#i get that shes not self aware enough to realize she hurt me personally

[flowers-that-sing]

NOT MY MOM LAUGHING AT CHILD ABUSE AND SAYING THEY SHOULD BE OBEDIENT IF THEY DONT WANNA GET HIT?!?!?!?!??!??!

[very-straight-blog]

It really tires me how some fans try to make Aegon look like an asshole who doesn't give a shit about anything. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of his character as such. Of course he cares, that's literally the essence of his personality. He cares. He and Aemond both feel too much emotion, but if Aemond sublimates into self–improvement, trying to be strong, cold and detached, then Aegon is literally an open wound. I want to talk about this, also using Tom's interviews (yes, I think the actor's opinion is valid in this matter) and the few scenes that we have in the first season.

We know that Aegon didn't want the throne and wasn't ready to rule. The scene with Alicent, who explains to him the prospects for the future of their family, seems very traumatic to me. Imagine what it's like to know from your childhood that the lives of people close to you depend on you, on how strong you'll be. Such a burden can destroy anyone. You can't just ignore it.

Next, we're shown how Aegon drinks on Driftmark. And that's a pretty sad sight - several cups in a row, wincing, as if taking a medicine that will help him to feel better.

Actually, I like the theory that he gets drunk after Aemond says that Helaena is his future queen. Another reminder that he'll have to marry his own sister, for whom he has no feelings. And he drinks because he tries to numb his pain.

The same goes for his obviously unhealthy attitude towards sex - he uses it to numb his loneliness. I believe that Aegon literally didn't have the opportunity to feel what love is in any form. His father disliked him and showed it openly. His mother loved him, but she never knew how to express it the way he needed to. He was married to his sister (the tragedy for both of them) and it was a matter of duty, not feelings. At the time of the first season, Aegon is deeply unhappy and this is obvious. I have every reason to believe that his need for physical intimacy is based on the fact that this is the only form of love he can receive. Considering that Aegon is quite smart, I even think that he himself understands how ugly this form is, but there's nothing he can do. During the act, I guess in some unhealthy way it really saves him from loneliness, longing and the need to be loved, but in the end it makes him even more unhappy.

Then it's impossible not to remember the eighth episode and the famous:

It's still clear that family is important to him. Yes, he feels like a stranger among his relatives, but it hurts him just because he cares. He cries and says "it will never be enough for you or father" because he wants it to be enough. He still loves them and wants them to love him back.

"What Aegon wants more than anything is to be told by his dad ‘I have faith in your capabilities as a young man. I see you bringing prosperity to King’s Landing.’ But he hasn’t said any of those things. His dad has completely ignored him, in fact, throughout his entire youth." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Esquire

Next, we can move on to episode nine and the fact that Aegon ran away. I've seen a lot of opinions that this is an indicator of selfishness and like...what? He was scared. This follows from the script:

He was scared, he'd never leave his family, much less Sunfyre. It was a decision made in a panic when he realized that his father had died and the moment he had feared all his life had come - he needed to accept the crown to protect his family.

During the conversation in the carriage, we see that Aegon was really hurt that his father didn't love him:

He even said "because he didn't like me" when talking about his father's attitude towards him. He didn't use the word "love" because it was obvious to him that his father didn't love him. He used the word "like", unknowingly emphasizing that he couldn't count on even simple sympathy.

He's also well aware that Viserys could have named him the heir, but didn't do so simply because he didn't want to and because of this, he - the eldest son, feels unworthy of the throne, and also completely lost.

When Alicent tells him that Viserys wanted to make him the heir before his death, an emotional dam breaks inside him, it's literally written in the script:

And at this moment, looking at the dagger, he's not even listening to Alicent, he's completely in his thoughts - maybe, at least for a second, his father cared about him. And when he asks his mother if she loves him, we see how much he craves love, how broken he really is, how important his family is to him.

I know this post is insanely long and I haven't even analyzed the various microexpressions in Tom's acting, but I'm really tired of people wanting to make Aegon something pure evil.

"I also see Aegon as being incredibly complex. He's not an out-and-out psychopath. I see a multilayered character that just has endless potential of pits of vulnerability and empathy and things that we don't see. I think it's his vulnerability that breeds the darkness. It's the way he copes, it's his security, it's his safety blanket, it's an addictive coping mechanism for him to shut things out and to be cold." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Entertainment Weekly

[bunnycobie]

best friend's brother - choi san

pairing: choi san x f!reader summary: when your night with your crush doesn't go to plan, you find comfort in the person you'd least expect genre: smut, some fluff, some angst word count: 3k content/tw: nonidol characters, college au, san has a sister named mina (not meant to be mina from twice), other random idol names are used, fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex (don’t do this in real life) a/n: this may be a cringefest bc it was my first fic

18+ minors dni (masterlist)

you tap on jimin’s instagram story for an update on where he might be. he’s in a car with his friends, most likely on his way here. replaying the post over and over, you don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at his smile until you’re hit on the leg with a pillow, snapping you back into reality.

“are you even listening to me?” mina snaps. you grin and sit up against the pillows on her bed.

today is mina’s birthday, and she decided to throw a party at her house tonight. but even though she invited tons of people, she only cares about one guest. so much so, that she’s cycled through five different outfits just to look as good as possible.

“you look hot.” you say jokingly, grabbing and hugging the pillow she just threw at you. “jin is going to notice you, quit overthinking it.”

mina groans. “why aren’t they here yet?”

“they’re on their way right now, they’ll probably be here soon. can we please go now?” you whine. the party started almost an hour ago, but you’ve been waiting for your friend to finish getting ready.

“i just need a few more minutes. go ahead, i’ll find you later.” she says, looking in the mirror as she puts on a pair of earrings.

as you leave the room, your ears are instantly flooded with music despite the party only being downstairs. you head towards the bathroom and step inside to check your hair and makeup in the mirror.

you and mina invited jimin and jin to the party, and it’s the only thing you two have thought about all week. mina and jin are practically a thing at this point, but you can’t say the same for you and jimin. you’re always too nervous to hold a conversation with him. it’s nothing a little liquid courage can’t fix, though. you hope.

there’s a knock on the bathroom door. you open it expecting it to be mina. instead, you’re greeted by a large frame with silky black hair.

of course, it’s mina’s brother san.

despite being a player on campus, he’s really sweet and protective over you. presumably because you’re his sister’s friend. still, he’s always been respectful and never tried to make a move on you.

but you’ve definitely caught him staring once or twice, and youd be lying if you said you didn’t do the same.

“oh, hi y/n.” he examines your outfit, making you feel self-conscious. “i started to think i’d never see you guys come out of that room.”

“sorry,” you smile awkwardly, walking around him into the hallway. “she’s nervous about jin.”

“jin’s coming?”

“yeah, and jimin”. you reply.

san’s posture straightens. “so you actually like him?”

“i never said that.” you protest.

“i hear you guys all the time. you aren’t really discreet about it.” he smiles.

you can’t help but notice his dimples every time he does that. your relationship with him has only ever been platonic, but you’re almost always dumbfounded by his appearance.

“i mean, maybe. i can’t really tell if he feels the same way though.” you say, fidgeting with your hands.

san leans against the wall. “i wouldn’t waste my time on him,”.

“what? what do you mean?”

“i don’t like him. it doesn’t matter though; you can do better than him.”

who the hell does he think he is?

“you don’t even know him. why should i care what you think?” you say, furrowing your brows.

in reality, san knows jimin more than you’d thin. they’ve never been friends, but he’s spent enough time around him to know that he’s not worth dating.

san is well aware of his position in your life, but he still cares and doesn’t want to see you hurt. your words stung a little, but he wouldn’t let you know that.

san grins and lets out a soft chuckle that pisses you off a little.

mina’s bedroom door opens and she steps out in yet another outfit choice.

“it took you an hour to come up with that?” san says teasingly, gesturing to mina’s outfit.

mina’s eyes widen. “is it actually that bad?” she gaps.

“he’s joking.” you smile, despite the anger you felt a few seconds ago. “you look cute, can we go now?” you asked, grabbing mina’s hand and pulling her towards the stairs.

not only would she have actually changed her outfit again, but you would’ve done anything to get out of that situation. you’re an adult and can date whoever you want. why is san treating you like you’re his sister... or his girlfriend?

as you walk away with mina, you glance over your shoulder to see san still looking at you, except this time he’s more serious.

the party was open invitation, but you’re still surprised by the number of people that actually showed. you and mina grab two beers from the kitchen.

you feel a tug on your arm. “they’re over there!”. she points to jin and jimin sitting on a sofa with drinks and talking.

your stomach knots at the sight of jimin and you start to feel flustered. he looks so good you start to second guess your outfit just as much as mina did hers. you chug your drink, hoping the alcohol will set in soon.

mina laughs at your nervousness. “are you ready?”

“i think so –”

“hey guys!” mina yells over the music, interrupting you.

your heart drops even further than it already did.

jmin and jin look over as you and mina make your way to them. mina sits next to Jin, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to jimin on the opposite end. you were hoping Mina would be with you to ease the awkwardness, but that plan is instantly thrown out the window.

jimin turns his body towards you, and you start to wish you’d planned things to talk about.

“hey, you look nice.” he smiles.

“thank you.” you respond shyly. somehow you feel even more self-conscious despite the compliment.

“i haven’t seen you in class lately.” you mention, hoping your awkwardness doesn’t show.

“oh. i’ve been kind of focused on my music lately. i’m actually considering switching majors.” he says.

he continues speaking but as you glance around your attention is caught by san across the room.

he’s looking directly at you, while a girl is holding his arm and laughing. he’s pretending to listen, but he’s watching you and jimin. you can’t seem to break the eye contact, as if your eyes are glued to him.

you realize you’re mid conversation and shift your focus back on jimin, who’s still talking about himself.

“i think that’s great.” you smile at him, unknowing of what he spent the last 30 seconds talking about.

“y/n, can I borrow you for a sec?” mina leans forward into your gaze.

you nod. “sorry, one second.” you excuse yourself from the conversation and follow mina as she pulls you aside.

“jin and i are going to my room; are you gonna be fine on your own?” she asks lowly.

“what? you’re sleeping with jin already?” you exclaim.

mina shushes you and looks around the room as if anyone could’ve heard you over the music.

“i don’t know, probably.” she says, grinning like an idiot.

“i’ll be fine. be safe.” you smile.

she nods and waves over jin, and he follows her upstairs

you make your way over to where you previously were but realize jimin is gone. you scan the room for him but can’t find him. you start to regret letting mina go and feel awkward all over again. you look around for a familiar face and see san, still talking to the same girl and clearly uninterested. you find chaewon and yunjin and join them for a while.

almost two hours pass while you’re busy getting drunk and dancing.

mina comes back with jin, but you’ve been so caught up that you forgot about them and jimin.

“hey.” you almost cringe realizing what they might have just finished doing.

mina grins and rolls her eyes. “where’s jimin?”

you shrug. “he left after you guys did”

“that’s weird,” jin says.

“i’ll go look for him.”

you scan downstairs one more time, but he’s still nowhere to be seen. you realize the party extended to the patio and open the door to check outside.

you find him, but you’re practically frozen in place when you do. he’s sitting next to a pretty blonde girl, kissing and feeling her up. you start to feel sick. you know that the two of you weren’t exclusive, but you still had hope there would be something between you. you’ve been obsessed with him for months and the one night you decided to make a move, the universe betrays you. the embarrassment starts to set in when you realize practically everyone knew about your crush as well.

you can’t watch any longer, and head back inside. you don’t feel like looking for mina. you don’t want to ruin her birthday by forcing her to comfort you. you’re too ashamed to admit what happened, anyways. you’re too drunk to walk or drive home, so you go to mina’s bedroom to wait for the rest of the night.

you open the door to her bedroom but the unmade bed reminds you of what just happened in it. and as disgusting as you feel, you’d rather not fall asleep on a bed full of sweat and god knows what else.

standing in the hallway, you start to feel the frustration set in and tears begin to well in your eyes.

you hear heavy footsteps on the stairs and immediately wipe your tears.

you don’t know whether to be grateful or upset over the fact that it’s san. as soon as you see his face, you’re reminded of the situation from earlier. and the last thing you want is to hear an “i-told-you-so”.

“what’s wrong?” he says, noticing your expression.

“nothing.” you reply, trying to contain yourself.

“why were you crying then?” he approaches you, practically trapping you in between him and the wall.

“i’m just tired.” you lie, looking down hoping to avoid eye contact.

“don’t lie to me,” san says, lifting your chin.

“did he do something to you?” he’s more intimate this time, and you realize you won’t get anywhere by hiding the truth.

“you were right.” you admit, removing his hand from your face. you start to feel the shame overwhelm you again

san sighs and looks around the hallway to make sure you were alone.

“are you happy?” you continued.

“of course i’m not happy,” san says, offended by the accusation. “you’ve had too much to drink. let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

you know he didn’t do anything wrong. none of this was his fault. to be fair, he did warn you. you weren’t mad at san, but you were overwhelmed and didn’t know what else to do. so, you took it out on him.

“you’ve been watching me like a creep all night waiting for something to go wrong. now you want to pretend you feel bad and take care of me?” you snap.

san sucks his teeth and grabs your wrist. pulling you to his bedroom, he shuts the door behind him and leans against it.

“can you calm down?” he asks in annoyance, folding his arms.

you start pacing out of frustration, trying to keep yourself from breaking down.

“he’s not worth crying over, y/n. I told you that you could do better than him.” he says, pulling you back to him. he snakes one hand around your waist and starts wiping your tears with the other.

something about his presence makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like you could cry if you needed to, but how could you when you’re around him? the realization that your body is pressed against his starts to set in.

you always knew san was good-looking, but something about the way he’s letting you be vulnerable with him makes him so much more attractive. he looked unreal, yet somehow, he was standing right in front of you.

you must have been staring for a while because his expression darkens. his thumb that was just wiping your tears starts to brush softly over your lips. you feel like you’re going to pass out from the way he’s staring at your face, studying you.

san’s lips press against yours and his arms wrap around your waist. you reach over his wide shoulders and around his neck as he pulls your body closer to his. each kiss begins deepen, with small moans escaping your throat. and as passionate as they are, his lips are still so soft and careful with yours.

san’s lips move from yours to your neck, and he’s holding you as if you’d slip away once he lets go.

you can feel warmth pooling in between your legs, making your legs go numb. he sweeps you up and moves his focus back to your lips as he carries you to his bed. laying you on your back, he hovers over you between your legs, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

you let out a moan as reassurance for him to continue, so he slides his hand under your top. he squeezes and massages your breast, causing you to let out whines involuntarily.

“does that feel good?” he groans against your neck. you can feel him smiling against you, giving you chills in the best way possible.

you manage to let out a soft whiny “yes.”.

“i’m gonna make you feel so much better.” he promises. he plants a soft kiss against your collarbone before shifting his hand between your legs.

he circles his thumb against the outside of your panties, feeling the damp spots he caused. each feeling of him hitting your clit makes your breath hitch.

“fuck.” he groans. “my baby is so good and wet for me.” he moans, teasing you with his fingers.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, your forehead against his.

“could you please?” you plead softly.

“could I what? use your words, baby.” he teases, pushing more pressure onto your clit.

“fingers, please.” you babble, your head falling back from the sensitivity.

“you want me to fuck you with my fingers?” san smirks.

“mm-hmm.” you whine.

san pulls your panties to the side and pushes his thick finger in slowly, earning a whimper from you.

he can feel his cock growing feeling the warmth of you, wishing it was inside of you instead. the sound of his fingers slipping inside of you are audible from the wetness.

san can feel himself swelling up and leaking from the anticipation, but he wants to take his time with you. he loves the sight of you moaning and whining under his control with your head held back.

he pulls your head in by the back of your neck and snakes his tongue in your mouth while curling his fingers to reach your gspot. his tongue is warm and wet, and you feel yourself getting dizzy and falling apart.

“i’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out.

“wait a little longer for me,” san says, pulling his fingers out of your heat and kissing you before standing up.

he pulls his shirt off revealing his bare chest and smooth, toned skin. he’s practically sweating from the anticipation, making his abs and biceps look even more glossy. he looks like a greek god.

unzipping his pants and removing the rest of his clothes, his swollen cock reveals itself, already wet and leaking from the tip.

he pushes you back down and lets you wrap your legs around his waist.

rubbing his tip against your sensitive clit, he inserts himself, making you gasp. the feeling you felt from his finger was almost nothing compared to the size of him inside of you.

he groans at the feeling of you wrapped around and squeezing him and wastes no time before speeding up his pace. your moans can’t help but get louder, and he has to cover your mouth with his just in case someone may hear you whine.

he moves fast yet softly as if he doesn’t want to hurt you. still, the feeling of him inside of you is enough to make your eyes water. you feel your sensitivity from being edged earlier come back, and you’re close to your high all over again.

“i wish i could do this with you forever” he moans.

his pace starts to get sloppy, letting you know he’s close to finishing. you feel a wave of ecstasy take over your body as san releases inside of you, leaving you dripping. the two of you moan over the feeling of finishing on each other.

san collapses next to you as you both catch your breath. he gets up and slips on clothes to leave the room. you lay in confusion for a minute until he comes back with a warm towel.

he cleans you up and gives you one of his clean t-shirts to wear to sleep. you try to hide your smile from the thought of him being so sweet to you. when you put the shirt on, he falls in love at the sight of it being so big on you. he’s not super tall, but his muscles are enough to warrant his shirts being huge. san wraps his arms around you and gives you another kiss, but this time it feels more loving than the rest.

“do you feel better now?” he asks, embracing you.

you’d forgotten about what led to this in the first place. but you didn’t care enough to remember because you were in love with someone else now.

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until a haze of vape and weed and flashing lights consume your vision: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist. The solid weight releases some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.��

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you guys were actually born like 30 years old, or maybe it's some kind of reincarnation, soulmate thing—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to the sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times, and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure that he wishes he sounded more confident, but he gives himself away with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself, like a child, ad press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but Stiles pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself over the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[moon-andstardust]

That scene. That scene right there is soo telling. We've known since the beginning that Blitz has commitment issues, but we're only now starting to see just how deep they ran and just how much they affect his relationships.

I feel like these words, "I love you," trigger blaring alarms in his head, a panic reaction. Remember what happened the first time he dared to love someone? The first time he tried to confess his love?

Oh, nothing big.

He just permanently disfigured his crush, killed his mother and ruined his sister's life*.

This accident, this event lies in the core of 90% of his issues and problems.

This is why he runs the second things get serious. This is why he dumps Verosica the second she says she loves him.

In Blitz's eyes, his love is destructive. His love only ruins. So if he cuts ties before things get too complicated, maybe the other person won't get even more hurt, even more damaged. It's a twisted and fucked up desire to protect not only himself and his heart but also his loved ones**. It has turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy and a never-ending cycle: the more he pushes and pushes and pushes, the more people push back. Because no one likes getting hurt. No one likes having their heart broken. And when these people finally snap, when they've had enough of Blitz's bullshit? He can point and say, see? I told you so! They are better off without me!

Blitz's cruelty doesn't stem from outright malice. It stems from Blitz being deeply broken and damaged.

Before he can start a stable romantic relationship of any kind, he needs to forgive himself for that accident. Otherwise, that deeply rooted self-loathing will continue to get in the way and cause him to repeatedly self-sabotage. And he has to do it himself, Verosika can't do it for him, M&M can't do it for him, Stolas can't do it for him.

The good news is that he is already taking the necessary steps. Making up with Fizz: a step in the right direction. Genuinely apologizing to Stolas and Verosika: a step in the right direction. Letting go of Stolas, realizing that his actions have serious consequences on his loved ones, owning up to his mistakes: all steps in the right direction. I don't know about ya'll but I'm eager to see where this is going and what happens next.

*it was an accident. Wrong place, wrong time, but Blitz sure as hell doesn't believe that.

**I belive this last bit is fully subconscious and Blitz isn't much aware of it. He says it himself: he buries all of it deep in his mind, avoids thinking about it at all costs

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

the SAGAU if only i could hold you through a screen was great :') would you accept doing a g/n one with the harbingers? if thats too many, maybe just childe and arlecchino if thats ok c:

If only I could hold you through a screen | Harbinger addition!

Characters: Childe, Arlecchino, Dottore, Signora

Summary: Self Aware Harbingers watch you cry, not sure what to do or how to help. All of a sudden you drop the line "I wish you were here with me."

Warnings: Reader is crying, possessive behavior, immense anger, violent thoughts, death, genshin spoilers

A/U: Self aware genshin AU

A/n: Thank you so much anon!! I'm so glad you liked it! SO instead of doing all the harbingers I thought of doing the ones that I have been introduced too through the game! Yes I'm including Signora, so that will be during her battle in that one weekly domain gut wrenching 👍Also sorry if this is OOC

CHILDE

You staring at Childe through the character screen was off-putting enough for him. But then with tears streaming down your face? That was when he became deeply concerned for you. There was this anger bubbling inside him, he wanted to take it out on those that made you cry. He wanted nothing more than to be there with you to comfort you. 

He started to do his idle where his bow shows up, resisting the urge to shoot something around him. You were hyperventilating, the tears overwhelming your eyes. He hated seeing you like this, he wanted to see your smile again. Your broken voice hit his ears as he put his bow away. He stared at you as you muttered to yourself.

“I wish you were with me…”

Your words shattered his heart. He didn’t think that you, an all mighty being, could be so vulnerable. And that fact you were so vulnerable in front of him, call him selfish, but he felt so happy that he was the person you could feel like this with. He just watched you cry, plotting the downfall of those that had harmed you. No one would get away with hurting a god such as yourself. 

He calmed down as he saw you drift off to sleep. His eyes were dark with rage, as his gaze from your sleeping figure didn’t break. Your screen dimmed due to inactivity, and his body was stiff. There was only one thing in his mind. And that thought passed through his lips as you could slightly hear him in your sleep.

“Dry your tears, you will have a wonderful place here in the Fatui. You will be protected within the Tsaritsa’s care and mine too.”

LA SIGNORA

You were crying as you had the pause menu open. You thought you could handle this fight against Signoria again. You never liked killing her over and over again, it was too much to your already aching head and heart. She realized you had stopped fighting her, and she saw your crying state. Signoria wanted to go easy on you, hoping you’d just finish this already. She didn’t like fighting you, much like how you didn’t like fighting her.

She felt so upset that someone could have this power over you. Signoria couldn’t even think that you, an all mighty being, could be so vulnerable. She then felt the battle continue, figuring that you decided to push through your sadness. She admired you for the way you would push though. Then the words you screamed out as you continued the fight with her hurt her so much.

“I wish you were with me!

Her anger couldn’t be contained as flames came out of her dress. It was a lot more intense as you tried to beat her. She let you win, however, with one of your best times in her domain. She just hoped it would have made you feel a little better. She saw you exit, feeling so bad as she wished you stayed. She longed for you, and she watched you as you stood outside her domain. 

And after you fell asleep, standing outside the domain, AFK she could still see you. She could see your sleeping, tear stained face. It hurt her knowing that not only fighting her made you so sad, but someone outside their world made you sad. She brought a hand up to the window as she just stared at the carrier of your actions. She muttered out to herself, hoping you heard her in your resting state.

“Even in death, I will try my best to protect you, all mighty creator…”

DOTTORE

You had been attached to Dottore ever since he was shown in the manga. He could feel your attachment even before the game released, even before his story in the game was shown. He admired you so much, and he hated that he had to turn everyone in Sumeru against you. His cutscene played, but he was intrigued when he saw you crying. He started to think that you were so hurt by his plot, by how the whole story quest was going.

He wasn’t far away after that cut scene. He stayed around, wanting to make sure you were okay. But he could only hear your sobbing, and he got closer, wanting to comfort you. The more you cried, the more he wanted to see you. The more he wanted you to see him and his comforting gaze, and it hurt him when you stuttered out of your tears. 

“I w-wish y-you w-were with m-m-me.”

He found your stuttering crying voice cute, but he wanted to help you so bad. Dottore couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that someone could make you cry. It hurt him when you said that you needed him when he wasn’t there. He wanted so bad to be with you, to comfort you. His mind went to crazy places.

He noticed you were falling asleep, letting the dialogue pause to let you sleep peacefully. He felt honored to see a god like you, fall asleep and be peaceful. He wanted to kill those that made you sad, made you cry like this. His mind was plotting as the screen dimmed. He muttered to himself, not wanting the others around to notice he was there.

“I will do anything to those that make you cry, wire their brains to worship you like the god you are.”

ARLECCHINO

You were so excited to finally see Arlecchino after the trailers and leaks from the community. But you felt so upset during the quest, you couldn’t handle not crying. As you were listening to her dialogue, you were sobbing. Arlecchino’s ears perked up as she heard your sad sobs. It shocked her that you, the all seeing being, could be this vulnerable.

She became more concerned the longer you stayed on her dialogue screen. She had just met you, but she had heard of you through word of mouth, since you were a popular deity that was worshiped all over Teyvat. But seeing you like this for the first time was new. You had trusted her enough, after one interaction, to cry in front of her. Then your soft sad voice spoke up and she was stunned.

“I wish you were with me.”

Her eyes widened when she heard your soft and sad voice say that. She wanted you with her, too, to be worshiped like the god you are. She had always fantasized of all the children of the House of the Hearth meeting you, as they all admired you. She set up a room for you, and she wanted you there more than ever. But there was this rage that someone did this to you, made you this sad.

She sighed as it seemed she would be stuck in this dialogue for a little bit as you fell asleep. She was content, though, seeing you now calm from your previous crying fit. She broke out of her pose to bring her hand to her chin, as she thought to herself. Her gaze was soft as she stared at your sleeping face. She broke the code once more as she spoke off the script.

“I wish I were with you, to wipe away your tears. Once you come here, you will be worshiped by all in the House of the Hearth.”

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[lavendertheys]

Since you’re CEO of autistic Imogen just HOW do you feel about the What Doesn’t Break implication that Imogen spent enough time seeking out Laudna’s mind before the townsfolk came to run her out of town that she threw herself into the middle of that conflict like they were already old friends? Because it makes me absolutely feral.

IT'S A WHOLE LOT, FRIEND.

On my first read I honestly thought that Imogen made all those choices and subsequent in the moment. But upon a few rereads it does sound a lot more like Imogen noticed Laudna without even knowing who or what she was noticing, and kept it on her radar out of hopeful curiosity.

Imagine being aware of some blip of mysterious calm, not understanding it but inherently trusting it anyway. And then the townsfolk start whispering about a hag in the woods, and you just roll your eyes because their paranoia is unending and tiresome and rarely based on any legitimate threat. And then one day that paranoia escalates into an angry mob that heads off in some very intentional direction, and you only follow so you can see their faces when the hunt turns up nothing at all.

But at some point, in between all the frenzied thoughts about their prey and all of your own thoughts about their idiocy, you realize something that makes your stomach drop:

The further they go, the closer that blip gets.

You move faster and throw yourself into the procession and keep your mental walls up as best you can, but you already know you'll deal with any amount of pain just to make sure that blip doesn't go away. So far it hasn't, and it's still getting stronger and clearer with every step forward, and you wonder what could possibly be waiting for you on the other side of this swarm--

It's a person.

A woman, you guess but make a note to confirm later, who's pale as moonlight and visibly gaunt beneath her tattered but beautiful dress. She's frankly stunning, but what hits you much harder is her expression: not a trace shock or surprise that these people are gathered in front of her, but the purest and most profound sadness you've ever seen someone wear on their face. And the thing is, that kind of sadness should be loud, should be screaming and wailing its way through your tentatively open mind; but no matter how directly you focus, your find nothing.

(Well, that's not completely true, because underneath all the layers of breathless hollering is the faintest, simplest, most peaceful melody you've ever heard.)

There's nothing in all of Exandria that could sound like that and have even a lick of evil in it, you decide within your next heartbeat, and start to shrug between bodies and duck around torches until there's nothing left between you and this individual you know nothing about except that their mind doesn't hurt.

(You imagine what it would feel like if all these people went away, if it was just you and the woman, if it could actually be possible to share a life with someone that didn't revolve around pain and self-control and being tolerated.)

That impossible dream is what carries you forward, turns you around, and spreads your arms wide like your daddy trying to wrangle an over-excited chicken.

"No. Don't you dare."

You've never belonged in Gelvaan, you understand now, but rather between Gelvaan and her.

[lunaa-runee]

Constant Reminder

cw: Mafia AU, no curses, suggestive content, afab reader, major character death, hurt - no comfort

wc: 1.3k

The dimly lit room hummed with pulsating energy. Men dressed in fine suits filled the room, surrounded by a sea of scantily clad women who seemed to ooze seduction and desperation in equal measures. Amidst this lively scene, Kento sat alone at a corner table, his piercing gaze cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke as he nursed a glass of whiskey.

As the night wore on and drinks flowed freely, Kento's carefully cultivated network of informants worked their magic, extracting juicy secrets from unsuspecting businessmen. With each tidbit of information, Kento's power grew stronger, his influence reaching every corner of the city. This was his game - manipulating and controlling those around him through their deepest desires and darkest indiscretions. And he played it well, earning him the reputation of one of the city's most powerful men.

A hand lightly grazed against his shoulders, and he did his best to ignore it. But the woman, who owned the hand, was persistent as she planted herself on his lap. While most men would have welcomed such an opportunity, Kento was not one of them. He had to use all his self-control to keep from pushing her off of him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," he grumbled.

"Kento," she purred into his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned closer to him, exposing more of her chest as a blatant attempt at seduction.

Kento's eyes narrowed in a cold, stern glare." You should be working, we're busy."

"It's my night off." Daisy's finger, adorned with delicate red nail polish, glides over the contours of Kento's muscular chest

Daisy initially came to Tokyo for school but quickly became entangled in his world. Despite her attraction towards the underground businessman, he had no interest in being around her. His heart still belonged to someone who was no longer with him.

Kento's patience was growing thin, and his tone reflected this: "If you aren't working, you should go home. There's no point in staying here if you're not going to be useful to me."

Daisy pouted at his harsh tone, but her determination remained unshaken. As she leaned down to him, her lips trailed gentle kisses along his skin. "Why don't we sneak away to one of the private rooms and indulge in some playful fun?" she whispered seductively in his ear.

Kento's composure shattered in that instant. He forcefully pushed Daisy off his lap, her body crashing onto the hard floor. Her face twisted in shock. "Get out," he growled.

Fear took over her eyes, realizing her mistake in that moment. Quickly, she gathered herself, leaving his sight. She was at least smart enough to know he was not a man to test.

"How you can be so mean to such a beautiful woman I will never understand."

Kento sat back in his chair and tilted his head to better view his friend and business partner, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. "I didn't know you were going to be here Gojo. What do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can't a man just drop by to see his old pal?" Kento's narrowed gaze showed he knew there was probably some hidden purpose behind his visit. Gojo clicked his tongue, aware that Kento would likely brush him off anyway. He looked around the bustling club as another lucky guy was pulled towards the door that led to the private rooms. "I don't understand how you could turn down these poor girls who throw themselves at you."

"I'm not interested."

"You're seriously still hung up on that girl? It's been nearly two years."

Kento's chest tightened as he was overcome with bittersweet memories. The face of his former lover appeared in his mind, bringing back intense feelings of pain that time had failed to soften. He hadn't thought about her in a long time; she used to be the light in his life and motivated him to become a better person. However, he had waited too long to make changes.

The cool ocean breeze brought a new day through the open French doors. The sun shined softly through the window, illuminating the room with golden rays. Kento's gaze took in the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed. The thin sheet barely covered your form, revealing the beautiful marks scattered across your skin, a testament to your night of passion.

How did he get so lucky?

Almost three years had passed since you entered his life unexpectedly on a Tuesday afternoon. He had stopped at a nearby bakery to grab a quick lunch, exhausted and stressed from his day. In his haste, he wasn't paying attention and didn't notice you as he turned around, colliding with you.

He sighed and bent down to begin picking up his dropped items. He could hear your apologies, but when he looked up at you to tell you to stop apologizing, his whole world shifted in that moment like the air had been forced out of his lungs. You were the most stunning woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

He fell for you, hard.

He was a prominent figure in a notorious crime organization, and you were an ordinary individual who lived a quiet life. But he selfishly pursued you despite the dangers to you.

He went to great lengths to conceal his true profession and maintain distance between you and his more illicit dealings in the organization to keep you safe. But you were observant, and he had to come clean about everything to you. To his surprise, you stayed by his side, though you clearly disapproved of his work.

You sense Kento's eyes on you as you stir from your sleep. "Quit being so creepy," you mutter in your exhausted state.

Kento chuckled at your usual morning attitude. "Can't a man admire his beautiful girlfriend?"

You playfully smacked his arm, to which Kento only chuckled, "That hurt."

You rolled your eyes at his antics. "Oh please."

Kento embraced you, holding your body close to his. He nestled his face into the curve of your neck. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," you whispered before a comfortable silence fell between you. The only sounds were the crashing waves and the chirping birds outside the open windows. Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, basking in each other's presence. But eventually, reality set in. "I have to leave for work soon."

"Don't go," he begged. "Quit. Be with me."

You sat up and lightly kissed Kento on the cheek before getting up to make your way towards the bathroom. "You know I can't."

Kento's heart ached as he recalled the last morning he spent with you. If he had known what would happen, he would have kept you in bed that morning. Instead, he was blinded by his happiness, oblivious to the dangers lingering in the background. As tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he couldn't help but replay the painful memories of that fateful day over and over again in his mind.

Gone.

The word echoed mercilessly in his mind, a cruel mantra of agony and disbelief.

The doctor's condolences were empty words, futile attempts to soothe the wildfire of emotions raging through Kento that day. He felt it all - raw, unbridled rage burning in his veins, gut-wrenching grief clawing at his heart, a sense of betrayal that threatened to consume him whole.

In an instant, his entire future shattered into a million pieces. The dreams of leaving the mafia behind and building a new life with you are all gone. It was too late. You were taken from him, a victim of his world.

Your blood would forever be on his hands, a constant reminder of his love's tragic end.

[rabarbarzcukrem]

The eternal opposing relationship between the two sides of a mirror

or: In defense of Shiori

I feel like Shiori is one of the most controversial characters in Utena. Some love her, others despise her. And I don't have a problem with people having strong opinions on her character. What bothers me is the tendency to exaggerate her most negative traits, focus on her most harmful actions, completely ignore any redeeming qualities she might have and then paint her as a one dimensional villainous caricature, a mean straight girl who plays with the lesbian's feelings for the sake of it, without anything deeper going on.

I'm aware of the fact that some people refer to her like that in endearment or in a satirical fashion, and I'm not saying that you can't consider her your favorite problematic evil girl representation. I'm only trying to make people realize that it's her complexity that actually makes her such a compelling character.

I've seen people call Shiori all sorts of names, some of which were baffling enough to make me wonder if they even remembered what happens in the show, and weren't just judging a version of the character that they made up in their head.

So, let's look at the things Shiori actually does, throughout the course of the story.

Disclaimer: I'm only going to take the series into the account here, because I think we can all agree that everyone's characterization and personality differs at least slightly in the movie. Background characters also get a lot less screen time to explain their motivations in order to fully focus on Anthy's journey and struggles, which is understandable.

1. She "steals" the boy from Juri.

This is her biggest crime, which seems to define her from the very beginning. Even though Juri didn't actually have any romantic feelings for him, this action is detrimental to their relationship - it breaks the trio apart, isolates Juri from the pair, is an act of betrayal against her and proves it was done with full awareness that it would hurt Juri emotionally.

Shiori is a deeply insecure person, who constantly feels inadequate and beneath other people. The only reason why Juri seemed to actually like her that Shiori could think of was pity, and even when she found out she was the object of her romantic affection all along, she still struggled to comprehend it. Her self loathing and constant perceived inferiority make her desperate to gain any sort of control over her life and relationships, but they're also the exact reason she feels that the only way she could ever do that is by hurting others. She's always one step below and incapable of crossing that distance, therefore the only way to become equal to people is to bring them down to her level, by humiliation.

When she "steals" the boy from Juri, she achieves that. For a moment, she feels good about herself and leaves Ohtori thinking that she has found the answer, the solution. But she's wrong. From that moment on, it becomes more and more apparent to her that what she did was never out of love for the boy, even though she doesn't let herself acknowledge it fully. Because the truth is, Shiori actually regrets hurting Juri, which she admits herself during her elevator confession.

When the guilt starts getting to her, her confidence high wears off, and she ends up feeling ever worse.

That's why she breaks up with him and comes back. She's not ready to leave yet, not ready to progress. There's still something binding her to Ohtori - Juri, and Shiori's unresolved feelings for her.

2. She tries to set things right with Juri and to fix their relationship.

Even though at this point Shiori still thinks that Juri only ever associated herself with her out of pity, she still makes several attempts to get closer to Juri, who understandably (albeit coldly) turns her down ever time. This is a very clear sign of conflicting feelings Shiori has for Juri - jealousy and admiration, resentment and longing, hate and love. After all, Shiori admits that the two practically grew up together. Their friendship may have always felt fake to Shiori, but she clearly cherished it deeply.

3. The Black Rose Arc.

First of all, we should establish what is the purpose of this arc and how it functions. It explores the motivations of background characters and shows their worst side to the audience. The characters that end up in the elevator are the most unstable, vulnerable ones, with the least power in the system, in unequal and/or exploitive relationships with the duelists and their agency under threat. Mikage offers them a way to gain that power by making them follow their most toxic, negative emotions. And despite all other characters doing exactly that, from what I've seen Shiori is the one that gets the most hate for it. I don't think she should be judged any harsher for what she did under the influence of the black rose than, let's say, Wakaba or Kozue. Especially because the reason all of them ended up in that elevator is because they recognized that these urges were harmful and were seeking help and counseling.

What this arc does do is reveal how Shiori's inferiority complex drives her to act against her own desires. Even though she longs for things to be different, even though she is not happy at all with how her relationship with Juri looks like, she is unable to fix it, because that would require her to consider her own affection for Juri. And she can't do that, because it would mean admitting that she's not stronger than Juri, that she hasn't beaten her, that she's doesn't have control and an advantage over her. Although she tries to keep up this smug, self-assured facade, the reality shines through.

They key to understanding Shiori is noticing that she specifically doesn't want to acknowledge that Juri's feelings are reciprocated, and the obsession is mutual. If you paint their relationship as one sided, you're actually falling for her act.

4. She enters a relationship with Ruka.

Ruka is a handsome (arguable), respected boy who appears out of nowhere and starts showing interest in Shiori. It's obvious that for an insecure girl, who in addition struggles with confusing repressed feelings, this would be something unthinkably wonderful. The affection and praise she gets from him is exactly what her low self-esteem craves. You might be wondering why she didn't perceive Juri's feelings for her in the same way. And a part of the answer might be that, post nameless-boy-incident, Juri was nothing but cold to her. She might have been pining after Shiori from afar, but in the end she's distant and untouchable, and they're divided by their messy past. Meanwhile Ruka is a clean slate, seems openly affectionate, engaged in their relationship and he pays attention to her. But I think the main thing that makes Ruka so different from Juri is the fact that...he's a boy. Because, as Revolutionary Girl Utena establishes, gender plays a crucial role in interpersonal dynamics. Attention from a boy is fundamentally coded as romantic, desirable, necessary and most importantly: increases the girl's worth in society's eyes. It makes one a princess. Meanwhile Juri's advances could only be seen as an invitation to friendship, at best. But Juri's status and beauty make her special, while Shiori is not. Therefore, it can only be pity and mockery.

Of course, Ruka only uses Shiori to influence Juri and dumps her as soon as he achieves his goals. It's true that Shiori could have listened to Juri's warnings, but then again... why should she? From her perspective, Juri's her ex-friend that doesn't want anything to do with her, who only suddenly comes to Shiori when she's finally happy and fulfilled, and encourages her to end it. She doesn't know the wider context of the situation, nor does she remember the Black Rose arc. Juri's warnings don't sound sincere to her.

And so, Ruka gets rid of her in the coldest, most indifferent way, not explaining anything or showing even the slightest sign of compassion. Before that though, he makes an interesting remark, about Shiori putting on an act and polishing somebody else's sword.

Honestly, I don't really know how to interpret it in any other way than Shiori actually having feelings for someone else, despite trying her hardest to conceal it. Are my shipping lenses not allowing me to see any different possibilities? Am I going crazy? I don't know.

Nevertheless, Shiori begs him to stay, devastated. Her life got turned around so suddenly, she found appreciation, status, comfort and stability, and now all that's been taken away from her as abruptly as it was given. It's a public humiliation.

I once heard someone say that this would be the perfect moment for Juri to step in and defend her. And to be honest, although it may be true, I'm not completely sure. It may have been the one display of open care that Shiori needed from her, but it might as well have been interpreted by Shiori as Juri affirming her superiority over her and feeling sorry for her again. We will never know. In my opinion, so much of their relationship is going on in their own heads that the only thing that could ever cause positive progress is communication (which neither of them seem to be a fan of).

Instead, Juri only tries to console her after the fact, when Shiori's at her absolute lowest. In the context of all the assumptions Shiori holds and Juri's previous indifference, it quite understandably comes off as a sneering attempt to gloat.

That's about it. You may have noticed that I've summarized all Shiori's appearances into 4 points, and only one of them includes an instance of Shiori hurting Juri voluntarily, out of her own free will, not influenced by anyone. I'm not saying that she was forced to taunt Juri during the Black Rose Arc, I'm not trying to diminish the suffering she's caused or trying to paint her as a perfectly good person. I am trying to make it clear that she is not some cunning plotter, dedicating every minute of her life to finding ways to make Juri suffer that some people seem to take her for. I am trying to humanize people's perception of her a little bit. Especially considering the fact that last scenes of her include those when she waits for Juri and follows her so that they can go home together, and then joins the fencing club. If this doesn't show that she's capable of change, I don't know what does.

She's not an innocent princess, that's true, but she's not just an egoistical, manipulative liar either. She's a bit of both. After all, if Revolutionary Girl Utena is supposed to teach you anything, then I think it's that we're all just people, and the complexities of human experience make it impossible to fit anyone into a box, assigning them definite labels like "princess" or "witch".

And if you look at a teenage girl who, like all people in Ohtori, struggle under the system of patriarchy and heterosexuality, and all you see is a wicked, sinister witch, then you may have just fallen into the trap that the narrative had set for you.

[cosmicjoke]

The Psychological and Emotional Impact of Levi’s Early Childhood:

I don’t think Levi’s early childhood really gets discussed enough in the fandom, or the ways in which those experiences in his formative years had to have impacted him.  This could be because we don’t really get many panels depicting his childhood.  Just a few.  But those few panels show us enough for us to extrapolate plenty and form a pretty clear picture of what he went through.

First of all, it’s almost a certainty that Levi was born as the result of rape. 

That’s something that I think everyone should let sink in.

He was born in the brothel that his mother, Kuchel, worked in.  And “worked” is a relative term here.  Kuchel was driven into the Underground as a result of persecution by the royal family.  She was undoubtedly very young, she was alone, with no real resources or support or guarantee of safety or protection from anyone, in an environment of criminality and violence.  There were likely very few, if any options available to her in terms of her own survival.  Her becoming a prostitute wouldn’t have been any kind of a choice then, but rather a move made in desperation.  And so I think we can also safely assume that Kuchel’s experiences working as a prostitute were tantamount to forced labor.  In other words, a kind of slavery.  She was almost certainly paid a paltry sum by the brothels owner, evidenced by the sorry, squalid and destitute state we see her and Levi living in when Kenny comes.  She was likely afforded very few, if any rights or defenses against whatever her clients chose to do to her, as also evidenced by the fact that no one seemed to really know or care enough about her or Levi to even realize when she had died. 

It’s impossible for me to define any of what Kuchel went through working in such a place as anything less than rape, then.

So, Levi’s very existence is one that is a literal product of violence.  I’m absolutely sure that Levi himself is painfully aware of this, knowing that he was born out of his own mother’s pain and suffering.  Going into the implications of this on Levi’s psychological health, I think you can safely assume this realization had a very negative impact on his own sense of self-worth.  His mother was the only person in his childhood who we ever saw treat him with any kind of actual love or kindness.  The only person who ever, actually wanted him.  And yet, Levi would have seen demonstrated to him, every day, how his existence in his mothers life placed an increased burden on her, forcing her into increasingly more desperate circumstances, now having to feed two mouths instead of only one, and as a result, likely having to engage in increased, unwanted sexual activity with her clients.  So Levi would be aware that not only was his mother, (again, the only person who loved and treated him with tenderness) being hurt on his behalf, but he also would have been aware, after witnessing the particular ways in which she was being hurt, that he himself was the result of that violence.  Levi would have been shown that his very existence, then, was something which caused immense suffering and pain to the only person in his life who loved him.  I honestly can’t even imagine the negative implications of something like this on a young mind.  Only to say, it must have been horrific and resulted in lifelong trauma.  Trauma which, due to the desperation of Levi’s life afterward, he likely never had any opportunity or chance to even address. 

Now, moving on to something else.  There’s a tendency by many to paint Kuchel as this sort of perfect mother figure.  Someone who, through the power of her love for Levi alone, was able to overcome the trauma of their general circumstances, to negate the negative experiences he would have been exposed to, resulting in Levi becoming the kind and compassionate person he would be as an adult.  But I think this assumption about Kuchel and their situation is not only unrealistic and idealized in the extreme, but also in its way, undermines the actual bleakness of their circumstances.

Again, we have to remember that Kuchel was driven into the Underground, and essentially forced, through lack of any other options, to become a prostitute.  Calling her a prostitute is a nice way of saying she had to sell herself into sexual slavery.  Kuchel’s own psychological and emotional trauma doesn’t often get touched upon or acknowledged when people talk about her and her relationship with her son, nor does the desperate poverty of their living situation.  Kuchel died right in front of Levi, and we can assume with pretty good accuracy that she either died from a sexually transmitted disease, or that she died from malnutrition and starvation.  These weren’t two people, then, who were living a comfortable or secure life.  In fact, the very opposite.  Levi was starving to death when Kenny found him.  It’s easy enough to assume from his state of general neglect and starvation that Kuchel, at the very least, was struggling to provide for him.  Not just food, but any kind of comfort or care.  Clothing, warmth, protection, cleanliness, and very likely even, affection.  This isn’t a knock on Kuchel’s worth as a mother, or her parenting.  She was, undoubtedly, doing the best she could given the circumstances.  But, again, this particular aspect of their lives isn’t touched on nearly enough.  Kuchel died out of neglect, impoverishment, desperation and abuse.  Given what we can assume her day to day life was like, having to let men come and sexually assault her just to keep herself and her son alive, one has to also consider the emotional and mental toll this sort of existence would eventually have on her.  She had to have been exhausted, both mentally and physically.  You add to this the always uncertain and present reality of whether either her or Levi would even be able to eat on any, given day, whether she would be able to keep her son from starving to death, and you can start to form a clear idea of how things like “playtime” or “fun”, or freely given and enthusiastic love and affection, would be, tragically, low on the list of priorities.  Their situation was absolutely a situation of survival, first and foremost.  Luxuries weren’t a part of their lives.  Anyone who’s ever experienced extreme deprivation, poverty and desperation on the level in which Kuchel and Levi were living would know that those material realities absolutely have a negative impact on one’s ability to simply live.  To be happy.  To indulge in fantasy.  To indulge in luxury.  To indulge in any kind of relaxation or ease of living.  It’s nice to imagine that Kuchel was always able to show Levi love and affection.  To always be a kind, caring and generous mother to him.  But that perception of their lives together ignores the bleak and harsh reality of what was really going on.  More likely than not, Kuchel was often too exhausted and in bad, physical shape herself to play with Levi, to pay attention to Levi, to indulge in Levi.  It was everything she could do, after all, to simply keep Levi alive, let alone healthy and happy.  Kenny described Levi, when he first took him in, as the most unfriendly kid he’d ever met.  We rarely see Levi speak at all in those early days with Kenny.  That doesn’t speak to someone who is well adjusted socially.  That doesn’t speak to someone who received a lot of open love and affection in the formative years of his childhood.  Again, this isn’t to criticize or undermine Kuchel’s abilities as a mother.  It’s simply acknowledging the tragic reality, that someone in Kuchel’s position, living the kind of life she was living, wouldn’t have had the luxury of being for Levi everything he needed her to be. 

This also leads me into another point I don’t think I’ve ever seen discussed, and that has to do with Kuchel’s decision to have Levi at all, and how that choice is, simultaneously, both entirely selfless, and entirely selfish. 

Kenny tells his grandfather that he tried to talk Kuchel out of having her baby, trying to explain to her how bringing a baby into the kind of situation she was living in wasn’t viable.  It was only going to make, not only her own life worse, but in turn, the baby’s life was going to be awful too.  We later see, in Kenny’s memories, a scene in which Kuchel is holding Levi as a newborn against her chest and crying tears of happiness.  Kenny recalls this as part of his monologue about dreams, and the desperation of dreams, and the ability of dreams to corrupt us.  This is important to acknowledge.  Because again, while Kuchel’s intentions in giving birth to Levi were pure, and her love for him was absolutely pure and genuine, still, she DID bring him into a situation of extreme poverty, desperation and violence.  In a way, Kuchel prioritized her dream of motherhood not only over her own well being (this being the selfless aspect of her decision), but also over Levi’s well being (this being the selfish aspect).  She knew her own living situation was terrible, filled with suffering, cruelty and pain.  She knew this, and she was aware, from Kenny’s own words, that bringing a child into that situation was only going to make things worse, for both of them.  But she chose to do it anyway.  She chose to give birth to Levi, and to keep him, knowing the sort of deprivation and desperation he would be exposed to.  Knowing the kind of violence and cruelty and ugliness he would be exposed to, being born and raised in a brothel, in which she was working as a prostitute, relegated to a single room with him in it. 

Chances are high, extremely high, that Levi saw his mother raped.  Maybe she sent him out of the room when she was with clients.  But maybe she wasn’t able to.  We never see any evidence of Levi having ever left their single room as a child, and even if he had, the building they were in was a brothel, catering to men seeking and paying for the sexual services of women.  It isn’t an environment that is, in any way, suited to a child, friendly to a child, or even tolerant of a child.  It’s almost 100% certain that Levi was, at one time or another, exposed to sexual violence against women, whether it was his own mother, or someone else.  He would have been exposed to violence in general too, because men who sexually assault women are also very likely to physically assault them.  I don’t think it’s any kind of a stretch, even, to assume that Levi himself might have been on the receiving end of physical violence, at the least, in a place like that.  Men who wouldn’t want some little kid around while they force themselves on the women there probably would have little qualm with hitting Levi to make him go away. 

Again, going back to Levi’s “unfriendliness” when Kenny first takes him in, I think we can extrapolate that a lot of what Kenny was perceiving as unfriendly behavior was in fact just Levi being withdrawn.  He seemed sullen and mute to Kenny.  We see this in children who have been abused.  They tend to go within themselves and make themselves as unobtrusive as possible, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, because whenever they have, it’s always resulted in them somehow being hurt.  Levi’s body language when Kenny first meets him speaks to this as well.  He’s curled against the wall opposite his mother’s bed, literally making himself as small as possible, his knees hugged to his chest, his head bowed close to them, etc...  Like he’s trying to hide.  Again, it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to assume that Levi fell victim to the violence of the men who frequented that place.  The Underground in general was filled with violent and cruel men who made a living out of criminality, who in fact wouldn’t think twice about committing murder, etc... 

This is the world Kuchel brought Levi into.  A world of physical and sexual violence, a world of depravity and illness, a world of poverty and starvation.  Kuchel loved Levi with all her heart.  That isn’t for a moment in doubt.  But by choosing to have him and keep him, she also trapped him into a life of pain and suffering of his own.

Kuchel had to know, if anything were to happen to her, that Levi’s chances of survival were next to none.  He was helpless without her, and that too is evidenced by the fact that, when Kenny finds them, Levi is literally starving to death.  He’s just sitting there, resigned to his fate.  There’s no indication whatsoever that Levi ever even left their room to seek food, or help of any kind.  He just sat there, trapped with his mother’s rotting corpse, waiting to die.  And nobody there cared enough to even check on him or his mother in the span of time between when she fell ill and when she died.  Nobody there cared enough about either of their lives to see if they were okay, and we can assume, because Levi didn’t seek anyone’s help, that he didn’t think anyone would help him, which tells us all we need to know about how he and his mother were generally treated in that place.  Kuchel must have known, as she was dying, that without her, Levi was going to die too.  She had no way and no cause to know or think that Kenny would come by to rescue him.  And, indeed, if Kenny hadn’t shown up right when he did, Levi almost certainly would have died in that room with her.  I can’t even imagine the pain this must have caused her, knowing she was dying, and knowing as a result, that her son was going to die too.  It would have been unbearable.  But again, this is also the risk Kuchel took when she chose to give birth to and keep Levi.  She knew this was a possibility.  That her child would die a slow and painful death without her there to protect and take care of him.

So this sort of sunny, idealistic picture that tends to get painted of Levi’s life with his mother seems both unrealistic and unfair to them in terms of understanding their actual situation.  This wasn’t a happy or good life they were living together.  It was a life full of misery and pain.  Levi’s monologue later on to the 104th recruits, about not knowing if you’ll wake up and get to eat that day, or if your friends will still be alive, wasn’t just a reflection on their lives living with the threat of titans.  It was a reflection of his own life living in the Underground, living a life surrounded by poverty and violence and uncertainty.  That was Levi’s existence for the first 25 years of his life.  That was Levi’s childhood.  Violence and starvation, cruelty and deprivation.  Kuchel’s love, as pure and as genuine as it was, wasn’t enough on it’s own to overcome the scars of all that. 

One last note to end this on. 

There’s also a tendency to paint Kenny’s rescue of Levi as this very heroic and selfless act on Kenny’s part.  A moment in which Levi was pulled from the jaws of certain death and given a chance to live by his uncle.  And while, yes, Kenny certainly did save Levi’s life and give him that chance, I think it’s also important to acknowledge that Kenny’s treatment of Levi was abusive, and ultimately caused him more harm than good.  Kenny, we have to remember, went down to the Underground to rescue Kuchel.  He went to that brothel with the intention of pulling her out and bringing her to live back up on the surface, able to do so now that he had ended the persecution of their family through his connection with Uri Reiss.  But by the time he got there, Kuchel was dead, and she’d left behind her only child in Levi.  Kenny could have so easily brought Levi up to the surface with him, the way he’d been planning on doing with Kuchel, and given him a good and happy life.  He could have saved him from the hell of living in the Underground City.  A world of perpetual darkness, a world of constant danger and desperation and illness.  People talk about how Kenny gave Levi the tools to survive in such a harsh environment, and treat this as if it’s something to somehow be applauded and praised.  But Kenny shouldn’t have had to teach Levi to survive in a cut-throat environment at all.  He’d made it possible for those with the Ackerman name to live free of persecution up above.  He could have easily taken Levi with him and given him a good, traditional education, fed and clothed him, given him shelter, given him the chance to grow up in fresh air and sunlight, given him a chance to make friends with other children, to learn social skills and just live a normal existence with the opportunity to actually be happy.  But instead Kenny chose to keep Levi in the Underground, to teach him how to kill, to teach him to be violent, and not much else, before simply abandoning him there and never going back, forcing Levi to survive on his own in the most dangerous place inside the walls.  What Kenny did to Levi wasn’t a kindness.  A kindness would have been rescuing Levi from the Underground entirely and giving him a real life above.  A kindness would have been Kenny giving to Levi what he’d planned on giving to his sister.  But Kenny was too selfish to do that, and that’s the bottom line.  He didn’t want to have to take care of and raise a child.  He didn’t want the responsibility.  Whether that’s tied to Kenny’s own, negative perception of himself or not doesn’t matter.  He still chose not to take Levi with him and give him a real life because actually caring for and raising a child would have been too hard, too much work, too much responsibility.  By leaving Levi there in the Underground, he sent Levi the message, clear as day, that he wasn’t wanted.  And so Levi spent the entirety of his childhood, and a good portion of his adulthood, believing that, and living in the Underground, living a life of violence and desperation and suffering.

I don’t think the suffering Levi went through as a child gets discussed or acknowledged enough, or examined enough.  I don’t think people often look at it with enough objective realism to realize the extreme harm and trauma Levi experienced and was left with.  It’s genuinely a miracle that Levi turned out the way he did.  That Levi is as good a man as he is.  Nothing in his life growing up can really account for that.  Everything in his life growing up would evince that he should have become the sort of man Kenny was, selfish and cruel.  It’s truly against all odds that Levi became the exact opposite.  Selfless in the extreme, kind, caring and compassionate above and beyond anyone else in the series.  Someone who fights for and gives his life in dedication to the dreams and lives of others.

In many ways, Levi is, himself, the greatest miracle of all.

[rey-jake-therapist]

You know, Sauron gets called a narcissist a lot and we should talk about it a bit. The thing is, from someone who's read books, watched films, and done tons of info gathering all because I lived with a narcissistic parent, it's surprisingly to me how so many ppl only look at his tendencies from an angle of victimhood (but understandable), and not the angle that if you're cunning enough, you can play the reverse uno card on their dumb asses. I lived in emotional pain for years until I realized I decided to accept the role of victim, and that I didn't have to. So I decided to research everything about narcissists, and found psychological ways to play them at their own game by taking advantage of their blind spots.

For one, since they have this inflated sense of grandiosity, they find it very hard to believe a lie that flatters their ego. Idk if ppl realize this. Because denying a compliment with /some/ truth in it would mean they are being humble, and thus downplay this false image they desperately want others to believe about them (unless they're faking humility for reason, like to get a promotion or to flatter themselves to someone above them on the ladder, or in Gals case, because he thinks it would look good on him in her eyes to appear 'humble'), as well as admitting to that egoistic part of themselves that they aren't as great as they believe they are (and they do). Like I said how I lived with a narcissistic parent? I figured out that if I pretend to hype them up when they're in a good mood, they would genuinely think I cared about them and thought they were this amazing dad, and they would be like 'hey let's go get some mcdonalds!' It was nothing like the genuine love from a nonnarcisstic dad, but I learned how to manipulate him to get things that I wanted, simply by playing to his need for admiration and validation.

I'm not saying this tactic works for every narc you come across, but if you can get yourself into their head, be the master to their puppet strings, instead of opposing them or correcting them (they hate criticism and anything that hurts their ego, as we see with Annatar), you can use them just as they see you as a tool.

Idk if any of this makes sense. I do think that I may have absorbed some of my dad's traits for seeing things this way, but I know in my heart I would never ever treat my own kid like this. I see it as a form of adaptation to living with someone with such a vile personality disorder. But in terms of Sauron, he's got to be one of the dumbest narcissists I've seen. He is praised for his masterful deceit and manipulation but he's genuinely stupid in that he doesn't have the self awareness (like the audience, particularly haladriels) to realize that Galadriel is a huge blindspot for him in everything.

I'm not JRRT and I can never hope to write anything near the world he built, but if the forces of good have any brain they would take advantage of this blindspot in some way instead of furiously kicking against the current and thus causing a lot of bloodshed and losses for their own side.

I hope you don't mind if I copy/paste your second message here since it's the continuation of this one... It avoids that I make two different posts :)

And also, just to add to my last ask: And this is why I think Gal jumped off the cliff. She still has some sort of emotional entanglement with this whole mess, which is a HUGE RISK if she were to try to play him at his own game (at this point). It's one thing to completely divorce any kind if feeling between me and my narc dad, who I've lived with for years, and slowly realized that he would never be the dad I am owed. It took a lot of pain and tears when I finally realized it (Dont feel sorry for me, I'm not even emotional about this anymore, I just see our past in this clinical detached way. I find narcs fascinating in same way a scientist studies a lab rat). But for Galadriel, her situation is different. She didn't have years by his side to slowly realize this. To slowly pick apart and coldly analyze Sauron's pattern of action, thoughts, and habits like I did with my own dad. Her feelings at that meeting were raw and unorganized, she was angry, more emotionally betrayed, unable to stop galloping until the very end, when she stumbled upon a last ditch idea (really it was a gamble) to get away as far as she can from him. Idk if its because of the crown wound or her own resolve that she fears is weakening her, but she needed distance asap. But I really think my idea is interesting and I hope to see more fics in the future that take on Galadriel using herself as his blindspot to weaken him. It doesn't have to he canon compliant, but it would also play well into how canon ends. Just some interesting food for thought. A lot of fics I see are pwp and redemption focused, which I already love, but I also kind of want to see them become like chess masters as manipulation. Gal in particular has so much potential and we know she has a very vindictive dark side. ;)

I know you said you said there was no need to feel sorry for you, and I actually admire your strength of character, but I still want to say this : no kid should have to suffer from having narcissist parents. I myself lived with a narcissist for years, so I know where you come from, even if it was of course a different dynamic. And you're right about not accepting to be a victim ! It's very hard, because it involves accepting that you deserve better, something that a narcissist will constantly make sure you don't. Needless to say that the Annatar/Celebrimbor relationship was very hard for me to stomach, because of the way Annatar behaved towards Celebrimbor. It felt very familiar, and I really didn't like it. I'm worried about my kid now, especially after reading your post... I'm worried about how my ex's behavior will affect him. Hopefully, I am able to balance things out. I'm a lot of things, but I'm damn sure I'm not a narcissist.

I won't comment the rest of your post, not because I'm not interested, but for the exact opposite reason : I couldn't add anything smart or relevant to what you suggested for the Haladriel dynamic :) Thank you for sharing these ideas with me !

[smiley-positivity-potato]

i feel like i didn't get to talk about this much online in great enough detail, but for the young or OLDER transmascs and trans men out there, it is perfectly natural to look for a masculine or male role model to look up to for masculinity inspiration and guidance, whether you personally know them or not. Whether they have passed or not, it's okay to search for somebody to look up to and grow ideas from on what it means to be a man in your eyes. It's natural for cisgender boys and men to do it, so why not you as well?

as you grow, you will come to discover there are all types of role models that'll you be able to relate to. or you may only find one. and when you find that person that brings out your inner sense of worth, and what it means to truly be a man to you, and not just from what the media presumes, you'll know. you'll feel comfort in not just your skin, but also your mind. you'll feel a sense of strength, security, protection, balance and loyalty. you'll speak with actions over words. you'll be able to proudly follow the path of a man, something you hadn't been able to envision before. thanks to having a masculine role model, you will now have something to strive to surpass.

there is no perfect male or masculine role model. there isn't anyone in this world who is perfect. in fact, due to your past womanhood and cautious upbringing, you may believe you don't deserve to receive guidance in this new world as a man. you may still believe and remember the words you spat and the evil you were taught about the everyday man, especially if you grew up in a dangerous area being groomed, abused or having had experienced traumatic history. this doesn't mean men can't hurt others, but you have been taught every man WILL and CAN hurt you, if given the chance, by the men AND women in your life. so now you worry and wonder, "Will people think I've become a man so I can become the attacker, instead of the prey waiting for the pounce?" you'll begin to think, you betrayed yourself as a fellow transmasc, and trans man. you'll see that frightened, confused "girl" who was still in the "attic"- because at this point you shoved those thoughts about your gender so deep inside the closet of your brain that it rose above your head until it finally collapsed on top of you. you'll wonder, "If I was cisgender, would I have hurt me too?"

the answer is you don't AND will never truly know. and it always will be like that. but what you do know is that if given the chance, you'd save yourself all over again in this life right now. you'd rescue and hold that little girl that was scared and misunderstood. because at the end of the day, your soul and values are your own. and your character still shows, regardless of your gender. and even if you aren't that socially aware, you'd comfort that little girl because you would KNOW what pain she was talking about. the pain of feeling misplaced. the anguish of following everyone else's advice, desperate to feel SOMETHING BETTER, only to end up feeling empty- just another puppet on someone else's strings. "But at least I made everyone else happy?, you'd think. but in the end, you didn't make yourself happy- not even a little.

you will know what it feels like to want CHANGE in your life, even if you are still unsure how you'd like to accomplish it. because you've been there. you've done that. and now you can say, you ARE your younger self's hero.

as you search inside yourself, and around you, for a role model on what masculinity means to you, you'll start to realize it all starts with acknowledging who you truly are, who you want to be, and how you want to stand. you begin to realize that the media and radfems have made you think a "perfect man" exists if they just follow a list of rules and guidelines they've made up when you KNOW it's not true. for you were born and went through a lot of the "womanhood" they experienced as well. and even if a masculine person meets ALL THESE GUIDELINES AND RULES, THERE'S STILL ROOM FOR A GRAY AREA. BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE HUMAN BEINGS. WHETHER FEMME OR MASC, ANYONE CAN BE A BAD OR GOOD PERSON.

being a masculine person or man doesn't make you a horrible person, it just means you're human. and if we aren't taught to self hate, hurt ourselves or dismiss our own feelings as men, we can achieve so much. especially when we aren't hating ourselves on our journey through our manhood. i am lucky to know the few cis men i do in my personal life that i do; and that i get to look up to them. for they are leaders, strong both mentally, and emotionally. they are loyal and love, loudly and silently. they behave differently based on their relationships with others, but are never indirectly inconsistent, for they are honest. and i admire them for that. for they are themselves and they demand respect. and to me, a nonbinary transmasc human being, that is and has been the hardest thing for me to do: demanding respect from others.

when you find your masculinity role model, you'll begin to understand what younger cis boys most likely felt when they looked up to some of their heroes; whether family, family friends, older classmates, entertainment stars, sports players or historical figures. you'll get to experience the newfound feeling of walking down a different path then originally planned as a transmasc man. some cis people will tell YOU you HAVE to act this way to discover your role model AND to live like said person. you do NOT. for your personality, AND your manhood are a part of you that show your inner character. your clothes, morality and male role model(s) show what you like, honor and value. but your soul shows your identity. your words explain your story and heart. your wisdom shows your willingness and strength to learn how to be an honest, hard-working man.

and just like the male role model you are searching for, you'll soon start to find out you may be someone else's reason and inspirational story. thanks to you they may have a reason to continue exploring their own masculinity. they can now define their own path on what it means to become a better man. thanks to you.

[sassyangelchild]

Hakuri, his true value, the girl from his past and the Rakuzaichi Arc

This started as me trying to tweet about some Rakuzaichi Arc and Hakuri thought because I still didn't get over it (I started Kagurabachi yesterday and already read all the chapters released lol) and it ended up much longer than I expected. I'm sure most of this would have already been said by someone, and is mostly me rambling but…

"You talk with me. Thanks to you I've enjoyed this meals."

The way something so simple really gave Hakuri enough strength to move forward, made him not lose hope in life, still makes me feel things.

"We talked… We talked together…"

The way his last attempt at stopping her is that, the words that gave him hope. He wanted to give back some of the hope he found in those words, to at the very least say "you were there for me, and talked with me, and that wasn't meaningless because thanks to you I thought it was ok for me to still be there. It's not that I talked with you, we talked together. You said we were both the same so if I have value you have it too".

The way he remembers how he specifically reinforced her idea of how, even if being sold wasn't her fate, she is unable to be with other people or be a normal person. His words can't reach her because she's been cornered, she really doesn't see hope.

Even if Hakuri's family mistreated him he still hoped they loved him. He was still waiting for the praise of his father after seeing how he was fully aware of the beatings and still turned his back on him. When he was explaining how his big brother always was "conveniently" losing the tools to beat him up so he will surely go back to beating him the old-fashioned way he sounded like he was trying to find some love in that, "He doesn't really want to hurt me that much, see? He lost the tool again." Even when believing his brother wanted to kill him when describing him he said "he loves me".

When she says her lover sold her I think it also resonates with him because it lets him see how she truly stopped believing someone could truly love her, and he understands her despair because he's also motivated by wanting his loved ones to love him back.

Throughout the arc Hakuri finally discovers he actually had talent with sorcery. One of the reason for being bullied and his low self-esteem was the belief that he didn't have any talent in that area, and his family didn't really care enough to realize it wasn't true or aknowledge any of his efforts to still serve the family.

He feels useless not being able to do more but let's be honest, he was doing his best with the non-sorcery stuff and at some point his lack of talent wasn't even the problem. The moment Soya, his big brother, realized Hakuri was no longer the pathetic and weak little brother he believed he was he got angry and refused to believe it, and his father just aknowledged the mistake of not having noticed his true talents before but didn't really believed in his potential even when presented with the evidence. Chihiro tells Kyora (the father) he should have believed in Hakuri and the father still manages to underestimate Hakuri again other three times, convinced that "ok he surpassed what I believed him capable of but he can't do more", his defeat is partly caused by his refusal to look at his son and realize he was great all along, something Soya also does. They both convinced themselves that Hakuri was a failure no matter what. Shiba only needed a day or two to look at that boy and realize he was in fact super talented without Hakuri doing anything big, but they have literal proof Hakuri is a talent not seen since the first generation and they still insisted he was no good, truly blind to the facts.

"Even if it was all lies (…) This time, I'll prove it"

Hakuri says this in his fight with Soya. Yeah, he knows maybe the words that girl said to him were just a way of gaining his sympathy, he can't be sure, but as she said he was trapped in a cage that made him unable to see his own worth.

He thought if his loved ones saw him as worthless he truly was worthless, but thanks to her words he slowly realized he still has value that is not conditional on his family or being useful to them and he found other people who valued him for who he is.

Even if her telling him he had value could have been said without truly believing in it, he will prove she was right: Hakuri is using sorcery, he's refusing to lose hope and let his family words become true, refusing to stop fighting; his brother is still screaming he won't amount to anything but no amount of words can change the fact that that's no longer true.

She said they were the same, rejects, and it's true that when they met both believed no one would ever value them. But she was the first to make Hakuri feel like he was important to someone, and that made her important to him too.

By proving he has worth and not losing hope he's also proving that if they were the same then she wasn't just merchandise. She was valuable as a person even if someone she cared about didn't value her, it was her words that taught him that.

Hakuri finally asks Chihiro to slay his father after he sees how one of his brothers died protecting a worthless door. This request it's the final step to accept that yeah, while Hakuri still loved his father and wanted him to praise him he's no longer dependent on his acknowledgement, because he has finally found himself and knows what he wants to do.

I think the whole family affair was tied up already with the end of the arc but I wonder if we will see any of his family members (like Soya) in the future. I don't think it's super necessary right now because Hakuri has already moved past his family and has other goals now and I'm sure with the Rakuzaichi dismantled the brothers will have their hands full looking for a way to survive (I guess they will end up putting to use the fact that they are proficient sorcerers? But I guess they will lay low for a while) but since they are still alive it wouldn't be so rare if they appear again in the future.

Kinda unrelated (didn't know where to fit this), but going back to the girl in Hakuri's past (I just realized she was never given a name and Hakuri didn't ask either), all her story also made me think about the first arc with Char: Char's mother body had special properties so she was hunted down for it, someone she trusted sold her, she ended up trapped and used as a guinea pig. The biggest difference was Char's mother had someone who still loved her (her daughter) so she never let the situation make her lose all hope.

And despite that, hope alone wasn't enough, one could say she never found someone who was willing to help her and she died trapped in there. Yeah, the girl from Hakuri's past wasn't entirely wrong, her fate looked quite bad and she didn't have anyone for her to still try despite the odds, it's quite possible even if she really did escape she would have ended up back into the black market or hunted down (let's be honest, Hakuri at most could have let her escape but he didn't seem to have the power to protect her), it's undeniable. But then... then we have Char, who also kept believing she had a chance at happiness because someone she cared for was wishing for her to not give up and keep looking for it, and she didn't give up and found people who care of her and won't see her as a tool or a monster. Yeah, she was lucky to find Chihiro's group, but she is mostly safe right now.

So, at the end, we don't really know what would have happened if the girl from Hakuri's past didn't lose hope. We have seen the two outcomes happening.

Being completely honest (and after having said all of this, lol) I'm not sure how much Hakuri was willing or able to help her, I assume the "let's eat together outside" was him letting her know the "let's escape together" was on the table? Or was it a last favor to her? Either way I think it was when everything went down that he finally fully realized how horrible was the situation and thought about how he should have done more before that point. Like his determination to stop the Rakuzaichi and his realization of how horrible it was were that strong because she did something very extreme, but I don't know if he was determined about stopping it before that. When he first talks about how he started to realize it was wrong he's shown in a suit looking at a group of prisioners so I assume he was already somewhat doubtful by the point in time he met her and still was hard to convince him/he still talked about merchandise and all that, so maybe he was willing to let her escape, maybe even prepared to be disowned and receive a beating, but wasn't really thinking about stopping the whole thing, I don't know.

Anyway, if someone read all of this... hope you enjoyed it (?)

[ilikekidsshows]

Apparently I'm going to jump aboard the 'frustrated with Marinette train,' feel free to ignore this if there's been too much recently. But I'm tired of Marinette's tendency to bemoan how terrible she is when she realizes she's hurt someone. This in and of itself is fine, being self-aware when you've made a mistake is a good first step. What bothers me is, often she never goes beyond the self-flagellation, and sometimes it's the person she's hurt that then must emotionally console her. Like???

---

Oh, yeah, that trait of Marinette’s frustrates me so much. Like, I know she isn’t doing it on purpose, because she doesn’t have enough emotional intelligence to manipulate people like that even if the writers thought she’d be morally right to do so, but, like, it’s an actual manipulation tactic to start saying blatantly untrue, awful things about yourself when you’re caught doing something wrong, so the person who caught you, if they’re a bit more of a soft touch, feels the need to go: “You’re not that bad, it’s okay.”

I’ll say this, though: genuinely going on a self-flagellation trip over every one of your mistakes actually stops you from improving your behavior. “I’m so awful, I’m a terrible person, I might as well not even try to do better,” is an actual thought process people can have. Even a lesser habit of calling yourself stupid or a failure over every mistake during a task just makes you miserable and want to avoid said task instead of motivated to try again. It’s genuinely bad for your mental health. If you find yourself doing this, try to counter it by giving yourself a compliment on what you did right. If your friend failed at something, you’d focus on what they did right too. Talk to yourself like you’d talk to someone you care about, and you’ll notice yourself being a lot kinder to yourself and feeling better about life overall.

Once again, the Miraculous writers write something that looks like it's actually saying something meaningful about how we handle our problems for a moment, but it's an accident. Marinette's self-flagellation isn't meant to be read as an avoidance tactic or an actual sign of her poor mental health, even though the writers admit she's mentally unwell. The self-flagellation is meant to make us feel sorry for Marinette and forgive her. So I guess it is actually a purposeful manipulation tactic, but only metatextually; it's the writers trying to manipulate the audience to get us to go: "Oh, poor thing, she doesn't deserve to feel so bad!"

Basically, in universe Marinette bemoaning what an awful person she is every time she makes someone upset is just freeing herself from responsibility. She’s an awful person, so she can’t help acting awful. But it also ties into how I describe post retool Marinette as unmotivated. She’s unmotivated to improve her behavior, even when she acknowledges that she isn’t treating people around her the way they deserve. She just flagellates herself to give the audience the illusion of working on improving, even though she isn’t, because she’s too busy feeling bad to actually be a better her. It’s another sign Marinette needs professional therapy instead of her unqualified boyfriend acting as her therapist.

This whole tendency is one of the reasons I find Kuro Neko one of the worst episodes of anything I’ve ever seen, because Marinette got this close to becoming self-aware, but had to throw a pity party for herself and Cat Walker/Cat Noir threw aside his justified feelings to cater to hers and tell her she’s so perfect and amazing, which leads to Marinette acting like she doesn’t even need to apologize to Cat Noir for the rest of the episode. Like, that episode ruined Marinette for me.

[thescarletnargacuga]

MONSTER

A HARLEQUIN AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

Harlequin AU credit: @iamespecter @tadc-harlequin-au

Special thanks to: @sirrockem

A/N: This takes place after the events of "The way of the combat Harlequin"

WARNING: hurt/comfort, puppet nudity (not explicit)

~~~

Pomni tucked Cade into bed. "Try to get some sleep, you had a big day."

"Mom, if I see those marionettes in my dreams...I'm not too big to come sleep with you and dad, am I?" Cade looked at his mother with pleading eyes.

Pomni ran her hand comfortingly over Cade's head. "No, you're never too big to come to us for comfort. We'll always be here for you."

"Okay... goodnight, mom. Love you."

"Goodnight, Cade." Pomni gave him a kiss and left his room, leaving the door cracked to let light from the hallway inside.

Pomni slowly walked to her room. Today's events still plagued her mind. How hard she went on what she considered low level enemies. Cade's face afterwards. The very fact that she had to tell her own son that she wasn't a threat to him...

She accepted the fact that she was a killing machine a long time ago. If the idea of her directive ever bothered her, she stamped it down. It was a distraction she couldn't afford when she was on a mission.

First mission, seek and destroy....and protect? Her broken directive misguided her to the puppetmaster.

Then, missions to defeat the B.O.S.Ses. She HAD to send them to the void before they were reborn in their new forms.

But she found the moral quandary of her bloodlust harder to ignore the more enlightened she became. She was more aware of what combat felt like to her, and how much she craved it like a drug. She didn't just want to fight, she needed to. The joy she got from facing a worthy opponent was unmatched for the longest time.

Then Caine happened. His kindness, his patience, his temperament, his love for her made her feel another joy she didn't know even existed. She rationalized with herself that her urge to fight could be used only to protect and that lie became truth to her when she told it to herself enough.

She protects her city, friends, and family with her urge....but it's still an urge. She still gets antsy when she doesn't see combat for a long enough period of time. She still finds herself wishing to wander to find an even bigger and badder enemy. As much as she is her own person, she still has her vices. It wasn't until her son feared for his life in front of her that she realized how toxic it could be if left unchecked.

Pomni shut herself in the master bedroom and took off her belt, holding the sheathed sword gingerly as if it would come to life and bite her. "I'm being ridiculous...." She tried to tell herself, but her hands trembled. She dropped the sword on the floor next to her side of the bed and sat down, head in her hands. "I can control it..."

She didn't look up when Caine entered the room, dropping his cane and coat. "Ugh...those marionettes caused more trouble than they were worth. Eight puppets need to be rebuilt and revived, and security demands for the east side have gone up. We're spread thin enough as it is." He flopped on the bed next to Pomni. "How's Cade?"

Pomni took out her hair tie, letting her longer hair drape her shoulders. "Better...we had a talk."

"....are you okay?" Caine sat up, hearing the despondent tone in her voice.

Pomni took a moment to answer. "...Cade wasn't afraid of the marionettes. He was afraid of me." She held herself in an attempt to self-soothe. "You should have seen his eyes..."

Caine wrapped an arm around Pomni, holding her close next to him. "He's never seen you in actual combat. It was just a lot for him to take in."

"He wouldn't let me touch him!" Pomni almost sobbed. "He thought I would hurt him next, like I was some out of control monster!"

"Hey..." He gently held her chin. "Look at me...you are not a monster. Your detective is not your fault, and you've made leaps and bounds to use it the way you see fit, not the person who programmed you. You are Pomni: the woman I love, the mother of our child, the protector of the City of Circuits... Not one of those things makes you a monster."

Pomni had no more tears. She was spent; physically and emotionally. "Enjoying combat does, wanting it as much as I do..."

"Were you happy to see the marionettes today?" Caine asked seriously.

"....no."

"You wanted to protect Cade and the city?"

"...yes."

"Pomni, you're not what you think of yourself. Cade was frightened, anyone would be, but he doesn't hate you. No one hates you."

Pomni gave a dry laugh. "Jax might..."

Caine chuckled a little. "Jax is a special case." He looked Pomni over, she had cleaned herself off a bit before seeing Cade, but there were still dried oil stains on her clothes and skin. "Let me get you clean. You'll feel a little better refreshed."

Pomni had no energy to argue. She let Caine lead her to the bathroom and remove her clothing. Caine ran a bath as hot as Pomni could stand and gestured for her to get in while he got a cleanser and washcloth.

Pomni sank into the steaming water up to her shoulders and closed her eyes. The stress of the day melted away as her body relaxed. She let out a content sigh as Caine gently bathed her. His ungloved metal hands felt cool against her synthetic skin. Pomni leaned her head back to rest against the edge of the tub.

Caine gently scrubbed away the oil, his movements deliberate but soothing. When he finished, he focused on her hair. He brushed it out, removing the tangles and wayward strands. He loved to pamper her like this, especially when she needed it like today.

Caine left a quick kiss on Pomni's forehead. "I'll let you soak. Let me know when you're ready for bed." He got up to leave but Pomni grabbed his hand.

"Join me." As much as Pomni enjoyed the water by herself, she didn't want to be alone right now.

Caine didn't need any convincing. He stripped down and eased himself into the bath behind Pomni. He held her in his lap, leaving small kisses on her neck and shoulders. "I love you." He whispered to her.

"I love you, too." Pomni mumbled back sleepily. Between the warm water and Caine's embrace, she felt relaxed enough to rest. "I'm sorry..."

Caine furrowed. "For what?"

"That you still have to deal with my bullshit."

Caine smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. "My love, I married you. I took a vow to deal with your bullshit for the rest of my life."

Pomni smiled a little. "My condolences."

"Keep them, just give me everything else." He hugged her tighter.

"All yours." Pomni yawned. "Thank you, for this."

"My pleasure, dear." Caine held her as she drifted off. He enjoyed the bath for a little longer before blinking them both into the bed, dry as a bone. He tucked Pomni in and held her to him as he found sleep.

[maespri]

like a dog

hi i'm just joesara posting. that's all this is. like. man i love joesara. i can see them both romantically and platonically and either way their relationship is just. so beautifully devastating.

like here is sara, who is always doubting herself. and then joe, who's always countering her self-loathing. sara, who thinks she's too intense and hurts people too much. joe, who tells her that it isn't always a bad thing. sara who can't forgive herself for his death, who blames herself for pointing out that he wasn't the sage, who begged miley to let her switch places with him. and joe, who just tells her she's his best friend and he loves her when he's about to die. who tells everyone they're his friends, that he doesn't blame them.

joe, who carried around a dog keychain sara got him in his pocket for ages, who has accessories with bones on them, who tells sara he will stay loyal to her, "like a dog." who walked back to school after going on a date with her best friend, a date during which he just talked about her, because he knew she was scared of her stalker, who went to the fair with her in her minisode because of the same reason. this guy who sees her "flaws" as her strengths and supports her in whatever she decides to do.

i think the fact that she doesn't realize just how important he was to her until after he's gone is what gets me. he was always telling her she's his best friend, but it's not until she's talking to a robot version of him that she finally gets to reciprocate that, and i just know she'll always be carrying around so many "i wish i told him"s in her heart. but what i think is also so beautiful about her overcoming some of that grief and moving toward acceptance (at least in the emotion route) is that she realizes joe wouldn't blame her.

and i don't think it's entirely because of his AI. it's because she knew him.

sure, it's his AI that tells her that- but sara is well aware that isn't him. what she does finally realize in that moment, however, is that the real joe would forgive her. that he wouldn't be mad at her. that he doesn't blame her because that's not the kind of person he is. she forgives herself because of her own internal strength and memories. she forgives herself because he loved her no matter what.

and she keeps going. she lets go of the blame, but she doesn't lose those good memories she had with him. she lets what she learned from him strengthen her rather than hold her back. she internalizes the same things he always said to her and uses it to become better herself, to uplift the people around her who are still alive. she decides she's going to do everything she can to keep everyone alive because she doesn't want anyone to go through the same thing she did after losing joe. he's carrying her, he's carrying the narrative, long after he dies. spreading goodness.

they're eternally devoted to each other, even beyond the grave.

i Just played her minisode for myself (after watching it some time ago) and i was struck with all these thoughts about them once again. i think what especially gets me is the fact that i think sara did have a crush on him and just. didn't have enough time to sort through her own thoughts, or tell him. there are so many moments, both in her minisode and in the game, where i think it shines through. and that's just another "what-if?" she may not realize for a while, but will always be in the back of her head.

i don't think grief is nearly as... "simple," for lack of a better word, as it's kind of shown in your turn to die. i do love the portrayal of it for what the situation dictates, but if/when sara ends up getting out of the game, and all the survival instinct wanes and she has time to fully process it... i feel so bad for her. there's nothing that won't remind her of him. there's nothing she won't miss. there's nothing she won't wonder about. all of that, it just. god it all makes me so sad.

i don't like when people say "move on" when referring to grief. i think that implies leaving it behind, and if you ever really love something, i don't think it's possible to just put it down and leave it there. but i do hope it gets easier for her to carry it around with her the same way it briefly began to in the death game.

anyway. in the end, it really just comes down to a very simple tragedy; two best friends who would do anything for each other only having the option of doing nothing.

yeah i'll be thinking about them for a while