#but now i just feel plain miserable and hopeless

[neolxzr]

oh also what are your thoughts on the recent hnk chapters I read them and they shattered my heart

I DONT EVEN KNOW ANYMORE you know at one point i was so upset by chapter 98 and 99 that i completely blocked it out of my memory and forgot about it for a while. that was funny. i was so upset when my friend reminded me what happened

but anyways hnk is such a beautiful piece of writing and it also makes me want to explode and crawl in a hole and die maybe. like i cant say that this sort of ending is completely unprecedented hnk is an odd series but like 99 and onward feel so strange and disconnected from everything else. i think thats mostly due to phos not even being phos anymore really and all of the other characters being out of the picture so it barely feels like the same series anymore. which im sure is like, the point, but still

i dont really know how it makes me feel. bad, mostly. i think its the kind of. lack of closure?? for phos? like when i think about hnk i think about phos and their relationships with like. shinsha and antarc and cairngorm and others but like none of phos' relationships really got any kind of proper closure. and it makes me feel miserable and awful. we all moved on but i stayed at ill find you a new job thats better and more fun. you know

[ghcstao3]

Absolutely loosing it over the idea of Ghost sneaking around to see what Soap is doing on leave. He gets jealous/insecure seeing him set up a date/picnic etc. Can't get it out of his head, has to know who John is getting things for. Stalking only for Soap to call out to Ghost while hes waiting-

"'Knew you were here the whole time, Lt. Join me? I brought tea." (or something along those lines).

-🤺

what a silly thing for ghost to do. also so real. love it

-

Ghost hadn't ever thought of himself as the jealous type until he met John "Soap" MacTavish.

Truly, he hadn't ever had reason to be the jealous type before Soap. Nor does he now, really, but of course the man who brings out the best in Ghost also has to bring out the very green-eyed worst. It's upsetting.

And impossible to ignore.

His envy begins with smaller things, like the casual touches Soap offers to just about anyone, or the smile he always seems to be wearing when Ghost wishes it were just him such a thing was reserved for. It's an ugly feeling that only grows worse with time—but what else can Ghost do but stand in the sidelines and feel miserable for himself? Soap has always and will always deserve better than Ghost.

But even if Ghost's jealousy gets to the point where it's a constant, overbearing presence, he does his best to manage it well. He does manage it well.

On base, that is. Surrounded by other soldiers, his colleagues, and always with something more important to do, Ghost is able to tame the beast that Soap has brought life to.

Then they're sent on leave. Horrible, ever-dreaded leave. The entire 141, including Price for once. And suddenly Ghost's envy cannot be shoved aside for menial tasks and conversation, not for long, at least. Being on his own doesn't bode well.

So he decides he'd visit Soap. Sort of.

The train ticket booking is on impulse. Ghost finds a hotel room even knowing where Soap lives, because he doesn't know if Soap would want to see him.

He's... pathetic, really. Utterly hopeless.

By the time he's mustered any courage to actually show up at Soap's front door, Ghost happens upon the man on his convoluted route there.

Well, happens upon is a strong term. It's more like Ghost sees Soap from afar, sitting on a park bench with his journal, and plants himself far enough that Soap wouldn't see him, but Ghost would still be able to watch.

Forgive him, for being so nosy.

Ghost isn't sure what overcomes him, when Soap eventually stands and Ghost rises, too. He isn't sure what overcomes him when he waits a few seconds before continuing to follow, to lurk like a complete creep. But he does, anyway. Until he snaps out of whatever stupid trance he's in, turns tail and heads back to the hotel.

It doesn't stop that day, though. He figures Soap might frequent the park, knowing the sergeant and his love for any sort of outdoors—and Ghost is easily proven right, as he watches Soap set up at the same bench with his journal the very next day.

He's curious, alright? Nothing more—until jealousy flares through him with the easy smiles Soap offers passersby. Until Ghost is envious of whatever kind greetings Soap offers those same people with that accent Ghost had grown to love even in spite of the nonsense Soap sometimes spoke.

Until a young woman, beautiful and surely Soap's type, joins him on the bench and makes Soap laugh. Until Soap is happily showing her whatever is in his journal and talks to her for ages.

Ghost leaves the park first, that time. But he comes back the next day, and the next. It's the same thing, minus the woman, until one day Soap isn't at the bench. Instead, he's laid out a blanket on the green and is unpacking enough food for two from a plain rucksack.

Ghost doesn't know when, but he creeps closer. He still stays out of sight—God forbid Soap see his lieutenant stalking him—but close enough that he can make out the things Soap has brought. Close enough that he can see the vague shapes of sketches Soap is still endeavouring to draw before whoever he's surely waiting for arrives.

Which is too close, apparently.

"LT," Soap is suddenly calling out. He hasn't so much as looked up from his journal. "I know you're here, ya numpty."

Ghost hesitates a long while, the kind of hesitation that would get him killed on the field. But here, it only stretches on an awkwardness Ghost had hoped never to face. To never have to admit he'd been observing Soap, his subordinate, from afar because he was jealous.

But Soap is patient as Ghost gradually makes his way to the blanket. He doesn't sit right away, however, even when Soap prompts him.

"Aren't you waiting on someone?" Ghost asks. He prays he sounds impassive enough, but he can't help the tinge of bitterness that seeps into his voice.

Soap shakes his head. "Unless I count you," he says. "C'mon, Simon, sit. I brought more than enough for the both of us."

Ghost complies, dropping cautiously across from Soap, staring owlishly at the sergeant who seems far too casual about all of this.

"You're not going to ask?"

Again, Soap shakes his head. "If I wanted to know on my terms, I woulda walked over to you the first day I saw you at the park. Now, I dinnae have much tea at home, so I hope what I brought'll do."

Soap continues to chatter away to both himself and Ghost while he shoves food and drink in Ghost's direction. Ghost just sits in disbelief before he's able to settle.

But once he realizes that the green-eyed monster has finally backed away for once, Ghost allows himself to just enjoy Soap's company, before he thinks to answer any questions and ruin this peace. He has the sergeant to himself, for this one moment, and, really, it's all he's ever been needing.

[sorastar6]

David Chiem Protagonist AU- Prologue, part 1

I finally finished something that I was working on for a long time! Yay! This AU is basically going to be a series of fanfics that I write. I may or may not actually finish this and do everything I want, but I sure hope I don't lose any motivation. So, um... Enjoy! I hope this is good!

Have you ever felt like you were stuck in a loop?

That the more things change, the more they stay the exact same? The thought of that is funny, isn’t it? The world is big and new things happen every time, every day.

“All that you have to do is just find new things and new peop-”

Shut it. Just shut your mouth, it’s rude to interrupt others.

Your choices don’t matter, anything you do just doesn’t matter. If everything is just broken at its core, there’s nothing you can do about it. The days will go by, one by one, and your life will just stay miserable as it is.

…

You don’t believe me? Well then, let me just show you. Just look into my life, you’ll see everything you need. Let’s see if you can keep up with that “hopeful” worldview of yours.

I doubt you don’t know who I am, but I'll introduce myself anyway. My name’s David Chiem. I can see that look you’re giving me, I guess you do know who I am after all.

“But David! Your life is incredible! How can you say all of these things? You’re ungratef-”

Shut it. I’m not done.

You could’ve heard about me in several places, but most likely, it was from the Hope’s Peak Academy graduation ceremony that happened a few months ago. Yup, I graduated from Hope’s Peak, amazing, right?

No it isn’t amazing. Not when your talent is something you despise. I’m the former Ultimate Inspirational Speaker. With everything you’re hearing from me, you’re probably doubting that, right? ‘There’s no way that you are the real David Chiem! You sound so pessimisti-’

Hate to it break it to you, but David’s a liar. I AM a liar. I’m 25 years old, I’ve had my career for 5 years, and guess what? Everything is based on lies! Woah, what a twist! A big celebrity is a big liar and is able to make money off of it? That never happened before!

…

That was sarcasm if you were stupid enough to not notice. Open your eyes, people like me are everywhere in this world. Just spitting what people want to hear. And somehow, they are ignorant enough to fall for it. Such stupidity…

People don’t change. And I’m the living proof of it. I hate my fucking job, I hate having to deal with annoying fans, and to top it all off? I was forced into this by someone else! And yet, I don’t do anything to stop this. Why? Simple, I’m a lazy piece of shit. I don’t even have the courage to make a proper meal, imagine having to deal with countless backlash!

Disappointed? Sowwy, don’t care. I don’t have a noble or tragic reason to do what I do. And I bet all of those other Ultimates are all the same. Everything is the same in this damn world, anyone who can’t see it is just plain stupid. There you have it, thanks for coming to my Tedtalk on why this world is hopeless! You can fuck off now. Hate me all you want, then we’ll have something in common. None of you have a reason to stay by my side anymore, goodby███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

…

Everyone has to pay for their sins one day.

Wake up, David Chiem.

…

That was a strange dream. Even if it was just a dream, it still felt… Odd. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s not good either. I can’t quite describe it, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Everything from that dream is already escaping my mind, so why bother?

How much time am I going to stay laid down here? I need to get up, I probably have something to do. But my head is killing me, so I want to stay in bed for a few more minutes. Wait, bed? This… Doesn’t feel like my bed. It’s more… Soft? But it still doesn’t feel comfortable like my bed. Maybe I prefer not what’s better, but what’s familiar?

There it goes again, my mind just thinking about random stuff that doesn't matter. I should just get up, but finding the energy to simply open my eyes feels like it will kill me. How pathetic. After some time, I opened them.

I tried adjusting my vision to the lighting of the room. It was dark, very dark. And yet, I could tell that this wasn’t my room.

“Sigh… What did I get myself into this time?”

I sat up on this bed, stretching my limbs until I could hear that satisfying crack. I passed a hand through myself to see the state that I’m in.

No injuries, no blood, but still a mess.

I wasn’t about to tidy myself up. There is a much bigger issue at my hands.

I was just barely able to stand up, my body getting the desire to succumb to this tiredness. But I pressed on to the door. I placed my hand on the knob, looking back at the dark room behind me. Maybe staying here and resting would be a good idea, but that also could lead to me getting chained to a wall. Fuck, second guessing, I hate it.

I just looked straight into the door, knowing very well that if I just glanced at that bed, I would just throw myself in it. So, I took a deep breath.

…

And I opened the door.

And I was immediately pushed down to the ground.

“Ow! What the-”

I couldn’t even finish my sentence before my gaze met a familiar pair of sharp red eyes. Eyes that… looked like it belonged to a cat.

“… D-david?”

“… Nico…?”

[the-lighthouse-lit]

BBRae Week Day 4: “You’re burning up”

Length: 1,639 words

Rating: K

Excerpt:

But she was left wondering what if she’d hurried. Taken him up on that date, been a little warmer, trusted a little faster. If she’d made herself important to him a little quicker, maybe he wouldn’t have cared when his ex came calling again.

She’d just thought she had a little more time.

@bbraeweek24 📣

───

Raven’s hands laid idly over the keyboard. In front of her was the catalogue of new arrivals, but her eyes were on Garfield past her monitor. He looked at her stricken, like he hadn’t been the one to say the words.

The, “I’m probably moving away… at the end of the month, or something.”

It was nine twenty in a fucking Tuesday. Raven had been eying the growing pile of books on the reshelving pile and giving herself strength to load them up and file them back in their places, and generally prepping herself to get through a particularly miserable day of work, when he’d come in.

And usually his presence was enough to turn her morning for the better, not that she was admitting that yet. So when he’d come in, it hadn’t immediately registered with her how serious he’d looked—she wasn’t in her best frame of mind herself. She’d been waiting for him to notice she was off and ask what’s wrong. It didn’t click that today was different until he started talking.

“I’m… my ex, actually, contacted me, and… she wants to make things work. And I want that too. So…”

His hands opened and closed as he strived to explain—that he was moving for her, that she had a place in Bloomington and she was getting him a job there. The movement made her think how she’d never held his hand. It would’ve been unprofessional here, in front of the patrons of the library, and they’d never gotten out to that date he kept floating. And now they never would.

She nudged her keyboard to be centered on her desk, pulled up a random tab on her computer, like she did when she really got to work in front of him on any normal day, while talked about anything across for her. Today his worried stare burned her like it never did when that was the case.

“The ex you mentioned,” she said, for something to say.

His eyes widened a little. “I mentioned her,” he remarked, almost a question.

“The one who left to travel the world?”

It was funny how a story he’d told her to explain why he’d moved here, and consequentially come into her life, now became the reason he was leaving it.

She had to suppress a shiver. A gust of wind filtered through the cracks in the window, the kind of change in the atmosphere she wouldn’t normally notice. She’d been about to get her jacket when he’d come in.

“Yes. Her,” he admitted. Clearly, thought Raven, she’d been in his mind more than even he realized.

And then a stretch of silence.

She could’ve gone, ‘Why are you telling me this?’ She could’ve forced him to say it. But she didn’t feel like drawing it out. In fact, she felt like letting him right off the hook. “So I guess you won’t be coming around anymore.”

His explaining hand dropped, with hopelessness, but also possibly with some relief, she thought. “I’m sorry.”

The simple confirmation brought on a fresh wave of nausea she thought she’d curbed this morning when she’d skipped breakfast in favor of plain tea. She took a deep breath before she started loading the books to reshelf onto the cart.

She told herself she was being ridiculous. You couldn’t get your heart broken from a guy you’d only known a few months. She bet if she did the math she’d find she had known him for less than that.

He’d come into the library by accident the first time. He’d been looking for some store that sold rare video games memorabilia, that Google Maps swore should be next door.

She couldn’t get him out of the library fast enough that first day. She’d fought him on the fact that there had never been such a store next door, and it was pure bravado on her part: the truth was Raven didn’t know the neighborhood, just this library. She got on a bus in the morning and rode fifteen minutes to this part of town she hadn’t bothered to get to know yet.

When it turned out the store had recently changed locations, and Gar found out about it, he’d come back to the library to tell her about it. Then he’d kept finding reasons to come in. He had never hid that he kept coming back to talk to her. He was new in town, he said, and he could use a friend. She had always wondered if he could somehow tell she had no friends here either.

And now it was back to the real world for her. Back to her thoughts being hers and hers alone. Back to closing up what he’d been prying open slowly over the course of weeks. Why had she got so used to having him here?

Just like all the others, the thought snuck into her brain before she could check it. It was weakness of character to think on those terms—like her life was organized by some dire prophecy that dictated she should always wind up alone again, but it really did seem that way. Nothing good seem to last.

“I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try to make it work,” Gar was saying now. “...I didn’t know how it would feel to see her again.” At that point she made an effort to tune him out.

Her heart thumped against her chest as she fixed the books neatly on the cart. It was hard to breathe, but then, it had been all morning. It didn’t have to be about him.

He was just a guy who’d made a friend at a town he’d lived in for a while, and she was just a lonely librarian who was being notified she’d no longer have that hyper blond distraction in her day to day.

But she was left wondering what if she’d hurried. Taken him up on that date, been a little warmer, trusted a little faster. If she’d made herself important to him a little quicker, maybe he wouldn’t have cared when his ex came calling again.

She’d just thought she had a little more time.

She shivered. This proved too much and he could finally see what was in front of him. Suddenly she was feeling his touch on her forehead: a warm hand connecting with her hot forehead, erupting into her cold morning. She slapped his hand away, but not before he’d felt it.

“You’re burning up.”

She was so, so angry—the feeling had taken over her before her mind parsed the reason why: it was the first time he touched her, and it was just as he was leaving her life.

“It’s just a cold,” she spat. And she faced him defiantly. She hoped her eyes said it: ‘Why would you care? It’s not your problem anymore.’

She was red in the face from wrath, but ironically it supported the fever he’d discovered: it was like he’d made her sprung into color with his touch, brought out all the symptoms she was struggling to keep at bay. It enraged her because it exposed her: no carefree guy on a random visit to the library reached out to feel the forehead of an uncared-for librarian. With a move he’d uncovered everything she’d tried to bury.

She looked away from his useless contrite expression, which she assumed he kept on her as long as he stood in front of her—all the way until a patron coming up behind him forced him to step aside.

The teenage girl smiled at the librarian, oblivious, as she returned two books and checked another one out.

Out of the corner of her eyes Raven saw Gar had stepped aside, and now made as if he was looking at the books on the front desk. She was annoyed—maybe if the girl had only come a moment later, he could’ve taken his leave. Now they had to wait out the whole transaction, and for what? He was leaving anyway.

Inside her was some vindication, and she dug to find out why; she guessed it was because she’d made him say his piece before he noticed she was sick. If he’d noticed before, he might not have said it. She didn’t know why that made her feel better, but she’d take it.

She would get over him and the cold together, she told herself: when in a few days her lungs were clear and she felt strong again, she wouldn’t remember how he made the world feel. She willed it to be true.

When the girl left, Garfield still stood by. Raven put her hands on the cart. She knew if she left now, he’d be there when she came back, and the thought made anger mount inside her again.

Why was he here, and why was she here? He was going back to his ex, and now she knew that. Why were they lingering?

Now, as she began to push the cart, she faced him at the last second and said, “Well…” a sign of finality, a final snapping of the feeble cord that united them.

And when she said it she found out why neither of them were making the cut.

His eyes met hers, and she felt like she’d brought forth a catastrophe. She wished she could take it back.

But he obeyed. He left the book he’d picked up and left, sparing her the humiliation of another ‘Sorry.’ She followed his steps out of the library, as it may well be the last time she saw him.

She couldn’t wait for him to leave and she never wanted him to finish crossing that door. But in the end he did.

When she went to refile the books, she decided not to pick up her jacket, so that she may pretend a little longer that the feeling she was left with was just cold.

───

Notes:

NO idea if I I did what I envisioned in my mind with this one (probably not) but here it is! 😔 This one seems like a thing I would've left in my files for months and eventually rewritten completely but fuck it! Out it comes now!

I’m late but I have an excuse! A thunderstorm forced me to flee my computer after work yesterday and I didn't want to post without a last read-over!😁

[me1297]

LoveMeKnot

PAIRING: Bakugo Katsuki x Fem! Oc/Reader,

SUMMARY: When a hopeless romantic is shattered of the fantasy of her soulmate at thirteen and he makes her adolescence miserable until they part ways.

But of course they meet again as adults, late at night, in a convenience store, over the last bag of spicy chips.

STATUS: Ongoing, chapter 2 (Chapter 1)

It was late about 9:30 or so, at night Yena's favorite time of the day as it washed in comforting silence, after a long day but with the coming winter, the days were shortened. It wasn't cold either most people are home, finishing up dinner or getting ready for bed.

Yena had on an old hoodie from one of her exes that he left at her place and under it was a black long-sleeve shirt with black sweatpants, she had her hands deep and snug in her pockets, the hoodie fingers tracing over her designer wallet as she walked down the street with one AirPod in as she was on the phone with her best friend.

“ah, don't stress so much, Satan it was a simple mistake, Mr. Yu is not gonna kill you,” Yena said while entering the small convenience store, the bell above the door jingled, making the worker call out with a greeting and a 'take your time!' to which Yena smiled in response.

“Hahh! That's easy for you to say as you’re literally his secretary, that he's deeply in love with!”

Yena rolled her eyes at the girl's words about their boss being in love with her,

“Oh stop it Suau he does not, I've just been working beside him for a while now so he's just a bit more comfortable with me then others,” She says as she hears a scoff from her headphone

“Yeah okay keep telling yourself that, away I'm gonna head to take a shower I'll see you tomorrow at the company,”

“Okay then have a good night and see you tomorrow, Suau!” Yena says cheerfully, as Sutan says the the same and the hangs up the call.

‘Now, Mr. Yu has a runway he’s attending to coming up so I should get actual food, but...chips and sweets technically were classified as foods. Just not healthy ones…fuck it I can just become a gym rat for a few weeks before the show.’ She thought to herself while taking a small blue basket as she weaves through the small store,

Turning to the array of food, Yena opened one of the coolers, reaching for a bottle of marble sodas of peach, blue raspberry, and grape, then placed them into her basket gently, then proceeded to walk into the next aisle, and grabbed some sweet lychee rice cakes.

Walking some more into the chip section Yena reached out to the last black and red plastic bag that had the words ‘Super strong hot chili’ in bold lettering and fire behind it, but what stopped her movements was that nostalgic feeling of her string tightening around her finger

‘Oh no, god please be joking with me and this not happening really,’ She thought as she looked at her pinky finger, but what sent a jolt through her when a hand nearly bumped into hers, reaching for the same chip bag.

Yena jerks her head up, and she's gazing at Bakugo Katsuki, at his face, puppy fat all gone and replaced with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, eyes crimson and intense as ever. He's tall, taller than her not that she was ever taller than him in the first place, and his shoulders are so broad. He's in sweats and a plain white shirt, and a black hoodie looking unnecessarily handsome under the store's lighting, in the chip aisle. He looks so grown up.

Yena realizes, then, that he's looking at her, too. Jumping, and pulling her hand away from the chip bag and looks away quickly and ducking her head. Panic rises within her.

"Sorry, you can have that one," She says, subdued, grabbing a random chip bag and shoving it into her basket, trying to leave faster than before now. She turned on her heel to make a hurried getaway, but her string tightened more and tugged her back to him causing her mental groan.

‘Come on, don't do this now! We both know he doesn't want me!’ She thought but then a grip around her upper arm stopped her.

"Wait, Yena" Bakugo says, her name, and hearing it makes her feel as if he'd punched her, in her stomach, Yena turns back to look at him, with wary in her violet eyes that glance at his hand on hers it was the one that had the string that tied them together to see his string had three knots on it her eyes widened a bit. He drops his hand away from her gaze as if she’d burned him.

‘Why dose he have so many knots on his string?’ She then looked at him to see he had a complicated expression on his face, but he looked serious. She shifted in her stand uncomfortably as she waited to see what he wanted.

"I-" He cuts himself off, swears quietly, then says, voice gruff, "I know it probably doesn't mean much to you. But'm sorry. For everything I did to you when we were teenagers."

Yena stared at him. For a few seconds, her head frozen unknown what to do next, but then an old rush of anger and hurt woke up again. Yena really wanted to tell him off but she felt like she was choking on air to speak up, but a part of herself couldn't believe this was all happening in a convenience store, the absurdity of it. But that is what cools her down, drops things down a notch. As she remembers where they are, and the person in front of her is an adult and so was she,

"…It's whatever it's in the past now anyways…," Yena says tersely. As she looked away from him, feeling uncomfortable rose up in her because of this Yena missed how Bakugou looked at her up and down.

"S'the least I could do," Bakugou mutters. "I know it's not enough."

Yena looked back at him, He's right. It‘s not enough. For years, she dreamed of him apologizing to her just like this but in her dream she had found someone else who loved her and took her on all of those cute romantic dates and felt like she had gained a victory of breaking the red string.

But now that it's happening for real life, she doesn't have that someone else and she feels lost and in pain as the red string was really tightening around her finger, instead of victory.

‘This is what I get for being delusional, a slap in the face from reality,’ Yena thought as she was suddenly hit with an overwhelming wave of self-embarrassment and the urge to be away from here.

"Well, I should go now...um it was nice seeing you…" Yena trails off, gesturing in the direction of the cashier, Yena almost throws up at the end of her sentence, as she says the automatic it was nice seeing you that comes naturally when bumping into someone she hasn't seen in a while,

‘God just kill me now,’ She thought as she really just wanted to die as the way he was looking at her wasn't helping his face was covered in surprise at her words.

“'..Yeah," he says, taking a step back. His eyes don't leave her. His end of red string that was swirling around him caught her attention, as it then made another knot making her confused.

Yena glanced at her string to see it was glowing and fixing itself like before when she first got back when she was four years old, her violet eyes widened as it also had a knot now as well and no longer had burn, scissors and teeth marks on it, if anything she felt like it got stronger.

‘What the hell?!’ This was all too much for Yena as she gave him a final goodbye before shifting to walk away but was quickly stopped by both the string that yanked her back and Bakugou called out to her

'Wait," He says, as Yena turns to him yet again

Bakugou then glanced to the side, where the bag of chips was grabbing them, and walked closer to her.

“You can have them,” He says while placing chips in her basket, Yena flushes a bit at how close he is to her but peeks back up at him. Not sure what his doing.

“Oh! Thank y—” Yena didn't get to finish her words as Bakugou cut her off.

"Do you...Do you want to grab a coffee, sometime?" He asked as Yena blinked a bit taken aback by the question just as she was going to say something she felt her string loosen up a bit

“Y-Yeah sure.” Yena mentally cursed at herself for stuttering, but then exchanged numbers, and made meeting arrangements to get coffee.

Once Yena and Bakugou parted ways Yena felt a wave of blush wash on her cheeks, as her hopeless romantic mind immediately thought how cute and romantic meeting up for coffee was.

‘No bad Yena! We are just going to get coffee as two adults catching up with each other…yeah totally not as soulmates..’ She thought while walking back to her apartment building.

[lunareclipses-moments]

Lonely place

Part 2 of the greek gods AU

Truly to her words the young godness came back to meet the stranger man she meet

"You came ?"

"That's what she said " he replied holding back his laughter to the point where tears were forming in his eyes

"Really I can't believe how unmature you are" despite her harsh words she a tiny little smile was beginning to form on her face

"Don't deny it , you found it funny "

"No I didn't "

"Then why are you smiling " he asked her with a smug on his face

"Fine it was little funny , but for real I am glad that you came "

taken back from her words his smug face started breaking down and a small rosy blush was starting to decorate his pale cheeks and the tips of his flame like hair

"What ? But we just met like once how could you trust someone like that? Are you this naive or just plain stupid? " he was starting to get angry and concern, angry at himself because what is someone else approached her when he was away and concerne for her due to her innocent soul

"But you aren't a stranger, you have been watching me for sometime now " she told him in gentle voice

"What? How did you know?" Disbelief was written all over his face now his chances of knowing more of the beautiful goodness was blown away now

"The flowers told me about you and how gentle you were while watching them whenever I am not around, surely at first I was skeptical of you but after sometime I realized you didn't want any harm , so I just when along with the flow "

"You really know how to use your magic huh " the amount of relief he felt after hearing her words were unimaginable

"I sure do, but they never told me your name "

But all she got was silent , she sat on the Grass while tapping the spot beside her signaling to him to sit with her, and he sat with her their shouls where touched each other feeling the light breeze over their skin they felt into comfort silent until he decided to speak

" You will leave and never talk to me again if I did " his voice was low and almost sad filled with loneliness

"why are you sure about that "

"Because that's what everyone did "

"I wouldn't leave ! I pinky promise you that I will never leave you hopeless and miserable man "

" I am not hopeless and miserable I am cool and mysterious and also who the he'll still uses pinky promises what are you Five ?!"he asked in the most disbeliefed and angry tone he could master and his head was starting to turn red from anger

" Fine, you want my name, I am the heartless God that ruled over the underworld ifia shroud "he turned to look at her expecting her to hate him to look at him with hate and disgust but he met something else that ,made him fall harder for her , her orbs shining with wonder and curiosity

"I knew it ! Your hair changes paced on your emotions " she screamed the words to his face making back away and he realized how close the were

" m my hair ¿!?!. IS THAT THR ONLY THIHG YOU CARE ABOUT YOU CRAZY WOMAN"

"CRAZY WHO ARE YOU CALLING CRAZY YOU WAKLING CAMP FIRE " and in no time the wre both throwing insults at each other until they finally calmed down

" so you aren't afraid of me,?" he was still in disbelief

" do you really think if I would be afraid of you I would be here throwing insults at you "

"Probably not " he shrugged his shoulder

"But to be honest, I thought you would be more scary not some lanky tall pale guy who has social anxiety and probably screams when he see a buy "

" What did you just say "realizing how stupid she was to insult the GOD OF THE FUCKING UNDERWORLD she decided to run for her life and he is following her their screams and laughs filling the empty flower field and that's how their new friendship started to bloom

Everyday they would meet together sometimes the boy would bring his younger brother with him and he would start regretting it after his brother tells her something embarrassing about him but that's okay his two favorite people are bonding together he could wish for anything better than it

And years after years he finally gathered enough courage to confess his love to her but she didn't came that day or the day after it for a whole month the woman he loved didn't show up and his concern for her was increasing each second he can't see her but his thoughts and heart stopped after hearing the news about her wedding he felt anger betrayal and heart broken

" idia she is forced into it _" his younger brother was trying to make him listen but he wasn't he was to stubborn to believe that

"And how do you know it " he replied angry tears falling down his face now

The younger brother who had enough of his brother bullshit decided to finally free his arms from his brother love life

"I love you idia but you are genuinely stupid because the woman was literally all over you , she flirted, braided your hair, made you matching flower crown and SHE HAS BEEN EATING POMEGRANATES WITH YOU EVERY SINGLE DAY "

" But_ "no buts go safe the woman that loves you before its late Gooooo"

finally deciding to listen to his brother the sad weeping man stood up and ran like his life depends on it to find his the love of his life

"I don't get paid enough for this "

,meanwhile with the flower goodness who was still holding on hope that maybe someone will hear her prayers and safe her from this hell she is getting herself into ,, but maybe she already lost her hope she is slowly walking down the path of red roses to the man waiting for her he wasn't idia heck she doesn't even know him all she know is that her mother picked him up for her because he was perfect match for her

"OH gods from above and UNDER please her muy prayers and let the ground swallow me before I do a grave mistake to myself "that wax what she has been repeating over in her head for like an hour

and suddenly the floor underneath her creaked and she fell into a huge creak in the ground every thing felt like a blur she didn't even get to scream but she felt arms around her hugging her buddy in bridal style ,opening her eyes she saw her savior her knight in hoodie and pajamas pants puffy red eyes grinning down at her like a mad man

" hehe mission success "

She wanted to slap him but instead she kissed him and Hard , separating her lips from him and resting her forhead on top of his ,she wanted to scold him to shout at him for being late to be angry at him but she couldn't after all she loved him the only thing she said was

"I love you so darn much "

"I love you more "

[secrettastemakerland]

Answering "Reblog this and let people send you asks (anonymously or not) about how they would describe your fics, your writing style or just anything they've thought about when reading your work" !! HIII okay so I've only read one of your fics so far and it was a short one so I might not be the best person to answer this but I'm so glad you reblogged that post bc I actually do remember getting specific thoughts & feelings when reading one of yours!! I'm not sure if your writing is always like this but in that fic (the one I commented on!!) it felt,,, cozy. it felt warm and familiar and the writing had life to it. it wasn't just Character A walking over to Character B's house (and then room). no, there were explanations, actions, emotions, thoughts and even little bits of humour in between. and that really added to the writing!!!! the story also flowed amazingly!! it was a short fic but it didn't even feel rushed!! everything just felt natural. it was all cohesive from one paragraph to the next and I adore that!! and the descriptions were wonderful!!! painted an image in my mind very easily. one I can only describe the image as love. if the fic was an artwork, it'd have a soft grainy/noisy textured layer over it and the colour palette would be of warm pinks and oranges -- and not just bc I was getting 'sun beginning to set' vibes from it, but also bc of how soft & tender the hurt/comfort in the fic was. also, I remember opening it, reading the first 1 or 2 paragraphs and then getting so genuinely excited bc by then I could already tell you could write well LMAO -- and I was right!! you CAN write well!!! like just in general too!! idk how exactly to explain this but basically what I mean is that you're good at coming up with unique sentences and not super straight-forward plain ones!! but anyways ya!! also, sorry for writing so much!!! I didn't realise I had so much to say 😭😭 (^ /gen to all of the above 💗) - 💎

okay so.

I've been hoarding this for like 2 weeks now and at first I had like the typical kicking my feet, twirling my hair, gotta kiss anon on the mouth (platonically duh) kinda reaction. I was ready to search all of tumblr for the epic poet in my askbox. UNTIL I GOT TO THE END!

I read the end (lol i saw the emoji) and felt magically, red string-a-lly compelled to write a simonette fic. For some strange reason.

So here she is: a slightly longer simonette secret flavored fic!

Jeanette sneezed, readjusted her glasses, and then sneezed again. She wiped her nose miserably before she let out a trio of more sneezes.

Honestly, if the shelves didn't need dusting, she would have stopped. But, alas, Brittany had begged and pleaded with her to do her chores this week in order for her to go on a date.

("And I triple, no, quadruple! promise I won't ask you if we're soulmates this time, Jean!"

"You're not supposed to be asking her that anyway," Eleanor scoffed from the other side of their bedroom.

Brittany stuck her tongue out at her before she returned to her begging and pleading. "Oh, pretty please, Jeanette!")

So Jeanette had agreed, if only to be spared from Brittany's puppy dog pout and crocodile tears combo. That and her obvious hopeless romantic tendencies aside (Brittany's soulmate was a street musician around the corner and, although she wouldn't tell her, she hoped that this date might somehow led her to her soulmate), she really did enjoy working at the shop.

Planting new flowers, experimenting with new potion combinations, organizing, and then reorganizing new spell books, Jeanette loved all of it.

Jeanette pouted as she watched her hat fall to the ground after another round of sneezes. Okay, maybe she didn't love every job at the shop. The heavens above knew that she wasn't exactly helpful during a lunch rush.

Her hand waved the duster with an excited flourish, more than ready to be rid of the dust and its cruel attacks to her nose. Unfortunately, that only made the dust to throw itself back towards her, causing her not only to sneeze once again, but also caused her to sneeze herself right off the ladder, towards the ground.

She let out a breath of relief as she bounced on the summoned daisy bed, catching her fall, returning the smile her little sister was giving her.

Read on ao3

[pumpkinhrat]

     It is with no small amount of shame that Jon pulls up the ‘How to Flirt with a Guy over Text’ article by ‘Wikihow’ on his laptop. It’s as his grandmother always said, though: if you’re going to do it, you had better do it right.

     Martin had texted him back yesterday, right in the middle of him taking a statement. Despite how absorbed Jon can get in them, it had been very difficult to finish the statement with the notification flashing in his periphery. He finally opened it and had received a little flip and flutter in his chest for his efforts. Silly. The phrase ‘cat-dad’ had tripped him up a little but after no small amount of googling Jon had come to the conclusion that Martin is most certainly flirting with him. Now for the response.

     Jon isn’t an idiot. He knows he’s not the most personable guy around. Hell, the whole reason Sasha and Tim had cooked up this scheme was because they’d seen him try and fail miserably at social interactions on multiple occasions. He’s always too blunt or dry or just too plain strange to hold any sort of meaningful conversation with new people. He’s half convinced the only reason Sasha, Martin, and Tim are his friends now is because they’d been forced to break down walls by virtue of their job. It’s unsurprising that things are as grim for him romantically as they are platonically.

     So, with that happy thought in mind, Jon clicks open the link. A bright white and green screen stares back at him. The blurb at the top reads “Text messaging is a great way to flirt with your guy. Flirt texting can be done with someone you are just getting to know, a guy you are developing a relationship with, or a long-term partner to add some fun to your relationship. You can also use texting to stay in touch, build interest, and connect with a guy prior to making the next move.” The last bit actually sounds like what Jon’s looking for and the tight feeling in his chest loosens a bit as he begins to scroll. Then he gets to the actual advice section.

     It’s dreadful. The entire article is littered with useless little platitudes and suggestions like “Play Up Your Fun Side!” and “Don’t Be Afraid To Tease”  and, most worryingly, “Maybe Wait To Send That Sexy Pic”. It’s exactly all the sorts of things Jon hates about first meeting someone who’s interested in him; the posturing, the desperation, the clearly produced and polished personality. He doesn’t want to send Martin a “flirty compliment” when he doesn’t even know what the man’s face looks like. And even if he did, Jon’s sure that any compliment he’d try to come up with would sound like a thinly veiled insult.

     It’s hopeless. He knew he shouldn’t trust the internet but what other options does he have? When he’d given up and debased himself to open the wikihow article, all he’d had written in reply to Martin’s text was “Yes, I do like cats.” Which, while true and, in Jon’s opinion, a perfectly serviceable response, he can hear Georgie’s disappointed sigh in his ear now. Jon echoes it as he closes out of the tab and shuts down his computer. He’ll just have to come up with a response himself. Simple.

     Fifteen minutes later, the same five words glow up at Jon from the Tinder chat box. It feels as though they’re mocking him, goading him to send the blasted text already. Everything else he’d come up with was equally if not more dreadful and Georgie wasn’t returning his texts.

     Jon takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He checks the time. 2:13am. Not too terrible, then. If he just sends this now he can finish up his notes on the Kominsky statement and still have a little over three hours of sleep before he has to get up for work. He looks longingly at the file on his coffee table and turns back to his phone. If this Martin is truly going to be interested in Jon as a partner of some sort, he’ll have to be accepting of Jon's way of communicating, he reasons. There’s no point trying to spruce himself up, really.

     Jon sends the text and turns off his phone.

AAAAA Dear Anon, you're back! Thank you so so much for writing more, (and i'm sorry it took me this long to respond, i've been trying to survive uni).

This is 4th part of Anon's Dating App Jmart fic. Check the tag or the pinned post to see the previous parts! This chapter is based on this part of my au.

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

[goodolreliablejake]

Fate Update, now that I'm almost through the UBW route:

I don't love Kirei Kotomine as a character, even though there are many things that I love about Kirei Kotomine. I love his deep voice, his look (mullet and all), his fighting style, his evil basement, his role as corrupt mediator (the ref who also tries to play), his rivalry with and misunderstanding of Kiritsugu, his friendship with Gil.

But at the thematic core of his character is something that bothers me, something that I feel is written with a lack of depth and compassion that keeps him from being a really classic character. A lot of characters in Fate deal with this deep, existential brokenness where they don't know how to live a meaningful life, as if some essential part of their humanity is missing. For Shirou Emiya, it seems that that essential part of him died in the fire at the end of the fourth Holy Grail War. However, the way Kotomine parallels this emptiness is less meaningful than it seems at first glance.

Kotomine spends a lot of time trying to figure himself out and struggling against his urges, but the conclusion that the narrative seems to come to is that he was just plain born wrong. For no particular reason, he's just naturally evil and likes hurting people, and he has no say in the matter. Fighting his nature made him miserable.

Even if this is unintentional, it's hard for me to hear about people being "born wrong," finding traditional life goals unfulfilling (romantic relationships, career, etc.), having compulsions that other people don't relate to, etc. without thinking of neurodivergence or mental illness. And through that lens, this just seems like such a thoughtlessly hopeless statement. Just a shrug like, oh yeah, he tried all his life to find some way to be happy and fulfilled, but some people are just "wrong."

Wouldn't it be more interesting, less problematic, and more in keeping with the story's themes if we made the (fairly small) tweak that Kotomine suffered a similar trauma and existential crisis to Shirou and reached a mirrored conclusion? Rather than it being some error of birth or unavoidable nature, what if, like Iago or Richard III, he self-consciously decided to play the Villain? And it would really drive home the statement he makes at the beginning of the story: that Shirou's wish has already been granted--a Villain to make him a Hero of Justice.

[k0fii]

>Don't read if you're uncomfortable with mentions of suicidal ideation!!<

I've been looking at some of my old works, and I stumbled across a journal entry I wrote when I was feeling particularly hopeless and one line was;

"I fantasize about death, but I know, at the end of every day, I’ll live."

I was kinda struck with the realization of just how different this one line is to me, as the one who wrote the journal in the past and as the one who's reading it now. Because when I wrote it, I meant it as a hopeless resignation - I'll keep living, no matter how miserable I am. I called myself a coward in the few lines afterwards because no matter how much I wrote and cried about not wanting to live anymore, I didn't have it in myself to actually die. (" It’s how I am; I am a coward, plain and simple.") Now as I read it, it shows to me that people never really do lose hope. I never really lost hope. I'll keep living, no matter how miserable I am. Maybe it's not because I was a coward, maybe I just wanted to live.

[lsholland]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - "𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?"

Word count: 3.7k

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

genre: psychological thriller / suspense / drama

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

You can also read it on Wattpad.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you say so . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And another one.

And another one.

And another one.

And another one . . .

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

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

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

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

Only?

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

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

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

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

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

The bar is closed for annual leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's only one viable option for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's your name, sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wh—What?" he mumbles.

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

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

Tom remains silent, trying to process the information.

"And what happened to your car, man?"

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

He's lost.

* * *

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

Please like this post to be in the taglist.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

more thoughts about the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor get brought back to tirion after the war of wrath to be prettied-up trinkets on finarfin’s shelf, with painted-over scars and muffled screams. it is dark, it’s full of all kinds of emotional and caretaker abuse, and the brothers weren’t exactly in a good state of mind before any of this happened. @sunflowersupremes wrote the initial au that wasn’t even meant as horror, @outofangband - this au is as much theirs as mine, several of the concepts here were originally theirs, and a lot of this originally came out in dms with them. part 1 is here. this part contains gaslighting, loss of autonomy right at the end, more suicide mentions (thanks mae) and just general abuse from people who care more about their own comfort than the people they’re supposed to be caring for. it’s worse than the first part, honestly

most of the stuff the fëanorians had on them when they surrendered got taken away pretty fast. which is honestly understandable; some of it was cursed, a lot of it was weaponry, all of it stank to the high vault of the stars

but they both managed to hold onto some personal effects, or get them back before they went in the incinerator. a broken locket, a torn-up book, nothing fancy, nothing large, but things that still mean a lot to them

the valinoreans aren’t entirely comfortable with this. they find a lot of the brothers’ comfort items mildly disturbing, stained with darkness and (occasionally literal) blood as they are. maedhros had this dessicated finger he refuses to explain anything about that got disposed of very quickly

maglor has a few strands of brightly coloured thread, spun around each other somewhat inexpertly. he tends to pull it out when he’s feeling depressed, working it between his fingers until he feels like he can face the world again

one day, one of his minders who gets along better with him asks where he got it. from the twins, maglor admits. it’s part of some embroidery elrond abandoned when they left -

and it’s snatched out of his hands. his minder looks down at him compassionately. ‘i know you miss them, but you caused those boys a lot of pain, you know? you shouldn’t romanticise your relationship with them’

which - maglor’s relationship with the twins was complicated, and while it wasn’t nearly as hellish as elwing fears, it wasn’t entirely healthy. maglor was dependent emotionally on the kids a lot more than any adult should be to children, and vice versa

because the twins were the last people he had left. when maedhros executed celegorm’s servants with no warning at all, this rift began to grow between the sons of fëanor and their followers. they’d always been terrifying, but they’d also been comradely and inspiring, the white-hot stars around which their people orbited. but when they turned their fangs on their own host, all that started to fall away, leaving only the fear behind

it got worse after sirion. by the time vingilot rose in the sky, maglor’s only real remaining relationships were with maedhros, who he hated as much as he loved, and the twins. watching over them, talking to them, not hurting them - it kept him grounded in reality, kept him sane

he knows, he knows, he knows, they’re better off without him. but his time with them is the only happiness in his memories that still feels real

but the valinoreans can’t accept that. the exile was an awful time with nothing in it worth keeping, and the sooner he can recognise that the faster he’ll be back to his old self

besides. their caretakers don’t like being reminded of their more... unpleasant deeds

(elwing sidebar: elwing and eärendil are having an easier time, because the teleri have experience dealing with trauma and are also just more accepting of the right to have your own take on your own experiences. still, though, elwing occasionally hears that a proper telerin mother would have stayed with her children, even if she had to give up the treasure her people died for to the monsters of her childhood nightmares)

(elwing was a young adult in a horrendous situation with no obvious way out, elwing is dealing with her own damage as best she can, elwing is valid, we stan elwing. she’s also one of the few direct-ish sources the noldor have for beleriand and what the fëanorians did there, and her (perfectly reasonable!) perspective colours a lot of their treatment)

in general the valinorean noldor are quite sure they know what beleriand was like and how it felt to be there, and aren’t particularly interested in being proven wrong

it was miserable, it was harrowing, it was nothing anyone should want to think about. it was a long nightmare maedhros and maglor are so fortunate to have finally woken up from

and you can kind of see why they think like that? the ones who have seen the hither shores saw them when ash rained from a void-black sky and almost everything was dead, and the survivors told stories of a long hopeless defeat and cruelties beyond imagining

but that deep black image blots out the genuine joy they felt in those five hundred years, the chance to prove their own greatness, the knowledge they were doing something good, nights when music echoed across the gap, warm hands in a cold fortress. there were things in beleriand worth remembering, aspects of the people they became there legitimately worth keeping

and even if there wasn’t - five hundred years. the scars on their bodies make it plain to see, every little piece of who they are was shaped by beleriand, for worse and for better. they just can’t leave it behind

their valinorean caretakers find this horrifying

maedhros likes to exercise. it keeps him calm, gives him something to do. it’s not something nelyafinwë was super into - he was more the peripatetic type - but it’s a feasible hobby for a noldorin prince to have, so he’s allowed to do it

sometimes, though, he’ll unconsciously shift into the old combat forms, precisely timed drills ingrained into his bodies. the first few times he does this, his minders are bemused more than anything, but then one day he happens to have a stick in hand to use as a mock-sword

then every time he starts to slip away into that meditative trance, hands reach out to stop him and hold him in place. ‘there’s no need to fight here, maitimo,’ an elf he knew before the unchaining tells him ever so gently. ‘you’re safe now’

... they say that, but maedhros’ nightmares keep getting worse

it’s like that with everything that makes the valinoreans uncomfortable. whenever they try to speak of their time in beleriand, no matter what they say, they’re told that oh, they know it was hard, but it’s all over now and they don’t have to dwell on it

but even after they’ve spent years in paradise, maedhros and maglor still won’t let go and allow themselves to heal

they just can’t come to terms with the truth of their ordeal

the narrative the valinoreans have constructed erases all of the bright spots, but it also bleaches out the true darkness

certainly they did horrible things, but did they really have a choice? in such a harsh world, they always had to be on guard, lest they themselves be killed. these poor boys never meant to harm anyone, but their father’s cruel madness and the painful chains of their oath and the vileness of beleriand forced them into atrocities they never wanted to commit

(surely the monsters the sindar spoke of wouldn’t cry. they wouldn’t lose themselves in waking nightmares or curl up shivering in well-hidden closets, they wouldn’t jump away from a casual touch or watch every new person like they might be a threat. they wouldn’t convince themselves the children they stole were happy, or talk to the shade of a dead kinsman they abandoned. surely they wouldn’t. surely)

(because if they are, and they’ve let a couple of orcs loose into the royal palace...)

(maglor and maedhros’ movements are pretty restricted. this is mostly for their own protection, but it’s partially - well, just in case. just in case)

this rankles at maedhros, though he tries not to show it. terrible they might have been, but his choices were his own

he was a warlord, he was a king. he expected to be hated for the things he had done. he didn’t expect to be pitied. he didn’t expect to be dismissed

sometimes, when he’s surrounded by people earnestly telling him that he’s not a bad person, he never was, it was all pressure from his father and the oath, he wants to scream that he chose to attack sirion because he was so, so tired of diplomatically dancing around problems he knew he could solve with his blade

but he stops himself, always. he knows how much what little freedom they do have is based on them not being a threat

and he will not wash this peaceful, innocent land in blood. he’ll kill himself first

maglor has lost all such scruples

it’s not often, but when they’re behaving themselves and no one who’s likely to take offense is in town, the brothers get taken out to court events

they paint makeup over their scars (which still won’t heal, everyone is concerned by the implications of this) dress them up in finery, string them with jewels, and show off how well they’re doing

(even if maedhros rarely says anything, and they never leave each other’s side)

tonight, it’s a feast. a minor celebration, nothing too crowded, nothing too loud. there’s revels and merrymaking and all kinds of fun

and after the food has been cleared away, there’s music

would his nephew like to play something, finarfin asks. it’s hard to tell if it’s a request or a politely phrased order

maglor decides he doesn’t have the patience to be taken aside and tell how much everyone wanted to hear his music, and accepts

finarfin smiles kindly. he’s thinking about how maglor’s minders have been talking about how he’s finally stopped trying to sing depressing or horrifying songs and how his voice grows more melodious by the day

maglor is thinking about how they won’t even let him sing about his wife. he wrote no odes to her beauty or her skill in the forge, but he sang ballads about the swiftness of her spear and her laughter after a battle

none of which the valinoreans want to hear. they want to pretend that love never existed, that there could be any joy found in darkness, that she’s at all worth remembering -

he gets up to play, and launches into the most vicious, most hopeless, most painful part of the noldolantë

they try to stop him, but he’s the greatest warsinger the world has ever seen, he’s sung with blood in his lungs over the roaring of dragons, there’s little they can do to block out everything they’re trying to ignore. he wails defeat and death and grief and death and despair and death

when they finally manage to knock him out, their whole petty festival in tatters, shock on their faces, tears streaming from their eyes, all he can think is that if they understand now, even a little, it’ll have been worth it

for the first time, but not the last, he wakes up in a cell

finarfin comes to visit, and starts giving a very disappointed lecture maglor is in no mood to hear. instead he just snarls that nothing they’ve been doing is helping him at all, and he’s so sick of false sympathy and no one listening to what his actual problems are

finarfin shuts his eyes, says ‘i’m sorry to hear you feel that way’ and leaves

a few days later he wakes up with a collar around his neck

it’s demeaning, but he gets released that morning, so he rolls with it. he gets told to never do that ever again, first by his minders and then by maedhros

his minders he nods at until they leave him alone. maedhros he snarks back at that it’s not like he’s doing anything to improve their condition

only he can’t

the words don’t just freeze in his throat, they can’t even form in his mind. what’s happening, he can’t say. what did you do to me, he can’t say. he can’t even scream

as maglor is clutching at his neck (he can’t get it off he can’t get it off) and all the colour is draining out of maedhros’ face, the minder in the room smiles

‘see? this way you’ll stop making yourself and everyone around you miserable. you can still talk about happy things -’

‘they did this in angband!’ maedhros roars, a statement that provokes his first actual fight with their minders. he’s harder to pin down than maglor. bigger

but their caretakers are becoming annoyed with the brothers’ obstinate refusal to let themselves get better. they may be content to wallow in the misery of their past, but inflicting it on others is a step too far

they clearly aren’t going to move any further down the road to recovery on their own volition, so it’s become clear they need a gentle push. is it a little distasteful? yes, but such things are sometimes necessary in medicine

the bright cheerful princes they will be again will thank them for it

oh god how did this end up so long. the last one should be shorter, it’s mostly clearing up some loose ends. why did i write this

[mandoalorian]

What do you think the Pedro boys would do if you were engaged/about to marry another man? (Either by nafarious means or just plain settling for someone instead of marrying for love)

Pedro’s characters reactions to when you’re planning to marry someone else:

Headcanon Masterlist

So let's say they're in love with you, but you're engaged to someone else/planning to marry someone else who you don't really care that much about.

Din Djarin

He's had his life with you subconsciously set out from the moment you joined him on the Crest. It would be you, him and Grogu. Clan of three. So when he learns that you have to return to your home planet to get married off, he won't let you go. He's always struggled to open up about his feelings but he knows it's now or never. He begs you, "please don't marry him, I love you." and he's thankful you can't see the tears that glaze his eyes underneath that beskar helmet.

Maxwell Lord

He made the mistake of marrying Alistair's mother and it caused nothing but turmoil and complications ever since. He shares his experience with you and tells you if you're going to marry, you should do it for love and love only. Don't marry for wealth or fame; basically don't make the same mistake that he did. Feeling like you haven't been swayed, he invites you to his office after-hours and proceeds to tell you that he loves you unlike he's ever loved anyone before. He might be a decietful businessman, but the glitter in his eye makes you believe him, and you agree to cancel the wedding to pursue a relationship with him.

Frankie Morales

Frankie would be really hurt. He'd be awkward, fumbling with his fingers and beginning to feel too shy to even look at you because his feeling for you are so strong. Eventually Santi confronts him and urges him to tell you the truth. "You can't let her go, I see how much she means to you." Frankie huffs, knowing his friend is right and goes to visit you that night. When you answer the door, you're teary eyed and you admit that you've been crying after fighting with your fiancée about calling off the wedding. Frankie hugs you and tells you not to go through with the wedding if you really don't want to, because it's a big deal. You ask him to sleep over that night, since your fiancée left in anger. You lay in bed together and while you're asleep he whispers a soft "I love you" into your hair.

Javier Peña

Javier almost married someone he didn't love with Lorraine, and he was thankful he ran out on the wedding day. Sure he felt bad, but it was one of the best decisions of his life. If he hadn't have ran out on Lorraine, he might never have met you. He's seen how unhappy you are in your relationship and it truly hurts him. But he believes you don't see past his womaniser reputation and that you wouldn't leave your fiancée for him even if he begged. But Javier had to try. You sit in the passenger seat of his truck looking over the Bogota city lights. "I love you, please don't do this." he reveals, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling.

Oberyn Martell

A sword, straight through your fianceé’s chest. Oberyn would outright battle for your love, trying to steal all your affection for himself. Oberyn is a true romantic and tells you that you should only marry for love and for no other means.

Max Phillips

When you tell him you're Evan, he tries to put on a brave face. He acts as suave as usual, briefly congratulating you and then ushering you out of his office. When you leave and he's alone, he's ridden with anger and guilt because he never took the chance to tell you how he truly feels about you. But no opportunity goes unmissed for Max Phillips. He uses his vampiric powers to sense your discomfort in marrying Evan (because, really, who would want to marry him?), and storms into your office. He pulls you off your feet, locks the door and professes his love to you. "You can't marry Evan," he growls in your ear. "You're mine."

Dave York

Dave had a miserable marriage, so he was thankful when he managed to swindle out of it. You'd dated Dave for a while but it was mostly meant to be meaningless sex. Despite you catching feelings for Dave, you were certain that the brooding man wouldn't feel the same way. So you ran away. No matter what, you couldn't get over Dave and you thought marrying someone else might finally push you to forget about him. When you're visiting some friends back in town, you bump into Dave and share the good news with him. He's mortified and tells you he's loved you this entire time and not a day had gone by where he hasn't thought about you.

Jack Daniels

Jack is a hopeless romantic at heart, and it took him a hell of a long time to get over his high school sweetheart. But you made moving on easier for him; with you're beautiful eyes and award winning smile. He couldn't lose you the way he lost his ex-girlfriend. Over his dead body. Jack would be the kind of guy who would crash your wedding just before you hesitantly say your ‘I do’. In his suit and cowboy hat, he runs down the aisle professing his love you.

Pero Tovar

In these times, marriage is a very sacred ritual. Marriage is for life and there's no coming out of it. Tovar can see your hesitance. He sits you down and intends to talk you out of it — but, he's never been good with words. So instead, he ends up seducing you and fucking your brains out in hope it'll give you a good enough excuse to call off the wedding and stay with Tovar. It does, and he promises he'll take you on his horse and you'll both venture to a far off land where you can live happily ever after.

[citrineghost]

Talking about disabled people

Why do abled people have literally no idea how to talk about disabled or chronically ill people? I don’t know but let me go over this for those of you who are abled and don’t understand

(For anyone using screen readers, the “abled person” lines have a red x next to them to indicate they’re not okay and the “disabled person” lines have a green check to indicate that they are okay)

(Also TW for ableism for all of the examples of what you shouldn’t be doing as well as fatphobia and body image for the section on stigmatizing appearance.)

Do not turn disabled people into inspiration porn.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: It’s so amazing that this disabled person has managed to get a job and get married even though they’re disabled and it must be really hard for them and all of the people around them

Why: You, as an abled person, are implying that it’s a miracle that a disabled person can have a happy life without being “normal”

✅ Disabled person: Seeing this other disabled person with a full time job and a love life makes me feel encouraged that I can be happy too despite my disabilities

Why: Disabled people often feel hopeless with their own disabilities because of the unhealthy perspective the abled world pushes regarding how disabled people must be miserable.

Do not mourn disabilities.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: This Youtuber I watch just came out about their disability. It’s just really sad. I can’t believe they’ve been dealing with this all without talking about it. They acted so happy all the time!

Why: Being disabled is not sad. We struggle with accessibility in a world that likes to marginalize us and that is the only sad thing about being disabled. Implying that it is sad that someone is disabled is to imply that you don’t believe they can achieve happiness or comfort because of it. The second part of this statement is problematic because it implies that disabled people can’t be happy or that because someone is presenting as happy that it must be a farce because disabled people are sad and miserable all the time, which is completely untrue.

✅ Disabled person: I just found out I have a lifelong disability and I’ve been having breakdowns about it for the last week because I’m afraid of what this means for me.

Why: Disabled people are allowed to mourn themselves and the struggles they face - because there are struggles to disability. However, this is different than when an abled person does so for many reasons, two of which I will cover.

The first reason is that disabled people are aware of the facets of their lives that may change. Someone with a degenerative disease may have to give up hiking or someone with a joint disorder may have to limit their knitting or drawing to save themselves from severe joint pain and inflammation. When abled people mourn disabilities, they are typically mourning perceived losses, which include things like romance, careers, and happiness, which are all things disabled people are perfectly capable of achieving. If you are friends with someone disabled, the only time you should be mourning their disability is if you are directing sympathy as a specific facet of it which they have brought up themselves before and which they have implied is acceptable to give sympathy for. This is something you’ll have to feel out with individuals because everyone is comfortable with different levels of sympathy and understanding about disability subject which may be touchy.

The second reason is that a large reason disabled people struggle on a day to day basis is due to inaccessibility and ableism that is only there due to an ableist society. For instance, a disabled person might find out they’re going blind and realize they will now have to learn to navigate a world where they can’t read signs without braille on them. They might find out they have become paralyzed from the waist down and will now have to use a wheelchair every time they’re out of the house, in a world where ramps and elevators are touch and go and where some places put illegal lock-and-key restrictions on elevators which can be dangerous for wheelchair users and physically disabled non-wheelchair users alike. As a disabled person, a large part of what looks like mourning disability is actually mourning their future of struggling with ableism. As an abled person, you don’t have any reason to mourn that. Instead, it is your job to fight for accessibility in any place you have influence.

Do not apply suffering to disabilities.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: I just found out my friend is suffering from autism.

❌ Abled person: Oh! I didn’t realize you were struggling with EDS.

❌ Abled person: Apparently my classmate has been fighting with chronic pain this whole time.

❌ Abled person: I talked with this guy who was confined to a wheelchair the other day.

Why: Disabilities do not inherently come with suffering. While many people do suffer from certain elements of their disabilities, it is not your place, as an abled person, to decide if that is the case for them. Saying that someone is suffering from whatever their disability is reinforces the idea that disabled people are weak, sickly, and miserable, which leads to other ideas like that our lives are inherently less valuable than abled people’s because all we do is sit around uselessly while we suffer.

In regard to the wheelchair example, specifically, this is a common issue. Abled people frequently refer to wheelchair users as being “confined” or some other equivalent. This is because abled people see a wheelchair as something that ruins mobility. They are comparing their own ability to walk on two legs all the time with no repercussions to what their life would be like if “confined” to a wheelchair. However, for those using wheelchairs, a wheelchair is actually improving their mobility. If someone is paralyzed, their use of a wheelchair makes it possible for them to leave bed and move around independently and leave the house when they otherwise might be unable to. For someone who has chronic fatigue or a heart condition or so on, using a wheelchair part time can make it possible to go out for long periods of time when they otherwise might not be able to stand for more than a few minutes without feeling faint or dizzy. Wheelchairs improve the lives of wheelchair users. If they were being “confined,” they wouldn’t be using them.

✅ Disabled person: I’m just really struggling with my EDS lately. I’ve been so inspired to draw, but my hands just won’t cooperate with me lately from the cold weather.

Why: Disabled people do struggle with some things regarding their disabilities. It is only natural that they will talk about these struggles when they are with someone they’re comfortable doing so around. This is usually a pinpointed struggle and not a blanket statement. Even if a disabled person makes a generalized statement about hating having a disability, it is well within their right to make that statement, while it is completely inappropriate for an abled person to make that comment for them.

Do not gatekeep or polarize the disabled experience.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: Our friend says she’s depressed, but I’m pretty sure she’s just saying it for attention. She seems fine whenever I see her.

Why: Mental illness is not the same for everyone. While one person with depression may be unable to drag themselves out of bed to get food, another person with depression might put on a full face of makeup and plaster on a smile every morning only to go home and collapse in bed at 4pm. They may feel completely empty the entire time they seem to be having fun. Or, if you can believe it, they might just be having fun. Depression is not “sad all the time” disorder. It’s deeper than that. If you can’t see evidence of the disorder someone has and you’re not A) their therapist or B) their doctor, mind your own business.

❌ Abled person: My classmate uses a wheelchair but I see him standing up out of it all the time. I don’t know who he’s trying to fool. He’s not sneaky.

Why: Wheelchair users do not always use a wheelchair because they are paralyzed or unable to stand or walk. Many people use wheelchairs because of physical weakness caused by disability, such as muscle atrophy, joint instability, or chronic pain that is worsened by walking or standing for more than short periods of time. There are also heart conditions such as POTS that make the heart rate go up by over 30 BPM by just standing, making the person suddenly feel lightheaded, risk passing out, or just plain exhausting them. Why a person uses a wheelchair is none of your business and it is not always as cut and dry as being completely unable to move without one. People who do not need wheelchairs do not use wheelchairs.

Do not stigmatize disability and physical appearance.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: It’s no wonder her joints hurt. It’s not a disorder, she just needs to lose weight.

Why: It is a common misconception that people struggle physically because of their weight. While this may be true in some cases, for those with disabilities, it is not. Abled people tend to get stuck thinking in the same direction. They think that weight is causing disabilities. In fact, it frequently goes the other direction. Disabilities often lead to weight gain. This can be caused by hormonal imbalances, muscle atrophy, and the inability to be as physically active as abled people. While people moralizing weight and being fatphobic is an issue in and on itself, it is especially dangerous and ableist when it leads to people’s disabilities being ignored, excused, or overlooked due to the way they look. This is a problem within the medical community especially, as doctor’s frequently won’t diagnose a disability unless their patient loses weight first to prove that the problem persists even when weighing less.

❌ Abled person: I would be depressed too if I was overweight and looked like her.

❌ Abled person: How can she be depressed? She’s gorgeous and has it all. How ungrateful can you be?

Why: Depression, as well as any other mental illness, is not cause or fixed by physical appearance. It is caused by trauma, pervading negative circumstance, or by an independent chemical imbalance in the brain that has not been caused by any environmental factors. Someone being attractive to someone else will not cure their depression. Their depression likely warps their sense of self worth anyway, so their appearance is irrelevant. A person being overweight or unattractive by your standards is not causing them depression unless they are being traumatized by fatphobia, to a degree that it is destroying their mental health. That’s not a problem with their appearance, it is a problem with fatphobes who see a person’s weight as determining their value.

❌ Abled person: She’s pretty but she’s crazy as hell.

Why: Aside from the obviously derogatory use of the word “crazy,” there is a lot wrong with this statement. The first thing is that it values a person based on her appearance and nothing else. The second thing is that it implies that her attractiveness is diminished because of a mental health issue. The third thing is that it implies her diminished attractiveness due to her mental health issue detracts from her overall value. People with mental health disorders can look like anyone else and their mental health does not take away from their value as a person.

Do not police disabled people’s self identifiers or labels.

Here’s the nuance:

❌ Abled person: You can’t call yourself a cripple, that’s an ableist slur.

Why: Disabled people can call themselves whatever they want to, actually. When someone uses a word considered a slur to self-identify, it is because they are reclaiming it. The same way Black people can call themselves the n word and white people cannot, the same way people can self identify as queer, disabled people are allowed to call themselves crippled, crazy, or any other previously condemned slur that they want to. Reclaiming slurs is a way to take away the power they have over people by those who wish to use them in a derogatory way.

❌ Abled person: No, we can’t go to that one amusement park. It has no accessibility options and my friend is crippled.

Why: The only time it is acceptable for an abled person to call a disabled person a slur, even one used as a self-identifier, is if that person has told them they can. Do not ever call your disabled friends by slurs, reclaimed or otherwise, unless you know for sure that they are okay with it. And do not ever call someone you don’t know by a slur even if you know another disabled person who has reclaimed it.

❌ Abled person: You shouldn’t call yourself an autistic person. We’re supposed to use person-first language.

Why: Person-first language (e.g. person with autism rather than autistic person) can be useful in some respects, but it is disregarded by many. If you are unsure if you should use person-first language, ask the individual you’re speaking to or about. For many, their disorder or disability is an important part of who they are and they prefer to use it as a self-identifier (e.g. wheelchair user, autistic person, disabled person, etc.) Whether you are abled or disabled, you do not have the right to take away a person’s self-identifiers, regardless of if the most popular, politically correct form of speech is different than what they use. 

With this particular form of speech (person-first language), I would also recommend refraining from correcting other abled people as well. It is not agreed-upon across the board by disabled people, so it isn’t worth pushing for unless the person you’re talking to is clearly making a habit of dehumanizing disabled people. (Though this last part is only my opinion and not a hard fact.)

❌ (red X) Disabled person: Don’t call yourself crazy. It’s a slur and I don’t like it.

Why: While it is completely fine for a disabled person to tell others not to refer to them by slurs, as they have not reclaimed them, it is inappropriate for a disabled person to tell other disabled people not to self-identify with reclaimed slurs. This kind of request takes away the other person’s agency in removing the power of that slur over themselves and attempts to insist that they should regard it as something with power. If you are disabled and are triggered by a certain slur that someone you know self-identifies with, try approaching it from a more explanatory angle. 

For example: I respect your choice to reclaim that word, but it’s something I am triggered by/uncomfortable with. Could you please try to avoid using it when I’m around? 

From then on, it is up to the person reclaiming the slur to decide if they are willing to compromise. If they are not willing to avoid using it around you, it is your responsibility to distance yourself from them rather than try to police their language, so long as they are not directing the slur at you to intentionally make you uncomfortable or try to police your language.

✅ Disabled person: I know that we are both mentally ill, but I am not comfortable with being called crazy like you are. Please don’t call me that.

Why: Policing someone else’s self-identifying language and asking them to respect your own self-identifying language is very different things. Every disabled person has the right to ask others not to use reclaimed slurs on them, as these words have a rocky past and many disabled people have been oppressed and traumatized with these words in their personal lives. You should always respect others’ boundaries and self-identifiers.

Thank you for taking the time to read and educate yourself on appropriate language when speaking about people with disabilities!

If you have questions, feel free to reblog or reply. If you are also disabled and disagree with any of what I said, or if you’d like to add something I missed, please let your own voice be heard as well. 

I encourage you to start reply chains instead of all reblogging separately, because with long chains of additions, it’s easier for people to see all of the important additions in one place. So, check out the notes and see if there are other points you agree with and want to include in your own reblog!

[ruby-whistler]

all /dsmp /rp /nm, a reply to someone bringing up some good points and some i disagree with in the replies of this post

tw // physical & mental abuse, torture, murder

@bellovebug

the point about consent and sacrifice is a good call - ghostbur really didn't want to die, but to be fair, neither did dream.

i think that's the main reason why both the attempts, whether successful or not, were wrong. you don't really have the right to take away another person's life, though dream's life was being threatened, while tommy couldn't be more safe from a man who was stuck being physically and mentally abused - granted, tommy didn't know that, but dream also didn't know ghostbur wasn't aware this was a murder attempt. the point, both tommy and dream were wrong, and their actions are understandable to different degrees.

one could argue it was never mentioned that ghostbur stayed behind, and wilbur slowly getting his memories could be interpreted as them merging (which, that would be a much happier ending than having to choose between the two, wouldn't it), but those are all theories, so let's look at it from the most widely-accepted perspective.

it is true that ghostbur never hurt dream, he's really the only innocent person in all of this (ranboo and tubbo standing by while tommy ropes him into all of this with lies, sam ignoring the danger he was in and dream actually killing him) but dream has been being subjected to giant amounts of psychological and bodily pain for almost 50 days now (exile lasted around 13-26 days in comparison) on top of prolonged solitary confinement, classified as torture (because it is) by the UN, for about 85 days now (i think? might be more).

sam and quackity put dream in a situation where his only escape from possible death and months of constant agony leading up to it was killing someone who seemed like they had just tried to get him killed, and i think that's the best way to describe the situation + tommy getting ghostbur into this position in the first place.

not considering the fact that ghostbur was a hostage and both sam and tommy acted the worst possible way you could in a situation like that (ignorance and aggression), both of which drove dream to believe reviving wilbur was the only way.

"Ghostbur never murdered him three times lmao." to be fair, tommy murdered dream two times as well, and unlike tommy's two initial deaths which were in war context where both had consented to risking them for their ideals, and the third one being a direct consequence of solitary confinement or "double-celling" (i encourage you to look that stuff up, very dark but also interesting), tommy's killings of him were after he had surrendered and followed all orders given to him, and besides that being a war crime (let's be honest dsmp doesn't have the geneva convention) it was very cruel. so i'd say that was probably more than enough payback for that already.

"It's not something tommy WANTED to do, but something tommy that he NEEDED to do for the safety of the entire server." *something tommy thought he needed to do. i think we all can agree he has a bad habit of blaming everything bad that's ever happened on a single individual. like the moment wilbur got revived he went "wilbur this was all because of you" and i'm like. oh cool you've picked a new scapegoat lmao

i know from tommy's perspective he was trying to kill someone who has hurt him, but looking from dream's perspective he was trying to kill someone who was in a terrible situation, never given a chance to be on the good side and slowly losing hope for recovery + ever getting out of the hell that his life's become.

tommy's perspective is the only one from which dream's threatening in any way, from any other pov dream is just miserable and desperate and clinging on to any hope he can find so he doesn't just let himself die to end the pain. that is incredibly dark, which is why dream being treated as "oh look he's a big bad villain again he never changed" because of this incident rubs me the wrong way. he did change, even if not for the better, he was broken and is actively being broken and no one on the entire server is there to help him, while people like sapnap tell him they'll kill him if he tries to escape from the situation and people like sam stand by.

"genuine proof and logical reasons to believe would break out and hurt him and others." but that's the point of ptsd. it makes you think illogically and be terrified of something without being given present reason to think it'll hurt you. so yeah, as someone who's going through that, i understand tommy in a sense, but i don't think there's anything logical to it.

"He can't feel safe while dreams alive" but tommy can feel safe! there is no reason to kill dream, there has never been any reason to kill dream. that's what recovery from trauma is; being able to move past irrational fears based on past experiences. that is not, and will never be achieved by causing further hurt and destruction.

"purely for self gain, where tommy tried to kill dream for the benefit of himself and others" tommy was acting irrationally and doing something wrong and unnecessary because of his personal feelings and beliefs. the only danger present from dream was him giving quackity the revive book, because oh boy that man would/will do terrible things with it. idk if i'd call getting away from an abusive situation "purely for self-gain", but i digress.

"an abuser killing an innocent to free himself from what happened as a result of hurting so many other people" dream in this situation is the victim. dream was an abuser for two to four weeks, and granted he did terrible, irreversible harm to c!tommy, but at the present moment he's the victim who is trapped with no means of retaliation against those who are hurting him.

he did hurt people, but never even close to such a scale as is being done to him, so you can't call it karma, and even if in some alternate universe he did, no one deserves that kind of treatment. so, to rephrase; "a victim desperate to get away from a hopeless situation and killing an innocent who seemingly tried to help kill him, because his ultimatum in the situation of not being tortured anymore was not met."

"I don't think that excuses tommy wanting to kill dream, but i think it's a lot more justified and a lot more reasonable" all in all, i don't think it's justified at all. from tommy's perspective, the motivation is there, but it's still not "understandable" because it's just plain wrong with no real positives for anyone. dream reviving wilbur and holding ghostbur hostage is justified, and him doing it against ghostbur's wishes is understandable considering his situation, but not right in any way, shape or form.

hope this didn't come off as too aggressive! i'm just invested in the prison arc, and i guess people's bad takes (someone said dream deserved to be tortured more because of this, prime give me strength) kinda got to me so i made that post to kind of contextualize dream's actions, but i appreciate the interest in civil discussion! :]

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Stormlight Archive Character Thoughts - Moash

This is a follow-up to my previous post on Words of Radiance, and traces Moash’s arc in Oathbringer and Rhythm of War. So, Rhythm of War spoilers!

Moash realizes almost immediately that he’s made the wrong decision, both in terms of what he’s thrown away and who he’s given his trust and loyalty to. He misses Rock’s stew. He misses the companionship of Bridge 4. Graves isn’t as “refined” as he seemed on first acquaintance and doesn’t have any strength of character when the chips are down - a constant reminder, by contrast, of Kaladin, who showed determination and leadership under the worst possible circumstances. Moash hates himself, and is miserable at the thought of the trust and friendship he’s thrown away:

Moash sagged, patch in his fingers. He should throw that thing into the fire.

Storms. He should throw himself into the fire.

(It’s a storming campfire, Mo, you’re not going to be pulling a Maedhros here. You’d just get some burns and make a mess.)

And then the Fused show up and his companions are suddenly dead in an instant. His Shardplate and Shardblade are useless to him. Everything he still had remaining from his choice is gone. And what he has left is his training, from Kaladin. Kaldin’s all over the page here; through the whole fight, Moash is thinking about what he learned from him. And he uses that training to kill a Fused. And then he identifies himself as Bridge Four.

(I think this is part of the reason the hatred for Moash is so strong. Every chapter in this 5-chapter mini-arc ends with a moment that could be the starting point for Moash to turn around, to make better choices. We’re constantly being reminded that the possibility is there, the potential is there. And he never does.)

At this precise point, I think there’s actually a chance that Moash would have made his way back to Bridge Four if the Fused had left him there in the Frostlands, but instead they carry him off to Alethkar. (He’s still thinking about Kaladin. The Kaladin-obsession doesn’t come out of nowhere in ROW, it’s here all along.) He’s also still regretting his choice to betray Bridge Four, and despising himself for it. (Well, Bridge Four had been a special case [in being a place where he found acceptance], and he’d failed that test. And I threw it all away. Why do I always do that?) But he’s not seeing it as a wrong decision, something where his regret can push him to change, to do better. He’s seeing it as a fundamental characteristic of who he is.

The next stage of his downward spiral is generalizing from “I’m just screwed-up and unfixable” to “Humans are just screwed-up and unfixable.) He’s doing it even before he encounters Highlord Paladar: Why must we always take some precious, Guff, and find ourselves hating it? As if by being being pure, it reminds us of just how little we deserve it. But the attitude calcifies with the realization that Alethi social hierarchies have survived even occupation and enslavement: He wasn’t broken. All of them were broken. Alethi society - lighteyed and dark. Maybe all of humankind.

This is not, at its heart, a political realization. It’s personal and emotional: when you’ve already decided you’re an inherently broken, contemptible person, it’s soothing to have company by deciding that, at least, so is everyone else. At this point, he’s still willing for Kaladin to be a rare exception. By Rhythm of War, that’s no longer the case - he needs Kaladin to validate his choice to give up by doing the same thing. (As another deep irony of Moash’s arc - seriously, he’s the dark mirror to so many people - Teft is also deeply self-loathing and self-sabotaging, but lets people help him out of that, keeps fighting, and refuses to let that be the end of his journey. Moash simply accepts it as who he is, and then - to disperse the guilt - as who everyone is. Likewise, it’s the dark mirror of Dalinar’s Always the next step. You can do wrong, and then accept there’s no other path and that’s who you are now, as Moash does, or you can choose to keep trying, to grow, to be better.)

And so Moash accepts his friend being beaten as just the way the world works. He sees injustice. He doesn’t try to stop it, because to him it’s inevitable. But underneath this numb acceptance, he still hates himself for it, and volunteers for hard labour. This continues to be a habit for him, into Rhythm of War; even when Odium is keeping back his emotions, it remains a way to express the self-loathing he can no longer consciously acknowledge.

Moash’s days pulling the sledge are the seed of his later actions in other ways, too. It felt good to be told what to do. Not to have to think, not to have to choose, and to be able to tell himself - or be told, it feels like this is the moment Odium starts talking to him - that his betrayal (which he’s now moved to eliding simply as what happened at the Shattered Plains) wasn’t his fault. (The thought I was pushed into it is an obvious lie - he jumped at the chance to be part of the assassination.) And turning away from independent though to blind obedience, and from remorse to rejection of guilt or resposibility, is the path Moash ultimately takes when he joins Odium and gives up his emotions.

And I think this is also why he resists the mistreatment of the singers who Kaladin helped - as long as he can tell himself that the Singers/Fused are better than humans, he can obey them without having to think. Seeing them beat their own people, in a way that specifically reminds him of the treatment of Bridge Four, breaks through that; he has to stop it, lest the whole mental barrier, the decision to regard the Fused as morally superior, come tumbling down. It’s positive action, but in service to his ability to maintain longer-term apathy and inaction. And that apathy and surrender to the idea of the Fused as superior is then strong enough to survive even the realization that they’re treating him exactly like a bridgeman again.

By the last chapter in Moash’s Oathbringer Part 2 mini-arc, Odium is very clearly talking to him, urging him to give up the guilt he still feels over betraying Kaladin, to tell himself that it’s not his fault; a voice that Moash gives in to. He asks the Fused for vengeance, but it’s all wrapped up in this need to not feel guilt, the need to either deflect blame or to justify his actions to himself; and killing Elhokar doesn’t make him feel any better.

I don’t think the Bridge Four salute he gave Kaladin after killing Elhokar was villainous gloating. I think, in a twisted way, it was sincere - he’d talked himself into thinking that Elhokar’s death, that vengeance, was something Kaladin would want (or at least, should want) as well, but couldn’t bring himself to countenance - so Moash did it for him. For both of them. Roshone likewise, in ROW.

So in summary, Moash’s motivations, choices, and non-choices in the Oathbringer mini-arc are the foundation for all his later actions. 1) Renouncing responsibility. He goes from feeling guilty about his betrayal of Bridge 4 and about throwing away the chance they represented; to regarding the choice as inevitable because he’s fundamentally broken; to regarding all humanity as fundamentally broken, so what he did wasn’t anything unusual; to telling himself (or accepting Odium’s telling) that it wasn’t his fault and he was pushed into it, whuch is patently false; to giving up his emotions to Odium entirely so he doesn’t have to feel guilt. 2) Renouncing choice. From ‘Rhythm of Work’ (Chapter 48) onwards, Moash enjoys being told what to do, not having to think, not having to make decisions; this is what produces his killing of Jezrien, which he does without even caring about it. It’s likely founded in the middle part of his guilt-to-rationalization spiral, the belief that making bad choices is just who he is (therefore it’s better if someone else makes them for him). And it drives his entire arc in Rhythm of War, where he flees from Renarin’s vision of the good person he could still choose to be, and desperately needs Kaladin to make the same choice he did - giving up - so that he can tell himself it’s the only choice possible.

This is particularly striking because I would sum of the key themes of Oathbringer as responsibility and redemption (Dalinar, obviously; Szeth, starting on the path of thinking for himself and being responsible for his choices; Elhokar, recognizing his failures and seeking to do better; Teft, letting himself rise from the morass of self-hatred to become a Radiant) and one of the key themes of Rhythm of War as choice (Maya’s “WE CHOSE” and Kaladin’s vision of Tien both reinforcing that volition is important, and one shouldn’t deny a person’s choice of self-sacrifice by treating them as just a victim; similiarly, the common people in Urithiru choosing to support Kaladin; Venli choosing to confess her actions, do better, reveal herself as a Radiant, and return to her people, despite her fear; and Kaladin’s choice to keep trying, keep fighting, in the face of despair and hopeless odds). Moash is the counterpoint to both these themes - the anti-Radiant.

The final thing I’m going for in this essay is to emphasize that, to me, Moash is a complex and interesting character whose arc has excellent resonances with many other characters’ arcs. I could be happy with an ending in which he is redeemed, unlikely as that appears (my favoured starting point is are Taravodium - whose personality is very different from Rayse - seeing him as too much of a flat villain for T’s purposes, and casting him off; meaning that Moash would have his emotions and guilt back in full force, and be blind on top of that, and have to decide what to do with himself). I could be happy with an ending in which he isn’t redeemed - as noted, his arc is a dark inverse not only of many other characters’, but of the central themes of the books, and could well continue on that path. But it can be frustratingly simplistic to see the character only discussed in the form of a one-line meme.