#generally i consider hell to be a cruel and dumb idea itself and i think the fantastical setting here makes people way too comfortable

[cacw]

the dark forest as a concept is already so dumb and contrived but it is still bizarre how mudclaw got to go to heaven for doing nearly the exact same thing as curlfeather (who managed this without getting everybody else involved!) and i'm not saying he should have gone to hell i don't think most really deserve that but the double standard at play here is crazy

[theriverpersonshadow]

Lamia Drama 3

For anyone who hasn’t realized, we keep changing perspectives. Time to hear from Nikolai!!!

(I’m writing this instead of my book. Help.)

Lamia designs/species belong to @vex-bittys

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           Nikolai narrowed his eyesockets at the two intruders: a stranger and Keith. Keith had – presumably – been broken of his tendency to eat eggs and the occasional youngling long ago, but Nikolai was taking no chances with the brood. Bitties and full sized lamias alike were chirping and hissing in the nursery, some waiting for siblings to hatch, and Nikolai would violently murder anyone who harmed them.

           His mighty glare and splayed hood was enough to get the human to slowly back out of the room, door clicking shut. Keith however was either unphased or just really good at hiding it. Honestly no one, not even Hux, was sure which anymore.

Keith’s eyelights went to the squirming children in Nikolai’s grip and he chuckled, “You, uh, need an extra hand?”

“No,” Nikolai hissed despite very much needing one. One of the baby pygmies had managed to wrap around his neck, little hands trying to catch the lights inside his eyesockets. Nikolai – and most everyone in all honesty – would never tolerate this in most cases, but they were literally just hatched yesterday, they hardly knew better. Another pygmy was hiding under his shirt and trying to squirm into his ribcage while his hands were full with the remaining baby who was hell-bent on trying to investigate this New Thing. They were so curious, it was adorable, but sometimes it gave him a heart attack. Keith could probably be trusted, sure, but maybe he was wrong if he was bringing random strangers into the nursery.

“You sure?” Keith asked, a grin splitting his face and a hand coming up over his mouth as he clearly tried to stifle laughter.

“Yes.”

           King lets out a clearly very dignified yelp as the Pygmy’s hand reaches its goal, shoving itself into his eyesocket. Instinct alone keeps him from dropping the baby in his hands, though he has to quickly resituate the squirming child to free up a hand so he can remove the philanges from his eyesocket. (He opts to ignore Keith’s bouts of laughter at his plight, unhelpful ass). He loudly hisses in warning – not that he’d ever hurt the kid, but he couldn’t very well let this be considered acceptable – and sternly says, “No.”

           The Pygmy cries out in protest, hands flailing about in an attempt to get inside his skull again. Nikolai sighs and puts him in the Time Out Tank. Nothing cruel of course, it’s plenty big for a baby lamia, having a small tree to climb on, some sand, and a few plants, but the Pygmy starts yelling and pushes himself to the glass.

           Nikolai rolls his eyes, “You need a nap.”

           “Oh my god you’re such a mom,” Keith wheezed between laughter.

           “Well someone has to be.” Technically they had handlers for this, volunteers and workers to help socialize the children, but they didn’t know how to do it right! No, clearly this was a job for a King. Alesha was too soft on them, Katlyn thought giving week old hatchlings a phone was considered acceptable, Josh had a bad habit of losing track of bitties (though Nikolai would reluctantly agree he was good with the full sized children), and Drew should really get another job because he can’t handle even a baby bitty baring fangs at him; he’d been here one week and everyone was already questioning his life choices.

           Nikolai put the other two Pygmys back with the rest of their kind. It was a full sized playpen with a bunch of toys to stalk, wrap around, and chew on. Nikolai could watch them all day, but there were far more than just them after all, and he had a discussion to have…

           “Keith. What exactly were you thinking?” Nikolai hissed. The words what the fuck were on the tip of his tongue, but they were in a room full of children.

           “About what?” Keith said.

           “Don’t play dumb.”

           “Don’t have to play dumb.”

           Nikolai rolled his eyes, massaging the bones between his eyes. “What in the world would possess you to bring someone back here?” They would’ve told him if there was a new worker or volunteer coming in, right?

           “I mean, hey, they have to get used to people, right? She’s a bit weird, but seems sweet,” Keith said, shrugging his shoulders and idly watching some Bitty Cornies fuss as they all tried to take a nap on the same heat rock, squirming about and pushing each other off with offended little hisses and chirps.

           “And you’ve known her how long?” Nikolai said. He didn’t recognize her scent at all, but maybe it was an online friend? Still, that’s dangerous if they only just met for real.

           “Uh…” Keith looked to the side, huffing. “She wants to play DnD with us dude. Figured I’d take her around and say hi. We’ll get to know her.”

           Nikolai sighed, putting his hand on his face. “So you don’t know her.”

           “Nah.”

           “You could’ve asked me to step outside to meet her.” He cared for Keith, he did, but this was idiocy…

           Maybe too much idiocy. Keith could be a bit odd sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. Or at least not stupid enough to bring a stranger into the nursery, not unless his master plan was to try to get her mauled. Oh sure, he was friendly and generally pretty relaxed (save for the random bouts of “zoomies”), but not unwary or naïve. So what in the world would get into him to just immediately accept some random person…

           Oh.

           Nikolai’s eyes widened as something clicked in his mind. “Is she yours then?” He was well aware of Chains’ soul bonds. He’d raised no small number of them, hugging them goodbye as they left with happy partners in a process that always felt too fast, but he rarely heard of any ill relations or had one returned, something he couldn’t say the same for with other breeds. Maybe he didn’t understand it fully, maybe he’d never have the instant connection and magical bond, but he was happy for them, really.

           “I literally just met her,” Keith said in a blatant not-answer.

           “… She is, isn’t she?” Nikolai said. He smiled softly, going over to hug Keith close, coils entangling and all forgiven. That said, his soul hurt at the idea of Keith leaving. Nikolai had only been a preteen himself when Keith first hatched, they’d practically grown up together. After all these years, it’d just seemed like Keith would be there permanently, holding DnD for himself and others until he got too old to do so. But asking him to stay was cruel, the very thought stirring up guilt. He should be happy for Keith, right? The old snake had finally found his person, this was great! They’d miss him terribly, but it wasn’t fair to force him to stay…

           Keith sighed, relaxing into Nikolai, “Yeah.” He didn’t sound all too thrilled.

           “… Is something wrong?”

           “I dunno. Like, I guess I’ve found her or something, at least it feels like it, but it’s not like I want to leave.”

           Nikolai’s soul jumped in his chest, but he kept his desire to grin giddily down. “You don’t have to stay, you know?”

           “I mean, that’s her call, right? Doubt the working people would let me keep homing here if they knew. She hasn’t said anything yet though, so who knows. Maybe I’m defective.”

           “You’re not defective!” Nikolai snapped, rubbing the back of Keith’s head. “If anything, she’s the problem then!” He would NOT allow this woman to make Keith feel bad about himself, intentionally or not.

           Keith chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, guess you have a point there. I don’t think she’s bad though, but guess we’ll play it by ear? Or, uh, whatever we have. Still not sure how that works.”

           “Magic.”

           “Yeah, that.”

           Nikolai chuckled, loosening up around Keith. “So… she’s playing DnD with us then?”

           “Yeah. Or, well, we’ll have to work everything out still. She can’t play too late, has to get up early, and I figure maybe we can start a side-campaign with her? If everyone’s down for it.”

           “I’ve been wanting to try some new characters anyways,” Nikolai said. A perfect compromise then. Keith and his person would get a chance to bond over something they apparently both enjoyed, Nikolai wasn’t about to take that away from him. “I should probably apologize to her on that note. I might’ve overreacted…”

           “Nah, you couldn’t have known. I should’ve warned you that I was going to do something stupid,” Keith said with a grin, shrugging. “Whatcha thinking of playing?”

           “I’m considering broadening my horizons some. Getting out there. Maybe a Rogue. Or a Barbarian.” Both were a far cry from the life clerics and paladins he personally preferred, but maybe it’d be fun to do something a little more… destructive.

           Keith whistled, “Daaaaang, you really are looking to branch out. Proud of you Nick.”

           Nikolai straightened up a little, flaring his hood just enough to show off. “Why thank you.”

           “Now c’mon, let’s go say sorry and round up the rest. I sent Hux to look for Liam, that leaves Trousle.”

           Because they all knew Oozy was in his hammock.

[sheblah]

Plz give us the risky™️ post about shadow weaver being in the vibe check. Plz.

I was hoping and/or dreading that someone would ask lol

I might as well share my thoughts. This got long, sorry. Some of you may think this answer is a cop-out or I'm thinking about it too hard, but just hear me out.

Obviously Double Trouble was wrong about Catra "driving away" Shadow Weaver, and it's very messed up to say she did, being a victim of Shadow Weaver's abuse since childhood. But here's the thing.

I don't think Double Trouble knew the true nature of Catra and Shadow Weaver's relationship.

"But they're a spy!" I hear you saying. "Their whole thing is gathering information!"

Listen. They weren't there to see any interactions between Catra and SW - not a single one. By the time they came on the scene, SW had sodded off to Bright Moon quite some time ago. The only way they could have learned about Catra's abuse would be from someone else. And the only person who could have told them the whole truth was Catra, and she would never volunteer that information to anyone - she wouldn't willingly be that vulnerable. Heck, she even hid it from Adora when they were friends. And besides Catra, nobody else knew about it.

That's right, nobody knew the true nature of Catra and SW's relationship. Not Scorpia, not Adora, not even Shadow Weaver herself. Because nobody else saw it for what it was.

Scorpia knows a Catra who fought back against her unfair superior officer - who fearlessly beat SW, put her in a cell, and claimed her title. She knows that SW was important to Catra, to the extent that her leaving for Bright Moon devastated Catra. But she didn't know the innocent young girl who was helpless against a grown attacker. Honestly, if she had any idea how badly SW traumatized her wildcat? She wouldn't have been nearly as cordial as she was when she met SW in Bright Moon. (And even if she did piece it together, I don't think Scorpia ever got the chance to talk to DT directly before the secret mission.)

But if anyone knew the truth, it would be Adora, right? She was there! Well, yes... but also no. Adora saw what was happening, but never consciously comprehended that it was abuse. She's never shown anger or resentment toward SW for what she did to Catra specifically. That's because what she saw (or thought she saw) was punishment. Scary, painful punishment, sure - but not senseless cruelty. SW convinced her there was a reason for it. Catra was misbehaving. Adora didn't keep her in line well enough. It wasn't entirely undeserved, because Catra made a mistake! And whatever happened to Catra wasn't SW's fault - it was Adora's fault for not protecting her well enough. Adora was groomed to think Catra deserved the punishment, even if it hurt to see it happen. And then as they grew up, she saw Catra deliberately exhibiting behaviors that would upset SW, like being late for training and a general lack of ambition - seemingly giving SW more reason to treat her as the un-favorite. Plus, as I mentioned, Catra never gave Adora the full picture. She downplayed and minimized and suggested the worst thing she suffered in the Fright Zone was boredom. Adora saw it, she witnessed it - but she still doesn't truly Know.

Besides all that, I can't see Adora willingly talking about her childhood with Catra. Not to Flutterina, a brand new recruit, and not after the portal incident shattered the part of her that still considered Catra a friend. She was in no position to sympathize with Catra at the time Flutterina joined the Alliance.

And Shadow Weaver? Yeah, she should very well know that Catra never deserved anything she did to her. And yet! She doesn't even think she did anything wrong! She's never shown a single iota of remorse for her unfair and cruel treatment of Catra. Even if she did talk to Flutterina/DT at some point off screen, she wouldn't have revealed that she's an abuser, because she doesn't think she is one. Plus, of the three, she's by far the least likely to give Flutterina/DT any of her personal history.

No one else in the Alliance could have let it slip, because they didn't know anything. It doesn't seem like Adora has ever told her BFFs Glimmer or Bow about Catra in detail, much less the other princesses.

That's why I doubt DT could have known about the abuse, even with their intel gathering skills. For lack of firsthand observation, they could only know what everyone else knew, and nobody else knew the entire truth.

We also need to analyze the Vibe Check itself, and stay with me, because I feel this is the strongest evidence. In the moment they turn into SW, this is what they say:

"People have hurt you, haven't they? They didn't believe in you..."

...As if THAT'S the worst thing SW has ever done to hurt Catra. Just... not believing in her. The magical attacks, the threats, the manipulation? Nope! The most painful thing is that Mommy Thinks You're a Screwup. This tells me that, as far as DT knows, it IS the worst thing she's done. Because they're aiming to really hurt Catra here! They picked out all the most important people in her life and threw their most hurtful injustices in her face. Hordak, the highest authority figure in her life, didn't trust her... despite her clawing her way through hell to prove herself. Adora didn't need her, left her... despite supposedly being her closest friend since childhood. And Shadow Weaver...

...didn't believe in her. Like... okay, if DT knew what their relationship was really like, they would have done a lot better than that.

There's also the fact that it doesn't fit the pattern. Catra really did drive away the other three in one way or another. Hordak - she got rid of Entrapta and lied to him about it. Adora - gave up on Catra after she activated the portal. Scorpia - left because Catra was a bad friend. These are all true. They hurt Catra because they're true. So why would DT knowingly throw in one lie when they clearly know the truth hurts more? This tells me the falsehood was not deliberate.

They didn't know. They couldn't have known. I don't mean this in a "tHeY dIdN't MeAn To HuRt HeR!" way. They definitely did. They hurt her the best they knew how. And they could and would have done it way more effectively if they knew what SW did to Catra, which they didn't.

Here's what they did know. 1) Catra has a tendency to sabotage her most important relationships. 2) At least two of those relationships ended with the other person leaving her and joining the Alliance. 3) Shadow Weaver also left the Fright Zone and joined the Alliance.

They saw the pattern. The same thing happened with both Adora and Scorpia. They didn't know what Catra did to drive SW away, but it had to be something, because she's already driven two (2) people into the Alliance, and here's a third woman who fits the mold. They probably thought that Catra was such a terrible subordinate and problem child that SW preferred to switch sides and be with her star pupil rather than waste any more time on Catra. The trick is, even though that's objectively false, the punch still landed because part of Catra actually believes that.

They took what little knowledge they had about Catra + SW, put it all together, and came to a conclusion. It was the wrong conclusion, so their accusation was very messed up - but a different kind of messed up than they were going for.

If I'm right, then if and how this gets addressed in S5 is anybody's guess. What my dumb heart wants is for DT to learn the truth, go "ah crap, I wanted to devastate her but not with a LIE, that's beneath me," and then admit they were wrong about that part when they meet Catra again. But that's awfully hopeful lol

[babyitsacrime]

1, 22, 23, and 43 for the OC asks.

First off, I apologize for my absolutely atrocious grammar here and also the fact that I just can’t seem to put things into words.

Secondly I wrote this in a different app and then copy pasted so the formatting is a little whack.

1. Your first OC ever?

Oh gosh this one is a little hard to answer. I think Natalia’s my first OC that I ever fully wrote well but me and my friends used to write a lot of stories/fanfiction in middle school so I have some characters from there too that might be older than Nat. Also there’s like three different versions of Nat (Quizup, Next Gen, and the Nat I have now) , and again the one I have right now is by far the most developed/closest to a whole character.

Okay but I talk about Nat a lot so even though I’m not sure which one actually came first I’ll talk about a character I had in the Homestuck fanfiction my friends and I wrote in middle school. (before you ask, yes it’s the 100 page one I’m pretty sure) (also I’m ignoring the self inserts me n my friends made for our other stories bc those don’t count as ocs and I refuse to accept them as characters dhdksjdjs) But basically she’s a troll named Ninmah Aurora. She was heavily based off of Kanaya Maryam, the iconic Homestuck vampire fashion designer lesbian character so that was interesting. And even though I didn’t actually write that much for her she’s one of my favorite characters because I had so much fun writing her with my friends. Anyways can’t believe I just exposed myself as a Homestuck stan on main but you know what it’s fine.

22. Is there any OC of yours that people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Okay there’s a couple and most of them are small things so I’ll just go by character.

Natalia -

let me just start by saying this: it still baffles me why y’all think she’s cool cshdjsj. She’s kinda a dumb bitch if I’m being honest. Like, don’t get me wrong, she’s super smart and could easily outwit me and honestly any of us, but she’s also plain stupid sometimes in other ways. But like, on the other side of the coin I feel like she almost doesn’t get taken seriously sometimes? I feel like that’s a little on me for usually making jokes at her expense but while she is clueless as to how people function she’s also not plain dumb. A lot of what she says and does is well calculated and even when she does something in the spur of the moment it’s always something logical to her. Hn I don’t know if I’m explaining this right but 🤷♀️. But basically she’s not really cool but also she’s not stupid. (Okay ig being good at Quidditch is pretty cool but that’s not my point)

Also I don’t know why but some people (very few people but it’s still annoying to me) seem to think that her being bi is a huge part of her personality when it’s really not. While she is bi, not everything she does is motivated by that fact if that makes any sense. Like for example, if she’s wearing be a rainbow dress it’s not because she’s (and I quote) "team gay" it’s because she liked the damn dress. Okay I’m rambling now but all I’m saying is that it kinda annoys me when people see her being bi as a hugely defining personality trait. Also she isn’t the only character I notice this happens to.

Ishaan -

Similarly to Nat, whole he does enjoy pranking and such, he’s actually a serious person most of the time. Think of him as more of like a serious and skeptical person who also has a good sense of humor. Although I will say that he does sometimes go out of his way to make a joke sometimes, that’s only sometimes and mostly just to annoy Priya.

Lysander -

Another case of the being gay isn’t his personality. Also??? He’s not gay??? I don’t really know where that came from (like I know who mentioned it to me but I have no clue where she got that from aside from just assuming?) for the record, he is also bi and has a slight preference for girls (mostly bc he likes having an s/o shorter than him but we won’t go into that rn). *slams fists on table* jUST BECAUSE HES FUNNY DOESNT MEAN HES THE TOKEN GAY FRIEND OKAY (okay okay I’m done ranting time to continue)

I also feel like his joking nature is often seen as a sign of him not being as a lack of intellect, but that is in no way true. While he isn’t a genius or anything, he’s a little smarter than average, yet still prone to making dumb decisions because he is still a child. But with more life experience he’ll make smarter decisions while still retaining a joking demeanor.

Priya -

I’m going to keep this one short, but she isn’t as cold and cruel as I sometimes make her seem when I talk about her. I feel like this one’s mostly on me but yeah, she’s a caring person for the most part, just a little misguided and/or dramatic at times.

~I think that’s all of them but I might be wrong? Also none of those explanations make a lot of sense I’m sorry 😔~

23. Introduce an OC that has changed from what your first idea considering what the character would be like.

*drags Nat out again* Here you go.

So I mentioned earlier that there’s like three different versions of her, but in all reality they almost feel like different characters with the same name. However I will say that Next Gen Nat and the Nat I have now (I like to call it her final form bc I think I’m finally happy with her) are similar in many many aspects. But I’ll talk about this Nat because I like her the best and she’s the only Nat I actively use. She was originally intended to be a lot colder/closed off than she is. (Think a lot closer to Aster, but I think pep also had a similar thing with him.) She just ended up becoming a lot softer and a little friendlier than I intended her to be. I’m not exactly unhappy with that though, I feel like this actually added a bit more dimension to her character and it actually gave me a little more room to improve her. It was also bound to happen anyways, especially with the characters she’s friends with/will be friends with. So yeah, it’s interesting and honestly I feel like I’m happy with the changes from what I originally intended her to be.

Hm while I’m here I guess I should also talk about Taemoon.

I don’t know that his personality changed much from my original intent, but his story and intent definitely did. He started as a character that exuded a lack of hope. I don’t know if that sentence makes a lot of sense, but he was originally going to have no chance at happiness in the end. He was supposed to let all of his anger and hurt consume him, making him hell bent on revenge, which would only push him further from anything that could make him happy, but I feel like the end of his story is a lot more hopeful now. I don’t know exactly what it is, but ever since pep asked if Jae Hong could adopt him Taemoon’s life story has become something a lot less disheartening. Now I’ve given him a lot more to live for, and a lot more to make him happy. First off, instead of being alone he now has a family that he quickly grows to trust, and a group of friends with similar experiences that basically become family as well. While he is still very revenge driven, he has a lot more to his life than just that; most importantly he has people he trusts that will keep him from becoming consumed by all of his anger. But yeah, he has become a much more hopeful character as a whole and honestly. I feel like that’s what I really needed. Idk about everyone else but I feel like changing his story to the way it is now really has helped me to feel a lot better in general.

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favor certain traits or looks?

Oh god it’s time to confess 😔🤙

So, as most of you have figured out, most of my ocs tend to be very attractive and very capable (and willing) to step on me. If they’re not that then they’re in the minority.

Aside from being physically attractive as a whole, I’d say that in regards to looks, the more they look like they haven’t slept in weeks and are ready to kill a man, the better. If not that, then it’s an oc that looks like I could cuddle with them for hours on end. There’s no in between.

As for traits I tend to favor, probably the most popular is a bad attitude. If you take a look at some of my most used and/or favorite characters, you’ll find that in most cases the snarkier the better. Honestly this is true of characters that aren’t even mine, I just really have a type. At the same time though, I like these characters to have a secret soft side even if it’s only for one other character they care about. On the flip side, I also like writing characters that are genuinely the nicest people you’ll ever meet. I don’t know why but I just love them so much they are truly my children.

Also. Characters that grin in the face of danger? *chefs kiss* I like characters where you question if what they’re doing is out of courage or a death wish. For this reason so many of my characters play some kind of dangerous sport or enjoy dueling, you get what I mean. This goes for both my Edgy™️ characters as well as my soft characters.

Additionally, I do have a lot of characters that are wealthy. Uh. I think that mostly speaks for itself so I’m not going to comment on it any further than this.

Also. Flowers. For some reason I go for faceclaims that eat flowers. It’s not even something I actively seek out??? Like I’ll find someone cute and I’ll be scrolling through pictures and there they are. Eating a flower. This mostly goes for my guy fcs but yeah. Idk how it happens but it just does and I’ve come to accept it.

[losingmymindtonight]

Ooooh - you ask me for fluff??? Have you considered TONY AND PETER WATCHING MERLIN??????? All the way from the adorkable beginning to the angsty angsty end??? Bcs I'm betting Tony would have some jokes about Merlin keeping his secret about as well as Peter does. 😂😂

I was born to write this

Today is Merlin’s 10 year anniversary! I miss my dumb boys…

Merlin spoilers ahead!

Also this… might not make any sense at all if you haven’t watched Merlin? I couldn’t really help it.

“What’re we watching, again?”

Peter plopped down beside Tony and tucked himself into the man’s side, a maneuver perfected through countless days of practice. “It’s an old BBC show called Merlin.”

“And why are we watching it?”

“Because MJ told me that if I didn’t, she’d spoil the ending.” Peter blinked up at him innocently. Tony sort of hated that it wasn’t an act. The kid really was that pure. “And because you said we could binge watch whatever I wanted.”

He had said that, to be fair.

It was Peter’s spring break, and May was out of town. At May’s request, he’d happily volunteered to have the kid over for the week. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Peter to be alone for that long, exactly…

Okay, actually, yeah. Neither he nor May trusted the kid to be alone for that long.

Could anyone blame them? He was a magnet for trouble. Tony was surprised Peter could walk five steps on the street without someone trying to detach his head from his body.

And so, in the name of what May called his “co-parental service hours,” Tony’s weekend would be spent watching a cancelled BBC show and living off of microwave popcorn and delivered pizzas.

He guessed that there were definitely worse things to be doing.

“So,” Peter maneuvered through the Netflix interface like it was a second skin. He tried not to be jealous, “give me a rundown. On what kind of journey are we about to embark?”

“It’s a show about Merlin-”

“Holy shit, I would’ve never guessed…”

“Hey!” Peter laughed, hovering the mouse over the first episode. “It’s like a ‘what if?’ story. What if Merlin and Arthur were the same age, and Merlin was Arthur’s servant instead of this wise old wizard? It’s supposed to be really good.”

I can’t wait. “Alright, kid. Let’s have at it.”

Peter hit play and tossed the remote onto the coffee table, leaning his head against the top of Tony’s chest as the first scene faded into view.

“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn. And so it will be for the young warlock arriving at the gates of Camelot. A boy that will, in time, father the legend. His name: Merlin.” 

And, damn it, Tony could already feel himself drawing the parallels between the gangly kid on the screen and the gangly kid curled up next to him. 

Peter had no idea, did he? He couldn’t see the path that Tony saw winding further every day.

He had no idea that he was going to change the world.

He watched the Evil King character execute some random sorcerer with a weird taste in his mouth.

It felt too real, too present. Too close to what Tony imaged Ross would do to Peter if he ever got his hands on him…

He shook the thoughts away. No. This was supposed to be fun. They were binge watching a lighthearted show over the kid’s spring break. The occasion did not lend itself to thoughts like that.

He decided that he liked Gaius from the old physician’s very first scene. He voiced that thought to Peter, quietly, during a lull in the dialogue.

“Why?”

Tony shrugged. “He’s gonna suffer.”

Peter dropped his head back, craning his neck painfully, to stare up at his mentor with wide eyes. “He is?”

He chuckled, letting the sound release some of the tension from Peter’s gaze. “Of course he is. His job is to keep the reckless kid alive. It’s not easy, let me tell you.”

Peter hit Tony with a pillow, and the episode rolled on.

“Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”

A flare of protectiveness for his Peter-stand in flared in Tony’s chest. 

He shifted Peter a little closer, as if protecting his kid would protect the one on the screen as well. 

He decided all at once that he didn’t like Arthur. He didn’t like him even a little bit.

“He’s an asshole.”

Peter seemed unperturbed. He played with the cuff of Tony’s shirt lazily, eyes tracking the scene. “People can change, Mister Stark. You did, didn’t you?” The kid smiled his special, unburdened smile. “Give him a chance.”

It occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he hated Arthur because the prince reminded him of an outdated version of himself.

Young, brazen, self-centered, cruel. Blind to the ways his actions could hurt and maim and kill. Following doggedly in the over-sized footsteps his father left. Driven by false arrogance, one-size-fits-all ideals, and overwhelming bitterness on his tongue.

He sighed. “Sure, kid. I’ll give Prince Asshole a chance.”

As it turned out, his forced sympathy for Arthur his deadbeat dad was a lot harder to hold onto than he thought it might be.

This Merlin character really knew how to look like a kicked puppy.

“I’m not a monster, am I?”

“Don’t ever think that.”

Tony tightened his grip around Peter’s back at the same moment the teenager shifted to cling tighter.

He wanted to tell the kid that Gaius was right, and that Prince Asshole was wrong. He wanted to tell him that Merlin wasn’t a monster. That nobody could help who they were, and that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.

He wanted to tell Peter that he wasn’t a monster, a freak, a mistake. He wanted to make sure he knew that Tony would tear down anyone who said otherwise.

Instead, he just smoothed a hand through Peter’s bangs and hoped he could feel it through the solidity of their half-embrace.

“If you can’t tell me, no one can.”

The first season fell away along with the daylight.

He watched Merlin, who he had to repetitively remind himself was not Peter, stumble through a million different mistakes. He watched him drink some poison (stupid), harbor some fugitive child right under the Evil King’s nose (stupid), and offer up his life in exchange for Prince Asshole’s (stupidstupidstupid).

It felt like every turn the character took made him want to smash his head into the nearest wall. Repetitively.

(On the other hand, Prince Asshole was slowly, and painfully, growing on him. Not that he was ready to admit that to Peter, of course.)

The final episode of the season faded into credits, and Tony wordlessly flicked off the TV.

“Hey.” The kid’s protest might have held more weight if his eyes weren’t closed and the words weren’t soft with sleepiness. “One more.”

Tony made sure to keep his voice low and soothing, carding his fingers through the kid’s mess of curls. “You won’t even concentrate on it.”

“Will too.”

“Oh?” He turned the screen back on, slyly lowering the volume and hitting play on the next episode. “Okay then, buddy. Whatever you say.”

Peter’s breaths had evened out before the opening sequence could finish.

That night, Tony decided that sleeping on the couch was way underrated.

There wasn’t even a question of what they’d be doing the next morning. He sent Peter wordlessly to shower, ordered a couple of pizzas, and hit play the moment that the kid was re-situated on the couch, wet curls soaking into the front of his t-shirt.

At some point in the middle of the season, during an episode about a witchfinder, he let out an involuntary groan.

It was almost like this kid didn’t want to keep his magic a secret. At the very least, it seemed like he jumped at nearly every opportunity to reveal himself.

Peter flickered his eyes away from the screen and gave Tony a questioning look. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Merlin’s about as good at keeping his secret as you are at keeping yours.”

“That’s not true!” Peter’s glare just made him look younger. Tony nearly laughed at the way his face scrunched up. “Barely anybody knows I’m Spider-Man!”

“I figured it out, kid.”

“You’re you-”

“Ned.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know he was-”

“MJ.”

“She’s terrifyingly observant-”

“May.”

“She walked in on me!”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Tony ruffled his hair playfully. “Why don’t you just shout it from the rooftops, huh? Might be a little more efficient, that way.”

Peter blinked, then huffed, physically turning away from Tony and fixing his eyes back on the screen. It was a clear dismissal, despite the fact that didn’t move away from the warmth of his mentor’s side.

The second season’s finale went to credits, and Peter stalled Tony’s hand before he could switch off the TV.

“C’mon, Mister Stark! We could totally watch the next season! It’ll only take, like, a few more hours.”

“Your idea of ‘a few more hours’ is actually about 8 hours, kiddo.”

“And?”

“You need sleep.”

“We’ve stayed up later in the lab.”

“On accident.”

“So?”

He tried his best to mimic May’s I am an adult and you will listen to me voice. “No, Peter.”

He kid blinked up at him imploringly. “Please.”

(The third season was good.)

They watched the two part series finale on Tuesday morning. 

And, frankly, Tony wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But it sure as hell wasn’t… that.

“Just, just, just… just hold me. Please.”

Peter curled himself around Tony with a little whine. He rubbed the kid’s back comfortingly, gaze still transfixed on the screen. “No. He’s not supposed to die, Mister Stark. He’s supposed to live. He’s-He’s the Once and Future King. What about Albion? What about Merlin?”

He wondered if he could sue the BBC for making his kid cry.

“There’s something I want to say…”

“You’re not going to say goodbye.”

“No. Merlin. Everything you’ve done. I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build…”

“You’d have done it without me.”

“Maybe. I want to say… something I’ve never said to you before. Thank you.”

He watched the character die with a weird feeling in his chest.

He’d never been one for sentiment in general, and certainly not for fictional characters. But… something about Merlin and Arthur had made him think of Peter and himself.

Peter’s voice was small. “Merlin would’ve trade places with him.”

Tony’s answer came so quickly that it surprised him. “Arthur would never want him to.”

You ever try trading places with me, kid, and I’ll kill you my damn self.

“But what’s the point?” There were undercurrents to Peter’s tone that told Tony they weren’t just talking about the show anymore. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one drawing parallels. “If I were Merlin, I’d rather die than live without Arthur.”

He tried not to hear the implicit I’d rather die than live without you in the kid’s words.

“Someone always dies first, kiddo. That’s just life.”

Peter buried his face into Tony’s shirt, sniffling a little. “Yeah, well, I don’t like it.”

He set a gentle hand on the back of his head, shielding him from the screen, the daylight, the world.

“I don’t like this ending, either.”

Tony took a deep breath, focusing on the way his ribs pressed into Peter’s at the apex. “If it makes you feel any better, kiddo, neither do I.”

He’d pondered his death a lot. Once, he’d thought towards it with a perverted sense of lust. 

But Pepper, Rhodey, Peter had changed that. Now, he just felt a peaceful acceptance. He wouldn’t go rushing to his grave but, when the time came, he couldn’t see himself reeling against it, either.

But for the first time, he thought about Peter.

If everything went the way it naturally should, he would die long before the kid.

He’d get to die, and Peter would have to keep living.

His parents’ deaths still left a hollow ache in his chest. He missed his mother with every single breath.

Is that what he’d be doing to Peter, when he died? Leaving him damaged irreparably? Dooming him to a life of sewing up his tattered grief?

He swallowed, hard, and shook his head.

Peter would be okay, because he’d prepare Peter. He’d give him everything he needed to do more than just survive once he and May were both gone.

He was going to make sure Peter thrived.

And he’d do everything he could not to leave the kid like Arthur left Merlin, or like his mother left him. Not violently, not suddenly, not in the heart of some blood-stained tragedy.

He’d linger, if he could. He’d grow old (something he used to shudder at the thought of). He’d give the kid’s kids too much sugar and poke him with his cane and complain about the technology Peter would incorporate into his newest invention to shroud the pride.

As he watched the final credits role over the dark screen, Tony Stark decided that he hated tragedies.

He also decided that he wouldn’t let his own life become one.

[amethystunarmed]

Of Course He Doesn’t Mind

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou

Word Count: 1867

AO3 Link

Bakugou is finally out of the hands of the League of Villains, and Kirishima couldn't be more thankful, really. He just wishes Bakugou would bother to look at him.

Set after the kidnapping arc. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (You’re here)

When Midoriya said the whole plan hinged on him, Kirishima was ready to call bullshit. Yeah, Bakugou wasn’t exactly fond of any of the rest of the rescue squad, but it wasn’t like he would refuse them. Any one of them could have called out, and Bakugou would come with them. Kirshima just went with it because, well, he wanted to. He wanted to be the one to save Bakugou, did from the moment he and Todoroki came up with this idea. So he didn’t disagree, even though the whole thing sounded dumb as hell.

But now, as they’re soaring over the battlefield, villains staring in shock, Kirishima is beginning to have doubts. Because Bakugou looks at them and doesn’t move. He is wide-eyed and stock-still and doesn’t fucking move.

No.

So Kirishima does the only thing he can think of. He leans down from where Iida is holding him, reaches out as far as he can, and shouts, “Take my hand!”

For a moment, nothing changes.

Then Bakugou explodes. He is a pillar of dust and flame, radiant and violent and soaring. His silhouette rushes at them, closer and closer until he and Kirishima lock arms. He smirks up at him.

“You idiot!”

And Kirishima can’t help but smile back.

They did it, they got him. Bakugou is safe.

But everything still falls to pieces.

All Might is gone. The implications are terrifying. Midoriya is sobbing, and the rest of them aren’t much better off. But Bakugou just seems angry. He turns away and Kirishima tries to grab for his hand, tries to figure out what’s going on in his head, but Bakugou shoves him away. Kirishima chases after him anyway.

They have to report to the police. A detective takes Bakugou away and he’s gone for hours. Kirishima is left in the waiting room with a coffee he hates. He drinks it anyways. Midoriya and the others said their goodbyes hours ago. He is alone. He scrolls through twitter, trying to ignore how every other tweet is about the battle he witnessed. Every now and then the same officer comes by to tell him it’ll be awhile. He always looks at Kirishima’s stupid disguise and dyed hair and frowns. He tells him that he might as well get home, it’ll be awhile. Kirishima assures him he doesn’t mind.

Of course he doesn’t mind.

He calls his parents, and tells them Bakugou is back (leaving out his own involvement, of course). They tell him to say hi to Masaru and Mitsuki for them. Kirishima agrees and that’s the end of it. He can’t help but feel a little blessed.

The Bakugous come get them. It’s the first time he sees Mitsuki hug her son. It’s intense and aggressive and, unbelievably, Bakugou doesn’t even try to escape. Kirishima is so surprised, he doesn’t realize she’s turned to him until he’s swept up in an equally fierce hug. “Come on, assholes,” she huffs, and ruffles his hair, “Let’s get out of here.” And they leave, Kirishima talking about anything and nothing, Bakugou completely silent.

Which leads them to where they are, sitting silently across from each other on Bakugou’s bed. For the first time since they met, Kirishima has no idea what to say to him.

He panics.

“Do you want a water or–”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou growls. It’s the first thing he’s said since the police station. Kirishima pales.

“Uh, sorry. I just figured–”

“I don’t need you here!” Bakugou snarled. “I didn’t need you to save me, I didn’t need you to walk me to the station, or wait for me. And I don’t sure as fuck don’t need you to take care of me, so get the fuck out.” Kirishima bit the inside of his lip. Bakugou could have just hit him. That would have hurt less.

“Look, I get that you want me to leave but I…” It isn’t fair. Kirishima doesn’t know how to ask. “Please. Can I–” He starts to reach out, then stops himself. “Please.”

Bakugou glares at the extended hand, but nodded.

Slowly, Kirishima lifts his hand up. It’s shaking. It’s fucking shaking and he can’t make it stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He pauses, hand so close to Bakugou’s cheek he can feel the heat coming off it. He can’t do it. He finally is allowed to, but he can’t do it.

“Moron,” Bakugou mutters, and leans the final fraction forward so Kirishima’s palm pressed against his skin.

Kirishima gasps and all the tension leaves his spine because it’s real. Bakugou’s here. He’s here.

“‘Course I’m here.” Bakugou grumbles and that’s when Kirishima realizes he’s been talking out loud. “Damn nerd.” The words are softer than he’s ever said them and Kirishima gets a dumb idea in his head. He leans forward, sitting up off the bed to give himself the height he needs, and kisses Bakugou on the forehead. Bakugou makes a noise Kirishima doesn’t recognize or understand. Kirishima can feel his chest shudder with the force of it. Then he surges forward and suddenly Kirishima is locked in a tight embrace. Stiff arms locked him tight against Bakugou’s chest. They’re hot, like molten metal across his back, and Kirishima can’t imagine breaking free of them. He knows he must look like an idiot, bug-eyed with surprise, but Bakugou can’t see it. His face is buried in the juncture of Kirishima’s neck.

“You tell anyone about this and I’ll blow your dick off,” Bakugou snarls. But he’s trembling. Something hot and wet soaks into Kirishima’s shoulder. He doesn’t comment on it. He merely moves his hand to start carding through Bakugou’s hair. It’s not impressively soft or silky or any of the things people always say when they do this in movies, but Kirishima loves it anyway. The strands of hair are rough against his palm, and the motion in and of itself is soothing. Considering the way Bakugou is relaxing, he agrees. It’s too perfect.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry!” Kirishima babbles before he can think about the consequences.

“Huh?” Bakugou murmurs, and the breath against his collarbone feels nice in a way Kirishima doesn’t have time to examine right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time, “If I hadn’t failed the exam, I would have been out there, I could have–”

“Shut up.” It’s not the way he normally says it. Not full of vitriol that doesn’t matter or with face that’s red from more than just shouting. It’s a command, and Kirishima decides to follow it. Bakugou doesn’t move from Kirishima’s shoulder as he talks. “The only upside to this entire clusterfuck of an ordeal was knowing you were safe at camp with Aizawa. So even though it meant I wasted fucking hours of my time for your dumbass… It was good you absolutely bombed the exam.” Kirishima is pretty sure that’s the nicest thing Bakugou has ever said to him. Maybe even nicest thing he’s ever said in general. He… doesn’t actually know how to respond to that. It didn’t matter though, because Bakugou kept talking. “Besides, the attack my fault anyway, it’s only fair I got taken.” Kirishima sputters and for a moment he can hear Todoroki’s voice through the phone.

I’m the reason he’s not here.

“Our whole class needs therapy!” He exclaims and Bakugou glares at him.

“What the fuck does that even–”

“No, no, shut up,” Kirishima cuts him off, because he’s tired and this isn’t fair, and he just wants his friend to be okay. He moves away from Bakugou (even though it kills him inside) and places a hand on either side of his shoulders, making Bakugou look at him. “Now, for once, listen to me. Okay?”

Bakugou says nothing.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kirishima states. He keeps going, barreling through Bakugou’s growled protests. “A bunch of professional villains attacked and specifically targeted you! You did everything you could!”

“They targeted me because of the Sports Festival! Because of how I was acting! Because I was cruel and violent and nothing like a hero!” Bakugou shouts. His fists are closed but Kirishima can see them sparking.

Kirishima blinks at him.

“You’re the most heroic person I know.”

Bakugou sneers and shoves his hands away. “More heroic than Deku,” he spits, like the words are acid burning away at his gums. “Than Icy Hot? Than Four Eyes or Ponytail or even you fucking coming to find me?”

Kirishima doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. His brain is stuck.

He thinks I’m heroic?

Bakugou takes his lack of answer as a confirmation. He laughs, and it’s even more bitter than usual.

“I thought so. People don’t like me, Shitty Hair, much less–”

“I like you!” Kirishima blurts. “A lot, actually.” Bakugou has stopped talking, which is good, but is now staring at him like he just said All Might was his favorite villain, which was less good. His jaw has even dropped. Kirishima feels like he’s under a magnifying glass. “Like, you’re amazing. You have a really cool quirk, yeah, but you’re also really manly, and direct, and I know you aren’t going to be fake with me, and that if you’re around me, it’s because you actually like me. Like, you can be brash and angry, but you’re passionate and driven, and make me want to be better and work harder, and–”

Kirishima knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Bakugou has always done much better with actions than with words, the human embodiment of “show, don’t tell.” Really, it was either this or getting punched in the face. But when Bakugou surges forward and starts kissing him, he nearly falls off the bed. He gasps and Bakugou uses the opening to shove his tongue in Kirishima’s mouth. Kirishima is afraid he was going to cut himself on his teeth. It’s sloppy and inelegant and more of an attack than anything.

Kirishima never wants it to stop.

He reaches up and threads his fingers through Bakugou’s hair (kissing somehow made it feel even better), and matches Bakugou’s movements until the fury fades. Bakugou pulls away first, panting from a lack of air. His hair is a mess and his face is splotchy red, but his scowl is only a fraction of its usual anger. He’s beautiful.

Kirishima can’t stop smiling.

Bakugou huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fucking idiot.”

The smile doesn’t fade. “But I’m your idiot.”

Bakugou snorts, but doesn’t disagree. Instead he lays back on the bed and holds out an arm.

“Now come here. I haven’t slept in three days.” The words could mean nothing. He was kidnapped by villains, of course he hasn’t slept. It makes sense. But the way he said it, arm lifted up as an offer, eyes down, rare blush on his cheeks, makes Kirishima think otherwise. Kirishima sees what he’s saying, and gets it more than anyone. So he snuggles up next to Bakugou, and shifting only to make room for the arms wrapping around his torso. The warm weight of a body flush against his is a comfort he’s missed, and he relishes it.

And if Bakugou’s holding on tighter than he ever has before, Kirishima doesn’t mind.

Of course he doesn’t mind.

[ephemerational]

Inertia (I)

At this point, I fear that the fever is never gonna go away, that I will spend the, likely relatively short, rest of my existence in this bed, unable to move a muscle, burning and freezing at the same time and that I am in fact currently in the process of dying.

This thought, that my life is, like that of all creatures, finite, not in some weird, vague, metaphysical sense, but actually finite in the sense that it is tonally, definitely gonna end and that there is nothing I could reasonably do to make that not be the case, had, up to this very moment, never occurred to me, and I hope that it will never occur to me again, as it scares the living shit out of me, now that I am thinking about it.

A problem presents itself: Not thinking about the thing you are currently experiencing, when there is literally nothing you are physically capable of doing aside from thinking, is really fucking difficult, if not impossible. At least for the industrial-scale-toxic-chemical-waste-dump I spent the last couple of hours turning my brain into for some retarded reason. It might have been yesterday, actually. It may very well have been a damn week ago. The ceiling of my room, the thing I am involuntarily staring at, unable to turn my head, is illuminated by the bright, natural light of noon, the same as when I lay down here, though I doubt I would remember, had there been a night or more in between. My brain is shit and so am I. A little bit of divine punishment, I would understand, but this torturous bullcrap is cruel and unusual by any metric, downright fucking unethical. I guess don’t take five Adderall when you’re blackout drunk, kids. Who would have known that was on god’s list of things you shouldn’t do if you don’t want to be banished to hell on fucking earth.

Come to think of it, those tablets must have been four years old, at the very least. Does medicine expire? Fuck, I’m pretty sure medicine expires, and not in the “we want to sell you more shit”-way, but the really fucking dangerous, in fact actually lethal way. There it is again, the fear of death. I was doing so well. Fuck. Maybe I can get up, just out of the bed, just collapse on the floor so they won’t think I’m sleeping, so they’ll call an ambulance. Get up. Get up. Get up! GET UP! JUST PLEASE GET THE FUCK UP!!

My torso jolts upright, and I suck in two lungs full of oxygen, realizing that breathing was apparently something I hadn’t been doing for a short while.

The guy on the other side of the room looks up from his laptop, obviously startled by my sudden return to the realm of the living.

“Don’t you have a job interview?”

“Don’t you care that I almost kicked the fucking bucket just now?”

“I didn’t even notice that you were in the room, dude. Don’t tell me you’re doing heroin or something”

“God no, I just tried to sober up for the interview. What time is it?”

“Like an hour too late, sorry. Actually, I’m not, this is totally your fault. You knew it was today and getting sloshed in the a.m. is a pretty stupid thing to do just in general, like even by your standards.”

“Oh, spare me the lecture, or I’ll tell dad that this isn’t working”

“Okay, okay, understood. I’ll take a walk, see you later.”

Lloyd thankfully did a passable job at reading the mood and fucked off on one of his weird three to four hour walks (like who does that?). Maybe he’s stalking someone, seems like a thing he’d be into. Off-kilter fucking guy, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

At least he’s quiet, I don’t mind having him live in my room. He’s out of the house long enough for me to do things I don’t want him in the room for and when he’s here I can bounce thoughts off him. Maybe he cleans sometimes. I’m not sure.

Doesn’t matter. Getting something to eat has priority. The Horrortrip only lasted three hours, rather than a few days but I’m starving anyway. Kind of a shame actually, would have been a cool anecdote. Mind altering drugs, am I right? Bought that shit four years ago from a friend (Max or Marc or something) to cram for finals. Should probably throw it in the trash, so I won’t get any dumb ideas in an intoxicated state, which is a lot of the time, let’s face it.

Ah Fuck. Dad’s sitting in kitchen, indulging in some delicious looking shit. Can’t let him see me, not being at the interview he set up and all. Stealthy retreat.

There’s probably some foodstuff stashed in Lo’s room. I knock. The only thing that can’t be found in my brother’s room is Lo himself. 90% of the time he’s not here and the other 10% he brings so many people that he’s impossible to spot him. For someone I have spent my entire life with he sure is absolutely fucking incomprehensible. How did he manage to grow up alright? Like an actual functional human being? Didn’t we have the same parents and shit? Fuck this! The Wardrobe opens with far less creaking than one would assume from the looks of it and below the neatly organized shirts there is a similarly neat row of wine bottles and a tower of various salty snacks, far too perfectly compact to have been built by someone who hasn’t managed to beat me in Tetris once. I rip open a bag and start stuffing ham flavored chips into my mouth. I don’t think I’m a wine guy, never really gotten into it, but it’s been a while since the last time I had some, and this seems like the kind of day to get into something, especially when it’s the only easily accessible fluid to wash down the disgusting taste of oil and fake bullshit artificial meat flavor. I take a swig. It’s sour and clings to the tongue, better than I remember wine to taste like, but objectively worse than beer or hard liquor. My hands tear another bag open as though on autopilot, peanut puffs this time.

The cycle repeats with the wine getting better the more I pour down the garbage chute that is my throat. The party food gets worse, but not bad enough to stop eating it. I won’t stop until it’s gone. That became the plan like a bag ago, not that I’m still hungry, I feel sick actually, but at this point it’s easier to just keep going. I could just eat everything, all that even slightly exists, rip it apart, dismantle it on an atomic level and wolf it down, devour it like a fucking hound. Like the biggest of dogs. The biggest possible dog. A thought pops into my head: how big would the biggest possible dog even be? Like, bigger than the biggest currently existing dog definitely. That would be incredibly unlikely: to have hit the maximum by accident. Things can only get a certain size, something about cubes and mass and shit. That’s where the research money should go, breed them until we have the largest physically possible doggo, so we could ride them, replace cars with a bunch of insanely good boys. Do they die once their size exceeds a certain point? That would make the whole pursuit kind of unethical and animal rights activist attack prone. Might not even apply to dogs, they aren’t particularly squarey after all. Maybe it’s a definitional thing: That dogs could be infinitely large, but at some point it would stop being sensible to call them dogs. If there was a galaxy sized dog shaped thing, I don’t think I’d call it a dog. It has transcended doghood and so have I. Tremble before my might for I have consumed everything. Close to everything. Four bottles and seven bags deep. It’s over. There are still ten-something wines left, but not knowing how much they cost, it seems risky to drink more. Instead lying down and trying not to throw up appears to be the responsible course of action.

“The fuck did you do?”

The ghostly pale, cloaked figure of a boy, wrapped in a blanket and not wearing anything else by the looks of it, stands over me. The tone of his voice indicating sincere curiosity.

“Almost killed myself, missed a thing and plundered the good one's apocalypse stash, all the while hiding from the authorities. They call me the chips-bandit. You?”

“Pretty much the same tbh… Anything left?”

“Wine, the rest was mercilessly devoured by the ruthless criminal I have become.”

“Argh, shit.”

“Why?”

“I’m kind of starving and the ancient one is guarding the kitchen”

“Yeah, I know. Skipping school?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

The less estranged of my two brothers scratches his neck, a nervous habit of his, that got so out of hand sometimes, that it, in combination with his general appearance, made him seem like a crack addict going through withdrawal.

“I got a commission yesterday. Some rich Swedish kid offering me 300 for a pic of his OC engaging in not-all-that-safe-for-work kinds of activities. Please don’t ask what exactly. So there really wasn’t time for compulsory education.”

“Sick dude! You might actually make it if you keep going like this”

“Don’t really have a choice. If this can’t keep me alive by graduation I’ll just fucking off myself. I’ll accept failure like a man, become a modern samurai by first becoming like fucking human yakitori.”

It baffles me that Jerald even managed to go to school on most days, being cripplingly scared of practically everything outside his room and more neurotic than should even be possible. Dude’s a fucking train wreck. If his art wasn’t able to support his continued existence, he would either have to find a normal job, or explain to dad why he can’t, both of which, he had decided two years ago are fates far worse than death could possibly be. Mom had remarked on a few occasions that he drew like his life depended on it, blissfully unaware of the fact that it genuinely kind of did.

“Could you like leave out the references when you say dark shit like that? Stylistic clash gives me the howling fantods.”

“And when was the last time you did that?”

“Act as I say, not as I do.”

The sound of the front door opening interrupts our conversation.

“Dad leaving or Lo returning?”

No one ever heard Lloyd coming or going, so that wasn’t even worth considering. Also supported my stalker theory.

“Latter’s unlikely, seeing how the sun’s still up”

“Sure, but do you really wanna risk it?”

“We could “risk it”… Or we could not be complete idiots and look out the window.”

Jerald decides to go with my cunning plan, stealing a look at, what was, judging by his response, the ancient one.

“Today my friends, we feast.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to get up and embark on any kind of arduous journey to the bountiful land of real, non-terrible food.”

“Your loss, dude.”

With that he leaves, and I once again lie alone on my brother’s carpet, covered in chips dust. Taking a good hard look at the circumstances that led me here and the backside of my eyelids. I fall asleep.

[jerdle-typology]

Enneagram Asshole Archetypes

@humanarchetypehouse - I’m reposting them, because they’re hard to access.

5-1-2 Combos: The Insufferable Know-It-All. They think they know everything there is to know about everything, and they cannot contain their urges to share their knowledge with absolutely everyone. They correct people over the tiniest mistakes with no concern for any self-consciousness this may cause and then act disingenuously confused when others get upset.

5-1-3 Combos: The Neurotic Over-Achiever. These are the students who cry over getting a B+ or not being the best at their extracurricular activity of choice. They tend not to do very well outside of school unless they get to become doctors. Even then, they usually end up overly competitive and have hollow social and family lives.

5-1-4 Combos: The Ivory-Tower Prophet. Think they have a perfect vision of what’s best for the world based on nothing but untested theory and fantastical introspection. Needs to actually get out and talk to people in order to actually refine their ideals, but they are often unwilling to because that might involve admitting they are wrong or dealing with people they consider less than them.

5-8-2 Combos: The Armchair Shrink. Read a Psych 101 textbook once and now thinks they are qualified to give drive-by diagnoses and overly impersonal life advice. Tends to be very overbearing about it and generally refuses to listen to further information from their “patients”, particularly if it goes against their assumptions.

5-8-3 Combos: The Cult Leader. Has some bizarre philosophy that they propagate using hollow social influence and brutal aggression. Speaks in pyramid-scheme language and literally never shuts up until you are brow-beaten into submission because your own mind intimidated itself trying to figure out what the hell they were trying to say.

5-8-4 Combos: The Self-Important Jerk. Like the Cult Leader, but lazier and with fewer social skills. Turns their nose up at any preferences or modes of living other than their own and resents anyone who doesn’t see eye to eye with them 100%. They’re very bossy, but their instructions are often terse and unclear, and to make matters worse, they just get mad at you when you tell them to explain because they’re over-sensitive about being misunderstood.

5-9-2 Combos: The Unsolicited Mediator. They hate conflict, but they can’t stand to stay out of it, either. If you’re having a dispute with somebody, expect them to show up spouting inappropriate objectivity and some sterile, by-the-book advice about using I-statements and whatnot. This is actually pretty effective in resolving the disputes, but not in the way they want it to - instead of being mad at the person you were initially disputing with, now you are both mad at The Unsolicited Mediator and must unite against the common enemy.

5-9-3 Combos: The Amoral Monster. Not much seems to bother them, which is nice at first until you realize their “tolerance” stems from the fact that they have no sensibilities to offend. They lack conviction and will use flimsy, pulled-out-of-ass logic to dodge responsibilities and defend their selfish decisions.

5-9-4 Combos: The Pretentious Hippie. The most reclusive of all the archetypes. You aren’t good enough to be their friend, so don’t even try. You’re not on their level and you harsh their vibes, man. They tend to be very unhappy unless they’re living in a sustainable homestead in the middle of nowhere. Bitches about how the Internet is destroying our minds but spends most of their time online anyway.

6-1-2 Combos: The Sanctimonious Sap-Addict. They talk as if they live in a Hallmark card, chain e-mail, or cheesy coming-of-age film. They probably feel really guilty about dumb things, and then you start wondering if you should, too. They tend to be religious and intolerant of those who don’t share their views or ways of life. Thankfully the ways they tend to show this intolerance are pretty harmless - panicking and crying. Nobody can stand to listen to them because, despite the motivational tone of their messages, they make everyone around them feel awful for not being as wholesome as they are.

6-1-3 Combos: The Thought Police. Similar to The Cipher (6-9-3 Combos), but more prone to forcing their boringness on others. While the Cipher avoids personality clashes by either blending in with or withdrawing from those with different priorities, those of the Thought Police archetype wage a crusade against them by asserting the moral superiority of their way of life. They have convinced themselves they are perfect so to avoid the emotional pain of having to re-evaluate their lives, but in order to maintain this illusion, they must live in an echo chamber. Don’t put them in the same room as the 6-1-2, it’s not a pretty sight. 6-1-4 Combos: The Ball of Self Hatred. Nobody wants to listen to these people, no matter how good their ideas might be, because they can’t even listen to themselves - even when they want to. They certainly have minds of their own, unfortunately, they don’t tend to use them unless it’s convenient (Spoiler Alert: it rarely is.) They ruin their own lives by repressing positive emotions, ruminating on wrongdoings (both theirs and those of others), and being unable to trust or feel good about anything unless it is completely beyond criticism.

6-8-2 Combos: The Overbearing Meddler. Anything they wouldn’t do is a bad idea that you need to be scared and bullied out of. This also goes for many things they WOULD do, because they are hypocrites. They say it’s for your own good, but they wouldn’t know the first thing about that if it bit them on the nose because they live with their heads in their asses. They tend to have plenty of their own issues, which they chronically avoid by micromanaging others. More projection than a cinema multiplex. 6-8-3 Combos: The Overworked Grouch. These are people who cannot wind down for the life of them. This tendency would generally not affect anyone other than themselves, but it does because they get mad at other people for relaxing. They see others’ satisfaction with less as an affront because it means that maybe all their overwork was for nothing, but instead of giving relaxation a chance, they choose to act like arrogant dicks in hopes that others will change to suit them instead.

6-8-4 Combos: The Extremist. Fiercely and belligerently loyal to a set of beliefs that no one else shares. Believes their pet issue (frequently something that directly affects them) to be the center of the universe and ridicules opposing viewpoints. They might be nice to you if you agree with everything they say, but even then, they probably won’t - you come second to the crusade.

6-9-2 Combos: The Martyr. No will or interests of their own. Gives their entire life up for the sake of an individual or a group - and it’s usually a dysfunctional one. They don’t even complain if they aren’t appreciated or thanked (they don’t expect it), but Heaven forbid there comes a time when they are no longer needed. They will plunge into depression and impotent rage as they search desperately for another object of their overly-submissive affections.

6-9-3 Combos: The Cipher. Your next-door neighbor who thinks the street you live on is the center of the universe. It’s not completely certain that people of this archetype actually have personalities or if their attitudes and behavior are just absorbed from their surroundings and upbringing. They may be rigidly set in their ways or they may be a perpetually-shifting chameleon (depending on the order of the numbers) - there isn’t much in between, but either way, they’re unbelievably boring.

6-9-4 Combos: The Special Snowflake. They at least try to be interesting, if only on a superficial level, but can’t keep it up for very long. They might seem endearingly quirky until you meet the people they hang out with, who are all pretty much just like them. To their credit, they’re usually pleasant enough company in that they couldn’t be cruel if they tried (though they are plenty judgmental in their thinking), but their flakiness and squirrely behavior usually prove too annoying for anyone to really keep them around for long.

7-1-2 Combos: The Wack-tivist. Thinks they’re hot stuff because they’ve helped out in a bunch of Third World countries. That’s great, of course, but it would be a lot better if they could shut up about it for five minutes. Excessively smug about all the different charity groups they participate in through their church and/or university while you just wonder where the hell they find the time and what you’re doing wrong with your life.

7-1-3 Combos: The Tweaker. Okay, so they may or may not actually use speed, but one thing is for sure; this archetype never sleeps. Ever. They have a full time job and several different hobbies, clubs, and volunteer groups, and they feel the need to excel and gain recognition within all of them. They are always on the go, but unlike the Overworked Grouch (6-8-3 Combos), they’re eerily chipper about it. In fact, they’re very sad when there’s nothing to do, because then they are forced to think about their feelings, which they are notoriously bad at. And it should be obvious how they feel about being bad at anything (Hint: it isn’t positively).

7-1-4 Combos: The Fanatic. A obnoxious mass of scatterbrained and stubborn behavior. Has their own personal brand of ethics and spirituality, which tends to involve a lot of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. They at least practice what they preach, so that’s one good thing about them - unfortunately, they don’t ever really talk much about anything else. They just find a million different ways and contexts in which to talk about it.

7-8-2 Combos: The Bootstraps Idealist. Like the Overbearing Meddler (6-8-2 Combos), but with an extra dose of irresponsibility. They think the answer to all your problems is for you to do extremely difficult or extravagant things without considering whether or not you have the time or resources. Often refuses to acknowledge health issues (both mental and physical), as well. Any reason why you can’t do the things they are telling you to do is because of your lack of positive attitude instead of actual reality. Usually has more than a few terrible habits, but will try and fool you into thinking they have all their ducks in a row by giving faux motivational speeches.

7-8-3 Combos: The Inconsiderate Douche. It doesn’t really get any worse than this. Loud, obnoxious, and hopelessly shallow, a person of this archetype may seem very popular, but their circle of friends is a revolving door because they just won’t stop screwing people over for the sake of their ambitions or disregarding their feelings. Stay far, far away.

7-8-4 Combos: The Conspiracy Theorist. Being paranoid and accusing the government of hiding all kinds of scary, exciting things from us is fun for them. Imagining that there is at least one conspiracy that targets them personally is even more fun. What they don’t understand is that it isn’t as much fun for everyone around them. If you tell them you don’t believe them or even that you’re just sick of hearing about it, they flip their lid and go off about how you’re an idiot and just want to remain ignorant.

7-9-2 Combos: The Walking New-Age Store. This complete knob of an archetype has a saying or quote for everything, but never really seems to think critically about or have anything of their own to add to the words they are repeating. Hardly anyone has the heart to tell them how canned-corny and downright unhelpful they are, because they just seem so blissful and earnest. It would be like popping a hot air balloon, on every possible level.

7-9-3 Combos: The Goldfish. Completely without any self-awareness, this archetype flits perpetually from one superficial interest to the next. Unsurprisingly, they find very little satisfaction from anything, no matter how enthusiastically they may dive into it. The creepiest part about this is that they are so numb and hollow, they barely even notice how unsatisfied they are - they’ve fooled themselves into believing this is a happy existence.

7-9-4 Combos: The Entitled Vagabond. Goes on long road trips for no real reason, couch-surfing all the way. Quite possibly has no permanent address or bank account, and they are okay with this. Does a lot of odd jobs and possibly illegal things; has never had an actual job in their life, because it just isn’t their style, man. They’re actually not too insufferable as long as you don’t expect much from them and don’t mind their mooching. Unfortunately, whatever positivity they may bring to your life will be short-lived; as soon as they pick up and leave (which they will), they will all but forget you even exist.

[royal-despair-threads]

Seojun & Petra [Prologue]

Seojun thought back on the fight that a certain duo had gone through earlier, as he had the moment to just sit down and let his thoughts wander for a bit.  While it was rather unorthodox and childish to have been fist fighting at a time where they needed to cooperate with one another, he could understand why.  Tensions were high; especially since you didn't know who these people were.  Perhaps, he should check on the both of them.

He went over to Petra first.  Why?  It was a good question, but she did mention that she liked Jazz, and not in a meme-kind of way.  While he liked it both ways, hearing that she was a Jazz Singer caught his eye.  She felt familiar, and even though he knew they never met, he's felt like he's heard of her somewhere.

Tapping on her shoulder, he offers a polite smile.  "How're you holding up, considering the odds?"  Not the best starter to a conversation, but not the worst, either.

As she always was, Petra was in a rather sour mood. This whole situation was beyond infuriating and the people were easily, easily the worst part. Approaching Petra in general was a poor idea, but approaching her when she was at a whole new level of annoyed? That was a worse idea.

"Obviously fucking NOT, you idiot," Petra scoffed. "In case you haven't fucking noticed, that freckly bitch punched my in the goddamn face, so now not only am I trapped in a cramped room with a bunch of fucking idiots, but now I've gotta deal with my face throbbing. So you tell me, how do you think you would be doing?"

Wow.   Wow, okay, now that was a bit explosive in itself, and he hadn’t even tried to annoy her yet.  Damn, she really was a mega-bitch.  Normally, this would be the point where he walked away and just told himself “fuck this shit, i’m out”.  Considering that she was in a pretty bad state though, it was almost bound to happen, so he stayed a little longer.

“I’d probably bitching everyone out like you are right now, honestly.”  Seojun took a seat next to the red-head, letting a sigh pass his lips.  “There’s too many big personalities in such a little space, and there’s still a couple knocked out.  With no way out...yeah, bad timing, I know.”

“But since I’m here, I wanted to know a bit about you.”  He turns his head towards her, raising an eyebrow.  “You mentioned that you were the Ultimate Jazz Singer, right?”

Yeah, 'too many big personalities in one place' was a bit of an understatement. Just replace 'big' with annoying, and you've basically figured out exactly what Petra was thinking.

"Well thank fucking god you're using your logical reasoning skills," Petra snapped and rolled her eyes.

"So you want to know about me, huh? Yeah, I'm the Ultimate Jazz Singer. Do you want me to sing you a fucking lullaby or something?" Petra asked. "Why do you even care? Are you a musician or something?"

Actually, she was sort of hoping he was. She really hoped the only other musician here wasn't that blue-haired guitarist.

Well...

“Ahh...Yes, and no?  I do sing, but even though people have told me I sound like some kind of mix between Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble, I know I’m not on an Ultimate level of skill like you, or that guitarist over there.”  His answers were ended by a shrug of his shoulders.  This would probably displease her, but what else could Seojun do?

“As for why I care?   You might be surprised by this....or you might not be, who knows.  But, I’ve listened to some of your work, Petra.”  A smile dawned upon his lips once again, as he flicked his hair to the side.  “You are definitely worthy of your title, I’ll just put it that way.”

Ah yes, a compliment. As if she’d never come across those before. It was pretty common for people to shoot her a compliment in hopes she would suddenly warm up to them. It usually didn’t work.

“You know what? Normally my standards wouldn’t be this low, but thank fucking god someone here actually knows what Jazz is. I thought this place was just full of moronic heathens, but I guess you managed to be a step above every other idiot here,” Petra said with a cruel laugh.

“Well obviously I’m worthy of my title, I worked my fucking ass off to train my voice,” Petra said. “But enough about me, you still haven’t even mentioned your fucking name.”

Technically, he did, but he supposed that she wasn’t around to hear what it was with all of the commotion going on.  He was rather shell-shocked to hear that he managed to be tolerable around her, but when she asked for his information...oh dear, he was definitely going to sink back to the bottom, knowing her personality.

“Right, I haven’t, have I?  The name’s Seojun Tsoi.  My talent is, uh...”  He gave a laugh himself, facing away for a moment, before facing back towards her.  “If I’m a step above every other idiot here now, then you don’t wanna hear my talent.”

“Regardless, an introduction is an introduction.  I received the title of the Ultimate Internet Troll.”  Aaaand here comes the onslaught.

Petra.exe has stopped working. She honestly, for a second there, completely blanked out. Did this guy really just say his talent was being an Internet Troll? Did he actually say that with sincerity, no joking?

She let out a loud laugh. She could already feel tears coming to her eyes as she held onto her stomach for dear life. Oh my god, this was rich! She couldn’t breathe!

“Y-You seriously mean to tell me that Hope’s Peak seriously have you the title of ‘Internet Troll’? What the fuck? That’s gotta be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!! What the fuck!!!” She honestly couldn’t stop laughing. There was no way to tell if it was real laughter or not.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking joke,” Petra said and wiped tears away from her eyes. “How the fuck do you even get a talent like that? Make incel jokes on reddit all day?”

As soon as his title came out of his lips, Seojun knew that he was in for a helluva roasting himself, by someone that he respected over the sound waves of her music.  He had to admit, some of these insults that she gave out were harsh as hell.  He braced himself for the worst.

And, it was bad.  It truly was, especially the part with the incel jokes.  The Internet Troll knew he wouldn't be taken seriously as soon as his talent was exposed.  That was the irony of it all; he'd have to impress everyone because of his disadvantage of a useless title.

Was it useless?  Who knows.  "I'll give you this; the incel jokes are probably saved for the "men are stronger than women" guy known as Takuma.  Making incel jokes is low, and aren't witty at all." A smile dawned across his face, though it almost seemed forced.  Seojun stared down at his hand for a moment.  "I told someone here that it's like being a stand up comedian; it takes luck, wit, and the right words to say.  If you've ever seen some of these Twitter accounts nowadays, think of something like that."

"Yeah, I know it's a dumb talent on the surface.  Hope's Peak really fucked me over in bestowing such a title, but I'm not that much of an asshole...I think."

“Well Jesus Christ, don’t you wish Hope’s Peak had given you the title of ‘Social Media Personality’ or some shit?” Petra snorted. “God, Internet Troll, that’s gotta be the worst talent I’ve ever heard. It’s even worse than that stupid shit like ‘Ultimate Fortune Teller’ or other bullshit supernatural talents.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. It was still a bit tangled from when that bitch grabbed it.

“Hey Troll Doll, I’ll stop laughing at you if happen to have a comb I can use on you,” Petra said.

Seojun couldn’t help but let out a slight snicker himself.  These insults may have been directed towards him, but something he learned was that if he laughed them off, they won’t bother him as much.  “To be honest, I believe there could be much, much worse.  I’ve heard people were accepted as magical girls at one point.  Cute, but...I don’t see how that’s a talent, you know?”

“As for a comb, I usually keep one on me, but since I can’t find most of my things, I can’t hold too many promises.  Still, I’ll check.”  With that, he checks inside all of his pockets.  Jacket pockets, pants pockets, even the pocket inside his button up shirt, which was under the blue and red one.  Any luck on finding a comb?

After a while of searching, he felt something in his shirt pocket.  "....Ah-"  Quickly, he snatched, and flung it out.  Indeed, there was a black comb ready to use.  A smile grew onto his lips, before made a small "a-ha" sound.  "It's your lucky day, Miss Sakai."

He held this new item out towards her, in case she wanted to take it.  "Now, do you want me to comb it out, or are you good?"

Petra snatched the comb from his hand.

"What am I? Four? I'm not a little kid, I can comb my own hair," Petra scoffed. She removed the bow from her hair and began to comb it out with the comb so graciously provided by Seojun. Ah, better already. She carefully combed it through a couple of times and continued speaking, "For the record, magical girls is a fucking stupid ass talent too and Hope's Peak needs to get its act together...but as promised, I'll stop laughing at you and your weird talent."

She finished combing and fixed her bow back in place before tossing the comb back for Seojun to catch.

"So you like Jazz. Any favorites?" she asked, referring to both artists and songs.

As the comb was snatched out of the man’s hands so quickly, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, listening to her rant about the various talents that were considered to be unacceptable upon her standards.  As she tossed him back the comb, he caught it with his left hand, giving a thank you in response.  Hearing her question, though, that sent him chuckling.  That was always a hard question, you could say.

“I figured you’d ask this.  I do have some favorites.  Frank Foster’s ’Here and Now’, Julia London’s ’Cry Me a River’...There’s also Kurt Elling and his music in general, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald...And how can I forget about your music?  Like I said, I’ve listened to some of it before.”  He paused for a moment, thinking back on something.  “...Though, I’m not sure if ’Late Nights and Heartbreak’ would also count.  That’s a really good one.”

“Your turn.  Any favorites you may have?”

"Hm, not bad," Petra replied, particularly his mention of Ella Fitzgerald. Complimenting Petra's muse was a good, quick way to get her to consider to be less of a demon. Less of, not stop entirely.

"You really shouldn't try so hard to kiss my ass. Am I really supposed to believe my two fucking original songs were life changing enough to be put on the same level of Ella Fitzgerald. I'm not gonna fucking kid myself and you shouldn't either," Petra said. "Late Nights and Heartbreak has Jazz influence, so I'll give you that one. But that's it."

Her favorites? "I'm impartial to Ella Fitzgerald and Dizzy Gillespie. Obviously Duke Ellington is fantastic as well and Miles Davis. A Night in Tunisia is a song my parents would often play in the house during their murders, so I have some strong fucking memories associated with that one."

Kissing her ass?  He was just being honest - he was kind of a sucker for jazz, and even though he loved rock, hip-hop, and other genres, there was something about the old fashioned music that had him captivated.  "Ah, I'm glad that I wasn't wrong about that song."  Oh, and Duke Ellington was quite a talent himself as well, how could he forget about-

Hold on.  Rewind.  Did Petra just say...?

"...Ah, don't mean to be invading your privacy or anything, but..."  Seojun blinked rapidly for a few seconds, as if he was making sure the information was actually registering properly.  "...Can you explain what you mean by...their murders?  And why they played A Night in Tunisia for that?"

Petra just examined her nails as though this whole thing was the opposite of a big deal, as though she was used to explaining it.

“Valentin and Alena Voronov were my real parents. You might not have heard of them if don’t have an interest in true crime, but they were the Honeymoon Killers,” Petra explained almost...eagerly, as though she was deeply excited to discuss this. “Basically, they were famous serial killers. They used to blast Jazz through the house so  the neighbors wouldn’t hear the victims scream. They were particularly fond of playing rowdier Jazz such as bebop for their murders. I think it got them more excited.”

She grinned, waiting for any reaction out of him. “Satisfied with that answer, Troll Doll?”

He seemed to have been stunned for a moment, after hearing the full explanation to the melodious vixen's mention to the murders comment.  Seojun definitely...was not expecting to hear some horror tales in this room today.  The blonde ran a hand through his hair, still processing all of this information.  Finally, his eyes darted to meet with her hazel, and let's just say they were wide as saucers.

"...God, damn."  He hissed out, nervously laughing.  This was a little intimidating.  Turns out, someone that he's listened to was the daughter of the Honeymoon Killers.  "...Uh...Did they ever...y'know...get caught?  That's gotta be some...pretty dark shit right there, Petra."

Petra began to pick at her nails. Yeah, she definitely needed a fresh coat of paint.

“Obviously they got caught,” Petra scoffed. “Why the fuck do you think my last name is Sakai and not Voronov? I’d still be living with them if they hadn’t been found out. What? Do you think they just abandoned me or some shit to live a life on the run from the cops? Fat fucking chance.”

She stopped looking at nails to grin at him. “You’re not the first fucking person to freak out so much about this. It’s not even a big deal. They’re not even fucking alive anymore.”

Damn.  She took it all like it was some kind of joke, and the reason why was a big fat mystery to Seojun.  "I didn't mean that they'd do that to you."  The man reassured lightly, giving another sheepish smile back towards the Jazz Singer.  At the mention of her parents not being alive anymore, he couldn't help but shift his gaze slightly, scratching the back of his head.

"In regards to that last part...Well, looks like we sort of have something in common, huh?"

He stopped.  Shit, this wasn't his moment to be revealing parts of his own past.  Not right now.  He turned back to the red-headed vixen with a smile, laughing once again.  "Sorry.  Forget I said that.  I guess I don't usually hear something like what you told me every day."

“Yeah, dead parents, isn’t that a fucking trope?” Petra snorted. “Its a fucking stupid one, anyway. I dunno how your parents died,  but I’m guessing people don’t at least spit on their graves.”

She sighed and shook her head, something strangely pensive about her expression.

“Whatever. I’ll ‘forget’ what you said even though I don’t really care that much,” Petra said. “Whatever, though, find someone else to troll for a bit. This has gotten boring.”

Petra gave him a lazy wave before walking away.