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butternuggets-blog · 2 years ago

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Paw Patrol

Fluff/Humour, SAS Rogue Heroes Werewolf AU

Gender Neutral Reader

Outside, Cairo sweltered through the start of a blisteringly hot morning, but inside the hotel it was deceptively cool. ____ yawned and stretched; after a difficult month of sand, sweat and blood, it was nice to be able to relax and take things slow.

____ looked up as Corporal Heaney came sprinting through the hotel lobby into the dining room, weaving around guests and tables until he came to a stop in front of ____.

'What happened? What's wrong?'

'Noth-nothing's wrong, I just-' Heaney paused for air, 'Could you look after the little guy for us? Just for a short time?'

'What-oooohh!'

Tucked into the crook of Heaney's arm was a fluffy, bright-eyed white puppy. Its long ears perked up at ____'s coo, and it started wagging its tail excitedly.

'His name is David' Heaney handed him over and the puppy immediately launched himself at ____, licking them all over their face.

'I've got to go'

'Heaney, wait, does he have allergies-'

Heaney was already making his way back out the door.

'Who does he belong to?!'

'SAS!' he yelled over his shoulder, and disappeared out of sight.

____ sighed and stared at the puppy. 'What am I going to do with you, huh? What-am-I-gonna-do-with-you?!'

The puppy cocked it's head, and licked ____'s face all over, again.

________________________________________________________________

After breakfast ("No, you cannot eat my food! Noo! ...okay, just the scraps"), ____ waited patiently as the clock ticked on.

After an hour, ____ took their new companion on a trip to the alley outside to go toilet. The hotel clerk had conjured up a leash from somewhere and after distracting David with a belly rub, ____ managed to attach it without much fuss.

____ glanced at their watch, and sighed, as David cocked his leg against the alley wall. 'It's almost been two hours now. I don't think they're coming back for you, are they?'

David yipped quietly, finished peeing, and waddled back to ____.

____ scratched David's chin; the puppy whined and leaned into it, closing his eyes and letting his tongue loll out the side of his mouth.

'I wanted to go sight seeing today... would you like to come sight seeing with me, huh? Huh? Would-ya?'

David yipped again, loudly, and took off towards the street. Before he had gone a handful of steps his paws got tangled up in each other and he face-planted into the dirt.

'Oh no! Oh, baby, are you ok?!' ____ rushed over but David was already staggering to his feet, shaking his head and sneezing the sand and dust out of his nose.

'Oh, poor baby!' ____ laughed and scooped David into their arms, giving him a cuddle and a kiss on the forehead. The puppy's fur really was soft; wispy and thick, with a strong musky scent.

'There you go' ____ set David back down and gave a gentle tug on the leash. 'Off we go!'

________________________________________________________________

David was irregularly unsteady on his feet, so after much slowing down and speeding up it became easier for ____ to simply carry him.

____ stopped a few times to chat with friends, as David bounced around their feet, being adorable. Once or twice ____ had to pull him back before he followed an intriguing scent out into traffic, but on the whole he was very well-behaved.

They wandered around the markets; ____ bought a camera and a roll of film, and a red fez a street vendor had ordered for their pet monkey and had never come back to collect. They drifted through a museum, and an art gallery, and went outside the city limits to squat between the paws of the Great Sphinx, gazing up at the sunset as they ate sandwiches together for dinner.

On their way back to the hotel they passed a group of soldiers who insisted on taking photographs of David posing in front of their jeep. After being swamped beneath a collection of oversized berets, helmets and caps, a thoroughly tired David gave everyone one last lick goodbye before dozing off in ____'s arms.

Muffled shouting rent the evening air as they turned onto the main thoroughfare. Peering across the street into the hotel lobby, ____ could see the rest of their squad - Freeman, Yates, Cunningham, Willoughby, Richards, Kent and Heaney - lined up in front of the reception desk while Captain Anderson loomed over them, screaming himself hoarse.

'-UTTERLY IRRESPONSIBLE!! WHEN SOMEBODY CHARGES YOU WITH LOOKING AFTER THEIR MASCOT, YOU DO NOT PASS THE RESPONSIBILITY ALONG BECAUSE IT IS INCONVENIENT TO YOU!! I OUGHT TO LET MAYNE SORT YOU OUT!!'

Anderson hooked a thumb towards a feral-looking blonde man being held back by four other soldiers. ____ shook their head and walked in.

'WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS THE DOG??!!'

Author's Notes

'Here sir' ____ gently soothed David back to sleep as the puppy stirred from the noise. The soldiers released Mayne, who immediately strode over, arms out.

'We went out sight-seeing; I did leave a note' ____ rocked David into Mayne's arms and unclipped the leash from David's collar.

'He's been very well-behaved all day. He's had plenty of water and lots of food, oh, and this is his-' ____ pushed the tiny fez into Mayne's breast pocket.

'Thanks for taking care of him' Mayne rumbled, calmer now he was cradling the squad mascot.

____ smiled, and gave a sharp salute.

'Any time.'

Thank you Lt_Aldo_Raine for the names 😄

#sas rogue heroes #x reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #paddy mayne #werewolf au

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patriciamarieflorescruz · 1 month ago

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Patricia Marie Flores Cruz-Real story about deception and betrayal of a Filipino girl（Part 04）

Why did the posting happen? Patricia Flores Cruz had no reason or explanation, and one party even completely blocked the other. Before posting, Monkey repeatedly asked Patricia to give each other 5 minutes to have a voice or video chat, and just to explain the matter simply, but Patricia never responded. When Patricia blocked all of Monkey's accounts and even left the commonly used Chinese social media, posting became the only way for Monkey to make her appear again.

Later, Monkey came up with the bad idea of leaving a message under Patricia's company's Tiktok, and this time it can be said to be a rumor. I remember that the general content was that Patricia borrowed some money from Monkey and then disappeared. The next day, Patricia quickly sent a greeting to Monkey, and this kind of thing really worked. Patricia said that now colleagues and guests in the company think she is a prostitute, and her reputation has been ruined by Monkey.

Monkey said that you have always said that you want to leave Dubai, who will remember you after you leave, how many people in Dubai remember me now? Besides, your company has only three or five people in total. Usually, there are only a woman like her and two or three men in the store. The store's Tiktok has only a few dozen views and almost no comments. Shouldn't such comments be deleted as soon as they are found? Why do they keep the comments for a few days?

Patricia Flores Cruz complained to Monkey's sisters about everything Monkey did, but no one understood her. They even blamed her for delaying coming to China. Monkey told Patricia's brother and friends the truth of the matter, but they didn't agree with him. They all supported Patricia. When the love between two people is mixed with more people, love becomes more and more complicated. There will definitely be more people to persuade us to give up this love that does not belong to each other. Monkey should still see it clearly. Just like now, our conflicts have gradually expanded to each other's family and friends, and the harm will become greater and greater.

Patricia often told Monkey how difficult life in Dubai is and how much she wants to leave Dubai quickly, but she can never quickly give up that low-paying job, and she will always love Dubai, which she hates.

In May 2023, the Tiktok comment incident broke up their love, and Patricia Flores Cruz proposed to break up with Monkey. A Filipino girl who treats cold violence as commonplace, a Chinese boy who is powerless to post as the only way to break the silence, Monkey said he loves her, Patricia said she loves him, and in the end, they both don't love each other. Who is love and who is not love? The story is actually still going on.

For Monkey, the blow of losing love almost made him lose half of his life. From that day on, he still insisted on sending emails to Patricia every day, and there is no way to block the emails yet. Monkey told her about each other's past and each other's mistakes. Patricia rarely replied, but there were occasional replies. She said she read all the messages sent by Monkey.

Until that day came, about half a year later, Patricia suddenly contacted Monkey, but the first video chat after the breakup required Monkey to help her repay her Philippine mortgage. She had tears in her eyes and was very anxious. Things sound incredible, but driven by love, Monkey agreed without any hesitation. This video chat is the longest one among the few video chats between Patricia and Monkey from 2023 to now.

If this is Patricia's revenge plan against Monkey, how many times has Patricia deceived Monkey? Revenge is currently just a guess, without any direct evidence, and only Patricia knows the answer. Patricia always tells Monkey that her family will not help her, and Monkey is the only person in the world who can help her, but how does she treat the only person she can help her? Patricia said that she doesn't care about her family, they won't help her at all, and she hasn't contacted her family for a long time because her phone is broken. Let's look at Patricia's previous life. How can we believe that her family is not the most important to her? She seems to have been misleading Monkey to think that her family is not good to her. This may be one of Patricia's biggest lies.

Patricia also said that she has depression and wants to commit suicide. What exactly did Patricia do to deceive Monkey? In the next part, we will use the chat records as evidence to explain it to everyone one by one.

#PatriciaFloresCruz

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nelll101 · 2 years ago

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Shin sekai yori (ep. 1,2,4,12)

From the new world is honestly pretty confusing in the beginning episodes so I figured it would be better if I watch the show from beginning to end so this post is a little late. The first episode (and I think even the second one as well) is extremely difficult to understand as we don't fully understand the world these characters live in honestly, which could be compared to the children themselves. We the viewers are finding things out about this world at the same time these children are. We see the main characters, Saki, Maria, Satoru, Shun, and Mamoru. We see that children are developing and reaching puberty which then makes them develop their powers and we see adults telling these children about these powers and also things they shouldn't do as some form of "safety". In the beginning we hear about tales and restrictions that these children hear about like a tale that copy cat comes for you if u don’t graduate and crossing the holy barrier is forbidden. There is also a story about a boy that becomes some type of creature and believes he doesn’t fit on this earth and vanishes into the lake which I believe later on we find out, either that boy is Shun or related to him.

We find out that children who break these rules and don't follow the authority of the adults basically get deleted from existence. An example is the boy who cheated in the game and Shun because Shun became a karma demon.

We find out the history of their powers and the people themselves. PK is their power and was formed due to experiments done on people. It became the ultimate weapon for terrorists. In episode 14, the older woman states that human beings in this world are far more destructive than nuclear weaponry, which I thought was interesting.

Bad seeds power is psychological and personality tests that can identify potentially problematic children with accuracy. People like this are eliminated from society which reminds me heavily of psycho pass. These tests are like the dominator because there's a regulation placed by the government to control people through this set in stone system. We also find out genetic modifications were the only way to control them, 1) aversion to hurting ones own species and 2)death of shame.

One of the boys say “Im starting to think our whole society was designed just to control people". The more information these children come across, the more they start to realize how corrupt their society is. My takeaway from this show so far is rebellion. It shows adolescence and growing up and the rebellious factor that is usually brought along with development. For example, a really weird part of the show is in episode 5 when they are stressed they are taught to relieve it through sex because this society is also based on "love". There is a scene with Saki and Sakuro where they are captured by the rats that shows some aspect of this but Saki stops and says "we're not monkeys". They're stepping away from the brainwashing instilled by the adults of their society. Also in some episodes when they are in school, they are encouraged to have relations and most of them are same sex relationships which confused me (for example Saki and Maria are in a relationship and Shun and Sakuro)

Another way adults control these children are in episode 11, the disappearance of someone causes people to barely remember them. it messes with others memories deleting the person from existence and the memories and impressions that person left on other people. We come to find out in episode 14 that the adults also control the children thoughts since they are born.

The society they live in will crumble because it is all based on lies, constant deception, and strict rules that the councils have. They almost fear children. Children are some of the most curious types of people and lying to them won't work which is especially seen in this group of friends.

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lindsaybob · 2 years ago

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It's hard to pick just one of the Star Trek asks! How about #25: What’s your favorite non recurring character? (There's so many good ones!)

This one is SO DIFFICULT! (Which is why it’s taken me so long to answer it, sorry!)

I assume by non recurring character they mean a character who only appeared one time. I’m also choosing to believe that by ‘favourite’ they mean ‘enjoyed them being there’ rather than actually ‘liked them’ and that I’m not allowed to choose the monkey from Resolutions or Christina Chong’s dog, Runa 😆

I’ve got a few contenders:

* Caylem from Voyager’s ‘Resistance’ (Joel Grey is so wonderful and I love his touching relationship with Janeway, even though she isn’t who he thinks she is);

* Rain Robinson from Voyager’s ‘Future’s End’ (She’s so much fun, I almost wished they could have brought her with them);

* The female Q from Voyager’s ‘The Q and the Grey’ (Suzie Plakson! She’s so good! She might win, just for the line, “What are you doing with that dog? I wasn’t talking about the puppy.”);

* Kashyk from Voyager’s ‘Counterpoint’ (He was an asshole and I don’t believe he really did have genuine feelings for Janeway, beyond just being intrigued by her, but he was interesting and I enjoyed watching Janeway’s interactions with him so much);

* Noss from Voyager’s ‘Gravity’ (I just find her so touching);

* Captain Angel from Strange New Worlds’ ‘The Serene Squall’ (A very fun performance from a fascinating ‘bad guy’ and I didn’t see the deception coming, which gets them extra points from me).

I think, since I have to choose just one, its going to be Suzie Q. But wow, what a difficult question. There are probably LOADS of other characters I could have added to the running that I didn’t even think of in the time I had.

#star trek asks #star trek #star trek strange new worlds #star trek voyager

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starsuh · 4 years ago

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do re mi | myg

featuring. min yoongi x reader | 3.2k

summary. while teaching you how to play piano, min yoongi realizes that his dumbass might have feelings for you after all.

genre. fluff | f2l | roommate!au | mutual pining

warnings. a quarter-life crisis and a soft make-out scene at the end

Amongst Min Yoongi's many talents, his sixth sense of knowing when something was bothering you was the one that most oft caught you off guard. Whether it was the intensity in which you slammed a door shut, or the way in which you didn't choose to annoy the fuck out him like you did every other day of the week; he would notice each time. It was only clockwork that he tentatively wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you had collapsed against the couch with perceptible chagrin.

"What's up?" he asked, a simple question that often entailed a more than complicated answer. Peering down at your tightened features, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as if to make known that silence would be just as valid of a reply.

You ran your hands through your face. "I don't know,” you said. If you did, you would've told him, just as you told him everything. Though the pair of you had began as merely two people who happened to be roommates because there were no other affordable options, spending months watching Netflix with another person tends to lead to friendship — even best-friendship, though neither of you had established such a title. It was the kind of friendship that needn't clarification, rather it was just another unequivocal fact amongst many.

After kicking off your shoes (Yoongi would scold you for that in a less emotionally-turbulent time), you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in a ball-like manner. "It's really fucking lame but I’m just realizing some things,” he nodded, prompting you to continue. "I'm scared of the future, I think. I mean, everyone is, but when our prof was talking about internships and shit earlier I kind of freaked out then decided that hiding in the bathroom was the best option.”

In his gaze was a reassurance so intent that you had to look away lest you become ensnared in it. He oft had that effect, increasingly so throughout the past few weeks. "What about it?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath. “I think I know what I want to do, but then I see other people, people like you, who are so passionate about their place on Earth that to not do that thing would be a fate worse than death. Like, I love the path that I’m on but there’s always a voice that’s telling me I’m gonna fuck something up and regret everything.” You played with the loose threads of your top, pulling at the offending stitching. You laughed. “This is so stupid. I guess I’m just realizing that I might not be cut out for it.”

His sudden silence filled the room so heavily that you began to wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gears turned behind the messy black mop atop his head that hung over his eyes; a face similar to the one he makes when contemplating a new track he had produced, seeking for each of its flaws and corresponding solutions.

It was so sudden when he reached down to grab your hand that you almost jumped. An inch away from falling onto his chest with the sudden upwards tug, you steeled yourself. "I'll show you something," he said to which you replied with a questioning stare. "It'll just be a sec, c'mon."

You allowed him to drag you to his bedroom, though not without glaring at the back of his head and whining. "Your room smells like Cheetos and day-old boxers."

He rolled his eyes. "I cleaned it this morning, so shut up."

He pushed the door closed with his hip, never once letting go of your hand until he unceremoniously shoved you towards the left end of the keyboard bench. You wiped the accumulated hand sweat against the rough fabric of your jeans, both thankful yet forlorn that he had let go. His was a comfort rarely given and you craved his affection the way one did with a cat that ignored those around it.

He reached down to plug the extension into the socket. "Can I play you something?"

You blinked, unsure if the nervous tone laced in the question was figment or reality. “What?”

He gave you a blank stare though it didn’t distract you from the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. “I said, can I play you something? Something I wrote?”

Impatient, he didn’t give you a second glance or a moment to reply before his hands flew across the board, pulling melodies out of the nooks and crannies of its black and white keys. Through every note, he told you of emotion, of love, of heartbreak and melancholy. You don't think you had ever understood what music was until then. It was more than his expertise, though he was quite the expert; it was the way his eyes closed at certain shrills and the way his shoulders hunched at others, the way he slammed harder into the keys and at other parts softer. He played like a poet. A writer. And you refused to be someone who didn't appreciate it for what it was: a story told to you.

The slight smirk gracing his soft features told you that he found amusing the way your mouth gaped open in shock. You’d only ever heard the distant echoes of his sound from behind closed doors as you walked past.

Yoongi had never played for you before, was even shocked that he was able to now, knowing that your mere presence in close proximity provided quite the distraction.

When he stopped, the air almost rang in its silence, as if you had forgotten what the world sounded like without his music in it. The hush blanket laid across the room felt bare and vulnerable. You understood now more than ever why he locked himself within the confines of his space in all hours of the day. If you could live in his symphonies, you would.

"Wow.” Because what else could be said? "That was... Yoongi, you're amazing."

His smirk remained, though as more of a mask to hide softer feelings behind. "Must've been if you're complimenting me for once.”

"Because you already have a ginormous ego."

He began playing once more. This time, a slow and deceptively simple melody. The chords were arrows tightly strung that flew through the air in wisps of smoke. To you, its warmth was paralleled to the feeling of his own beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours as he reached to play a few lower keys.

"I think you're taking it too seriously," he said. "The future, I mean."

Your brows furrowed. "I kind of have to, dude."

He rolled his eyes but kept playing, occasionally glancing at you as he did so. "What I mean is," he pressed softly against the keys in the left end of the piano, their tenor notes filling your ears. "You need to calm down. Like this," the already soft melody slowed. "You know what you want, don't you? Why are you hesitating?"

You stilled, the feeling of being both caught and scolded grounding you in time. Your eyes focused on his hands to avoid the feeling of his analyzing gaze on the side of your face. “There are things I want to accomplish but there’s also things I want to have,” you groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should choose the former or the latter but they’re so entangled that I can’t even tell which is which anymore.”

"Some things are only difficult if you think they're difficult." He looked down at the keys. "Like playing the piano, everyone knows that learning it is hard but something like this-" he played three chords in succession. "-sounds simple, right?" He continued to play those same chords until they blended together in a single melodious breeze. "But when I was a kid, learning piano was the bane of my twelve year old existence. I hated it so much because my impatient ass wanted to be good without trying. So, in true dumbass fashion, I quit taking lessons after two weeks."

You tilted your head towards him. “How did you learn then?"

“Well, I realized I was being a huge pussy and went back." Shaking his head before the glaze of the memory could wash over, he nodded towards you. Grabbing your hand, he placed them over the keys. “Can I teach you a chord?”

Your heart spiked in one fell swoop. “What? And embarrass myself in front of the music god himself?"

He laughed and it lit up his eyes brighter than the screen of his laptop that he had forgotten to shut off, still on the League of Legends home screen. “I told you, it's only hard if you think it is."

Too flustered to argue, you could only watch as he directed your fingers towards the correct keys until three were stretched towards their respective positions. C Major. You wondered if he could hear the rapid pace of your heart through the vibrations on your skin from where his larger hand rested atop your own. You could only pray to any god who would listen that he didn’t.

Among the numerous feelings that bubbled beneath your chest, the sudden pinch of ice that struck your nerves as he lifted his palm away from yours was one that you were the most unsure of. Filing that thought away for later, you focused on the most important task at hand: avoiding looking like an idiot in front of Min Yoongi.

Before you could retreat, your hands pressed down.

A sudden burst of sound filled the silence that you hadn't realized had grown so deafening. Your eyes widened as if you hadn't expected the chord to occur despite Yoongi's administrations, like trying to guess a passcode and getting it correct in a miraculous feat of luck. The now fading sound was not like anything you were expecting, though you knew even monkeys could do what you had just done. It was an actual piece of the puzzle that was music rather than the CD case or paper bag that had come with it.

Likened to an excited pup, you looked towards him for praise or assurance that you had done it right only to catch his already grinning countenance at your widened eyes.

For the next half hour he taught you two other basic chords, never failing to correct you in such a patient manner that your heart rose and fell with each glance and soft appraisal.

"But sometimes," he grinned. "Sometimes you need to stop thinking."

Your brows furrowed, though you didn’t need more than a few seconds to understand his cryptic wording before you yelped, almost flying off your seat at the abrupt disruption of the peace.

He began smashing his hands against the piano, creating the worst orchestra your ears had ever had the pleasure to hear. Overcoming the shock, both of yours laughs bubbled out, drowned by the keyboard speakers. Without a second thought, you joined, key smashing against the lower end. Together, you created an ear-grating masterpiece of cacophonous noise and piercing melody, yet it was still one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard.

Yoongi began cheering your name like the greatest hypeman in existence as you gave the most effortful performance of your life, hands pressing against the first keys you saw to the last. You didn't know what you were doing but it didn't matter, not when he was smiling with his gums on full display as you went with your gut for the first time in years. Yoongi, the boy whose hands crafted magic, whose words changed you, whose music moved you. Yoongi, who looked at you and saw past your forced pretensions and society-enforced perceptions.

You laughed until your lungs ached for air, having not even realized that your whole body leant against his as you tried to catch your breath.

"Oh my god, I think my ears are broken," you covered them, finally dragging your hands away from the keys.

His grin widened. “You're a quick learner."

“Is this the part where I say that it's because you're a good teacher?"

“Only if you're polite, which we know you aren't." He hadn't stopped smiling and you had never felt prouder of any accomplishment in your entire life. “Was I able to distract you?"

You laughed, bringing your hands back to your lap to fiddle with them. He's seen you wear the same ramen-stained hoodie three days in a row with hair just as ratty yet you had never more felt exposed. “I’d say yes but I think I’ve exceeded my Yoongi compliment limit for the day."

"And here I was thinking that that compliment limit was zero."

"Hey," you playfully knocked against his shoulder. "I always say your breakfast is good."

He knocked against you back, his eyes turnt to half-moons. "That's because you want to brainwash me into cooking for you everyday with half-assed compliments."

"Or maybe," you lightly leaned against his hoodie-covered shoulder. "It's because I like eating breakfast with you."

He paused, and a grin that could only be described as shy graced his features. He tapped against the keyboard but didn't press hard enough to allow a sound to be let out.

"I trust you," he said in the silence. "That you can follow your heart. Even if that sounds corny as fuck, I really believe it."

You smiled, something you've been doing more and more often with him around. "I'll try," you said, watching as he contemplated his next words with a bite of his bottom lip. Giving him time, you glanced back at the piano. "Is it really that simple?" You pressed on a key.

He finally looked up. "I think so," he played the key beside the one you had just pressed, the side of it touching yours. "Even if it doesn't sound right to other people, who's to say that random key smashing isn't music? When you think you're supposed to play a certain way, that's when you hesitate. Even when you fuck up a piece," he pressed another key. "Regretting it doesn't stop the echo."

He began to play another soft melody, leaving you just as entranced as you were the first time he did.

“I’m a hypocrite, though,” he closed his eyes, lightly scoffing. “Giving you advice that I can’t even take.”

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because...” He took a deep breath, hands leaving the keyboard as he fully turned to you. “I like you," he said it like it were a fact you should've already known. “I... I like you. A lot. I can't remember when you stopped being my annoying roommate who'd hog the fridge space and became the annoying roommate who I couldn't stop writing songs about. Before I could even realize and stop myself, today’s me kept looking forward to tomorrow’s you. I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to stop hesitating about the things in your life while I spent every second of every day wondering whether I should tell you my feelings and ruin our friendship.”

For if there was anything Yoongi knew more than most was that love was fucking stupid. It caused people to be irrational, selfless, and weak-hearted, yet why did he want to forget the stupidity that came with it whenever you walked into the kitchen for breakfast, hair messy and shirt tousled?

Love was fucking stupid. But maybe he could be an idiot if it meant that you'd be stupid for him too.

“I know you don't feel the same way but I just needed to tell-" you kissed him before he could finish what was sure to be a sentence so ridiculous that even the most astute of linguists would be left baffled. He was Min Yoongi. The boy who spent all day locked in his room making music and playing games with his friends. The roommate who'd wake up early just to cook you breakfast. The friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. The man who you'd found yourself falling for with every gummy smile. Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

And he was kissing you back.

His lips were as warm as the hands that carefully wrapped around your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. He kissed the way he played, soft and thoughtful.

Pulling away, he whispered your name slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. Never before had your name ever felt so wonderful a one. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours in disbelief. The hand around your waist tightened as if in fear that at any moment you might say that you hadn't meant to give him what had to be the best moment of his life -- that you had actually accidentally fallen on him and he had simply been mistaken.

"You're an idiot," you laughed. "I've liked you since the first time you've cooked me breakfast if the heart eyes I gave you each time weren't already a dead giveaway."

He shuffled in his seat. "You have low standards then," he said. "Or are in desperate search for a house-husband."

You smiled, your nose brushing against his. "Maybe, a bit of both."

He leaned away from you, eyes lit up in a euphoria that didn't hinder from his nervous cadence. "Actually, that song I played for you? Earlier?” You’d never seen him blush before. “I, maybe, composed it thinking of you.”

"A personal chef, jester, and composer? I think I'm winning."

His nose crinkled. "You know you can still back out, right?"

"You're acting as if I'd even want to."

"Stupid songs like that... I suck at love yet I still want to give you everything," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But my everything will still only amount to that."

"If that's your everything,” your hands interlocked with his. “Then your everything is more than enough."

"I like you," he murmured the confession between your lips as if it were clandestine, the urge to say it a million times more bubbling up from his chest. Though stronger than his urge to say it was his urge to hear you say it back.

Your lips met his completely. Perfectly. "I like you, too."

Pulling away once more you couldn't help but laugh at the reddened color of his cheeks and ears. Cutting away at the awkward and still unsure tension, he inched backwards with a startlingly loud clap of his hands. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to making out? This corny shit is so awkward."

"I can't believe I like you," you groaned but kissed him back anyway.

While there was nothing in your life that you could be sure of, you knew that the man whose smile could light up the entire city of Seoul would be there for you for every step, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, here is my prompt: Lambert and Dandelion, that’s it 😂 a scene where they meet, somehow have to interact, maybe work together for something? Can be sexy or not, as you like!! I just love your Lambert and your Dandelion and want to see them together 💜💜💜

So this sort of grew out of control. Under 1k they say. *angry writer noises* I have no self control when it comes to Book!Dandelion.

Have some chaotic Lambert and Dandelion on a mission to rescue Geralt! Also on my AO3 _________________

Dandelion stuck his tongue out as he wrapped his hair around the hot metal rod in his hands. He was very careful to keep hold of the specially enchanted wooden handle so he wouldn’t burn his hands but even still it was a difficult process, one that his beloved witcher just wouldn’t understand. He frowned as he watched his hair intently making sure that it didn’t start to smoke. He really hated it when it started to smoke, it made him start to panic. His hair was his pride and joy.

Fuck it, he really needed to ask Yennefer for some kind of enchantment or potion to help in curl his hair without all this nonsense.

He sighed dramatically as he pulled the tong from his hair and the golden lock bounced free in a perfect curl. He beamed and mentally patted himself on the back. He had not spent hours practicing his technique to have subpar curls. He was Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour. He simply could not look anything less than his best. He tilted his head as he placed the tongs back over the fire. One curl down, many to go. It was a hard life being beautiful.

He grabbed his notebook and quill whilst he waited for the tongs to heat back up. Geralt was out on a hunt with Lambert so he would have twice the witcher to compose about when they finally returned. He needed to started working on his rhymes for bruxa.

They couldn’t have made it easier for him could they…

He sighed again, narrowly avoiding wiping black ink over his cheek, an unfortunate occupational risk, but one he would take over monsters any day of the month. He hummed to himself by the light of the candle as he switched between hair curling and composing until the door was thrown open by a very frantic witcher.

“Dandelion!” Lambert yelled as he barrelled into the room.

Dandelion jumped and almost scorched his ear with the tongs. “Bloody hell, Lambert!” He snapped at the witcher. “Didn’t Vesemir ever teach you to knock?”

Lambert ignored him, as always. The bloody witchers never paid him any attention unless they were demanding that he perform for them like some blasted dancing monkey. “It’s Geralt.”

Dandelion’s dropped the tongs and they clattered to the floor. He was lost for words momentarily as he tried to understand what Lambert was implying. “Geralt?”

“Yes, poet.” Lambert snapped. “Now come on! Before the fuckers kill him!”

Dandelion’s eyes went wide. “Kill him!?” He cried. “What the blazes do you mean, kill him?! I thought you were hunting a bruxa not a higher vampire!”

Lambert rolled his eyes and snarled. “Move, Dandelion!”

Dandelion was shoved roughly out of the door. He barely had time to grab his lilac hat and he was forced to leave his precious lute in his room. He whined miserably as Lambert slammed the door and yanked him down the stairs and out the tavern. He wouldn’t have minded but how was he supposed help Geralt if Lambert couldn’t? He was only a poet!

“Would you please explain to me what’s going on?” He demanded as he was dragged towards the alderman’s house. He tore his wrist from Lambert’s grasp and glared fiercely down at the witcher. “I am not a child, you prick!” He snapped, using Geralt’s favourite nickname for the grumpy witcher. “I can walk on my own.”

“The fucker double-crossed us. His guards managed to get the drop on Geralt but they weren’t ready for two of us.” Lambert muttered as he stalked ahead.

Dandelion gripped onto his hat and trotted to keep up with Lambert’s marching. “They won’t really kill him, will they?” He asked.

Lambert scoffed. “You know better than that, Dandelion. Fucking humans. Monsters, the lot of them. I don’t know why we bother to protect them.”

Dandelion raised an eyebrow at the sullen witcher. “We aren’t all bad.” He muttered. “So what’s the plan, my dear?”

“They want money.”

“That’s hardly a plan.” Dandelion scoffed. “Even my plans are better than that.”

Lambert growled and threw his hands in the air. “You, Viscount Julian, have money. They need money. Plan.”

Dandelion’s heart sank as he realised Lambert’s mistake. “Ah.”

He gripped onto Lambert’s arm and pulled him to a stop. Like Geralt, Lambert was more than capable of ignoring Dandelion’s attempts to move him but, like Geralt, the other witchers of Kaer Morhen had become used to Dandelion’s weaker strength. Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared up at him. The height difference between them never failed to make Dandelion laugh, well usually, in that moment he was more focussed on finding his partner. They had stopped just outside of the alderman’s home and Lambert was clearly losing his patience as his foot began to tap on the dirt road.

“Ah. What do you mean ‘ah’? And none of your rhymes, poet. I don’t have time for riddles.”

Dandelion sighed and pulled nervously at one of his freshly made curls. “I don’t exactly have access to the funds we need.”

“What?”

“Well I’ve not been back to Lettenhove for years!” He pouted and put his hands on his hips. “I’m afraid I’ve rather been cut off.”

Lambert yelled wordlessly and ran a hand through his hair. “Do they know?” He asked, pointing at the door.

“Well, no.” Dandelion admitted as he chewed on his bottom lip, a terrible habit but one that brought him great comfort.

“Can you act the part?”

Dandelion nodded. “Of course I can.” He snapped with indignation. “One doesn’t escape one’s birth.” He muttered and then added more quietly. “No matter how much one might try.”

“Then get in there and fucking sort it out.” Lambert growled as he opened the door with far more strength than necessary and Dandelion was thrown inside.

He stumbled and grabbed hold of his hat as he was pushed through the doorway. He turned to glare at Lambert but the door was slammed in his face. He sighed and spun round to face the occupants of the room with his most dazzling smile. “Gentlemen!” He gave a low bow as he surreptitiously looked around for any sign of his silver haired witcher. He barely concealed a frown when he released that Geralt was nowhere to be seen. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“You’re that poet.” One of the burly brutish man pointed out.

“Ah, yes. You’ve heard of me?” Dandelion preened a little before remembering why he was there. “But I’ve not come here as the troubadour you know and love.”

“You’re shit.” A second thug said.

Dandelion gaped and put his hands on his hips. “I beg your pardon!”

“I think he’s pretty good.” The first one argued.

“Thank you!”

The second one shook his head. “Nah. He’s shit.”

“You sir!” He pointed at the man. “Are rude!”

“Hey!” Dandelion was suddenly thrown against the wall much to his surprise. The brute moved deceptively quickly and Dandelion hadn’t had the time to duck out of the way. “You don’t get to say that.”

“My mistake, a misunderstanding. I’m sure.” He stammered as he hat fell from his head. “Lambert!” He called. “Get your prickly arse in here. I know you can hear me!”

The door flung open once more to reveal Lambert, in all his grumpy glory. Dandelion had never been so pleased to see him. Lambert had his sword in one hand, he spun it with a flick of his wrist as he rolled his eyes. “You had one job, poet.”

“Just do something!” Dandelion whined.

“Right!” Lambert strolled into the centre of the room, pointing his sword at each of the men, one by one. They looked at the very least confused by the turn of events. Dandelion saw one of them reach for his own blade but Lambert was quicker. He’d bounded across the room in a blur and flicked the tip of his sword against the man’s throat, lifting his chin with the blade. “Let the poet go.”

Dandelion could have swooned. He’d never taken Lambert for the heroic sort before. If Geralt didn’t survive this then perhaps he would attempt to woo a different witcher instead. Dandelion was dropped to the floor and he cursed as he knees cracked against the hard stone.

“Where’s Geralt?” Lambert growled. “I really don’t want to kill you. It’s messy and unnecessary. So you give us Geralt, and the coin you owe us and we’ll get out of here.”

“You couldn’t have just done this in the first place.” Dandelion scoffed as he scrambled to his feet and brushed off his clothes. There was a tear in one of the knees and he groaned. He loved this outfit. It was still fairly new and he’d taken great care not to wear it when following Geralt on any of his hunts.

“Viscount Julian de Lettenhove here was going to pay your ransom, but now you’ll be lucky to escape with your lives.” Lambert snarled at the alderman. “Geralt. Now!”

The alderman stammered and gave the order to release Geralt. Dandelion held his breath until he saw his witcher stride into the room. He was carrying his swords in one hand, both sheathed and in their leather holder, and his hair was loose and matted. Dandelion beamed and ran at Geralt. Geralt smirked but caught him in his arms and lifted him from the floor.

“Geralt!” He buried his face in Geralt’s neck. “Lambert said they were going to kill you.”

Geralt chuckled and lowered him to the floor, brushing his curls from off his face. “I’m fine, Dandelion. Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. “Only my pride.”

“Oi! Lovebirds. Can you not do that now?” Lambert groaned. “Let’s get out of here. I’m fucking starving!”

Dandelion laughed and kissed Geralt’s cheek before linking their fingers together. “Come on then, my dear. Time to go.”

“Time to go.” Geralt agreed as he brushed his lips against Dandelion’s temple. On the way to the door Geralt leant down to swipe Dandelion’s hat from the floor. Geralt placed it carefully on top of Dandelion’s head with a fond smile. “That’s better.”

Dandelion laughed and leant into Geralt’s side. “Thank you, my darling.” _____________

Tag list: @abluescarfonwaston @artistsfuneral @slythnerd @moonysourenza @victorieschild @hailhailsatan

#the witcher #gerlion #geraskier #lambert #witcher lambert #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #geralt x dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing #elliestormfound

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thefcguy · 3 years ago

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Here, finally new heroes to the Miracles of the Creek AU:

Welcome to my AU. Basically, the miracle box is lost in the multiverse (it is set during Lego Dimensions) and the box end up in the Creek. Then, some of the creek kids get kidnapped by Lord Vortech, and now, Bug Boy, Sárkány and J-Ape.

Bug Boy: Craig with the Ladybug Miraculous. Decided to give Craig the ladybug miraculous since he has a lot of creativity and could use the Lucky Charm with a lot of different uses. Also because they need this miraculous to purify the akumas.

He put the earrings in his shoes and his hand is in front of his yo-yo. Since the guardian is “Ladybug” not “Marinette”, he is now the official guardian of the box. Sárkány: Kelsey with the dragon miraculous. I thought it matched her because Kelsey likes to pretend she is a knight and has this interest in mythical cratures. I gave her this jacket to make her slightly different from Ryuko. Her name means dragon in Hungarian. J-Ape: JP with the monkey miraculous. I gave him the monkey miraculous because he is the funniest of all of the Creek Kids. Also, he is really umpredictable, which, in my opinion, matches perfectly with the ability of messing with the powers of others.

His name is a pun, because “Ape” sounds a bit like P, and monkeys and gorillas are often confused, so I thought it made sense.

Shell Queen: I gave Sewer Queen this miraculous since it’s the only aquatic animal miraculous at the box. I also believed the power of protection could be useful to protect her people. Her name is Sewer Turtle, since I hadn’t thought about anything better. Her design is more inspired by Jade Turtle than Carapace.

Bee Bob: I gave Bobby the bee miraculous, because of the Hivemind Operation episode. The fact that Bobby was the only interested in helping the bees. His name is Bee Bob, since I believe Bobby wouldn’t be that creative to name himself anything else. I chose this name because this way his nickname could be BB. He uses the miraculous as a belt instead of a comb, since I thought it made more sense for him. (Also, stop arguing about who is better. Queen Bee or Vesperia are both the losers. Bee Bob is the winner).

Kitsune: I gave Kit this miraculous since she is really smart, and her and her trade involves a certain amount of deception and manipulation, which I think matches with the power of illusion. Her name Kitsune because I know that in some culture, they are fox with powers of illusions and has the bonus of being also a pun with her real name. Her design is more inspired in the book’s old fox hero than Rena Rouge and Volpina.

Cunnicula: Wren’s interest in dimensional and time travel made me choose this miraculous to her. She is an specialist in this topic, even a little bit obsessive about it, and I thought it made sense. I dare to say that she could use the miraculous even better than Bunnix herself.

Dame Horse: Well, it was obvious that I needed to give one of the horse girls the horse miraculous. I chose Maney, because she seems the nicest of the group. Instead of this more modern Pegase style that Max has, I thought about giving Maney a look closer to a farmer.

Medusa: Since I already gave Wren the rabbit miraculous, I thought about giving the Timekeeper another time miraculous.I think the snake matches her because: she knows how to play a musical instrument; she could use her instruments to warn her allies when she is going to use her power and because she has a lot of watches in her wrist, so, I thought she wouldn’t be bothered by a new bracelet.

Rat King: And last, but not least, Jason with the mouse miraculous. Jason, as a scout, knows about team work, but, his bossy attitude makes thing difficult. So I though “What if he made a team made of his clones?” and then, well, I gave him this miraculous. I wanted to do something creative with him, reason why I gave him this crown and this name.

Edited from wiki images.

Miraculous and Craig of the Creek belong to their respectives creators and channels.

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years ago

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The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes — my first impressions

(I’ve shared my thoughts and feelings about the book in the spoilers chat group, but I’ve waited awhile as a courtesy before posting them on my blog. The book has been out for over a month now so ***TBOSAS spoilers ahead***. These musings are not particularly organized and are a bit rambling and repetitive.)

***

I read the book over the course of 3 days, and then recovery afterward took several days beyond that. I love the disturbing coming of age tale that Suzanne Collins has crafted for Snow. Everything she wrote for him was trauma-informed. He experienced the severe early life attachment trauma of losing both parents between ages 3-7, which is old enough to have developed the capacity for love because he received that from his mother, and young enough for the severity of the trauma to be difficult to impossible to integrate, especially in an environment of poverty, hunger, manipulation and deception to hide the family misfortune. He spent his whole life trying to control the chaos which was really just trauma on repeat within himself. This showed up as perfectionism in school and ambition for more than survival. He was the ideal candidate to be groomed by Dr. Gaul. Under all those conditions, the kid didn’t really have the capacity to become anything other than a tyrant.

I enjoyed the unfolding of his relationship with Lucy Gray. I felt the intensity between them (trauma bond), and I felt their mutual recognition in 12 that the intensity didn’t mean they were compatible. The running off together near the end was a last-ditch effort for both of them at survival. If they hadn’t found the guns and actually had run north, then in time they probably would have abandoned one another, since they wanted opposite things: safety and control VS freedoms and song. In a short time I believe they would have resented and detested each other. 18 years old was too late for him. His patterns were already well established.

I think SC showed us every ounce of fluff that Snow had in him. There just wasn’t much fluffiness to work with. The book ended with me believing he had a capacity for love; he wasn’t a psychopath just a deeply traumatized person. I think it’s telling how in the middle he said something like, “I think she (Lucy Gray) may be in love with me.” Rather than, “I think I may be in love with her.” In that relationship he felt excitement within idealization which faded in reality and would have moved toward increasing disgust toward her if the ending had played out differently. It’s hard to have fluff when the characters motivations are self-centered. The opposite of Katniss and Peeta whose relationship unfolded as they were both trying to protect others. Snow felt as much for Lucy Gray as his capacity allowed, but the chaos in feeling and in relationship was the opposite of what he wanted for his life. When he started being irritated with song, that was ultimate sign of death for that relationship. Lucy Gray WAS song. And beyond the idealization phase he would have detested her.

The plot was so thick with characters and details. SC used 3rd person perspective for this one but it wasn’t omniscient. We only got to see through Snow’s eyes. I enjoyed those moments that felt more fluffy where we saw clearly the complexity of his character and humanity. This really is a coming of age story. He’s becoming the man he already is. Gaul’s influence was the clincher. She was a predator and manipulated Snow on the path he actually wanted most. I feel for him. Throughout the book and still. I even feel now for the tyrant he becomes. That’s masterful writing right there.

I like how in the end Snow vowed to marry someone he didn’t love, recognizing that love was too chaotic. I’m thrilled that Lucy Gray added verses to the hanging tree song for him and then all those years later Katniss sang those verses. I love all the insight into Snow’s obsessive hate for Katniss, not just everything she stood for but also everything she reminded him of that couldn’t be controlled. I like understanding how Snow grew his affinity for using poison. I believe he’s haunted his whole life by the memory of Lucy Gray, but he flips it around in his mind that he controls the haunting. Maybe he eventually poisons his wife because he grows tired of sharing space with someone he doesn’t care about and doesn’t desire possession of. He’d justify the killing of course, like with all the killings. Self-justification and execution will only get easier for Snow as time goes on, especially under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage/mind-control.

My favorite aspect of this book was SCs willingness in this sociopolitical climate to make bold statements about the value of freedom and its ability to endure as a human quality despite years of tyrannical control and propaganda. I view her as a hope-giver. Her writing is courageous. I felt deeply for young Snow, even knowing how his story would play out. The predictability of the novel was my only complaint. After reading a couple of chapters I said to my daughter, “I think Lucy Gray will win the Games and then Snow will end up killing her.” When Gaul showed up, I said to my husband, “She’s going to groom him. She’s going to manipulate him and in the process turn him from a manipulator into a master manipulator.” Done. Possibly done. And done. I like the idea that Lucy Gray lives on and makes a free life for herself. I like that Snow would be eaten alive his whole life by that possibility which is beyond his control.

I mentioned in a previous post that the conversation between Snow and Lucy Gray about safety and control vs freedom and song is the most important conversation of our time, and SC has solid guts to acknowledge that freedom will endure long after the Capitol is gone. And the conversation ended there. Because it’s the deep truth about humanity that propaganda is designed to fool us into not believing: People are fundamentally enduring whether or not they have the “protection” of government control. I was beyond thrilled to read that conversation in YA novel because it’s fringe now to speak this truth openly and her readership is gigantic. I loved watching the connection between Snow and Lucy Gray begin to disintegrate in this mutual understanding that they wanted different worlds, and the world that they each wanted was fundamentally appalling to the other, regardless of those moments when they felt an aliveness in each other’s presence , the kind of aliveness that’s always present in the idealization phase of a trauma bond.

This book was so raw in its presentation of starvation in the Capitol, cannibalism, the Snow’s salvation in those awful lima beans. All the pressures that would drive a young person to grow to detest chaos and wild. This lineage of trauma in the Capitol informs my understanding not just of old tyrant Snow, but the other Capitol characters. And makes the likes of Cinna and Cressida and Plutarch all the more awesome to have chosen a different path. Even Effie who is so much about control and appearances in this singularly thinking way ultimately sees through the veil and understands this kind of control is a profound injustice. I view the book as a prequel in that it’s so intimately connected to the series of 3 and makes those characters, plots, settings, and other details so much more rich. It’s been years since I last read the books. I’ll do so again next time with more clarity.

Dark novel. Not graphic, but oozing with the darkness of humanity. It’s great, and I’m not sure I can ever read it again. There’s so much real. Though I’d LOVE to see it on film. It would be easily translatable to a couple of screenplays. They’d need to cast a Lucy Gray who can sing well and act even better, and a Snow who can carry both the film and carry a tune but without the quality of a professional singer.

I didn’t expect to feel so deeply for young Snow. SC is deep into midlife, and she knows real shit about trauma. She is able to convey it to a YA audience without being overly graphic or disturbing — unless people are ready to be wholeheartedly disturbed. There were a few plot points that felt contrived, like housing tributes in the monkey enclosure, otherwise this book was smashing. I know this because days later I was still smashed. I’m recovered now and ready to reread The Hunger Games trilogy.

I can’t see myself writing TBOSAS fanfiction, but I feel like the bit of writing I do about that universe has already been influenced by the prequel.

#tbosas spoilers #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #suzanne collins #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #hunger games musings #childhood trauma #trauma bonding #attachment trauma #freedom vs safety #chaos

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you-guys--are-losers · 5 years ago

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Daydreams and Night Monkeys

//This post is acting funny and won’t come up, so I’m reposting!

Summary:

“You can’t go back to your room.”

“Um, yeah. I don’t think I should, with Mysterio’s tech and everything.” Peter admits. “But, I mean, I’ll figure something out. There’s always Mr. Harrington-”

“Or you could stay here.”

Characters: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds x Betty Brant, Mysterio, Mr. Harrington, Charles, Abe Brown

Wordcount: 4,529

Warnings: Fluff, Touch of Angst, Nightmares

Daydreams and Night Monkeys

Even though it’s the brightest night of the year in Prague, Peter can’t help but feel as if he’s stumbling around in the dark

After his quick departure from his hotel room, he did manage to contact Happy, who assured him that Mr. Fury would be alerted about Beck’s deception

It’s something, at least, but Peter knows the fight is far from over

Beck isn’t going to let it rest that easily, and figuring out the next move while keeping him in the dark will be a bit difficult now that he has access to E.D.I.T.H.

To top it off, Happy will be arriving the next day to get Peter out of the field, where Beck is certain to be searching for him

Which means that Peter is going to go far away from Prague, far away from the trip he has been looking forward to for ages

And far away from black dahlia necklaces and the girl who has seen right through him for months

The girl who has been watching Spider-Man so intently that she fooled him into thinking that maybe, just maybe, she might have been looking for Peter Parker

Peter shoves the thoughts out of his mind as he swings over the rooftops, paying no mind to the lights that flicker in the streets below

He doesn’t want to think about how they smolder just like the destruction of the carnival, burning as a reminder of his failure

It is only as the glowing lights of the hotel come into view that Peter realizes he can’t go back into his room

Mysterio may have bugged it, so returning there would be putting himself in harm’s way

He really only has to make it one night until Happy comes to get him tomorrow, so Peter decides to room with Ned

After all, he memorized the number of Ned’s room off of the list of room numbers that came out on the bus

So, as Peter slides through an open window down the hall and climbs the ceiling to keep out of view of any cameras, he knows which door he is looking for

There’s only one problem

When the door does come into view, Peter already recognizes it– and it’s not because it’s Ned’s

He knows it because this is the door that he saw MJ leave through earlier, and it’s the same door he knocked on after to suggest they go for a walk

Peter’s heart skips a beat at the thought of showing up at her door at two in the morning, but he’s out of options

So, after steeling himself, Peter knocks on MJ’s door for the second time that night

The door opens unexpectedly quickly, and Peter doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it isn’t this

Because, when MJ answers the door, she seems to be wide awake

The slightly taller girl is wearing a large, comfortable-looking grey hoodie with a faded picture of Rosie the Riveter on it, as well as a pair of black leggings and black socks

Her hair is loose, completely free of the style she had worn earlier that evening, and her dark eyes are alert as they find his

Peter is rather grateful for his mask at that moment because he can feel his eyes widening and his cheeks heating up

It takes a moment for him to finally find words, and when he does, Peter just barely keeps himself from becoming a stammering mess

“I, uh– Sorry? Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up or anything–”

Before he can continue, MJ cuts his off, blinking a couple times before she does so

“Um, it’s cool. You didn’t. Wake me up, I mean.”

Peter lets out a quick breath in relief as she glances away from him, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve

“Right, okay. Good.”

MJ glances up at him, raising a brow in question, and this causes him to continue

“Uh, I thought this was the room Ned was assigned.”

A gleam of understanding enters MJ’s eyes, and she nods slowly as she replies, “Oh, right. Yeah, he traded me for a room closer to Betty. I think they’re right next to each other.”

Peter nods quickly, several times in succession, as he rambles, “Yeah, that makes sense. Do you, uh, remember your old room number?”

MJ’s fingers tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear as she seems to ponder the question for a moment, eyes wandering upwards

Peter is almost glad not to be the object of her piercing gaze for a moment since his face currently feels like it’s hot enough to melt into the mask

“Well,” she says slowly, “I remember the last room I was in. But that was after I traded with Charles for the Wi-Fi and with Abe so he could have the corner room, so…”

“Oh. Okay.”

For a moment, there is an awkward silence as Peter’s mind races, and he tries to think about any possible alternative

He could pretend to be sick and spend the night in Mr. Harrington’s room, but then he’d probably have to fake throwing up or something, and he doesn’t think he’s a good enough actor for that

And spending the night on the roof doesn’t exactly seem brilliant when Beck has access to a host of flying, killer drones

“You can’t go back to your room.”

Peter’s eyes flicker to MJ’s as she says it, finding that her gaze is locked on his again

“Um, yeah. I don’t think I should, with Mysterio’s tech and everything,” Peter admits, a hand rising to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly

“But, I mean, I’ll figure something out. There’s always Mr. Harrington-”

“Or you could stay here.”

Peter’s eyes widen as he looks to her, surprise filling them

He hadn’t expected her to say anything of the sort, and now he is certain that his face is burning holes in the Stealth Suit

She, for the record, looks about as comfortable with the idea as he is

MJ is religiously avoiding his gaze now, almost like she did earlier in the evening when they both suddenly became aware of the fact that he had stripped down in front of her

But Peter knows he’s pretty much out of options, so he manages to mutter, “I-I, uh, I mean… Sure. Thanks.”

MJ lets out a wordless nod and quickly turns around, entering the room and leaving the door open for him

Peter glances over his shoulder, making sure that he’s managed to avoid the cameras in the hall before he disappears into MJ’s room

The thud of the door behind them suddenly snaps Peter to reality

All at once, Peter is very aware of the situation in which he has found himself

Because, even though the plan went down the drain days ago, this possibility?

It is not one that Peter would have even dreamed of considering

And now, Peter is standing in the middle of MJ’s hotel room in nothing but a skin-tight Stealth Suit in the early hours of the morning with no idea what he’s supposed to say

“Um, I can crash in the bathtub,” Peter offers quickly, shutting down the train of thought

“But then I’ll have to reschedule my three AM bath,” MJ points out, voice deadpan as she stares at him

There’s a little glimmer in her eyes, however, that tells Peter that she may not be as serious as she seems

“Messing with me again?” he prompts, unable to keep a small grin from forming on the edge of his lips

MJ tips her head slightly to the side, and a hint of a smirk creeps onto her lips

“Yeah. You’re catching on.”

Before Peter can let the warmth that’s fizzling in his chest spread too far, she’s turned away

“But yeah, you probably shouldn’t sleep in the bathtub,” MJ reasons, her back turned to him as she walks to the chest of drawers and begins to rifle through them

“I mean, you need sleep with everything that’s coming.”

It’s the first time anyone’s vocalized it, and it’s kind of like getting a kick to the chest that he somehow really needed

Even on the phone, Happy didn’t really talk about anything past getting Peter out of the field, and the discussion about Fury didn’t include any future involvement in the affair

But deep down, Peter knows that he’s been a part of this from the beginning

And whether he likes it or not, he’s going to have to see it through to the end

It’s his fault Beck has the glasses, his fault that these Elementals are about to become more dangerous than ever

So it’s his responsibility to remedy it

Peter lets out a breath in a controlled exhale, nodding slowly as he says, “Right. Sleep is always good... I can take the chair, in the corner.”

Peter gestures to the upholstered armchair by the window, and MJ shoots him an unimpressed look in response

“You’re going to be sore if you sleep sitting up,” she counters firmly

“You can take the bed, and I’ll take the chair.”

Peter’s eyes widen as he stares into the unflinching gaze of his classmate, who appears so resolute that Peter is almost afraid to try to change her mind

Still, the idea of taking MJ’s bed is ridiculous enough that he still has to try

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor, MJ,” he presses, attempting to make his voice sound as insistent as hers

MJ raises an eyebrow and Peter knows he’s not going to win this argument-- she is much, much smarter than him, much better at arguing, and has the added energy that comes from not swinging across Prague all night

“You’re not making me,” she counters, crossing her arms, “I’m offering. And you are going to sleep in a bed because even if you don’t I’m taking the chair. So it’s the bed or the floor.”

Peter is quiet for a minute, brow furrowed as he looks at her

She’s infuriating, but as they stand opposite one another, squabbling over something as stupid as sleeping arrangements, the sight of her sharp eyes and each word from her quick tongue is enough to make his heart race

“I just don’t want to take your bed from you, since you’re letting me sleep here and everything.”

Peter’s words are honest, just like she is: they’re tired, and they are earnest, and they reveal the truth

Which is that Peter is too tired to fight this fight right now, but he’s not still going to try because he knows he owes it to her

For a moment, MJ’s eyes widen, but she quickly recovers

And then it’s Peter’s turn to be surprised, because she tips her chin up and says:

“I mean, we could share it.”

A lump immediately rises in Peter’s throat, and his eyes feel like they must be bugging out as he looks at her, blinking rapidly

His voice, when it leaves his throat, is higher than usual as he stammers, “What?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” she says quickly, turning around

As MJ moves to the drawers beneath her TV and begins to open them, Peter thinks her words might be coming slightly faster than usual

Still, her tone is nonchalant as she reasons, “You need to sleep for tomorrow, and you aren’t going to sleep well if you’re freaking out about me being in the chair. So it’s kind of a convenient solution.”

When she turns around, MJ has a pair of flannel pajama pants in her hand, as well as a t-shirt that says “Feminist AF” on it

“But if you’re not cool with it, I guess we could-”

“Wait. Wait, uh, no. I-I’m cool.”

MJ arches an eyebrow as she looks at Peter, and he is grateful for the moment to collect himself

Because, due to the fact that his heart is currently trying to chisel its way out of his sternum, he barely remembers even choosing to speak

Maybe she hasn’t been watching him for the right reasons, and maybe she doesn’t like him the way he likes her, but Peter knows that he’s still head over heels for Michelle Jones, even if he doesn’t have the right to be

He’ll get over it, because he knows it would be disrespectful to keep pursuing someone who isn’t interested

But he can start getting over it tomorrow

Because tonight, with a battle looming over him and exhausting dogging his every step?

Tonight, Peter can’t deny himself one last night imagining he has half a chance with the most incredible person he’s ever seen

“Then you should go change,” MJ replies slowly, dragging Peter out of his thoughts and extending the bundle of clothing in her hands to him

“Huh?” Peter stammers, a few seconds delayed in realizing what she’s doing

“You’re- you’re gonna want pajamas.”

“Oh. Right... Thanks.”

“Uh, don’t sweat it,” MJ murmurs, the corner of her lips quirking upward slightly

Still, she appears slightly stiff, and Peter can’t help wondering... Is she nervous?

Rather than trying to puzzle that out, Peter takes the clothes and turns to enter the bathroom, shutting the door a bit too quickly behind himself

It takes a few moments to catch his breath, and then a few more when he realizes, as he’s changing, that the clothing smells like lavender soap

The fabric is soft against his skin, and as he steps out of the bathroom Peter realizes he finds the slightly-too-long pants comforting

He’s so caught up in having his enhanced senses overwhelmed with MJ that it takes Peter a moment to realize she’s turned off the lights

Prague is still bright outside the window, and the lights from the city combined with the light of the moon keep the room illuminated enough that Peter can see pretty much everything with his sharp vision

This is how he spots MJ, who is standing by the bed

She has turned down the sheets, something strangely particular that fits perfectly among her other quirks, but she is currently staring out the window, at the city below

A few of the lights have flickered out due to the time, but the city still sizzles and sparks below her, and the lights cast a warm glow that bathes her face

The soft light illuminating the curves of her features causes Peter to catch his breath, a sound that alerts her to his presence

She glances his way, and immediately warmth floods Peter’s face, making him grateful for the low light

MJ quickly tucks a curl away from her face, breathing, “Sorry. It just looks like...”

She doesn’t finish the sentence as her eyes come to rest on his face, and Peter watches as she swallows uncomfortably

For a moment, uncertainty flickers in her eyes, as well as an apologetic gleam, and Peter realizes she’s worried she said the wrong thing

“No, you’re right,” he murmurs, glancing at the window and back to her

“It does. Uh, but I’m not gonna let that happen anywhere else.”

For a moment, MJ stares at him across the room, and her dark eyes gleam with the reflected shine of the streets below

Peter catches his breath and wonders if he is imagining the gleam of something else that he can see, the little spark that seems to be lit as she looks at him

“I know.”

Her voice is filled with quiet confidence, and for a moment neither moves

And then MJ turns to the bed, letting out a breath

“Uh, I normally would close the curtains, but...”

“No, it’s okay,” Peter says quickly

He understands: it’s too easy to imagine, in the dark, that they are cornered in the room

And it’s also just a bit too easy to imagine other things, things that Peter knows will have everything to do with the girl he’s crazy about on the other side of the bed

MJ hesitates at the side of the bed, then swallows

“I, um, normally sleep on the left side of the bed...”

“Right, okay,” Peter agrees, slowly coming around to the right side

He hesitates for a moment, heart hammering, and then before he can tell himself this is a bad idea, he pulls back the covers and slides underneath them, then turns his back so that he is facing away from her

Across the bed, he can hear the rustling of blankets, and then after a moment the bed creaks slightly as she slips in

Peter catches his breath, and he seems unable to let it go as they sit in silence for a moment

He tries to shut his mind off, but it’s extremely difficult to think about anything but the fact that, an arm’s length away, MJ is bundled up in the blankets

His enhanced senses make it even more difficult to focus on sleep, because every inhale and exhale from across the bed is loud and booming in the relative quiet of the room, and he can hear the sound of her curls brushing the pillow as she adjusts her head

A million hypotheticals race through Peter’s head

What if he sleeptalks? What if he moves in his sleep, and like, punches her in the face or something? What if he does something super embarrassing, like drooling or stealing all of the blankets?

What if he is thinking so loudly that she can hear every single one of these hypotheticals?

After a few minutes that feel like hours, however, Peter relaxes as MJ’s breathing deepens and evens out into a rhythmic cadence, and he finds that knowing she’s asleep is starting to make him sleepy, too

Because the blankets are thick, the mattress topper is soft, the room is cool, and the lavender soap on the clothing paired with the cinnamon shampoo scent that his senses are picking up from the other side of the bed are soothing

Peter is just about to drift off when MJ’s breathing begins to speed up

The change is gradual at first, but Peter’s senses pick it up almost immediately as the time between breaths speeds up and the breathing becomes shallow

Peter barely has time to wonder if she has woken up before her inhales become ragged and desperate, and he slowly rolls over in the bed, cautious in case he wakes her but swift in case something is wrong

“MJ?” his whisper is soft and careful, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on the girl across the bed

His eyes adjust quickly, and his heart sinks as he finds MJ’s face

Her brow is furrowed, and though her eyes are closed, the expression on her face is pained and fearful in a way that makes him feel sick

Her breath is coming in uncontrollable bursts now as her eyes roll beneath their lids, and a few sounds somewhere between whimpers and strangled gasps leave her lips as she silently mouths words, almost like she’s crying or calling for help

The sight is one that causes Peter’s heart to ache in his chest

Never has he seen such pain in the eyes of the girl who isn’t afraid of anything, the one who discusses true crime and conspiracy theory like the weather and who walks backwards into every fire armed with a well-aimed retort

Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing as he reaches for her shoulder, but her name leaves his lips in a whisper that is laced with concern

“MJ?”

The murmur is not enough to wake her, but it seems that there is no need

Because as soon as his fingers find her shoulder through the hoodie, her breaths pause

And then, slowly, the expression of pain begins to melt to one of exhausted relief

Peter doesn’t know why he suddenly can’t breathe-- maybe it has something to do with her soft, worn hoodie beneath his fingers, or the slim, strong shoulder he can feel beneath that

But he knows, as she slowly turns so that she presses further into his touch, that it is the contact between them that has calmed her

To test this, Peter begins to withdraw his hand, and immediately an incoherent groan leaves her lips as MJ turns her body in search of it again

Peter hesitates for half a second before carefully returning his hand to her shoulder, struggling with what to do next

Because on the one hand, he knows she is asleep and he doesn’t want to take advantage of her

But she’s also in pain, and he doesn’t want her to have to fight it off alone

So, slowly, Peter begins to slide just a bit closer under the blankets

As he does so, MJ angles her sleeping body towards him, burrowing slightly closer to him

The action brings a small, reverent smile to Peter’s lips, but it fades as he focuses entirely on getting closer without waking her

Peter manages to close the space between them, moving so that their bodies are a few inches apart

Just when he is about to settle, though, sleeping MJ decides that this is not enough for her

Peter’s heart just about shoots out of his chest as her willowy frame presses against his, as MJ tucks his head into the crook of her neck and brings them to close that one of her arms is pressed against his chest at a slightly awkward angle, while the other comes to drape haphazardly across his torso

For a moment, Peter doesn’t breathe at all

But then a long, quiet sigh of relief is breathed from just a little bit above his head, and MJ’s breathing returns to normal

And before he can stop himself, Peter slowly brings his arms to circle her torso, keeping them innocently positioned so they are wrapped around where her ribcage meets her abdomen

She is warm, against him, and the rise and fall of her chest is rhythmic again

Warmth of a different time floods Peter’s chest, and he savors the moment of quiet peace so long that he doesn’t even realize he’s slipping into a deep sleep

Peter hasn’t slept this long or this peacefully for a long time, since before the Blip entirely, so when the sun streams through the window, waking him, he finds himself extremely disoriented

For one thing, he isn’t in his bedroom, and for another, he’s not wearing his clothes...

It all comes back to him in one instant, and then Peter’s eyes shoot wide open

His head is on his pillow, and one of his arms is folded beneath his head, clutching the pillow while the other is sprawled across an empty bed

His heart hammers desperately as he remembers the events of the night before, and Peter sits up so rapidly that he experiences a head rush

The sunlight is so bright that it takes Peter a moment to realize that MJ is across the room, packing her backpack

She’s gotten dressed, in the dark green jacket she likes, and her hair is pulled back into a familiar ponytail

Her dark eyes flicker to him immediately, and she quickly scans his face before commenting, “Nice hair.”

Peter runs a hand through his mess of curls, swallowing as he struggles to find his voice

It’s slightly husky from sleep, but he finally manages, “What time is it?”

“Almost time for breakfast,” MJ replies simply, glancing at the hand in his hair before returning to her bag

“But you were out late, so I didn’t want to harass you until I had to.”

“Thanks,” he breathes, not looking away from her even though she’s not looking his way

The only sounds are the rustling and swishing of her cloth bag for a moment, and Peter’s mind races

Because all he can think about, in that moment, is the way that her curls felt against his cheek last and the smell of cinnamon and spices that he almost imagines still linger on the sheets where she slept beside him

Finally, he’s brave enough to ask it

“How did you sleep?”

Her eyes snap to his so fast that Peter can’t breathe for a moment, and he wonders if they narrow just a fraction

But just as he thinks he might have seen it, they are dark and inscrutable as always again, and he is convinced he imagined it

“About as well as you can when there’s a drone threat snoring across the room.”

Her deadpan relaxes Peter immediately, though he winces at the last comment

“Did I snore? I’m sorry, MJ, I sleep alone so I didn’t know-”

“Kidding,” she hums, returning to her bag

“Oh,” he says slowly, exhaling in relief.

“Yeah, you were fine.”

“Good. Uh, thanks again. I should probably change and then go to the spot where I’m meeting Happy.”

“Happy?”

“Oh, um, he helps me out with... Mission stuff. He’s gonna get me out of here, and Harrington got a call that says I had an emergency at home.”

“Right,” MJ replies, nodding in understanding

For a moment, there is silence as Peter glances at her in the daylight

It had to have been a dream, then

She would have told him if he had overstepped with her, he was certain of that

He should have been relieved... So why was some small part of him disappointed that, last night, she hadn’t fallen asleep in his arms?

But Peter has bigger things to think about, bigger drones to fry

So he pulls himself out of bed and crosses the room to the armchair, where he left the stealth suit

“I’ll, uh, leave your pajamas on the bed,” he says as MJ crosses the room to the door

She glances over her shoulder, nodding as she hums, “Sounds good.”

There is a pause as Peter crosses to the bathroom and lingers in the doorway, and she says it so quickly he almost doesn’t hear her

“Good luck, Peter.”

He lets out a breath and nods in return, murmuring, “Thanks,” and then he has disappeared into the bathroom

But MJ lingers in the doorway of the hotel room when he is gone for a moment, eyes wandering to the bed

Her eyes take in the depression left in the very center of the mattress: a shape too large for just one person, but the perfect size for two pining high school students, tangled together

With a glance to the bathroom, she crosses the room and quickly makes the bed, pulling the sheets so that they’re crisp and so that they erase the picture that the bed had drawn of the night before

Peter still hasn’t come out of the bathroom by the time MJ reaches the door, so she casts one more glance over the room, which has been transformed by the daylight

A soft smile crosses her lips, and it lingers there as she lets out a long breath, straightens up, adjusts her bag, and then disappears out the door so she can pretend with the others to be surprised by Peter’s “sudden departure.”

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light-of-being · 5 years ago

Text

a very fkin long and incomplete exposition of my flaws as a human being

I've not really spoken about the probably most consequential event in my recent life (the ending of a long term relationship), and that's because I haven't really thought about it very much. At least, not in a clear-headed space not entirely filled with rage, fear, or initially, longing. So, I've mostly just been waiting for the intensity of those responses to wear out before I can go back and make sense of things in a sorta 'safe' way.

(These days it's mostly anger and/or hurt. Sometimes twinges of hatred, but those fizzle quickly. I know that attitude isn't 'true'. I tried to hate him, I really did. Things would be so much simpler that way — an obvious villain of pure evil, a mistake worthy of contempt. Put him behind me as someone I regret meeting and consider everything only as a flashing warning sign of what to avoid next time. But real life never is that easy, is it.)

Regardless, reading about miscellaneous psychological ~stuff, I realised that I know for sure now that there are sides of me that only come out in a close relationship, as they postulate. It's unfortunate that my exposure to this was only in such a toxic environment, and I'm not sure if or when closeness has any chance of happening again.

I suspect, based on what I have/haven't felt with him vs others, that I can (at least at this stage of my development) only really feel 'seen' by an antisocial/narcissist/schizoid (or something in that general direction), just hope to god it's a mature one next time. I might want to interrogate and possibly change that fact, I'm not sure it's at all a healthily arrived preference. But...

there is a degree of normalcy and social belonging in others that becomes a wall

I can relate superficially, cognitively and even 'deeply personally' (tho is all y'all's deeply personal shit necessarily relational?), have a good time and even feel 'connection' but there are parts that seem simply insurmountable.

The lack of relating to many things is the unifying factor between me and the specified groups: the shared experience of not having shared experiences

But yet, a more acute awareness of superficiality, and the drives and mechanics of human interactions, attitudes, identity and constructs, not taken for granted as default but built from the ground up (Most often out of either necessity or a desire to manipulate them, but still).

Actually, most straightforwardly, the shared experience of experiencing oneself as an outsider to society — whether people personally, accepted norms or expected attitudes towards self and other.*

Anyway, that was a whole semi-tangent I went off on (useful and relevant to the initial thought but not the point I was planning on).

Important point was...ah yes, insights!

...into how I behave under genuine relational circumstances. Due to aforementioned toxicity, I'm not sure how generalisable they are to relationships overall, but they should generalise to feeling-states.

(a) Fear. Defensiveness.

Switches off my brain. Obvious? No. I have been actively strategic while having a gun pointed at me. I thought I had that down. Turns out, I cannot dissociate myself out of an argument most of the time.

Turns out, just the fact or even prospect of arguing activates panic and brain goes out the window. Which is really fucking stupid as an occurrence because how many of these could be prevented with a bit of mindfulness and thoughtful responding. But getting emotions to chill out for long enough to do that is tough.

(b) I am a stubborn dumbass. Kid me argued until they were attacked so harshly that they absolutely could not continue. The alternative presented was to just keep silent, one I did not then and do not now accept. Discussion where both parties partake in good faith have generally been fruitful, only neither of these situations were that. Both involved one person trying to dominate at all costs. To which I suppose keeping silent for the moment and then running tf away is an appropriate response. Idk. I'm not sure if this is a 'normal situation' to which I respond unhealthily, or an 'abnormal situation' in which you just do your best to survive. Arguments are normal. Idk if other people have a less aggressive approach that is less outright terrifying, in which I can modulate, but it does seem like people want to prove you wrong and get angry, which I perceive as aggression.

Which brings me to boundaries. Can I shut things down when I'm overwhelmed. In the present case, the answer was no. They both didn't stop and the fact that I asked for this was interpreted as admission of defeat.Oftentimes, getting out of the situation was more of an ordeal than dealing with it. [We stayed at a hotel the one time and he did things that made me very uncomfortable (in like a “things that I shudder at thinking about even now” kind of way; not sexual btw which this has made it sound). I thought I was as clear as I could’ve been by saying, “I’m going to legit have a breakdown if you keep doing that” but apparently it came across as a joke (gotta improve on communication as well). He stopped and apologised when he realised I was crying, but later blamed me for not being more assertive and laughed at my ‘exaggerated’ response and “meltdown”. At this point I wanted to leave and go home, but he withheld [my copy of] the key. He insisted and manipulated and coerced for discussion, said I could have the key if I “really wanted it, but do I actually want that”, until it was just easier to give in. The helplessness and feeling trapped of that evening haunts me to this day, and I want to be very sure to never be in any situation where that is even a possibility again no matter what.]

I need to get better at knowing what is and isn't okay and being strong enough to enforce that.

(a) Attachment is a bitch. Utterly unfamiliar sensation, one I don't know my way around at all. The rarity of relation makes it seem so fucking precious, so fucking necessary to protect even to my detriment and his. Dare I tip the boat or will it sink. Should I be the dancing monkey to keep it from sinking. Should he.

(b) The feeling of giving a damn what someone thinks of me is also foreign and difficult. It also seems hella intensified by virtue of not existing elsewhere. Disapproval feels devastating. Criticism becomes attack. Everything feels like a continuous effort to establish worth. I'd imagined acceptance could be taken for granted, but I questioned it the whole way (obviously doesn't help when he demands changes).

(c) I have trouble distinguishing between personal issues and insecurities and legitimate reason to be upset. I think this is typical. But with trial and error, one can probably pick up on what you carry with you across differing people and circumstances. I don't have that data. I have nothing to compare against. I also suspect some parts of this is him treating legitimate reasons as being my distorted perceptions, which I'm pretty sure did happen for a few things that I believe are 'objectively' shitty.

I trust. Too. Fucking. Much. I take shit at face value. This is very often dumb and...bad in literally every sense, but I don’t yet know how to identify preemptively when that's the case. I also fail to be adequately 'suspicious' I guess to be alert to minor inconsistencies later on. Lies are especially devastating. I built my reality around you using that fundamental premise. Now you tell me it was false all along. Where does that leave me? I go back to substitute and nothing makes sense. I don't know if the initial statement was a lie or the claim that it's false was. I don't know if everything I remember is just distorted somehow. I don't know what to do. (aside: gaslighting? I’m inclined to say “effectively, yes”. The best explanation I have is that for many things he rewrote the narrative in his own mind and does not remember the things that blatantly contradict it. For other things, I cannot see that being possible and am forced to think it’s just pure lies). All of this could have been prevented if I accounted for people being dishonest.

(a) I lose sympathy. Genuinely did not ever expect this to happen. Enough hurt, enough deception and I stop trying to understand why. I assume malice. I expect malice in future interactions and misread situations as a result. In the beginning I made fucktons of effort to be understanding of things far from my typical range (hello, admissions of past violence and present homicidal ideation. Hello, talking someone out of real intention of ruining a person's life over a minor slight). Honestly, I think I overreached. Some of these things were not things I should have tolerated, accepted even. When I started walking on eggshells to not have him ruin my life, too, that was probably when I should've gotten out. He claimed that the people he cares about are exceptions. That's probably true, otherwise I would currently be in a ton of shit. But at some point I did stop believing it.

(b) I don't really think that most of the things that happened were malicious. Some, he admits, were. But mostly he wasn't out with the intention to hurt me, but he also didn't make the effort...not to. Even with me repeatedly complaining about things, he was defensive or dismissive, considering me talking about an issue to be me creating issues in his life. This is super shitty, his damage is caused by a stubborn ego fixation and sheer passivity, thoughtlessness (he has agreed to all of this in our final conversation), but it isn't exactly intentionally malicious. If he genuinely didn't believe there was a problem, that is an issue, and the fact that he utterly failed until the end to even consider the possibility of a valid complaint, is a very real flaw. He is bad insofar as "he is lazy and incompetent at being good". Which I can understand but nevertheless protect myself from. Ideally, sooner. At the point where I start feeling like someone is being shitty more often than not, something needs to happen. A discussion, a reconsideration, a run-as-fast-as-you-can... Something.

Idk. This isn't everything. But yeah.

* These 3 PDs are often used in illustrating the idea of pathologising difference: few of the criteria are about subjective distress and many about extrinsic value judgements of what a person should be like (lol, my clinical psych final had an essay question on this). I don't necessarily agree but it does speak to a shared thread of...something. That said, this characterisation is tbh still too broad for my liking. Importantly, it is definitively applicable to autistic people but I do not in general relate to that in the same way. Some specific manifestations of it, yes, but I have seen far too many excessively... 'human' autistic people to include the whole category. There are probably folks in the PD categories who are also like that but I think much less common.

#personal #emotions #reflections #relationships #personality disorder #possible tw abuse idk #if you're actually interested in reading probably best to do so tomorrow #not sure why I'm posting now in the first place #will reblog when I update #also needs links those are important

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mewhenhorrormovies · 5 years ago

Text

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we

say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions

printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather

kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in

the Islets of Langerhans.

You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little

worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a

cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on a

weasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench,

a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same

species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at

the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut.

Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are

a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn.

And did I mention that you smell?

You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe

player. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world

that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg,

either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist

as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you

at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done

to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.

Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting

to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a

nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able

to access it ever so much more rapidly. If cluelessness were crude

oil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou.

You are a thick-headed trog. I have seen skeet with more sense than

you have. You are a few bricks short of a full load, a few cards short

of a full deck, a few bytes short of a full core dump, and a few

chromosomes short of a full human. Worse than that, you top-post. God

created houseflies, cockroaches, maggots, mosquitos, fleas, ticks,

slugs, leeches, and intestinal parasites, then he lowered his

standards and made you. I take it back; God didn't make you. You are

Satan's spawn. You are Evil beyond comprehension, half-living in the

slough of despair. You are the entropy which will claim us all. You

are a green-nostriled, crossed eyed, hairy-livered inbred

trout-defiler. You make Ebola look good.

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid,

nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an

ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with

you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in

a land that reality forgot. You are not ANSI compliant and your markup

doesn't validate. You have a couple of address lines shorted together.

You should be promoted to Engineering Manager.

Do you really expect your delusional and incoherent ramblings to be

read? Everyone plonked you long ago. Do you fantasize that your

tantrums and conniption fits could possibly be worth the $0.000000001

worth of electricity used to send them? Your life is one big

W.O.M.B.A.T. and your future doesn't look promising either. We need to

trace your bloodline and terminate all siblings and cousins in order

to cleanse humanity of your polluted genes. The good news is that no

normal human would ever mate with you, so we won't have to go into the

sewers in search of your git.

You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and

obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living

emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a

loathsome disease, a drooling inbred cross-eyed toesucker. You make

Quakers shout and strike Pentecostals silent. You have a version 1.0

mind in a version 6.12 world. Your mother had to tie a pork chop

around your neck just to get your dog to play with you. You think

that HTTP://WWW.GUYMACON.COM/FUN/INSULT/INDEX.HTM is the name of a

rock band. You believe that P.D.Q. Bach is the greatest composer who

ever lived. You prefer L. Ron Hubbard to Larry Niven and Jerry

Pournelle. Hee-Haw is too deep for you. You would watch test patterns

all day if the other inmates would let you.

On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are

deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of

wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted.

Spammers look down on you. Phone sex operators hang up on you.

Telemarketers refuse to be seen in public with you. You are the source

of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

May you choke on your own foolish opinions. You are a Pusillanimous

galactophage and you wear your sister's training bra. Don't bother

opening the door when you leave - you should be able to slime your

way out underneath. I hope that when you get home your mother runs

out from under the porch and bites you.

You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock.

You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted

boggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You

gormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish boil-brained clotpole

ponce. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You cockered

bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You

dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. May your

spouse be blessed with many bastards.

You are so clueless that if you dressed in a clue skin, doused yourself

in clue musk, and did the clue dance in the middle of a field of horny

clues at the height of clue mating season, you still would not have a

clue. If you were a movie you would be a double feature;

_Battlefield_Earth_ and _Moron_Movies_II_. You would be out of focus.

You are a fiend and a sniveling coward, and you have bad breath. You

are the unholy spawn of a bandy-legged hobo and a syphilitic camel.

You wear strangely mismatched clothing with oddly placed stains. You

are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just knowing that

you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go

away. You are jetsam who dreams of becoming flotsam. You won't make

it. I beg for sweet death to come and remove me from a world which

became unbearable when you crawled out of a harpy's lair.

It is hard to believe how incredibly stupid you are. Stupid as a stone

that the other stones make fun of. So stupid that you have traveled

far beyond stupid as we know it and into a new dimension of stupid.

Meta-stupid. Stupid cubed. Trans-stupid stupid. Stupid collapsed to

a singularity where even the stupons have collapsed into stuponium.

Stupid so dense that no intelligence can escape. Singularity stupid.

Blazing hot summer day on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one

minute than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. It cannot

be possible that anything in our universe can really be this stupid.

This is a primordial fragment from the original big stupid bang. A pure

extract of stupid with absolute stupid purity. Stupid beyond the laws

of nature. I must apologize. I can't go on. This is my epiphany of

stupid. After this experience, you may not hear from me for a while.

I don't think that I can summon the strength left to mock your moronic

opinions and malformed comments about boring trivia or your other

drivel. Duh.

The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped

away most of your of what you wrote, because, well ... it didn't

really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was

pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a

load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after

you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more

success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal"

people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering.

But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this

world who find these things to be difficult. If I had known that this

was true in your case then I would have never have exposed myself to

what you wrote. It just wouldn't have been "right." Sort of like

parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the

emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a

demand on you.

P.S.: You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful,

cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable,

belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal,

fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic,

brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame,

self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, fraudulent,

libelous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, EDLINoid,

illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking,

devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic,

fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased,

suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim,

crazy, weird, dyspeptic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim,

unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive,

mind-numbing, arassive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive,

abusive, socially-retarded, puerile, and Generally Not Good.

#oh my word #my friend found this #she said ‘oh my word look at what i found! lets send it to savannah’ so we sid #but i wanted to share it with yall not because i dont like yall but because you could send this to somebody you hate #have at it

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dogbearinggifts · 6 years ago

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Why Didn’t the Other Siblings Include Vanya?

It’s a question I’ve heard often from fans of this show, and honestly, it’s a fair one. Vanya was deliberately excluded from everything—missions, family photos, conversations. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d awake on Christmas morning to find that her siblings had begun opening gifts without her, or get to her own birthday celebration to see that they’d already blown out all the candles on their cake and were in the process of dishing it up. Why? If all of her siblings were treated badly by Reginald, why did they not band together, support Vanya, and stand up to their shitty excuse for a dad?

The answer lies in a deceptively simple concept known as scapegoating.

Of Scapegoats and Other Roles

I say deceptively because it’s probably an idea most people are familiar with. Pick one person, assign them the blame, and let everyone else move on with their lives. Any fan of this show would immediately think of Vanya whilst reading the Psychology Today article on scapegoating, and rightly so. However, as that and many other articles hint, it’s far more complex—and ugly—than one might assume. And it can be difficult to explain, because survivors of child abuse likely never had to articulate it. The scapegoat dynamic was something they knew instinctively without fully comprehending what it was or why it was happening. So, I’ll do my best to explain how it works.

If you’ve heard the term scapegoat, you’ve probably also heard the term golden child. These two roles are opposites. Where the scapegoat receives most of the blame the family has to offer, the golden child receives most of the praise. Where the scapegoat is painted as deliberately evil or a perpetual fuckup or both, the golden child is painted as a hero who can do no wrong. If you’re thinking of Vanya as the scapegoat and Luther as the golden child, then you’re on the right track.

However, between those two extremes is a whole spectrum of roles. Sometimes these roles are fluid, but more often than not they’re permanent and only change when the family undergoes a drastic shift. Maybe the family has a Diego, who envies the golden child and jockeys for favor that will always be out of reach. Maybe they have a Klaus, one whose failures would be enough to make them the scapegoat were it not for the current scapegoat’s failures overshadowing theirs. Maybe there’s an Allison, one who is disliked by the parent(s) but manages to be useful enough to escape punishment; or maybe there’s a Ben, who has everyone’s pity and sympathy and is still miserable. Maybe there’s a Five, a rebel who defies the family’s rules and pays the price.

If none of these roles sound fun to you, then congratulations—you’re on your way to understanding what life in an abusive household is like.

Abusive Parents Ruin Everything

Living with an abusive parent (or two abusive parents, or—in my case—an abusive mother and her Flying Monkey) is like living with a bomb. The bomb has a timer, but it is constantly reset and doesn’t operate by any sort of internal logic. It might say you have 3 days to detonation when you leave for school, but by the time you return it’s down to 15 seconds. The golden child always has the most time before detonation, and they’re sometimes able to buy a few more minutes or hours, but even they’re not shielded from the blast.

The scapegoat, as you might imagine, is the one whose presence is usually responsible for setting off the bomb. Maybe this earns them some pity from their siblings, but there’s also something darker: a sick sense of relief that they were not the ones receiving the brunt of the parent’s anger. You see, the parental bomb operates on different rules depending on which child they’re interacting with. Equal treatment in an abusive household is a pipe dream. The golden child has it the best, the scapegoat has it the worst, and everyone else is just trying to get through the day without stepping on any landmines. If the scapegoat triggers one—well, that’s one less landmine anyone else has to step on.

But what happens when someone defies the family’s roles and treats the scapegoat well? The short answer: Nothing good.

We learn from Vanya’s memoir that Five was the only one to treat her as an equal, the only one who felt like a sibling to her. Although we don’t see much of the fallout from this, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that there would have been fallout, and it would have been ugly. Remember that Five wasn’t just treating Vanya as an equal, reaching out to a broken girl and giving her the inclusion she craved—he was defying what Reginald saw as the rightful order of things, defying Reginald himself. You don’t do that in an abusive household. You don’t defy your parents. You don’t question why your brother gets better treatment than you, and you don’t tell your dad to treat your sister right. You accept it, or you risk earning the same treatment as the scapegoat.

Divided You Fall for Everything

Risk of poor treatment (and perhaps permanent loss of position—for instance, Klaus shifting from secondary scapegoat to primary scapegoat) is not the only reason abused kids don’t stand up for the scapegoat.

Abusive parents are masters of pitting their kids against each other, and the primary way they do this is through selectively limiting the information they have. In Vanya’s case, I think Allison was the only other sibling who even knew Vanya had been locked in a soundproofed room in the basement. From the look on Klaus’ face when he sees her, it stands to reason that he had no idea—his horror, pity and rage are those of a man who just now learned his sister suffered the same fate he did. To that point, he probably believed, along with the others, that she was sick and had to be kept quarantined.

That half-truth changes everything. If you knew your sister was locked in a soundproofed room in the basement for no reason other than that your dad was afraid of her, you’d understand why she emerged broken, and why she later become resentful. But if you thought she had a contagious disease, and was simply kept off on her own for her own good and the good of the family, her attitude upon emerging might come across as downright bratty. You had TB, Vanya! What were we supposed to do, parade through your room sharing your straws? Did you want the rest of us to catch it too?

I have no doubt that Reginald used selective manipulation of the truth in other ways too. Maybe he told Luther that Klaus refused to learn to control his powers, leaving out any of the horrific mortal wounds Klaus remembered seeing on the ghosts who appeared to him. Maybe he told Allison that Diego was always throwing a tantrum about this or that, conveniently failing to mention that his refusal to bend on unreasonable rules was the cause of those outbursts. There are countless ways Reginald could have set his kids against each other, and he would have exploited them all. He would have known, instinctively if not consciously, that if they ever sat down and honestly discussed the shit he put them through, then they would realize they were all victims—and they would band together to unseat him.

They Deserve It And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

There’s one more piece at play here, and this is probably the darkest of them all: cognitive dissonance.

You’ve probably heard that term too, but in case you haven’t, it’s “the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, especially as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change.” In an abusive family, it means stuffing your empathy deep down inside and convincing yourself that your siblings deserve what they get. Even if you know they don’t. Even if you’re not sure. Even if you’ve suffered the same treatment they’re getting. You tell yourself they earned it—because your parents tell you that you earned what you got.

Fortunately, cognitive dissonance can be overcome. We see its beginnings when Allison sees Vanya off by herself in all of the surveillance footage. The sight engages her sympathy, shows her where she’s gone wrong, and inspires her to make a change. We see it again when Klaus and Diego witness her locked in the soundproofed chamber and lash out at Luther for putting her there. They’ve seen the truth, and they’ve realized that things are far worse than they let themselves think. They knew it all along, but they’ve at last seen just how horrific things really were.

Conclusion

The question of why the other Hargreeves siblings didn’t include Vanya is a simple one, but its answer is anything but. And the thing is, it should be simple. Why did they leave her out? Why didn’t they realize how wrong it was? Why didn’t they love her enough?

I think they did love her. But in abusive households, love is never as simple as it should be. Abusive parents don’t make love simple.

And that’s the problem.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tw: abuse #cw: abuse #meta #long post #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #scapegoat #golden child #abusive parents #abusive families

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patriciamarieflorescruz · 1 month ago

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Patricia Marie Flores Cruz-Real story about deception and betrayal of a Filipino girl（Part 03）

If we recall the conflict between the two now, the two may not be suitable to be together at all. Why do you say that?

Before Patricia and Monkey broke up, Patricia had many cold war behaviors with Monkey, that is, she used silence to deal with problems, no contact or communication, while Monkey advocated that everything can be communicated and conflicts can be resolved. And behind this silence, there may be a story that no one knows, only Patricia knows it.

Monkey told Patricia many times that she could tell him any problems and difficulties, and work together to solve them, otherwise why do you need a boyfriend? Don’t you want to tell your boyfriend about your unhappiness or difficulties? Patricia always said sorry, saying that she hid everything and didn’t tell Monkey. This is Patricia, who always admits her mistakes, but never corrects them. So, is it possible that during the time when Patricia and Monkey were disconnected, she told other men everything about herself? Just like when she was in love with Monkey that year, if the Indian man in the previous article was real. Of course, this is an assumption, but many people have already made a conclusion about it.

In fact, when the epidemic was not over, the air tickets from China to Dubai were very expensive, so Monkey suggested that Patricia go to China. Patricia asked Monkey to wait because the air tickets were too expensive. Of course, all the expenses were borne by Monkey, and Patricia had no pressure. After the epidemic was over, Monkey suggested that Patricia go to China in March 2023 again, but Patricia still asked Monkey to wait. Because it was the common goal of Patricia and Monkey to reunite in China. If two people really love each other, shouldn't they be together as soon as possible? But Patricia didn't show this. She was always delaying time, but she kept saying that she loved Monkey very much. Monkey even told Patricia that even if she couldn't leave Dubai immediately, Monkey was willing to go to Dubai to meet her once. Isn't it worth it for the two people to meet after four years of love? Patricia refused. She used the excuse of wasting money and told Monkey to let him go when she was ready to leave Dubai. All this seems very abnormal, doesn't it?

https://www.facebook.com/100003089081028/videos/1265265803586377/

In 2023, Patricia suddenly stopped contacting Monkey. They went from daily contact to once a week or even half a month. This sudden change made Monkey feel very difficult to accept and uneasy. Monkey began to call Patricia's WeChat frequently during that time, but later found that there was no response. Maybe Patricia had quit or uninstalled WeChat. Monkey registered WhatsApp but still couldn't contact Patricia. Monkey even called Patricia's mobile number directly. It is very expensive to call from China to Dubai. It costs about 50 Peso per minute, and it will be charged regardless of whether the other party answers the call. Because Monkey knows that long-term love in a different place and country may not be solid. Once one party disappears, it is over. Monkey spent nearly 7,000 Peso just to make national long-distance calls during that time, and Patricia only answered the call once. It seemed that nothing happened on the phone, as if the two had no conflicts. She also called Monkey in Chinese "idiot". Thinking about this idiot now, I wonder if it was a kind of ridicule at the time? A fool loved Patricia for five years and waited for Patricia for four years. Patricia worked in Punjab Typing, a printing shop in Dubai International City at the time. The company's boss Haier and Monkey knew each other. Patricia explained that she didn't contact him every day with various reasons such as being too busy at work or being sick. These lies that others could not believe were all believed by Monkey. He knew that it was not normal, but love made Monkey willing to believe everything she said. Patricia continued to not contact him, and even blocked all Monkey's accounts that could contact her, including phone numbers. Monkey finally couldn't stand it. Monkey couldn't think of any other way, so he chose a method that sounded very childish, forcing Patricia to come out and talk.

Monkey felt that the love between the two had reached a dead end, but Patricia still insisted on her words that she loved Monkey. Monkey couldn't contact Patricia, and in order to express his sadness, he posted a picture on Facebook, which meant that Patricia was missing in his heart. Isn't there a similar expression in a song? Monkey thought it was also a romantic thing? But this post was misunderstood by Patricia's friends, who told Patricia about it. Patricia angrily contacted Monkey and blamed Monkey for almost pissing her grandmother off to death, and her grandmother thought she was really missing. Monkey said that he didn't mean that, but at least this way she was willing to come out and communicate with him. Patricia had nothing else to say to Monkey except blaming him, and the two have not yet proposed to break up.

Patricia always said people only know how she treat me bad,but nobody know what I did.So this time all things between Patricia and Monkey will be announced to the world,good or bad,right or wrong for you to judge.

This is a real story in this world.

The story continues, we will talk about it next part.

#PatriciaFloresCruz

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