#fucking despair and hate on planet earth

[demodraws0606]

Guys I think this potentially might negatively impact q!BBH

Just a thought

[villruu]

me: [innocently clicks a fic which is just tagged as fluff and smut]

[gets instantly blasted with ableism, extreme non-con, and a shitton things that should have clearly been tagged]

[bostrichidae]

screaming without the v.

so. guess who just watched my adventures with superman season 2.

AUUUUUUGUAUGHHGH (/POS????? I THINK??????)

SPOILERS BELOW CUT

i love kara. i love the way her character was handled, i love her realistic mix of naivety and maturity beyond her years. i'll talk a bit more about her later.

the representation of krypton is beautiful. from kara's point of view, she sees the kryptonian empire as this utopian place where all was well in the world, but clark knows better. he's seen the truth of krypton from a mostly unbiased perspective, and could probably make the connections between krypton and similar empires on earth. he understands that the beauty of a so-called perfect world comes at a devastating price. of course kara didn't know about the destroyed planets due to her brainwashing, but even after she found out she denied it because krypton is perfect, because why would the planets have to get destroyed in the first place? why wouldn't they want to become part of this perfect world?

and clark. aurgh, clark. i stand by my belief that this is the best characterization of superman. his fear of hurting others, his fear of being a weapon, his constant fighting to protect the world from devastation and to unite all peoples within our nation even if the powers of that world reject him for existing. and when he became his worst fear, when his body became a weapon turned against earth, he still fought. he fought to protect his family, his friends, his home. he fought against himself, his origins, and everything he was supposed to be. by breaking free of brainiac's control, both kara and clark claimed their own identities. they separated themselves from their predecessors and ancestors, allowing the kryptonian empire to truly fall without the pillars of the next generation holding it up. i have so many fucking thoughts about the generational trauma of krypton but i won't get into that right now.

now back to kara and her relationship with brainiac. she was a sheltered, manipulated child, and her situation absolutely reeks of stockholm syndrome. she's aware that brainiac isn't her biological father, but he raised her. he saved her from that escape pod, she taught him to be strong. every time he called her weak, beat her, scolded her over small mistakes, he was only helping her get stronger! her father was never wrong, when he called her weak it's because it was true and he wanted to help her be a warrior!

right?

clark is an outside influence, a foreign entity, an unpredictable variable getting in the way of their relationship and helping her to open her eyes. but after everything, after brainiac is revealed to be the kryptonians' murderer, she still despairs when he dies. she feels sorrow for the man who nearly killed her cousin, who wiped out her people, who brainwashed her into acts of genocide. who raised her, who cherished her as a daughter, who shaped her into the warrior she is today. i think it will be fascinating to see how she copes with brainiac's death and her different environment in season 3, especially because we saw she kept part of her father abuser with her. she's a wonderful character they could never make me hate you kara from my adventures with superman. i think rät by penelope scott really works well for her and her life with brainiac, give it a listen if you haven't before.

other stuff i really liked about this season:

lois and sam, how their past together is revealed as their future together constantly shifts trajectories. two lanes diverged, amiright fellas... hahah... yeah. i love how lois still carries her father's lessons with her, even after everything he did. how yes, he was a shitty father, but he truly did care about keeping her safe. that he's a flawed character with problems of his own- and she acknowledges that, and recognizes why he does what he does. but still doesn't forgive him. this show is SO FUCKING GOOD at complicated relationships i swear

livewire and heatwave power couple? fuck yeah. monsieur mallah and the brain returning? hell yes. STEEL??? HELL FUCKING YES.

silas stone cameo and somewhat important role in the first half of the season, hopefully we'll see more of him soon... (hopefully we see victor. im a little bit not normal about victor stone. in a non simp way.)

kara and james is so cute... love me some healthy straight ships in my silly show about a himbo and his emotional support goblins. clois and jara double date RIGHT THIS INSTANT I DEMAND OF YOU

the alternate world where clark was raised on krypton... i kind of want to see more of that. like a short episode released independent from the storyline showing a bit more of kryptonian culture and what it would've been like to grow up there. i just think it'd be really neat

lex. calm down buddy. ur like 12. you don't need to go bald yet. sees season 3 first images LEX. PUT THE WEAVE BACK ON THIS INSTANT.

speaking of season 3... KON EL!!! HE'S ARRIVED!!! i'm actually tweaking out rn i need season 3 to be released. i need to know!!! fanfiction will only indulge my fantasies for so long.

clark and kara doing spiderman kisses with lois and jimmy thank you for coming to my ted talk.

cat grant is such a theater kid... she definitely played patty in a production of grease at some point.

if you've made it all the way to here then thank you for reading my essay(?) on why maws s2 is peak superhero media. and thanks for listening to me as i scream without the v anyways go watch this wonderful show

[katebishopofearth]

Feel free to ignore….

How do you think tony would react to nats death? (In an ironwidow world ofc)!

Anon you've caught me in an ironwidow mood, and also a writing mood, and also an Endgame mood thanks to @queeenpersephone's excellent scene rewrite. So, it seems like the stars have aligned to make me answer this ask ;)

----

"See you in a minute." Natasha had smirked and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, a quick goodbye like she was going to to pick up cat food from the store down the road. Tony had barely laid a hand on her waist, hadn't even begun to hold her close for a lingering goodbye before they went off to different corners of space and time, when she stepped back lithely and slipped out of his reach.

He'll see her before too long.

But a minute later – after he took a life-changing trip to the past and laid some daddy issues to rest – Clint returns alone to the here and now. Drenched and weaponless, he collapses onto all fours, an orange jewel clutched in his hand.

The Avengers stare at him in trepidation, waiting for an explanation, when all he can offer is a grief-stricken look on his face. A black holes opens up in Tony's stomach and swallows his pounding heart.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice shaking.

The bow-less archer turns his eyes to him. A look of profound sorrow carved into the lines on his face.

No. Tony swallows the despair that threatens to swallow him whole. "Where is she?!" He repeats, using anger to mask the immense fear that yawns inside him. He steps forward and kneels down to grabs Clint by the shoulders. "Tell me, you coward!" he snarls, at once a demand and a plea. Tell me she's right behind you. Tell me she got left behind. Tell me there's still time to save her. Tell me… tell me… anything except –

Clint shakes his head, unshed tears in his eyes like the alien stars he has just witnessed. "She's gone." His voice cracks.

"No – you're lying." Tony's voice comes out far harsher than he intends. "Tell me you're lying, Barton. Tell me where she is." He's pleading now, all desperation.

"Clint?" Steve prompts, his voice even and calm and Tony hates it, hates how he can be so fucking composed when Natasha isn't here. "Tell us what happened."

"The stone demanded a sacrifice," Clint says. "I tried to stop her, I really did." A sob wrenches its way out of his throat. "I fought her so that she wouldn't jump but she…" His laugh is a broken thing. Something inside Tony – the last remaining shard of hope – shatters at the sound. "She was too fast, too strong for me." He sinks his forehead onto Tony's shoulder despite the other man's aggressive hold. "It should have been me."

"No. No, that's not true, that's not…" Tony stumbles over the words. His head spins, light particles and dust molecules and oxygen swirl around him, taking no shape. His lungs don't work properly anymore. He sees her in his mind's eye, on some barren cliff on an alien planet, and the image doesn't make sense, it simply isn't possible. That she no longer exists somewhere in the world, that the universe isn't warmer for her presence, living and breathing, as certain as the Earth spinning on its axis. Tony wants to look out the windows because surely, surely without her the sun would crumble into ash and the atmosphere disappear and the world fall into smothering darkness because a world without Natasha – is not a world that can exist at all.

Clint raises his head and the grief in his eyes is as fathomless as the pit that yawns within Tony. A black hole to swallow them both and the world with them. Part of Tony wants to put his arms around Clint, hold onto the only person who can possibly understand this terrible, apocalyptic grief and emptiness. But the other part of him wants to push him away, to curse and scream, to fight time and fate and the universe itself.

That angry, resentful part wins out. He shoves Clint off and gets to his feet. "You're right," he snarls. "She's not the one who deserved to die."

"Tony!" Steve gasps in reproach, grabbing Tony's shoulder. But Clint only hangs his head in shame. "That was out of line," Steve reprimands.

"Out of line?" Tony echoes angrily. "Natasha is –" /dead/. He can't bring himself to say the word, to make it unbearably true and final. If he doesn't say it, he can pretend that maybe, maybe in another minute he'll see her again, and this time he'll wrap his arms around her, holding her properly so that she can't slip away again.

"She's gone," Steve says with sombre finality. The lines between his brows betray that he's already admitted defeat, and it makes Tony want to punch him in the face. "We've got to move on." The look of sympathy in his eyes, that implies I know how you feel, makes Tony sick to the stomach.

Tony's voice is freezing cold. "With all due respect, Cap," which is none, he adds silently, "Natasha isn't Peggy Carter. She didn't get to live a full life and achieve great things, and grow old, and die in her own bed surrounded by her children and grandchildren. She has so much life left to live!" He's vibrating with rage, and it's all he can do to stop himself from throwing hands with Captain America.

"She did," Steve agrees, squeezing Tony's shoulder in a way that's meant to be comforting but comes across as a pressure. "But she sacrificed herself for a cause, and we'll honour that. Make the price she paid worth it. We'll save the world. It's what she would want."

Tony glares, his anger freezes his veins and burns him from the inside out. "You don't get to tell me what Natasha would want." He pushes Steve's hand from his shoulder. "For someone who says he wants to save the world, you're awfully quick to give up on the people you love."

"You can't change the past, Tony," Steve urges, but Tony brushes past him roughly.

"No," he says with icy conviction. "I refuse to believe that. I didn't figure out time travel by admitting defeat. You might be able to move on, Steve," he adds scathingly. "But not me."

He marches to the console of the time travel machine. A cold fire burns at the edges of the black hole inside him, the only thing keeping it from engulfing him in despair. He's figured out time travel once, he can do it again. Especially when it's the life of the one person he loves more than anything else that's on the line.

He looks around the tense, grief-stricken faces of the gathered Avengers. Everyone Natasha loves – everyone who loves Natasha – in one room. Steve's arms are crossed and he frowns in disapproval, but Tony can't give a rat's ass what Captain America thought. "We want to save the world?" He puts it to the team. Bruce and Thor offer tentative nods, and that's good enough for him. "Good. We start by saving one of our own. It's only a victory if we all win together."

A spark lights up behind Clint's eyes. A glimmer of hope. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and offers Tony the orange gem that sits in the palm of his hand. The Infinity Stone that Natasha gave her life for. A singularity of the birth of the universe, but a trinket compared to the singularity, the complexity, the paradox that is Natasha Romanoff.

As Tony takes the Stone from Clint's hand, a silent understanding passes between the two of them. They would trade all six Infinity Stones, a hundred times over, for Natasha's life and think it a bargain.

"New mission, team," he announces. It's a side quest in the grand scheme of the fate of the world, but it's also the only quest that's ever mattered. Because what good is saving the world if Natasha isn't in it? He adjusts the coordinates on the time travel machine and sets a course to Vormir. "We're gonna get Natasha back." Or he would die trying. Either way, he promises silently, I'll see you soon, honey.

[eparvierr]

okay so i have Thoughts after finishing watching it

pete is so aggressively normal in comparison to the rest of them (the high schoolers) and i love that for him. and like maybe stephanie is fairly normal too. but pretty girls scare me.

i don't know what high schoolers are like cause i dropped out when i was 12 so this might as well be what high school is really like. i'm going to pretend it is.

the telemarketer x ruth gag got me every time.

i NEED a backstory on max jägerman. i feel like he has the potential to be such a complex character

i love being alive! fucking dies might be one of my favorite moments

for 0.1 secs i really had hope nothing bad would happen, because max misread their intentions in luring him to the waylon place. i was like "omg he probably has his own problems and maybe he could be The Redeemed Character and everyone will get along" but no. in retrospect it was stupid to think that but eh.

why did ruth die??? i liked her sm omg. misery wretchedness despair and hellfire on planet earth T-T

not the barista spitting in pete's cup. i hate that that made me physically ill. this is why i don't go outside

"are you a woman of faith?" "catholic." "i'll take that as a no." fucking killed me omg.

as someone who used to be devoutly christian, grace is so relatable but disturbing to watch in equal measures. the guilt, the 'divine retribution' she thinks she's meting out, the justifications, the repression, just chef's kiss. like i get that it's played off as a humorous gag like half the time and it IS funny but it's also so so serious to me.

i thought they were gonna make grace give up her bible as the thing she treasured most but i guess the way things went makes more sense

are we ever gonna get more info on the lords in black? cause i feel like they were way too interesting and full of potential for the tiny amount of screen time they got.

i am headcanon-ing at LEAST half of em as aro, trans, or both and no one can stop me

ms tessburger is so pretty i fear she is sooo my type it's not even funny anymore i want her to sit on my face what who said that

YEYSYYSYS HOLY SHIT YOU GET IT!!!!! YOUG ET IT SOOOO HARD OMG!!!!! YOU UNDERSTAND IT SOOOOO HARD ITS CRAZY YAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAA

ESPECIALLY regarding grace & the aro hcs

and do NOT worry, the lib are like a HUGE theme in nightmare time & the other musicals

the miss tessburger thing is so insanely fucking real. i literally need her so bad

[tobiasdrake]

The holy advent has come!

This Death Note reference killed me. Had me in stitches. This is Monokuma's strongest entrance of all three games. It comes at a point when you'd already resigned yourself to the idea that the Monokubs were going to be our Monokuma for this go-round, and it nails that reference.

It hits even harder in hindsight. This line haunted me, especially since I already figured we were in space and that there was nowhere to truly escape to outside the ship.

Learning the big twist makes it hit even harder. The Earth is dead. The last remnants of humanity are imprisoned here. With Junko. Suddenly, Monokuma's self-proclaimed godhood over the planet hits a lot harder, doesn't it?

...learning the bigger twist, meanwhile, recontextualizes it. It's still a valid statement, but in a very different sense. Tsumugi doesn't reign supreme over what's left of the Earth, but instead is the director behind the fictional universe that our LARPers find themselves trapped in.

...

Though, in my opinion, the fictional version hit better than the "truth". Within the context of Tsumugi's narrative, this Death Note reference is the rawest line in Danganronpa history.

"I am the director in charge of this production," just isn't as holy fuck powerful as "The Earth is dead and I am its queen, welcome to my irrevocable dominion of despair."

It just.

AGH. It grates at me. "Humanity is on the cusp of extinction after a horrifying devastation, now is NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR SHIT, JUNKO," is such a good plot and I hate that it got wasted on a meta-narrative.

[ziggystrdust]

stupid motivation for me to start writing my fic. enjoy <3 (it’s long but i swear it funny)

James Potter was only one hour into his shift, and he felt like a zombie. The only thing he could think about was how much he hated the fucking sun. Ever since he was a kid he loved the sun, and his mother used to joke that he had his own little sun growing inside of his chest where his heart was supposed to be, but even sweet stories about his mom that make him cry at night weren't enough to distract him. It was currently 90 degrees, and he wished the sun would go fuck itself. He was hot, sweaty, tired and most importantly (in his order of importance) bored.

It's like Sirius could sense his best friend’s despair, because James was only wallowing in self-pity for one minute when he felt his walkie-talkie buzz with Sirius’ voice.

“Prongs, should we grab this kid with the blue crab trunks on and take him somewhere far, far away? He is so bloody annoying. Over.” He was talking about a attention-hungry boy who kept trying to splash water at Sirius. James tilted his head to the right to find that Sirius was looking at the kid out of the corner of his eye like he was the most repulsive thing on planet Earth.

“Please god yes. I’ll grab him, then pass him to you, and you run. Over.”

“Will you two please shut the fuck up. No kidnapping children. Do your job.”

“Awwww Mary baby, I haven’t heard from you in forever! over” cooed Sirius.

“Stop saying fucking over! You dont need to! There is literally no need!!”

“But how will you know when we’re done talking, Mary my love? Over” This time James was the one teasing her, sending a cheeky grin to the pool attendant's desk, where a very annoyed-looking Mary was sitting.

“Probably by the fact that no more fucking words would be coming out of your mouth!”

“I didn't know I could do that”

Mary sighed in a way that made James sure she was rolling her eyes. He didn’t even have to check. “Do what James” She sounded like an annoyed mother, tired of her children’s nonsense.

“Cum out of my mouth”

“HOLY SHIT JAMES! YOU ARE SO FUCKING ANNOYING!”

James heard Sirius’ evil-sounding laugh from across the pool deck.

“I’m turning my walkie off. If Minnie says something important, I'm blaming it on you that I can't hear it. Fucking childre-“

She was cut off by a sharp click, and James knew she had actually turned it off. He looked over and saw Mary glaring at him while putting her walkie down on her desk.

“Dude, people keep giving me dirty looks cause they can hear yall screaming from my walkie” That was the voice of the oh-so-lovely Marlene this time, who was sitting on the lifeguard chair by the kiddy pool.

“They can hear us?”

“Yes Sirius, everyone around me can hear you guys, especially when you yell like a fucking idiot”

James looked over to see Surius giving him a wide, mischievous smirk, before lifting up his walkie-talkie to his mouth and beginning to scream into it.

“SHE’S NOT A CERTIFIED LIFEGUARD! I HAVE NO CLUE WHO SHE IS! RUN AWAY! I'VE NEVER SEEN HER BEFORE IN MY LIFE! SHE WANTS TO KIDNAP YOUR CHILDREN! RUN RUN RUN!”

“PADS WHAT THE FUCK” James could barely hear Marlene’s panicked yell over the sound of his own wild laughter.

[funkyfreshfemme]

Every few years I will brainwash myself into thinking maybe I will like boba tea. It’s so fun, so whimsical! I like tea and I like tapioca, so surely the combination of the two shall enchant and delight me. Look at everyone else, they love it so dearly! Surely the ones I’ve disliked in the past were made improperly…. But no. Hate and despair on planet earth. The inclusion of a horrible little ball in my drink does nothing but vex me. I’m an unwilling participant in the worst possible drink experience known to man. AND I paid extra for it. So now I have to miserably suck each of the devil’s pearls through a comically large straw like a fucking cartoon character. Soup is god’s most perfect combination of food and drink but boba tea was crafted in the ninth circle of hell.

[hiveswap]

Hate and fucking despair on the planet earth. They killed her off

I take my previous complaints back again as long as theres lesbians everything will be good

[enhyqenn]

❝ ...i see the wires pullin' while you're breathing ❞

pairing : heeseung x fem!reader

song inspiration : wires - the neighbourhood

wc : 0.7k | warnings : unrequited love, blood

“ strictly the neighbourhood ” m.list

pure pain. that’s the only way to describe the disease that found its way into your lungs—the disease that made you cough up bright-colored blood and flower petals. the disease that landed you in the hospital.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” heeseung asked from his chair, knee bouncing anxiously as he leaned forward, hating the way you refused to look at him. he said your name when you only continued to stare at the painting of a newborn deer.

sighing through your nose, you blinked in his direction, already hating where this conversation was going. “i didn’t tell you because it wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

heeseung scooted to the edge of his seat, reaching for your hand. “you don’t know that.”

“yes i do,” you snapped, moving your hand out of his reach. “i am just a burden to you now; there’s nothing you can do except love me back, which…i know isn’t even an option.”

he stayed quiet at that, knowing there was truth to your words. running a shaky hand through his hair, heeseung scooted back in his chair, brown eyes regarding you and your situation. he took in the deep shade of purple under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and your labored breathing. if he listened hard enough, he could hear your struggle to intake air. it made him feel like shit.

“how long have you had hanahaki?” he asked, voice barely audible to you. heeseung dreaded the answer that would follow.

your eyes moved in your sockets, trying to think back to the first time you coughed up the colorful parts of a flower. as you opened up to reply, a choke came out instead, and the familiar feeling of brief suffocation clogged your throat. hand instinctively reaching for your chest, you leaned forward slightly, spewing blue and white petals into your lap, their velvety surface smeared with blood and saliva.

heeseung watched from beside you, his face etched with horror.

“six months,” you managed to finally mutter, wiping the mixture of bodily fluid from the corners of your lips. “two hours after i saw you with your girlfriend i started to cough up these stupid flowers.” you reached for the petals, gently picking them up and tossing them in the garbage that rested to your right. “the day after you rejected my confession, i knew i was fucked.”

the boy beside you gulped as he recalled the memory you mentioned. “i’m sorry.”

you let out a weak laugh, shaking your head at his apology. “don’t be. i don’t want your pity. this is all my fault anyway.”

“your fault?” heeseung repeated, eyes narrowing as he looked at you, confused with what you meant. “how on earth is this your fault?”

“because i let myself fall for you, even when i knew there was no way that you would ever like me back. i should’ve distanced myself the minute i realized i liked you more than you liked me,” you said, leaning against the pillow that was planted between your back and the raised mattress. “i was stupid. and that’s why i’m getting the surgery.”

“but then…” heeseung’s words trailed off for a brief moment, realizing what you getting the medical procedure meant. “but then you won’t remember who i am.”

you looked his way as if he was the stupidest person on the planet. “yeah, heeseung, that’s the whole reason i’m getting it; to forget you and demolish the feelings that have somehow planted themselves within my heart. well, that and also so i don’t choke to death on my own blood.”

“what the hell am i supposed to do, then? huh?” heeseung asked, despair evident in his voice as he abruptly stood. “just…just live my life like you aren’t a part of it anymore?”

“oh don’t sound so butt-hurt about it. you’ve already been acting that way for the past two months,” you scoffed, a headache starting to bloom from your constant talking. “i’m sure you’ll be more than capable of keeping it up for the rest of your life, heeseung.”

he looked down at you, a mixture of distress and grief pooling in his eyes. he looked so heartbroken. and you didn’t seem to care, too angry to fall for any of his tricks; you’d fallen for them before, back when you let yourself believe that there was still time for him to admit that he was in love with you and miraculously cure the disease that clung to your respiratory system.

[zeldasayer]

Futile Devices — Chapter 5

A Javier Peña/Call Me By Your Name AU

gif by @pascalplease

Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Everything has changed since your father’s book with Javier was rejected, just as you and Javier were getting close.

Warnings: SMUT — age gap (reader is of age), inexperienced!reader themes, gagging, praise (use of “little girl”), vocal Javi, squirting. Angst. 18+

Masterlist | Chapter 4

——

Vita Murphy was born on April 9th 1963 in Milan, Italy to American architects Connie and Steve Murphy, who met your mother by chance one afternoon at a market in town. Taking a liking to Connie, Daisy invited her and her husband to one of their legendary parties. Your mother and father loved to entertain and invite interesting people into their home for cocktails and Daisy's delicious cooking. Your parents celebrated every holiday, birthday, or life event they could think of, any excuse to dress up, string lights through the fruit trees in the back yard and drink in excess to your father's extensive record collection. As a child, you missed most of the parties, having been put to bed just as they were taking off, but when Connie and Steve arrived to your mother's 35th birthday after meeting in the market, and saw you sitting alone at your piano, Connie knew that next time she would bring her daughter.

Even at 13 you felt the pull that Vita had. You watched as she floated around your home, seeming even more comfortable in it than you were, stealing sips of wine and hors d'oeuvres before noticing you and asking if you had ever had your tarot cards read.

"It's my favourite game." You spat out nervously unaware.

Vita just smiled with a nod, "Yeah. Mine, too."

And from then on, you were inseparable.

"She didn't cry, she sang!" Connie always said about her daughter's birth. "It was the happiest day of my life."

Made in her mother's stunning image, Vita had the most incredible large eyes and long blonde hair she cut only once a year. Connie knew at a young age that her daughter was special, as a believer in the universe and the infinite lives a person could have, she knew her daughter was an old soul put on Earth to love and protect the new souls, the tired souls, those who were born somewhere and didn't know why they were born there. She knew it would be quite the burden for one girl, but she saw it quickly in her daughter that it was what she was meant to do. A healer, a listener, someone who understood what many feared no one ever could. Vita attracted those who needed her, and in that, unfortunately led to a large turnover in friendships. Vita was used to strong, short bursts of complete female unity, where she loved you undyingly and provided the support that you needed to pass through a difficult period of your life. But not with you, there was no passing through with you. Not even during your extended stays in the United States or even now that you are gone most of the year in college, could your friendship be weakened.

"It's because you were siblings!" Connie exclaimed in a tipsy state on a summer night long ago. "In another life."

"Do you think?" Vita asked, turning to you.

You believed in Vita and her mother's cosmic knowing, and relied on it more than you were willing to admit. "Of course."

"You were brother and sister." Connie said before taking a sip of her wine, and going quiet.

She always goes quiet — one moment she will tell you how your whole life is going to be and the next, just as she's about to get into the details, she switches off without any explanation, claiming she "doesn't really know this stuff, anyway."

It always makes Vita roll her eyes, because she knows that's not the case for she is just like her mother. Vita saw everything and found people she couldn't read extremely frustrating. Vita has this otherworldly understanding of people and a patience unmatched by anyone you have ever met. She knows how devastating it can be to be seen, but how crucial in life it is to not only be understood, but accepted. Vita also knew how often you spent up in your head, in your make believe world where nothing could hurt you. How your lust for life was so consuming it left you unable to move, too afraid to start because it always felt like you were doing it on your own. Your best friend once told you with tears in her eyes that she wished she knew what planet you were from so you would have the peace of mind that you weren’t completely alone, and you thanked her because sometimes that is enough.

Vita is the human embodiment of home.

So why can't you tell her what is going on? Why does your throat close up every time you want to talk about Javier in any capacity? Why does your throat close up when you think about Javier at all? A part of you wants to run barefoot straight to Vita’s house and up to her room, beg her to help you understand your own emotions. Why are you so enamored by a man who always makes it so hard to breathe? How he manages to make you so hyper aware of your movements, yet he isn't even looking at you. How he's never there when you want him but you would drop everything to be close to him once more. You would drop everything just to be what he wanted again and it makes you sick to your stomach. It's like watching yourself at 15 all over again, when you believed the most important thing you could be was desired. Hell is the mind of a fifteen year old girl, and you thought those days were gone forever.

The tension in the house doesn't make it any easier. You and Daisy tiptoeing around your father and house guest. The quiet meals, that used to be your favourite parts of the day now leave you cold even in the relentless summer sun. You spend most of the time, sitting across from Javier, staring at him. Waiting for him to look at you so you can ask him what's wrong with your eyes. To let him know that he can come to you, that you want him to. But he never does.

Christian and Javier lock themselves away in the library most days and your mother tells you they still haven't come up with anything new. You're startled every night when you're woken by their raised voices traveling through the halls and you hold your breath until you hear their roaring laughter and you know they must be drunk.

You don't see Javier much these days, but you don't see anyone for that matter. Resorting to lazy floats in the pool by yourself or reading alone in the cool living room to escape the heat. It feels as though, if you can't be around Javier you can’t be around anyone at all and sometimes you can make that make sense but most of the time you ignore the irritating notion that you may really be going crazy.

But what was supposed to happen? Javier would fuck you and realize right then and there he couldn’t live without you? It’s so embarrassing because it’s true. You can't talk to Vita because you're embarrassed to admit you wanted to be more and tonight after another lonely dinner where you might as well have been eating alone — you dumped your dishes in the sink and slipped out to the back gardens for your abandoned childhood swing set. And you finally cried.

“Fuck!” You scream up at the sky and you kick your legs back.

As you create your momentum, swinging back and forth you can’t help but succumb to your own erratic emotions and you wonder why it has to be this way. Why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Why must you always need more? Why is it so goddamn exhausting to keep yourself neutral? You’ve never felt sad, only despair. Never angry, only full of rage. You’ve never been embarrassed, you only know humiliation. And you hate to think this way because you always search for your brain for a time you were truly happy, but you always come up empty.

Something is always missing. Something is always missing and you’re always alone but you can’t even be upset because you do it to yourself.

It feels like you’re taking the world on by yourself simply because you are. Because you feel like you need to, this is your burden and yours only. You must suffer to be rewarded for one day you will be able to walk in the sun and be alright.

But to what end? When will you be rewarded?

You want it to be Javier. Just being close to him feels like the reward. The energy you feel just sitting next to him, those eyes you want to swim in, the perfect angle of his nose and the voice that drips from his lips. It must be him, but he won’t even talk to you.

You spend the evening locked in this thought, the concept of the reward — you can convince yourself it isn't real but your heart aches for it knows it is the truth. Which is why Javier is so difficult. He is the one and it makes you dizzy with excitement, but you’re not sure if you can trust it. There is this pull of doubt at the corners of every thought because he still doesn’t know you. Though he could. If he just said the word, you’d spill every story, every thought, every idea you’ve ever had. How you long for more. More life. More love. More sex. More understanding. To truly be alive, not just living. Who could understand that better then him?

——

You like the way the cold ground feels under your bare feet as you walk back up to the house in the darkness. You feel lighter, now that you’ve cried and the house that sits quiet and empty is suddenly comforting. This is your life, your home. Javier is just a tourist and he should be so lucky to exist in the same space as you. But maybe this is you just channeling arrogance as to not be so sad, focusing on what he’s missing instead of your desperate need for him to actually see it.

“Claude?” You hear from the living room at the first creak of the wooden stairs.

You tiptoe through the corridor and into the living room to find Javier taming his fluffy hair with a yawn. Your jaw tightens.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I fell asleep.” He says and you just stand there, crossing your arms over your light blue summer dress. “Can you come sit?”

Shit.

“I don’t know Javi, I’m tired.” You shrug.

“Look, I just want to apologize.” He says, standing up and turning toward you, “We had sex and I haven’t spoken to you since and that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t see because he looks down like he’s ashamed. You believe him. Gliding across the living room, you watch him in his usual ensemble — tight black t-shirt, soft cotton pants and his thick black framed glasses, and sit back down with him, on your side.

“It’s just everything with this book, I’ve never felt this kind of anxiety.” He says, his eyes cast down, resting his head on his fist propped up by the top of the couch.

You nod for you understand, but it hurt. “You didn’t even look at me this week.”

“I know.” He sighs, “I know, but I really am sorry. Please believe me when I say I’ve missed you.”

You look up at him, biting your cheek to contain your excitement.

“I miss you even while we live in the same house.” He says, looking away. His hand fidgets against his knee. “If you’re not at breakfast, or you spend your day here, reading in the living— I miss you when you aren’t around me.”

You wish there was a way to burn these words into your brain so you could have them at any time, to hear his voice say these things to you. This validation that he has felt the same after these long, horrible days of practically ignoring each other.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you turn Javier’s gaze back to you, and study him as you feel the fine hairs of his beard under your fingertips. He looks tired, even behind his glasses you can see the deep longing for rest in his eyes. You don’t think he’s used to rejection either.

Javier leans into your touch with a soft hum and you could almost lose your breath from the tenderness. You want to hold him, bury your nose in his hair and tell him to rest with you. Just laying together, his big body between your legs and head on your stomach, until the inevitable rising of the sun. You can hardly bring yourself to imagine how beautiful Javi must look by the light of the morning.

“Come here.” You whisper, though it’s barely audible, as you rise up on your knees so you are flush against his side, looking down at him. Before you kiss him, Javier kisses you, and your hand floats down from his cheek to wrap your arms around his glorious neck.

Javi wastes no time, his one big hand dragging up your spine to squeeze the back of your neck, holding your against him. And with the other, letting his thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel the desperation in his skin, and you want all of it, this exquisite juxtaposition of feeling both safe in his arms but that he could also crush you with his desire.

What was life before this? Before Javier’s thick moans into your mouth, his heavy wet finger tips tracing. He takes up all the air in the room and you don’t stop him. He is everything.

You break off the kiss for a moment and remove his glasses. “I missed you too.”

“I’ve only touched you once, but I have spent every day thinking about you. Kissing you. Having you.” He says, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “It’s all I’ve wanted, every day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me.” You ask, and you can’t help the confused look on your face but Javier doesn’t respond. You search his face anyway longing for something heartfelt, like he was locked up in his head, consumed by his feelings for you, like you were. Instead, he kisses you again. Swallowing any upsetting feeling you’ve had since you’ve touched him last.

Kissing Javier is a soft pleasure all in its own, but you want more. More skin. More contact. To ache around him again. To show him how much you truly missed him.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper, your palm trailing flat down the man’s chest. You get lower and lower, kissing along the beautiful exposed skin of his neck, dragging your hand down the soft black fabric until you reach the drawstring of Javi’s pants.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you feel his body stiffen as he looks around.

You nod, pushing your legs out from underneath you so you’re laying flat on the couch, your face practically in his lap. “Just relax.”

Javier lets all the air escape from his chest as you pull on the pants and he lifts his hips so you can get them down his thighs.

He watches you with heavy eyes, his mouth falling open as you kiss up the underside of his length, hardening under your lips. Swirling your tongue around the tip, you rest your head on Javier’s lower abdomen lazily, feeling him grow even more in your hand as you stroke him.

“Shit..” He says through his teeth, smoothing your hair back out of your face for you.

You continue to take your time teasing him. Humming in delight as Javier can barely contain himself, thrusting up into your hand shamelessly. He keeps his eyes closed, hands in your hair and you can feel the relief radiating from him. He was desperate for touch.

“Oh, Javi.” You coo, as his head falls back on to the couch, fucking up into your hand and you swear you can hear him whimper. This feeling of power over Javier is absolutely intoxicating, to feel so disconnected from him all week then to have him almost pathetically trying to relieve himself with any bit of human contact you’ll allow him.

“Look what you do to me.” He growls. “Fucking your ha-and...”

Javier reaches around, taking his length from your delicate grasp and pushes you lightly into his pelvis.

“You’re so fucking — soft.” He grunts, tapping his throbbing head against your lips before dragging his cock along your face.

You smile, letting him. Revealing your tongue for a moment to tease him once more.

“Thought you wanted to take care of me.” He says, his voice tight and you feel his hand in the back of your hair as he continues to run his length along your face. Grinning as his grip tightens, he doesn’t hurt you, it’s just about the control.

“I do.” You moan, as Javi softly pushes and pulls your head in a rhythmic motion, just hovering over him.

“Open your mouth.” He mumbles and you do what you’re told.

Javier motions your neck down, pulling you slowly over him, taking just his head in your mouth. “Is this okay sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You whimper around him, your thighs involuntarily rubbing together, searching for some kind of relief from the arousing pull of his voice.

“Yeah? F-Fuck your pretty mouth.” He grunts, thrusting up slowly, stretching your lips to accommodate his thickness. You close your eyes, focusing on the fullness, calming your breath to take him.

“Stay just like this.” Javier sighs, his other hand tangling into your hair to keep you in place and you hum in agreement. Then he thrusts — quickly like he’s actually fucking you and it comes as a surprise but the moan that drips from his mouth almost instantly is enough to make you squeeze your thighs tighter. You have never felt a high like this, being exactly what Javier wants.

You dig your finger nails into his thighs as he takes you, a blunt, bruising force to the back of the throat and you can’t help but gag.

“That’s a good girl.” He says, “Taking my dick in your hot fucking mouth. I love that sound.”

You gag once more and Javier pulls out to you gasping. Spit suspended from your mouth to his cock and you watch it for a moment before grinning up at Javi.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the saliva from your mouth.

“I’ve never done that before.” You smile, looking down slightly embarrassed as you wonder if you were even any good.

“You keep saying that...” Javi’s voice trails off as he pulls your dress up to knead your behind. You love having his hands on you, playing with you. “But you’d never know...”

You try to suppress your satisfied smile, flattening your palms around the base of Javier’s shaft, you take him back in your mouth.

“Fuck...” he exhales long and slow, grabbing a rough handful of your ass before pushing you down on to him, taking him completely down your throat and keeps you there. Your eyes water, and your leg kicks out before he lets you breathe again, coming up for air with a cough you look up at him and he looks down at you like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

——

Javier pulls you back up against his side, and he looks up at you as he’s slumped down into the couch. You wrap your arms back around his neck, fluttering your fingers through his hair and he nuzzles your chest, pressing his lips into your skin. You wish he was like this always, soft in your arms.

Javi hooks a finger into the top of your dress and pulls down, freeing your breasts, nipples hard in attention and he takes one in his mouth. Your cradle his head as he sucks on the buds and you let your own fall back slowly, relishing in the feeling of his tongue and his lips, the brushing of his moustache and the digging of his nose and how sweet he looks in your arms. This is too much, you’re going dizzy.

Javier helps you pull your dress over his head and his lips quickly return to your nipples. His big warm hands squeezing your bust harshly, alternating with his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh and completely pressing his face into your chest. Even as you climb into his lap, on top of him completely nude, his tongue doesn’t give up until you pull his face up to yours for a kiss.

He tastes like everything you want to drown in and it’s heady, like a force you must fight before it completely consumes you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck.” You gasp, grinding your hips along Javi’s length, desperate for more.

“Oh, god.” He chokes, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me this time, sweetheart?”

“Yeah..” You whine, reaching between your bodies.

“Yeah? You’re gonna bounce that wet little pussy on my dick?” His voice shakes into your neck, and it’s such a contrast from his stern “Get on your bed.” from days ago.

You nod, kissing up his jaw in this sudden codependency, his need to feel every inch of you as you both fall back into the couch.

“Relax, Javi. Let me do this for you.” You coo, sinking down on to him. You hum from the incredible stretch and Javier groans right into your ear.

“That pussy is so fucking tight.” He says, out of breath. “Don’t move.”

You obey him, stilling in his lap and Javier lifts his head from the safe space between your neck and your shoulder and he looks up at you.

“What if I just held you here like this.” He says, almost to himself, his hands coming up to your ass. “Stuffed full of my dick and I didn’t let you move.”

“Javi...” You whine.

“Would you still be my good little girl?”

“Javi...” You whine louder, your chest feeling like it’s going to collapse, Javier’s fingers digging into you and he gives you two small thrusts.

“You love being my good girl, don’t you?” Javier whispers, pushing your hair behind your shoulders.

More than anything.

“Yes.” You gasp.

“I know you do.” He says, guiding you slowly up and down. “Just sucking my dick made this pussy a dripping mess.”

“I love it.” You groan as the sound of your skin against his gets louder as you work your hips for him.

Javier looks a moment away from possession and it just fuels you, for you have him where you always want him and you want this to be the death of him.

You still again, but only for a moment to steady yourself as you get up on your feet.

“Shit..” Javier sighs, before he turns you both with your arms wrapped around him, his back now against the arm rest and his legs straight out along the couch. “There you go, baby.”

You reach behind you, finding your balance with your grip on his knees and you pull your hips up.

“Oh my fucking god.” Javier gasps, running his hand down his face and you push your hips down slowly, watching him and in this moment he is really yours.

Fighting through the burning in your arms and your legs, you give him everything you’ve got. Mewing in the pleasure of seeing him underneath you like this, needing you like this. Submitting to the grinding of your hips and the wetness that aches around him. You wish you could see yourself on top of him, your chest bouncing, skin glowing in sweat so he knows exactly what he could have, whenever he wanted it.

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” Javier says, his thumb dragging across your mound and down to your clit, that is begging for attention and the moment his fingertip grazes the sensitive nerve your legs clamp together. But he doesn’t stop. Even as his length falls from your body from the increased height of your hips, Javier’s hand doesn’t retreat from the soft thighs it’s wedged between. Circling your clit over and over, your arms buckle and you hold your breath. You thought you had the power but even on top of him you’re just putty in his hand and he knows exactly what to do to make you sing.

“Are you going to squirt for me again?” He rasps, his other hand pushing you down into his lap. “I want to watch this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

“Put it back.” You gasp, trying to force your legs open.

“Yeah, baby? Do you need my dick?” Javi teases, pushing at your thigh to open up for him again. He finally eases his dizzying pressure on your clit and holds you just above his pulsing head, slick with you. Running his tip along your folds, you try to sink down on to him, but he keeps you suspended.

“Beg me.” He demands. “You know I love the way you say my fucking name.”

“Please, Javi.” You whine, grinding your hips into nothing. “Please, I love your cock so much, give it to me.”

You push yourself up and fall forward so your hands are on his chest, “Please, Javi. Make me squirt again. Only you know how to fucking do it”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, pushing up into you sharply despite your yelp. “Anything for my good little girl.”

Javier pulls you down, flush against his chest, still clothed against your’s nude and he wraps his arms around you. He smells like amber and fresh linens as always. Summer. A sunset. The breeze off the ocean and wine. Safe.

His grip around you tightens as you inhale him, pounding up into you as he finds your ear, and his voice is like syrup, “I’m going to take care of you sweetheart. Going to make this pussy cum. You tell me okay? I want to see it. Want to see you fucking soak me. Don’t by shy, my good little girl. Give it to me.”

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You’re so fucking incredible. Taking my big dick in this perfect little pussy. Let go, Claude. Cum for me, angel.”

You groan lewdly and Javi’s hand comes down on your mouth.

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” He warns, and you sigh into his palm. Angel.

This pace is overwhelming, and as he’s restricted your limbs there really is nothing you can do but take it, trying to keep your thighs from clamping together every time Javier brushes that incredible spot within you. Your moans getting longer, from an even deeper part of your throat every time. Your core twists and tightens as he brings you there, unlike anyone else ever has.

“Javi, now!” You exclaim, barely recognizing the screech in your voice and Javier pulls out. His lap wet with you.

“Oh that’s a good fucking girl.” He says, kissing the top of your head as you fall to his side. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your house guest’s impressive length twitches in his hand as he strokes himself, his nose buried in your hair as you nuzzle his chest in hazy delight and he keeps whispering, “Fucking you is such a dream. You make it so hard not to just nut in that tight fucking pussy.”

You hum, lifting our head up and kissing him softly. “Cum for me.”

“Yeah?” He swallows.

“Please, Javi.” You sigh.

“Where?” He asks, stroking himself harder.

It takes all your strength, but you slip silently off the couch and on to your knees. “On my face.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He says, getting up quickly.

Javier takes your chin delicately in his hand, stroking himself with vigor with the other, and you display your tongue for him, feeling the weight of his cock on it instantly.

“Such a good girl, letting me cum on your pretty fucking face like this. I don’t deserve you. So fucking— pretty.” He groans, with everything left and in this moment you have him, again.

——

You wake in your bed, and you know it’s late because you’re hit by a wall of heat followed swiftly by disappointment when you realize you are, once again, alone. With your arm spread out at your side, you know you are going to be met with nothing but empty sheets and you still feel it at the pit of your stomach anyway.

You sit up with a sigh, back to normal you suppose. Another day of existing separately, but together with only your lost puppy sense of self and a fascination for this man to sustain you.

Then you see him. Javier leaning up against your balcony door with his coffee, wearing only his pyjama bottoms. He hears you stirring and looks back with a smile, “Good morning.”

——

Tags: @pascalisperfect @thefinalgurl @we-are-like-a-timebomb @ssppoorrkk @headsindreams @kehrite @nerdyknightwritersblog @tangledlove27 @chipotle-pour-moi @jokersdoll @zea-is-amazing @someplace-darker @kaylaylaylayla @spacenerdsebby @forever-rogue @fionnthebandersnacc @colourmeinblue @longitud-de-onda @dogsinspace @spitmillk @staellula @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @leo-moon @mandoandyodito @bonkybaaarnes @sadthotsonlylove @ah-callie @astrolo-galaxy @lockedoutofmyotherblog @hayley-the-comet @boybalm @casjason @mrsparknuts @blushingwueen @ignimbritetcax @benakenalove @fioccodineveautunnale @exrebelshocktrooper @pascalisthepunkest @sav-a-nna @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @solarwars @cumberbitching @rae-gar-targaryen @tabalugax @lokiaddicted @roxypeanut @ezraslittlebirdie @thisainttheway @none-of-your-bullshit @mand0-l0rian @assaultsofthought

Love, Zelda

[bookwermthings]

Quotes from Mighty and Despair that I LOVE live reaction:

And thank you @ultraviolet-eucatastrophe for the introduction and warning for it! Much appreciated!

"I already told you, Captain Jack isn't here!"

:(

"On the other hand, I better not risk death! I'm not the man with a thousand lives!"

Yesss go with the sass

"Because you are Captain Jack, aren't you?"

I thought it would take longer for her to say this actually.

"is that why you're here, to lay to rest?"

"I thought at one point, but I'm far too restless for that."

Sad...

"I haven't spent a lifetime opening my mind without learning how to close it."

Yay!! Go Jack!

"This is what happens when you don't leave me alone."

"this is what happens when you sit on a frozen lake!"

"I told you I was meditating"

Oh Jack...

"Christmas is, was, who knows if it's still going, a festival on my homeworld"

He calls earth his homeworld!!!

"my father had three husbands, eight children with each!"

Wow!! Gay poly rep for the win?

"What about your family?"

"it's complicated. I'm pretty much alone now."

What's complicated about it? Either all of his family and kids are dead now, or they're not. Maybe we'll get more on this later?

"So? You might as well just give up!"

Oh, Jack... You can come to the planet but never leave? That hurts.

"How do you fight?"

"I. Just. Wait."

Jack is fun!

And... Now he's not.

Two immortals, crushing the heart of a mortal...

"why aren't we better? Why don't we try?"

"c'mon, Jack, the hero of the stars, man of a thousand lives. Who are you now?"

I just. Just want to hold them. Jack and Persus mainly, but the Queen I'll probably warm up to

"You're so special. As you are, not how you could be."

Gonna cry

"c'mon I'll teach you a carol or two!"

Damn I wish I could have heard them sing more than just king weseclas (is that how you spell it?)

"The tree is getting big now!"

Aaaw 🤗

"Are you okay, Persus?"

Oh god. She's going to die, isn't she. No, please. This is a rollercoaster of an audio. Agh.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck no she's screaming please this isn't fair

She'll explain away the lights in the ship?

What is it?

Oh...

"does Jack know?"

"but I'm going to die, and my family is dead, and we didn't fight! I don't know why"

Oh, it hurts.

"I can't let go"

Over and over and over

"I reckon Persus was one of life's successes."

"thousands and thousands of years, in the wind, in the snow, and then we have to walk back"

Oh, Jack.

"it's a big ask"

"Damn right it is"

"right then! Let's get this eternity started."

"this looks promising! The torch is lit."

Oh, the callbacks. Persus said that. This gives me the feels.

"we chop off that head and pickle it in a jar, those looks might last."

Laughing, sobbing,no, not a face of boe reference

"but captain Jack has taught me something. How. To. Wait."

AAAAAAAAH

"Carla, that's mass slaughter!"

"They're already dead. I'm teaching them how to die."

"This was your plan??? All those years together, and you lied to me!"

I feel it with him, the betrayal, the hurt, the sadness, the anger

"I've never carried this kind of hate!"

"I did."

Oh...

Or this kind of love as well?

"To see Persis once more."

"this has all been for her..."

"I have thought of her, ached for her, every moment of every day of every year of every eternity we spent here. I could have changed her. She could have been by my side for life."

Ugly sobbing

Ugly ugly sobbing

"I hope you find her"

"so do I. I love you both, Jack. So very much."

Oh god. Oh god. Fuck.

"I die and die again and I never see ANYTHING... this is all I get. And that's maybe the point. Got to leave this place and find the life, the man with a thousand lives. I will never forget you both."

[huilendnaardeclub]

Finding the courage to show your creativity to the world

People sometimes ask me how on earth I’m able to share my art for all the world to see, without spiralling into deep, deep despair.

The truth is: I *do* fuck myself up over this. All the time. There are days where I’m seriously considering throwing all my boxes with drawings (I have tons of them) out the window, burning my scanner and erasing every word I’ve ever put to paper. There are days where I hate everything I make so much that I think I’m completely losing the plot. There are days where I cry because I think it’s all complete and utter shit.

But then there are days when I find myself in a flow so prolific, so uplifting, that it almost feels transcendental. I’ll write, I’ll draw, I’ll stick together collage after collage and it’s as if every puzzle piece is fitting just right at that very moment.

So, how do you learn to let go of the bad days and find strength in the good ones?

What I’ve learned through the years is this. When you’re into making art, you’ll probably never going to get to the point where it’s ‘done’. You won’t wake up one day and establish that your work as an artist is completed. There’s always more, eventually.

And that’s the beauty of it. You’ll never stop developing yourself and your craft. It’s an endless journey you’re on. Realizing that there is no such thing as a ‘finish line’ in art can feel both liberating as extremely frightening.

Because, if it’s never done, what exactly am I doing it for, then?

Well, first and foremost: yourself. If you’re creating from a point of authentic expression, you’re already there. To me, personally, creating things is therapeutic. It helps me clear my mind, it allows me to escape reality for a little while and I get to experiment with all the ideas in my head. I even noticed my body feels less tense when I’m doing something creative.

Then there’s all the other people out there, who will undoubtedly have an opinion on your art. How do you handle that?

One of the most important things to realize is: there are always people who will think that what you made is shit. It’s a harsh statement, but it can also help you put the whole thing in perspective. There are billions of people on this planet, statistically it’s simply impossible for all of them to like your creations. You have a better chance of winning the lottery five times in a row and then grabbing the World Cup with Micronesia.

I’m not advocating completely ignoring all the naysayers. If they have constructive feedback for you, or voice a reasonable argument, it’s probably worth listening to. But then there are lots of people who just like to spout digital shit all over your screen. Those are the people you should show the door without further notice. You don’t need that shit in your life, and neither do they, really.

But just like there are people who will dislike your work, there’ll be people who love what you do. Sometimes I get a lovely message from a stranger saying they like a certain thing I made, and that always brightens up my day. It’s a beautiful thing when people engage with your art and relate to it, in one way or another.

So, if you like to keep your art to yourself, simply because you don’t feel like sharing it, that’s perfectly fine. But if you decide not to share it, just because of what other people might think, you’re depriving yourself from some really nice things that might happen.

Getting yourself out there, showing yourself to the world and saying “look, I made this” — it’s scary at first. But speaking personally, this feeling quickly faded when I found that there are, in fact, people who enjoy following me to see what I come up with next, what my next experiment will entail.

There still are plenty of bad days on which I fear nobody will like the thing I’ve been working on, but I make a point of reminding myself that I’m doing it for myself in the first place. That’s an important thing to consider. If you’re proud of what you made, whether it’s a poem, a drawing, a sculpture or anything else, it’s worth sharing. No amount of virtual likes can hold up to the service you’re doing to yourself by saying: I made this and I like it. What other people think of that is really much less important.

[antihumanism]

@transhumanoid​ said:

The short answer is, obviously, the Space Defense Front did nothing wrong.

In a longer answer, it can be a bit hard to tell what the SDF were about. In their first real appearance, we have a guy conducting a bombing campaign on the moon. The target of the bombings (smoke rooms) seems chosen to minimize civilian casualties while still getting attention (smoke rooms have separate ventilation and are built with fires in mind, so set off a bomb in one and the station as a whole is left intact). This sort bombing campaign was very effective for the IRA and has been used with varying degrees of violence and success by all movements. It gets attention for your ideas, can provoke violent reaction from the government/corporation targeted creating sympathy for the cause, and repairing the damaged infrastructure costs money which makes the occupation less profitable. It’s good and it’s valid and anyone who says otherwise is a naïve fool who will grow out of it one day or follow the rest through the kitchen. 

Then our guy just goes straight for the throat with an attack on ISPV-7. If he’d been successful, that would have been the end of human exploitation of space. No need for consciousness of anything, and there was no room for the negotiation that happened in the finale. It makes no sense. However, ISPV-7 was only in so much danger due to a perfect storm of bad decisions by the Commander. So, it seems reasonable that the SDF had no idea how close they came to a pyrrhic victory and their intention was just to deliver another bloody nose.

Maybe, but our guy also seems to think he’s the fucking Lorax.

So, it is all very confused. A lot of risk was undertaken in this bombing campaign to get people to hear this manifesto, and the manifesto is just some exposition mixed with mangled quotes from Dr. Seuss and Kaczynski, and if he had been “successful” in his last attack he wouldn’t have needed to say anything. The Kessler Syndrome would have pinned mankind to Earth for years without any need for ideology or propaganda.

Still, the action is heroic. Our guy is punching well above his weight class and reminding the oligarchs and technicians that they can’t ascend beyond the reach of vengeance and the grasping claws of spite. A lot of people point to the crab bucket and say “oh, those other crabs are being so mean” ignoring that the crab trying to escape is doing so by stepping on the heads of the others and leaving them to their deaths. There’s a lot of dirty little words for the wannabe escapees. “Kapo” is one of them; “collaborateur” is another.

Besides, even when they’re just off their meds, like people burning 5G towers, violent refusers still serve a valuable role. Let’s get microbiotic: in a colony of bacteria, even if everybuggy is a clone there are still point mutations and differences in the amount and type of plasmids that they’re packing. These differences mean that there are different levels of signaling molecules in each cell and enzymes with different active sites and so on. These differences provide the basis of resistance when something comes in and starts taking heads. To get a bit rat, lines for the preservation of the Sentinelese is the most important thing for protecting H. sapiens from the “benevolence” of CelestAI.

When the SDF returns, they’re a lot more coherent. Mostly because they’re represented by Hakim, and when Hakim and Hachi talk, I don’t know how anyone couldn’t come down on the side of Hakim. Hachi just spews Redditor cliches about how much he fucking loves science, and Hakim responds with the cold hard reality: all that is happening is the increasing stratification between oligarchs, middle managers and engineers above. Maybe you think the millions who died from lack of food or medicine each year are also a cliché, well that’s an opinion you can share with the folks who also think “6 million” is a cliché. Whatever nonsense about “humanity” one says, humans aren’t going anywhere without violence and that violence belongs in the hands of everypony. There will never not be the need for those who blow stuff up and threaten the status quo.

Funnily enough, Locke Smith (one of the best anime names ever and a name that could only be an anime name, John Locke + Adam Smith = lock maker and burglar) would fully agree, which is why he doesn’t take the SDF’s actions personally. The SDF is the necessary obverse face of Locke Smith. Ruthless communalists and ruthless individualists waging a proxy war through all H. sapiens. A lot of meat gets ground up between them, but it is necessary to bend and/or break the backs of the oligarchs and bring about the change they’ll refuse at all other costs.

Which is one of the great things about Planetes, it cheerfully celebrates ruthlessness. Terrorism, corporate backstabbing, psychopaths like von Braun and Locke Smith, love and hate, Hachi and Hakim, industrialist and ecoterrorist. Even Hachi’s PTSD and vision at the end about “space as everyone being connected” is reminiscent of Arjuna in the Mahābhārata who gives into despair at the prospect of war and only recovers his resolve because he’s shown the oneness of all things. Then he picks up his weapons and massacres his enemies without remorse. This also comes from the same chapter as the famous “I am become death, destroyer of worlds”-line.

So, the long answer is, the Space Defense Front did nothing wrong, but neither did their enemies.

[will-on-the-internet]

Violence and Defence | Jonathan Byers

VIOLENCE AND DEFENCE| JONATHAN BYERS ft. STEVE HARRINGTON

WRITTEN BY WILLOWROSE99 WORD COUNT: 2100 WARNING: VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, SLUT SHAMING, KING STEVE ARSEHOLISHNESS THIS IS REALLY OLD, APOLOGISE FOR THE SHITTINESS

*******

Sometimes, the world and its people turned into a science experiment. And most of the time, that science experiment went wrong, devastatingly wrong.

Right now, the town of Hawkins and its residents were under a microscope, with the rest of the world looking in and thinking all the horrible thoughts about a small country town that was suddenly in the middle of a missing child's case. All of a sudden there were film crews and journalists and police officers swarming all over the town and its streets, trying to access the minds of those who lived in that little town.

But compared to how the outsiders of the case faired, was nothing compared to those who were family or friends. The world seemed to explode around them as if the earth was hit with an asteroid, shattering the little comfort bubble that kept them safe and warm, instead of letting in the chilling cold and the terrors of the night.

Jonathan wasn't coping well, and you knew that. You knew that he was the sort of person to snap under pressure and at the worst time for the people around him. But you also knew that it took lots of pressure to push him to the edge, and normally he was fine, drowning himself in music and trying to quiet the voices with happy memories and familiar photographs.

Except, right now, none of those things was going to help the oldest Byers boy.

Steve Harrington and his friends were a piece of work. They were the kind of teenagers that thrived off the downfall of others and their popularity only made them stronger. With their sharp-tongued comments and off-handed insults, they were the enemy of everyone and the friends of some, but right now, they were the most hated people on the planet in your eyes.

You didn't mean to end up in this situation, standing opposite Carol, Tommy and Steve. It truly was an accident, one made by seeing your name spray-painted on the cinema doors, followed by the words "slut" and "creep fucking whore". For some reason, the words bothered you, not only because they were disgustingly mean, but more so because you knew who had sprayed the dark red letters onto the dirty glass.

You didn't think your older cousin would stoop to the level of aggressively insulting someone for every one of the townspeople to see, including his aunt and uncle, but you just so happened to be wrong.

Suddenly the teenager beside you was fuming, glaring at the words that covered the glass and gripping your hand tighter. You knew what was coming, that all his anger and despair and fear was about to tumble together into a cloud of electrified emotion that could wage a war against the strongest of armies. And you knew that Jonathan was thinking everything through in his head as he stood next to you, but you didn't stop him as he let go of your hand and walked towards the ally way where the three lords of Hawkins High School were hiding.

They didn't even try to hide their amusement as they saw Jonathan and you appear in front of them. Instead, it just seemed to fuel their actions further, cajoling the two of you as they swapped banter between the three of them as if everything was hilarious.

He was fuming, body shaking slightly as you came up to grab his arm, and pull him back from your older cousin. But then Steve started speaking, and you knew there was no chance of this not ending without something terrible happening.

"Well well, if it isn't my little cousin, the whore. What a surprise." Tommy and Carol laughed as if what Steve had just said was the funniest thing in the world, even though they knew there was nothing funny about what was about to happen.

"Why the hell did you do that Steve? What the fuck do you want from me?" You got right up in his face, so close that the older boy eyes widened slightly and he took a step back. You were so angry and so damn disappointed in the boy in front of you that all you wanted to do was walk away and never give him your time again, but you knew you couldn't do that, and that no one would let you.

"I honestly think it's hilarious that you're asking me this when you already know what you did." He snarled back at you in such a fury that his eyes burned with rage.

"And what did I do, Harrington? Cause' right now I'm lost, and you're looking pretty dumb attacking me for something when I've got no idea what is going on."

"YOU SLEPT WITH HIM!" The whole group of you went silent as if what Steve had yelled was so dirty that all of you refused to acknowledge it. But then the silence came to a crashing end when you spoke back to him.

"How dare you. God, I can't fucking believe you, Steve Harrington. Since when do you care who I sleep with, or what I even do with my own life? When have you given an actual fuck about me?" Your voice was low and quiet, shaking with so much anger that Steve felt himself backing away again and retreating to stand closer to Carol and Tommy. But you wouldn't let him cower behind his goons this time, because you knew what you needed to do. "Tell me, why do you give a fuck?"

"Because you're dating him. I have to care because you're dating a creep and someone who most likely killed his brother."

His head wrenched back then, your hand colliding flat against his cheek and sending out a sharp snap of a noise. No one moved as Steve stumbled back, holding his cheek as the hot skin turned a dark pink colour.

For a moment no one could believe what you had just done, least of all you. You'd just hit someone for the first time in your life, and as insane as it sounded, it felt good. Your hand burned from where you hit Steve like the memory was physically imprinting itself into your skin for you to always remember, but suddenly the world was moving around you like a storm rising out of nothing.

Carol was coming towards you, hands out to push you to the ground before you quickly sidestepped the erratic teen. Tommy was jumping around and shouting insults into the air like someone was listening to him from up above, and Steve...Well, Steve was staring back at you with a look of absolute hurt in his eyes, and for just a quick split second, you wanted to hug him and tell him everything was alright, even though you knew he didn't deserve.

"I guess you made your decision then, you'd rather date the psycho than be on good terms with your cousin. I get it." Steve let the words escape his mouth as you turned away from him and moved closer to Jonathan. And even though Jonathan was shaking and pushing against your hand that tried to lead him away from the oncoming fight, Steve kept talking.

"Well, don't come running to me when the teen killer ends up killing you and his mum goes insane...Oh, wait, too late." Steve was letting out another laugh, but suddenly Jonathan was ripping himself out of your hold and barreling towards the boy, his fist striking Steve on the edge of his nose.

Steve fell collapsed to the ground and then Jonathan was on top of him, hitting him over and over in the face until your cousin was covered in dark red blood and was trying to push Jonathan off him. Tommy tried to grab Jonathan by the arm and yank him off his friend, but instead, Jonathan twisted away from his grasp and kept punching Steve.

You didn't know how everything happened, all you knew was that you were suddenly by Jonathan's side and trying to pull him off your older cousin, watching as your hands stained with blood and you desperately screamed at the two boys to stopped fighting.

You got in between them then, hands against their heaving chests and pushing them away from each other in a way that stopped all the bloodshed. Both boys were covered in blood, and their cheeks were swollen, knuckles cut and skin bruising quickly.

"Stop it, both of you." You didn't even glance at Steve as he tried to call out for you, turning your back on your cousin and walking towards your boyfriend. You grabbed his unhurt hand and pulled him away. He tried to resist, but he stopped when you squeezed it gently.

The two of you left that ally, leaving the three other teens behind as you quickly walked towards Jonathan's car. Sliding into the passenger seat and resting against the seat as he started the car and let the engine roll for a moment before pulling out of the parking spot and onto the road.

Speeding down the empty road and rushing past trees that were losing their leaves, the both of you were silent, the only noise being the cassette tape playing from the radio, soft guitar strums and gentle drum beats filling the moving vehicle.

You didn't know where Jonathan was driving to, and you didn't ask because, in all honesty, you couldn't care less. You just wanted to get away from everything and everyone, apart from him. After another ten minutes of driving, Jonathan pulled the car into a barely used driveway, winding through the tall trees and dodging the uneven surface of the dirt road.

Stopping the car gently, he let out a sigh and turned the car off with a small twist of his wrist against the keys, signalling for you to get out. Following him, you sat beside him as he leaned against the hood of his car and looked up at the night sky. Stars glittered above you, millions of miles high and as bright as anything you had ever seen.

Leaning against you, you pressed your face into the skin of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. He wrapped his arm around you, tugging you closer and pressing his lips against your hair.

"I'm sorry I hit Steve, I know you didn't want me to do that." His words came out quiet and muffled, but you didn't mind. Letting another sigh escape, you shifter against him slightly.

"It's fine, I was too angry to care what you did. Plus, I did hit him first." Jonathan let out a loud laugh at this, body shaking against yours and the sound lighting up the world around the both of you

"That is true, but I gotta admit, he did deserve it." He smiled down at you for a moment, his features clouded by the darkness of the night.

The two of you sat in silence once again, clinging to each other under the night sky and watching as the trees moved around you and the stars shone above.

And then you were leaning up to press your lips against his for a short moment, hand coming up to cup his jaw and run another through his already messy hair. You pulled away after, leaning back into him as he peppered kisses over your forehead and hair, moving a hand up and down your back and skimming his thumb against the bare skin of your hip.

"I never said thank you." He glanced down at you in confusion, brow crinkling and eyes staring right back into yours. He shook his head slightly and spoke back.

"You don't need to thank me, I'll always be there to help you. Steve and his mates are dicks."

"Even if you get hurt in the process?"

"Especially if I get hurt in the process because I would rather be the one bleeding then let you be touched by any one of them." He kissed you then and lifted you slightly so you were even closer and so he could wrap his arms around your waist.

For a moment the two of you forgot about the fury filled words that had been exchanged earlier that day and the blood that had dripped from both the boys and the two of you just sat there, embraced in warmth and basking in the touch of lips against skin and fingers in hair.

Nothing mattered at all then, because even though the world was crashing at your feet and people were going crazy around you, the two of you had each other, and for just that moment, that was all you needed.

TAG LIST: @jxnehxpper​ @wasteland-bvby​ @queenofthehairharrington​ @frouitlixus @patton-fielder @pxtrickhxckstettxr @captainharrington

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Miles Away

destiel

endverse

rated M

~1.7k

It’s still dark, out here in the deep woods, but the sliver of sky he can see through the threadbare curtains is turning grey along the horizon. Sunrise is coming soon.

Too soon.

Cas hears a bird sing, and hears another answer. It’s a strange thing, the world falling into chaos but the birds singing to greet the sun like it’s any other day. Maybe to them it is. Maybe it’s nothing to them that there are fewer humans every day, that there are almost no angels left, that the ones who are left stopped caring ages ago. Maybe life is simple, when you’re a bird. Sing, eat, fly, make more little birds to start the cycle over again.

He saw a squirrel yesterday too. A squirrel. He didn’t mention it to anyone, someone would have killed it for the meat. They’re running awfully low, and even a few mouthfuls would be worth the bullet.

Most of the other animals have...what? Died? Run off? Gone into early hibernation? He has to bite back a scornful sound at the thought of hibernation in the middle of summer; it’s welling up in his throat but at the last moment he stops himself, remembering that the soft, slow breathing in his bunk isn’t coming from him.

He almost wishes he could go into hibernation. Or run away.

Almost.

He’s trying to find the right word for the color of the sky (midnight blue, he decides, even though it must be near six) when the breaths next to him hitch. Then there’s a drawn-out yawn, some languid stretching, from the form pressed against him.

He doesn’t speak. Mornings are best when neither of them breaks the silence. But he lets himself look; there’s not even an unspoken rule about that.

Lean, muscled form. Endless constellations of freckles. Calloused hands. Sandy hair, grown too long. He wants to brush it back, but balls his hands into fists instead. Later he’ll have half-moons on his palms, the memory of fingernails digging into flesh.

He avoids the eyes. There’s too much to see, too much to give away, when eyes are involved. Safer to look away.

A few minutes later the screen door slams shut and Cas is alone.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he says to no one.

*

He skips breakfast, walks in the woods for a few hours instead. He doesn’t eat much. He knows his body needs the fuel, but part of his brain still holds onto a sliver of angelic thought, the idea that food is for humans and he’s above that base need. Maybe someday his body will just quit, just let go of the earth and drift away. That wouldn’t be so bad. He has no idea if he has a soul, and no idea what would happen to a fallen angel’s soul at death anyway, but this place, this life...he’s not sure it’s worth holding onto anymore.

Someone should probably yell at him for going out alone, but if any of the lookouts see him no one says anything. No one really knows what to make of him, the half crazy fallen angel. Is he only half crazy? That might be giving him the benefit of the doubt.

He’d swallowed a few...somethings...before he’d left the cabin, and he’s feeling pretty good. No, he doesn’t feel good, he never feels good anymore. But he feels nothing, which is better than normal. The itch between his shoulder blades is gone for the moment. He forcefully pushes that thought aside. It never leads to anything positive. Anything helpful.

No, it’s not good, this floaty, nothing feeling. But it’s better than...the other thing.

Suddenly there is too much green, too much moss, too many leaves. Green hurts, stabs that place deep inside he keeps trying to forget. He squeezes his eyes shut, chokes on the wet, heavy air. Did it rain last night? He doesn’t remember. But it’s summer, and hot, and he can’t breathe. His stomach revolts against the drugs and the nothingness; he grabs the trunk of a tree and wretches. There’s nothing in his body to lose, but his stomach tries again and again, until the muscles across his abdomen scream and he passes out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he welcomes the bliss of unconsciousness

*

The familiar beams of his ceiling confuse him when he opens his eyes. He doesn’t know where he fell asleep, but it wasn’t here. All he remembers is green, and pain, and then nothingness.

“Dumb son of a bitch.”

A voice interrupts his confused tumble of thoughts, the only voice that can make him pay attention to anything at all anymore. He turns his head, looking for the source, but pain shoots through his head, goes straight to his gut. He wretches. Warm, calloused hands ease him to a sitting position, gently rub his back.

Those hands, he knows their touch. They aren’t supposed to be gentle. They’re never gentle.

He won’t allow them to be gentle.

Tears threaten. Cas closes his eyes, fighting to keep the traitorous tears at bay. He’s not supposed to cry. Angels don’t cry. And he may not be an angel anymore, but he does everything in his power to stop himself from having feelings.

“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Dammit Cas, you’re gonna kill yourself one of these days. You were passed out in the middle of the woods for god only knows how long, anything could have happened. Do you even see that? Do you even care anymore?”

“God doesn’t know. He’s not paying attention to any of us anymore.”

Cas pulls away from the touch of those hands.

He aches for the touch of those hands.

They sit in silence for what seems like an eternity to this human body, but is probably only a minute or two. Maybe three. Then, “Sometimes I wonder, Cas. Could things have ever worked out? With us?”

He doesn’t move. He can’t move. The question has no answer.

“I hate this, Cas. This having you but not having you thing. You give me your body, but that’s not you. Conversation is off limits. You won’t even look me in the eye.” The voice, the flame to his moth, won’t give up. “Cas. Baby. Talk to me. Please.”

The ‘baby’ stings. The ‘please’ almost gets him. But he knows. It’s better this way, to turn away from hope. To instead feel the flight, the blissful moment when Dean is fucking him into his mattress, fingers digging into his arms or his hips, and he spills across his own stomach and Dean, feeling him spasm, loses control and pounds relentlessly one, two, three more times and then fills him up from the inside out. That moment, that tiny speck of time, lets him feel something real on this planet of false gods and endless nothing.

So he turns his face to the wall.

Dean is angry. Cas can feel his skin nearly vibrating with the frustration of being denied.

“I wanted you even back then, you know. Back before the world ended. Your dorky little head tilt, your perfect sex hair, just begging for my fingers to run through it. God, even the finger quotes.” All this is low, even, conversational. Then his voice breaks. “And then you’d look at me, look inside me, and tell Sa– tell someone we had a ‘profound bond.’ I was gone, Cas. I was all yours.”

He stands, agitated. “But you were untouchable. Pure. So far above me I could only look, and dream. I didn’t even hope.”

Sometimes Cas can feel the tiny shreds of grace still within him, the traces of himself, whirling through this broken, human body. The minute bits of grace betray him now, singing, calling out to Dean with longing. Dean leans closer; it’s almost immeasurable, but Cas notices, and he wonders if Dean can feel the longing the way Cas used to be able to feel Dean’s prayers.

Cas wants Dean. He wants all of him: his heart, his body, his smile, his kiss. He wants the whisper of his own name in Dean’s voice, breathed into his ear from lips so close he can feel the heat of Dean’s breath. He wants to stare into green eyes, to let those eyes look back at the tattered remnants of his soul.

But he is too broken. And Dean would turn away in disgust and despair if he could see, if he knew of the emptiness inside Cas.

This is better. Coming together in the silent darkness, tearing down walls to claw at one another and then rebuilding the fortifications. It’s better.

Safer.

“Cas.”

He feels the briefest touch on his shoulder, and there is a crack in Dean’s voice.

“Cas,” Dean says again. “Who knows how much time we have left. Shouldn’t we try to actually live?”

There is too much pain in living. He scratches at his arm; his skin feels too tight again, like he’s too big inside and there’s nowhere to put all of himself. He scratches harder, trying to break the skin, to make space. It actually hurts; the drugs must have worn off.

Hands–warm, calloused, gentle–close around his scratching fingers. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

“You’re too late,” Cas says, but he lets Dean move his hand.

Lets Dean hold his hand.

Time passes. Dean says, “It’s going to be okay.”

Cas doesn’t know if Dean’s talking to him or to himself.

Moments or ages later, Dean says, “I mean it, Cas. It’s going to be okay.”

Something flares in Cas’s chest. He doesn’t know the feeling, but it’s sharp, and warm, and somehow soft too. He doesn’t like human feelings, wishes he could banish them to wherever his wings went. Instead he slowly, slowly rolls onto his back. Dean still sits on the edge of the bed, awkwardly holding Cas’s hand.

Cas lets his eyes travel upward, along Dean’s chest and throat, across his lips, his nose. He pauses, steadies himself, then looks up that little bit more, across mere millimeters.

Or miles.