#emotional manipulation for 30 goddamn minutes

[just-emerald-star]

Me at the James Somerton apology video:

I watched all 30 minutes of that awful (now deleted) video and lemme tell you...homeboi very clearly should've waited to gather his thoughts instead of coming on there to essentially beg for sympathy while making claims that he'll come back. Fucking unbelievable.

[heavysoldat]

MORE DARK MEAN DBF NICK 💓💘💓🌸💞💘💓❤️🌸💘💓☹️🌸💘🌸🌼☹️🌸☹️

can i tell you how much i love seeing you in my notifs? for real <3

i am a lil tipsy and wine does not mix well with my medication so if this comes out... y’know. you know why.

warnings: smut ofc (dubcon, humping, vaginal sex, dirty talk), age gap (late 30s/early 40s, 19-early 20s), coercion, degradation, slightly manipulative nick, inappropriate relationships, mentions of divorce, cheating, pet names (hun, honey, baby, bunny), slight size & breeding kinks, kind of innocent reader

i always make these longer than expected 😬

“You okay?”

Nick’s voice awakes you from your train of thought, eyes focusing on the TV as your mind lands back into reality.

It’s ten at night, completely dark outside, nothing but a shitty action movie playing on the television. Nick has tagged along for your family vacation, claiming loneliness from his pending divorce, unwilling to spend the summer holiday by himself. Your father was quick to invite, seeing how long him and his wife had been together, and how droopy Nick had gotten since the news. It’s what any friend would do.

The vacation was a simple beach trip, lodged in a three story house right across from the sandy shores, farther away from the tourist activity. After a full days drive, you all settled down, thrown on a movie and popcorn, huddled together on the family sized couch the renter had supplied you with.

Your parents had gone to bed thirty minutes ago, claiming tiredness at how they kept switching driving shifts, leaving you alone with Nick to finish the film you were still uninterested in.

“Just checkin’ in,” Nick motes, rubbing your thigh back and forth under his large hand, “Seemed distracted today— think every time I looked at you, you were staring into space.”

“Just checkin’ in,” Nick motes, rubbing your thigh back and forth under his large hand, “Seemed distracted today— think every time I looked at you, you were staring into space.”

“Worried about me?” You quip, light with an airy giggle. You turn to lift your arms to the air, stretching them out— along with your back, with a quiet moan.

You can see his gaze shift, a tongue darting out to wet his lips. He takes a brief, thoughtful pause, before looking you back in the eyes.

“You tense?” He asks, watching as you pull the pants of your pajama shorts down (which he finds more appealing than he should) to cover more of your cold thigh. “My wife used to say I was practically a personal massage therapist.”

“Ex-wife.” You correct.

He doesn’t respond.

“Are you offering a massage?” You blink.

“Not like I’m perving on you, hun.” Nick assures. “Never gotten a massage from your dad? Mom?”

With a blank stare, you contemplate his offer. Your muscles are locked up, joints reeling at the tensity of being locked in a car for a ten hour drive, all cooped up in the backseat filled with bags full of snacks. The overwhelming cramp is killing you— and it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s just like getting a back massage from your mom… right?

“Okay.” You say, voice quiet and mouse-like, staring at him from underneath your lashes. He gives you a smile, one bright and charming like a Disney prince, slick with something underneath.

With a brief gaze, Nick grabs hold of your leg, hoisting it onto his lap to give himself free access. His hands are warm as they dig into your cold flesh, massaging the muscles like he’s kneading bread— goddamn, was his wife right.

“That feel good?” He asks, with a light chuckle as he hears the breathy moan you let out at one especially good dig.

You hum a yes, almost letting your eyes closed to the feeling of his fingers. With your eyelids fluttering, you can barely catch the way he’s staring into your pupils, barely looking at the skin he’s so expertly kneading.

After some time, he takes the other leg, switching it out and letting you readjust. He applies the same treatment, breathing heavy as he listens to the way you emote your pleasure, focusing on the feeling of you under him. Your skin under him. He can feel his pants tighten, just by the light grunts you let out— wondering what sounds you’d make if you were really under him.

You let out a pained grunt, and his eyes shoot up; “Whats goin’ on?”

“My back aches,” You moan, pressing on the small of it with your palm, “Sat up for too long.”

Nick hums, slowing down his motions on your leg. He pushes it off of his lap, letting it fall back down to the floor, pressing on your arm with his hand. “Turn around.”

When you do nothing but stare quizzically, he laughs, “Gonna do the same thing to your back, honey.”

You breathe in, still reeling from the relief he’s given your legs. You end up complying, maneuvering to face away from him, trying to figure out where to put your hands.

Nick’s fingers dig into your shoulders, pressing down at your tense points to relieve you. It’s almost better than what he was doing to your leg— your breathing quickens, eyes shut as you bask in it.

When you feel his hands on your skin, underneath your shirt, you almost jump out of your skin— “Hold on,” Nick coos, “‘S gonna feel better like this. I promise.”

You slowly ease, getting used to the feeling of his hands skin-to-skin with your upper back, bunching up the fabric of your shirt to allow free roaming.

Your skin is so soft, so untouched, so unfathomable— it has him almost foaming at the mouth, the sight of your bare shoulder enough to send him into the atmosphere. The goosebumps that land on your skin as he massages it, the way you shiver with each touch, the moans and gasps you let out with each press; it’s a symphony to him. An intoxicating, dizzying symphony that makes his cock throb in his sweatpants.

He finds himself pressing his hands down, pushing you forward onto the cushions. You let out a confused sound as your chest lands, cheek pressed up against the soft fabric.

Nick moves to practically straddle you, “Just relax. It’ll feel really good, I promise.”

You whimper as his weight lands on your thighs, fingers pressing deeper into your skin. He’s bunching your shirt up higher, stroking your skin with his large palms, lust fueled by how your body feels underneath him.

Nick leans down to your ear, mouth pressed up against your cheek, “Lemme ask you something, honey,” He says, hands moving south, “That boyfriend of yours ever fucked you?”

You whimper, confused and surprised, eyes jolting wide awake. When you don’t answer right away, he swats the swell of your ass, hard enough to make you feel it properly underneath your flannel shorts, but light enough to not be too painful. He’ll work you up to that.

“Y-yes,” You stutter, grabbing the bottom of the couch cushion with your hand.

Nick hums, an almost surprised tone in his throat, hands kneading into the covered flesh of your ass. “How many times?”

“Twice.”

“Ooh,” He coos, “Did it feel good?”

“What?” You whine.

“Answer me.” He grunts, swatting at your ass again.

“Yes.” You’re whispering, breath fanning against your face as you pant against the couch.

“Don’t lie to me.” He tsks. “I bet he was all soft and sweet. Takin’ his time,” His hands move upwards, placing themselves underneath your body to knead at your breasts, “But you don’t want that, do you?”

Nick takes one of his hands, sliding it down against your skin, before slipping it underneath your shorts. You’re trapped— stuck between him and the couch, his full bodyweight keeping you locked down on top of the cushions. You can feel his fingers glide over your pussy, chuckling as he finds you already wet— you squirm, whimpering, legs flying up in the air.

“Already fuckin’ wet,” He says, almost in awe, “I made you feel good, didn’t I, bunny?”

You can’t say it, can’t let him know— can’t let him know how just his hands made your pussy drip, how the moment he offered to relieve you of your stress you felt your panties dampen with arousal. It’s all so embarrassing, so demeaning, so wrong— but you’re dripping, slick soaking his fingertips with each glide, your whimpers giving yourself away.

“I can make you feel so much better than he did,” Nick’s whispering, grinding his clothed cock against your ass, fingers rubbing sloppily at your clit, “I could fuck that slutty fuckin’ pussy so good.”

You can feel him pushing your shorts down, just enough to leave your lower half fully exposed— before you hear him pulling his own shorts down. He grunts as his cock is freed, slapping up against his stomach, taking the hand that was on your clit to give himself a few pumps.

“Your parent’s bedroom is on the third floor,” Nick whispers, lining his cock up to rest on-top of your asscheeks, “They’re not gonna hear a damn thing.”

Nick starts humping at your ass, cock sliding up and colliding with your arched back with each thrust. He’s leaning down to grunt in your ear, pulling your hips back to meet him at every grind.

He laughs every time you moan, every time you let out a broken whine— tears forming at your waterline as he licks the side of your face.

“Fuck,” He grunts, “Love using your ass, makin’ me feel so good.”

“Please,” You pant, insure of what you’re even begging for. More? For him to stop? For him to keep going? Whatever it is, you’re pleading, panting.

“Want me to fuck that slutty fuckin’ pussy?” Nick’s in your ear, hips moving faster, cock gliding up and down your ass, “You’re so fucking desperate. Boyfriend of yours isn’t fucking you good enough. Isn’t fucking you deep enough. Need me to come around to pound your little hole full.”

“Please,” You beg.

You’re so fucking embarrassed. Embarrassed by how much you’re leaking onto the couch, embarrassed by how exposed you are, embarrassed by how he shames you— embarrassed because he’s right. Right about you being unsatisfied, being bored, being desperate. Embarrassed by how bad you want him to fuck you, you’re literally begging for it.

“One fuckin’ move and I slip my big cock in that tiny pussy,” Nick’s groaning, precum staining your skin, “One move and I’m filling you up.”

“Please.”

He grabs you by the neck, pulling you up to his level. You choke, gasping, his nose digging into your hair as he speaks;

“Beg me to fuck that slutty pussy.”

“Please!” You sob, tears practically pouring.

He tsks, “That’s not fucking good enough.”

“Please, please,” You sob, “Please f— please fuck my s-slutty pussy. Please.” You’re stuttering, sniffling and sobbing, a mess.

Nick groans, deep in his throat, eyes practically rolling back in his skull. With his grip tight on your neck, he pulls you back, slamming his lips on yours. It’s all teeth, tongue and saliva, practically eating you alive— but it’s so, so fucking good.

When he pulls back, a string of spit follows with him, falling down onto your skin as he pushes you back down. With one hand holding your head down, your hips lifted up high, he takes hand of his cock, aligning it with the entrance to your sopping hole.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, bunny, you’re never gonna want another dick. And that’s a fucking promise.”

His cock slams into you almost immediately— hitting that spot that sends an ache into your belly. Your first instinct is to move away, crawl away from his bigger body, but his hold on your head and hips is harsh enough to make sure you stay where he wants you.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ move,” Nick grunts, already fucking into your pussy, cock slamming at your walls repeatedly, “Your cunt fucking needs this. I fucking need this.”

You dig your teeth into the cushion, stained with both pussy slick and tears. He’s got you right where he needs you. His hand is pressing down so hard you think he might crush you, crack your skull open right here— but something in you tells you that wouldn’t deter him.

“God, what would your parents think?” Nick’s moaning, grunting, panting into the summer air, “Getting fucked silly two floors down? This slutty little pussy’s gripping me so tight, begging me to cum in her. Begging me to fuck her harder. You’re such a slut, honey, lettin’ a man twice your age use your cunt to get off, like a cheap little hole.”

You can feel your orgasm bubbling, feel the way it’s curving in your stomach, tightening like a rope. It makes you dizzy, the way he’s fucking you— it’s nothing like the sex you’ve experienced. It’s sloppy, rough, violent, degrading. You cannot believe you’re getting off on it.

“Come around my dick, bunny.” Nick reaches down, grabbing you by the throat like he did before. He pulls you up, grabs at your tits, bites into your neck with heavy groans, “Milk my cock for me, baby. Squeeze it fuckin’ good. Gonna fill that pussy up so good, breed that little hole of yours. Knock you up, really show everyone what a fucking whore you are.”

You’re too close to worry about his comment, too on the edge to care about how he’s manhandling you. Your release is so close you can taste it, feel it on your tongue— feel it, as drool lulls out to drip down your chin.

With a loud whine, you find your cunt clenching down hard, orgasm ripping through you like a stab wound. He has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream, dig his face in your hair to cover the way he’s shouting, completely abandoning himself to pleasure.

“Oh god,” Nick gets breathier, sloppier, “Fuck, I’m cumming, take it, bunny, take it all in that slutty pussy—“

He slams into you one last time, erupting in a strained groan as his cum fills your insides. You’re both left painting, moaning, whimpering against each other, chests heaving after your shared workout.

He sits back, pulling you with him, not letting his cock slip out of your cunt just yet. He situates you on his lap, pulling your shirt down, covering your lower half with a blanket, legs spread wide.

“It’s only eleven,” Nick whispers, stroking your now damp hair, “Let’s stay up a little while longer, okay?”

And when he presses a light kiss to your cheek, you find yourself agreeing.

[straighttohellbuddy]

but you're talking in your sleep {Wilbur Soot} // 2

two. and she told me that she fucking hates you

Summary: Two years ago, you'd met Will Gold in a pub shortly after moving to London, and had a six-week fling with him, but ended up falling out of contact when it turned out your ex-boyfriend moved to try and make things work... But now you're back in contact, back to being friends, and have made arrangements to finally hang out face to face. And any latent, traitorous feelings Wilbur may or may not have aren't anything he wants to bother you with.

Need to Know: She/Her, implied early 20s, Sister-Innit!Reader. it is never stated or even implied whether Tommy & the reader are related by blood or otherwise, so that's up to you, and while there are mentions of reader celebrating christmas, it's more because Tommy's family celebrates it. reader is said to be studying literature at university. please heed the warnings.

A/N: 11,707 words. unedited as all fuck, i have so much love in my heart for this part, but please heed the warnings. PLEASE Tell me how you're liking it so far!! :)

Warnings: recreational drinking, implied emotional & verbal manipulation/abuse, emotional & physical cheating, heavily implied intimacy but never explicit.

{ masterpost : 2 / 3 }

{ p l a y l i s t }

Taglist: @marvelsmurphy @automaticcomputerpaper @kattenprinsen @parkerpeanuts @bumblebea-xo @lovehatewhateveritis @rainyaheysoe @tcphat @smol-flower-kiddo @pogface @luluwinchester @captainpuffyrp @dreamerwasfound @pepe-lepe @njhrecord @auralol @moonlightaura03 @the-friendly-ghostwrite @blaisey-bee @kingudon @friendwasfound @ahsteriawrites @eeyore-onthefloor @30-minutes-into-the-future @rexgoesrawrrrrrr @arielting @laneunderwave @axeofwars @hoezeeor @lightninginab0ttle @irwinkitten @gyneve @stoop18 @franaby @ozdramaqueen @moriiartist @ticcisimon @randokku

Taglist is always open!!

----

In less than a week, after only a few texts to confirm times and [just stay with me I have a couch] sent without hesitation after you’d asked for hotel recommendations, and now he’s been sitting in his car for twenty minutes at the train station, kicking himself for being so early. Berating himself is easier than dealing with his nerves, so he turns up his music and texts you while waiting for your train to pull into the station.

Your texts are vibrant and excited since you’d gotten on the train, in a way they hadn’t been in the few days lead up to your trip, but he doesn’t think much of it, too busy trying to convince himself that he’s got his nerves under control. Really he’s doing quite a good job, right up until you message that the next stop’s Brighton, in all capitals. He tells you he’s going to wait inside the terminal, and when you send [SEE YOU SOON!!!!!] he’s left alone with his music and his thoughts and his goddamn erratic heartbeat.

There’s a moment of terror, amidst the lively crush of people inside the terminal near peak hour, that someone might recognise him. It’s kind of the nightmare scenario; neither you nor he needed that right now, and he hadn’t even brought some sort of hat or glasses. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to be a problem, however, as he makes it to the exit for your train’s platform with little stress.

And your smile is even brighter than he’d imagined it would be.

Like something ripped straight out of a movie, you stop at the top of the platform’s steps you’d just ascended, the other passengers parting in streams left and right behind you, continuing on their way, but giving you this moment. You seem to pick him out of the crowd instantly, meeting his gaze with a hundred-watt smile. Though you’re too far away to hear, but he can read it on your lips when you say his name, like a confirmation.

The moment only last a seconds and then you’re both moving, stepping forward to meet in the middle, and you don’t even hesitate to wrap him up in a hug. There’s relief and warmth as you fist your hands in his sweater, as your shoulders relax with your breathless laugh.

“It’s so good to see you!” You tell him, stepping back holding him at arm’s length for a moment as you look him over.

“It’s been –“ a long time coming, something we both seem to need, something I didn’t realise I’d been waiting two years for, “too long; good to have you here,” he tells you, simply letting himself enjoy this moment. For a beat, you seem like you’re about to say something else, but when you see the way he’s grinning, matching your energy, he thinks he can see your breath catch. Wishful thinking? Maybe, but you look up to the roof, then around, step back, bouncing on the balls of your feet as your next words are something of an excited, only half coherent babble.

It's endearing, but Wilbur has just realised how absolutely stupid and terrible this idea was.

You’re Tommy’s sister.

You’re in a relationship.

You and he had a fling for six weeks, two years ago.

So it’s easy to tell himself when you’re in another city, that he doesn’t have feelings for you. Again… But he can only delude himself for so long when you’re by his side.

Offering your arm, you ask him if there’s any restaurants he’d recommend.

“What?” Surfacing from his thoughts, he tries and fails to process what you’d asked. He loops his arm through yours, and thankfully, you don’t seem to think much of his momentary lapse, apart from it being amusing.

“I’m bloody starving,” you reiterate, and he takes the hint, leading you both to the exit closest to his car, “and I’d be happy to get junk I’m familiar with, but if you had any recommendations for not-junk restaurants,” you laugh a little at your own phrasing, “I’d love to hear them.”

He takes you to a hole-in-the-wall, family-run restaurant a block from his apartment, and you buy him dinner as thanks. In some strange way, it’s as if you’ve picked up right from where you’d left, just as easy to talk to as he remembered, just as earnest. You hum along to the songs on his playlist and compliment his taste in music and seem genuinely excited and interested when you ask if he’s been working on anything recently.

For a moment, he’s quiet, expression twisting as his mind flashes to the lyrics he’s been trying to grasp for the melody he keeps humming to distract himself whenever his mind remembers you’re wilfully dating a guy your brother hates. It’s petty, and one of the things the two of you don’t talk about, so he keeps that to himself. Instead, he talks about another song on the EP he’s been working on. The light in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his music – he’d forgotten how you could make him feel elated simply by listening to him. It makes him want to work on the EP, just so he can have something to show you.

At his door, however, you grow quiet, one hand reaching up to grasp at your backpack strap as you watch him unlock his door. As he turns, tries to ask if everything’s alright, you’re already thanking him for giving you a place to stay. His voice dies in his throat, and all he can do is give a smile.

“Of course,” he offers, “any time.” He’s not sure if he was meant to see the relief in your eyes as he turns back to open the door.

In his flat, you sit tentatively on the sofa, graciously accepting his offer of a drink as he heads to his kitchen. Still, you’re quieter than you were earlier. When he comes back with your drink of choice, you’re surprised for a moment. He puts his own drink on the coffee table and picks up the TV remote, anticipating your question.

“We spent a lot of time in pubs together,” he points out, not looking at you as he tries to pick a streaming service, “least I could do is remember your favourite drink.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you duck your head quickly.

“And you call me a simp,” you mutter, but your tone betrays just how touched you are that he’d remembered. He feels justified in the smug smile he wears as he asks if there’s anything you want to watch.

The night grows late as the mood grows warm and comfortable, both you and Wilbur tipsy watching trashy movies and making up drinking games with vaguely incomprehensible rules, and you ask if you can send a photo of him to Tommy. Of course he agrees with delight. For a moment, you deliberate, squinting at your screen with your camera pointed at him, before you gesture for him to move closer to you.

“I gotta be in the photo,” you tell him, as seriously as you can manage. Wilbur, seeing no flaw in that logic, shifts to sit beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. Both of you are positively beaming, your head on his shoulder, his cheek against your head, a little blurry from your unsteady hands. You caption it [our friend tall will ☭] and send it without a second thought.

Until, a moment later, Wilbur’s phone starts vibrating.

“It’s a discord call from Tommy,” he says with a half-giggle, and you smack your hand to your mouth, before you scramble to mute the TV, and the movie you’d stopped caring about before it had even started.

“Tommy, hello, you’re calling at a strange hour,” Wilbur tries and fails to sound sober, missing the mark atrociously.

“I’m streaming,” comes Tommy’s response. You double over, dropping the remote and pressing your other hand to your mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. Wilbur’s free hand gently rests on your back as he can’t help his own mischievous grin.

“Am I on speaker? Hello, Tommy’s stream!”

“Are you drunk?” Tommy asks, faintly disbelieving.

“I’m not sober,” is how Wilbur chooses to phrase it.

“’s very late,” you stage whisper, straightening up again, looking from the phone to Wilbur, unable to fight off your smile, “why’s he still streaming –?“

“Wilbur!” Tommy, insistent this time, interrupts you.

“Tombles go to sleep, it’s a school night,” you say, louder this time, and Wilbur breaks, laughing loud and bright.

“Hey, Mother Innit’s fully aware I’m still up and streaming, take it up with her,” Tommy counters, before seemingly remembering the situation at hand, “and Sister -” he says pointedly, only to be interrupted by Wilbur.

“Ooh~ listen to that tone, you’re in trouble!” He teases, and your delighted, mischievous laughter rings out loud in the little apartment. After a moment, however, your own phone buzzes with a text from Tommy [glad you arrived safe]; on the phone, however, he clears his throat.

“Yeah, she’s in trouble! She’s stealing my friends! I don’t think I like you and Wilbur being friends anymore –“

“You don’t have the authority to revoke my Wilbur privileges,” you take the phone from Wilbur, nose in the air, while he’s wheezing with laughter beside you, “I’m revoking your Wilbur privileges!”

“You can’t do that!” Tommy spluttered.

“I just did!” You crowed, triumphant, “be nice or I’ll revoke your Tubbo privileges too.”

“You wouldn’t dare –“

“It’s part of my master plan, Tombles,” you tell him, spouting absolute bullshit with ease, “next stop; America. You got to hang out with Dream’s sister, so me, your sister, will hang out with Dream,” you squinted for a moment, considering, before you amended, “that’s a threat.”

“Can you believe this, chat?” Tommy gasped gently, playing the victim.

“Where is all this coming from?” Wilbur says, confused and delighted by your sudden conviction and apparent foresight.

“’s the Cain Instinct,” you said with an air of fondness, before settling back against the sofa, leaning your head against Wilbur’s shoulder, “you can retain Wilbur privileges because I love you,” you tell your brother, “and he’s a good sort –“

“’Okay bet’ says Dream!” Squawks Tommy in mock horror, setting off both yourself and Wilbur all over again, “Christ, man- Dream’s trying to call me-“ as soon as Tommy announced that, both you and Wilbur excited requested that Dream be added to the call, much to Tommy’s exasperation. However, once he’d conceded, you realised –

“I feel like I shouldn’t meet Dream for the first time while I’m drunk,” you stage whispered to Wilbur.

“That’s how we met,” Wilbur points out, which only serves to confuse you.

“You and Dream?”

“You and me,” and as he says it, you finally understand what he’s saying, your initial worry already forgotten. For a moment, you’re giggling as you look at him, and he’s ninety percent sure you’re remembering how the two of you had met –

“This is great –“ you hadn’t even heard Dream join the call, but the moment he does, your laughter stops, eyes going wide, “- I’m so okay with us becoming friends to spite Tommy, that’s funny as fuck.”

“Dream you can’t bully me on my own stream,” you knew from Tommy’s tone alone that he was rolling his eyes, but smiling gently. Despite Dream lazily offering to start streaming, delighted that it again would be out of spite, Wilbur watched you with concern as you levelled an intense gaze at his phone.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, and you lean closer to his phone.

“Dream Minecraft-YouTube, I’m so drunk, I’m so sorry,” you whisper with great concern, and the tension breaks as everyone else on the call bursts out laughing. But then you gasp sharply, “oh fuck, Tommy’s live! I’m live! Oh no, I promise I’m less drunk usually, Tommy’s chat! This is a joke, mostly, I love Tombles very much, but also if I haven’t embarrassed myself too much I would actually like to be friends with Tommy’s cool streaming friends; Dream –“ you say suddenly, taking a deep breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you tried to focus, “Dream I mean you, you seem very cool.”

“Hey, what about me?” Wilbur asked, still grinning, before Dream even had a chance to respond.

“Unfortunately we are already best friends,” you told him without missing a beat, taking the phone from him and leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees.

And you continue to chat with your brother and Dream, but something about what you’d said had overwhelmed Wilbur’s heart, and as you lean forward to chatter away, he half drapes himself on you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his face against your shoulder blade. The moment, illuminated only by the light of the muted TV and the street lights out the window, fills him with an indescribable contentment. Did you used to fit so easily into the space by his side?

When the call is long forgotten, and the hour has gotten unreasonably late, and he realises you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, he thinks about how easy you are to love. Tomorrow-Wilbur can regret that sentiment, but for now he’ll stand by it, especially since the moment he goes to move, you wrap an arm around him. Carefully, well as carefully as he can manage, he frees himself, gently insisting that you stretch out properly on the sofa. He’s gone for all of two minutes, getting you a blanket and a glass of water, but you’re clutching one of the sofa pillows beneath your head, curled up, by the time he’s back.

“Thanks Will,” you mumble with a contented little smile as he drapes the blanket over him, which, okay, a little spooky considering he thought you were properly asleep. What’s more terrifying, however, are the two words you manage next; “love you,” which you follow with a gentle sigh, as if you hadn’t just uttered two of the most confusing words in the English language.

The rest of his night is spent staring at his ceiling, the silence of the flat as deafening externally as the racket of his conflict was internally. It’s nothing, he’s sure it’s absolutely nothing; he tells his friends that he loves them all the time, it’s not like he’s pinning for any of them. You’d been travelling and drunk and tired and it had been a nice night, a perfectly platonic declaration mumble of love wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

But, his traitorous mind sees fit to remind him, this isn’t actually the first time something like this had happened. Last time, he’d kept it to himself, and you’d ended up with Mark, so he thought he’d made the right call. Maybe it was a coincidence, but –

“Okay, what are the most important things I should know about London?” You’re half giggling in the dim, golden light of the pub. The cover band that’s been playing is between sets, but you’re still leaning across the table the way you’d been just so he could hear you earlier, “apart from the location of the most underappreciated flat in a ten kilometre radius.”

“I never said underappreciated,” Wilbur can feel himself flush, but is doing a very good job of keeping his somewhat aloof demeanour intact, “I said I think a girl like you would appreciate the contents of the flat as much as you’d appreciate any other tourist trap –“

“So your flat’s a tourist trap?” Your smile is sharp and teasing, but there’s nothing malicious in it. He takes the bait happily, playing along.

“It has its moments,” he says loftily, “we’ve been known to host a party or two, but no-one’s thought to leave a review on Trip Advisor, so it’s still trendy. No lines.” For a moment, his expression wrinkles as he thinks about what he’s saying, but you seem thoroughly pleased by the bit.

“Nothing on Yelp?”

“I haven’t checked recently, but if you’d like to, be my guest,” he answers without even really thinking, though when he does, he’s fighting back a smile, “still got my fingers crossed for a good Google Review soon.”

“Is it like an Uber driver asking you to rate them five stars at the end of a trip?” You asked, light dancing in your eyes, “’broke my phone but that’s on me; would get smashed here again, five stars’?”

“Absolutely; we’re wonderful hosts, of course we’d get five stars,” he says with absolute confidence. For a moment, his words hang amid the warm, golden air. Looking to you, he’s surprised by the way you’re regarding him, watching him with quiet delight, or perhaps even amusement, completely comfortable in this moment.

“Well then now I have to go there,” you say softly, sounding almost nervous and trying to hide it behind your amusement, “see for myself if the hype is worth it.”

Wilbur, who’d been caught up in enjoying the convoluted joke, and had momentarily forgotten that he had been rather boldly hitting on you, had not expected that to work. The band was making their way back to the stage, he’d almost finished his pint, and your whole demeanour has turned electric despite you not moving a muscle.

There’s the click, hum of the amp being turned back on, and the patter of drumsticks as the band gets themselves back into gear, and the sigh you give is so carefully casual as you tilt your head to watch them. Remarking that they’re good, you follow it with an offhand mention that you’d be happy to head out at any point. No rush, but all anticipation.

And in the cool night air, he finds himself going back to your earlier question, half-jokingly asking what the most important thing would be to know about you.

“It’s not the most important in general,” you start with a sly little smile, “it’s not really important in any other situation.” He makes a noise of confused intrigue, not quite sure where this could be going, but you wet your lips as you look at him properly, meeting his gaze with an expression that could only be described as coy, “I talk in my sleep.”

The morning light is infiltrating his room through the cracks of his blinds as he desperately wished he could remember your first meeting with less clarity. But alas, it’s all he can think of until he finally manages to shut his mind up enough to sleep.

Of course when he wakes around eleven, not only does he regret getting to sleep so late, but is worried for a moment that you’d been stuck waiting for him for hours.

Which, while technically you had, you hadn’t seemed to mind. You’d spent the morning catching up with his flatmates, well the one who’d accompanied him to Brighton who’d been overjoyed to see you again, and the others who were more than happy to meet you and help you nurse your hang over. They’d given you a towel so you could shower, and you’d helped cooked breakfast, and he’s spilling from his room, all pyjamas and apologies, but you’re sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, looking up from your phone.

There’s that smile again, the one you’d worn yesterday at the train station when you’d first spotted him, just as bright to see him for the first time, mid-morning in his apartment. It’s like just being around him brightens you up; he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that. He’s not sure he wants to. His panic eases. He takes a moment. You ask if he wants tea, and then, with a smile, to remind you how he likes his tea.

He's still half waking up so you're more than happy to lead the conversation, the fallout from the call with Tommy and Dream, looking back on your own antics with faint embarrassment, thankfully, rather than regret.

"It could have been so much worse," you laugh lightly, "my saving grace is that Mark doesn't watch Tommy's streams," you don't leave time for him to even properly process that thought before you're fondly rolling your eyes at your brother's antics. Tommy's still trying to talk you into getting Twitter, but he's been trying for months now.

A moment comes as the two of you are weaving around the kitchen, chattering away about plans for the afternoon, your asides asking about where the tea and sugar are kept not even breaking the flow, it feels familiar in a way he knows it shouldn’t. But then he goes to reach for a cupboard just above your head as you’re adding sugar, part of him knowing that he should ask you to watch out but it’s muscle memory, faster than he can process, and you’re in the middle of speaking -

You’ve ducked, anticipating him, without even missing a beat, or a falter in your words.

He’s still moving on autopilot, searching for the marmalade, and you weave around him, heading to the fridge to get milk. Physically, he’s making himself toast, mentally, he’s beating the part of himself that’s a hopeless romantic with a broomstick as it’s desperately trying to ascribe meaning when there probably isn’t any. Except once you’ve finished with the milk he takes the carton without even thinking, putting it back while he’s enthusing about the unique nature of the DreamSMP as a storytelling device, and you take the marmalade he’d just capped and was about to put back, putting it in the cupboard above you, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the words Drift Compatible light up in neon.

It's almost midday and you’re in his kitchen, dissecting the story he’s now largely responsible for, with the same enthusiasm and detail as you do any of the other literary classics you’d dedicated your life to. There’s a light in your eyes that’s captivating as you scrutinise the story with delight, lavishing praise on he and his friends, and the world they’d helped build. It’s a dialogue, he’s swept up in it, matching your enthusiasm as he adds nuance and clarification, right up until –

“- in the end, I think my main thought is,” you took a long sip of your tea, unable to meet his gaze; when you put your cup down there’s a smile twitching at the edge of your lips, “this Breaking Bad roleplay got really out of hand.”

“But for a Hamilton role play…?” He prompts, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, very on brand;” you assured him with mock seriousness, “exactly what American founding father Alexander Hamilton would want for his legacy in the modern day,” you nodded adamantly, and Wilbur sat tall, throwing out his arms in triumph.

“See, you get me, thank you,” he announced, barking a heaty laugh as if relieved to finally have someone seeing his perspective. It dissolves into laughter for you both, before lapsing into comfortable silence.

The few days that you’re here seem to fly by, a blur of joy and easy companionship. You’re less impulsive than he remembers, but there’s still a glint in your eye when you spot a tree with sturdy branches, or look longingly at a high-rise, like you’d still quietly like to lie on the roof and gaze at the sky. On the second night of your stay, he’d woken at three in the morning to get himself a glass of water, and you’d sat bolt upright on the sofa, scaring him half to death, telling him seriously that his flat was ‘sturdy and safe’ as if it was of vital importance. So yes, you still talked in your sleep it seemed. It alleviated some of his worry about the previous night.

Friday, your third day in Brighton, he had intended to stream, but was fully prepared to take a rain check, but you get all wide-eyed, and tell him not to put things off on your behalf. Which is how you both end up in his office, with him on camera, and you sitting on the floor a few feet away, your back against the wall, assuring him that you don’t want to be seen.

“I feel like Tommy told me you wanted to do YouTube too,” he says, browsing through his Twitter for some last minute suggestions for games to play. He hadn’t exactly anticipated doing this stream at all, so it was going to be rather off-the-cuff. You respond with a faint, nondescript huff. Looking over his shoulder, you’re frowning slightly as you look down at your phone.

“Yeah, I-“ you say, distractedly, before you look up and fully process what he’d said, “yeah, I mean, doesn’t everyone our age,” you say, faintly dismissive, expression drawn as you hold your phone close to your chest. Pressing your back flatter against the wall, you crane your neck up to look at his set up.

“I mean, I guess,” he shrugs a little awkwardly, “but I feel like he wouldn’t have mentioned it if there wasn’t, like intent, like he mentioned you wanting to still be a professor.” Your nose wrinkles just a little at that.

“He’s probably remembering me talking about that when I was younger,” though your tone is a little uneasy for reasons Wilbur can’t quite place, you give a small smile, “I think I’m just trying to focus on something realistic and stable for myself now. Even a uni professor needs a Masters; high school teacher only needs a Bachelor,” but you still can’t meet his gaze, “’d you think I’d be good at it?”

“At what?” There’s several different options there, and he’s not quite sure which would matter to you most.

“The high school teacher thing,” finally, you looked back at him, smile widening, mood lifting. He considers for a long moment, leaning back in his desk chair, looking back until he’s gazing at the roof as he makes thoughtful noises.

“I thought you were set on being a uni professor,” he says carefully, dropping his cheek to his shoulder to look at you, expression carefully neutral. You tried to shrug casually, but your shoulders were tense.

“Just answer the question,” you rolled your eyes, trying to hide your sudden discomfort behind your fond tone, “me, attempting to teach high schoolers literary analysis; you think I’m up to it?”

“If it’s the kind of thing you want to do, yeah,” he says with a half-smile, “I’ve heard you talk about the books I hated in high school; if you’d been my teacher I probably wouldn’t have hated them half as much.” His smile stretches wide and as innocent as he can manage as your eyes narrow, trying to decipher exactly what he means by that. But the answer was satisfactory enough for you that you let it drop, changing the subject as you ask what he’ll be playing.

He refers to you as ‘the cryptid crashing on my couch’ smiling bright as the sun as he does so, identifying you early as to not confuse his audience if he talks to you during the stream. He asks again, a final time, if you’d like to join him, that you were more than welcome to. All his audience sees is your hand, holding out your phone to him where you’ve written out ‘only if you distort my voice and blur my face like im in witness protection’. At that, he barks a laugh, and reads your statement to his audience. That’s how you’re known for the rest of the stream, as the hand that pops up whenever you have an aside you think is pertinent to add.

Every other question chat asks is demanding to know who you are. Whenever Wilbur mentions it but keeps his mouth shut on the truth, his gaze flicks to you, because he knows you’ll be smiling. One of his off-hand jokes, however, has you making a noise in the back of your throat which draws his attention. When he looks back at you, there’s something amusing in your eyes, mouth pressed into a thin, frustrated line. Your nose wrinkles, further showing off your frustration at your own self-imposed silence, when you meet his gaze. Of course he knows why; he’d made a blatantly wrong statement with far more confidence than the statement warranted. It was exactly the kind of bullshit you couldn’t help but play along with.

“If you’ve got something to say,” insufferably smug, he watches you puff out your cheeks. Averting your gaze, you flip him off, hand in frame for the camera to see, “sook,” he teases, “just say what’s on your mind.” For a moment, your mouth drops open as if you’re about to say something, to call his bluff, but your gaze flicks to his webcam.

What’s on my mind, you mouth pointedly when you look back to him; something about your expression has turned bashful for reasons he can’t quite fathom. You glance quickly at the camera again before shaking your head, you wish, you mouth, but can’t quite look him in the eye. There’s a serious moment where he considers ending the stream, because this feels like it could be a moment, a chance. He’s a hypocrite, he can’t begin to say what’s on his mind, won’t give himself the chance, getting back to his stream after another brief moment and a deep breath.

By the time the stream ends, chat is eighty percent sure it’s a fellow YouTuber trying to keep a low profile, but Wilbur simply shrugs, stretching back in his chair with a Cheshire-esque smile.

“There’s only seven billion people in the world, eventually one of you’ll guess right,” his smile is toothy, and you’re grinning at him, watching him finish up his stream with your knees drawn up to your chest. After it ends, there’s sincerity in your voice as the two of you head to the pub to meet up with his housemates for drinks.

Just as you had with Wilbur, your friendship with the housemate you remember had picked up as if there wasn’t a two year break in the middle, and the others were bantering with you as if they’d known you just as long. You match them all drink for drink, playing along with stupid jokes and shenanigans. As the night continues and you slide gracefully from tipsy to drunk, you begin to hum to yourself between thoughts and words without even being aware of it. It’s familiar, but you’re not humming consistently enough for Wilbur to pick it.

There’s more flashes of who you used to be, impulsive ideas and an inherent need to climb anything and everything as the pack of you head back to the flat in the early hours of the morning. Wilbur’s perception of the world is blurry in it’s own right, and he barely has enough forethought to keep you from attempting to climb a street-sign like Mulan with your jacket that you’d just shed. He grabs your hand while you’re eyeing up the pole, tugging you along to keep up with the others, and you seem to be deciding whether or not to be put out by it, but when you look down to see him still holding your hand, you grin. Giving a little skip, you behave for the final block to the flat, humming louder now, chattering away whenever you felt your input was required.

You all make it about an hour through the first Lord of the Rings movie, and the terrible, convoluted drinking game you’d made up, before one of his housemates is throwing up, and you all decide to retire for the night instead of trying to keep going; you’d have tomorrow night as well. Like long forgotten habit, when Wilbur stands and stretches out, he offers you his hand, and you take it.

“Don’t have to call this time,” you giggle, sitting on the edge of his bed as he comes back from getting two glasses of water.

“Call?” He puts the glasses on his bedside table, and when he looks at you, déjà vu hits like a truck.

“Like that song,” and you hum the same melody you’ve been humming all night; he recognises it now, “I think they were playing it in the pub,” Wilbur’s pretty sure he would have remembered if they’d played Do I Wanna Know? at the pub; he would be humming it too.

“Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few, ‘cos I always do~” your memory of the melody is a bit all over the place, but you’re grinning widely, “to see if you’re real,” you explain, then look around, “I can’t believe I keep asking that,” you laughed, “you’re so patient, dude, I can’t believe you keep indulging me, or, well, that’s not the right word but you know what I mean,” you give a gentle, endeared sigh, focus back on him, on where he’s watching you, still wearing his jacket and shoes.

“’s kind of funny, kind of a self fulfilling prophecy,” you say after a moment.

“What is?” He’s afraid of moving, of breaking this moment, the moment he thought he’d never get to experience again.

“The song,” smile widening, you lean back languidly, looking at his roof, “there’s this tune I’ve found that makes me think of you somehow~”

“And you play it on repeat?” Wilbur can’t help but smile in response.

“And I play it on repeat,” you echo quietly, grinning, hands behind your head, “of course you’re real,” you muse with an adoring sigh, “I could never imagine you.”

“Being around you again has kind of made me feel more real than I have in a while,” he finds himself saying, pulling off his shoes. He’s desperately, internally trying to convince himself to not do what he knows he’s going to do. But you agree with the sentiment, and he has to pretend like the rest of the song isn’t playing in his head, chipping away at his reservations bit by bit. You say it’s all felt very familiar as you’re pushing yourself back up to a sitting position, head tilted just a little as you watch him. There’s something in your eyes that’s dangerous and enticing; he’s doomed. Pulling off his jacket, he finds himself unable to look at you despite the way he's steeling his nerves, “would you forgive me for being selfish for a moment?”

“Depends,” your voice is a murmur, something unidentifiable in your tone. When you stand, he catches the movement out of the corner of his eyes, “depending on what you mean,” you give the faintest huff of laughter, “I might even encourage it.”

“Encourage it,” he echoes softly, and your smile turns to something coy. Anything he’d wanted to say is lost in that moment, and he crosses the space to you, taking your face in his hands. For a moment, he pauses, gaze searching yours. It’s time enough for you to break away, to back out.

“Familiar?” He murmurs with the faintest smile, trying to memorise the way you’re looking at him, almost starry-eyed, voice catching in your throat.

“Wil, please -” suddenly breathless, you’re almost pleading and it’s all the encouragement he needs, crashing his lips to yours. It’s sweet triumph, just a kiss for all of three seconds before he finds his arms winding around your neck, pulling you closer, pulling a pleased noise from you as you deepen the kiss to something messy and insistent.

All his hesitations and reservations and doubts are quickly disappearing, just as the back of your legs hit his bedframe and the moment break as you both find yourself falling; Wilbur catches himself before he lands directly on top of you. In the few seconds that follow, shock reads on both of your faces like a neon sign, as he’s braced over you, blinking rapidly. You recover first, beaming as laughter erupts from you. Of course he’d almost accidentally body slam you when he finally gets to kiss you again. Groaning with faux embarrassment, he flops onto the bed beside you, unable to keep his own laughter in as he hears yours.

“Pretty familiar,” you giggled, looking up at the ceiling as your laughter died down.

“Would another reminder help?” Looking to you, he reaches out to trace his fingertips along your jaw, and you lean into his touch for a moment before giving your coy but enthusiastic response.

Making out with you in his bed after a night at the pub turns out to still be one of his favourite experiences, all he needed really was a reminder. Both of you agree it wouldn’t be right to go any further in your current, drunken states, but considering he hadn’t expected any of this, he’s thrilled as you kiss down the column of his throat. Your nails are a welcome sting, and the noises that escape your with each gentle bite he gives is like music to his ears.

The guilt, however, starts to settle in when you both agree to try and get some sleep. Which is… difficult. If he falls asleep, the night ends, and you’re a day closer to leaving, to going back home to your boyfriend. Neither of you is innocent in this, but something about the idea of knowingly, deliberately, being a side-piece curdles and sours in his chest. You’re laying on your side, while he’s looking up at the ceiling, gaze glassy as he’s stuck in his own mind.

This should feel worse than it does, morally speaking, he thinks. But it feels almost sickening peaceful, this moment soothing an ache in his soul that he’d successfully repressed right up until you video called right back into his life a few months ago.

He’s awoken from his surprisingly restful sleep at around five in the morning as you jostle him. Only half-aware, he can feel the way you’re tapping his torso, then his shoulder, moving down his arm, chanting the word ‘hand’ in a way that’s more than a little ominous. But he’s seen this before.

“Y’ okay?” He asks blearily, and you go dead silent. For one, unsettling moment, you’re frozen, before he feels your fingertips press gently against his wrist by his side, before sliding against his palm, fingers lacing with his. Then, carefully, you rest your head back on the pillow by his. “Better?” He mumbles, yawning, and giving your hand a squeeze.

“Need hand,” you say with absolute sincerity. He knows, even in his half asleep state, that he’s more conscious than you.

“Need hand?”

“Don’t let go it’s illegal,” you tell him, as if stressing the severity of the situation, but he’s already almost back to sleep. This too feels familiar, he finds himself reminiscing before he passes out again.

“I’m gonna get you a roof,” is the first thing you’d ever said to Wilbur in your sleep. It was the week after you’d first met, and your second time spending the night in his flat. You’d woken him up to tell him this, all while being completely unaware that you were still asleep.

“I have a roof?” He rubs at his eyes, confused and concerned given the intensity with which you were speaking.

“You deserve so many rooves,” you tell him, one hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and glassy, but sincere in your absurdity, “I’ll get you so many rooves.”

“What?”

“A whole city of rooves, Wilbur,” you’d insisted, “for you, and for me, and for the stars.”

“What do you mean? Are you okay?” He’d asked, yawning a little, propping himself up. Your hand was still on his shoulder. It seemed, however, that your urgent thought was over, as you simply stared at him blankly, expression vacant, evidentially not hearing anything he said. He does try again, says your name gently; you blink at him.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, thankful when you comply and flop back down, seemingly content. At least now he could be sure you weren’t joking about sleep talking, especially when he brings it up the next day and you scrunch up your whole face with embarrassment, having no memory of anything you’d said.

So it became habit for him, to make note of the things you said to him on the nights he awoke to you talking in your sleep. You always seemed to be suitably mortified whenever he brought them up, but you never asked him to stop, as if simply embarrassed by how sweet and sincere you were despite not making any sense most of the time. It’s not every night, of course because you’re not at his flat every night; you’ve really only known each other for a few weeks, that would be strange. Except then it becomes a month, and it’s every night you are at his flat, and he finds himself looking forward to hearing whatever it is your unconscious mind deems important for him to know. The page in his notes app is barely more comprehensible than you are.

“bad interior decorator but its okay because you’re a good guitar”

Very worried about my circulation in the winter

Good flat

Offered to punch a police officer for me since she kept telling me I’d been arrested

Said she’d float away if I didn’t hold her hand. Also said she’s very bad at being a balloon animal because she keeps opening her mouth to breath and letting the air out.

Im the best half of a spider :)

Took my hand, told me to wait here, and immediately fell back to sleep

“love a long boy” asked if that was me and she just said “gangly bitch” :)

Rats told her they have orgies in the walls because they’re full of love too. she thought it was important that i know

Really tried hard to get up and climb out of my window insisting that we needed to climb a tree. Back in bed she claimed that I was good for her and told me that she loved me.

When he wakes up the next morning, wakes up properly, for the first time in years, he adds to the list he’d curated, both from last night, and the two nights before. You’re still asleep beside him, curled up on your side away from him. He feels a little strange, a little nostalgic and guilty in equal measure, both for the warm sense of contentment that settle in his chest, and acknowledging that he never deleted those notes from his phone, that they sat idle at the bottom of the list of notes he’s taken in the past few years.

So he gets up, removes himself from the moment and gets breakfast, because it’s almost ten in the morning and he really should be starting his day, and not being a creep. He takes the time as he waits for the kettle to boil to remind himself that last night was absolutely the wrong way to go about shooting his shot, and that you still had a boyfriend. Did he regret kissing you last night? Absolutely not. Would he let it happen again? Well, probably not; if he had any good sense he wouldn’t.

And tomorrow you were heading back to London.

And…

And…

And where’s his good sense gone? Probably where he left it last night, in a pile on his floor beside your jacket, because after getting food delivered, the two of you last all of one episode of a nature documentary he’s only half following, before you somehow end up in his lap.

“Christ, didn’t miss this,” one of his housemates remarks when he gets home, punctuating it by throwing a balled up, empty chip packet at the pair of you.

“Not our fault you’re home early,” Wilbur grins as you hide your embarrassment against his collar.

“Were you raised in a barn?” His housemate counters from the kitchen, “we just bought this lounge, don’t be feral –“

“We weren’t being feral!” Wilbur crows, just as you raise your head and call out.

“But I’m always a bit feral,” and Wilbur feels like he should have anticipated that, scrunching up his face with defeated amusement. He concedes, mentioning that you can watch the show in his room, his hands resting on your hips.

“Yeah,” your lips twitch into a smirk, “that was the important part in all of this.” You quirk a challenging eyebrow at him, and Wilbur’s pretty sure he made some kind of resolve this morning, but can’t even begin to remember it.

“I was deeply invested in it,” he tries to be earnest, tries not to smile to wide.

“Was truly fascinating,” you nodded, matching his energy, still in his lap, arms around his neck, “riveting plot.”

“It was a documentary,” his resolve is crumbling, and your smile grows wider.

“I must have been distracted,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again, though this time Wilbur’s housemate throws his keys at you two, hitting Wilbur in the back of the head. It’s incentive enough to finally move. There’s a bounciness to the way you move, picking up your leftovers from lunch, putting the scraps in the bin, swanning through the flat to Wilbur’s room as he follows, endeared by your whimsical nature.

You’re spinning idly in his desk chair, waiting for him, one leg tucked up beneath the other. Closing the door behind himself carefully, he watches for a moment, leaning on his wall, arms crossed. Each time you spin, you make eye contact with him, expression bright.

“So, documentary?” Finally, you grin mischievously and keep spinning. That smile could inspire him to move mountains, or something else sickeningly saccharine; his stupid heart is bordering on embarrassing itself at this point. So before he can say something embarrassing and far too honest for this light mood, he closes the distance between the two of you, taking your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours.

Later, the guilt will settle in his bones.

Later, he’ll ask the question that’s been plaguing him, ask if you even like your boyfriend.

Later, you’ll be wrapped up in his sheets, stretched out on his bed as your whole face scrunches like you’ve bitten a lemon, and he’ll have no idea what you mean when you tell him that that hasn’t mattered in a very long time. It feels like an answer bigger than whatever’s happening between the two of you, but it doesn’t make him feel better.

Later, he’ll be wearing pyjama pants and you’ll be wearing his sheet like a toga, and you’ll try to absolve his guilt. You’ll take his hands once he puts down his glass of water, and tell him that he doesn’t owe Mark shit, and you’d made your choice happily; Wilbur isn’t the guilty party here.

Later, he’ll ask why.

And you’ll let go of his hands. In the moment before you turn away, your expression falls, but he’s not sure he was meant to see that, as when you sit on his bed, wearing a coy smile, there’s something faintly guarded beneath your teasing tone as you tell him that he’s funny and pretty; what’s not to like?

“You play along, people are so afraid to play along, you know? And you start your own bits, good bits,” you’d told him over lunch, having only known him for a month at that point, “you’re a weird bitch, Gold, I like that in a person,” you grinned, before taking a bite of your food to emphasise your point.

“Glowing review,” Wilbur smirked, only half-sarcastic, as he watches you over the lip of his cup before taking a sip, “you should add it to your Google review of the flat.” It had become something of a running joke, and Wilbur has come to love the endearingly mischievous glint in your eyes every time it’s referenced.

“Weird bitch, five stars?”

“Feel like it would draw in the hipster crowd,” Wilbur’s smile grows wider as he clarifies.

“You and your flatmates are the hipster crowd, you don’t need my help with that,” you point out, instead immediately offering the alternative of, “you should slap it in the corner of your first album.” The assuredness of your words, even amidst this joke, catch him by surprise. First album, as if you knew there’s be more than one. But you’re still talking; “you know I do mean weird bitch as a compliment, right?”

“Y/N, you’re a weird bitch,” Wilbur says it fondly, say it like he means obviously. You beam.

“See that’s what I like, you know? People are afraid to be weird bitches but weird bitches make the world go round.”

And he gets these flashes, these memories that he’s never read too much into before; there’s always something there, always something you can’t say just beneath the surface –

“What about you?” Your words break through his thoughts, curious if guarded, and he takes a deep breath, pondering for a moment, “is it just nostalgia?” You huff a laugh but there’s no humour in it; you can’t quite look him in the eyes. But you’ve given him an easy out, if he wanted to take it.

“Nostalgia’s a pretty way of putting it,” he chooses his words after only a faint hesitation, because he’s not going to fuck this up and take the nonsense you say in your sleep to heart, he’s not going to emotionally overstep. So he smiles, and the tense set of your shoulders relaxes.

“I needed… this,” you admit carefully, something grateful in your voice despite your obvious hesitation. He still takes it as a win.

“And you know I’m always happy to help a friend in a time of need,” Wilbur’s tone is faintly amused as he steps forward and leans down, into your space, though you’re giggling at the not-quite-truth of his words, picking and choosing which parts you believe. Still, you tilt your face so your lips meet his, and Wilbur won’t allow himself to dwell and ruin this moment. Or the several that follow.

That night, the two of you make dinner together in his little kitchen and take it up to the roof of his flat. He’ll give a half-hearted apology about it not being as tall as his London flat, or even your dorm building, but you’re uncharacteristically quiet as you look at the stars. When you look at him, there’s so much in your eyes that he can’t even begin to understand; mouth open but wordless, you look like you’re on the verge of a half-dozen different things, but unsure where to start.

“We should eat before the pasta gets cold,” you drop your gaze, finally speaking, but you don’t seem able to stop smiling. A little quieter you add, “hell, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a roof.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Wilbur can’t help his confused little half-smile, “do you mean, like, you’ve stopped trespassing on rooves or-“

“No, just altogether,” you carefully mix the sauce in with your pasta, not taking your eyes off of it, “even ones I’m allowed to be on; didn’t realise I missed it this much,” finally, you meet his gaze. He’s surprised by the forlorn look in your eyes; despite this, you’re smiling, thanking him.

The moment passes when you look away, without even giving him a chance to let you know that you didn’t need to thank him for anything, but your tone has brightened as you announce that you’ve been reading the fanfic named Heat Waves purely because you think telling Tommy that you had would causes him psychic damage, but it turned out to be well written. Wilbur suggests telling him while he’s streaming with Dream; the idea has you incapacitated with laughter.

His chest feels lighter somehow, but there’s an impending sense of dread in the back of his mind knowing that he may very well start spiralling the moment you head back to London. If he doesn’t dive into a new project, he’s not going to be able to stop himself thinking about all the things you’ve said and not said, and what it all means.

He’s not awoken by any tremendous movement that night, instead he gets up to go to the bathroom, and when he gets back into bed beside you, you don’t even open your eyes as you drape an arm over him.

“Love you, Will,” you sigh, cheek half pressed against his shoulder. He tries not to take your sleep talking to heart, but it still makes him smile.

During the drive to the train station the next day, Wilbur mentions that you’re always welcome to stay a few more days. While you thank him for the offer, you joke that you don’t want Mark getting suspicious, and it leaves a sour aftertaste in the back of his mouth. But as he agrees to walk you to the train, it disappears.

“Have you ever heard of the poem You Are Jeff?” You ask as you hoist your bag from the boot, and Wilbur makes a noise in the back of his throat indicating that it hasn’t. But he should have. You’re quiet; he asks if you recommend it. After a noncommittal noise of your own, you shrug, “I was thinking about it in the car, it’s kind of long, but the last stanza…” trailing off, you shut the boot and take a deep breath. Grinning with faint nervous energy, you change the topic to your own imminent departure. Wilbur tries to make a note of the poem, but it doesn’t really stick.

It feels sappy, but like the done thing, to watch the train leave, and it doesn’t have long to go as he finds himself leaning on a pole, watching you through the window packing your bag into the luggage compartment above your seat. You catch him watching through the window and you grin impishly for a moment before darting through the cart to the door as the voice on the speaker announces the train’s stops; it’ll be leaving very soon. But you weave through the thinning crowd for a moment until you find him, and he’s already hugged you goodbye so he’s not sure what else there is to say. You glance surreptitiously around for a moment before beckoning him close. He obliges, confused for all of three seconds before you kiss him quickly.

“Okay, I should…” you seem a bit flustered, like you can’t quite believe your own courage, gesturing to the train. But Wilbur sees your hesitation, and if he gets a kiss goodbye, he’s going to get the big, movie kiss, so he pulls you back in with a grin.

If it’s the last thing you remember of the trip, he wants to leave you breathless, and he succeeds, murmuring for you to come back soon, arms still around each other in the few moments that follow. You nod, a little speechless, a little giddy, stealing a final, quick kiss before boarding the train for good.

The doors close. You wave through the window. The train departs.

[okay I’ll bite] he messages Tommy from his car, still in the parking lot of the train station half an hour after you’d left, having been working on the song he’d been trying to ignore in the back of his mind the whole time you’d been in town; [what is mark’s deal? Y/N doesn’t even like him and neither do you. what’s up with that?]

[he’s a bitch and im going to roundhouse him into an active volcano] Tommy sends back with very little hesitation.

[i’m serious]

[so am i] Tommy responds, and Wilbur scrunches up his whole face in exasperation. But then his phone is ringing.

“Is she still there?” Is the first thing Tommy asks, frowning over the video call, and Wilbur, expression still mostly pained, shakes his head, “she get on the train okay?”

“Half an hour ago,” Wilbur sighs deeply, finally relaxing his face, looking at the uncharacteristically serious kid on call, “I’ve just spent five days with her, and I don’t mean to pry, but I have to, man I have to.”

“She really, actually told you she doesn’t like Mark?” Tommy’s tone is hard, and Wilbur hesitates for a moment.

“Implied as much,” he deliberates before adding, “said it didn’t matter if she liked him or not,” and he tries not to think too much about the situation in which you’d said it, at least not while on call with your little brother.

“And you believe her?” The question is unexpected, and feels rather like a test.

“I mean, yeah, I- uh, yeah,” seeing as you’d happily cheated on him with Wilbur, he was inclined to believe you. Looking at his little phone screen, however, he sees some of the tension ease in Tommy.

“Okay, good,” he says, mostly to himself, “it’s good she’s saying it to more people, people who believe her,” he specifies, which doesn’t sit quite right with Wilbur. He files that away for the time being, “it used to be just when she was drunk she’d call and rant and wouldn’t get mad at me for calling him a bitch, but,” Tommy makes a face, like he knows he shouldn’t be saying this much, but he doesn’t stop himself, “it’s been happening more.”

“The bitching about him?”

Tommy’s quiet for a very long time.

“Yeah,” one word says so much; yeah the bitching is happening more, but so’s the drinking. But Wilbur won’t pull on that thread, that’s not his business. Well, none of this is his business really, but he feels like he’s been left out of the loop a little too much regarding that boyfriend of yours.

“So what’s the deal with Mark? Is he… is he magic or something?” Wilbur fumes, “because she- she- Tommy she doesn’t seem happy with him, so I don’t –“

“She’s not,” Tommy groans, “and I don’t get it either, I just know-“ and finally his mouth snaps shut, scowling. Wilbur wants to apologise, wants to acknowledge that he shouldn’t be asking about this, that he knows he’s prying, but Tommy exhales loudly through his nose, “Mark was like a knight in shining armour back when they were in high school, bit of a dork, but nice enough and didn’t seem as much of a Tory as his dad, so I thought he was pretty alright.”

“What?”

“Mark’s dad’s been chief of police in our town for as long as I can remember,” Tommy says with a sigh. Wilbur watches quietly, patiently, as Tommy puts down his phone at his desk and runs his hands through his hair, “and Y/N’s kind of always been seen as a wild card by our parents; I don’t know if she was like that when you met her, but that would have been the only time she hasn’t been with Mark since she was seventeen, I don’t know if she –“

“Climbing things, enjoys being on rooves,” Wilbur nods, and for the briefest moment, Tommy smiles, though it’s tight, “impulsive things like that?”

“Yeah,” Tommy’s got both his hands resting on his head, leaning back in his desk chair, gazing off into the distance, “it got her in a lot of trouble when she was about my age, but I think Mark ended up offering to talk to his dad –“

“The policeman?” Wilbur interrupts, and Tommy pauses, gaze flicking to his phone, expression drawn. For a moment, he sees the family resemblance between you and your little brother around his eyes in this moment of seriousness, of unspoken truth. His silence speaks volumes. “I just never knew is all,” Wilbur says quietly. Tommy looks away again.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she was ever charged with anything, Mark made sure of that,” things quickly start clicking into place bit by terrible bit. Finally, Tommy sighed, almost deflating in his seat as he doubles over, forehead coming to rest at the edge of his desk, “I don’t know- man, I don’t know why she stays with him,” he admits, “I’ve- I’ve got theories, but she never- I don’t know for sure, you know?” When he looks up, there’s pain in his eyes; his heart was obviously aching for his sister.

“Man, she called me bloody well crying the day she found out he’d moved to London after her,” he murmurs, dejected at the very memory. However, before Wilbur can even ask why Tommy’s telling him all of this, the boy in question sits back up, tone far lighter, “she used to tell me about you, you know, back before we knew each other.”

“What’d she say?” Both confusion and affection course through Wilbur at this piece of information, and Tommy shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You and your flatmates were the best thing to happen to her in a long time, she couldn’t wait to tell me about you lot,” his tone is so affectionately teasing it’s almost sickening. But it practically confirms something Wilbur had been concerned about for a long while; you hadn’t revealed how close you and Wilbur actually were, either when you’d first met, or now. Thank god, that was future-Wilbur’s problem.

“I think that’s still true,” Tommy says after a moment, “but maybe I’m biased. Would be a bit hard if my sister and one of my best mates didn’t get along,” Wilbur feels his heart grow warm at the sentiment, listening to Tommy ramble on, “and it’s good for her to have someone else- I mean, someone who she can admit that stuff about not liking Mark to. He’s so Milquetoast and that’s the problem, everyone thinks he’s incapable of sin, and ‘calmed Y/N down’ or whatever the fuck… I hate him.” Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes, before pivoting without a second thought, “are we still streaming Lore tonight?”

Wilbur sighs and it feels like the tension in his whole body eases.

“Yeah.”

But it doesn’t last.

It’s a weird stream, a weird night overall, only half focused on the content. Thankfully he wasn’t the focus of the lore, so he could get away with being a little vacant as Ghostbur. The moment he signs off, he’s humming the now-established melody that’s been frankly plaguing him, and piecing together lyrics on the drive home.

The days pass by, turn to weeks, and you’re still messaging each other like nothing ever happened. Sometimes friends shag friends and its not a big deal; usually those friends aren’t actively in other meant-to-be monogamous relationships with people they don’t actually like, but that’s more your problem than his, so he tries not to let it get to him.

But it does.

Every text feels strangely sanitised, like words and meaning can’t quite align, with the freedom of honesty only being granted in the sporadic calls the two of you still keep up. He likes habit, likes tradition, likes the sound of your voice. So maybe he’s weak, he’s not the one playing along while seeing someone else.

"Hey," he can hear your smile in your voice, and can't help his own, feeling tipsy and warm as he struggles with the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey," he giggles, and you don't even ask if he's drunk; its usually the only time you call each other.

"Good night?" You ask, and he gives a long, contented sigh, pausing where he's losing against his shirt.

"Such a good night," he hums contentedly, and decides to leave his shirt for the moment, focusing instead on his shoes, which seem like the next most worthy opponent, "you gotta come to Brighton again, we only saw, like, the third most best pub, this one- this tonight one has the best beer battered chips, I can't believe I didn't think to bring you here -"

"Is that Pandora?" Across the line, Mark speaks around a yawn, "is she okay, it's late -"

"Who?" Wilbur asks, and it takes him a few moments and falling on his ass to put the pieces together as you seem to be telling Mark that everything's okay, "is my name in your phone Pandora?" He's met with muffled sounds of movement, and then the closing of a door, and you huff a faint laugh.

"Sorry about that -"

"Is my name in your phone Pandora?" Wilbur asks, feeling far more sober than he'd felt several minutes ago. But you're silent; it's answer enough, "does Mark still not know we're friends?"

"Are you home safe?" You sound suddenly very tired.

"Do you want me to stop calling?" Wilbur asks seriously; it's not accusatory, it's genuine. Something about knowing how thoroughly you've been lying about him to your boyfriend, it makes him feel ill. In his current state he can't say what he wants to, well he can, but he knew he's put his foot in it, sound like he was blaming you, and that's the last thing he wants, "I can stop- if it- it's more trouble than I'm worth -"

"Wil," you laugh softly, warmly, endeared, "it's okay, it's- Mark's friends- it's okay. It's like putting a goldfish in a new tank, gotta acclimatise him to the idea of us being friends before he knows you're a dude."

"Is that why you don't text or call Tommy? Because Mark gets weird seeing a man's name on your phone?" Falls from Wilbur's lips as he gives in and lays back on his floor. It takes him a moment to realise what he's said, right around the time you start spluttering - "fuck, sorry." He groans, scrunching his whole face up with regret, "don't hold that against me, I'm sorry -"

"That's... not exactly the reason," your voice at the other end of the line is so small, "or, well, no it's not exactly applicable, since I don't really message anyone..." you stall for a moment, before admitting, as if through clenched teeth, determined to finish the thought despite realising it might be a mistake, "apart from you."

"What if he hears its me when you pick up?"

Immediately, and much to his surprise, your tone shifts very suddenly.

"I'll risk it if it means I get to hear you like this," there's something about the way you say that, the way you're grinning and amused at that, that has his heart in his throat.

"Why?"

The silence is fucking deafening. He's half worried you've hung up, and he has to check, but no, you're just quiet on the other end.

"You're not gonna remember this, are you?" And he's not even sure of his own answer, but you don't give him time for one, "enrichment?" Though it sounds like a question, like your trying to make it sound light but it’s not quite working, like you're not even sure yourself. The word, however, has the air Wilbur breathes turning sour.

"You're not a zoo animal," he responds flatly.

"I shouldn't have said that," you laugh awkwardly, trying to keep your tone bright, but its clear your heart's not in it.

"Did you lie to him when you came to Brighton?"

Silence. Again. Always silence when you both know the truth and know it will hurt.

"You're drunk, Wil."

“You know talking to the people who love you shouldn’t feel like enrichment, right?” He asks, all sharp and mean and bitter in the moment as he found himself fixated on how thoroughly he loathed your boyfriend, how you could barely speak to your brother, or seemingly have friends because of him. It’s misplaced, the anger spilling out at you, but he’s not in any sort of shape to think critically about it. Over the phone, you’re spluttering, confused and defensive, but he’s so caught in his own head that he barely hears it. Angry and half-dressed and cross-legged on his bedroom floor, Wilbur scowls with sudden clarity.

“Is that all I am to you?”

“This is entrapment,” he can hear you’re crying at the other end of the line.

“It’s not entrapment, it’s a yes-no question,” he snaps, “am I just enrichment in your little life? Something a little bit brighter than your reality? A holiday; am I just a holiday to you –?!”

“This is so much bigger than you, Wilbur!” Explodes from you tearfully, “and I’m sorry, okay? You don’t deserve this, I know that –“

“Go back to bed,” Wilbur flopped back onto his floor, looking up at his ceiling.

“Wilbur –“

“Go,” he says, “I’m sorry I called.”

The conversation weighs on him even after a full night of rest, and all he knows is that he has to get into the studio before this song eludes him.

The content, the idea isn't new to him or his music, but this… this one’s the most telling; he’d had plausible deniability with the others, fabricated things to make it not immediately obvious to… well to anyone who isn’t you. He’s pretty sure you’ll get half a verse in and know, because sometimes it feels like you know him well enough that it's almost an accident. Because yes, he’s written for songs for girls he’s loved before you, and girls he’s loved in the two years of radio silence, but considering the situation he found himself in, he desperately needed some plausible deniability with that one.

This one, however, had no structure until he saw you again, until he left and your absence felt raw. It’s half finished when he brings it to the band. He’s immensely grateful when Joe takes an interest and offers to help him finish writing it.

But in the end, he knows he’s already swallowed his doubts and agreed to put Sex Sells on the EP. This one they’re tentatively calling Perfume, and already he’s conflicted. Maybe it’ll go on their album.

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

Even A Devil Can Break- Chapter 1 (Y!Casino! Quackity x Female Reader

Even A Devil Can Break- Chapter 1 (Y!Casino! Quackity x Female Reader

Chapter 1 (Currently Reading) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 (In The Works)

Summary Of The Story- Y/N was friends with Quackity ever since they were kids, but once Las Nevadas gets formed Quackity finds out about Y/N's greatest strength, which makes him use her for his own benefit, not caring if he traumatized his main obsession.\

Summary Of Chapter- Just small parts of childhood and the rest is when they’re adults.

Word count- 1,495

Warnings- manipulation, Blackmail, Schlatt (His character can be triggerng)

Author’s Note- This is based on the characters they play, NOT the people themselves

    Y/N walked out of her home with their torn up black and white bunny in their hands, their mother, Hope, telling them to be back before sundown. Y/N’s devil-like tail swung back and forth as she walked into the beautiful forest that was nearby. Her brother, Ben, older than her by 5 years, was in a nearby Village hanging out with his friends, and her mother and father were baking in the kitchen. Y/N sat at the beautiful stream that was far into the forest, watching fish and squid go by.      Y/N heard twigs being broken, and it was coming from a big tree next to her, she looked up and out came a yellow winged boy. The boy looked up and Y/N’s unreadable face and her tail swung in curiosity, her horns glowing F/C, and her small demon wings going up a bit.

“Hello!” The boy said.

“I’m Quackity! But you can call me Big Q if you want, what’s your name?” The boy named Quackity asked, Y/N pausing before responding.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N,” Y/N said, before looking back at the stream.

    There was an awkward silence after the two hybrids introduced themselves, and Quackity decided to break it.

“I have something cool to show you, wanna see?”

     Y/N thought for a moment, but was cut off by 1 of her 2 demons, Emotional.

“DON’T GO, HE’S GONNA KILL US!” The pastel colored demon exclaimed, black tears falling from his eyes, only Y/N could see them, which bothered her.

“Ok,” Y/N said, following Quackity while ignoring Emotional’s cries.

    They walked for about 30 minutes, getting deeper into the forest. Quackity moved a bush and showed Y/N a stash of weapons and potions.

“What are these for?” Y/N asked, confused on why he had so many.

“When you live alone in the wild, you can never be too safe, and also mobs.”

“Mobs?”

“Yeah! You do know what mobs are, right?”

    Y/N stared at him before slowly shaking their head, mouthing no. Quackity grabbed one of the iron swords and gave it to Y/N, along with a healing potion.

“Take these home and meet me here again tonight,” Quackity said eagerly.

“Why?” Y/N asked, confused.

“You’re going to fight some mobs!”

“Ok…” Y/N said, looking down at the sword as it showed their face.

    Y/N waved goodbye as the sun began to set, Quackity fastly waved goodbye until Y/N could no longer be seen.

“A friend…” ---------------     Y/N was in her middle school math class, her teacher, Mr. Harris, talking about lord knows what, while Y/N was starting to fall asleep, one of their friends, F/N, kicked the back of her chair.

“OW, what the hell, F/N?!” Y/N whisper yelled, her tail going straight to their friend's neck. “Look,” F/N said, pointing to the doorway to see Quackity beckoning Y/N to follow him.      Y/N sighed before lowering her tail and turned to look at F/N.

“Cover me,” Y/N said, before running out of the classroom.

“Y/N L/N GET BACK HERE!” Mr. Harris yelled.

“MR. HARRIS, Y/N has been really sick lately and they said she felt like she was about to throw up, so maybe that’s why she left.”

“Oh…” Mr. Harris said in embarrassment, before going back to teaching.

     Y/N grabbed Quackity by his shoulders before looking at him annoyed.

“What do you want, Big Q…”

“We’re skipping.”

“And, look at this,” Quackity said, pulling out an invitation.

“It’s from Schlatt,” Quackity said.

“He wants us to come to his party.”

“Ok…” Y/N said, uninterested.

“Q, are you sure he invited me? You’re friends with him, not me.”

“He said to bring you, see,” Quackity said, handing her the letter.

“Imagine how popular and powerful we’ll be if people see we’re hanging out with him,” Quackity said while Y/N read the letter.

“It’s just petty middle and high school popularity Quackity, it won’t mean anything when we’re adults.”

     Quackity looked at Y/N with a hint of anger in his eyes, before going back to normal.

“Y/N… It’s not just some ‘petty’ high school popularity, Schlatt’s family are pretty powerful, being friends with him can benefit you, Y/N,” Quackity said, putting his arm over Y/N’s shoulder, smirking sinisterly, but Y/N was too busy reading to see it.

    Sighing, Y/N agreed to go, before following Quackity off of school grounds.

“We’re going to be in trouble,” Y/N said.

“And?” Quackity asked.

“My parents have been saying they keep getting calls from the school about us sneaking out.”

“Hm,” Quackity said, amused. ------------

     Y/N walked down the halls of her high school while Schlatt and Quackity ranted about one of their classmates, Wilbur. Y/N couldn’t care less about what they were saying, she was too busy with their thoughts.

“You listening?” A gruff voice asked, in an annoyed tone.

“Schlatt…”

“Yeah, what do you want?”      When the trio turned the corner, the halls were packed.

“Rush hour…” Quackity mumbled.

“Yep,” Schlatt said.

    While the trio walked towards the lunch room, people turned their heads to look at the group. Y/N, Quackity and Schlatt were what people called a threat. And this made them the most popular kids in school, much to Y/N’s dismay and Quackity’s excitement. The trio noticed it got quiet all of a sudden and noticed people were staring at them.

“What?!” Schlatt said, making everyone run off.

“Freshmen…” Quackity said.

“Tell me about it,” Y/N agreed. ------------

      Y/N was with her pet fox, Ham. When she allowed Ham to run off, she sat down at a tree and sighed, putting her mask down as she looked up at the pitch black sky. When Ham came back running, she became on guard.

“What’s wrong Ham?” She asked, picking him up as she stood up confused.

“Well, Well, Well, long time no see.”

 Y/N lifted her mask up with a face filled with disgust and confusion. When she saw ram horns come into frame, her face turned into anger.

“What do you want, Schlatt? I told you I want nothing to fucking do with you, and you fucking scared Ham.”

“Ham? That’s a ridiculous name.”

“It isn’t that bad, Schlatt,” A familiar voice from the shadows said as the came into frame, Quackity.

“What do you two want, I know you didn’t go looking for me for any other reason than you needing something.”

“As you may not know, knowing how much you hate politics, I’m running for president of L’manburg-”

“Like you’re going to win.”

“Oh I will… But anyways, I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to be my assistant.”

Ham let out a laugh sounding scream while Y/N let out a wheeze.

“Like I would, I knew you were dumb but I didn’t think you were THIS dumb.”

“Oh, when did I say I was asking?”

“Huh?” Y/N asked, turning around.

“Quackity,” Schlatt said, sticking his hand out.

“Should we really do this? I mean-”

“Shut up. Give me the goddamn thing.”

       Quackity hesitantly handed him a file, which Schlatt snatched from his hands.

“There is something I found quite interesting about you Y/N.”

“Like what?”

“Your brother.”

        Y/N froze, her tail going straight up.

“Got her…”

“From the looks of it, you killed your brother during the war for L’manburg’s independence, completely by will.”

“How did yo-”

“It would be quite a shame if this were to, I don’t know, be told to the public.”

      Y/N gripped Ham as she looked down at the ground in shame. Schlatt grabbed Y/N’s face so she could look at him.

“So, if you want your secret between the three of us, you’ll work for me.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, yanking her head the other way before walking off, flipping the ram and duck hybrid off.

“Did we really have to do that?” Quackity asked as the two walked back.

“It’s worked in the past, why wouldn’t it work again?”

“You’re right.”

[xenteaart]

Shall We? (Part 2)

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x fem!Reader

Request: Can I request part two for Shall We? Pleeeeaase 🙏!! You can’t just leave it like that.

Word count: 1,7k

Warnings: kind of a fight scene?? and like one swear word idk

Note: Sooo here’s part two of this fic, give it a read if you havent coz otherwise this one is not going to make much sense haha

For the sake of the story, Five disappeared when he was 18 (instead of 13) and got stuck in his 18 year-old-body after coming back accordingly. Also I’ve decided to give the reader and the Handler kind of a Lila x the Handler dynamic

The events are taking place in s1, some details of the canon are obvsly altered.

ALSO THERE’S A LIL EASTER EGG AT THE END MWEHEHE

Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @stitched-mouth​ @startrekkingaroundasgard​

“You do know you can’t win. I really don’t wanna hurt you, Y/N,” he uttered, raising his hands a little as a way to warn you not to come any closer for your own good.

Even though it was supposed to be a sweet gesture of concern, hearing him confirm that he still thought you were no match for him cut you to your very core.

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m afraid you might have to. Shall we?” you sneered and threw your leg into the air, hitting Five right under his kneecap and making him collapse on the ground with a surprised gasp.

Five truly had zero intention of hurting you, but your determination to have a fight left him no choice, and even his clear advantage of having loads more experience and superpowers on top did not seem to make you hesitate.

“Come on, don’t be stupid, Y/N,” Five commented as he got back on his feet and took a few steps away from you, still giving you a chance to back off before he had to inflict any pain on your person, but all it achieved was winding you up even more.

The problem was - you two underwent identical training at the Commission as the Handler gave both of you her very best mentor, and right now you were basically mirroring each other’s moves, except Five was also using his spatial jumps to disorient you. He was still going easy on you, mostly just blocking your punches and jumping further away so you had to chase him all over the Academy while he was hoping you would simply exhaust yourself before any real damage would be done. Quite frankly, it was a smart decision on his part and a rather thoughtful one as well because, despite all appearances, he actually cared about you an awful lot.

As the both of you gracefully danced all the way to the second floor, you were already out of breath from the endless running around which meant Five’s plan was beginning to work. However, you realized what he was doing soon enough to indulge him into the feeling of being right and played his little game for a while, waiting for the perfect moment when he’d get distracted, and as the moment came you had to act fast.

You threw yourself forwards and promptly wrapped your arms around Five’s waist, knocking him off his feet and pressing your body against his as you pinned him to the floor. He groaned with annoyance and winced at the pain as his back hit the hard wooden surface. The next few seconds sort of happened in slow-mo for both of you as he roughly pushed you off himself and somehow managed to switch places with you, now looming over your body and warningly putting his knee on your solar plexus, threatening to crush your ribcage if you moved.

A mutual silence fell between you as you were processing the last 30 minutes of your lives, both visibly struggling to believe that each of you somehow ended up fighting the person they would never wish to hurt in their entire life. The sounds of your heavy breathing were filling the room as you were merely staring at each other in utter confusion. The weight of Five’s knee on your diaphragm was beginning to give you trouble breathing, and your breaths became shallow and hoarse which finally snapped him out of his trance.

“Gonna tell me what the hell is up now, Y/N?” he asked in his teacher-y manner that you used to absolutely hate and adore all at once, especially when he used to give you lectures on your occasional fuck-ups - whether it was failing a class because you were too lazy to turn in your assigments in time or something a little more serious, like getting into an argument with the Monocle and consequently making life harder for both of you.

You would always roll your eyes and smirk when he would get into his i-am-disappointed-in-you-but-i-still-love-you character and cross his arms on his chest for dramatic effect.

“You were the one telling me to piss off in the first place, remember,” you narrowed your eyes as you were subtly gasping for air underneath Five’s weight. He pursed his lips and looked away, contemplating whether or not to be completely honest. Evidently, his lack of sincerity got him nowhere the last time around, so he sighed loudly; his shoulders dropping and his expression finally revealing all of the exhaustion and regret that he was concealing quite successfully up until now.

“I only pushed you away to protect you.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” you replied, clearly unimpressed and palpably suspicious; two years of being brainwashed by the Handler now taking their toll on your perspective.

“God, don’t be so slow,” Five uttered clearly irritated but then quickly realized his offensive implication and added, “Said with respect.”

You stayed silent, raising your brow as a way of telling him to continue.

“I couldn’t risk you becoming a casualty because being involved in my family’s mess as a non-super is dangerous. As in, you’re going to be a target all the time, and I couldn’t and still can’t afford to waste my time worrying about your safety. As much as I’d love to - it’s simply not the luxury I have. I’ve got to stop the end of the world, otherwise everyone is going to be dead in four days, don’t you get it?” Five asked, a waterfall of emotions pushing at the inner sides of his chest, waiting to be set loose and consume everything on its way.

You were quietly listening to his explanation and taking it all in whilst still trying to fight off the suspicion and disbelief that were nagging at your every cell.

“I wanted to keep you safe because I couldn’t bear to lose you again,” his voice trembled a little as the memories of his post-apocalypse life washed over his mind, “The last 45 years have been a fucking nightmare.”

“I’d find it way more believable if you stopped crushing my ribs for starters,” you muttered through clenched teeth and immediately felt the pressure taken off your chest, precious and very much needed oxygen starting to flow through your system the way it should again.

Five got up and offered his hand to help you on your feet as a gesture to show you that he didn’t see you as an enemy and placed trust in you. You took his hand and steadied yourself awkwardly, still slightly disoriented and light-headed.

“I don’t know what the Handler told you but I do know she’s exceptional at manipulating,” Five added as he looked you right in the eye, “Christ, and you’re so naive, always have been. Most days it’s truly adorable but sometimes, Y/N, it really doesn’t work in your favor,” as the words escaped his lips, his gaze became noticeably softer; his expression blossoming with tenderness towards you.

“Prove it. Prove that you care.”

Five chuckled and shook his head, simultaneously annoyed and amused at your stubbornness. The atmosphere between you was shifting and you couldn’t help but notice the familiar overwhelming feeling of comfort and peace enveloping your person from head to toe. You’ve forgotten what it felt like being around Five, and now you were finally getting to remember. At home.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his uniform shorts and pulled out a grape-sized plastic figure of a golden retriever.

“You gave me this a few days before I jumped and got stuck in the future. I carried it with me all the way. This silly trinket was the only thing I had left of you, the only thing that reminded me you were still out there waiting for me. Kept me going,” he shrugged casually as if it wasn’t important at all which it absolutely was.

“Five, c’mere! Look what I found!” you called for him as you were sitting on the floor surrounded by all sorts of useless crap. You were in the middle of decluttering your bedroom when a little figure of a dog caught your eye, it was the breed that Five was especially fond of and you knew he secretly dreamed of getting a puppy of his own as soon as he was out of the house.

“What’s that?” he asked, unimpressed.

“It’s a doggie! He wants to be your friend,” you replied, playing with your accent a little, rolling you “r”s and shifting the flow of your words to sound more Scottish or ... Russian. God knows where you were going with it but you tended to butcher your accent for fun quite a lot.

“Y/N, are you twelve?”

“His name is Mr.Pennycrumb and he’s gonna look after you whenever I’m not around,” you said with utmost confidence and gave him a wide smile, putting the trinket into Five’s pocket, clearly very proud of yourself and still committed to your silly accent performance, “Treat him well.”

Five scoffed and shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“So did he?” you asked, staring at the goddamn toy as tears were slowly welling up in your eyes.

“What?”

“Did he do a good job looking after you while I wasn’t around?” your gaze finally met Five’s as the realization in his own eyes was starting to sink in. A pained smile touched the corners of his mouth, and you could see Five genuinely struggle to maintain his tough facade.

“Yeah. He did.”

Without saying a word, you stepped closer and rested your cheek on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him, this time with no hostility or murderous intention. If you had to be perfectly honest with yourself, you’d admit you could never find it in you to actually hurt Five, let alone killing him. Both of you knew that way too well.

He returned the hug and pulled you closer, burying his nose in your hair and then planting a quick innocent kiss on the top of your head. Feeling the warmth radiating from you was enough to make him relax further into your embrace, his eyes now closed shut and his breathing steady and deep.

It didn’t last for as long as you’d like, though, a big loud bang from downstairs making you both flinch and pull away from each other, breaking your fragile bubble of comfort and calm in an instant.

“Shit, Hazel and Cha-Cha,” Five whispered, concern and worry crawling back onto his features. He briefly looked at you, and you simply nodded, non-verbally confirming that you were willing to help and were no longer part of the Handler’s plan.

The two of you were going to talk all about that later. His years alone, his and your own involvement with the Commission, the end of the world and loads more.

Of course, right in this moment neither of you could possibly know that your friendship was, in fact, a gateway into a lifelong partnership but you were bound to find out eventually. And the journey you two were about to begin as soon as the apocalypse was dealt with and gone was going to be magnificent.

[whenwegounnoticed]

My Turn To Talk About VioletVineyard, MVCreates, and the Glaring Problems of Power Imbalances.

Introduction

I have been on the fence about talking about my experiences, on one hand, because one of her mods and I are or maybe were (?) friends, and I valued their friendship but in recent light, I don’t know and because I want my main to be a safe place for other writeblrs and because I am afraid.

I was in VioletVineyard at the beginning of it -- and being in it did not feel good for reasons I could never put my finger on.

Let's talk about me and who I am first without giving myself away:

I have a disorder that makes expressing myself difficult, this is due to childhood trauma and a form of self preservation. My wording will be clunky because only recently, with the help of amazing friends, I'm learning the right verbage.

Now. Some of you will know who I am. Hello. Please keep me anonymous. Some of you might have a guess. Hello. Surprised? Maybe you're wrong. I don't know, I'm not in your head just as you're not in mine.

I have screenshots for some stuff and none for others. These are all personal experiences.

I will not be sharing the screenshots of those who were victims to respect their privacy.

Please bear with me. I know this will be long and rambly, but it’s how I make sense of my thoughts and brain.

VioletVineyard: Questionable Reality

I joined VV at the start of it, although it was already pretty big. I was excited! I admired many writeblrs who were in there and wanted to be friends with many of them. They were all so welcoming. And I felt, for a hot minute, like I belonged.

It was sprint of my freshman semester as a journalism major, and Mina reached out to me in the general chat, saying that if I needed help or wanted an In at some journalism company, to let her know because she knows people.

Great! Cool. A little odd but that was nice of her -- and.

That's how it starts.

A side: my friend has a theory that if people only present how perfect and amazingly nice they are, they likely are rotting on the inside. Nobody is ever perfect and always super nice, do not trust them. I do not subscribe to this but it is a thought in my mind now.

It took a week of me being there for the not right feeling set in.

First:

There was drama.

She would start it. She'd vague in the vent about someone and then outright state who she was talking about. And it would be about someone whose opinions she disagreed with. People would go and send anons or they'd bitch about whoever was the victim in the vent channel.

I don't remember if I participated but if I did, I am truly and genuinely sorry.

I think I got stressed two weeks in. I was already ill from invisible physical problems. The server felt horribly unmoderated.

I remember saying something because Mina was doing it again and being told,

"Then support in here."

Mostly innocent right? You support your friends, right?

It wouldn't have been a problem if:

The victim did something wrong.

Mina and this person weren't in their goddamn 30s or near that. They have a child, by the way.

The person was at least under 20.

From my scattered memory, the issue was OP either slightly vagued abt Mina or she just disgreed with OP.

Lots of red flags, right?

"But OP why did you stay?"

Emotional masochism? Fear? Because she, either knowingly or unknowingly cultivated this sort of atmosphere? I cannot speak for anyone else, but that's the reasoning for me.

There was, also, in the beginning, a hope that maybe things would change. Varying personalities, you know? And a desperate need for validation.

So, so wrong.

MVCreates & OP

So, get to the point OP. What happened to you?

A vague threat.

Mina....had Opinions. And opinions are just that, opinions but for her, they were fact. After all, she has her own reality and own story that helped form hers but some of hers were odd. Maybe not to most people who aren’t paying attention or didn’t notice the red flags ( “through rose colored glasses, all red flags just look like flags”) but they were definitely something.

She, for awhile, talked an awful lot about writeblr positivity. I could never really make sense of it -- she either supported it or was against it, from what I remember. (keep in mind, this was a little over a year ago and visually, I can see the gaudy green - red - yellow colors for pronoun preferences).

And I made a vague post about it and her. A few times. I was in the wrong for vaguing about her instead of just saying something up front.

Her response was, and I will paraphrase,

“Do you ever screenshot people vaguing about you just in case they enter a political career?”

I wish I had taken a screenshot. I’m sorry now that I did not. Maybe someone saw that, maybe they brushed it off. I don’t know.

From then on, I kept quiet about my thoughts and opinions because I did have plans to go into a political career -- but jokes on her, I plan on being a human rights officer for the United Nations lmao

Another incident (we’re almost done, I promise):

I was -- venting about gender dysphoria. I was Peak Suicidal at this point in time, just knowing what I was born with brought me to tears frequently. Mina had jumped into in the conversation and started talking about something vaguely related. She started talking about trans BIPOC experiences, which is great! Their experiences are things that need to be talked about because they are often thrown to the side for trans white people’s experiences and that is not okay.

I forget the middle part, it’s been over a year. It went from BIPOC experiences to something else, a conversation about gender? I don’t know. Maybe there’s someone out there who remembers. I doubt it though.

I remember saying, “I wish I would have been born with testicles and everything else because [I’m in hell?]” and she answered with,

“That would [mean / cause / ???? ] privilege.”

This person who has claimed she is non binary, claimed to be a trans ally and part of the trans community, said that to someone in the height of dysphoria and was suicidal.

You do not say that to someone who is experiencing gender dysphoria. To say that is transphobia. And yes, trans & non binary people can be transphobic. You are not exempt.

Violet Vineyard & Reprehensible Behaviors

Before I start this section, and I promise this is almost done, I just want to thank:

@radley-writes​, @gingerly-writing​, @lilquill​, @sapiencenotes​  @rrrawrf-writes​ & many more who have come forward about their experiences, whether publicly and in private. It’s admirable and brave of you to do something I could not. @nuwuhorizons​ & @time-to-write-and-suffer​ have amazing documentation as well.

There isn’t much to say that hasn’t already been said and documented, but I can corroborate the bullying Mina and the mods engaged in -- the stuff Radley spoke about I did not know about -- and that makes me ill. I’m glad they owned up to what they did, and for that, thank you Radley. It shows you are a much bigger and better person.

I will not lie, however -- I was hurt and felt a bit ill when you talked about what the mods did. And it made me question and second guess a friendship I have (had?) with another mod. But I think that helped put some pieces of the puzzle together.

 An incident that stands out to me (and honestly bothers me, so a few people have heard about this often and I’m sorry), very clearly and I have screenshots for but will not share to protect their privacy, was when they dogpiled someone who had been asking about writing a Jewish character. While they were falling into somewhat harmful stereotypes, VV was handling it.

Not well.

The person was a minor, for one -- teenagers make mistakes, they make them more if they’re not exposed to varying cultures and beliefs. And the person who was on the receiving end of this dogpile looked to be coming more and more unstable and all I could do is just. Grab screenshots of what I could.

And if you’re reading this, you know who you are, I am so sorry I didn’t say anything. That wasn’t right, the entire situation wasn’t okay. You shouldn’t have gone through that. I hope you find healing and peace.

A quick disclaimer: Violet Vineyard, as far as I know, didn’t have a lot of Jewish members. I know a mod was converting (but hadn’t yet) and I think I saw one or two people with the Star of David in their name or icon. That said, my paternal grandmother was Jewish and had been one of the few survivors of her family from the Holocaust. I cannot speak for the entire Jewish population, and I do not consider myself Jewish in religion but trust me when I say this:

YHWH would be disappointed in their (VV’s) behavior -- and if the moderator who is working on converting is genuine about converting, then I need them to think long and hard  about what is happening. This isn’t what Judaism teaches. And if you’re reading this, ask yourself, would G-d condone the actions of your fellow ex mods?

Final Words

Oof, this was long, wasn’t it? Must have been hard to sit through because I ramble! So. What’s left for me to say?

Not a whole lot but still, a lot but the stuff I want to say are not my lived experiences. It is not my place to speak on behalf of anyone else involved in all of this. And that is okay.

But to the people who were involved with the recent drama and dogpiled a trans teenager and to those who helped bully many people in this community on behalf of the oh so great Mina,

my question is  why?

What was a thirty year old woman, WHO HAS A CHILD, bullying a nineteen year old? Why was an almost thirty year old person with a toddler and one on the way involved in this as well?

Most or a decent handful of you were adults, some with children, some expecting. 

And Mina,

You used your age and position to manipulate people and for that, I find you the most reprehensible. Castor did not deserve what happened, neither did the victim mentioned above. Nobody did. 

I hope, in the end, you finally find happiness without having to lie about your talent and without having to manipulate people.

Thank you for listening and sticking around if you made it this far and didn’t bounce in the beginning.

I’ve said my part. If anyone wants to engage in constructive discussion or share their experiences, feel free to do so.

[animebw]

Binge-Watching: Revolutionary Girl Utena, Episodes 28-30

In which everything is awful and everyone has a bad time. Also, I talk about some things I don’t like.

The Worst of Us

Today’s episodes were rough.

I don’t mean that in the sense that they were bad. I mean that on a visceral level, these episodes are not a good time. Bad things happen, our heroes suffer, everything seems to be going wrong and no one knows how to stop it, and all the while the bad guys just press their advantage more and more. None of the characters make it out unscathed, pretty much every situation seems to go south, and barely a minute goes by without me sucking in my breath in anxiety as I watch things get worse and worse. It is not a good time to be a student of Ohtori Academy, and now that we’re coming up on the home stretch, I can only imagine things are gonna get worse before- if at all- they get better. Buckle up, folks, because there are no more breaks on this wild car ride into the abyss.

Frankly, the blame for the bad shit that goes down in these episodes can be pinned on a single source: shitty dudes. As if Akio and Touga weren’t enough, Juri’s third turn round the dueling arena introduces Ruka, the captain of her fencing club who’s also working with End of the World. And he fucking sucks. He toys with Shiori’s feelings despite not giving a shit about her as a twisted way of getting Juri’s attention. Then he throws Shiori to the side the minute her power fails him and leaves her to wallow in a broken heart. And as if that wasn’t enough, he outright tries to force himself on Juri while claiming he’s doing it all for her sake. It’s the most concentrated display of monstrous behavior we’ve seen on this show, and by the time he’s twisted Juri’s arm into dueling Utena again I was seething with rage. This fucker’s the most instantly despicable asshole in the entire show; at least Akio has the decency to put on a decent front and give Utena some (very maniuplative and conditioning) support. But episode 30 firmly dispels any notions of Akio being “better”; he’s just better at hiding his inner monster behind a pleasant facade. And he’ll wear that smiling face all while wriggling his slimy way into Utena’s heart. Never before has someone calling someone else their “precious friend” felt so gross and terrifying.

No Prince at All

But at this point, I think I need to take a step back and talk bigger picture. Because the more I roll these episodes around in my head, the more I come to the realization that I... really kinda don’t jive with how the show’s villains are written. Like, it is just me, or does literally every single one of Akio’s plans boil down to “seduce every living creature in a ten mile radius with two x chromosones”? His fiance, Anthy, Utena, Wakaba, and now his fiance’s goddamn mother too? And back when Touga was still king of the hill, that was how he deployed most of his schemes as well. This show can write such fascinating, complex characters with messy feelings and emotions that realistically drive them down dark paths, but literally all their problems could be solved if the bad guys were less hot. And I don’t even find them that hot! I mean, considering I’m a straight dude, that’s probably no surprise, but is Akio really so good at playing the perfect dream lover that he can make literally anyone fall for him? All it takes is one girl with a bit more control over her emotions and his schemes wouldn’t be worth shit.

And I just don’t find that very interesting. Sure, Akio and Touga and Ruka are expertly crafted in terms of making me want to punch them in the fucking face, but the more I think back on them, the less interested I become in what they’re actually doing. Surely there were more interesting ways to show how they manipulate people? Surely there were more avenues of human connection they could exploit than just the affection matrix? I get they’re representative of exploitative authority figures, how people in power- especially men- abuse and twist the people under them to get what they want. I got that back in the first goddamn arc, and it was delivered effectively. But do we still need to be hammering it in this hard? Do we really need to see our villains have this many romantic and sexual conquests to understand how and why they’re bad? Once again, Ikuhara’s biggest flaw as a storyteller is that he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone and stop belaboring the damn point. Time and again, the moments he stops surprising me are the moments I feel myself losing interest with his works. And my rage at the actions Akio and his ilk are taking is dimmed somewhat by the exhaustion of seeing the same scheme play out over and over again.

Where’s the Love?

But there’s another factor to this conflicted melange of opinions, and this one’s a lot more personal. I’m a self-professed slut for a good romance, and some of my favorite moments in anime are just spending quality time with my favorite couples. I think a love story done well can add so much to a piece of fiction, even if it’s not strictly “necessary.” But so much of Revolutionary Girl Utena’s drama is based on the characters’ feelings for each other, and so much of it just... does not grab me. And of course they don’t, most of them are just schoolkid crushes! Most of the romantic feelings people develop in their early teens- hell, even in their late teens- are unavoidably shallow and likely to fade within a few years. Utena’s characters stake huge emotional bets on their feelings for each other- Miki and Saionji crushing on Anthy, Juri crushing on Shiori, Shiori crushing on Ruka- thinking those feelings are the most important thing in the world, only for reality to slap them in the face. That’s the tunnel vision of youth, and that’s what makes more experienced assholes like Akio able to exploit them so easily. But there’s a disconnect there, isn’t there? Because I know from my vantage point of (relative) maturity that these feelings likely won’t ever amount to anything, and the characters themselves don’t. So for the characters, losing their crush or being betrayed by someone they trusted is this huge, devastating emotional wallop, but I don’t always feel that drama myself because, well, I already know better.

Like, okay, perfect example: Shiori’s feelings for Ruka. It’s obvious from the start she’s gonna get her heart broken because Ruka’s a prick, but that’s not an issue in and of itself. But when Shiori’s so devastated by him breaking up with her that she locks herself in her room and descends into a spiral of bitter jealousy, I just don’t feel the agony she’s feeling. Intellectually, I understand why this would be such a big deal to her, but emotionally, I’m not invested. We don’t even really know why Shiori had such a crush on him; best I can tell, it was just because it was he was her handsome club leader. Plus, it doesn’t even seem like it sticks once Ruka dies (side note, why drag yourself out of the hospital before you’re healed to try and inspire your crush if you’re gonna be that much of a fucking dick about it?). The final scene of episode 29 sees Shiori walking right behind Juri in her school uniform like always, so we don’t even get to see her getting over it. There was never any real emotional bond between them, just the shallow affections of youth. And when that’s all being broken, the horror Shiori herself is feeling doesn’t register with me. Same thing with Utena falling for Akio, honestly; she crushes on him because he’s smooth and handsome and is very good at playing a chivalrous gentleman. I’m not saying those are unreasonable reasons why anyone might crush on someone else, god knows I’ve had plenty of similarly shallow crushes myself. But I’m past the point where that kind of shallowness has any real emotional effect on me.

If I sound like I’m being overly harsh here, let me enrich my point by talking about a genuine emotional connection this show does really well: Utena and Anthy. The time we spend with these characters isn’t just time saying “Hey, they have feelings for each other,” and leaving it at that. We get to learn why they’re coming to love each other, what habits they form with each other, the comfort of being around each other, their nighttime conversations that reflect on the feelings they’re struggling with and keeping hidden from each other (”I think there’s a part of love you can’t control.”) We get to learn the specifics of what their connection means to them, and how that connection manifests in their actions and attitudes towards each other. Especially now in this latest arc, where they get at least some time every episode to just talk about shit together. I care about these two. I care about Anthy’s inability to share her fears about Akio with Utena. I care about the terrifying way she watches their tryst with the candles flickering out. I care about them because I know about them, because I’m given time to know about them. Their bond means something to me, just as much as it does to them. I can say the same about Wakaba and Utena’s friendship, or even the dry camaraderie among the remaining student council members. This show is not lacking for relationships that work. But it only makes it that less interesting when it drives its plot forward using the far more shallow feelings these characters experience.

Odds and Ends

-...is Nanami eating schoolwork and letters. But why tho.

-”For some reason, my heart’s pounding.” I cannot get over how tender this scene is, god damn.

-skdjfhsdkhfs god dammit why was the car in the fountain

-Okay, but make sure your seatbelts are buckled. Car sex can go wrong real fast if you’re not careful.

-Something I missed last time: Utena’s princely form now has very prominent lip gloss. I feel like that’s probably important.

-”What gives you the right to hurt her?” Kick. His. Ass.

-”Say your line, Touga.” Alright, this is one sin I can’t overlook. Actors are never supposed to directly cue other actors. Akio, I’ll see you in hell.

-God DAMN, the duel animation kicks ass! J. C. Staff’s really pulling out all the stops in this last stretch.

-Coolest moment in these episodes by far: Utena shatters Juri’s pendant, and she’s so broken with shock that she rips her own flower out in surrender. Goddamn, that knocked me flat on my ass.

-”Wish as hard as you can, and they will know your feelings.” ...that’s not quite the same quote, is it?

-”Lies like that are totally transparent. And they set a pattern of mistrust.” Wakaba, too good for this shameful world as always.

-”Girls should wear nice frilly skirts!” “Who thought that one up?” Utena’s in top form today.

-”Bu-huh-hye.” Okay, Anthy repeating that is somehow the scariest thing in this episode.

-”She’s the first girl to ever make me reconsider how I live my life.” And yet, you’re still helping the same assholes as always.

We’re getting close to the end now. See you next time!

[sense8screencaps]

If you feel like putting into words everything that went wrong/made you dislike the finale, I'd love to hear it

plotwise, it’s under the read more below! and it’s more of a rambling i had 2 years ago + what i remember 2 years later now lmao. logistically, what went wrong i think i’ve answered before. basically if netflix didn’t give the show a tight timeline for filming the finale, i think things would have turned out smoother. if it took an extra year or two to release the finale, i think it would have turned out with much higher quality and more consideration with regards to like everything really

act 1: the plan

planning and subsequent rescuing of wolfgang in the first 30-40 minutes instead of the whole thing taking an entire goddamn hour. cut out wolfgang trying to kill himself. a waste of 5 minutes that should have directly introduced the chairman.

cut out lito’s meltdown and don’t have rajan show up at all. it was a lazy plot device to help jonas escape and a waste of 7 minutes

will and riley meet up with felix and bug instead of that French lady riley like can we get some more lito and kala instead

will fighting bodhi was absolutely pointless??? An excuse to have a fight for no reason like it wouldn’t have made bodhi trying to stab whispers in the club any different (it would’ve made it better imo coming out of nowhere)

the dani and amanita scene was good but a serious continuity error since the show is supposed to be from the perspective of one of the 8

river el-sadaawi was a completely useless character to introduce like it should’ve just been hoy and yrsa talking with riley

convo between hoy, Riley and kirsty was a solid waste of 3 minutes

act 2: the exchange

rajan should not have been part of the exchange lol just swap him out for Felix and it’s all good

Considering Whispers does nothing in this finale other than being a hot potato passed around by people if he died in the club when Bodhi stabbed him it would’ve made an interesting turn of events

hot take: mun shouldn’t have shown up and a more creative resolution to sun’s story could have been written better

I feel like puck should have been part of this scene somehow

everything else pretty much okay

act 3: the lacuna

instead of staying at rajan’s random friend’s place just say it’s riley’s friend? literally makes more sense that way

no lacuna or bodhi shit. it was all deux ex machina like something could’ve been written better by strictly having old man of hoy and yrsa without needing to introduce new mythology

The lacuna concept felt cheap and removed a lot of what I thought kept the sense8 universe grounded in reality.

The mother was pointless to introduce like they could have gotten yrsa or some shit to get them the info on lila being in naples with whispers or just simply have his damn blockers wear off momentarily for will and wolfgang to figure out where he is instead of some weird old lady telling them her son’s backstory and somehow omniscient power of knowing whispers’ location

If Bodhi really didn’t want to be complacent with her stance on Milton and BPO why only NOW did she bother to take action? Why did the Mother only contact them now when God knows how long this weird zombie shit has been happening?

Also why the fuck did Bodhi not even bother to go with them to Naples to kill Milton? She didn’t want to remain complacent and yet she remained so throughout.

act 4: naples

another hot take: they all should’ve sang “rather be” by clean bandit instead on their way to naples. also diego didnt need to show up lol

capheus, felix, wolfgang, kala in the car. rest is the same

this scene should have happened halfway through at the ~90 minute mark

exposition of talking with lila could have been more elaborate. i don’t like that they cut out lila interrupting their pizza party

The transition to Sun and Riley meeting Alphonse and Sutra was messy and badly edited. Everyone in the cluster suddenly is there too? Like at least give some sort of indication they all went to meet Puck

trojan horse/forcella was good but not written or executed well

Kala should have been with Felix and Wolfgang while infiltrating the Forcella. Capheus should have been driving Nomi, Bug, and Amanita and picking up the rest of the cluster along the way/during infiltration of the Forcella.

“My wife... you’re a killer! Teach me!” seriously uncomfortable with Rajan saying that as if he didn’t sound like some kind of sociopath

Kala shouldn’t have gotten shot anyways it was literally 5 minutes of screen time that could have been allotted to a more satisfying confrontation between Lila, Milton, The Chairman, and our Cluster rather than an attempt to get an emotional response from a shock moment.

Jonas’ last monologue went on for too long; for some reason he really had to explain things instead of just “showing” and letting the audience infer to figure it out (particularly the psychic ligature/psycranium stuff)

the bad guys died in literally the most emotionally unsatisfying way. i didn’t need the chairman in this. say shit about whispers manipulating everyone from the top. the chairman being the zombie of like whispers or lila would’ve been way more elaborate. seemed like the writers somehow wrote themselves into a pit where they couldn’t think of anything better. Will and Wolfgang not confronting Whispers for a final time detracted from the emotional and psychological impact Whispers had on their well-beings.

Also like the bloodbath overall was a bit unsettling considering we saw pretty much everyone we know from the show kill bad guys which wasn’t really justified? Like Sun and Mun just knocked people out and killed maybe 4 or 5 people but damn the rest of them not even the slightest hint of trauma? Idk it was weird and I didn’t like it

my queen lila shouldn’t have died

there was so much bad editing here especially with trying to make it look like miguel/lito wasn’t absent

act 5: wedding

if they just cut out a bunch of the bullshit i mentioned earlier we could have gotten a montage or at least some sequence of the sun, lito, kala, and capheus’ stories getting resolved. maybe even some shit with nomi and the guy.

Cutscene to talking about a penis joke with rajan and kala instead of updating us on Cepheus or lito’s lives? Yeah totally makes sense

Hernando should’ve officiated the wedding

Transphobia curing weed brownie? No thanks

rajalagang... cool motive but terrible execution for the most part? idk i needed more rajan and wolfgang being gayer with each other. but then again if rajan wasnt in all of this it wouldve not really made any difference other than probably having just kala and wolfgang kiss 

the orgy should have strictly been the 8 + hernando + amanita + mun + zakia. no one else.

[stitch-n-time]

Evidently I stressed out the man-thing, quite by accident.

We’re working on trying to buy a house. There’s a whole big thing about how his parents are supposed to be helping us with the down payment and everything, but are essentially refusing to do so. (Not officially refusing, but dragging their feet so badly that we have missed out on the opportunity to put a bid on a few places that could have worked out really well for us.)

The man-thing is sick, so I went out and ran errands without him today. While I was out, one of the mortgage people from the credit union we bank at called. I missed the call, so she also sent an email. Basically what she said was that we could barely qualify for what I had asked for (to put on a preapproval letter) if and only if we got the gift of at least $20k from his parents, they signed off on it, etc.

I tell him that, since he’s pretty insistent that we go through this bank instead of somewhere else, where we might get better rates, but they have reputations for screwing people over. Which is a legit thing.

And he tells me that his mom is now saying that instead of providing enough to get us in a good house where we want to be, she is only willing to pay the bare minimum for the down payment. Which will leave us in the lurch for closing costs, penalties for breaking the apartment contract, cost of getting utilities switched, etc. Or... a few thousand dollars we don’t have. Unless we move into a house closer to where they now live. Because, evidently, finding a house between 20 and 25 miles away ensures that we will never see them again, that the man-thing will never go visit, that we’ll miss all of the holidays, etc.

The only reason we want to move that far out is the money. We can get a house nearly double the size of what’s available in this county for the same price. The taxes for the larger houses and more sizable properties are $4-500 less if we drive that half an hour.

We literally can not afford to live closer. 

Not only that, but she is now insisting on coming with us to inspect the houses we want to see. Evidently we’re not capable of making the decision on our own, without her advice. This is a new caveat that has just been tacked on.

I’m damned near either telling them all to fuck off and just staying in this apartment complex for the rest of our damned lives (which, yeah, the police presence a few weeks ago that almost made me late for work? Another murder here) or telling the man-thing he needs to choose between his family and me. I’m just tired of the bullshit and being pulled back and forth like this.

But I really hope that they get their shit together before it gets to that point, and realize that their son who is in his mid-30s is actually an adult and capable of both being more than a ten minute drive away AND making decisions without mommy’s approval.

ANYWAY......

So I tell him about the bank thing, and he tells me about his mom, and starts ranting about this whole thing (because FFS, he doesn’t want to live in this place anymore either. Not with literal shit in the walls, and terrible neighbors, and people literally doing drugs on the sidewalk, and and and...). And he starts pacing and getting angry because he’s finally realized that all of this manipulation and being tossed around is a form of mental and emotional abuse, but he doesn’t want to call his parents out for doing it. And he asks what we can get without their help.

From the bank we want to use? Literally nothing. From another? Something like $130k, which will get us a crack shack.

Which, of course, got him even more worked up. It’s ridiculous that with both of us working full time jobs, we can’t do a goddamned thing. So he’s off to do battle with his parents about this. Again.

I’m taking a damned sleeping pill and hoping to get some rest before I have to work tonight.

[daughtersofexiles]

Hiatus; Lucille Delancey

|| So, to make a very long story short, my grandfather died— we knew it would eventually come, but he took a sudden turn in the last 24 hours. Since a lot of Lucille Delancey’s characterization comes from some personal stuff I’m putting under the cut to get off of my chest, I need to put her on hiatus until I can process some shit. I have always used Lucille as a way to vent in a way, but the things I’m feeling right now make it very hard to pin down her character. If we have threads, I’ll be saving them for when I can focus.

Wall of text under the cut i might delete later. It’s more my way of getting this out than anything else/

I’m gonna be blunt bc I don’t believe in sugarcoating it: my grandfather was an extremely abusive alcoholic towards my mom and uncle when they were kids up until my grandmother divorced him. The part about Phineas Delancey pointing a gun at Morris when their mom was threatening to leave? Came from my grandfather. Having Oscar beat Morris with a belt to punish them both when drunk? Happened to my mom and uncle when they were >10. Got so high off of uppers at work that he needed to drink in order to make himself calm down—even having his kids pick up his drugs once? Grandfather did it throughout my mom’s childhood. Had tons of affairs and didn’t even bother hiding it? Yep, grandfather. He was bad enough that he told my mom she was dead to him after she called the cops when he tried to strangle my grandmother to death— and my mom ended up paying for her own car insurance and repairs from that day on at 16 as a punishment. His new wife once threatened to kill my older sister and I after I was born (so 1.5 years old and like 3 months old) when my mom went back to work at the hospital night shift just because she hates her for being his “real” daughter… and he did nothing and is still married to her.

He did so much more that makes me feel sick to even think about, and i don’t know if I can forgive him like my mom has— especially when he hasn’t ever been a man enough to apologize for what he’s done even after he stopped drugs and drinking. My mom and my uncle are the real victims. I based most of the anger management and trauma that I write Lucille and her brothers having on what I have seen in my family. Hell, Violet has a little bit of it too, because it is so deeply rooted in my memories. My mom constantly worries about how she handled things when my sister and I were kids, because she never knows if she was too harsh or manipulative like he was. I remember once when my grandfather was coming to our church, and she had a panic attack before we left even though he’d been sober for over five years just at the thought of seeing him.

He always had the chance to talk to us, but my mom told him he had to be sober first. He didn’t get sober until I was 10 years old— I’d only ever seen him at funerals and the family reunion before then. I don’t blame her for it— he was known for manipulation and emotional abuse back then, and she refused to let us get hurt like she was. How did we find out? He stalked my mother’s Facebook to find out we would be in another state seeing his ex-wife’s family (my great grandma), drove 12 hours to their house, and showed up to say he was a changed man and was now going to church again— when he lived just 30 minutes away from our house. He has missed every graduation, chorus concert, theatre production, birthday party, and church function; he has never sent a single goddamn card, or called me on my birthday, or even checked in on me to see how I was doing after my wreck. Hell, when I had my wreck (in which I flipped my car three times), he was so far from a priority to call in the family that my mom called his sister with every update as I was being released from the trauma unit, who then called to tell him when I was being released and we all realized no one thought to inform him until almost 12 hours later. My mom never lied to us; she told us the truth as long as we were old enough to understand. Your grandfather lives in (city) turned into a later discussion on how that city is only 10 minutes from our church, his behavior was explained as him being very mean at times to us being told he was an alcoholic and abusive when she was growing up, and so on.

Right now, I’m honestly angry at him, because I don’t even have a picture of myself with him to post on Facebook, or a memory to talk about at his visitation. We have had a family reunion every year for sixteen years this October, and never once did he ask for a picture with me. I’ve got pictures of me at that reunion with my great aunt, my second cousins, my great grandmother… but not my own grandfather. Now he’s dead, and I never will have a picture with him. I got to see him Sunday, and he told me he loved me, but I’ve never felt loved by him. I’ve always felt like I was a piece of his past life he didn’t want to deal with; he raised his step-grandchildren and put them in expensive private schools and paid their college tuition, but never even sent his own granddaughter a birthday card or acknowledged her graduation announcement (either one!!). I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I wish I had more to say than asking why the hell he didn’t try before he knew he was dying, let alone try to reach out in the three months of hospice. He never went on bedrest or painkillers until today, so why couldn’t he attempt to speak to me? I shouldn’t have had to beg my own grandfather to want me in his life.

[daisyishedwig]

Gonna bitch for a sec and then go back to my normal, nice, I love everyone at the state they're in and support everyone's emotional journey through self hatred to self love, kinda personality.

There's this girl in my friend group that I don't necessarily want to call a friend, because she aggravates me to no end. Her life is hard, she's an autistic transwoman from a devoutly religious upbringing and as usual that brings its fair amount if shit with it.

But she is do negative about /everything/ I swear to god, nothing makes her happy, and nothing can ever just be a positive experience, she has to find the bad in everything.

And like, I'm all for feeling your feelings, but that includes feeling to positive feelings when they come and not just pushing them down so you can remain a depressed bitch because "my life is so horrible".

And what's almost worse, is that she doesn't seem to think that because we're laughing and smiling, that we're also broken inside. Last night I just wanted to lay in bed and cry, but then Kendall (different friend) wanted to hang out so I pushed that aside and let my depression go ignored for a bit to focus instead on the joy of having friends and watching movies and playing games with them.

Kendall and I decided to watch Colette before this other girl even showed up, because it was just the two of us and I fucking love that movie. A third of the way through she shows up amd finishes thr movie with us, then some other people show up, we play some jackbox games, we have some beer, and it's all very fun and she leaves earlier than everyone else which is typical because overstimulation for her is a real bitch.

Like 30 minutes after she leaves she posts in the group chat, "That movie was really heavy and I didn't like that, it hit close to home"

Noone responds but i'm just like super annoyed by it, because you didn't say anything while we were watching it, and do you think Kendall and I don't understand the emotional gravity of that movie? Yeah, I'm laughing and joking about Willy being such a dick, but that movie is honestly a perfect representation of my year in 2018, I feel so deeply connected to Colette because I /understand/ her because that movie came out a month after I escaped (read: was discarded by) my own personal Willy.

I see her confront Willy for cheating on her and vent her frustration that when she's trying to initiate sex at night and he's to tired it's because he's sleeping with someone else, and clearly he doesn't "have to do that to fulfill his masculine urges" if she wants to have sex but he doesn't (not that he would have a right to cheat if she didn't want to have sex, it just nulls the typical argument because she does) and /I get it/ because my fucking ex did the exact same thing and constantly made me wonder what was wrong with me because he stopped being able to get it up for me, but he could get it up for other people.

I see her start the relationship with the American woman, and the I see Willy go to see the same woman behind Colette's back and I say "It's because he can't let her have anything he can't have, because he's selfish and wants to own anything that makes Colette happy that he didn't initially give to her" and I fucking know this because it was a breakthrough I had in therapy a few weeks ago when I was like, "why the fuck did Brian have to date T? She was mine and she was only ever supposed to be mine, I never intended for them to get to know each other or for him to be interested in her" but he was interested because she made me happy, and it wasn't allowed for me to be selfish and keep someone who made me happy all to myself. If I kept her to myself, how ever would he use her to manipulate me or keep her from helping me realize what a piece of shit he was. It's all about the fucking control.

The way he begs and begs her to write for him and then ridicules the work she'd done to make him happy, he'd ask for the world and she'd give it to him only for him to give it back and say "to polluted, I don't like it"

This movie hits so fucking close to home for me because it is my life, the first time I watched it I sobbed through most of it because it was so relatable.

So for her to say "it was too heavy, i didn't like it" like it was somehow our fault for watching an emotionally charged movie, and like I couldn't possibly understand what she was feeling while watching this movie is just so bullshit and infuriating. She's just so goddamn self centered all the time and I cannot handle that level of negativity, i'm an empath and being around her just fills me with so much of a desire to fix it, but I fucking can't because she doesn't want to be helped, she just wants to wallow in self pity for the rest of her life and I'm so fucking done with it.

[elizas-writing]

We’re about 3 months away until the long anticipated release of the one, the only, the extraordinary, Kingdom Hearts III! Almost 14 years of waiting with about a dozen side games and HD re-releases are finally building up to this grand moment for video game fans. And like most other fans out there, I needed a serious catch up to remember all the convoluted lore and relive all the good times and bad with our favorite Keyblade wielders and Disney team members.

Since I don’t have all of the games on hand, much less the time to play the ones I own, I went to the wonderful world of YouTube and over the course of two months binged through about 30 hours of content, right from the very beginning! It was so much fun to relive all the series highlights, finally watch the newer content in the HD re-releases, and pick up on the little details I missed the first time around. And I thought I’d share some of the wonderful thoughts going on in my head during my binge.

Without further ado, here are Eliza’s silly but honest taglines, asides, observations, and comments of the Kingdom Hearts series!

Kingdom Hearts

The OG most ambitious crossover

I’ve been in this world for three hours and CAN’T FIND THE NEXT CHECKPOINT.

I know we jab at Chain of Memories for its awful gameplay, but I legit-erally didn’t finish the Atlantica world cause I had no idea where the fuck to go next. Even for a 2002 game, the mechanics were a nightmare sometimes.

Sometimes having every other world set up like a labyrinth is too much work than it’s worth.

Seriously, you have to talk to Aerith a million times to get Curaga. How the fuck were you supposed to know that without the Internet or a strategy guide??

Came for the bizarre mix of Disney and Final Fantasy– stayed for the characters and mildly convoluted story.

Just gonna add this in with the other “the power of friendship” crap I love.

  Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories

Worst. Fucking. Fighting. System. EVER.

You ever wonder how the board meeting went for this game?

“So it’s, like, 50% the same game again, but shitty.”

I’m here to button mash, not strategize like Magic the fucking Gathering

This is the one where all the hot villains show up, right?

Just don’t let Axel’s bad boy facade fool you. He’s a finger guns bisexual with bad dad jokes.

10/10 will steal your girlfriend, boyfriend and nonbinary significant other

Every time someone says “memory,” take a shot.

Also, are we never gonna talk about where Pluto went with that letter? Are we supposed to accept he just comes and goes however he pleases?

  Kingdom Hearts II

The best one. You can’t change my mind.

One man’s convoluted revenge scheme at the cost of, like, 5 teenagers’ mental well-beings.

I’ve only known Roxas for 6 days, but if anything happens to him, I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself.

So Ansem wasn’t really Ansem. You see, he was this scientist’s apprentice who– aaaaaand I’m lost.

If your fandom experience at this point didn’t include calling Xemnas “Mansex” or listening to Dr. Bombay’s “My Sitar” to cope with Demyx’s 2nd boss battle, you did it all wrong.

We all made fun of Demyx for needing a notecard for his mission, but my work desk is a cluster of reminders and sticky notes, so I can’t judge anymore.

The beginning of the longest, most painful wait for a sequel.

I’m sure Haley Joel Osment is a chill dude, but who the fuck allowed him to sing?

  Kingdom Hearts: 358/2 Days

Area Man Tries to Balance Life Between Work, Broken Marriage, and Two Adopted Kids in Existential Crises

Spoiler Alert: It ends horribly for everyone involved

When the realization set in that he became a father

Saix being a bitch

Family drama

Seriously, Saix, the last time I saw a man this pissy about his friend spending time with someone else was The Road to El Dorado. And Tulio and Miguel were supposed to be a gay couple.

Well, that was a depressing ass backstory on why Roxas has two Keyblades

“Who am I?!”

Anyone out there still calling Xion a Mary Sue better apologize to my daughter in the next five seconds.

The Organization’s HR complaint box probably looks like a tornado blew through it…

At least they seem to have good enough health insurance since their youngest members tend to fall into month long comas.

  Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep

Remember when Xehanort was a scientist’s apprentice who went AWOL? Think again, bitch!

The point where you realize this is all just a long, cruel, brutal DnD campaign

It’s best if you just don’t get emotionally invested in any of the characters. No one has a happy ending.

How one man’s total lack of self-awareness and critical thought dooms the universe

No, seriously, I’m sorry, Terra is a massive idiot. Master Xehanort doesn’t even have to try hard to manipulate Terra; he’s just that goddamn dense and does a lot of stupid shit on his own. These are facts.

I can’t even handle the secondhand embarrassment of his Neverland visit where he thinks Peter Pan is after the light when he was guarding a literal treasure chest, like, that’s just too dumb.

I still love him and wish him a wonderful redemption, and he definitely didn’t deserve losing his friends, family and his free will, but there were so many avoidable stupid disasters if he didn’t just blindly trust the wrong people.

Terra is the physical embodiment of “I am not a clever man.”

Forget the darkness in his heart– I’m more concerned about how many worms are eating his brain.

Terra, this bitch just asked you to cut out the heart of a 14-year-old girl, and you just went “chill.” Did you already forget your last oopsie with Aurora?

Loving mother left to clean up her husband and son’s messes…. all of them…

She’s about a couple steps away from becoming a wine mom to get through this shit.

As you can see, the main difference between Ventus and Roxas is that one is a literal ray of sunshine who did nothing wrong, and the other is a mass of anxiety who says “fuck” more often than he’s allowed to.

  Kingdom Hearts: Coded

The one everyone forgets existed.

Guys, I just wanted to know what Mickey’s letter said. I didn’t ask for another whirlwind adventure.

The most outrageous excuse for a midquel, but dammit that last bit in Castle Oblivion… I’m gonna need a moment to recollect myself.

Yeah, if this bit didn’t get you emotional, get out of my house.

What do you fucking mean Xehanort isn’t fucking dead??

  Kingdom Hearts: Dream Drop Distance

Wait a minute, all Terra and Aqua had to do for their Mark of Mastery was hit some balls and spar each other. Why do Sora and Riku need to go through coma nightmares and fever dreams??

Just… just give up questioning the lore…

So Ansem the Wise made a copy of his computer, and that’s a sleeping world where Jeff Bridges exists, I– I’m done.

And if this didn’t break your heart just a little bit, we can’t be friends.

Had the potential to just be Kingdom Hearts III if Nomura wasn’t too deep in perfecting those renders

We’re gathered here today in the bonds of just a couple of guys being dudes.

But seriously, there is zero heterosexual explanation behind Sora and Riku’s Sound Ideas coming together to make “Dearly Beloved.”

So is Ienzo really gonna gloss over the fact Lea stood by while a clone sucked out his life force? … Okay…

I’m still bothered by the fact Young Xehanort and Haida from Aggretsuko have the same English voice actor, because they’re total opposite energies.

  Kingdom Hearts X [chi] Back Cover

“Traitor!”– Ben Solo-Organa, Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens

I’m surprised no one took a step back and said “Guys, maybe the Master was fucking insane and trying to dupe us all with this Book of Prophecies shit.”

I’m sorry, I can’t trust anything the guy says or does. He put his FUCKING EYEBALL IN A KEYBLADE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES.

Not to mention, he purposefully made them keep their roles a secret from each other which made misunderstandings pile on top of each other, like, dude!

I’m sticking to the theory that there was never a traitor, and he just pulled this out of his ass for the drama of it all.

Does no one in these games sit down and talk through their problems like normal people do? Again, worms in the brains…

Friendly reminder that cute Keyblade wielder avatar you made likely died in the Keyblade War.

I have nowhere near enough time to wade through like 900 quests worth of content in an ongoing game, and I don’t know how much I’ll need for Kingdom Hearts III…

Like, apparently Ven time traveled?? The fuck??

“What’s in the box?!”

  Kingdom Hearts 0.2 Birth by Sleep A Fragmentary Passage

If you thought that title was a mouthful, wait for the onslaught of feelings!

“The things I do for love.”– Courage, Courage the Cowardly Dog

The most beautiful and emotional game demo in the universe

I wanna eat all the rocks

I just want my wife to come home and be able to rest.

“Please, God, just let me have one good day?”

“Oh my God, you again?? Give it a rest buddy!”

Kingdom Hearts III is RIGHT there! I can see it, I can taste it, I can smell it, it’s so goddamn close that I can hear the angelic choir singing Kumbaya. I haven’t been teased this bad since BBC Sherlock series 3.

  Kingdom Hearts III (based on all current information from trailers and conventions)

You get Norted, and YOU get Norted! Everyone gets Norted!!

Impractical zippers and belts are so 2005. Now everything is about plaid and excess buttons.

“I want to see my little boy (Here he comes) I want to see my little boy!”

What is he doing? His best. Also, get a load of the detail work on his hands.

Xion and Naminé are on the box art, so they have to be in the game, BUT WHY AREN’T THEY IN THE TRAILERS YET? WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DAUGHTERS?

“The ending is going to be difficult for fans to handle.” I’m sorry, Nomura, but I forgot how to read for a moment there and will be in a horrible state of denial for the next three months.

If you’re calling that Heartless doll your waifu, congratulations, you’d be the first to die in a horror movie.

For fuck’s sake, it’s emitting black smoke and has the penetrating eyes of death. It must be burned.

And there you have it, folks! Most every silly thought that went through my wonderful brain through my Kingdom Hearts binge! It was worth putting off many of my other shows to refresh my memory on the lore— as contrived as it is multiple times—, see all my favorite characters, relive the greatest moments, and get pumped for what’ll come next in Kingdom Hearts III. I can already tell it’s going to be a great one, and I can’t wait to start playing!

Funny Observations of the #KingdomHearts Series We're about 3 months away until the long anticipated release of the one, the only, the extraordinary, Kingdom Hearts III!

[racingtoaredlight]

I Saw This Child Perform on Saturday...

Going in, I was excited, sure.  I’d seen this kid all over my Instagram feed a few years ago, and he was playing Elgar’s Cello Concerto...a seriously mega-badass piece...with the Cleveland Orchestra.  Was interested to see if the social media darling was actually any good, or if it was just hype.

What I was not expecting, was to walk out of Severance Hall questioning whether or not that was the single greatest musical performance I’d ever seen in my life.  Completely, utterly blown away.

***

The day before the performance didn’t find me in a great mood.

For some reason...a reason I’m legitimately thinking is as stupid as “they are saying ‘smokin’ in benzo,’”...two of mysocial media feeds featured praise being heaped upon a completely forgettable, tired, gimmicky pop song that Bruno Mars is in.  Now, I like Bruno Mars...

But lets be clear about something.  Bruno Mars is not “freakishly” talented. He’s not “insanely” talented.  He’s talented.  Period.  Which is fine.  He’s playing in a world where the degree of difficulty is incredibly low, with every conceivable safety net in place, yet he still makes music that’s intellectually stimulating.  Which is a platonic ideal all musicians should strive for.

Again, I like Bruno Mars, ok?  He’s talented.  But when you break down his music, there’s really not much substance there that any similarly attractive, similarly tiny man couldn’t pull off.  No incredible vocal gymnastics or stunning instrumental proficiency...just stuff that’s really right down the middle.

Nothing wrong with that.  Just not something I’d personally describe as “insanely talented.”  To begin with, calling a pop artist...in most circumstances (especially these days)...“insanely talented” is like calling a golfer a great athlete.  Just because it’s not a primary requirement in that musical class shouldn’t diminish the musical output.

But it’s hard not to see those in a lesser light when comparing pop musicians to the larger musical world.

***

In my musical opinion, here’s what “freakishly talented” really looks like...because honestly, the only comparison I could think of in my life for what I saw Kanneh-Mason pull off Saturday, was watching LeBron in his first year in the NBA.

Simply put...Sheku Kanneh-Mason, a 22 year old prodigy, played one of history’s greatest pieces for cello (one that requires a ridiculously high level of ability), leading one of the world’s greatest orchestras, with nothing more than a cello and a bow.

There were no pauses for mistakes, no do-overs...it was 30 minutes of demanding, challenging music with absolutely no safety net.

And his performance was so fucking outrageous, I’m writing this covered in goosebumps.  It was absolutely COMMANDING.  His technique...fuck it who cares, it was incredible.  It wasn’t perfect...which is scary to think about...but it didn’t matter.  He could do thinks the other cellists in the orchestra were agog at mid-performance.

It wasn’t even just the SOUND.  I mean, fuck I don’t even know how to describe the sound of his cello.  It was RAWWWWWWWWWW, like he was playing it with a goddamned hand saw instead of a bow.  But in a good way.  And when the Concerto would switch from violence to sweetness, it’s like there was honey pouring out of it...and he’d switch these aesthetics on a dime, in the middle of the action.

But it was the way he phrased each note, and the emotion he poured into it that has these goosebumps still sticking around.  My god.  This child is 22 years old!  And you could see his left hand manipulating the living shit out of each note, getting every last drop of substance out of it, making perfect even more perfect.  Oh my god, he’s a fucking master already.

Discussing talent and music can be tricky, which is why it helps to focus on things that have some level of definition.  Things like a musician’s technique, speed, precision, vocabulary.  Things like how much technological help is needed, setting, live vs. studio.  It’s easy to point out these differences when watching Bruno Mars struggle to keep up with “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on guitar, and then watch Kanneh-Mason’s raw skills make mincemeat out of cello’s most difficult canon.

***

Of the musicians who can be considered near the top of their all-time instruments, I’ve seen Yo-Yo Ma (cello), Herbie Hancock (jazz piano), Chick Corea (jazz piano), Pat Metheny (jazz guitar), Yuja Wang (classical piano), Ray Brown (upright bass).  I’ve seen other countless musicians in this rare air over my lifetime...this is the shit I actively seek out and want to see in person.

Growing up, I’ve been around prodigies almost my entire life, to the point where I hear someone mention a child as a prodigy and my immediate reaction is “oh, that poor child.”  This is why I was...not skeptical, but something similar...heading into Kanneh-Mason’s performance Saturday.  You see a prodigy perform, and it’s usually great, but even then you rarely get the sense that this kid is truly elite in every sense of the word.

When you look at music with a critical eye, and you watch a performance where there’s no room to criticize, it’s shocking.  Turning room for criticism into endless room for praise.  It’s equal parts terrifying and reassuring.

As a musician, watching someone like Kanneh-Mason is depressing because I will never be able to play any instrument at that level, no matter how hard I try.  Hearing the sheer sound of his cello is something to behold...an organic, natural talent...at extreme levels.  I’m 15 years older than he is...and at no point in my life was I ever as good at anything, as he was on cello before he was old enough to drive.  It’s terrifying when you understand just how good he is now, and know how much better he can still be.

It’s reassuring because he’s still a child, still growing and developing, and he’ll be around making music to follow my entire lifetime.  Already he’s not stuck in the classical music black hole, taking his talents outside the symphony like Yo-Yo Ma.  He’s the type of musician that can put an entire genre on his back.

***

Here’s this kid at 19, at classical music’s highest level and most visible showcase, playing this same piece I’ve been talking about.  I highly recommend you throw it on in the background and just let it run.

Just think about the sheer level of difficulty here.  Ignoring the piece itself, he’s up there with nothing more than his instrument, responsible for leading the whole orchestra (the conductor is cueing off him), and it’s 30+ minutes straight through.  I know I said that above, but just think about a scenario like that.

Would you be able to give a 30 minute speech with no notes or prompts?  Even on something you consider yourself an expert on?  It’s fucking difficult with your mouth, let alone an instrument.

My god was this kid fucking incredible.

***

That’s what chafes me about musical discussion these days.

Bruno Mars is a charismatic guy, who plays a bunch of instruments proficiently, can dance well, and communicates incredibly well with his audience.  He’s a talented musician, and I would never try to argue otherwise.

But to say attach words like “freakishly” and “insanely” does a disservice to what truly freakish talent is.  Musically speaking, Bruno Mars has four letters on his high school varsity jacket...but he’s not really good enough at any of them to play in college.  Kanneh-Mason was dunking over NBA pros at Michael Jordan’s invite-only summer camp while he was still in high school.

It’s easy to say things like “who cares about classical music?” or “nobody ever got laid listening to a cellist,” to which case I’d reply those social/status things have nothing to do with music.

If you were there with me Saturday, and you heard the SOUND of one note that Kanneh-Mason played, you would understand this dynamic clearly, immediately.  I play electric guitar really stripped down, no digital shit, no nothing...and even than stripped down way can’t compete with the beauty and richness acoustic instruments have.

And I have quite a bit of experience with hearing acoustic instruments played by a master to be used to this kind of thing.  And yet, when Kanneh-Mason was playing, it was shit like I’d never heard before.  Not just powerful, but mature and refined too.

And he’s 22 years old.  He’s just a baby.

***

You take all the help away from Bruno Mars...the other musicians, the producers, the arrangers, sound engineers, dancing, microphones, effects, lighting...what are you left with?

That’s where the musical talent lies.  And yes, I do think Bruno Mars could find a way to entertain for 30 minutes without that stuff.  Because...again...I think he’s a talented musician and entertainer.  But this classical arena is something I truly don’t think Bruno Mars has the talent for, for no other reason than it’s one of the two most demanding arenas in all of music (the other being playing jazz at a high level, professionally).  And that’s not an insult or a criticism...merely an observation between what’s required from a musician.

Because, you take all of that away from Sheku Kanneh-Mason, and it’s business as usual.  It’s all substance.  All musical talent and ability.  No tricks, no cleanup, no airbrushing.  Cello and bow.

*This was what he played for his encore, after three standing ovations...during Elgar’s Concerto, someone’s phone went off...then at the very end of this, when the final notes are just hanging in the air...it went off again.  Same person.  The whole audience wanted to kill that person and Kanneh-Mason was clearly dejected.  Fucking cell phones.

***

I didn’t intend for this post to slam Bruno Mars at all...it was just an interesting contrast from earlier in the day, to what I saw that evening.

Going into the concert Saturday, I was excited albeit skeptical that the featured performer was going to live up to the hype he’d been set up for.  After all, he wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, prodigy to flame out quickly.

After the concert Saturday, I feel like I witnessed one of the truly great musicians I’ll ever witness during the course of my lifetime.  A musician I can’t wait to see grow and develop and branch out into new forms of music.  Someone I thought was going to slightly disappoint, and yet he ended up exceeding every single possible measure of criticism I could have, by leaps and bounds.

I haven’t had many experiences like this in my musical life, but when they’ve happened, they stick with me forever.  And I don’t think I’ll be shaking the feeling of seeing this kid command a concert hall like he did, for a long, long time.

[shemoveslowlyandsoftly]

I bought Amy Poehler’s book “Yes Please” in the fall of 2015.

It’s taken me 3 years to finish it, but this Wednesday I picked it up at work, and read the last 100 pages it took me this long to finish.

In the last 100 pages, she talks about how she’s constantly trying to be present so she can enjoy the best moments of her life, because they’ll come and go, and if you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss some of the best ones.

But then she says this: if you’re lucky, it’s when you least expect it, a moment, a scent, or a memory can allow you to time travel and bring you back to relive some of the best ones.

_______________________________________________

It’s 10 pm and it’s just now occurring to me... today I time traveled. And I would have never known it had I never finished that fucking book it took me 3 years to read....THIS WEEK.

_______________________________________________

This morning I woke up not sure if my dream had really happened. Like most of my dreams, I don’t remember the contents of it. But I do remember that mid dream, I vividly had a thought that this was something that had already happened, and it wasn’t right. As if my deja vu was reminding and/or reassuring me that right now, you are only dreaming but you’re also observing the old you in the relationship you were in before it ended. I was going through the motions, much like the last few months of my relationship.

It was trippy but not triggering.

Then several hours later, on my way home from class, while I was sitting at a red light, I started zoning out (usually happens when I’m anxious about a million things) & as I was zoning back in, trying not to feel stressed about my financial troubles, I immediately noticed two former friends of mine that I lost when my relationship ended. Friends of hers, that cut me off when I cut her off. They were crossing the intersection, and much like my dream, it was like I WAS LITERALLY WATCHING MY OLD LIFE WALK RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME BEFORE MY EYES, but they couldn’t see me. Only me them.

But. I. Was. Still. Not. The. Least. Bit. Triggered.

I only thought to myself, “huh what are the odds?” But then I immediately lose the thought bc I’m racing against the clock to get home in time to change & eat before my shift starts.

**Still not realizing this whole time that I’m time traveling**

I get to work. Work is going fine. I’m feeling excited to go home and drink my wine & smoke my weed. Then 30 minutes before the end of my shift, I get a text from a mom that I have only babysat for once.

Normally I’d say no (my Saturdays consist of me being ON from 10 am-6 pm) but she’s m desperate for a babysitter because hers wasn’t responding & her and her husband had a black tie affair they paid for downtown (rich boujee things). Even though I’m bummed about not having my Saturday night, I need the money, so I say yes.

In fact I’m writing this from their couch right now. And it wasn’t until about 20 minutes ago when I went to the bathroom, washing my hands and looking at my reflection, and my second city work t-shirt, that I FINALLY connected all the dots.

__________________________________________________

Today was giving me nothing but signs but I didn’t think ANYTHING of them until I had DEJA VU from looking at the logo of my second city shirt in the bathroom of this home that I had only been into once that everything started rushing back to me like images in fast forward rewind of a movie when the main character goes back in time to a memory after EVErythinGGGG that day had led him to that very motherfucking moment.

It was a rainy, October day.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was babysitting for them on a Sunday afternoon, right before what was going to be the very last show I had in a relationship with my ex. I hadn’t seen her for a week because we had been on a break, and I was ready and willing to look past all the bullshit, because it was THAT Sunday I found out I had made it past the second round of auditions for the conservatory at second city and I was on such a high from that, and even more excited to have a show, that I was willing to look past months of emotional destruction because truth be told, I really did see the best in her.

But just like you can’t put a bandaid on a gushing wound, things weren’t going to change, and that night proved it. Despite my requests not to, she got piss drunk, couldn’t drive, and was immobile by the time she made it to my bed. I’m not proud that I went through her phone and confirmed everything I had been feeling for months, but had I never done it, I’m actually fucking afraid I’d still be with her. I was scared. The lies, the manipulation, the emotional abuse was all laid out for me, and i still felt like I couldn’t leave her....until i did. And I haven’t looked back since. I haven’t heard or tried to reach out to her, and the last time I’ve seen her, was the last time I was in this house.

Five fucking months ago. Almost to the goddamn day.

—————————————————————

I don’t know if this is exactly what Amy meant when she talked about her experiences time traveling. But I do know, that the universe is always trying to teach me something. ALWAYSSSSSS. Sometimes I’m in disbelief at how much I’ve grown up since October, but today has truuuulllyyyyy opened my eyes on another level.

How the hell was I supposed to know that only hours after I found out I was one of the few people to retain my spot in the conservatory, I was ALSO going to find out how much I had been deceived by ignoring the red flags from the biggest master manipulator I’ve ever met in my life—

—It’s unbelievable how hard I fell from grace after really thinking, “I am about to really peak. Ive achieved so much.” I had no fucking idea. No fucking idea at all for what was to come.

It’s even crazier that’s it’s almost 5 months on the day, TODAY, that I singlehandlely made the best decision of my life to block the most toxic person out.

—————————————————————

Also. Complete side note: I made $120 tonight, for 4 hours while I ate leftover children birthday party food, and watched the hunger games all because I came in clutch as the super nanny. So that anxiety I was having earlier when I was posted at the red light over my financial struggles? No. Longer. A. Thing. The remainder of my payment plan tuition just paid for itself.

How does that saying go about luck being disguised as work? I believe that. But Hard. Work. Pays. Off. And the harder you work, the “luckier” you are. I fucking sound like my dad right now, but I’ll be the first one to say that money doesn’t buy happiness. I am no longer anxious about my current financial troubles, but the same things that have been weighing me down, continue... despite the money I have.

I will say though, God is listening when you’re begging him to cut you a break. Him and the universe are helping me out and today, that was mad fucking real. Despite the emotions it brought by the end of the day.

__________________________________________________

Mark my words, one day, when I get a book deal, this will be an excerpt from it.

[literally-anythin]

A not-so-small rant...

Okay, so I know not a lot of people will see this but I kinda just need a place to let go of some things that I carry around and that have been troubling me for quite a long time, one of the things that take a toll on me and is practically the main reason on why I don’t write as much as I used to.

Up ‘til a few weeks ago the situation in my house I wouldn’t have said it was related to an act of violence or a form of abuse of any kind but I realize now that maybe I was in denial, I wanted to cover my eyes and ears, cower away from what was really happening and I know now that it was a huge mistake to think it was okay.

I’m the eldest child and I guess that in most places (not only Latino) it means that certain responsibility falls on your shoulders, you become the supposedly child star, the one that your younger siblings and even cousins MUST look up to, from a really young age I realized that I should be practically the perfect child, never bite back, get straight A’s, be all nice, never get in fights, don’t give adults trouble, all that kind of stuff that I notice most parents want in their children, or at least that’s what mines showed that they wanted, so when I did something out of the “ordinary” like fight back or get a note that was lower than an A (or a 10, maybe a 9) my dad will get really pissed off and he would start demanding explanations, but I, a kid, not older than 7, would get really upset and scared, why? Well, my dad has this thing that when he gets really mad his demeanor would radically change, his voice gets deeper, he looks bigger (and that’s saying something, considering that we all are pretty much petite) and he would look down on me and slightly hover over me, almost depredator like, and start yelling, I would just cry and shut my mouth or bite my tongue cause I didn’t knew how to do anything else.

After growing a bit I got this horrendous habit that now I can’t shrug off, I scratch and pinch my arms absentmindedly whenever I get mad, sad or overwhelmed (something that doesn’t work well with my maladaptive daydreaming). At first they were just a few scars here and there but overtime that started to become something bigger and practically every single time that he screamed or fought with my mom over something I did or that I felt that I was to blame I would do it as a way to get my mind off of whatever was happening outside my bedroom, this started happening when I was in 5th grade but they noticed until I was in 7th grade when the scratching become too much and it was starting to become noticeable. My mom tried to understand why I did it, but truth was that I didn’t even knew why I did it, I only knew that it was kind of relaxing and got rid off the stress and pain, they asked me to talk to them, but how could I if I didn’t even knew how to do it myself? They told me they might be taking me to a psychiatrist, but I refused, what was I supposed to say? I was afraid.

Around this years was when I started to become “rebellious” in my father’s eyes, I started getting lower grades and he despised it, so overtime that he would “talk” to me about it he would do what he always did, yell and make me feel small, but there was something new to the classic formula, my arms and different ways to make me feel bad about them. When he finished ranting and yelling he would say something along the lines of: “I don’t care what you fucking do, go cry to yourself in your bedroom, scratch your arms for all that I care, you’re not worthy of my respect and affect”, that would destroy me, he was the person that I looked up to the most, what was I supposed to feel? Unfortunately all of this helped to my self-harm and self-hate, and well, things just started to get worse.

In the past couple of years (after my grandpa’s death) my dad was different, so to say he broke character, he was sad, I know that, he was grieving, he regretted a lot of things and he wished he could’ve done plenty more, he cried to me almost every single day for about a month and then it came to an abrupt stop, he had taken the role of the man of the house because he was the only one, he was stressed, the place he owns (a bar) wasn’t doing great, he had to pay some debts that were left from my quinceañeras trip and he also had to pay for my school, I mean, I get where the stress was coming from and all that pent up sadness, but that didn’t explain why every Sunday had to be the same, and why it has stayed the same ever since.

On Saturdays he would get extremely drunk and would come home late from work, therefore on Sunday mornings he would wake up hangover and wanting to drink some more to feel less sick, so he would look for something to fight over with my mom so he wouldn’t feel bad over the fact that he wanted to leave. Fast forward a couple of hours later he would somehow manage to find out where we were so that he could meet us there and play pretend for not more than 30 minutes, he would start questioning my mom, saying things like: “Are you mad? Why do you have that big/long face (”Jeta” in Spanish)? Are you ignoring me?” My mom, of course would grow annoyed and just simply say, “no, I’m not” but to my dad that’s never enough so he would get mad, he would punch the table or any surface that’s near him and start yelling, they used to be more reserved about their fights, never doing them in public, or around other people, not even us, but he doesn’t care anymore.

This has been happening for longer than it should and I probably should’ve spoken up before, but today I grew tired, I don’t want this, I don’t need this, and no one should have to go through this. And yes, I know a lot of people has it worse, but to me this is a lot that I’ve been keeping to myself, it’s constant and sometimes I think that it’s never ending, it’s something that’s happened since I was practically born and I know I shouldn’t get used to this, but it’s starting to look normal to me, almost routine like.

Today I tried to stand up against him, make him listen to what I had to say, what I saw and felt, but he told us to “go fuck yourselves (Chinguen a su madre)”, and he said to me that “he would never fucking touch me in my stupid goddamn life (No te vuelvo a tocar en tu puta vida)” when I flinched away from his touch, he used my grandpa as an excuse for his behavior, but when I just said his name I was stupid and selfish.

He actually said that the man that I saw today, that was spitting all over, crying, making me and my mom feel bad, trying to emotionally manipulate us, punching the walls, throwing things, kicking the couch, pointing fingers at people, hitting the table was the man he was, and that it was my birth’s fault that he had to keep it to himself, except for when he was drunk.

He mentioned once during this confrontation that he was truly happy when he was drinking with his friends but when I told him that just a few moments ago he said that he was happy with us he started to insult me, calling me names.

He also said that he wanted to be hugged by us, but when I told him that today’s plan was just to do nothing just hang out on their bed eating pizza HUGGING and that we’ve been doing the same thing for the past two weeks he told me that he didn’t want to do it back then and that we always did what we wanted (we as in my mom, sister and I) and he just agrees to everything. But, also how did he expect to be hugged when he left after he picked a fight with my mom yet again and when he returned he was searching for an after fight? I really don’t get it, why does he expect us to just do such things when he’s like that? Why does he keep doing this? I guess I’ll never know.

But the saddest part to me is that he doesn’t realize that he’s hurting us, maybe not physically, but emotionally and the reason why he’s doing this is because that’s what family is for, or at least in his eyes, our home is where he has the right to get sad and emotional, but not like this, never like this.

I just needed to let this out before it kills me and I don’t know I would really appreciate it if someone talked to me (?) in this blog or in my personal @x-ximenas, I really need it.

[airandwaterdominant-blog]

bad sides of the moon signs

from our personal experience

aries moon: do you have any other emotion than rage? you are such a primitive human, your instinct to everything is HULK DESTROY. youre childish and probably once tried to murder your friend because they said you dont look good in your shirt. your anger levels are unreal, you go berserk because of everything, you have serious anger issues. also, stop expecting everyone to get over their bad mood in 5 seconds like you do.

taurus moon: no, you are not always right. no, your opinions arent automatically the right ones. stop assuming you know better than everyone and consider everyone elses opinion for once. youre way too stubborn and hide your feelings so you can seem mature.

gemini moon: i hope youre proud of setting the world record of how many emotions one human can go through in one minute. seriously, youre crazy. you either completely hide your feelings from everyone and put up a happy front or feel every emotion possible in a span of a minute. no wonder no one can put up with your moods. and no, youre not as intellectual as you think.

cancer moon: stop hiding your goddamn feelings. you hide them and build up anger until you explode and blow up on everyone in sight and lash out. your victim complex is strong, you blame everyone except yourself. you probably make everyone think youre tough but cry 5 hours a day in your room at home.

leo moon: did you know you are not special? shocking, right? you think youre so special and your emotions are the most important thing in the world, you demand attention and admiration from all of your friends at once and throw a tantrum if you dont get attention for 5 minutes. youre so easily hurt too, you make everyone think you have no feelings but in reality youre hurt because one of your friends doesnt talk to you for 5 seconds.

virgo moon: jesus christ, cut yourself some slack. youre constantly criticising yourself and hate yourself if youre not perfect in everything you do. you hold others to high standards as well and get mad if they dont live up to them. you also think you know better than everyone.

libra moon: stop trying to please everyone, its not that important to be well liked. you steal traits from others and try to get everyone to like you and be your friend, even though inside youre just hollow. you have no clue how to deal with emotions either.

scorpio moon: youre so god damn dramatic, you probably write poetry about how life is so hard and how youre not sure how youll manage because you accidentally broke a glass. you know exactly how to read others and use this to your advantage to manipulate people and get them to do exactly what you want. also can you open up for once? yes blah blah trust issues bad past youve been hurt blah blah but you cant get mad at other people if you can hide your emotions like a master and then they dont know how to tell what youre feeling.

sagittarius moon: honestly? you just being yourself is enough to roast you, i dont even have to write anything. no matter how old you are, you act like an immature reckless teenager, you run away from everything, feelings, problems, responsibilites and just go out and have fun. learn how to be mature. if youre in a depressed mood you instantly show escapist behavior and want to get drunk to run away from your feelings. your responsibilities will catch up to you one day and itll bite you in the ass.

capricorn moon: you want to make everyone think you have no emotions and probably think of yourself as stoic and tough but inside youre just weak. you get hurt by the smallest things. your front isnt convincing either, everyone can tell what youre feeling. also, have you ever heard of the verb "enjoy"? i dont think so since you criticize every damn thing, you literally cant enjoy something without pointing out its flaws.

aquarius moon: yes we get it, youre special and logical and above others. so unique, wow. you act like 30 year old virgins who think theyre hot shit, you think youre better than others and constantly look down on others while you also think youre some sort of god who has acquired all knowledge. newsflash asshole, youre nothing special. just shut the fuck up, no one wants to listen to you. no matter your gender, you constantly mansplain shit. your social media username is probably something like "HypergodOfDeath".

pisces moon: i have to admit, your acting and manipulation skills are impressive. you act like an innocent little lamb, make everyone love you and as soon as someone dares to cross you you turn everyone against them because someone as sweet as you cant hurt anyone, right? there are two types of you, one that pretends to act emotional to gain sympathy and is secretly the devil in disguise and theres the other one, the one whos constantly wallowing in self pity and thinks the world is sooo cruel and against them. i hate both of you.