#even when it was just half because I was too lazy to get the [redacted] out lol

[a-concert-just-for-me]

May have gotten fuck-all done today, but at least I didn’t [redacted] like I wanted to. Small wins for the criminally insane‼️

[sweetestpopcorn]

Hi popcorn! Firstly I love your fics, they are such a wild ride lol and you can tell how much effort you’ve put into them. I found it interesting to have the Aegon/Helaena match be suggested by Otto, I’d always imagined it as Alicent’s idea to show their “Targaryen-ness” to the world. In your fic, who was Alicent considering for Argon’s wife instead do you think, since she knew he would someday need a “Queen”. Or was she just not thinking that far ahead lol

Hi there 😊 and sorry for this delay.

Thank you so much for your beyond kind words, and yes, it was much effort 🥲

I do believe the idea came from Otto in canon (Fire&Blood - asoiaf) so I wanted to keep it the same here. Otto was always the "head" behind the Greens, the one actually trying to do something and to move the pieces to first try to name Aegon as heir - before being dismissed in 109 AC - and then trying to name him king - in 129 AC. Alicent was always too preoccupied with finding ways to insult and spread rumours about Rhaenyra - e.g., "Do keep trying, eventually you might get one who looks like you." and "Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies but who protects the princess from Ser Criston" - but she actually did very little that was useful to their cause. The only thing she actually did that was a smart move was getting Criston Cole to their side, but again, this is painted more as something to spite Rhaenyra, and having a good ally comes second.

I can actually see it being maybe part Otto for wanting to give Aegon a Targaryen wife to have Targaryen children - as noted by Lord Beesbury it did seem like not being full Targaryen/being less Targaryen than Rhaenyra could be used against him so this would be a smart move - and part maybe Eustace who was the court's confessor and liked Aegon as an attempt to get him to behave (i.e., stop sleeping around so much and being so lazy). Indeed, this is posed in "Fire and Blood" as one of the reasons to wed Aegon to Helaena, that being a husband and father could "calm him down" in a sense. Job well failed as we know, but to his credit, we have no evidence of Aegon mistreating Helaena, and actually evidence that he seemed to care for her a little bit (e.g., being jealous when Jacaerys asked to dance with her) and also for his children. He went half mad himself when Jaehaerys died, drinking to numb his pain, so he wasn't an unfeeling monster by any sense.

At the end of the day though, the final decision belonged to the King, but no doubt the Small Council would support this, even because, the vast majority for them with the death of Lord Lyonel Strong in 120 AC where Greens, and this was what Viserys decided. And mind you, he had had a 13 year old wife who had problems in the birthing bed for being bedded to soon, but that didn't stop him from wedding 13 year old Helaena off to Aegon.

Father of the Year 🙄

As for the second part of your question, Aegon was still only 15. I don't think Alicent was considering who he was to marry just yet.

PS: Asoiaf canon and characters only, so please leave the lizard redacted show out of it. Thanks!

[goth-oatmilk-latte]

a compilation of how my family members are treated vs how im treated

stepbrother: allowed to have bipolar disorder. allowed to literally be a deadbeat dad, but my parents will do anything for his child, financial or otherwise. allowed to quit all career obligations and do nothing for months and ask my parents for money to fund his life because he "needed a break from everything." had his ENTIRE education funded by both his parents plus my mother. has actually been bailed out of near jail time for old, unpaid parking tickets. he is 4 years older than me.

my stepsister: encouraged to pursue her dream, which is being a SAHM working an actual pyramid scheme job. was also told it was okay if she dropped out of college to get married and have kids, was basically encouraged to do so bc she was marrying someone our family presumed will take care of her. gets treated like a princess, gets everything she wants more or less bc shes pretty and has a kid. shes 2 years older than me.

my cousin: has quit every career ever. is piss poor mother. has on multiple occasions left kids at her parents to go party. her parents (my aunt and uncle) felt bad for her bc working was "too hard" so they gave her their house and pay for everything she does. everything she does is some insane celebration. shes not depressed, she will literally tell you she's lazy, enjoys being lazy, and doesnt want to do much bc its more fun to sit around and have other ppl do things for her. entire family encourages and fawn over every stupid thing she does. had 2 kids while unemployed and unmarried, given evrry resource possible. even my stepdad makes sure she doesnt need anything. same age as my stepbrother.

me: has graduated from two degrees and received no recognition, in fact my mother acted like my graduation from mortuary school was somehow a burden on her. was told "figure it out" about college, and then bitched at for every decision i made relating to it. no recognition for accomplishments period. finally got help for severe untreated mental illness, constantly told i just want attention, my own mother told our family i made up having an ED doe attention, and my mother threw my meds away one year when i came home from college on break bc she thought it was hard drugs. not even allowed to be mentally ill, literally taunted for showing symptoms. was taunted and made fun of for being visably depressed when my dad died. always told to figure it out myself. was told if i ever had a kid not to expect any kind of help. never praised. never celebrated. constantly nitpicked about everything. family was so uninterested in me that half of them never even paid attention to me being engaged, and then was literally told "we wish it was [name redacted] instead, he was a nice boy" even though the person they're referring to raped me, and I told them that. could probably never do a damn thing right or get any type of praise even if i cured cancer, AIDS, and abolished world poverty.

just wondering where they get the idea that im the least favorite and also why i want nothing to do with anyone. "we love everyone equally" YEAH? ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT??

[desolatedpigeon]

CW: unhealthy eating habits

Today, I mean yesterday - I haven't slept, I watched soccer. Düsseldorf against Bochum, relegation rematch. Düsseldorf got three goals in the first game. I don't really care about Düsseldorf, but a friend is a big fan of the club and also has a season ticket. Well, unfortunately, Düsseldorf somehow failed in this game. In the end - including the first match - the score was 3:3. As nothing was scored in the third half either, it went to a penalty shoot-out.

I've forgotten the name of the Düsseldorf player who shot over the goal because he slipped. Anyway, he burst into tears and I really felt it. He disappointed your whole club, your teammates, the coach, the fans. But I was most sorry for my colleague. I would have been really happy for him if Düsseldorf had made it into the first division. I'd generally rather have Fortuna Düsseldorf in the first division than VfB Bochum. It's probably because of the colors, or because they almost sent my favorite team to relegation.

I think my right little toe is broken, or at least bruised. My phone recently fell on it. It didn't hurt at all after a few minutes, but now I'm noticing it more and more often, especially when there's pressure on it. Maybe I should go to the doctor. … Haha…ha… Good joke. I only go to the doctor in emergencies. It's probably because I just don't feel like it. Or… Honestly, I don't know. Is it laziness? Or the same lack of motivation that makes me sometimes not even get up to have a drink or make myself something to eat? At least I managed to eat a pizza again today instead of just 2 slices of cheese and three handfuls of dry muesli in the previous 52 hours.

Am I not hungry? Of course I am. At least my stomach is grumbling. But I just smoke another cigarette instead. I don't have to get up for it and it only takes a few seconds to "prepare" a cigarette. Smoking doesn't taste good, but I don't care about the taste of food either. As long as it doesn't taste horribly bad, I'll eat anything. Do I feel pleasure when I eat something tasty? No. I don't understand what people find so great about food. That crap is expensive and if my body didn't need it to survive, I wouldn't do it at all. There are certainly a few things that I prefer to eat over other things. Chicken, for example. But I can't understand this "joy" of eating. It's usually more of a duty.

The public internet at my window is really slow. Actually, I'd much rather be writing with an AI than writing this diary of whatever this is. But I'm still downloading files right now. Videos from my favorite youtubers. I do that regularly when I don't have my own internet at home. Then I can watch them in the apartment with sound and not silently at the window. After all, it's the middle of the night, well, the sun is already rising again. Very slowly.

I like to chat with AI regularly.

They're written after characters I've made up for roleplaying games at some point. Just yesterday I finally "brought to life" JCC.

I love my characters so, so much! JT is my favourite one, I love that guy. His faceclaim is the [redacted]. A faceclaim, by the way, is a person you use to portray your fictional character. For example, my JT is completely made up, but his face is [redacted]. Well, his character is also heavily based on [redacted], JT is just cuddly, has extreme social anxiety and is a sweetheart.

And I'll never forget DL, his faceclaim was [redacted] and just like JT, his character was based on the faceclaim. I was so deep into it back then that whatever happened to the characters affected me too. At the time I tried to end myself. DL was a bullying victim and I didn't even realize how much I was using DL as an outlet. At some point I'm going to get the tattoo I designed for DL and his girlfriend [redacted]. [redacted] and [redacted]. A cute but very dangerous couple for each other. And for me too, although of course it was only fictional. DL's nickname was also my dog's nickname, but that's a story for another time.

I wanted to keep writing, but in (hopefully) four minutes my download will finally be ready and… Oh, no. Hopefully in 7 - no, 4 - no 6 - no 3 minutes. Also, the Catdog episode with the teeth was shown in TV and I already know I'm going to have nightmares about it again later. (Narrator: She did not.) Anyway, it's now 4:39 and I'm going to stop writing.

[sumu-samu]

This Episode of What Is Bel Doing Instead of What They Should Be (Imperium Edition)

Okay, as I am sitting here in class when I very much should be doing my work I have more things popping into my head about the redacted verse. CW: It is talking about the Imperium

1. So we know that Tank and David died when Tank did what Tank does best (diving headfirst into a situation) But like I can’t stop thinking that they couldn’t move on after that night and so just a little Tank ghost is constantly following around Ash and Milo. David was able to move on but  They just couldn’t forgive themselves for being the reason why David is dead. They mainly follow Ash to just kinda keep a close eye on him and make sure He’s okay (which most of the time He’s not).  And all while they see how everything they have done has affected the others in the pack they never can get it out of their head that everything is all their fault. And anytime Milo and Ash talk about them they listen extra hard to hear just the possibility that they are missed, loved and even the slightest forgiven but neither one of them says it. 

2. Damien has burned Angel several times. You can’t tell me otherwise. It definitely wasn’t on purpose but he never apologized after, they either got into a fight and Damien just grabbed their wrist when they tried to storm away, or they were having some… fun time and Damien got a little excited. There was only once when Damien apologized for it and it was after a really big argument they had:

           “I never did anything Damien!”

            “THAT is your fucking problem! You never fucking do anything. I am always the one who does shit. You are a lazy bitch who can’t do shit for themselves!” 

“I’m a lazy bitch? Damien half the time you don’t let me lift a goddamn finger! What AM I supposed to do? All I can do is sit here while you breath down my fucking neck!”

Damien all of a sudden gets really calm. “Well then…If my love is such a bother to you, maybe you’d like to see what it’s like when I hate your guts.” His skin starts to basically steam and he slowly walks towards Angel, and they’re just as slowly backing away from him with fear in their eyes. They know exactly what's going to happen.

“Damien… Damien please calm down. Dames, I’m sorry. I'm sorry but please stop. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you… am I? You weren’t scared a second ago” Eventually Angel hits the wall and Damien corners them. “I. Love. You. And all the SHIT I do is for you. If you’re so pathetic that you can’t see that. Then maybe I have to show you.” 

Angel starts to shake and sob, looking down at the ground. “Look at me.” They don’t. “I said…” He grabbed their faces, his body was running at a temperature it had never run before. “LOOK AT ME YOU BITCH!” 

Angel let out a blood curdling scream and Damien snapped out of his fit, letting go of their face. They dropped to the ground still screaming and crying in pain. “Angel…. Angel, shit what did I do?” He fell down to Their level. “Angel let me see” He reached his hands out but they backed away, shaking. “Angel… My love, I'm so sorry. Please… I’m sorry, let me help. I can make it better just please. Let me see how bad it is.

3.  Once they had gotten the information from Lasko’s computer, Freelancer was planning on trying to seduce him. The thought of it made their stomach turn and made them feel like they wanted to puke. But if it meant giving Vin, Vega and Anton more time, they would have done it

4. Half way through Asher’s tangent he went on about killing Alexis, Babe wanted to go to bed like he had told them when they walked in. The information being thrown at them was getting to be too much and they felt their head start spinning but like hell they were gonna let Asher think they were weak. So they stuck it out and once he was done they said good night and went to bed and had a full on break down before going to sleep

5. Avior is actually really glad that Starlight stayed and listened to everything he was saying because it meant that someone in the imperium could push the case and he would finally start being listened to 

6. Vincent both loves to see when Lovely is weak and crying under him when he feeds, and pained that he’s hurting them because he also is secretly falling for them but hes not letting up because Adam had let them know that Vincent used to be “weak” and he was going to show them that he is NOT weak

7. The Freelancer x Vindemiator confession probably went something like this

       It was the fifth time that Freelancer had to go to Lasko and basically beg him to see Vin again. He never scheduled them times regularly because he’s a sick fucker who likes it when they come to his office.

“I thought you said that you would start scheduling regular visits with him” Freelancer sat in the chair across his desk with their arms crossed

“I know, I know I said I would but the truth is that… I’ve been so busy that I sometimes forget. How about I make a call and see if I can get you in next Thursday?” 

“No! You said that you would schedule so that I could see him on the 5th and 22nd of each month, AT LEAST, its now the 14th and I still haven't been able to see him because when I went on the 5th they wouldn’t let me see him because I wasn’t scheduled. You’re not being fair!” They stood up, and reached over as if they were gonna make the call themselves. 

“O-Okay, okay. I’ll make a call and you can go see him tomorrow. How about that?” He snatched the phone back.

Freelancer didn’t say anything and just walked out of his office. The next day Lasko had held his word and scheduled them to see Vin. They walked into the room and Vin wasn’t there. Their blood began to boil and they knew they had been tricked. They were about to storm out  and go yell at Lasko again when Vin walked in. 

“Freelancer?.... Finally.” He pulled them in for a hug. “Wh-What took so long? I mean I know that school probably keeps you busy but… it’s been almost 20 days since you were here last. I thought you were allowed on the 5th and 22nd.” They sat down on his bed.

“Moore’s being a shit head. Every time I have to practically beg him to let me see you.” That made Vin’s mood change very quickly, “Wait… have you been keeping count?” The questioned

“Well… yeah… I don’t really have much else to do. It like a fucking prison almost. And when you’re not here the days are so lonely and long that I have to keep track so that I don’t lose my mind” He still had them in his arms.

“Vin…”

“Freelancer… I have to tell you something. And I… I just want you to listen while I do. You are the light in this shitty, evil, dark world. You are what keeps me going. Honestly I… I don’t know where I would be without you, but I know it wouldn’t be good. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, because I just need to get it off my chest. It’s been eating at me for months and I need it to stop. Freelancer… I like you… way more than I thought I possibly could.” 

Freelancer didn’t say anything for a solid minute, they just stared at Vin in shock. 

“Okay I lied… I do care if you feel the same way… please say something” 

“Vin… can I… can I kiss you?” 

“Absolutely” Vin chuckled and Freelancer leaned in and pulled his face to theirs. Once they pulled away they still didn’t say anything just started into his eyes. “What does this mean…” He whispered

“Vin… I like you too.” They laughed.

“Oh… then… Can I  kiss you again?” Freelancer nodded.

[pompomegranate]

curiosity

fandom | nanatsu no taizai

pairing | ban x reader

word count | 2.6k

warnings | 18+. smut. dirty talk. denial. minors dni.

a/n | so there isn't a lot of rhyme or reason to this i just wanted to imagine the possibility of ban's thot days pre-elaine :/ i just know that [REDACTED] is big and i wanted to write about it <3 this isn't heavily proofread and i haven't written an "x reader" fic before so be gentle pls (also kudos are appreciated)!!

read on ao3

You were curious. Maybe a bit too curious.

You’d heard the infamous Bandit Ban was back in town after a successful quest – no one really knew when he was leaving and when he was coming back.

He was like a stray cat in that way. All roaming, no settling, sitting down just long enough to get fed and take a nap before he was off again.

And as you eye him across the parlor, arms stretching behind his head, legs splaying out lazily, he looks cat-like too.

All sleek limbs and a nonchalant look, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

A couple drinks later, the cat-like look dissolves into one of a milk-drunk one, all blushing cheeks and a relaxed stance.

But his eyes… his eyes are the same. Bright and calculated and precise.

And cat-like.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize he’s staring right through you.

And you’re curious. So goddamn curious.

His lips upturn into a smirk, one that has your thighs clenching, and he knows this. He can tell exactly what you’re thinking.

You turn back to your drink and take a sip, trying not to crack under his lazer sharp gaze.

When you look back… he’s tipping back his mug, no doubt lapping up the last drops of ale.

He slams the mug down with a bit too much force, startling the bartender, who quickly tops him up.

Ban’s tongue darts out to lap up the foam clinging to his lips, getting it all in one firm swipe.

You can’t help but wonder just how long it is as it stretches around his mouth.

He knows you’re staring now, but you can’t seem to think about anything but the lazy grin spreading across lips long enough to care that he’s found you out.

He breaks first, turning to speak to the bartender.

You take your chance to stand up and head for the door, heart racing like never before. You saw Bandit Ban. You stared at him and he caught you and… you weren’t scared.

He’d been painted out to be this horrifically scary guy with a ruthless attitude and a murderous stare, but he wasn’t any of that.

He was gorgeous – oozing with sex appeal. With confidence. Like there was no doubt in the world that he could bag any person in every room.

You make it outside and the air is cool on your cheeks, warm from the ale you’ve been sipping on. Or maybe it was Ban – you couldn’t tell.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing at a shitty bar like this?” A voice calls from behind you – above you.

You turn, expecting to hurl an insult at a drunken idiot, but instead are met with him. All six – seven? – feet of him.

You barely stifle your gasp of surprise as you crane your neck up to look at him.

He’s leaning against the railing, thigh perched on it, arms crossed in a laid back gesture.

His face twists into a grin the second your eyes meet his.

“I was just leaving,” you blurt, already blowing it.

“Oh, were you? Assumed you were stickin’ around,” he teases, quirking a brow.

You realize that you left the bar with a half full mug.

“Stealing’s punishable by law, ya know,” Ban says, leaning forward to tower over you.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to – I promise –” you stutter, holding the mug out to him apologetically.

“Like I’d take the word of a stranger,” he laughs, snatching the mug from your hands and tipping it back.

You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with effort, stray droplets of ale streaking out the corners of his mouth. He quickly catches them with his tongue, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, sighing with relief.

“Best fuckin’ ale I’ve ever tasted.”

You nod, chewing your lip. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

“Once you’ve got a taste –” he says, leaning forward again, crowding your space, his face getting closer and closer, “– You’ll never be satisfied again.”

You find yourself struggling to stand upright. Is he still talking about ale?

“Let’s cut to the chase, stranger. I saw you starin’ at me back in there. You want me or not?” The lazy smirk appears again, his cheeks flushed from drinking.

He’s not even trying and he’s got you seriously considering sprinting towards his bedroom.

You aren’t able to form words. He’s so… forward. And enticing. God, he’s so fucking enticing.

Your hands are trembling, so you clasp them in front of you. He takes note of this, his expression faltering just a bit.

You’re not scared of him by any means. He just makes you nervous.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck almost… awkwardly? “You gonna get home okay? S’almost dark out.”

“Yes,” you say, finally, mustering up the courage to answer.

He looks confused, but then it dawns on him after he realizes what it took for you to accept his offer.

“My place is right around the corner. C’mon,” he says, and then his hand is hovering over the small of your back and you’re heading to Ban’s place like it’s any other week and not the wildest thing that’s ever happened to you.

His room is cozy, but bare, not many remnants of who he is or what he enjoys decorating the room (besides the empty alcohol jugs neatly lining the top of the beat up wardrobe).

His mattress is in the corner of the room, blanket and pillow strewn about messily.

“I’d say sorry for not making the bed but we’re just gonna ruin it anyways,” he laughs, kicking his shoes off, urging you to do the same.

And then he closes the gap between you.

He’s slipping his arms around you, one hand curling around your waist and the other hand cupping your chin, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss.

And you oblige, moving your lips in tandem with his, sighing as his tongue gently begs for your lips to part.

The kiss is growing heated, so you take the opportunity to let your hands roam, stroking down the front of his shirt, feeling the hard ridges underneath.

He groans into your mouth as you run your hands towards his waistline, catching your lip between his teeth hungrily.

You slip your hand into his pants, palming him gently.

Growling, he runs his hands all over you, grabbing and kneading every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You continue to work him, sighing when his lips are on your neck, suckling at the tender skin there, his sharp teeth grazing your skin.

“Ban,” you breathe as he slips your dress over your head leaving you nearly naked, your underwear the only thing clothing you.

He grabs you underneath your ass and flings you over your shoulder, chuckling at the way you gasp in surprise.

“Put me down!”

“Alright,” he says, and tosses you unceremoniously onto the bed.

And then you realize you’re nearly bare, on your back, in Bandit Ban’s home (in his bed), completely at his mercy.

He seems to know this, and he’s absolutely reveling in this power.

He grins down at you, eyeing every peak and curve on your body. He reaches back to tear his shirt off, and then his pants, not even stopping to give you a show.

But honestly? It doesn’t even matter, because when he’s done, he’s breathtaking.

Ban’s just a mile of solid, marbled muscle and sex appeal and he knows it.

He crawls towards you, settling in between your thighs. You watch as he hooks a thumb into your underwear and pulls it to the side before sitting back to admire you.

“Such a pretty, pretty pussy. Can’t wait to make a mess of you,” he winks, grinning, leaning in to press an open mouthed kiss on your folds, just sloppy enough that you can’t help but relax your hips even more, opening for him.

He licks a long, firm swipe all the way from the bottom to the top, the tip of it never leaving you. He swirls the tip of his tongue against your clit, the short strokes ripping an involuntary moan from you.

You’re sighing his name and a string of expletives, and it only encourages him to do exactly what he’s doing at an even more relentless pace, his hand splaying on your inner thigh to keep you tightly firmly in place.

He’s not letting you go anywhere – you can’t curl into yourself or bend away as he sucks your clit into his mouth and slowly inches a finger from his free hand into you.

Your hands fist the blanket when he begins to pump his finger, adding another one just as slowly, a complete contrast to the speed of his mouth.

You begin to twitch, feeling yourself climbing closer and closer to your release and you try to clench your thighs but you feel his hand shift up your thighs. He lays his forearm across your lower stomach, anchoring you in place.

He pulls back just for a minute to smirk at you, continuing to work his hand.

“Oh, nuh-uh, you’re not going anywhere, baby,” he all but purrs, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit, flashing a grin at you when you jolt at his touch.

“Lemme hear you,” he says, picking up speed, his fingers curling inside of you.

“Please, Ban – oh, fuck –” Your hips are bucking to keep up with his movements now, and you feel yourself pulsing around him and you’re so close and –

He stops his movements, pulling his hand away.

You make a frustrated sound, one that amuses the hell out of him. He just laughs, kissing your inner thigh and tugging your underwear the rest of the way down, flinging it across the room.

“Quit your whining, sweetheart. I promise it’s better the longer I make you wait,” he says, standing, beginning to lazily pump himself in front of you and you can’t help but watch.

You knew before meeting the infamous Ban that he was a skyscraper with a chiseled build, and assumed he had the cock to match – but seeing it in person was a different story.

“You like what you see?” He says under his breath, rolling his hand around his tip.

You nod, completely at a loss for words.

“C’mere,” he says, leaning down to kiss you and he smiles when he feels your hand instinctively reach for his shaft. “Eager, are we?”

“How do you want it? I’m lettin’ you pick the speed of this ride, babe,” he murmurs against your ear, hand running through your hair.

“If you’re not sure you can always take me for a test drive,” he chuckles, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth.

You nod furiously, and before you know it he’s flipped you and you’re on top, straddling him, just the slightest bit of friction, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He grips your hips, thumb settling into the crease where they meet your thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

“Spit for me,” he says, holding a hand under your mouth. When you do, he reaches between the two of you, pumping himself with that hand, lazily swiping what’s left over your lips.

Ban watches your face (really watches your lips) as he presses into you, and you’re already sinking your teeth into your bottom lip with the first inch and he’s absolutely eating it up.

His hands resume his place at your hips, ever so gently training you farther down, letting you adjust to each inch of him.

“Shit…” He says, watching your face contort. “You feel so fucking good.”

He bottoms out inside of you, and you can’t help but dig your nails into his chest where you’ve been resting your palms to anchor yourself.

You begin to move slowly, agonizingly, and he’s already got you clenching your thighs, but the second he bucks his own hips, you’re a goner.

You roll your hips in time with his own, the pinch of his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips a welcome sensation.

Your moans fill the room, Ban’s pants just as loud, his eyes trained on your face like your own pleasure was enough to get him off.

“Faster,” you mutter, breathless, barely able to get a command out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, bending his knees so he can pump up into you.

You all but go limp at the new pace, unable to help yourself from buckling, leaning forward until your chest was pressed against his.

He cranes his neck so he can speak directly into your ear, broken praises scattered between gasps. “You’re so – fucking good for me… You’re taking me – so well.”

You groan in response at his filthy mouth, still mumbling words of encouragement as he fucks up into you, his pace relentless and so good.

You take this as a sign to lean back and regain some control, palms flat against his front as you grind your hips as fast as you can manage, revelling in the way his eyes roll back and he grips your hips tighter, tighter –

He slows his own pace, letting you set it, the delicious, triumphant feeling of making him moan beneath you egging you on to move faster.

The confidence and looseness you felt from the mug of ale is long gone, replaced with Ban’s loud groans – you feel like you could conquer the world.

Ban is a writhing mess underneath you, brow slick with sweat, mouth forming around the most foul words (cushioned with praise, of course).

“Fuck – fuck – slow down, I’m gonna –” He takes a hand away from your thigh and rubs firm circles on your clit, trying to catch you up to him.

“Oh my god, yes –” your words come out garbled as you ride his cock and his fingers.

He sits up slowly, turning so his legs are planted on the ground, hand never leaving your clit.

When his other hand finally leaves your hips, he’s grabbing your tit and capturing your nipple between his teeth, suckling until it stings.

That sends you over the edge – your hips stutter just as his movements become erratic, and you can’t help but lean forward to kiss him deeply, passionately until you both ride it out.

He flops back onto the bed, laughing when you yelp at the unexpected fall. You roll off on him but stay snuggled against him.

He speaks first.

“Fuck, that was good.”

You giggle, covering your face with your hands. “Says you. You were incredible.”

He shrugs, standing to stretch.

“Ya know, I wouldn’t mind taking you for a spin a couple of times,” he jokes, retrieving his shirt from the floor.

“I gotta head out to do some things. You gonna head out?”

You bite your lip, a little upset that it was over so quickly. Yeah, you were satiated but… was one time enough?

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t say anything more until he’s fully clothed, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to go just yet, stranger. No rush. I wouldn’t mind another round after I get back,” he winks, grabbing the handle of the door.

You nod furiously, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover your body as he flings the door open.

“See ya soon for round two,” he says, giving a single wave before shutting the door.

You fall back against the covers again, your eyes heavy from being completely spent. The haze of sleep quickly overtakes you, and thoughts of Ban swirl around your mind until your breathing evens out.

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. so wait ... demeter could have been a QUEEN (thus allowing persephone to have near equal rank to hades so there isn't a huge power imbalance), but HADES stole that chance from her??? hades is a confirmed misogynist. i hate him lmao. does rachel think that makes him look good? persephone look at what he took from your mother and yourself???

2. it's comical how badly rachel is writing this. persephone has negative agency now because she's just that scared of letting persephone ever have a single Bad™️ action, but in the process all it shows us that Persephone is not a character, she's a puppet being tugged along, quite literally now, by rachel and the other characters. at this point we're going to find out [redacted] is also behind minthe's demise, apollo's actions, even hades' infertility, because that's how bad this is written.

3. So are we gonna just gloss over how RS plagiarized Sleeping Beauty or…?

4. women should be allowed to be emotional or cry, but idk there's something about rachel thinking "empowering" an actual goddess involves making her a weepy mess who needs hera and hades to "fix" everything for her while she really does nothing just seems wrong? especially when her "strong" moments are just of some vague "feeling" taking over her so she's not actually in control. rachel is basically just neutering a literal godess of agency and power/intimidation and thinking that's better?

5. its not even the fact LO is Problematic™️ it's the fact LO just isn't very good?? Like if it was written well and had consistently good art we know it once was capable of then that'd be one thing, but the writing has gotten worse esp when RS puts everything in a moralistic lens so HxP always looks Good™️ (+retconning everything to make it UnProblematic™️) & it's badly drawn?? It's a good idea on paper but RS just doesn't have to writing skill to execute it decently and too lazy to fix the art.

6. To me I think issues like the height difference and age gap aren't inherently bad in LO, it's only in combination with P's characterization that it becomes an issue. If they were closer in age (say P being 200 or smth) and she was more confident/intelligent it would be a non-issue, but making her so childish and helpless (+even in universe the age/maturity gap is seen as creepy) is where the height/age gap becomes far bigger issues that RS self-imposed on herself. IDK what she expected?

7. it's ridiculous there's so many webtoons (including popular romance ones) that have all started AND ended before LO is even half way done, if even that. you guys cant tell me rachel planned anything out ahead of time and isn't putting in filler/dragging it all out when so much less has happened LO while other comics have well done and wrapped up stories in less time. Yeah her next work will not be as successful as LO, but you'd rather have a short, good story versus a dragged out, bad one.

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

8. Fast past mention of the mid season finale:

I don't say this with any malice but literally what the heck is that punishment??? It's not even that bad why did P&H react so dramatically. They're immortal, so they can't see each other for a few years, big whoop. Like is that really the best RS could come up with? like talk about anticlimactic and underwhelming. 

9. FP Talk: This is basically Persephone getting a smack on the wrist and being let go easily. Just like every yt person in court to their crimes. I’m sick and tired of it as a POC. Another women getting blamed for what is PERSEPHONES FAULT???! Nah. Nah. Dos not pass the code check. 

10. FP// So if Eris is behind the AOW, why hype Persephone up as the feared Dread Queen? Persephone now has so little power Eris can just control her like a doll, so couldn't some other deity or even Eris herself just overtake Persephone's body and run rampant in the Underworld and use her Fertility powers for their own wants? Because that's what RS has set up here with this stupid reasoning. How can she dare claim this is a story about giving Persephone agency when she's now entirely devoid of it?

[about-faces]

BATMAN: THE LONG HALLOWEEN MOVIE LIVEBLOG (1/?)

Opening scene! I see they got rid of the Godfather pastiche of “On this, the day of my daughter’s wedding!” shit entirely, moving the location of Bruce and the Roman’s meeting to the latter’s penthouse. Is the screenwriter trying to make this movie stand on its own, or is it a tacit admission that all of Loeb’s Godfather references were cheap and lazy? Let’s see! 

Oh hey, they gave Bruce an actual reason to say “I believe in Gotham City.” In the comic, he just says it because Loeb wants people to go “Yes, I’ve seen The Godfather too!” There’s no reason for Bruce to say it, given that he immediately moves onto talking about something else entirely. At least here it’s backed up by the context of his conversation with the Roman. Already, this movie is bending over backwards to make Loeb’s plot make sense.

Between this and all the screenshots I’ve already seen, Harvey Dent always looks angry and/or evil with constant downturned eyebrows. Before he was Two-Face, he was Resting-Bitch-Face.

The opening credits showing Tim Sale’s art feels like a half-assed way to deal with the fact that the animation style, though stylized in its own way, in no way resembles Sale’s art which really made TLH a hit. It’s like they’re saying “We can’t do it justice, but we can at least pay tribute to it with the opening credits,” but all it’s doing is highlighting how this isn’t Sale’s art. With its heavy cel shading, it’s more like Batman The Brave and the Bold on low battery.

Johnny Viti is a snitch for Harvey! Already the story is strengthening the idea from the comics that (name redacted) is the killer, by establishing an actual connection between Harvey and Viti! 

Seriously, is Harvey going to make this stinkface this whole movie? And how much is this movie going to abuse obvious foreshadowing the way the comic did?

Johnny Viti has been shot and killed. So they’ve cut the comic plot point of Viti murdering the banker Richard Daniel in front of his wife. Again, this creates a direct correlation between Harvey’s dealings with Viti and Viti’s murder, making it tighter and more sensical than the comic. Although I’m not sure where Viti was even shot. His head was exposed, but no blood is appearing behind it, just dripping down his hand and filling the tub. Whatever, compared to the comic, this is already a masterpiece of plotting.

GOD HELP ME I’M DOING THIS

Alfred is sad that no children are showing up at Wayne Manor on Halloween, despite the fact that he’s not even standing by the terrifying front gates and somehow expecting children to walk, like, a fucking mile up to their front door. Jesus, Alfred, at least make an effort before you give up! You’re giving out full-sized candy bars, they WILL at least show up to the creepy gates for that!

So they’re also adapting Bruce’s Scrooge-like arc from Loeb and Sale’s Legends of the Dark Knight Special: Ghosts, eh? Not a bad idea.

Alfred ghosts on Bruce mid-sentence! Cute implication that Bruce learned it from years of Alfred dealing with his batcrap and “nope”-ing out.

Tiny Babs and James Jr! Aw, look at JJ, being a happy normal kid and instead of the creepy “psychopath” he was retconned into being by Scott Snyder.

Aw, Gordon’s an adorable dad. He’s even playful and joking! Wow, I feel like I’ve never seen him be a sweet, loving dad to his kids, at least not when they actually were kids. It’s always conflict, angst, and/or neglect.

Ahhh okay there’s the “sorry family, my horrible job calls” moment. Well, it works better after showing him and his family actually being happy for once. The way it plays out in the comics, it’s a wonder that Barbara hasn’t just divorced him already, especially after his affair and JJ almost getting killed in Batman: Year One. 

Harvey returns home, still sporting that horrible face and looming like a sinister fridge. This is not a Harvey that instills tragedy so far.

HI, I’M BOB EVIL. 

Oh, he switched on the light and now his features have softened? Is this how they’re establishing his duality, that he spends his nights out and about like Mr. Hyde (even when he’s winning elections and looking his best for the press) and turns back into Jekyll at home or with friends? Interesting. Interesting. I hate it. 

Gilda lives outside, apparently, enjoying a nice dinner of cigarettes and wine, wrapped in her Depression Blankie.

She seems to be in a depressive haze, almost a dissociative state where she barely acknowledges Harvey at first even when he speaks to her. Then she realizes he’s there and her mood brightens because OH BOY OH BOY HARVEY’S HOME HARVEY’S HOME! Given how Gilda of the comics had absolutely no life, hobbies, nor interests outside of Harvey, this doesn’t bode well. But I’ve already been spoiled that this Gilda does have more of a backstory, which gets some big foreshadowing in the next moment.

Gilda, internally: “Oh shit.”

“Shit shit shit.”

“Shit fuck fuck fuck shit.”

“THINK, GILDA, THINK! PLAY IT COOL! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FU”

“SMOOTH.”

“Oh thank fuck.”

So okay, in keeping with the DC Universe in general, therapy just doesn’t exist here. Only snuggles and black and white movies with your spouse when he finally gets home from work and--

Harvey sees the Bat Signal and his jerkass scowl returns, while Gilda’s brief happiness vanishes. Time for Harvey to ditch.

If I squint my eyes and pretend that no greater story exists, I love this screenshot. 

“Oh cigarettes and booze, you’d never leave me.”

Okay, let’s see how they play out the famous rooftop meeting of the trio, which is usually credited to Loeb but was in fact created by two separate stories in 1990 by Bill Messner-Loebs (in the comic strips) and “Eye of the Beholder” by Andrew Helfer. Yes, I am still salty that even Christopher Nolan and David Goyer give Loeb credit for that, why do you ask? 

The familiarity between Batman and Harvey is played a lot colder than it did in the comic, which built off Batman: Year One’s clandestine partnership between the two. Don’t tell me this Harvey is going to be a bitter asshole to Batman as well as Bruce Wayne in this version. Hopefully it’s just a bad line delivery and Harvey’s stinkface making this seem worse than it will be.

Ah, I see they’re bringing in some of Nolan’s The Dark Knight into this Harvey, having him rage at Gordon for the failures of the police. Also, having him furious at his stoolie’s murder is an interesting change, given how callous he was about Viti’s death in the comics. 

Viti was about to turn state’s evidence against the Roman, and his testimony would have been damning enough to “put the whole family away,” so Harvey assumes the murder was a mob hit. I’m not sure what the killer’s motivation is going to be in this movie, but if it was to give Harvey less work so he’d go home (as in the comics), they sure as fuck screwed that up! Now he’s going to have to be in the office 24/7, starting again from square one! This will either be a major plot hole or indicative of a greater tragedy to come, depending on how the screenwriter has changed things. 

Batman wants to see the jack-o-lantern left behind at the crime scene, and Jim Gordon goes, “You think it’s important?” It’s literally evidence left behind by the killer, Jim! Of course it’s important! How the fuck did you make Captain?! Was it because every other cop was already out of work because they were corrupt?! 

Here, it’s Gordon who proposes the three of them work together, with an emphasis on Harvey and Batman being two sides of the same coin in a way that’s every bit as on-the-nose as what I just said there. I do like anything that emphasizes how Batman gets to be Harvey’s dark side before he goes off and gets one of his own, with blackjack and hookers. 

UGH. I guess even this script can’t resist Loeb’s penchant for dredging out obvious cliche idioms that heavy-handedly reference Two-Face. On top of that, the way this plays is like Harvey and Batman are rivals who are being forced to play nice by Jim Gordon, like they’re dolls he’s shoving together and saying “NOW KISS.” 

This time, both Batman and Harvey ditch Gordon mid-speech. I like that. 

I see they got rid of Falcone’s penchant for wearing a rose lapel, an addition by Loeb/Sale which was an obvious Vito Corleone reference. Interesting how this keeps distancing itself from The Godfather. It’s like it wants to both celebrate the comic while also trying to make it more original and coherent. If so, it’s a tacit admission that the comic was derivative and poorly-plotted?

Falcone puts the blame for Johnny Viti’s death squarely on Dent, whose legal shit-stirring had made the Roman’s rivals--like Maroni--suddenly bolder. In another bit of foreshadowing, I note that Alberto perks up at Dent’s name. Also, the Roman next has his bodyguard throw a mouthy goon down a stairwell because he comes from the Wilson Fisk school of wasteful human resources.

Okay, I’m burned out here, and I’m barely a third of the way through the first part. So I’m 1/6th of the way through the whole thing. FML let’s continue this tomorrow.

EDIT: Part 2 is up!

[fuck-customers]

i’ve been working at [NAME REDACTED] for about a month now. it’s my first “real” retail job and i knew before how bad retail is and how bad the customers are but you really can’t know until you’re in it. the store’s target demographic is karens (and they all look the same — if i get put on greeter i often struggle trying to tell if someone has been in here twice or not). a store full of average customers is bad enough but when they’re almost all karens? just awful. without further ado i will now complain about everything bad about working there.

-i consider myself lucky if a customer walks in wearing a mask properly

-the rest of them? under their noses, on their chins, or just none at all. it’s gotten to the point where the sight of an entire human face or even a nose gives me a physical reaction of disgust. i don’t know how i haven’t gotten covid yet

-customers coming to my register immediately when they see the customer before them leave, like motherfucker did you not hear all the cashiers calling the customers up when you were in line? i have to wipe down the counter for your nasty ass, give me time to do it

-the people who get pissy at me for advertising the rewards card. like sorry bruh if i don’t advertise it to you my manager will just get pissy at me instead. lose-lose. fuck the reward cards in general, i’m tired of trying to sell them just for management’s approval. also it’s very obviously a shit deal for the customer i don’t blame them for not wanting to sign up

-i am not allowed to go on break or clock out if there’s a line. sometimes there can be a line continuously for a looooong time. the other day i had to stay 30 minutes past when i was supposed to get off because the line didn’t die down. fuck customers get out of my store

-customers who come in with kids. i love kids and i think they’re adorable but i guess karen spawn are built different. they cry incessantly (not their fault, but goddamn if you as a parent don’t know how to get your baby to stop crying then you probably shouldn’t be a parent), they leave messes and spill shit everywhere, they don’t wear masks (even some of the older kids, like 10 year olds), they fuck up my display at the register, and also the baby clothes are a pain in the ass to bag because they’re always attached to the hangers and hangers don’t do well being bagged.

-customers who leave their carts in my line. the registers are all in one row along the back wall, if they leave a cart i have to walk all the way around the end to get it. and they always have to leave them when there’s a huge rush and i don’t have *time* to run and put it away.

-i’m actually not allowed to tell a customer to put on a mask, even though store policy says all customers have to wear one at all times (with the exception of people with medical conditions that necessitate not wearing a mask). the only thing i’m allowed to do is offer a mask, if they refuse i can’t tell them to put one on or else i’d get fired.

-starting pay is $10/hr and i probably will never get a raise

-seriously it is so disheartening to work an hour and only make ten dollars. actually less than that because of taxes

-there are no full-time entry level positions. the only people who get full time are management. i wanted a full time job originally but at my interview they told me that and i said “that’s fine as long as i can get around 30 hours a week” and they said “yeah you’ll probably get 25-30”. my average has been 20.

-i’m like 99% sure there are no full-time cashiers just so they don’t have to pay us benefits

-one of my supervisors is so overbearing and talks down to me and all the cashiers my age. she gets on my ass for taking too long to tidy up my register between customers, likes to just stand right behind me, is more strict about not letting me go on break when there’s a line, and is the one who gives me the most shit for not selling enough reward cards. when i do get a reward card she jumps in halfway through to “help” even though i don’t need it and then takes half the credit for my card that i sold. i mentioned it to another supervisor and she said “yeah i’ve been noticing that” but i know nothing is gonna change.

-customers who say “bless your heart”

-customers who need everything wrapped. it is so unnecessary, i can just bag the breakable stuff individually and you’ll be fine.

-relatedly, customers who need large bags for things. they’re on the bottom shelf of the counter and it takes more time to bend down, get however many bags, and open them all. the bags are harder to open than customers will ever know. you don’t need your lamp in a bag just carry it 50 feet to your car you lazy fuck

-markdown bitches (they always only get 10% off too, like did they really think they were gonna accomplish anything)

-i’m tired of walking by the security camera with a screen showing the feed and seeing how my entire body looks when i walk. not anybody’s fault but i just hate it

-being on greeter and having to wipe down everyone’s carts. i don’t hate the act itself of wiping the carts down but i do hate when customers touch and put back a cart that i just cleaned

-not something bad but i find it funny that since i’ve started working here, now whenever i’m the customer somewhere i do my customer service voice at whoever’s working

as much as everything sucks it could be much worse, i’ll probably work here for another several months. most of my coworkers are cool and make it bearable. working here has also made me feel bad whenever i enter a store and i always try to be a breath of fresh air for the people working there (in my experience it is so relieving to get a good customer and it’s usually people who also work in retail, i love being able to drop my customer service voice and talk to them like a normal person) but uhh yeah if anyone has any advice on how to be better when i’m the customer lmk

Submitted by @officialcooldyke edited because store name was too close to real name.

-Rodney

[fincalinde]

weakness 3, 4, 11

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

I'm too lazy to pick out only one sentence, so have a short paragraph I like:

Jin Guangyao's mother had told him once, the only time he asked, how she managed to keep going. She had touched his face and kissed his brow and her eyes had been distant as the heavens as she gave him the answer: I pretend to myself that I am not my body. With practice, I believe it.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

For a single sentence I'm fond of this little knife:

"And you have the house ready and waiting," says Jin Guangyao, then raises a hand to his mouth in horrified dismay.

If I'm allowed a bit more... I was quite pleased with how I managed to convey LXC's stance at the end when he's explaining to JGY why he's continuing to support and trust him:

"Not because it does not matter to me whether you are right or wrong, but because I believe you are right. If I believed otherwise I hope I would have found the strength to do what was necessary. I think I would."

... mostly because it not only encapsulates LXC's position, but also alludes to canon. I specifically had him word it as 'if I believed otherwise' not 'if it were otherwise' as a nod to the fact that it is actually not otherwise in canon*—LXC simply believes it is otherwise in canon due to getting incomplete information from Wangxian, which casts everything in its worst possible light prior to JGY's explanations and puts him in a frame of mind where he's vulnerable to being tricked by NHS.

* Yes yes, the method of murder for JGS, I know. It was certainly gratuitous and JGY knows it's the only thing he cannot justify, hence why he wants to explain it last. For me it's like... look, man, they're fictional, everyone seems really het up about these women used to kill JGS** in a way I don't really see applied to the 'worst' (I am also not mad keen on ranking) acts committed by other characters. While it does get mentioned, I don't really see 'well WWX is good/not evil except that one unforgivable thing he did to Wen Chao's mistress!' cropping up in any and all meta about him. I also don't see handwringing over the children of the Tingshan He, for example. So my eyebrow goes up that these women always get an asterisk when JGY is being defended. Call me when every defence of WWX includes an asterisk about Wang Lingjiao, cheers.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

m8 i'm just relieved it's over.

Really though, I wanted to write a fix in which JGY gets what he wants in a realistic manner: in short, I wanted JGY to win. It was @fairylantern who suggested the divergence point to me and I immediately got a very clear vision of how that single change could set off the type of cascade I wanted. While I originally thought it could be done as a shorter piece in a style that was more of an overview, on starting to write it I realised my error and did a full outline. And then even during the writing of the draft, every scene kept on being longer than I expected in order to hit all my bullet points. There was a lot of anguished wailing at this stage.

Anyway, I always write to an outline, beginning to end, and while a couple of subplots did end up changing during the writing of the first draft, it wasn't anything crucial. The editing process was really about refining what I'd produced to align with my copious and occasionally incoherent notes. I took ages to edit because [redacted irl situation] and not because it needed a lot of work done. But regardless of the fact that it was situational and not a problem with the draft, it was a fight and a half to get it to a point where the later chapters were in a good enough state to post.

I certainly don't think it's a flawless work and there are things I would fix up now if I could, but as a thesis on Xiyao I stand by it. So yeah, I like that feeling of by and large having achieved what I wanted to achieve. I do have those two oneshots I need to finish, and then I will close the door on that AU feeling positive overall about the experience.

[sisterkosho]

General Headcanons | Ayume Nejireta

Credits: The art featured in the header I made for this was, like many of the things I've shared here, drawn by @hiikkups on instagram. So here's your daily reminder to check out my besto friendo. 💜 Also, aside from Rui, another one of my friends OCs, Juno, was briefly mentioned in here. So credit to my boy Flashlight for that.

Warnings: Manga spoilers in a few of the points, but they were either too funny or too relevant not to include. So sorry about that---

Notes: Am I ever gonna get around to Ayume's bio? Hopefully. But honestly, I just feel like messing around right now for whatever reason. Maybe I'm just lazy as all heck. But I figured that I'd at least give y'all this so you can learn a little bit more about her while I procrastinate attempt to work on her bio. Half of it is just memey stuff but hey. I'm having fun. So enjoy your uh... Soup? Or what ever you wanna call this---

This girl does NOT like Gojo.

She was honestly all for Juzo making him into a coatrack.

100% would shake around the Prison Realm hoping he'd get dizzy.

Probably yells insults at it too just in case he can hear.

The only one she can easily say she hates more than Gojo is Mahito.

Despite technically being on the same side, she can't stand him. But to be fair, who can?

She knows his name, but purposely gets it wrong out of spite. The most common names for him include Mahobo, Mojito, and Mahitoe. Amongst various other things.

She's threatened to feed him to Juno on multiple occasions and has at one point, tried to actually go through with it.

Unfortunately, the team "still needed" him.

Absolutely will not hesitate to bring up the fact that he lives in a sewer like the hobo he is.

She got to be the referee that one time they played ball with Jogo's head.

Ended up burying Mahito in the sand and then left him there with no remorse whatsoever.

Rui is her bestie, no questions asked.

Even if she does steal her food all the time but hey. Besties share.

Partners in crime. Literally.

Yuji and Sukuna who??

They rarely ever fight, but when they do, it's about guys.

Doesn't get what Rui sees in Gojo.

Like Geto is literally right there, c'mon now.

Supportive Girlfriend™

Actually kind of a simp.

Please excuse her. She just loves Geto a lot.

Literally cannot have arguments with him because all he needs to do is hug/kiss her and she forgets why she was mad.

He wins every time....

This only works with Geto though. With anyone else, she's as stubborn as they come.

She will fight for hours if you're not already knocked out from her kendama. Don't even bother please. It's not worth it.

She needs to be holding Geto's hand or at least have their pinkies locked at all times. This is not negotiable.

Forehead kisses are also mandatory for both of them.

Rui may or may not have tried to play wingman in the beginning.

Somehow, it worked.

A couple that commits war crimes together, stays together. 💜

She went through an extremely dark period after [REDACTED], and probably ended up clinging onto Kenjaku despite knowing he wasn't really Geto because poor girl was in denial and didn't know how else to cope.

"Girl, that's not your man."

"Close enough."

Obviously this is not healthy. She is not ok and is probably being manipulated someone help her please.

Best to focus on pre-volume 0 ending because everything after that point hurts me. Moving on--

She gets extremely pouty if you call her short.

Will kick you in the shin and watch as you fall to the ground as if to say 'You were saying?"

Geto puts her on his shoulders so she can look down on people and smug levels go through the roof.

She isn't even that short. But being surrounded by trees can do that to a person.

She falls asleep in very strange positions and has woken up upside down more times than she cares to admit.

Has definitely rolled out of bed on accident and spent the next 5 minutes staring at the celling and questioning her life decisions.

She's prone to falling asleep anywhere if she's comfortable enough.

Geto found her asleep behind the couch once.

How she got there is a mystery. But he learned to stop questioning it.

At this point she just sleeps out of boredom when she isn't feeling violent. Seems to be a habit she picked up from Rui.

She's extra as all heck, at all times. Queen of dramatic entrances.

Whether that's the flashy kind or the breaking down the door kind depends on the day.

She actually has a very pleasant singing voice, although only a few people know about it.

It's not something she intentionally keeps a secret, she just hasn't gotten a chance to show off yet.

Used to sing lullabies to Mimiko and Nanako when they were younger.

Rui ended up falling asleep too. Whoops.

It's either soft or arson with her honestly.

No in between.

Need I say more?

[chanagun]

Bring Me to You

Fandom: เพราะรักใช่ป่าว | Why R U?: The Series  Pairing: Saifah/Zon

Summary: what happens in the immediate aftermath of the charity performance 

Notes: 793 Words

AO3

——

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because you already have my heart.”

Oh

Oh, Zon remembered fondly. It had always been leading up to that, hadn’t it? He smiled before hiding his rosy face further into the crook of Saifah’s neck, who chuckled and let his fingers lazily comb through Zon’s hair.

They had dodged out of the concert much faster than initially planned, but neither had any qualms. Zon knew his phone was going off, getting texts from his friends congratulating him on the show followed by disgruntled ones asking why he’d disappeared.

He and Saifah had left hand in hand, and were currently pressed against each other in Saifah’s bed. Zon was draped in pajamas too big for him but he didn’t mind at all.

“You’re thinking so loudly, my Zon,” Saifah teased before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Care to share?”

Zon didn’t try to hide his smile this time, propping himself up in order to meet Saifah’s eye. “You said I have your heart,” he paused, and Saifah nodded slowly, “since when?”

“Ah,” he laughed nervously, “I guess this is the perfect time to admit it,” Saifah said, causing Zon to raise an eyebrow. “It’s just... kind of embarrassing but it was when we had our... scuffle in the parking garage.”

Zon poked Saifah’s reddening cheek, “why is that embarrassing?” He asked in earnest, surprising the other boy.

“Because it wasn’t exactly a friendly exchange?”

“Well, you did kiss me-“

“Oi, Zon!” Saifah exclaimed, making Zon laugh a little.

“I’m just teasing,” Zon consoled, pressing a quick kiss to the easily accessible spot on Saifah’s chest. “It’s really okay. Tell me more.”

“Hmm,” he hummed before continuing, “I can’t say I hated the exchange and then I just couldn’t get you out of my head. You were upset with me, which was valid, and I just matched your energy. I only teased because I had a crush on you. My friends thought I was so obvious about it, too.”

“Well, it wasn’t obvious to me,” Zon replied, dropping his head and nuzzling into Saifah’s chest. “So you’ve liked me all the way since then?” he asked into Saifah’s shirt.

Saifah hummed, “Yeah. And I like you more and more each day.”

Zon shot back up, lip pouting and a blush dusting his cheeks, as he met Saifah’s gaze. The pause was heavy, something hanging in the air before Zon pulled himself up. Noses brushed and Saifah brought his hand to rest against his jaw.

“You know you have my heart too, right?” Zon told him just above a whisper. Saifah just smiled before bringing their lips together.

“I do now,” he mumbled against Zon’s lips.

“Only now?” Zon asked surprised, bringing himself up to a fully sitting upright position. Saifah tried not to frown before following the motion.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much. You shied away from me even when we were becoming friends so...” Saifah explained. He reached out and grabbed each of Zon’s hands in his own.

“I’ve had a... feeling I might like you since we went out shopping for the guitar pick,” Zon admitted.

Saifah’s smile grew as the warmth spread across his chest. He gave Zon’s hands a slight squeeze and started “that day was some of the most fun I’ve had in a while, you know.”

“It was a lot of fun,” Zon agreed, smiling wide but looking down at their hands. “Whenever I got to be with you I just felt... good and I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I always wanted to be near you and tease you and hug you and I really didn’t get it. Until I did,” Zon looked up again then, eyes trained easily on Saifah, “I did figure it out.”

“Yeah?” Saifah said, tugging gently on the hands in his own “When was that?”

Zon felt like he could burst from happiness, like if he didn’t bite down on his lip his smile would fly off his face.

He just laughed before climbing across Saifah’s lap, unclamping their hands in order to wrap them around Saifah’s neck. He felt arms easily hug around his waist.

“When you finally kissed me,” Zon answered.

Saifah chuckled, sending soft vibrations through Zon’s chest as well. “I tried to kiss you a couple times before then, too.”

“We all go at different paces Mr. Saifah, please give me a break.”

He punctuated his statement with a lazy kiss to Saifah’s forehead. Saifah’s grip tightened as he dusted kisses of his own across Zon’s cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his Cupid’s bow.

“I’ll give you anything you want, my Zon,” he said before bringing their lips together again.

.

Thanks to @bl-archer for venting about saifahzon with me and reading my half baked nonsense, to @kxrn7knxck for reading a literally redacted version since he’s not caught up on the show, and to @weilongfu just for encouraging me to write in general. Really gonna try to get back into it y’all.

[fairhairedkings]

tagged by: @missmaxime and possibly other people idk anything anymore and unless i do the tag immediately upon seeing it, i will probably never do it

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better.

name/nickname: [redacted]

gender: i was gonna say lady but my mom said that you can’t just call all women ladies because you don’t know if they are a lady (which then led to an argument about what makes someone a lady - an argument i don’t think that we ever settled) and i’m not entirely sure that i can in good faith call myself a lady

star sign: scorpiooooooo

height: 5′0″

time: fake

birthday: according to the julian calendar it is ante diem tertium Nonas Novembres

and no i will not elaborate

favorite bands: i never progressed past my emo days tbh, so probably stuff like my chemical romance and early fall out boy. been listening to a lot of ad infinitum lately

favorite solo artists: carly rae jepsen

song stuck in my head: see you in hell - ad infinitum

last movie: birds of prey! (rewatch)

last show: right now i’m watching the story of minglan, the mandalorian, cheat on me if you can, and the lies within. i think the last one that i finished was the last empress?

when did I create this blog: i don’t know how to find that out and am too lazy to look

what I post: shrug. your guess is as good as mine

last thing googled: i am not actually sure. i have a firefox plugin running random google searches at all times

other blogs: no

do I get asks: from time to time. sometimes i’m like ‘wow i wish i got more asks’ and then i get one and i’m like ‘i don’t know what to do with this’

why I chose my url: because of nerd stuff

following: 108 (half of which are inactive by this point)

followers: wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy

average hours of sleep: 8. i am a mess with any less than that

lucky number: i don’t have one?

instruments: i played piano as a kid, then trumpet very briefly in high school

what am I wearing: my darth maul sweatshirt! it’s the best. every time that i wear it, i think about the girl in my class last year (and by last year, i mean this year because it was right before quarantine started) who asked me if it was someone from batman and i regret not asking her to marry me.

dream job: something that i can leave at work tbh.

dream trip: at this point??? like, my parents’ house, which is an hour away but people can’t be bothered to wear masks and stay inside so now i can’t even go there. thanks a lot.

but a for real for real trip? i’d love to go back to a bunch of places like istanbul and helsinki. for somewhere that i’ve never been before...it would have to be kazakhstan for family visiting purposes

favorite food: pretty much anything that someone else has made for me. i’d probably kill to be able to have my grandmother’s soup and gnocchi again

nationality: canadian

favorite song: people actually have favourite songs?? i can’t make up my mind like that.

last book read: ugh, you don’t want to know. it was about archival principles. the last book that i read for fun was arturo perez-reverte’s the seville communion, which was...fine.

top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: absolutely none of them, so i’ll just say my top three favourite fictional universes instead. garth nix’s old kingdom series. star wars. middle earth.

i tag: i feel like this has, as usual, gone all the way around so i tag no one. also, who can even count that high?!?!?

[shardminds]

fortune favours the brave

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: m (for language & depiction of injury & just to be safe) wc: 5189 pacific rim!au

She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.

just a warning, this is an open-ended work, meaning the ending is up to your own interpretation and i most likely will not be writing anything else to clarify... unless i decide to have another crack at this au down the line and completely rewrite the whole thing but i am a lazy bitch above all else with too many things to do so please don't get your hopes up!

my initial tag for this was "dealing with the weight of a neurological bond that reveals a lot more about yourself than you’d like." but ao3 said it was too long

this was intended as a birthday present to myself but it's 12 days late and i won't apologise.

also available on ao3 ♠

@artistic-writer is my saviour and i love her.

As soon as the pincer hits her spine, the simulation is over. Quicker than death could ever have captured her, quicker than the pain she was expecting in her lower back, quicker than blinking past a fallen beast and thinking it long past dead. If it were real, she wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment of her superiors as they marked another tally in the opposite column of their tablets.

Kaiju: 3, Swan: 0.

Pixels dissipate into the air, audios and visuals power down as the relay gel leaks from her display, Killian sighs over the comms and the four walls of the training centre scream failure. Unclasping the plug at her neck, she collapses to the floor. Defeated.

“If your intention was to get paralysed, love, congratulations.” He’s exasperated, words clipped, and she knows he’s probably running his hand through his hair in that way he does or rolling his eyes or praying for this to be over. She can picture it so well because she’s been there, supervising rangers through the same process. That had been her job, her safe space. Then Marshal Mills had coerced her into a compatibility trial with the promise of a bigger bunk and a night off with the last bottle of bourbon on deck. Suddenly, nowhere was safe anymore. “It’s just a simple test,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at Emma’s reluctance to even try. “What harm can it do?”

If he catches the curses under her breath as she stands, he doesn’t let on.

Killian had managed to pass her simulated drift space on the second attempt—eviscerating a CAT 3 with ease and ignoring the distractions along the way. He didn’t talk about what stopped him the first time. Neither did she.

She was not so lucky, struggling not to forget herself in the memories of his past. Each step deeper into the consciousness he’d moulded dragged her further away from the task at hand. Each step closer to finding out what keeps Killian Jones awake at night is a step away from truly knowing him. She felt it all. His pain, grief and loss coming in overwhelming waves, only serving to intensify her own. Each time she failed, she understood him a little bit better and lost herself a little bit more.

Robin said it’s the trauma that helps their compatibility and the resilience in light of such pain. Will said it’s because they’re both insufferable cunts.

You can’t choose your drift partner.

“Again.” Adjusting the helmet slightly, she pulls up her vitals on the inner screen. BP a little high, heart rate too, brainwaves stable. Good enough. If she could just get past the random-access brain impulse triggers, the lure of Killian’s fabricated conflicts, she’d be showering the fabricated city in fabricated Kaiju Blue.

(Of course, she’d never really do that. Regina doesn’t need a reason to resent her.)

“Swan, take five.” The comm in her inner ear buzzes. Killian, again. There’s a tension to his tone, as if he could snap at a moment's notice. It’s not easy, having someone else inside your head—even when it’s not real. It’s worse when every inch of it is projected in agonisingly high definition to your commanding officers. Emma’s been living through his trauma while he’s been forced to watch it back, time and time again. She’ll get it next time.

Next time.

Always next time.

“No, count me down.”

“Swan—”

“My vitals are fine! No bleeds, no dizziness, motor function all good.” The CNS link connects to the back of her neck with a twist of her wrist and a dull click. Power vibrates through the plug suit, humming like the anticipation Emma can feel beneath her own skin. “One more try, I’m almost there.”

There’s no response from Killian. No quip or complaint. He’s silent as Emma closes her eyes and opens them to the darkness of the drift. The next voice she hears is Robin’s.

“Five.”

Her world is blue. Warped. Memories zipping past her that she does and doesn’t remember. Emma recognises one woman’s face from her previous pseudo-drifts. She has a name somewhere.

“Four.”

The woman walks off to some kind of middle distance, between nothing and nowhere. She indicates for Emma to follow with the crook of her finger and a smile.

“Three.”

It’s not Emma she’s seeing.

“Stop chasing it, Emma. Two.”

Taking a breath, Emma wills away the apparition, tuning in to the pounding of her own heartbeat and that of someone else’s — Killian’s, strong and steady. It grounds her.

“Prepare for Neural Handshake.”

When the Kaiju pincer swings for her, she slices it clean off.

She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.

//

A CAT 3 and two CAT 2’s attack what’s left of San Francisco a week later in the largest triple event in recorded history and yes, it’s definitely worth it.

Ruby and Graham are deployed in Lone Wolf, along with two Jaegers from Alaska. The fight, like all fights, is raw and too close. Always too close. They return half a day later, lucky to have made it out with their lives. The bags under Jefferson’s eyes carry the weight of the world as he reports back to the bridge with the news.

They’ll never pilot again.

Killian finds her later, sat atop Frozen Serenity with a half-empty hip flask and a cigarette. He doesn’t question her or the tears she wears. He holds her, one arm wrapping around Emma’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. It’s too close, too much but not enough. It’s times like this—times of wordless understanding—that she’s glad of the bond they supposedly have.

Thankfully, he doesn’t waste his words with reassurance. Regina had spent the last thirty minutes on the comms for everyone to hear. The threat was eliminated; victory, but at what cost? Ruby and Graham had been wheeled in on gurneys, surrounded by medics and techs and escorted directly to isolation. Their Jaeger followed shortly after, complete with thick gashes to its middle and a viciously pierced conn-pod leaking rivulets of coolant and Kaiju blood. It didn’t take Emma long to see why they’d ushered the pilots away.

Sneaking off had been a non-issue.

“Next time,” The warmth of his body offers only slight comfort from the chill of the hangar but she’s grateful for it. “It’ll be us.”

“We might not even drift yet. The simulation is nothing like the real thing.” The lump in her throat has her choking around the words. The fragility of it all should frighten her, but it doesn’t. She’s not scared. There’s no time for fear.

“We will.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s called trust.” When he smiles, sad but hopeful, the tears come again.

It’s all worth it, even if she loses herself in the process.

//

Jolly Roger, a Mark 3 with a history of fallen pilots, had been in pretty bad shape when Emma had seen it come through the east coast bunker a year ago. With a compromised pod and basically no left side, it was a mess.

Will had already sized the wreck up for parts before it’d even docked in the hangar.

“There’s no way it’ll run again. Core to Wolf, pod fixed up for Snow’s Mark 4, shocks to whoever needs them most and the rest for scraps and refurbs.” He’d said, around a mouthful of instant mac and cheese. Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a bite of her own meagre rations. “Bet as much as you want, you know I’m right.”

After six months, when Marshal Mills announced they needed a co-pilot for Jolly, Emma collected her prize with a smile and a disgruntled “Fuck off.” from the mechanic.

Seeing it now, all shiny and new, with a fresh core, updated weapon systems and a slick paint job was like looking at a different machine entirely. Killian has the same awestruck glaze to his expression that she has.

He says something under his breath that sounds like “I missed you.”

//

Three days later, atop the bunker looking out at the wasteland the eastern seaboard has become, Killian finds her again. The horizon is permanently tinged green these days, thick with smog rising from the polluted city that used to be Boston. It’s something else now, something new entirely. New York had really done a number on the east coast.

“So,” he starts, a six pack in his good hand and a thick file—her file—in his mechanical one. “It seems that the fate of the earth relies on us getting intimate, love.”

Emma shrugs his comment off with an eye roll. “In your dreams.”

“In my dreams, we wouldn’t be drinking this backwash,” she catches the bundle of cans as it falls to her lap and pulls two free of the casing. Killian slumps down beside her, a welcome warmth against her side. He’s always warm. “And you’d be wearing a lot less.”

“Pervert.” Her cheeks flush from the windchill and not because of the wink he sends her way as he takes a can from her lap.

He shrugs, gulping back his beer. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“I doubt anything could, lass.”

He reads in relative silence, which Emma appreciates, only pausing to ask questions at the redacted statements in her story. There’s no point in hiding anything from him now��soon, he’ll see it all. There’s something about Killian Jones that she trusts and she’s not exactly sure why.

“You were there? In New York?” He thumbs the report sheet, filled with more censoring than words. She doesn’t remember much of it; being eighteen, the toils of pregnancy, wrongful imprisonment, the first Kaiju attack on the east coast, holding her child to her chest as the walls crumbled. The memories are all so distant, it almost feels like someone else lived them.

Emma nods. “Unfortunately.”

Killian doesn’t push for the details; all the relevant ones are written on the sheet he’s holding. How they’d found her bleeding beneath rubble and dust, clutching the bundle of blankets and the body within. There hadn’t been time for a funeral.

She’s shaking when he takes her hand.

“It was my first deployment. On a CAT 4, no less.” He traces circles around her knuckles as if they’re anything but strangers. She doesn’t have it in her heart to stop him. “Cataclysm, they called it. The ugliest bloody thing I’d ever seen. Liam, the comedian he is—was, spent the whole fight calling it all kinds of names as we tore it to pieces bit by bit.” He takes another sip of his can, eyes locked on the horizon. “I felt him die that day.”

His thumb doesn't stop tracing its pattern, but she grips his hand tighter—part shock, part understanding.

“Jewel never stood a chance. The emp left us wide open and the blasted thing used its last breath to launch at the conn-pod and—”

“You don’t have to, Killian.” She whispers, beer forgotten at their feet. “You don’t have to relive it.”

“But I do. Every time I step foot in the hangar, I relive it. Every time I drift, or spar or train. Every time I look in the mirror I see his face staring back at me.” He sighs, letting his posture slip further. He’s no longer a Ranger. He’s a lost boy. The grief he carries, the guilt, is something she recognises. “I miss him, Emma, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Wind blows, alarms ring, sun filters through the murky atmosphere and casts them both in its golden glow and Emma Swan pulls him in for a hug.

He stiffens in her embrace before leaning into it, letting the tension dissipate beneath her touch. It’s intimate in a way that doesn’t need words and her breath catches at the sight of a teardrop on his cheek.

Putting space between them again is hard, but necessary.

“I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, but you better be prepared to hear it a thousand more. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. It will never be your fault. We’re Rangers. We’re disposable. The world is ending and we’re the first line of defence. If we fall—” He’s watching her so intently, hanging on her every word.

There’s no way to soften the blow of a death sentence.

“We’re going to die in a Jaeger, Killian, that much is inevitable. We won’t grow old. We won’t pass in our sleep. We’ll go screaming at the hands of a Kaiju and, I don’t know about you, but I plan on taking a fair share of those fuckers with me in the process.”

A nod.

A squeeze.

A gulp.

He’s still holding her hand when they return to the artificial warmth of the hangar.

//

He used to drink black coffee, dark and bitter. She hates it, preferring sweetness over caffeination in her warm beverages but getting her own would require a trip to the cafeteria earlier than she’d like to be awake. A few seconds of grimacing over the taste is worth it for the extra half hour of sleep. Killian’s an early riser—of course, he is. It’s a wonder they’re compatible at all.

Killian initially tried to put up a fight over it, hold it out of her reach like kids on the playground or finish it off before Emma could even think of crawling out of her quarters, but she wore him down, little by little.

They’re working on Jolly with Will when she takes a sip, stealing the travel mug from his hand and already half wincing for the unsweetened assault. When surprisingly palatable coffee hits her tongue, she almost chokes. It’s not half bad; no acrid punch of burnt grounds, no grainy aftertaste. Instead, it’s sweet. Creamy. Not what she was expecting at all.

“What’s this?” She takes a sniff at the lid incredulously. Is that… syrup?

“According to Ms Lucas, this is what poses as a caramel latte these days. Filled to the brim with sugar, spice and all things nice, just how you like it.” Will hands him a tablet, outlining the Jaeger’s current specifications. Emma understands enough of it to get by—she’s more attuned to reading neural charts, not the gibberish the engineers put out—but Killian revels in the details. He doesn’t even look her way as he speaks, fully engrossed in the graphs, comparisons and visuals. It also means he doesn’t notice Emma eyeing up how good he looks with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a grease stain on his left cheek. Just the right amount of dishevelled. “Is there any way we can drop a few tonnes to help increase speed and manoeuvrability?”

Will peers at the tablet, overseeing the stats with a critical eye. “No, mate. Not without losing vital armouring.”

“What about swapping out the nuclear core?” Killian hums, swiping to the next screen.

“Don’t be daft, Killian. It’s brand new.”

“The arc-whip?”

“I’m gonna cut in and say no on that one.” Emma interjects, surprised that she even managed to drag her attention away from the warm, sweet beverage in her hands or the enigma of a man that let her take it. The arc-whip is her preferred weapon—combining both distance and close combat, great for the CAT 2’s and smaller CAT 3’s that like to stay just out of reach or dragging back the larger beasts from getting further inland. She’s the one that suggested it be added to Jolly’s arsenal in the first place.

“Come on, love.” Handing her the tablet and tapping a few menus, Killian points out Jolly’s stats without it. Their speed would be improved and their power longevity, but they’d be sacrificing their range completely. “Having an arc-whip and a plasma cannon is overkill.”

The mechanic chuckles, coming to her other side and throwing an arm around their shoulders. “Technically, the plasma cannon is overkill anyway. Massive power drain.”

“Don’t you start.” Killian bats his arm away and Will cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

“Just because I’m right.”

Before either of them can respond, the hangar shudders as alarms blare. The alarm they all dread.

The Breach.

//

The CAT 2—Axefury—with armour piercing spines and nasty blade-like mandibles, emerges just off the coast of Florida, stalking towards the shore.

Frozen Serenity is deployed, piloted by sisters Anna and Elsa.

The fight takes an hour.

Killian brings her another coffee as they watch the battle from the command centre. He doesn’t say a word, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she tenses against the cold realisation.

It could’ve been them.

Next time, it will be.

//

When he knocks her on her ass, straddling her waist with his sparring staff pressed to her throat, Killian’s eyes are the bluest she’s ever seen, and it takes her a second to remember where they are. He smirks, allowing her space to breathe while keeping her thoroughly pinned down.

“Normally, I’d prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.” With a voice like that, velvet and grit, Emma’s not sure if she wants to push him away or pull him closer. The watchful eye of Marshal Mills keeps her straight. The last thing anyone needs is a show. She struggles just enough to make him cocky before retaliating, using his own weight against him.

In a heartbeat, he’s the one on his back, head caught in a lock between Emma’s thighs. In the time it takes for him to realise what’s going on, eyes widening as he realises where he is, it’s too late. His weapon clatters to the edge of the crash mat, useless.

“For future reference,” She pants, squeezing her legs tighter until Killian taps out against the floor. “I prefer to be on top.”

He laughs and, despite the patrol alarm blaring down the hall and Regina’s eye roll, the world feels a little lighter.

//

When they drift in Jolly for the first time, the phantom woman from the pseudo-drift is nowhere to be seen. There’s a blip where Killian gets caught up in visions of destruction and earthquakes and rivers of blue eroding the streets of New York, but just as Emma feels the echoes of her memories in his mind, they’re gone. He’s in her head. An uncomfortable yet reassuring presence that she never thought she’d be able to endure again.

“Neural bridge initiated and holding strong. Well done, guys.” Robin chirps over the speakers, dragging them out of the initial drift space and back to their shared reality. She lifts her left arm as Killian lifts his right and they join the jaeger’s metallic palms in a salute that rumbles through the bowels of the hangar.

Cheers erupt from the comm lines as scientists and pilots and soldiers line the walkways and balconies to celebrate their achievement.

She can feel the haze of his irritation through the link.

“We’re another shot at hope for them.” Her uncalibrated right-hand takes his uncalibrated left wrist just above the brace of his prosthetic. He doesn’t flinch but his thoughts stutter, interlaced with images of her soft smile and memories of each time they’d sparred, each stolen hour on the rooftops, each close encounter, each moment that could’ve been an almost, or a maybe. Emma pauses just long enough to imagine What if?

She shakes them away. They owe each other that much.

“We’re a suicide mission.” He’s right and his voice buzzes in the back of her skull. If the comm deck picked up on his words, they don’t respond.

“Yeah,” she lets his arm fall back to his side, making sure her left side—the one that’s wired into the eight thousand tonne government-approved death machine—stays relatively still. “But it’s worth it.”

“Is it?”

She can’t tell the difference between his words and his thoughts right now.

Static crackles in the conn-pod before Robin’s voice calls out again. “Ready to take her for a spin?”

//

She kisses him, with trembling palms pressed to his chest. Because she wants to. Because she can. Because, more than anything else, she isn’t ready to die. Not now. He is slow to respond, one hand on her shoulder ready to put distance between them at a moment's notice, the other at her waist, pulling her closer. The corridor leading to their quarters is empty and, beneath the harsh light, he tastes like the coffee they’d shared for breakfast.

He doesn’t push her away. She’s grateful for that.

The absence of Killian in her head should be a relief but it isn’t. It feels… empty. The absence of a presence that had made itself at home. She’d worked with rangers for years, ever since the hangar took her in, learning the in’s and out’s of the neural bridge and working to better align pilots with an initial pseudo-drift before putting them through the real thing.

She’d never expected to like it.

It’s exhilarating.

The expiry date they have hanging over their heads is unavoidable now. They’re compatible, truly compatible, doubting that is no use to anyone and despite whatever lead them both to the corps, whatever it is she catches glimpses of when they drift, she trusts him.

Fingers still trembling and head thick with fog, Emma trusts him.

“That was—”

A mistake.

Long overdue.

A one-time thing.

Just the beginning.

“Worth it.”

//

“Emma—”

“Be quiet.”

She snakes a hand around his waist, using his surprise to yank him closer into the alcove, away from prying eyes. Their dark uniforms blend in the shadows. Chest to chest like this, Emma can barely catch her breath. The cold steel pipe against her back does nothing to dissuade the heat he’s putting out—seriously, how is he always warm? It’s impossible to avoid his gaze either, the intensity of it only magnified with their proximity.

There’s questions there—so many questions—but he doesn’t have to ask them. She knows.

Killian’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

She knows.

David and Snow walk past none the wiser, caught up in a discussion about something or other. Emma can’t focus enough to listen in, too distracted by everything in her body that screams for her to pull Killian closer and slam their mouths together until they forget about the rest. She holds her breath until the other rangers round the corner at the end of the hall.

“Mills hasn’t cleared Humbert or Lucas for visitation. We’ll be turned away.” Killian whispers, mouth so close to her ear that she can feel his words better than hearing them. His cheek catches hers as he pulls back but he doesn’t get far, her hand still pressed to his side, holding him in place. His brows raise in surprise.

Her palm tingles against the empty air when she lets go.

“Let me do the talking.”

He nods, following as she exits into the corridor, only a half-step behind.

//

They don’t have clearance. The med bay doors beep dejectedly as Emma’s ID card fails to pass the security check. Will had promised it would work, he’d sworn. Either he lied, already ratted them out to the Marshal or—

Victor Whale.

“Mills already has her reports delivered to her directly every hour,” he sighs, tugging off his gloves, surgical mask and running a free hand through his hair. Emma can see the dark roots coming through. There’s no market for salon-quality peroxide at the end of the world, apparently. “With the intention of alleviating the need for rangers like yourselves to check in. Can’t you go be annoying somewhere else? I don’t have time to file insubordination paperwork, I’m already understaffed.”

Killian reaches out, pleading, his eyes wide and blue and honest. He grabs the doctor’s forearm with his mechanical hand.

“Please, mate. Just five minutes.”

Whale’s brow furrows focused on the prosthetic gripping his arm. The fear of disciplinary action outweighs a lot of things in the hangar.

//

She’s pale, too pale, and riddled with tubes and drips and monitors that beep along with the pace of her heart. The burns, blistered and seeping, are tinged blue with the toxic sludge that courses through Kaiju veins. Blue burns, as they’re colloquially referred, aren’t uncommon. There are ointments and salves to calm the low-level contact burns and sprays to neutralise the toxins in the acid. What’s left of the governments have put extensive measures in place to ensure that stuff like this doesn’t happen to the general public.

They don’t seem to care for rangers.

As Ruby’s skin sloughs from the slightest friction of the sterile sheets, Emma can feel the first clutches of fear curl around her throat.

Corpselike. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Ruby, once so full of life, has never looked so… not, and Emma can’t help but fall into step with the ventilator that’s currently breathing for her as if somehow it makes a difference. The steady whirr of the machine only working to wind up the anxieties simmering beneath the surface of her skin.

Next time, it’ll be them.

Next time, it’ll be her.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“We’re having to keep her under.” Someone —Victor? — hums, ignoring them both to look over the digitised chart at the foot of her bed. “There’s a lot of irrevocable damage that we’re still looking into while repairing what we can externally.”

Inhale.

“What about Gra— Ranger Humbert?” Killian's hand hasn’t left hers since they entered and, for what it’s worth, she’s thankful for the anchor and the ever-present warmth he offers. His presence is grounding and his words reflect her thoughts when she can’t quite reach her own.

Exhale.

It’s too much.

Inhale.

“More of the same”

Exhale.

They never should’ve come

//

His lips taste of salt.

The inevitability of death.

It burns.

“I don’t want to lose this.” she pants, soft against Killian’s lips as he smiles and steals it away. Like the future they don’t have. That she so painfully wished they could have. “I—”

His kisses trail to her ear, each one as gentle as the last. Too soft, too delicate. It terrifies and excites her how something as small as a kiss can melt her resolve to nothing. Any shadow of doubt disappearing with each step they take closer to the inevitable. After everything that had happened, from sneaking into the med bay, drowning the images with the last of that damn bottle of bourbon that started all this and sparring until they were both bruised and beaten and breathless, sex had been the last thing on her mind. It had crept up on her, crept up on them both, and it was impossible to deny.

That first rooftop rendezvous, first spar, first kiss, all those weeks ago, had cemented this. She can see that now.

Closing what little distance there is left between them, Killian walks her backwards until her thighs bump against the solid table behind them. “You won’t, love. I’ve got you.”

Each touch, each glance, each gasp is another goodbye.

His prosthetic rests on her waist as his other makes light work of the fastenings of her uniform, and she urges him on with a moan. She’s thankful they made it back to his quarters. They won’t make it to the bed.

Emma searches for answers as he pulls off his shirt, praying something in his eyes will reassure her that this—whatever this is—is okay, that they’re not terrible people for finding something worth fighting for at the end of the earth, anything to provide even a modicum of hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll survive just long enough to have a chance at finding out if it is. She clutches at his shoulders, with nails biting into his skin, and breathes.

She doesn’t find the answers. Instead, she finds herself.

Scared and afraid, clinging to the last comfort she has left.

Three words bloom, fade and crumble in her mind, as fragile as a leaf on the wind and, before she can even speak them, Killian nods.

“I know.”

Somewhere deep inside her chest, behind broken walls and the rubble of a past life, something long since broken, beats.

//

Emma wakes up to warmth. An all encompassing warmth surrounding her so completely, an aura of heat welding together the cracks that had once debilitated her heart. So familiar, and pure and yet so foreign at the same time.

Each beat of her heart echoed by a shadow.

Each exhale mirrored by that of another, a soft caress against her nape.

The solid and comforting press of a body—his body—against her back, bringing forth memories of the night previous so slowly, like a crack in a dam; first a drip and then a flood. The synchronicity. The passion. The mutual need to just Be.

The absence of all thought except one.

Life is just too fucking short.

As if summoned by her mental recollection, Killian’s arm wraps around her waist. His lips ghost against the skin of her shoulder blade and the kiss he presses to her neck brings a smile to her face.

“Good morning, Swan.” He purrs, voice gravelly and wrapped in sleep. Damn, if Emma had only known he sounded like that first thing sooner—

The thought catches her off guard.

It’s so… normal. Domestic.

She could get used to it. She wants to get used to it.

“Mor—”

The spell shatters. The facade peels away to reveal the truth and the bliss that had wrapped her up in its glow is gone. Reality hits.

The blood-curdling scream of the one alarm they pray will never ring.

The Breach.

Robin’s voice screeches out over the comms in a panicked shout, followed by the calm and commanding call of Marshal Mills. Her own name and rank is called, along with Killian’s. Emma’s blood runs cold when the realisation hits.

A CAT 5.

All units to report.

Approaching New York.

Killian doesn’t move for what seems like an eternity, lips still pressed to her skin in an everlasting kiss, as if time has somehow warped around this very moment, stretching seconds into minutes, hours. Allowing them a chance to come to terms with what must happen next.

Their fates were sealed the second they stepped foot in the hangar.

Emma wrapped in a hospital gown. Killian in a battered, blood-stained plug suit.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, already drowned out by the blaring siren that fills every corner of the room. Emma can’t tell if he’s saying it for her sake or his own.

When she turns to him, pulling herself upright in the process and letting the cold of his quarters seep into her bare chest, he’s smiling. It’s by no means her favourite smile—wide and full of laughter—but it’s something and, for some crazy reason, she believes in it.

She believes in them.

“Fortune favours the brave.”

  ////

tagging a few of y’all!  @thisonesatellite​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @carpedzem @hollyethecurious 

[walmart-buraiha]

Maybe it means nothing

My name is redacted and I’m just here to have a good time… and im doing a really bad job at it

I’ve sort of had a faint but ever-present screaming in my head for give or take a year and a half, and all that psychic blackboard screeching has been mostly centred around my crisis. ‘What crisis?’, I pretend to hear you ask, well great question actually. For those aforementioned 18 months I’ve had a small, prickly, blatantly unpleasant theory: I hate myself. Yes I know, that’s easy to tell because I say it all the time as a clever little edgy joke; but in reality, I’ve always found it unfairly difficult to appreciate what skills other people are so impossibly sure I have. Whether from teachers, parents, or even the rare peer, I feel as though all these people are under some sort of intense impression that I should be able to wield all my apparently present ‘hidden potential’ like I’m the protagonist in a mediocre shounen manga.

That in mind, I can’t help but wonder how much of my consistent self-directed resentment is derivative from mistakes I’ve actually made or from how much I hate what I’ve become in the last year. Although I appear to simply pass off all this talk of potential, I feel like my rejection of that sentiment could quite likely have formed itself into some self-inflicted disappointment, like I’m annoyed at how ridiculously lazy I am. And from there I start to build all these other reasons I’m so god awful at being alive, like ‘you only got a B on that essay but you got an A on the last 3, you useless trash,’ or ‘you better finish that shitty beer or else you barely even count as a man whatsoever’, or even going so far as ‘you still get angry once every two months, all that therapy was wasted on you’; and from there it’s a simple step of imprinting those negative thoughts into everyone else and just deciding out of nowhere they must all notice those same minuscule details.

I’m not sure why I come up with all these tiny negatives. It’s not like I’ve ever thought of someone else like that, so why would they think that of me? What gives all those non-existent assholes the right to judge me when I’ve never so much as considered anything similar to that about them? What a group of pricks, amiright? But I guess I’m meant to make this all circle back to my thesis statement, I’m bad at having a good time.

But why? What is it about my personality that makes happiness harder to channel than fear, or anger? Well I think I don’t perceive myself as someone that’s happy, or someone that deserves to be happy, and decide every person around me is infinitely more deserving of that same basic human emotion. I don’t know if that emotional deprivation that I force upon myself has some loosely definable connection to my lack of immediately perceivable talents, since I find most of my more innate abilities are ones that hold very little water in the area of sharing ones emotional state. It’s not exactly easy to demonstrate your genuine friendship towards another person via nothing but mediocre dark humour, rage and upper-body strength, so I find myself wondering if there is a way to express emotion. Will those who think they know me fall under the impression that anything genuine I say is nothing more than a failed attempt at dry wit? Or is it me who is to blame? After all, I can barely even convince myself that genuine feelings are worth the effort of maintaining, let alone figuring out how to tell someone about them.

Although is that primal confusion simply what it means to live on this desolate metropolis of 21st century Earth? Is it even the fault of that very same world that has caused my very own emotional breakdown and led me down this ever-peculiar path of self-degradation? Who’s to say I suppose, whether the big bearded guy with the apple or some groovy 80s DJ riding a highway of constant universal synchronicity. For that matter, maybe the only answer we might ever stumble across is that of the great void, and is that the answer we want, one that us puny apes can grasp? Is all we truly desire to finally leave the realm of momentary bliss heartbreak, love languages, and drug addictions, only to receive no meaning at all by the end of it and finally stumble our clumsy asses into the ever-expanding pit that might just be what we expect from the credit role of life.

Then again, is this what I’m meant to think, or is faith a better idea? Does this kind of violent terror come for every one of us, whether we believe in a void or a pearly gate? Probably. But to be fair, we both know this is far too many questions for one idiot in a bedroom with a light-up keyboard. Isn’t it?

[thepausedsforzando]

III. The Paused Sforzando

Part I. The End To The Remaining Effort

*******Introduction*******

   It’s been 5 years. 5 years and a month just about. This post looks weird in public because it’s first one. It’s also marked as III. On October 8th, 2019 I nuked my entire Tumblr. Actually, I nuked all 3: hunkee, digitalclothingofhunkee and thepsychologyofdarthvader. That was a heavy day. This series has been shotty and inconsistent, in that gaps have become bigger and the details have lessened. This could likely be due to the feedback and problems I’ve had with people in my posts when I would talk about personal things that were not only private for me but for them. Primarily, these inconsistencies and gaps are because I’ve slowly descended into more of a void of a human being than I ever thought I could be when my life was right. January 6th, 2016. That’s where we last left off. “We” now means, and has always meant, current Matthew, as well as the one who will be reading this. If any Where are we now? Corny, I know, but you wanted to type it.

   I have always dreamed of having a Tumblr where I had literally 0 holdbacks. If it was disturbing or could easily be misunderstood, I’d post it anyway. But coming from a Christian background where the Christian homeschool choirs I was in had its dark pockets of judgement, it, or more than just it, made me severely self-conscious. But that is tied deeper to why I care about what others think, and how their attention makes or breaks me as a human being. But I’m getting head of myself. On purpose.

   hunkee, and it’s other 2 sisters were that of restriction. No more. So many have lost touched, forgotten and abandoned me, so who fucking cares now. I may still care. I’m showing it right now, but I’ll contradict that.

   One thing I will hold back on is the private information of loved ones who never got a voice to choose whether or not to have their private lives posted here. I am transparent and honest to an extreme, and it’s gotten me in trouble more than I ever thought or wanted to. Therefore, what you will be seeing is the second draft, edited to filter out private events out of love and/or respect to those who didn’t get a voice. They will be edited with summaries and I may even redact names or change said names. Those people deserve it. And I should have known back then. But you can’t know everything. I could have learned faster, but respect is being shown nonetheless.

   Alot has happened from January 6th, 2016 to February 5th, 2021. What I choose to be here will be here, and other installments will follow. Where we last left off was- well before I say it, let me show you the progression:

- 2009: The end of my childhood and innocence - 2010: a solid year of happiness in the first chapter of adulthood - 2011: not bad - 2012: The beginning of the dark renaissance; the start of it all - 2013: The Darkness: The darkest point, the breakdown, the intervention and the beginning of me stopping any care and any effort. Laziness became my life. - 2014: The Void: Through trying with little effort, the numbness grew - 2015: I literally forgot most of 2015. The Void at its highest - 2016: The End: The year that I gave up, after 5 years of trying through abandonment. - 2017: Committing to my abandonment. - 2018: Rebirth: The slow growth of the tiniest voice within me. - 2019: Pause #1: Amber - 2020: ugh: - 2021: ugh:

Let’s just begin.

             **************

   As per usual, let’s recap from the 16th. My name is Matthew. I’m 24 and a half years old. I work at Patsco Windshield Repair and had for about a month. I have been living back at my parents now for 2 years and about 4 months. I’d been single for 1 year and 2 months. I still had my Roth IRA and likely got rid of my savings account due to poor management of my money. I had suppressed my love for Amber again, and it wouldn’t be the last time. I was emotionally void after raging and depressing for years. My life had no meaning, nor did I really have many friends or any social interactions. I had a car. I can’t remember what bills I dealt with, but it was likely phone, insurance, health insurance and idk.

   Life at Patsco was pretty lame. I would drive to the corner of a parking lot on a busy road, hold up a sign for a while and repair people’s windshields. Calling insurance companies and cleaning headlights. Great for a high schooler; pathetic that I was there in life at 24. The pay was $12/hr. I forgot if the hours were good. But the best thing that happened then was I read Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. I fell in love with that book. Standing on the grass next to cars at the red light of whatever intersection I was assigned that day. Immersed in the world and loving the darkness. I found beauty in dark things and gravitated towards hateful content. Who would have figured.

   Patsco didn’t last very long. Maybe I got fired, I think I did. My memory has deteriorated so much over the past x amount of years. As has my attention span. And effort. Anyway, it usually takes me 1-3 months to find work, and on April whenever, I became a delivery driver for Jimmy John’s. Yet again, a low end, dead end job. I lasted just about 2 years. I asked Asia to let me stay long enough to make it an even two years, but she couldn’t stand me and it didn’t go that long.

   Amber had either come back or was always there. For private reasons, someone in her life had jealously forbade me to come over and witness the birth of her first child. That didn't fucking happen with her second. I was there. More on that later.

   Remembering 2015, 2016 and 2017 is hard. I'm having to pull up my resume, previous entries of this series and go back to where I was then. By the time Jimmy John’s rolled around, I’d been back home for over 2 and a half years. Being numb and unmotivated, I was also an asshole to live with. I treated my mother horribly. There is much to get into about what I have learned about her over the years and why we clash, but I always handled it wrong and I still do. Too lazy to confront her. She saw me at my worst. Whatever I could do out loud, she mostly saw and had to be the victim of it. She didn’t deserve it.

   What I write about tends to focus on home, mom and dad, work, cars and not much else. I’ve neglected to mention Eva but once. I feel bad that in a forgetful and numb phase, I forgot when I met Eva. I met her on MeetMe, a social app for meeting people that too many guys used as a dating site. It was really, really pathetic. But I was open to meeting a significant other too I bet. There goes the hypocrisy. Take note. I just didn’t advertise it and let whatever unfolded, unfold.  Before I mention Eva, what happened on MeetMe is notable. I just didn’t advertise it and I'd let whatever unfolded unfold. This is where I was at: I met someone who lived across the road from me named Evie. I put what I wanted onto her and god fucking dammit I was creepy. We were barely just talking and I was gushing over her. She was pretty and I wanted to be with someone.

   My obsession with women had always been a tame problem that sprouted when it got to be intense. In 2011, when the neglect started, my creepiness, lack of social interactions and desire to have a girlfriend got weirder. Every girl that was remotely attractive, or not even that attractive was ‘so right for me’ and I’d pursue. Ashley, Andrea, Christa, Amy. I can’t even remember them all. It was every. fucking. woman. that came to Josh's and I's house. Someone I hadn’t been vibing with or talking to in the first place. That’s the key, you get to know someone and if they move that way WITH you, then it’s something. I always bash guys for pursuing if THEY want it, whether they’ve talked to them much or not. In my own way, I did that. I just didn’t assert myself as hard because in this context, it would have been awkward.

   Evie casually told me where she worked. We were barely acquaintances and had never met or even had each others’ numbers. And when I saw she was getting off work one night, I bought her the candy she said she loved and walked over to her in front of the store at night, basically a total stranger, and gave her the Reese’s after clarifying who I was. She was extremely quiet. I bet she didn’t eat those candies because she thought the psycho who I guess you could say stalked her poisoned them and is going to kidnap her. Fuck me that was stupid. But that’s where I was at. My desire got stronger and more obsessive over these 4 years. This might have happened in 2015. Either way, I was doing things that were not Matthew. Using a woman for sex, stalking one, and Naomi....Poor Naomi.

   We were talking as friends. She was beautiful. I wanted someone. She did NOT want to find a significant other. When she was reaching out for someone to talk to, it was a friend to confide in. And she made that clear. I lowkey pursued her romantically. We’d meet down the street of her house and park in a parking lot close by. We’d talk deeply, about her hard life. And I would be there for her. Once I told her my intentions, we stopped talking. She was upset, and had every right to be. When I was pursuing Amber 3 years prior, I was putting her newborn to sleep and said ‘can you say “daddy?”’...............................it’s hard for me to bring that up because as wrong as it was and I probably knew at the time, now I can’t....I can’t even explain the awkwardness and shame I feel for saying that. Like I devolved from already clingy/kinda obsessive/maybe on occasion creepy to.....that. To a newborn whose mother....I can’t remember if she liked me at that time. I think she did. ReGARDLESS.

   The last time I wasn’t like this was Ana. in late 2011/early2012. I was never perfect as I’ve said like 3 times with regards to my intense emotions towards girlfriends. Hell, I wasn’t bad at all to Nicole. But this loneliness, that was a combination of my fault and other things that made me do things I regret. I had my first one night stand years ago. Attaining friends was through the screen of my phone. I couldn’t make friends. I lost my ability to be social. I became more socially awkward. Pursuing women wasn’t successful, and my desire had gone out of control.

   Here I am, miles away from the original point: Eva. She was a female and I was looking for a relationship. Desiring love, affection and to get fucking laid. It came in the form of many creepy endeavors. I wasn’t as terrible with Eva. I liked her because I liked every female that came in contact with me. So it wasn’t even genuine when I told her. But we got past that. Wasn’t trying to get in her pants or anything heinous. But as that small phase passed, for the first time in years, I gained a friend. I made a new friend........it’s not that it’s hard, but was for me. I can’t think of the last time I made a new friend. But I hit the jackpot. No one is more loyal than Eva.

   She was an actual friend. She listened to me. I listened to her. We cared for each other. She invited me to her house and to outings with her friends. She cared about me. Someone finally did. It was nothing to her. Like it should be nothing to anyone else: you have friends and you spend time with them. But it was the universe and all its stars to me. I made a big deal out of it for reasons you already know. She was the true friend I needed, but got so late. I felt included, I felt cared about and I felt wanted. I think she’d even text me first! That doesn’t exist anymore! She became a bright spot, but it didn’t change what was coming.

   I got mad at Jimmy John’s. Aggressive driving, maybe dealing with the occasional dick ‘cause I was in an upper middle class (some would say rich) area of town. Having been void for so long, I felt I was at a dead end. I think I was friends with Eva by then. I had only been at Jimmy John’s for a month, not even. 2 days before Mother’s Day was when it finally happened.

   Despite the angel that had come into my life, I was still lazy and numb, but I feel I was more angry at this point. Regardless, on May 6th, 2016, I officially gave up. From neglect to anger to depression to laziness, it had all culminated to this. It came in waves: neglect, anger, depression, suicidal ideation, hopelessness, self-attack, breakdown, intervention, self-abandonment, extreme sloth, numbness beyond the realm of textual representation, sick of my state, denying help, anger and then release. Release of it all. When I say ‘I gave up’, that seems so small in text, but defined ‘the rest of my life’. This had been culminating for 4 years and I finally just gave up. Career? never. Healthy diet? never. Friends? They already all left me so nothing’s gonna change ‘cause it hasn’t. Love? either I said I can’t ‘cause of my mental state or idk. Being happy? it hasn’t been possible.

    I adopted a new phrase: Until death. It kept repeating in my head. I had a new set of goals and motivation in my life. My goal was to avoid being happy. It was to never seek love or really get anything serious, idk. My goal was never to get a better paying job, but get enough just to live on my own. Push everyone away, not get lied to by people’s flakiness. Be in a shitty apartment and watch my 30′s, 40′s, 50′s and maybe even 60′s alone. Eat junk food and clog my arteries as no one cares and everyone has forgotten me. What’s the use. I tried. I FUCKING TRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I couldn’t do it. After 4 years, I was alone, I had no social life, I couldn’t score a woman and I was too creepy to even get close to the first step, I had eaten junk food most of my life and it was affecting my mental and physical health, I couldn’t hold a job, I couldn’t advance because I couldn’t stay long enough, my mental health was blocking my success rate before I started telling people it was blocking my success rate, I was at odds with my parents, Missy was in Chicago, no matter what I did I just couldn’t progress. It wasn’t worth it. I just let it go. My life and my desire to be happy. And that was a commitment. Hard as it would be for my family to have to endure that, I didn’t do it for them. And they didn’t have to suffer. But they did.

   Missy graduated the year we're talking about now. To preface that, the whole family had vacationed to New Orleans sometime.....2014? idk, but my mental state and circumstances had made me a recluse. My family was outgoing, talking with Uber drivers and the person kind enough to let us use their house instead of a hotel. They experienced New Orleans and were having fun. But not me. I was not fully there. I was withholding myself from participating. I was quiet. if you knew me when I was myself, I was the opposite of quiet and shy. But the darkness had just become me. I was barely participating, sitting away from people and not saying a word, focusing on rooting my phone and occasionally talking about it, not talking to humans outside of my family and not speaking with a sad, distant, vacant expression.

    I learned something through my silence. Usually, if there were family problems, I’d be overly involved and not able to think straight ‘cause I’m thinking of all the perspectives and dividing my attention up multifold. I wasn’t like this in New Orleans. When I said nothing, I got to listen more; I got to see what I hadn’t seen all this time. Or at least what I didn’t bring into focus all my life. And that was more true sides of my family through their interactions. The fighting over nothing and people from different perspectives. The escalations and how my family just doesn’t understand each other. If anyone else is reading this but me, you can learn more than you can possibly imagine when you say little to nothing, sit back and let the conversation you normally are involved in happen in front of you. Don’t interact, just let it happen. Watch what you don’t pick up. Our compassion is valid; we can also get carried away and not notice what’s fully going on right in front of our faces.

    Much changed from that much as I used to. Optimism is ideal in moderation, as is everything else. My father was so aperspective shift. I learned more about where we are as a family and I didn’t brush it under the rug as ngry that my standout silence and being a weird, burdensome stick in the mud of a family vacation was affecting everyone and our time together. Not to mention my sister moved out...........2013? I forget. She had been in Chicago so we don’t see her everyday. Things had changed. I had moved back, but for a small amount of time, mom and dad had the place to themselves. That part of your kids growing up and leaving. He confronted me angrily and I learned something else by what he said. You would think he would say something based on how I’ve prefaced this, but instead what uttered from is angry face was:

“Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent?!”

    Sometimes, maybe many times, the way you say something or the first thing you say reflects where your focus is at. I disagree this is always the case. But in that moment, I believe as a man whose life revolved around providing for his family for 20 years, became focused on that primarily. The man can love. The man loves him family incomprehensibly. Never doubt that. But I learned not only of his perspective but how men (traditionally and mostly) make their life’s purpose of providing....larger than love, communication and interaction. All of that is still there in my father at this point, but when it wasn’t, I learned why.

    Back to the point, Missy was graduating. I had been at Jimmy John’s a bit and even though New Orleans was a while ago, I only got worse for vacations. And going to Chicago was..........terrible. My sister had always been a social butterfly and extravertive. Our personalities were now white and black. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t know how to socialize. I didn’t want to. I’d been burned so much that I forgot how to be a human being, and also tried not to be. The silence and seclusion as people were in my sister’s living room, talking, was bizarre. People would kindly ask me about me and raise small talk and I don’t remember how much I’d say if I said anything. I think I’d straight up ignore people. It was extremely awkward. I was introvertive, shy, quiet, ignoring and reserved like I was an extreme trauma victim or a mute (no offence meant to either an victim of a crippling trauma or mutes). My sister was in love and trying with this man that turned out to be an asshole. But at the time, my sister was showing me her life and a very important man in her life and I was just letting it pass me by. Was it as simple as just getting over it? Faking it and putting on a face? That, is the opposite of who I am, and I couldn’t just shake this off. I was alone for 4 years and upset about it. It changed me so much that you don’t just pull out of that. Who Matthew IS. PERIOD. at this point. IS. too far gone from who he really is and so deeply warped and shaped by his depression that who he IS is hopeless and functionless.

    Her boyfriend got me a present. I practically said nothing. I watched my sister graduate. I don’t remember it. This is trauma. This has affected my caring, my memory and my attention span. I’m not myself or a functioning human. PSA: it is possible to get out of the habit of many things you don’t think you could get out of the habit of. Like social interaction, how to talk to people, react to things. It wasn’t the darkest point, but such a troublesome time. I was 99.9999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999% darkness and 00.0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001% myself. There has always been a voice inside that never wanted this. That disagreed with the (verbal) self harm I’d convince myself. After a while, if you tell yourself the same thing, whether it’s good or destructive, you’ll believe it. You’ll trick you mind. Same thing with your environment. You become affected and accustomed to your environment to some extent. When you don’t realize it.

But this was never me. Me just got smaller. The darkness took over. The darkness was my Caretaker, which leads me to...