#i think i'm back in a worse stage of my depression

[thal-ent]

Feeling bad, elaborating in tags

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream ��you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[soireegurl]

[18:55]

Warning ⚠️: slut shaming, yandere themes

"Hi, My name is Y/n I will be your makeup artist from now on."

You politely introduced yourself to the seven guys infront of you.

"Y/n, you will be following Sunghoon."

The manager pointed to one of the boys. You turned your head and looked at the direction he pointed at and saw a pale and tall guy with a mole on his nose bridge which added to his already perfect features.

You smiled at him and lightly bowed at him. You expected him to do the same back but surprisingly he looked away and ignored you.

You were taken aback. You wasn't really sure about the situation and sent a confused look to the manager.

The manager gave you a awkward smile and said, "Sorry about that, he is a little introverted. He might take some time to open up... Give him some time..."

You nodded your head with understanding. "No problem... I understand." You gave a reassuring smile.

Days, weeks and months passed by... Without noticing you have been with Enhypen for half a year.

You have gotten really close with the guys...

Except Sunghoon...

You felt that he just doesn't like you. In many occasions, you just wanted to tell the manager you can't do this anymore, but you didn't want to just leave like that. So you kept quiet about it.

However, recently it has been bothering you so much that you would cry at night by yourself. Sunghoon has gotten worse with the way he treats you.

It started of as little complaints and grumbles. But recently he has been calling you names and shouting at you for accidently being "too rough" while putting on the make-up or too slow while removing the make-up.

Just a few moments ago, it happened again. You were talking to Heeseung while waiting for sunghoon to change into his outfit for the stage. Suddenly, you heard a shout.

"Yah! Kim Y/n! What are you doing there?! Come do my make-up!" You got startled by the sudden loud voice and jumped on the spot.

Heeseung saw that you got scared and said to Sunghoon. " Yah Park Sunghoon get your manners right! Stop treating Y/n like your maid!"

"Isn't she just like a maid? So why can't I?" Sunghoon rolled his eyes and said.

"Yah! you-"

"It's okay Heeseung oppa... I'm okay..." You softly said to Heeseung and walked over to where Sunghoon is, and help him do his make-up.

"Tch... What a slut... So desperate for attention huh?" Sunghoon bashed at you. You kept quiet and did not reply to him... You wanted to cry at the unfair treatment from Sunghoon but you held it in.

You bite your lips and forced yourself to not cry infront of Sunghoon.

Seeing that you didn't reply, Sunghoon scoffed and said "Boring..."

You quickly did Sunghoon's make-up and left the room. You ran to the toilet and you couldn't hold back your tears anymore.

You curled yourself into a ball and started crying. "Why? Why must I go through this? What did I ever do to him?" You thought to yourself.

"I can't do this anymore..." You made up your mind. You are going to quit. Ypu can't take Sunghoon's mean words and attitude anymore.

After the event, you guys went back to the company. You went to the managers office straight away once you reach the company. You knocked on his door and waited for him to reply before entering the office.

"Oh Y/n! What brings you here?" "I'm sorry Mr Kang, I think I'll have to quit the job." You said with a depressed tone.

You really enjoyed staying with the guys but Sunghoon is just ruining everything for you.

"Oh... Did Sunghoon do something again..?" You went silent... And the manager could guess what happened for you to want to quit the job.

He sighed and said." Alright... I understand Y/n... It's a pity that you have to go, but I'll respect your decision... I'm sorry for Sunghoon's behaviour too... I swear he wasn't like that before..." The manager said with a disappointed tone.

"Thank you Mr Kang... I will make my leave now... " You stepped you of the office and saw the face that you didn't want to see at this moment.

"Yah! Why are you her! Why-" You walked passed Sunghoon without letting him finish his sentence which left Sunghoon speechless.

This is the first time you ever ignored him like that. Sensing that something was off, he went into the managers office.

"AHHHHH YES! I'M FINALLY AWAY FROM THAT ANNOYING THING!" You shouted, feeling relieved and light after stepping out of HYBE.

You never felt so happy and relaxed after you became Sunghoon's make-up artist.

A smile finally appeared on your face after so long and you decided to reward yourself with some good food and shopping.

Things that you missed doing.

{midnight}

You were walking on the streets, breathing in the fresh air that surrounded you.

You stepped on your shadow that was on the ground happily like a child. Until a bigger shadow appeared infront of you.

You stopped and look up, and saw a unexpected person standing infront of you, the one and only Park Sunghoon You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"Why is he here?" You thought. Just as you were about to ask him, he spoke.

"Why did you quit?" He said in the usual cold tone. However, you could sense that something was not right. You are not going to neglect the dark aura rising around him.

"What?" You asked, in total confusion. "Why did you quit? Why did you not want to be my make-up artist anymore?"

You got speechless, why does he mean by why? Does he not know his doings? "Well... You don't like me, so why torture myself staying with you?" You said straight forwardly.

"Torture?! Are you saying that staying with me is a torture?" Sunghoon suddenly shouted.

Thankfully this street doesn't have many people, seriously you do not want to deal with his bullshit.

You rolled your eyes at him and tried to walk past him. But he grabbed your arm before you could. "What the hell? Let go!" You tried to get out of his grip but he is too strong for you. "No... You can't leave me!" Sunghoon said in a dark tone.

His eyes were turning red and his vein was visibly popping out of his neck. His grip on you got tighter and tighter hurting your arm.

"What's wrong with you?! Are you crazy?!" You shouted at him while trying to free yourself.

"Crazy...? You are calling me crazy?! I'm like that all because of you! You said I didn't like you but how would you know if I did or not?"

"Park Sunghoon look at the way you treat me! Are you hearing yourself? By treating me like a piece of shit, you tell me that you like me? Do you think I'm stupid?" You said in disbelief.

"If you could have just stop flirting with the others, then maybe I would have treated you better! Don't you understand that you are mine?! Am I not giving you enough attention that you have to talk to the other members?! Huh?!"

You fell silence to what he just said. You didn't know what to reply... So all this time he treated you badly was because you were close to the other members?

"Park Sunghoon you are really crazy... Leave me alone... I don't want to see you anymore..." You said emotionlessly, totally sick of his bullshit.

"No... You are not going anywhere... You are staying with me. You are mine! Do you understand?!"

"Let go you psychopath! I don't want to call the cops on you!" You struggled to get out of his grip and when you finally did, you ran for your life.

To be honest you were scared, dead scared. You didn't know how to handle the situation, so you went into the fight or flight mode.

And obviously, you can't fight him, so a better option would be to get away from him ASAP. You don't know what he will do an do not want to know.

You ran and ran... Didn't even know where you were going. Finally after running for 15 minutes, you stopped to take a breather.

You looked behind, to make sure that he isn't anywhere near. You let out a sigh of relief. Just as you were about to left loose, you heard a voice that made you tense and and the next second you know, you are in all darkness.

"You are not leaving me Y/n... You are mine..."

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.4

It's in the paper that Allen Klein was involved in 40+ lawsuits and John doesn't question it? At this point, I feel like he just didn't want to let Paul be right about anything. 

My question is who did that work on before? I mean who fucking does business like that? Let alone business with the most successful man in the world. 

John's complaining about Paul being too good at his job is both hilarious (what the hell is Paul supposed to do with that) and sad (it shows just how far their musical relationship has degraded from partners to rivals)

How did they lose Northern Songs? Genuinely, if anyone can break it down for me I'd be so grateful. Anyway I'm sure it was devastating for both of them. “Who'd have the children?” “Dick James”. 

I know I'm insane, but can I be allowed to see a glimmer of goodness here? I really do think it's John's kinder side winning out when he decides not to lie. Like, yes, he gets a buzz off of watching Paul go white at his words, but I think he also just – in that moment – didn't have the heart to trick Paul into staying. 

But also. Why are we trying to maneuver Paul at all if the end game is for John to leave? It just doesn't make sense to try to trick Paul into signing the contract unless John's divorce threat is at the very least not meant to be final. 

I will never understand this picture. Even in the emotional state he's in, he's still hamming it up? There is something seriously wrong with this man. 

I do find it interesting that the fact that Paul cried his eyes out after that meeting isn't even mentioned in the doc. I wonder why. 

Let's put the bizarre, super-warped timeline in this quote aside for a minute. Apparently the depression started after Brian died and it lasted for about two years and John was still in it during Pepper. Okay. That aside . . .

I have to assume this negative lense on what I can only assume means the period between 66 and 68 is highly influenced by hindsight bias. I agree that John was depressed at the time, in an unhappy marriage, doing too much LSD, etc and that looking at Paul's prolific talent and expansive , fast-paced life would have been maddening. But everyone go back to the end of part one really quick. He looks extremely happy. He sounds extremely happy. Everyone who knows him says he's never been happier. I think he just can't accept right now that there was so much good and he's lost it. 

“I look from the wings at the play you are staging . . . I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love.”

Insanity quote Hall of Fame. Paul explaining why the Beatles just had to break up, obviously, because he and John "didn't marry the same girl." Someone write the fic where John and Paul both marry the same girl. Could be Yoko or Linda. Sister trad wives au. 

Okay, cool, so this means I have full permission to interpret and tin hat about any lyrics I want then, right?

But also. Are we just not going to talk about the fact that Paul dumped a bucket of garbage water and punched this person? And are we not mentioning the depression and alcoholism and heroin abuse during this time?

It's so embarrassing how he looks to her for confirmation here. John, they asked you what you think. Just you. Not some complicated definition. Not Yoko's definition. Just your own thoughts.

“I couldn't wait for them to make up their mind about peace or whatever. About committing themselves.” Yeah, John. You sound real committed to peace. Or whatever. Here's a theory that anyone can shoot down if they want: John asked Paul for some kind of commitment (a friendship wedding, a partnership contract, a mutual wanking pledge) in India and Paul was a chicken about it. 

What was that day like, I wonder? I imagine extremely stiff and professional and horrid. But who knows. Maybe it was nice, and maybe that made everything worse.

I will go to my death believing that instant karma was for Paul. 

Do we think John actually did send Paul “about twenty postcards from Denmark” all covered in hearts none of which Paul responded to? Paul could be just as cruel in his lack of reaction as John was in his over reaction.

I'm sorry but that is not what a man says when he's just lying to the press to buy time for business. That's what a man says to the press when he's trying desperately to communicate with someone who he can't get through to any other way. 

But really, I just don't understand why the creator chose to minimize Paul's emotional response to John's divorce statement. If we don't see him bawling his eyes out and losing the will to live, he comes off like a self-assured, uncaring, jerk. Which. To be fair. John didn't see those things, and that is exactly what John thought of Paul during this time. But still. The audience now comes away from this doc with a skewed view. 

All we get is Paul being pissed off about Phil Spector butchering Let it Be without his consent and John and George trying to change McCartney's release date without his consent. Which are both a) understandable and b) strong, male, angry reactions. Making this section portray Paul in the same one-dimensional hyper-masculine way that John so often is. Which isn't my favorite. But hey, it's my only complaint about this doc so far.

Anyway, update: I won't be able to do part three until it gets reuploaded, so we're on hiatus for this project for the time being.

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 ; 𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐱 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

!! disclaimer before we start this girliez !!

it's gonna be a multi-part fic

it's based on the movie (i read about the band's and nikki's life, but it'd be complicated)

fem!reader will be half russian and half of another nation (you can insert yours here)

it's gonna have some TW parts as cussing, drugs, sex, miscarriage, depression so please read with caution!!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏.

word count: 2.308k trigger warning: cursing, pole dance, smoking

1981, hollywood, sunset boulevard

♡ 𝐘/𝐍 ♡

the fake lashes tickled her eyes as one of her colleagues helped her to ruffle up her hair, well, if you can name the other girls who pole dances with you in a night club 'colleagues'.

"i fucking hate this shit" she muttered, putting lipstick on her lips. jessica, the girl who helped her shrugged her shoulders.

"when you're done with that, you can go off with a guy. old men pays way much more then the broke, skinny rock and roll wannabe-ones."

"it's a good idea jess, but i want to use my young years, and maybe get a normal relationship." y/n knew that this decade had its own fuckboys, just like the teddy-boys in the 60s with long coats and hair with much gale, and the hippies in the 70s with those fucking irritating and bad-looking flares and too much color, and now... they had log hair, black clothes and bulked up with studs, now just on their clothes, but on their face, too. sometimes it was fucking disgusting, even worse than punks, but other times, it was pleasant dig into a boy's long hair while he ate her out.

"your choice, baby. two minutes and simon will come in, so prepare yourself." simon was the guy who talked with them; when to go to the stage and when their shift ended, handing out the girls' 'salaries' to them, always in cash, of course. dancing here wasn't her first option; y/n wanted to go to somewhere, where an audience could tell that she had a good voice, or just tell her to fuck off, getting into dancing and singing, acting universities were difficult and expensive to get in. but since she had to pay the bills in the house she shared with two other girls, collecting money wasn't that easy.

in two hours, she was dancing in the big area on the counter, letting men tuck money into her panties and throw it in the front of her legs. shaking and crawling her body to the music, she almost completely shut the world out from her own world. at least she could dance, and she liked dancing, as soon as...

a bolting light shone through the bar. it was impossible to miss that is was a camera light. what the fuck, she turned and saw a couple of guys standing there, making pictures in front of where she was dancing.

"the guys will be so jealous when they're gonna see this! okay, brad, could you-"

"what the fuck do you think are you doing?" y/n stopped dancing, getting their attention.

"just making some pictures, don't worry, babe."

"don't fucking babe me! you can't take pictures here, do you understand?" she hollered, climbing down from the counter.

"could you take a picture about us with your friend in the back? or could you call down her?"

y/n snatched the camera from them.

"if you don't fuck off, i'm gonna trash this piece of shit."

"i'd listen to the girl." two other guy stepped in, they had long hair just like the rockers they probably listened to. one of them, the curlier and brown one carried a drumstick with himself, tucked into his belt.

"sorry, but what the fuck are you?" fuckface brad's one friend asked him.

"just a guy who walks in here from time to time and doesn't break the rules."

"i don't fucking care, could you please go away? we have to take some pictures, give me back that shit!"

"this?" y/n asked, looking at the camera, then, with her heart stomping in her chest, she trashed it down to the ground, breaking it into thousands of pieces. the fuckfaces got shocked.

"are you fucking mad?!"

"you deserved it anyway", the drumstick-boy's friend said, but the next moment, y/n got a punch into her face, crashing into the counter where people stood before it. looking up, she felt something warm running down to her lips, but instead of crying being hurt, she grabbed the nearest bottle she could find, breaking it, she successfully scratched the boy's arm.

"fuck you!" she screamed, aggressively waving the bottle in front of her. "fuck off, right now, motherfuckers!"

"y/n, what the fuck are you doing?" simon got in the picture. y/n looked around; some of the guests and jessica stared at them, the rocker boys stopped punching the other two guy as she fretted the third of them with a broken bottle. "if you do it again, you are gonna get fired!"

the girl looked at him, laughing, grabbing as much as money she could.

"yeah? then you won't gonna get the chance to fire me, because i quit! fuck you, simon, and fuck everybody in this craphole! i'm done!" screaming, she walked back to collect her things. not saying a word to anyone, carrying her clothes and her wallet, she walked beside simon, pushing his shoulder with hers as he tried to talk with her. but now, she was mad and unstoppable.

"you can never go back here if you quit now!" simon yelled to her as she stood at the door, now everybody staring at them.

"you know what simon?" she asked, licking her lips. iron from blood. with money in one hand, she dropped her things for a second and showed up both of her middle fingers.

turning around, she left the place that was her second place to go, but not her second home. out the door, she saw that people were staring into the bar, probably they heard the fight.

"hey dude! give me a fucking cigarette." getting one, they lit it to her.

"do you know what happened? we heard yelling and screaming." a woman asked, y/n nodded, blowing out the smoke.

"yeah, it was me. and don't come here, because the motherfuckers replace half of the whiskey with water." then walking away, she sat down on the side of the road, smoking the stick between her lips as she put on her skirts, top and her jacket. she couldn't think about what's gonna be with her. there was always a place for a crawling, dancing girl who could dress up as a slut.

"hey, are you okay?"

turning around, it was the same two guy who tried to defend her. she couldn't blame them, she blamed the brad-kinda assholes. holding the cig with her hand now, she bit her lip.

"except that the fact that now i'm jobless, that my face hurts and got rearranged, i'm pretty good, thanks." they sat down beside her.

"we're sorry for what happened. but we beat them up."

"you were cool, too! with that broken bottle. i'm tommy, by the way, and he's nikki."

"i can talk myself too, tom."

"i'm y/n. and that's my job... well, was."

"sorry that we couldn't stop it." nikki looked at her. he had pretty, green eyes, not the ones she could see everyday.

"don't worry, it was just a matter of time. otherwise, if i have to handle those three, maybe i'd be in jail now. and i hate this shit", she added, tearing down the fake lashes.

"would you actually stab them?" tommy asked.

"of course. if they break the rules, i break them head." at that, the two of them looked each other. "what? you don't meet girls everyday who smash others for being a motherfucker?"

"no, most of my girlfriends cry and scream, or throw something at me." tommy shrugged his shoulders. "i'm gonna borrow some cigs, do y'all want some?"

"yes, please." y/n said, and nikki nodded, also. now, it was just the two of them. she turned to the guy.

"and you? any troubled girl?" he shook his head.

"not one yet. but an upcoming band, and it's gonna be fire."

"upcoming band? you drive in bands?"

"yeah. but the last one was shit, it was called london."

"bands with names of towns never work, didn't anybody tell you that before?" nikki laughed at her question. "well, now you know. and any plans about the new one?"

"it's gonna be... the best band you've ever seen. but i still need some members in it, now i only have tommy. so tell me, can you sing?"

it this the hand of fate? y/n was far too much played to believe in some guy's promises and questions.

"well, nobody wanted to beat me when i was carousing in my rent." laughing at this, nikki turned to her.

"maybe if you can really sing, i'll count a frontwoman into my band."

"frontwoman? don't joke with me." y/n shook her head at his words.

"why would i joke? why do you think it's a joke?"

"because i got fucked up by some people before, and i don't believe to empty promises. see, i'll go there, and if the band is cool, then i'm in."

tommy came back, handing the cigarettes to them, showing up a bottle alcohol.

"guys, i found this on the ground, it's only half empty!" he said, making y/n grimace.

"watch out, maybe it's piss. happens a lot of time." the two guy laughed again.

"were did you learn these comments?" tommy asked. y/n shrugged her shoulders, letting nikki light her cigarette.

"anywhere. i spent my childhood with people i learned a lot from."

"were you in orphanage?" nikki asked, and she nodded. another piece of ash falling to the ground.

"kinda. i grew up in sacramento, and getting out from it, i came here."

"that's fine. i sent my mother into jail, but she was an asshole anyway." nikki added, making y/n pull up her eyebrows, nodding approvingly.

"hard."

"do you wanna go to party? tommy?" the guy asked, tommy shook his head.

"sorry, but i gotta be home. i think that girl broke up with me, but anyway, it was nice to meet you, y/n."

"see you again, toms."

"how so?"

"your friend just invited me to sing in his upcoming band, the one that never anybody has seen before." she teased nikki.

"wow, that's cool! i thought we're gonna have a guy, but that's okay."

"can't i be as good as a guy?" she asked back, making tommy look at nikki. "whatever, it's only a trial."

as tommy got away, y/n finished her second cigarette. "it was a pleasure to meet you, nikki, but i gotta search for a new place to work."

"really?"

"why? until 4am, they're open. it's not a big deal."

"come and party with me instead of it. or just sit down and talk, hm?" the girl smiled at this, rolling her eyes.

"are you trying to fuck me? other guys just pay me the drinks and help me to get to the bathroom."

"no, i just wanna get to know more about you. you're probably not pure american, judging by your accent." nikki answered, helping her stand up. y/n looked at him.

"it's true that i'm a half-blood. half russian, half (y/na). every cop asks for my id, everybody thinks that i'm a fucking illegal immigrant, but i'm just as an american citizen as this fucking ford!" she said, pointing at the car beside them.

"fuck the police anyway. and... you said that you were a foster kid, how so?"

"i don't want to talk about it. besides, not everybody's choice to get their parents int jail."

the truth was that her mother was truly an illegal immigrant, and in the short half and a year she was in the states, she got pregnant with her from a fellow guy she met with. when y/n was born, her mother had a beautiful, lovely six months with her baby, but then, one day the police knocked on her door. having no father and living in a mother's home, it was an instant way to get into orphanage.

"i'm sorry about that. do you want to forget these things with some booze?" nikki asked as they turned down on the road.

"do you have an actual place to live?" she asked him.

"do you have a place to stay?" nikki asked back.

"hell yeah, just because i'm stated as a slut by the society, i'm not a homeless one!" y/n spread her arms beside them, almost slapping a guy. they both laughed at that. "lead me to your place."

"right away, princess." he replied, setting his arm around her shoulder. "can i?" nikki looked at her, y/n looked up to her from her real eyelashes.

"what?"

"people can think that we're going up to me to fuck." y/n laughed, shrugging her free shoulder.

"and do i look like i give a fuck about what they think?"

♡ 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐈 ♡

y/n could be only one girl from all those who he met through the years, but she wasn't. he was unsure about that he really should invite her to the band, because if they really would get famous, everybody would bully her do death. and maybe she wouldn't get it on herself, but he would blow up from all the shit she'd get. looking at her, he only knew her a couple hours ago, but the way she protected herself from the creeps in the bar in underwear, the way she talked, she could be a pure ghetto chick, but she was more than that. it was like... she born into the wrong place, wanting to be more than she was now.

"is something bad? or are you just thinking?" she asked him.

"what? no, i just hope that i locked the windows before i started the night."

"i fancy the simple fact that you are a guy who is capable of thinking."

he wasn't a fan of fast and strong emotions, but if she doesn't stop replying sarcastically, he's gonna marry her.

it was just a matter of time...

...and tons of drugs, music and trouble.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.

a/n: i gotta get into writing since i just got back, but i hope you still like it. if you want to get on the taglist, dm, comment or write here

take care and stay safe girliez

[weebsinstash]

GOD I am a slut for an entire yandere spider society; like not all romantic, and clearly Miguel being the alpha romance, but can you imagine?

Like your prompt where readers dopple was causing issues the way yandere society would react? Trying to find you, bring you home? A mile morales level chase lmao

Miguel: --and that concludes today's meeting on the recent anomalies. Now, are there any matters any members would like to present before we adjourn?

some rando running up the the stage with a bunch of materials: I've got one, I've got one!

Rando: *sets up a whole ass projector and suddenly a picture of your smiling face is up on the wall*

Rando: this is just a really good photo I got of them when we were hanging out the other day :) I thought they looked super cute and they said they were feeling happy

The crowd: *resounding 'ooo's and 'ah's*

Miguel, nodding in approval: excellent, agent OBT, keep up the good work

Absolutely obsessed with the idea that YouTwo was only able to basically steal your entire identity because the Society is so infatuated with you that any weird changes in your behavior are completely brushed off because they already like you so much that you'd have to do something like super outrageous and hurtful for them to like, really start getting suspicious. You're getting extremely depressed because you think you're being replaced by this impersonator when, in truth, the only reason everyone seems to instantly like them is because they literally look and sound exactly like you, and the SECOND it comes out that that ISNT you? Well. I mean. It's an entire society of Spiderpeople from across the multiverse. There's definitely at least ONE murderer who's going to 'take care of them' or at the very least they're kicked out of Nueva York and never allowed to travel the multiverse ever again

Like. I just. Cannot even imagine like. On one hand you think they would be so obsessed and observant kf you that they immediately know when theyre speaking to you or your double, i'm sure SOME people are suspicious, but, the idea of them just being so crazy for you "oh gosh yesterday I hung out with Reader and they kicked a puppy for getting dirt on them and the next day when I asked them about it they started crying about 'why is everyone accusing me of shit I didn't do' and said they hadn't hung out with me in weeks. They must just be really stressed from work, you know they push themselves so hard, we should tell Miguel to give them some PTO :(" like they would basically be willing to make excuses for almost anything you do because "oh that's just Reader aren't they great 🥰 they're a lil quirky sometimes but we love them"

YouTwo would honestly be such a nasty little manipulator and genuine threat to your safety because once they realize holy shit they really could have ANYTHING, they dont want to give that up. Imagine you start having situations like, oh your double accidentally bumps passed you so hard it knocks you over and basically no one reacts because they thought YOU were the extra. Things randomly falling on you from higher levels. Them pretending to be you and "creating scenes" in public where you're getting publicly berated. They start fake crying and saying you're being mean to them and suddenly you're being asked to leave?

It's this vicious back and forth of them treating you well and like they normally do and then suddenly treating you awful and you don't even realize it's because that two faced POS is literally stealing your costume or mask and any other personal effects to impersonate you. I can only imagine the PANDEMONIUM when they realize you're GONE gone or even worse, started becoming suicidal. I keep thinking back to my idea of Reader needing to wear one of their dimensional watches to help keep them tethered down so they don't glitch out and potentially taking it off and it just makes them blink somewhere else instead of, like, die. And, like, there's just some public incident where a bunch of them become aware Oh Shit You're Not Doing Good.

Like. I have a draft started and I started getting down like a specific scene I couldn't get out of my head. Reader is needing to be needed and the Society has this project where they're trying to make a big large scaled elevator sort of platform for like, older and disabled Spiders so they don't all have to swing everywhere and can still be included, and just for Spiders who may be tires after a long day and don't want to swing and climb, and there's some massive incident where it's starting to break apart spring construction of you rush to help because you NEED to be helpful again, you NEED to feel like you matter, and everyone is trying to band together to keep all this debri and rubble from falling below and you're literally like, have one arm hanging on to a tether and your other arm holding up this massive like bus sized piece of the elevator shaft that had started to fall. And people are literally screaming at you to just let it drop, but you're saying they have no idea if everyone below was evacuated, and this elevator is so important, everyone's been working so hard, you can't just let it break, even as trying to hold it up is practically tearing you in half

You manage to create a calculated array of webs that supports it from completely falling but some falling pieces and rubble still break apart and you're so worn down that you just knocked off a platform and fall, landing hard and even having shit fall on top of you. You're just pinned by a massive piece of concrete and you're too exhausted from pushing yourself to hard for the last few weeks that you can't lift it off. You smacked different surfaces on the way down and somehow your bracelet came off and you're glitching. You can see the bracelet caught on a piece of rebar thats far away but close enough to grab if you shoot a web. But. Suddenly you cant find the motivation to. The rescue team and other Spiders and most important Miguel finally arrive on the scene to find you basically about to completely fade away or teleport or whatever and everyone is freaking out, trying to pick through the debris for the watch, lifting the construction materials off of your body (but I imagine you probably broke something, fractured a femur or something similar) and Miguel notices you keep glancing behind him, but. He doesn't miss how resigned you look, how tired and deflated you sound as you ask if the elevator is ok to which almost everyone responds hey yo FUCK the elevator you're about to like DIE??? And you just. Kind of laugh and say "at least i helped and did at least one good thing in my life" which freaks them all out, and eventually Miguel turns around to look where you keep glancing at and sees the bracelet just in time and his heart breaks as he realizes, holy shit you could see it was hanging there but just. Wasn't going to tell them. You were just going to die.

But hey, only he really makes that realization and you only have to deal with him having that knowledge, right? Wrong. He goes to put it back on you and countless Spiders can see and hear as you shake your head and close your eyes and whimper "just let me go. I don't belong here"

So now basically EVERYONE knows AND now you're straight up in a fucking wheelchair and Miguel tells you, obviously you'll be having no more work until you're completely healed up, and even though that's to help you it actually makes you more upset because like, imagine they give your job to your double. So now, in your mind, you have no reason to be here. You feel like you're completely alone and now your "purpose" is gone and you're BEGGING HIM not to do this to you, that you can still do SOMETHING, and this man is looking at you literally injured in a wheelchair being, by no exaggeration, HYSTERICAL, and thinks "yeah no, poor Reader DEFINITELY needs a break, obviously being so obsessed with being useful isn't healthy, a break from their responsibilities will help them rest" and, like, kind of true but it also just makes you feel so much worse

I imagine YouTwo would HATE you being in the wheelchair too because now people can definitively tell the two of you apart and the imposter can't suck up all the perks of you being the local darling and they're even angrier than before because YT is like "wow so even after all this time, I still don't compare" and vows to basically fucking kill you (and hey maybe they were even behind the elevator collapsing?)

But you finally decide you can't take it anymore once you're out of the chair, those constantly watching eyes and people hanging around you --which really is the whole yandere thing but also them wanting to keep an eye on you so you dont get hurt-- you interpret it as them thinking you're stupid and incompetent and I imagine you just kind of. Blow up. Get triggered. Reach your breaking point. You had just been insisting that you do a certain task alone or visit a certain place by yourself without having an extra shadow or two or twelve and you're just, you've had it, your stress from EVERYTHING is coming out in this moment and you're just SCREAMING, "Leave me alone, just give me some FUCKING SPACE" and you just TAKE OFF and that's when we get a massive chase. Obviously given that they're you know yandere and you're so extremely upset and have had mental health issues they IMMEDIATELY take after you and someone is phoning Miguel and at some point you're literally like, swinging in between traffic to try and lose your pursuers and you can hear Miguel behind you and it's just unlocking this insane sense of fear and panic and fight or flight inside of you. They're making it so much worse by chasing you and in THEIR minds they're just worried about you and think you're just having a panic attack? Which you are but like, from your perspective, you're literally being smothered and you ask for some time alone and now you're being hunted down and now you're just upset and panicking

You have to be literally tackled and at this point you're just getting angry and belligerent. Some rando is like "Reader this isn't you, we had so much fun last week at the mall when I bought you all that stuff" nd you're just like "I don't even know who you are, what the fuck are you talking about, ove barely left home in the last 3 months except for work" and suddenly so many people are popping up in the crowd,

"Wait so it wasn't you I leant 50 bucks to last Tuesday?"

"No!"

"But you and I went out to the mall yesterday?"

"You mean when I was sleeping at home all day?"

"Weren't you with us when we stole a bunch of stuff from the British Musuem with Pavitr?"

"Who the FUCK is Pavitr?!"

Everyone starts absolutely freaking the fuck out and clamoring amongst themselves, comparing stories, and they quickly realize, oh holy shit they've actually barely seen you around for months, almost NO ONE has actually spent time with the real you. Your doppelganger was so efficient and on their toes at never getting caught that the Society never even realized you were basically gone and now they're all kicking themselves as you lay there crying "you guys didn't even notice I was gone? You can't even tell us apart?"

Miguel calls for an emergency meeting with every Spider in the super secret We Love Reader club as everyone irons out their stories and gives their personal accounts while Miguel reviews it with security footage and they start to fully grasp just how BADLY this-this IMPOSTER has-has-has DEFILED their bonds with you and drove you into isolation and self doubt and they're all raving, lynch mob mad. And obviously unless they're like, completely out of their minds, they can't KILL your faker, but, like.... they can beat them half to death though. Like could you imagine that some of these Spiders have been deadass giving like really significant meaningful gifts they intended to you and it was given to A STRANGER? Some Peter Parker finds out, oh shit he gave that old token from Uncle Ben to THEM, not YOU? So many of them confronting the faker and finding out they've just been stealing tons of gifts and money and favors and shit and they've GOTTEN RID OF some of the things that were meant for YOU. These are some seriously pissed off stalkers at this point.

But Jesus. The absolute mayhem if they didn't find all of this out until you've already snuck off to a normal, Spider free section of Nueva York or another dimension entirely and you've just been GONE. Their guilt and realization that they drove you away amd you left to never have to see any of them. You're just like trying to live a normal life in an apartment somewhere and suddenly at least 5 costumed pursuers are suddenly in your living room with Miguel checking you all over and making sure you're not hurt anywhere, hell maybe he even finds self harm cuts, some new, some clesrly older, and they make it abundantly clear that you're NOT staying here by yourself. You're coming back to the Society HQ in Nueva York and you're getting an even better (and bugged) apartment than you had before and they're gonna make sure they pay more attention yo you this time, right? No more crazy stunts, and definitely no more trying to leave.

Ok. Ok I know this post is getting long but I have one last bit. What if the alternative to YouTwo getting exposed and them having to come after you is, YouTwo actually manages to "switch your places" or something, maybe they even switch their costume wirh yours while stealing yours so you're walking around dressed as them, looking for them to get your costume back, and suddenly you're being confront by Miguel and a ton of other Spiders because that evil little rat ran to them fake crying saying that "the other me impersonating me" and, you're kind of being deliberately trapped in a scenario where you look kind of guilty. Like imagine YouTwo is escorted away and suddenly Miguel and the rest are being rude to you and when you try to tell O'Hara "I'm not lying, I'm the REAL--" and he just slaps you and tells you to leave the city and never come back, and AFTER they treated you so deliberately terribly, THAT'S when they realize what happened

I'm definitely not like hyperfixating on these guys and this concept and Spider Reader stuff, what, that's crazy lmao

[hard-core-super-star]

May I please request something for Kate Bishop x reader? Even a part two for your latest Kate fic almost.

Reader hangs up her suit and stops being SpiderWoman after losing May, and both Kate and Yelena can see her starting to spirl. (Maybe Yelena helps her with the anger and grief of losing May.)

i'm all skeleton and melody [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x parker!reader; (platonic) yelena belova x parker! reader

summary: kate calls for backup when she realizes how underprepared she is to help you deal with your grief over losing may.

warnings: mentions of character death [mainly may but there's a quick natasha mention, i'm sorry]; heavy mentions of grief + references to depression; smaller serving of angst with a huge side of hurt/comfort and yelena being supportive in her own way; kate being a golden retriever gf who doesn't know how to stay

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: can i just say good grief is one of my favorite fics i've written so a request for a part two was a wonderful surprise? i've gotten attached to a lot of my mini-universes but this one is special to me. yelena has a bigger role in this part because i said so :) also, the gif above was my inspiration for one of the scenes and i think it shows lmao. anywho, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

People always talk about the five stages of grief but what they fail to mention is that grief is a never-ending cycle.

Sometimes you can reach anger and go right back to denial. Or reach acceptance and fall into depression again. Reaching the end just means you’re ready to fall back to the beginning and start fresh once more.

People make it out to be a process, and in many ways, it is, but it’s not an easy one to deal with. Even when you have loving and supportive people by your side.

Sometimes, having those people around can actually make it worse.

Which is how you wound up where you are right now, locked up in your and Kate’s shared bedroom, refusing to get out of bed or even open the door to your kind-eyed girlfriend.

Your guilt about shutting the archer out, literally and emotionally, is overshadowed by the pain that grips your chest every time you breathe. Pain that nothing can take away, not even Kate Bishop.

The truth is, you started slipping the second May died. You tried to hide it, and you honestly succeeded, until it became painfully obvious that you were ignoring the Spidey suit hanging in the back of your closet.

Any time Kate or Yelena asked, you mumbled something about how you were taking a break. It was more than understandable…until said “break” turned into you not eating, not sleeping, and shutting both of them out of your mind and heart.

Yelena handled it the way she handles most things, by silently watching until she found all the signs that told her you really weren’t doing well. Kate, on the other hand, did not handle it as well or as casually as her blonde best friend.

It would have been annoying if you didn’t love her as much as you do. She meant well, there will never be a doubt in your mind about your girlfriend and her clumsy yet good intentions. Her sad looks were more than you could handle, though, and her whispers of encouragement only served to remind you of what you lost.

So, when it became painfully obvious she couldn't help you on her own, she did the only thing she could think of. She called Yelena and begged her to talk you down from the metaphorical ledge you’re on. The one that told you you didn’t deserve to be Spiderwoman anymore, not when you were responsible for the death of the only family you had left.

“y/n!” Your self-deprecating spiral comes to a stop the second you hear Kate’s voice again. “I know you can hear me. Please, babe, just let me in.”

You can hear the tears that cling to her eyes even through the door that separates you. It should be a reminder of how much your girlfriend loves you but in reality, it only furthers the disdain you hold for yourself right now.

The warmth of the blanket you’re hiding under is no replacement for Kate’s strong embrace but you can’t find the strength to get out of bed. It’s not like you’re happy about it but you can’t do much to lift the heavy weight of grief that holds you down.

At least not on your own.

You can barely make out the sound of the archer’s voice but you don’t understand the word she says. Much less who she’s saying them to.

“I just want to help,” she says for the fifth time, earning herself yet another one of Yelena’s eye rolls.

“Yes, I know, you have said that a million times already.”

“I just don’t understand why I can’t go in there with you. She’s my girlfriend.”

“y/n isn’t in a good mental place, Kate Bishop. You will only get hurt.”

“Isn’t that exactly why I should be there? I’m supposed to be the one taking care of her when she’s not doing okay.”

“Put the puppy eyes away, you’re staying outside.”

“Fine…But-”

“No.”

The hushed sound of voices turns into the tell-tale sound of the doorknob being messed with. You assume Kate is attempting to pick the lock again so you merely sigh and turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling and trying to erase May’s face from your mind.

You feel a familiar exhaustion starting to creep in when the bedroom door slams open.

“I thought you said you were going to pick the lock!”

“Do not be a baby about it, Kate Bishop, you’re rich.”

“It was a nice door.”

The ghost of a smile appears on your face at Kate’s complaint but the reaction is more subconscious than anything. It’s almost like your body reacts instantly to your girlfriend even while your mind is struggling to stay afloat.

“Stay.” You miss the glare Yelena throws Kate’s way but the sound of footsteps approaching manages to register in your mind.

Your first instinct is to hide despite how ridiculous of an idea it is. You reach for your blanket and throw it over your face to cover your tired eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Yelena sighs but makes no attempt to force you to face her. She may act like a jerk sometimes but she cares a lot about you and Kate…mainly you but the archer doesn’t need to know that her playful insults aren’t always completely playful.

“y/n,” the blonde says softly as she sits down next to you. “I do not want to be the one to tell you this but your girlfriend is losing her marbles over you.”

“Yelena!”

The Russian mumbles some curse words you don’t fully understand before continuing. “How do you live with her? She is more annoying than her dog.”

“Don’t bring Lucky into this,” you murmur, deciding only to speak up to protect the loyal dog’s honor.

“I would say I’m sorry but I am not. It’s nice to see you’re still alive.”

You don’t remove your (literal) safety blanket but you feel Yelena’s hand find your own over the fabric. A moment passes before you stick your hand out and allow the blonde to intertwine her fingers with yours.

It’s a wordless action and yet it brings tears to your eyes. You’re not sure how or why but you don’t dare fight against the emotions that gather in your grief-stricken body. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“You don’t mean that,” she replies, no traces of her usual sarcasm in her tone. “You’re just upset.”

The word doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel. It’s like your mind is painfully aware of how alive you are while your body is more than happy decomposing within the four walls of your bedroom.

“Try devastated.”

Yelena either doesn’t understand what you mean or she happily accepts the replacement. “Okay, you’re just devastated. Staying inside isn’t going to bring her back, you know?”

“You’re one to talk,” you mutter despite how harsh your words truly are.

Fortunately, the Russian might be the only person you know who is able to take that harshness in stride. “You’re right, I did awful things when I learned what happened to Natasha. But I didn’t do it for her. I did it for myself. Because I thought it was the only way to cope.”

You take the words for what they are, a reminder that you’re not alone. That you’re not the only person to almost succumb to the powerful anger hidden within the sadness and regret. What happened to May is miles away from what happened to Natasha, though, and somehow the comparison only makes things worse.

“It’s my fault she’s dead.” All the tears you had been holding back finally fall, forcing you to accept the reality you’ve been trying to escape from all these days. “I got my mom killed.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know that-”

“Of course, I know that.” You use your free hand to pull the blanket down and finally face Yelena’s affectionate gaze. “Who else is to blame if it’s not me?”

“Try the homicidal maniac with a glider.”

Yelena groans and the familiarity of the scene helps to ease some of your pain. “What happened to staying outside, Kate Bishop?”

“y/n needs me.”

The words are simple in nature and they’re nothing you haven’t heard before but the reaction they bring out of you isn’t one you’re used to.

Thankfully, Kate crosses the space between you without you having to say anything.

Yelena tries to move away but you tighten your grip on her hand before she can get too far. She rolls her eyes at you but accepts the silent request, choosing to remain seated by your side while Kate literally climbs on top of you.

“You guys are strange.”

You’re too focused on the relief of having your girlfriend’s body back on top of you to argue back.

The archer lazily wraps an arm around your middle while her head rests on top of your shoulder so she’s able to glare at her best friend. They only last a few seconds before they start arguing about something so you close your eyes and let the sound of their voices drown out the memories that threaten to come back.

“Hey.” Kate’s voice is a mere whisper against your tear-stained cheeks. “I love you.”

You don’t have to open your eyes to be able to see the sincerity she exudues with every breath she takes and every look she gives you.

“I love you too.”

It’s not nearly enough to get rid of all your pain but it’s enough to remind you what you’re fighting for every day. You’re fighting for the ones you love. Even the ones you’ve lost.

And maybe fighting won't bring them back but you don't need to. Being with the ones you have left is more than enough for you.

[mel-155-a]

I fucking hate being trans and also transitioning was the correct decision and I have no idea how to square those two things.

Hormones took way too long to do way too little, almost twelve years down the line I still get constantly misgendered, my tits are...fine. I guess. Average, which is honestly more than I expected so.....woo.

Vocal training makes me suicidal and a significant majority of the people offering it are actually offering extremely overpriced singing lessons when they aren't even qualified in anyway to do that beyond "being good at singing". I'm still stuck in a shitty cycle of trying it and failing hard every couple of years, because my voice makes me cry when I fail to disassociate properly from it in my day to day life and actually hear it.

It took me ten years to get the first stage of a colovaginalplasty in July, and it's been three months of pain, frustration, anxiety, and fear as my reward for the previous ten years of endless humiliation and stress that was constantly getting fucked with by surgeon's offices and insurance companies. I have never been particularly horny, but even for me, three months of any kind of masturbation or sex being complicated and difficult to get anything out of is a whole fucking lot to deal with.

I am getting the second stage in December, and the wait is hellish and the healing process is going to be worse, another extended painful, frustrating, anxiety and fear inducing healing period that will likely last at least a year, maybe longer. And it may or may not be over at that point, I might need revisions which will require more healing and frustration and pain.

I could try to get some kind of FFS so I could look in the mirror without cringing, but god, MORE surgery? Having to go through another years long process to try and force an insurance company to cover it, only to get the chance to be miserable for a year or more? Yeah, sounds great. Just what I wanted.

Make-up is a no go because of the face stuff, clothes generally don't fit me because I am a freakishly large 6'3" 230 something pound giant, and even when I do find something, a new skirt might feel good for an afternoon if I am really lucky. Getting misgendered in it regularly lasts forever.

And the trans community is just FUCKED. I know I am a traumatized, depressed, downer pretty regularly, and that is after ten years of therapy and trying really hard to get better. There are quite a lot of trans people who have not had the chance to do that ten years of work on themselves and oof. It shows. It's not their fault, but god is it draining to constantly be around.

Add in the fact that I am a trans woman who has the gall to not be bright, happy, and conventionally attractive, that I am not the girldick sex bunny AND I am also not the humble non-passing ogress who is none-the-less so proud and happy to be trans, who has pride flag everything and a dozen Blahajs around and just...ugh. I can feel people just waiting for a reason to make the call-out posts and when I eventually come across them where they think I won't see, I just want to never talk to anyone again.

Nothing about being trans is good for me. It is all an exercise in misery both internal and external that I can never escape. But it was also the right choice, not transitioning was worse. What the fuck do I do with that?

It's made even worse because I feel like I am "betraying the cause" or something, hurting all the other vulnerable trans women around me and the non trans femmes I love and have in my life, by being this just constantly screaming pain parade. That there should be a finish line to all this and I should have reached it by now, and been able to come back and happily report to everyone else that their time wandering in the desert will end as well.

I am just stuck. I don't have the resources or ability to disappear into the background and leave being trans behind except as a historical footnote, and it's all so normalized that any joy or novelty is long, long gone, leaving just the pain. I am not sure the joy and novelty were EVER there for me personally. If they were, the memories are so distant and faded as to be meaningless.

So...what the fuck do I do? There isn't a Transition 2 to get me out of the rut. This is just my life. And it fucking sucks.

I feel really apprehensive about posting this, I feel like people will be weird about it. But I am pretty sure that I can't be the only person who feels like this. Who feels stuck, left behind, and unwelcome because they are miserable with the thing that they are constantly told should have saved them. So, if that sounds like you, you aren't alone. I don't have any answers either, but we can have a little pity party together I guess. Wooooo.

[lilitusworld]

TW - Family Vent ❀ my past <3 pt.1

my step-mother

my parents divorced when i was in grade 4. neither my mother or father had dated (with my awareness) until grade 8. where my father had met a woman online, they had been on a few dates and became official before i had known.

at this time i was shared-custody between both my parents and was very excited to have another older female representation in my life, as in my early-mid teens my mother and i never got along. but who did really...

when i first met her we got along quite well, i was very excited to go to nail salons and shopping trips. however, walking into my fathers home after a week at my mothers the house was different.

everything changed, the living room, decorations, kitchen. it was like a different home. turns out, my step-mother moved in without my knowledge.

i felt a little pressure in my chest, but growing up i've learned to adapt quickly to environments so overall i seemed okay with it.

grade 9 came along... i fell into a chronic depression for 4 months. i couldn't bring my body to clean my room or myself. i wanted to d!e and i hated the world (typical angsty teen right??)

thats when my step-mother began to hate me... makes sense i was a horrible person when i was in this stage. it must have been confronting for her to never have a child than suddenly being thrown into the angsty teen stage.

i don't remember a lot from this period but i do remember yelling and screaming between us both...

ever since then she's hated me no matter how mature i tried to become. after a few years of trying to be kind just to be met with aggression i gave up and just avoided her at all costs. i still do to this day.

some significant moments i do remember that have impacted me (there are a lot more but they're insignificant i suppose) were:

17 - forgetting to wash my dishes (3 bowls and 2 glasses rinsed) before i left the house, i went to my friends apartment for a summer wine and swim. she messaged me freaking out. i called her in a panic and she responded saying "if you don't clean this by the time i wake up i will put this dishes on your bed, you're a dirty fucking pig". she had a 5am shift and i did not wake up... but when i did i woke up to my dishes in my bed with me.

ever since then i have had feelings of anxiety of forgetting anything in the household!

17 - as said previously i had been worried to be too much of a nuisance in the household. so i would time my washing with an alarm so i can hang it out before someone else uses it. i guess i timed it a few minutes late as i cam downstairs to my wet washing dumped on the ground in our backyard. it ended up ruining my year 12 graduation blazer with all the special notes from my friends and teachers.

18 - went upstairs for some water and she asked my to bring my plates from downstairs as 'half the kitchen was there'. i went downstairs and only had 1 plate and a glass which was mine that i kept in my room for decoration. i brought it up, washed up and went back downstairs. she quietly said "pull yourself together stupid girl" as i was closing the door but i heard her. I went into my room (i'm laying naked cause its summer and im hot hehe) and i can suddenly hear her footsteps running downstairs. i screamed that im naked and she yelled 'i dont care' and barged into my room. i could only cover myself with a pillow. she began screaming at me asking where the rest of the plates were and began rummaging through my room (she ended up breaking my MISS DIOR PERFUME WHICH HURT MY SOULL BROO i dont think it was intentional though) and couldn't find anything. turns out my dad was in the backyard with the dishes preparing for a dinner party.

i just don't know what to do guys. i don't know how to handle this. i've tried fighting back which just made it 10x worse.

i know she is not a villain and i haven't helped our relationship but i've tried so hard to not be in the way and to be respectful and mature.

i've tried being nice and it meant nothing to her. so now i just act like a monotone robot.

i have so much distaste i can't even look at her or communicate with her so i avoid it at all costs.

not to mention the amount of times she just walks into my room when i'm gone. i feel sick everytime i leave the house because i just feel she'll go through it.

i have no privacy and it makes me feel so emaciated. like i'm a disgusting bug on her shoe.

[petrenocka]

Maybe that's a hot take, but I do think Wrathion being absent in Legion is a great writing choice.

Sure, entirely sidestepping the character who self-fulfilling prophecy-ed the expansion into being might seem silly, but for Wrathion's own ark it makes perfect sense.

Because at this point Wrathion is absolutely convinced that Azeroth is doomed. His plans to muster an army capable of dealing with The Burning Legion could not have been more of a failure. He has every reason to believe that his vision of the end is guaranteed to come true and that he is the cause of it. Just from him touching the problem, even with the best intentions it got worse in every way.

That's entirely too much to take in for a person who's entire purpose is proving to the world and more importantly to himself, that his nature and heritage is NOT that of a world ending monster.

Not going to lie, big mood checking out of trying after fucking up so bad it reinforces every single doubt you have about your worth.

This is exasperated by Wrathions self perception as a ""smart guy who sees the reality for what it is"". When you conclude with certainty by using cold facts and logic that you are a failure, are always wrong and break everything you touch, a depressed mind won't catch the contradiction between "I'm always wrong" and "my self assessment is correct".

Not only does Wrathion's pride feed his faith in his doom prophecy, the irreversibility if his mistake. It most definitely makes him completely unpreceptive to the possibility that whatever he is currently thinking bout himself may not be true.

Makes sense why Wrathion would be paralyzed in a dark corner somewhere the entire expansion.

But then the unthinkable happens: mortals beat The Burning Legion, and we beat it so hard Fell is now more or less off the multiverse politics chart for the time being. We kill a Titan for god's sake!

Which for Wrathion was probably such a relief and, barrirring actual therapy, exactly what he needed. Not only could he rejoice that his mistake literally wasn't the end of the world, it meant his prophecy was wrong. More importantly here he has the best possible proof that mortals of Azeroth can stand up for themselves. That he doesn't need to be the one hero to save the day, but that perhaps just participating in the process is enough.

My headcanon is that it was enough to let Wrathion put himself back together somewhat and after climbing out of that hole he jumped into Void research as an outlet/distraction. Hence why he is suddenly the best specialist on protection against Old God corruption in VoN.

And after all of that Wrathion gets character development that allows him to be content with playing a secondary role in defeating N'Zoth. He was invaluable yes, but he allowed us to take center stage, puts his trust in us to do our thing. And in my opinion self isolation and paranoia/need for control where the main things that left Neltarion vulnerable to old god influence.

Which makes it so neat that this is how Wrathion finally gets an oh so needed W. As well as quite literally allows black dragons to return ro Azeroth.

[chaosdisorganized]

I haven't made a post on here in while.

I've been improving in some areas and getting worse in others. My system communication has significantly improved, I'm not as dissociated as I once was and I've been recovering some memory of my childhood, we're able to recognize switches more, have identified and named over 100 parts in the system, and better understand our structuring and functioning.

Which is a sign of recovery right! But it sucks. My life fucking sucks and I hate it. It sucks now just not as badly as before. Through system communication, I've also discovered many of my parts don't like me, the host, and me and another alter started a campaign to try to get everyone "on my side" because I'm trying to help us heal and get better but I can't really do that with an incooperative system who doesn't trust me. And then while going through all this inner turmoil and facing my problems instead of dissociating from them all this shit started happening in my life. My ceiling fell, my landlord won't fix it and it's been like a month. It's been a headache trying to deal with her, I've been threatening legal action because mold was found on the ceiling that fell, it's a health hazard and she couldn't give two shits! Fuck her. Then my mom got diagnosed with cancer, that was a hard blow none of my system was prepared for. I would think im coping with it fine only to discover I've just been dissociating and I'm actually not fine or coping with it. Well I guess the dissociation is kinda coping but I'm trying to not rely on dissociation so much anymore. And this of course brought up all this shit about my mom I wasn't prepared to discover or know and it sent me into a deep depression. All this stress has been getting to me and effecting me physically, I have been sick 4 times in the past 2 months, I have an infected tooth I can't afford to fix that keeps getting absessed and idk what to do about it because they can't just keep giving me antibiotics right? There's another absess forming rn and this will be the 4th time this tooth has gotten an absess. I told my partner it will keep coming back if I don't get the tooth removed and I saw a dentist, they want 1,500 fucking dollars. 1500$ I don't have. 1500$ I will never have. Fuck the dentist. Fuck teeth being luxury bones. And fuck my life. I'm like in this weird in between stage where I feel like im getting better and worse at the same time. It's frustrating and I hate it. Ugh.

[bitchesgetriches]

Hey bitches,

I'm 26, almost 27, and I don't have a savings, IRA, investments, anything. The reason for this is because I was very suicidal for a very long time, so I just didn't see the point of saving or making plans for the future, let alone retirement. I ended up moving back in with my parents because I didn't feel safe living on my own or with people who weren't family. It's only a few months ago that my mental health changed for the better, and ironically, now the fact that I am so far behind everyone else my age causes my depression and anxiety to worsen. Fortunately, finances is something that I know I can do something about, I just... don't know where to start.

Currently, I'm busy paying off student loans, so while I have a savings account, I don't put much into it. My job is fantastic in regards to work environment and coworkers and validating that I'm good at something - it definitely helped me find a will to live again - but it doesn't have benefits and it pays far below the national average for this position. I know finding a new job will help the money + moving out front and maybe even the IRA thing, because don't a lot of employers match what you put in there? But I'm admittedly reluctant/scared to job hunt again, because the jobs I had before this one were horrible and made my mental health issues even worse. I have a Bachelor's degree and everything, but since I was so suicidal all throughout university and up until a few months ago, I just... didn't bother looking into internships or anything, so this is my first job in my actual field. I don't know if it's bad to stay at a job that doesn't have benefits or pay too well while I'm still getting my feet under me and figuring out what life is like when you actually, you know, want to live it. And I know that you are not mental health professionals, so I don't know if you have any input there or not.

But generally speaking, when it comes to finances, I'm just... Not sure where I'm supposed to be. How much should a 26/27 year old have saved? Or in an IRA? Or in investments? And how do you balance all those things while paying for yourself to live on your own? Is it bad to stay somewhere that you know pays well below the national average while you're still figuring this life thing out, and then job search again later, when you feel steadier? Or is that shooting yourself in the foot?

I know this is a lot. Like I said, I'm kind of starting from zero in my late-20s pretty much, so... I don't even know where to start or what to focus on. Retirement, maybe? No idea. But any input/advice/articles you want to share would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you so much for all that you do!

Honeybee... we are SO gd proud of you for staying alive. True--we're not mental health professionals! But we understand mental health struggles and how drastically they can affect your finances. So this is your official permission to forgive yourself for falling behind on money achievements while you were literally battling your own brain for the will to live. That is HUGE. You survived. Don't feel any guilt for that.

Next, stop thinking in terms of where you "should be" at your age. You're starting late by society's standards, and that's society's problem, not yours. Here is our advice on where to get started right now, at your stage regardless of age:

The Financial Order of Operations: 10 Great Money Choices for Every Stage of Life 

[haggishlyhagging]

On the night of July 10, 1963, I was talking to Rick on the phone. He had gone back to Utah to teach summer school at Utah State, and I'd stayed behind in Minnesota to have the baby at the university clinic. As I stood there in the bedroom of our mobile home with his voice in my ear, the membrane broke and amniotic fluid gushed hotly down my legs. "It's coming, Rick" I cried. "I'm on my way," he promised. Shirley Wallace, a Mormon friend who lived near in another trailer (and who would be in the same hospital having her third baby a week later), drove me to the hospital that night.

There I began an agonizing thirty-six-hour labor, during which it's possible I might have died if Rick hadn't arrived and forced someone to come and look at me. "Oh," they said. "How long do you say she's been in labor?" "Thirty-six hours!" he bellowed. So they checked me, realized I'd never go into the final stages on my own, and gave me some intravenous chemical to make up for my lack. I realized with shock that if I'd lived a generation or two earlier, I'd have died in childbirth. That experience was also the first time, but not the last, that I was made aware of the immense indifference of many who attend women in hospitals.

That Rick had dropped the phone and sped to Minneapolis to be with me was very gratifying. But he could never bear to wait, and as the labor dragged on and on he became annoyed not just at the doctors, but at me for having prompted him to come so soon, as if I should have been able to foresee my thirty-six hour long performance. On top of the postpartum blues, which struck me down while I was still in the hospital and subsequently tortured me for weeks, guilt was subtly created in me because of his unnecessarily long wait in Minneapolis, when he shouid have been finishing up his class at Utah State.

As I look back, I realize that women have always been manipulated by guilt. Men are socialized to deal with women this way, and we women are socialized to accept the guilt they lay on us.

After having been pummeled half to death in the preposterously and unnecessarily long labor, which it seemed nobody cared about except Rick and me, Eric was finally born. A wizened little old man. (I called him "Oldie" for a long time.) Because of his rocky horror of a birth, he was a colicky, restless baby for the first few months. As I slogged about in a fog of fatigue and postpartum depression, I found myself wondering why I had to bear this burden so alone.

From the first, Rick was never very interested in parenting and consequently never did much of it. This disappointed me, but I accepted it as The Way Things Are. My friend Hazel reminds me of the day, a week or so after Eric's birth, that I called her in tears. My breasts were infected, I had a temperature of 104, and Eric, not being able to nurse, was even more colicky and cross than usual. I'd reached the limits of my endurance. Could she please come over and take Eric home with her for a little while so I could rest? She sped over, to find Rick studying in the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to any problem, and me, dizzy with fever and fatigue, determinedly bathing Eric in the kitchen sink so he'd be fresh for her to take. She remembers being shocked and angry at Rick and thinking to herself, "It's rough for me," (she was having extreme difficulty adjusting to the Mormon wife role) "but Sonia's got it worse."

In those first few months of motherhood, before I succeeded in stifling such "unnatural" thoughts, I wondered guiltily whether it was possible that I'd been deceived about motherhood's being the totally fulfilling activity the church and society assured me it was. It didn't take me long to learn that this was indeed a myth for a good many women, if not for most.

-Sonia Johnson, From Housewife to Heretic

[hyenahunt]

Rouge & Ruby: Youth's Depression - 1

Writer: Umeda Chitose

Season: Winter

Characters: Ibara, Hinata

Proofreading: royalquintet (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: Mirei

Ibara: (Have I grown too attached to this project from spending so much time on it?)

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Ibara: (...As expected, it's much easier when I only have to think about my body's movements.)

(Muscles that are burdened adapt by growing stronger. Also, sweat forms as glycogen and glucose are consumed. The body processes this all by itself. )

… But that shall be all for today. Excessive training will do nothing but build up fatigue.

Ibara: — Whew …

(Who'd expect that Jun would come for me like that? Not even I expected it… Now that I’ve calmed down to some extent, let's try to look back on what happened.)

Firstly, no one was against Adam and Eve having their own performances as well.

Then, as Jun said, there is indeed a part of me who is not thrilled with the idea that COMP will be tangled with our Chocolat Fes project.

And... that's why I could not hold back my frustration and reacted like that. I would have rejected the idea if I could.

(… Then, after ending it with something borderline sarcastic, I left Jun there.)

…

Ibara: … Argh. Damn it. What am I even doing?

(There are already tons of cases where I've already swallowed my opinions many times due to the wants of adults… and yet.)

(Have I grown too attached to this project from spending so much time on it?)

(And now I'm feeling this vexed, and my worries only grow worse—)

(I should be ashamed of myself.)

… Perhaps I should return to the office and rethink this.

(About what I can truly agree with, and what I've been forced to agree with...—)

Location: CosPro Office

Ibara: (…? The staff should have already clocked out. But someone seems to be sitting on a chair?)

Excuse me, do you have business with Cosmic Production?

Hinata: Ah, Vice-president! Good work, salute☆

As I thought, you're really still in the ES building!

Ibara: Hinata-kun!?

Hinata: I'm sorry for coming this late! But see, I want to talk—or rather, I want your advice!

Ibara: I can certainly speak with you, but did you have to come to the agency this late? Why not wait until tomorrow?

And also, it's not like I'm only available at night. If you send me a message, I can make time for you.

Hinata: Ahahaha… Sorry about that. But, I need the answer urgently.

Ibara: …Go ahead.

Hinata: Thank you so much! Actually this is about Chocolat Fes…

So, you know how 2wink is joining both Yumenosaki and ES' Chocolat Fes?

And currently, me and Yuuta-kun are fight— no, I mean excitedly exchanging ideas on what to do.

From that discussion, it seemed like Yuuta-kun really wanted an extravagant set and flashy production for our stage.

Ibara: Hmm? That's quite an unusual setup for 2wink.

Hinata: Right? After all, we are a performance-oriented unit that has polished our skills by doing street performance on an empty road.

… But we can’t just discard this idea that we took so long to get to, since we’re running out of time. I also want to fulfil Yuuta-kun's wish.

That's why, since I'm sure we’ll keep working hard for CosPro, I was thinking that maaaaybe~ we could make it happen with some help from the agency…

Ibara: I see. Rather than the concept itself, you are consulting about the budget of your project to fulfil Yuuta-kun's wish.

Hinata: Yes… Even if we use the same set for both performances, there’s still a cost that comes with moving the set around.

Ah! But even if we’re using the same set, we won't be doing the same exact things! It wouldn't be very exciting if we just do the same thing.

Ibara: Fufu, that will trouble me if you can't do at least that much.

But budget, right, as for the budget…

Hinata: So… I’m guessing that just working as hard as possible won’t be enough to pay the company back?

Ibara: — Ah, it’s not that. I was merely unsure whether to pay from my own pocket, or request someone else's.

Hinata: ?

Ibara: Well, I’ve decided, it’s a deal. I'll invest in 2wink.

Hinata: Eh, for real!?

Ibara: 2wink is the only CosPro unit still currently affiliated with Yumenosaki. Besides, you two must be feeling ridiculed with the lack of our people in Yumenosaki's Old-Fashioned Sports Festival.¹

And even without all of that, you have both been doing very good work.

Hinata: Eh, eeeeh!? I came here to give it a shot thinking I had nothing to lose, and yet I’m being showered with so much praise…I don't even know what to say…!

Ibara: No need to be so bewildered. You've succeeded in your negotiations; you are allowed to be happy about it.

Hinata: Yes, thank you so much!

Ibara: You have to liven up Chocolat Fes, do PR for CosPro, and do a performance that won’t embarrass our agency. These are the conditions for my support.

Hinata: That's not a problem! I'll do my best…!

Ah~ I’m so glad, so relieved~! I gotta go tell Yuuta-kun first thing in the morning tomorrow…♪

[ ☆ ]

✦✦✦✦✦

Translation Note:

Yumenosaki's Old-Fashioned Sports Festival is referring to the Sport festival in Yumenosaki that occurred in Grand Slam

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[harudnae]

Draft purge will resume soon. For now: angsty fic written between a fever and disappointing news on a very meh day 🤷

Basically: Rayleigh's internal monologue after the war in Marineford, with spoilers up to Wano, heavy feels included, hurt no comfort.

(I post this immediately after writing it because it hurt me enough that I don't want to read it again. We're all different, but a warning can't hurt. Ha. Hurt. I'm going to nest under a blanket once I'm done.)

Also posted on AO3 on 2024.01.31

Rating: General

Summary: Rayleigh, after the war.

Content warnings : angst, hurt no comfort, 3 out of 5 stages of grief (anger + bargaining + depression), Roger x Rayleigh if you squint (platonic works too, either way it's not the main focus), sad ending, I repeat: it starts bad and it ends worse

Word count: ~700

☠️ Gloom and doom

Rayleigh will never forgive Sakazuki, and vows to kill the man on the spot if he ever gets the chance. If he can't he'll die trying, and he'll make sure the bastard is permanently incapacitated.

Rayleigh will never forgive Teach, more so since he was a Whitebeard Pirate for decades. Rayleigh always had a bad feeling about him, even back when he was a rookie, but he went far beyond unforgivably despicable and dragged too many people down for him to rise with his dark schemes.

Rayleigh will never forgive Sengoku, even though he knows that the Fleet Admiral had his hands tied and the Five Elders have been ordering him around for a long time.

Rayleigh will never forgive Garp, even though he knows that he did whatever he could considering his rank and fame in the Marine.

Rayleigh will never forgive Whitebeard, to think that after all this time, the friendly rivalry, their epic battles, the feasts and drinks shared... He never told Rayleigh, or anyone else for that matter, never mentioned who he chose to replace Oden as Second Division Commander.

(Newgate entrusted Roger with his brother and took in his son in turn, he traded a brother for a son and they were family, but Roger's family was still there too–)

What was Roger thinking? He trusted Garp to a fair extent, but Rayleigh is the one with whom he raised two sons, and he could have raised another one, had Roger given him the chance.

And Rayleigh knows, has known for so long, that Roger didn't really think everything through, but this is just fucked up. Leave it to Roger to take the absolute worst decision of his life when Rayleigh isn't there to do anything about it.

Rayleigh will try, but he doesn't know if he can forgive Roger, either.

But above anyone else, Rayleigh will never forgive himself for not recognizing the rising pirate he met in Sabaody a few years ago.

His damn freckles were enough to distract him from the same eyes, same smile, same threatening Haki, even the fact that he had the same name as Roger's goddamn sword.

Ace. And his first mate, Deuce.

How could Rayleigh be so blind and absolutely out of his mind not to see how similar they were?

Ace died smiling.

So amazingly alike, until the very end...

Rayleigh buries his head between his hands and closes his eyes, heart heavy with the growing void inside it.

"The One Piece, huh... I wonder who will find it."

"My son, obviously!"

"You don't even have one!"

"I'll have one! Just you wait!"

Tears spill from Rayleigh's eyes, and heavy sobs shake his shoulders.

He was so focused on meeting the boy that Shanks entrusted the straw hat to, that he never even considered that Roger's biological son could be somewhere out there.

How stupid was he not to recognize the fire in the teenager's eyes? Devil Fruit aside, Rayleigh should have known. Should have, could have– and now it's too late.

How cursed is the Gol D. bloodline that Ace met Roger's nakama but none of them could do a thing to prevent either deaths?

How ironic that Rayleigh kept tabs on Shanks and Buggy as if they were Roger's only sons, but he never knew who Ace truly was...

How unfair is it that Ace grew up with Luffy – Garp's own grandson, of all absurd coincidences – who inherited Roger's dream and his straw hat, while Ace only had profound resentment towards the infamous reputation tainting his birth name?

How unforgiving is fate that Luffy is now the one going after the One Piece, while his sworn brother never even dreamed of going to Laugh Tale? His sworn brother, the son of the King of the Pirates, heir to the one that sent all these sailors on the Grand Line and without whom the title Luffy wants to claim wouldn't even exist!

How painful to lose a part of himself that Rayleigh didn't know existed until now...

Nothing makes any sense and everything's bitter.

Rayleigh doesn't even know what to believe in anymore.

Let's hope Shakky will let him drink her bar dry this time, too.

[inkofamethyst]

September 24, 2024

My dnd-friend and I might be looking into doing Bicolline one summer in the future!!! Probably not this coming summer but perhaps the next? Kinda maybe screws with my plan to do an industry internship in summer 2026, but hey, there's always summer 2027 (unless we end up going back again)?

This will mean saving/budgeting! buying/renting camping gear! learning how to camp! getting/making garb!(!!!) figuring out food! figuring out transport! Should be fun to plan, will absolutely be the geekiest thing I've ever done. If I ever become a mom that would be S-tier mom-lore for sure (my sibling is likely to have children so at least I'll have good aunt-lore).

In preparation, I've signed up for laser-cutting and 3D printing courses at the local library. Might be able to make or embellish some really cool props. (Might be able to print Wanda's mask and mayyyybe crochet her Scarlet Witch 2023 comic outfit/top/make it a mini dress? and have that done by halloween... meaning I should start the design process now..)

One thing I've learned recently is that I love me a little tool. A little thingamabob with a handle that helps me do something a little bit easier? Can't get enough. It makes me not hate certain chores lol. Flossing, cleaning the tub, cleaning my water bottles... little tools little tools little tools :)

Okay, serious now. I am feeling better, but not quite my normal self yet. Close, though. Still stressed, but not, like depressed.

I think one of the major benefits of having an autobiographical behavior record that contains like a quarter of my life (which is kind of wild!!! senior year and college and starting grad school currently takes up a whole fourth of my life!!) is that I can pull from the anthropological tradition and form evidence-based theories to predict and explain future behaviors. Like how I know that roughly six weeks into a new environment, I am prone to go through a brief mental rough patch. And application seasons also tend to have a negative impact on my mental health over an extended period. But I think, like in anthropology, I can revise that theory a bit. Application seasons are really just an extended period over which I am preparing to move from one stage to the next but must prove that I am ready to do so. There's a lot of uncertainty, as there's no guarantee that I will succeed in moving to the next stage. So like, yes, application seasons, but also just any period where I have to prove that I am ready to advance.

Having these theories is great, but I don't know how to use them to my advantage except to brace myself. Hm.

Well, I know myself well enough my now to know that procrastination is largely driven by the fear that I will not be able to "do well enough". So when I am particularly afraid that I will not surpass my expectations on an assignment or succeed with a set of applications or something, I will put it off. So maybe recognizing procrastination as a signal of fear (rather than accepting the idea that I'm "just lazy" (outside of burnout which is also a thing sometimes)) and forcing myself to Do It Scared (even if just a little bit of it at a time) is one way I can use this knowledge to my advantage. Because, of course, procrastination only makes me feel worse.

It's been a while since I've intellectualized my feelings lol. Back to the classics, heh.

Today I'm thankful for, you guessed it, the Abzu OST.

I'm also thankful for the little bit of academic validation I got from a former mentor who is typically very cut-and-dry.

Also also thankful for the minority stem student group, they're a nice bunch to hang around.