; fancy sports cars were for people like Geoff, Gavin, and Jeremy. People who either loved cars, or loved expensive, flashy shit. Michael wasn't either of those. He didn't care about price tags or convoluted specs. If it had an engine and wouldn't explode if he touched it, he'd take it. That being said, he could still appreciate a nice car when he drove it, and this one was definitely not bad to handle. The turn and acceleration were smooth, and Michael found himself testing it, pushing faster or making quicker turns, seeing how much the car could handle. He didn't bother with conversation, and thankfully, Gavin didn't seem interested in making any, either. That was another strange thing about Gavin; the boy could ramble about nothing for hours on end, but he could also go for nearly a day without speaking a word, if he felt like it. He was a mess of tangled-up contradictions wrapped into the shape of a man. But then, Michael thought, maybe that was what he liked about him. He was weird, sure, but in an exciting, interesting way. He never knew what to expect out of Gavin. The more he thought about it, the more Michael realized that it was one of his favorite things.

Not that he'd ever tell him that- Gavin's ego was inflated enough.

"Where are we going, Michael?" he asked eventually, when they began to approach the county line. It was well into the night, but the sky still glowed with the city lights that pushed up from beneath it, warding off the cosmos with an artificial pulse.

"I don't know yet," he replied. "Where the wind fuckin' takes us, I guess."

"How romantic," Gavin cooed. Michael snorted and punched him in the arm.

"Dumbass."

True to his word, Michael drove them around aimlessly for another few minutes, weaving through back streets and intersections, until every street melted into each other, a monotonous blur of neon and grime. Despite the late hour, the streets were predictably crowded. If New York was the city that never sleeps, Los Santos was its coked-up insomniac cousin.

It wasn't until they were nearing the freeway that Gavin suddenly gasped and grabbed Michael's arm. Michael recognized the glint in his green eyes.

"Oh, god- you have an idea, don't you?"

"The best idea," Gavin agreed, with a manic kind of grin that always preceded his idiotic schemes. Michael cocked an eyebrow.

Often, when Gavin had ‘ideas’, Michael could shut them down by refusing to hear him out. He found that the other boy often considered the attention he’d get for certain stunts the most worthwhile factor. But whether he was too tired to care or just itching for something stupid and exciting, Michael decided to humor him, at least for tonight.

"Care to explain?"

"I bet a thousand that you can't make it to Mount Chiliad by eleven."

Michael glanced down at the dash clock. 10:48.

"That's stupid," He told Gavin. "We'd have to go, like, twice the speed limit, non-stop to make it to Blaine County in time."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gavin rolled his eyes. "I forgot, I'm driving with Michael 'Road Safety' Jones. Wouldn't want a ticket, now, would we?"

"Alright, motherfucker- y'know what?"

Gavin always seemed to know what would push Michael's buttons in just the right way to make him do what he wanted. This was just another instance; before he could let himself think twice, Michael had his foot to the gas, and they were speeding through Little Seoul in a beeline for La Puerta freeway. He knew he was just giving Gavin what he wanted, but the shocked yelp he got out of the brit at his sudden acceleration was compensation enough.

From that point, the ride became a non-verbal affair. The rush of the wind and the roar of the engine was more than enough to drown out any attempts at speech, nevermind the addition of angry onlooker's horns and the squeals of tires and brakes. They tore across the county line like a missile on track to a target, ready to explode. Michael let the adrenaline consume his thoughts; the buzzing at his fingertips, the blood pounding in his ears, his heartbeat slamming into his bones. He knew every route to Mount Chiliad like the back of his hand on this point; he could make it there in his sleep.

With such a familiar route, Michael found his attention straying from the road. As they merged onto the Senora freeway, he caught a glimpse of the inner city from the distance, and suddenly, his earlier thoughts were clawing their way back into his mind. He thought about the people they were passing, the people they left behind in the city.

Thousands of people, just like him- except they weren't like him. They didn’t blow off steam with potentially deadly joy rides down the freeway. They didn't need to cause trouble, cause a scene everywhere they went, spread pain and death and fear through every person they saw just to feel something. They were normal. So how the fuck was he different? Why couldn't he be like them? Why couldn't this be enough? It wasn't fair, he thought, feeling not unlike a petulant child- it wasn't fucking fair. The frustration, confusion, rage- it was all just too much, and all at once Michael- Michael just screamed.

It was low, at first; unsure. But then it was like the dam had snapped. A flood of everything, every thought and feeling he'd been shoving down for days, months, years, spilled out between his teeth. He cried it all out with all the air in his chest, like an exorcism, a purge, until his lungs begged for release and he could taste copper in his throat, letting the noise fall and fade on the deaf ears of a thousand distant lives.

When he stopped to breathe, he suddenly remembered that Gavin was there. He turned to the passenger seat. He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected- maybe confusion, or even fear. But what he got was a wide, toothy grin. Before he could ask, Gavin was climbing out of his seat, unbothered by the neck-breaking speed with which they were hurtling down the highway. He sat himself on the edge of the side door, holding the headrest of the passenger seat for balance, and stuck one arm out into the open air. Michael watched him, almost awed; the wind lashed at his sandy blonde hair, tugged at the ends of his button-up blouse, and the rapidly passing street lights flickered in his eyes, tiny yellow sparks dancing in the dark of his pupil and the pale green of his iris. He'd never looked more at home; more alive.

And then, like Michael, Gavin screamed. With one hand reaching up into the sky, he filled his chest with air, and let it out in a full-body shout. No words, all meaning- not angry, like Michael's, but visceral with something that he couldn't put a name to. He almost wished he was better at that, at naming and detecting emotion, if only to decipher the sounds Gavin was hurling at the moon.

It was like that exchange had been some agreement between the two of them. Without coordination, they began to take turns screaming from the car as they tore across the county line, rivaling the sirens of police cars they'd lose with ease and the horns of bystanders who had to lurch out of the way. They must've carried on like that for miles, all the way to the mountain. What Michael would've paid to see themselves in that moment- whooping and hollering, howling like a pair of rabid wolves. A twin set of burning supernovas, ready to self-destruct and take this whole damn city down with them. Screaming into the night sky like they were daring the stars to scream back.

By the time they reached the mountain, they'd both begun to come down from the thrill, breathless and hoarse. As Michael eased off the gas to weave more carefully along the unpaved mountain path, Gavin fell back into his seat, gazing up at the sky in what looked like tired contentment. With the roar of the engine calmed to a steady purr, they let an easy silence settle in the space between them. Michael didn't even bother trying to reach the higher peaks of the mountain; a sports car could hardly make it halfway. Instead, he found a substantial cliff a short ways up, parking haphazardly near the base. As soon as the car came to a stop, Gavin was swinging the door open and climbing out. Michael waited, watching him as he sauntered off the path and into the thick grass between it and the edge of the cliffside, finding a clear spot and then promptly dropping like dead weight. Michael couldn't help the easy laugh that bubbled from his chest. He shut off the engine, finally leaving the car and moving to join him.

"Was that what you had in mind?" he asked, sitting beside Gavin in the grass. It was slightly damp, with late-night dew that was just beginning to settle. The smell of wet foliage grew stronger as the stench of burnt gasoline began to fade beneath it. The contrast was stark, but far from unwelcome. It always made him think of home, for some reason- springs and summers back in Jersey, late nights and early mornings in their tiny backyard. But the grass felt different, here. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

"No," Gavin laughed, breathy and light, propping himself up on his elbows. "That was much better." Gazing down at Gavin, Michael suddenly had an idea.

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning down. "How about this?"

Without further warning, he flipped over to straddle Gavin's waist. In a second, he had the smaller man's shoulders pinned down onto the grass, and their lips were locked together in a rough, deep kiss. Gavin hadn't expected this, but he fell into it with ease, pushing himself up against Michael so their bodies were flush, like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

This wasn't the first time they'd done this- it certainly wouldn't be the last. If Michael was honest, he wasn't really sure what he and Gavin were. They'd never discussed it. But Lindsay knew, and she didn't mind, and Gavin and Michael certainly didn't have any complaints with this unspoken arrangement. So, for the time being, they skipped the words and definitions. The feeling of Gavin's lips against his, his bare skin beneath Michael's wandering palms; that was all he needed to know.

They broke apart after a moment, just to catch their breath. Michael was sure he must look as smug as he felt.

"So?" Gavin hesitated for a moment. Michael felt a little proud at his ability to leave Gavin, of all people, speechless. Then the other boy’s brain seemed to catch up, and he snickered.

"I don't know," he said. "It'd probably be better if you weren't getting grass stains all over my favorite blouse."

Michael rolled his eyes. "You're such a fuckin' diva."

But neither of them could help the laughter that passed between their parted mouths as Michael leaned back down. They readjusted; Michael sitting back again, finding a nearby rock to rest against, while Gavin climbed on top. Michael's hands found a home in the dip of Gavin’s waist, and Gavin tangled his fingers through Michael's hair, his nails scraping over the scalp. They kissed and touched, exploring their bodies, but neither moved to undress. Surprisingly, Michael was grateful.

It wasn't that he didn't find Gavin sexy. Far from it. But tonight- he just couldn't do it tonight. He supposed there were some people that made themselves feel better with sex, but it never worked with him. If anything, it made him feel worse. He wasn't sure if Gavin knew that, or if he could just tell that Michael wasn't interested in going further, but either way, he didn't protest the lack of escalation. No, Michael thought; he didn't need sex. He just needed this- this was enough. The warmth of another body, the feeling of Gavin's heartbeats falling in time with his own. Enough sensation to distract, to lose himself between soft, swollen lips, steady fingertips, the smell of expensive cologne and the taste of gas-station gum. Contradictions, he was reminded- always contradictions. He grazed his teeth over Gavin's neck, relishing the feeling of wrapping his mouth around the delicate skin just above his collarbone- the feeling of control, of biting without breaking, of bruising just light enough to leave his mark on the other boy's body, not enough to make him hurt. Because that was really what it came down to, wasn't it? Control. He couldn't control how he felt, or how it affected him. But he could control this.

Gavin was the most complicated person Michael knew- but goddamn if loving him wasn't the easiest thing in the world.

They might've stayed like that for minutes or hours, Michael couldn't tell, and he didn't have it in him to care. When they finally had their fill of each other's breath, they laid back down in the grass, gazing up at the stars side by side, like some cheesy movie. They weren't far enough from the city to fully escape the light pollution, but it was enough to make a difference. He didn't think either of them knew much about the stars, really- but it was still nice to look at. A sea of white pin-pricks floating in endless black.

"Makes you feel small, doesn't it?" Gavin said, without turning away from the sky.

"What, space?" Michael frowned. "I guess."

"I mean- think about it! Millions of stars, light years worth of space, and here we are, tiny little things on a tiny little rock, in the middle of a tiny galaxy that's just one in a billion."

"Wasn't this whole thing supposed to make me feel better?" Michael drawled. Gavin laughed, sounding a little sheepish.

"Right, sorry..."

Michael reached up and picked a piece of grass out of the dirt, twirling it between his fingers. He could feel Gavin looking at him when he spoke again.

"So- what were you so upset about, anyway?" he asked. Michael sighed. He'd been hoping that Gavin would just let it be, but he supposed he should have known better.

"I don't know, man- a lot of shit," he said. He took a moment to think, and Gavin let him, waiting quietly for Michael to continue. "It's just... do you ever think about how your life would be different if you weren't... like this?"

"If I wasn't 'like this'?" Gavin repeated, sounding confused. "What's that mean?"

"I mean, like," Michael struggled to put his thoughts into words. "We're not normal, y'know? Normal people don't kill other people and blow shit up and rob banks for fun. We're fucked up, right?"

Gavin hummed like he hadn't considered that before. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I guess I just can't stop thinking, lately, like... what if I was normal? What if I didn't choose this kind of life? What if I'd stayed in Jersey, stayed with my family, had a normal job?"

Would I have finally been happy?

He couldn't finish the question out loud, for some reason. It echoed against his skull.

Gavin was quiet for a long moment. Michael spared a glance in his direction. His eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed. He looked like he was thinking hard.

"...Well, I think that would be rubbish, wouldn't it?"

Michael was caught off guard by how sure Gavin's response was. "What?"

Gavin shrugged. "I dunno, I just... I think about what my life would've been like if I hadn't been the way I am, and I probably would have stayed in England. I never would've moved here, I never would've met Geoff. I never would've met you," he flicked his gaze towards Michael pointedly, meeting his eyes, smiling. "And that sounds like a pretty sorry alternative to this, doesn't it?"

Michael could feel a flush building in his cheeks. He hoped the night was too dark for Gavin to pick it out.

"You sound so fuckin' cheesy right now," he said, ignoring the question. Gavin laughed.

"How about you, then?"

"How about what?"

"Do you think you'd be happy?" Gavin pressed, the flecks of yellow in his irises burning like sparks. "If we hadn't met?"

"How would I know, genius?" Michael shot back.

"Don't you'd think there'd be, like, an empty space? Like there was something missing?"

Michael scoffed. "I don't fuckin' know, dude. There's literally no way to tell something like that."

Gavin frowned. He pushed himself up slightly on his elbows, staring at Michael like he was solving a puzzle. "Well... are you happy now?"

Michael paused, sitting up as well. "Am I happy?"

"Yeah, I mean..." Gavin pursed his lips, then averted his eyes, as if he was embarrassed. "Are you happy? Here, with me?"

Michael stared at Gavin for a long moment. He thought about the night to this point, then about his life since he'd met Gavin. He thought about Jersey, about his family, and then about the gang, about all their heists and the fuck ups and successes in between. He thought about street lights and neon and the smell of wet grass. Finally, he sighed, and he reached out to take Gavin's hand in his own. Like a reflex, Gavin moved to hold it back, intertwining their fingers with ease. He followed the path of veins in Michael's hand with his thumb without looking. He'd done it so many times, he could trace them in his sleep.

"To be honest, Gavin?" Michael said, quiet and a little rough. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know if I ever have been, and I sure as hell don't know if I ever will be."

He saw Gavin's face fall in his peripheral, but he didn't let go of his hand. Instead, he brought it upwards, pressing Gavin's knuckles to his lips.

"...But I think," he continued, glancing back up to meet green, yellow-flecked eyes. "I think I could be. And I'm gonna try."

Gavin blinked, as if processing Michael's words. Then, he smiled, small but warm, his eyes glowing with something earnest and bright.

"Good enough for me," he said, as if it was the most simple thing in the world, and then he laid back down. Michael hesitated, but then followed suit. And that's where they spent the rest of the night- side by side in the grass, fingers intertwined, staring up at the sky.

Michael thought hard about Gavin’s words. He glanced to the side, caught a glimpse of the other boy- silent and content, staring up at the cosmos with a smile on his face. Good enough, he’d said. Laying in the wet grass, Michael realized- maybe he had a point. He wasn’t sure if he was happy. He wasn't sure if he would ever be truly, undoubtedly happy. But maybe- maybe that was okay.

Maybe this was good enough.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Help Wanted (final chapter)

Thank you so much to everyone whose enjoyed this fic! Writing it has been a real joy and a relief right now, especial thanks to @minky-for-short​ and @spiky-lesbian​ my lovely beta readers!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 if you’ve enjoyed this fic!

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

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Fjord and Caduceus get the happy ending they deserve

WARNING: This chapter deals with physical domestic violence, it doesn't happen on page but the results are seen. Also, conversations around internalised homophobia

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“Are you really going to let him leave without saying goodbye?”

It was all Yasha had said to her that evening, since she’d come storming in after her disastrous ‘conversation’ with Fjord. Not at first, of course, both of her girlfriends knew better tha to approach her when she was in a mood like that, giving her space to burn her anger away. Jester, of course, had immediately crept onto the sofa as soon as the coast was clear, wrapping her soft arms around her and not asking for an explanation, just holding.

Yasha didn’t speak her love through touch as much as Jester, instead there was a cup of warm tea in front of her all of a sudden and the strong, sure presence behind her he knew so well, a hand on her shoulder.

And those words, in her quiet, level voice.

Jester looked like she wanted to say more, that expression on her face like she was just full of words and was about to burst, until Yasha laid a gentle hand on top of her head and suggested that maybe she could go and help her make dinner. The tiefling bit her lip and flared her nostrils but eventually nodded and hopped over the back of the sofa, Yasha turning after her and leaving Beau with those words.

“Are you really going to let him leave without saying goodbye?”

Not admonishing or judging, there was none of that in her tone, as steady and sure as the sight of home from a long distance. It was just another moment where Beau felt her girlfriends knew her better than she knew herself, like they saw what was under the anger at the surface, the anger that many would assume was all there was to her. So many that sometimes Beau would believe it.

Because of course she wasn’t going to let her best friend go for gods knew how long without a goodbye. She couldn’t have their last interaction be them screaming at each other on a street corner, throwing words like weapons. No matter how she felt about his choices, he was still her friend. They’d been through far too much to leave it like that.

It had just taken her up until now to realise it.

Sighing, Beau unfolded herself and stood up, heading for the door, “I’m going to go to Fjord’s.”

Relief flooded Jester’s expression and Yasha gave a small nod, “We’ll have dinner ready for when you come back.”

Beau gave them both a rueful smile, taking a moment to admire the simple domesticity of them with Jester chopping carrots and Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. She couldn’t believe this was her life now, after so much time believing she was undeserving of anything half as lovely. A square window of warm yellow light on a dark street, always there for her.

And she would repay them by continuing to get better.

Beau shouldered on her jacket and slipped her feet into her comfy walking trainers, already planning out what she was going to say, how she was going to rescue the clusterfuck that had been their last interaction. At least it wasn’t the first time they’d had to do this, they were practically experts at navigating their way back to friendship after both letting their anger do the speaking for them.

She was a second from putting her hand on the door when someone knocked on it.

Frowning, Beau opened the door and sucked in a sharp breath.

Fjord stood on their doormat, panting heavily like he’d run there. A gym bag sat at his feet, haphazardly stuffed and hastily zipped. He was shivering in just a t-shirt and jeans, the cold night air turning his joints a harsh, dark green, arms wrapped around himself protectively and his eyes red and raw.

And an angry swelling around one streaming eye.

“I…” his voice was raspy, like he was struggling to get the words out, “Um, I broke up with Avantika. Can I sleep on your couch tonight?”

Fury flooded Beau within an instant, her jaw clenching hard and her hands turning into white knuckled fists. Adrenaline snapped hard in her chest, making her voice a low growl, “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to fucking kill her.”

Fjord closed his eyes, shrinking down, looking so completely defeated, like a man with water up to his jawline and rising, “Beau...please, I...I just need a friend right now. Please?”

Beau found it hard to control her emotions, as a rule, particularly negative ones. They seemed to take root in her, in her muscles and chest and nerves, and take over until it was so hard to care about anything else.

But the one thing Beau did care about more than anything was the people she loved.

So she inhaled deeply, feeling it fill her up, as the monks had taught her. And as she exhaled, her jaw unclenched, her fingers spread and palms opened.

“Of course,” she reached out and put her hand on Fjord’s arm, gently bringing him inside, “Jester can have a look at that eye and we’ll make a bed up for you. Stay as long as you like, man, seriously.”

Fjord’s lower lip trembled and he bit down on it, hard, just nodding.

“Hey,” Beau murmured quietly, dropping her voice before folding him into the attentions of her family, the wide eyes and gasps and immediate action, the realities of his healing, “You’re safe here. Okay?”

Fjord gave a shuddery gasp and in it Beau could hear every time he’d let something slip as a teenager about the realities of the Asylum, every disastrous break up with women he couldn’t force himself to love, every impossible rule he’d been given to live by, every nightmare and flinch away from a raised voice, every scar he’d been given by so many people. She heard a lifetime of hurt start to shift like an earthquake starting to stir.

“Okay,” Fjord breathed, tears starting to fall.

Caduceus stayed in bed far past his alarm, lying on his side and listening to it’s dull buzz in the predawn gloom. He’d been awake long before it sounded but now it had, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

All he could do was replay the kiss over and over in his mind, the last moments he would ever spend with Fjord. He frantically searched for something, anything he could have done to change the outcome, changing his words and actions over in his mind like puzzle pieces he couldn’t make fit. Was there any way he could have kept Fjord close to him, taken the fear out of his eyes, any way he could have turned him around in the darkness?

He knew it would do no good but he couldn’t stop his mind chewing it over, punishing himself for every choice and everything he could have done differently.

It was as if the clocks had turned back on him and he was the firbolg he’d been two years and change ago. The one with weights on his wrists and ankles keeping him pinned to his too small bed, lost and depressed and scared to go out into the loud, foreign city he didn’t know, endlessly punishing himself for leaving too soon, for leaving too late, for leaving full stop. Falling before he’d even taken his first step, building walls around himself when he’d worked so hard to be free.

He couldn’t bear that again. So Caduceus did what he had done two years ago and touched the earring that looped through his right ear. He’d always played with his ears as a child, running his fingers over their soft edges to calm himself whenever he was anxious. Apparently he’d done it as a baby too, when he’d been born with the largest set of ears any of his family had ever seen on a newborn, so the story went. So when he’d been thinking where to set his mark of the Wildmother, the choice had seemed obvious.

He ran his thumb over the carved, polished oak, following the whorl of the wood and took a deep breath.

“Please give me strength,” he murmured, “I’m going to need you to get through today. And...wherever he is, please protect him. Please make sure he’s okay.”

And then he got up, far from ready to face the space in the cafe beside him that would always feel empty, but at least able to try.

He tried to focus on simple things, once the door to the cafe had closed behind him, letting out it’s usual cheery ring.

Take off your coat. Hang it up. Take out your apron. Put it on, double knotted at the front. Take the first chair down. Then the next. Then the next.

Simple instructions for an exhausted brain and an aching heart. And it worked, for a time. It stopped him thinking about how Fjord would be coming up the street right now, how the bell would seem extra bright when he pushed it back. How he would call out a friendly hello and probably use some slang term Caduceus wouldn’t understand but he would put together from context. How he’d be wearing shorts, even in the cold and Cad would tease him for it and Fjord would jokingly call him his grandmother in return. How he’d help him take the chairs down, going twice as fast as he did, asking when Cad would be putting the croissants in the oven because it just so happened he’d missed breakfast that morning, just a coincidence. How he’d call him Caddy and be the only person who ever had.

Maybe it wasn’t working as well as he’d thought.

Fortunately, the ringing of the bell above the door gave him something else to think about.

“I’m sorry, we’re not quite open yet,” Cad straightened up, “But if you’d like to take a seat, I can get the kettle on…”

“I think I’d like that,” Fjord answered, his voice small and hopeful, “If you had the time.”

Caduceus froze, eyes widening, wondering if he was still back in his bed, listening to the alarm and had finally drifted to sleep. But he never would have imagined Fjord like this, looking so tired and hollowed out, with a fading, sickly yellow shadow over one eye and a fresh scab on his lip.

The marks were all he could see, hand lifting to touch them, heal them without question but he forced himself to stop, “Who…”

Shame darkened Fjord’s expression and he hunched his shoulders, “Um...Avantika…”

Cad’s jaw dropped and he felt a pit of disbelief open up inside him, quickly filled by an anger he’d only felt rarely but when he did, it was like a forest bursting into flames, “What?”

Fjord winced, “Don’t worry, I’m done with her. I mean it, for good. She’s leaving anyway and...and I just want to let it go, okay?”

Cad quelled his anger, tucking it away to examine later, “So...she’s going and you’re…”

Fjord smiled then, even as it clearly tugged painfully on his lip, “I’m staying.”

Cad blinked, shaking his head slowly, wanting to believe it so desperately but terrified of being hurt again, pulled in two directions at once, “You’re staying? For good?”

Fjord nodded, “With Beau and Jester and Yasha until I can sort something more permanent than their couch. I mean, I still need to get stuff from...from her place and...I-I’ve never really put down roots anywhere so…”

He even sounded different. His accent had shifted slightly, like a layer of it had been pulled away. A lot of him seemed to have been pulled away, actually, pared back and stripped down and he was trying to figure out what was left.

“I’d like to work here again, if you’d have me,” Fjord asked shyly, “I mean, I’d completely understand if you weren’t comfortable with that. After...after everything.”

Yes, Cad wanted to answer wholeheartedly but he made himself stop.

“After what, Fjord?” he said instead, “I think we need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be right now but we need to.”

Fjord shook his head, “No. I mean, thank you but no. You’re right, we need to talk about it and we need to talk about it now. I’ve waited far too long already.”

Cad nodded and gestured to the table he stood by. None of the tables or chairs in the cafe matched, as he’d sourced them from half a hundred different thrift stores and flea markets and scrap yards. This one was black wrought iron with a mosaiced top, flowers done in squares of leaded glass. It was a table made for partners, for third or fourth dates, only big enough for two people to sit close with not an inch of spare space.

Fjord sat across from him willingly. He’d looked like he’d slept in the clothes he was wearing and judging by the room, they were probably Yasha’s. Cad wondered if the ladies even knew he was here, as early as it was.

“I, um…” Fjord cleared his throat, “I want to apologise for the kiss last night. Not that I did it, just the way I reacted. Well...maybe how I did it too. That wasn’t how I’d want our first kiss to go. What I mean is, I want to kiss you, Caduceus. I...I like you. In that way.”

Cad felt something come to life in his chest, a fluttering that settled in his throat as his heart began to pound, “I like you in that way too, Fjord. I have for a while.”

Fjord’s golden eyes widened, “Really? I...I hoped, I thought I saw it sometimes but I didn’t know if I was seeing what I wanted to see.”

“Neither did I,” Cad smiled kindly.

That made him smile again, that shy hesitant smile. He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the table top while he marshalled his thoughts, like he was having to rearrange everything with this new information.

“Um...it might seem stupid but knowing I...I can feel this way, I’ve kind of only known it since yesterday. Well, not really, it’s always kind of been there but up until now I tried to hide it, even from myself. It just wasn’t something I could be, it wasn’t allowed in the world I lived in until I met you,” Fjord swallowed hard, “In the orphanage, I would have been beaten up for it. In high school I would have been even more rejected than I already was, on Vandran’s ship, I...I would have lost the only man who I could call a father. But I didn’t realise how much it was hurting me, how...how it was like an infection? The more I tried to hide this part of me, the sicker I got, the more twisted, the more sad.”

Cad only nodded and gazed at him, trying to be a constant, sure presence.

“But...I’m done feeling sick,” Fjord took a shaky breath, “I’m done hiding it. I’m...I’m gay,” his voice broke almost immediatley and his face crumbled, tears flooding into his eyes, “Gods, I’m sorry…”

Cad leaned forward, voice soft, “Oh, Fjord, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay...can I touch you?”

Fjord nodded wordlessly as his shoulders shook, gripping back just as tight when Cad wound their fingers together and held fast.

“It’s okay,” Cad stroked his thumb across his knuckles, feeling the scars and callus there, “Fjord, it’s okay to feel grief, it’s okay to feel lost and confused and happy, all of these things come with realisations like this. But I need you to understand you’ve just done a wonderful, brave, beautiful thing and I am so very proud of you.”

Fjord didn’t fight his tears, they fell on their joined hands as he gasped out, “But...I don’t know when I’ll feel comfortable kissing you, I don’t know when I’ll be able to say ‘I love you’, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have sex with you...Cad, I can’t ask you to take all this on.”

“Yes, you can,” Caduceus said, firmly, “You can, Fjord, because you are worthy of love. You are worthy of patience and care and kindness. You can always ask. And I am saying yes.”

Fjord gave a sodden, shaky gasp and collapsed fully into his tears, pitching forward, stumbling until Caduceus caught him. He caught him and he held on tight, as strong as any anchor had ever held a ship, folding him into his arms and letting him sob into his chest. With the scent of fresh breeze and dew heavy flowers around them, Caduceus held the man he loved and who loved him back and let him cry. As he would through so many hard days and difficult times.

Eventually, Fjord’s tears ran out. In Cad’s arms he felt so small, like he’d shrunk down without the weight of the poison he’d purged. He let him pull away for air, holding his face in his hands and stroking his damp cheeks so gently.

He wasn’t looking at the mask of a man who had believed all the lies he’d been given and swallowed the hate he’d been shown for long, long years. But nor was he looking at the man who’d made him laugh so much, who’d been occupying his cafe for the last months, the one who had reached out to the Wildmother and Caduceus with hope and desperation in his eyes.

Caduceus was looking at someone new, someone halfway between those two and someone entirely himself. He was looking at Fjord at the very start of a long and difficult journey. He was looking at the man he now realised the Wildmother had put him on this earth to love.

They kissed, a soft and gentle kiss, shy and sweet as honey. And this time, Fjord smiled from ear to ear.

It would be hard for both of them at times. They would both struggle and cry and need different things at different times. But it would always wash up better than when they started, they would grow together stronger.

And both of them knew the light would always be left on.

A year was a long damn time to keep a secret. Beau was pretty pleased with herself for managing it.

She would hide her knowing grins behind her coffee cup as they’d all sit together in the Blooming Grove and someone would bring up how strange it was that Caduceus hadn’t found someone for all the time he’d been in the city. She’d feel a burst of pride when one of them would comment on how much happier Fjord was looking, how his tusks were coming in, how therapy seemed to be doing him a world of good, if they really were just going to ignore the fact that his accent had totally changed. She’d snort down laughter whenever Caleb would cluelessly comment that Fjord and Caduceus had been in the back room an awful long time for guys who were just supposed to be getting sugar and why did that take two people in the first place anyway?

Because she’d spent nearly her whole life looking out for her best friend, ever since they were in high school. There was no way she was going to miss how Fjord would put his hand in places it had no rightful reason to be during work hours, when he thought the counter was hiding them better than it was and Cad happened to be passing by. She wasn’t going to miss how, whenever busy days or stormy weather would have Fjord paled and shaking, Caduceus would be the person he’d turn to. She wasn’t going to miss the extra long lunch breaks in the back room or how late Fjord would come home some nights, after cleaning up apparently took hours longer than expected.

But she said nothing, shrugging innocently whenever asked, all while watching through the corner of her eye as Fjord stole a kiss to the back of Cad’s hand behind the coffee machine.

There were no secrets with family after all.

[starrose17]

How about a geraskier Battlestar Galactica 2004 AU? No matter what fandom I’m in I ALWAYS resort to a BSG!AU. Cos there is so much angsty love potential (warning for a bit of non-con too).

Jaskier is a singer brought up from Caprica to perform on the Galactica in her retirement ceremony.  He’s dating Geralt whose a Viper pilot, and the CAG, and doesn’t know Jaskier is arriving, everyone’s been grinning and keeping it secret from him as they haven’t seen each other for a few months with Geralt being on duty here. 

Geralt is doing a flyby for the ceremony and is only listening in on Adama’s speech and entertainment through his viper (I reckon older!Ciri is a viper pilot too, took her under his wing when she first signed up.  And hell let’s make Yen one too, ex-wife, but remaining good friends).  He hears Jaskier start to sing and suddenly Ciri and the others are teasing him over the radio as he tries not to grin at hearing his loves voice (the others being the other witchers).

Back on the Galactica Jaskier hurries to Geralt’s quarters where he and the others are drinking in celebration.  As soon as Jaskier arrives everyone starts wolf whistling as Jaskier leaps in Geralts arms and kisses him deeply, and Geralt is just raising his middle finger to everyone as Jaskier kisses him and then tells them all to fuck out his cabin, he has a thorough ravishing of a welcome to attend to.

“You didn’t tell me you were performing here.”

Jaskier grins, “That would be the point of a surprise.”

Geralt then fucks him senseless after two months of not seeing him, and its all love and cuddles and wonderfulness and then of course, the cylons attack.  

(The rest under the cut because this got bloody long.)

Throughout the chaos as the plot goes on Geralt proposes to him, but before they can get married Jaskier shoots Adama, because he’s the sleeper agent cylon here and has no idea.  His plot basically follows Boomers.

Starbuck tries to torture information out of him (like she did with Leoben in the series, trying to drown him etc), and Jaskier insists he is not a cylon he can’t be it’s not possible and is freaking out and just constantly asking to see Geralt. But Geralt won’t see him, Geralt is having his own crisis, of how could he have been fucking a cylon all this time?! And not fucking him but...he loved him, and it made him feel sick and furious and fool for being led on.  At this stage he’s too blinded by anger and humiliation to realise of course he still loves him completely, but he’s gonna realise that too late.

Starbuck continues to painfully interrogate Jaskier, and in the end in tears Jaskier says, “If you were told, right now, that you were really a cylon.  Would you suddenly know all their secrets?  Would you know everything about them? I don’t know anything!!! Please...stop hurting me...”

Getting nothing out of him it’s decided to throw him out the airlock, and he’s terrified and shaking as he stands there all alone as the others watch the through the glass window into the control room.

“Any last words?”

And he just stands there, hands and feet still cuffed, and he starts to sing.  His voice is small and terrified, but he’d always sung, and the song he sings is one he wrote for Geralt, back when they first met, he wants his last thoughts to be of the happier time, and not one where Geralt can’t even bare to come and see him.  And the doors open, and Jaskier is sucked out.

The fleet jumps away, and it’s just Jaskier frozen body alone in space, until a cylon baseship FTL’s in, and suddenly a new Jaskier in a new body is gulping lungfuls of new air as he fights his way out of that goopy liquid and bolts upright, surrounded by others cylons, and just looses his mind that he really is a cylon.

Back in the fleet time has passed and the Pegasus had arrived, boasting of capturing their own cylon agent and keeping him prisoner on board.  They’ve got a lot out of him but still need more, and they specially request Geralt.  Geralt wonders why on earth they want him, he has been depressed and angry and moping ever since Jaskier, and no one really trusts him because of who Jaskier was, so this was a chance to prove he really was human.

As they take him on board the officers are joking on how much they’ve tortured this one, making into a game, starving it, forcing themselves on it, after all its just a ‘toaster’ you can’t rape metal, laughing at how real and good it feels though.  Geralt is turning his nose up at this feeling bad for this cylon already, they’d all seen how human these models are, perhaps they did feel pain.

They take him into the same cell as in the show, the white room with the glass large glass wall, and in the middle of the floor lays another Jaskier model, wearing nothing but a white bedshirt that barely covers his arse, and Geralt stares.  There are bruises everywhere, arms, neck...thighs...his wrists are red raw, he’s thin and broken and already shaking in absolute terror at the sight of the officers. His blue eyes are wide and red and filled with agony and a wish for death.

Geralt is so shocked he can’t even move, he can’t think of anything but his own Jaskier, he can’t see anyone but his own Jaskier, and he’s filled with anger.  But, he goes in with a tray of food that they gave him, and promises him he wont hurt him, hating how this Jaskier tries to curl in on himself as though waiting for a beating immediately.  Geralt put the tray near him on the floor, and then backs away, sitting against the glass wall as the officers leave them alone.

“It’s not a trick,” Geralt said quietly, hot tears threatening in his own eyes, “I’m not going to take it away at the last second. It’s yours.  I’m just going to sit here. You don’t have to say anything.  I’m just going to be here with you.”

And slowly, very very slowly, a thin hand and a thin wrists edges its way cautiously forward, taking a single slice of apple and quickly bringing it back to his mouth, taking small, tiny bites, as though wanting to savour it not knowing it he’d be allowed to take another.

This plot follows the series, so this Jaskier, with Geralt’s help, eventually blows up the Pegasus killing himself as well, because no matter how much Geralt helped him, told him of his own Jaskier, he couldn’t live with that they’d done to him.  It’s never traced back to Geralt for helping, and life goes on, except Geralt has a new sympathy. He’s not on the cylons side don’t get him wrong, he never would be, but perhaps there was a way of working together, to stop all this killing.

HIS Jaskier, the one in the the new body, comes aboard Galactica with some other models to do exactly that, a truce, and no one was expecting him, and Jaskier cautiously gets off the raptor looking around at all these people he knew, and he locks eyes with Geralt, and Geralt can’t breath, because he sees the recognition in Jaskier’s eyes. It was his Jaskier. A(n already) long story short Geralt apologises so much for not being there for him, and Jaskier is understanding, he was revealed to be a cylon after all, oh he’s still hurt, terribly hurt, but Geralt just holds him and tells him all this time without him has been hell the things he’s seen he just wants this all to stop and he loves him he loves him so much and will he please, please, “Marry me, please, I still want to if you do.”

Jaskier starts crying in the first happiness he’s felt for ages and they make love and it feels like home again.  Except the “truce” is a lie, unknown to Jaskier, and they all get arrested.  Alone in his cell some of the guards decide to take a leaf out of the Pegasus book and go in with their hands on their trousers and have the terrified Jaskier bent over the desk before Geralt suddenly walks in and fuck everyone is dead in seconds as he bashes their brains in against the walls and he takes Jaskier’s hand and they run and go into hiding together.

And yeah, I dunno, somehow Jaskier becomes a key player in taking down a cylon baseship with Geralt’s help (perhaps what boomer did with the bomb but was aware of doing it unlike her) and he’s sort of welcomed back, by Adama himself.  People still find it hard to trust, and he has to do everything he can to prove he is on the human side (when the virus attacks the firewall system he attaches the lead into his arm to help like Boomer did), but yeah, they get  married and Ciri and Yen and the others who knows him and know Jaskier are the first the properly welcome Jaskier back, and it’s a little family and Jaskier is so happy and they all work together to try and stop the war.