#idk I just have thoughts about how perpetually empty she feels

[mishzar]

I always imagine the aurora as a massive ship. I know it’s probably not but just something about a network of hallways that stay largely untouched and isolated, especially after nastya goes out… it just does something to me

[bkgexe]

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

[theharrowing]

Revisit Thoughts:

WHO'S READY FOR SOME LORE!!!! WHOOOOO!!!!

let's dive in!!! (less of a pun because they are in a tub this time and not the pool.)

oh, i remember looking at different types of rich people bathrooms and being frustrated with describing this one. googling whether or not you could add liquid bubble bath to a tub with jets was a reprieve tho, and allowed me to add some lighthearted humor that i otherwise would not have thought to add.

idk if it is a common thing to suddenly feel like a dark, empty space could be haunted, but i feel like scurrying from room to room (or walking with closed eyes) is something i have done since i was a kid. (unprovoked. nothing has ever happened to me in the dark. [knock on wood.])

"I'll always be here for you, Jimin," you respond, and you are certain that you mean it. 

oof. i don't think i even knew what i was foreshadowing with this little piece of dialogue. if you know you know. i definitely did not have anything for later solidly planned until chapter 12.

take a shot every time mc says "i have questions" in this fic. (need to take 2 shots for chapter 7! title doesn't count.)

"...You are not simply a strategic move to strengthen the families. For one, you have no family."

💀💀💀 Jimin with the hard truths hahaha. also Jimin proving that he knows at least something about mc's background...

YOU KNOW WHAT. i'm renaming this chapter. from "never a dull moment" to "we know everything, dove."

i would say "take a shot whenever one of these men says 'like what you see?'" but that might result in alcohol poisoning for anyone binging the chapters.

i added an entire paragraph to the toothbrush scene. 🙈🙊

listen: idk why i make my mcs always have a daddy kink PLEASE don't @ me about it OKAY.

ooohhhh lore time, lore time, lore time.

i loved writing out this dream sequence so much. although she really hates this man and describes aspects of him as ugly, i really hope that it is the way he behaves and how he fails to care for himself that gives him that title and not actually anything to do with his looks or body type (which i intentionally left vague but we'll learn that he is Seungri from Big Bang lol.) i don't like perpetuating a narrative that ugly people are inherently evil. this ain't no disney villain.

“How long does it take Seokjin to drive back here, for fuck’s sake?” Hoseok complains as he checks his watch. “He said he was picking up Jeongguk thirty-five minutes ago.”

i had already written Jungkook's POV (which is listed after this chapter because it takes place at the same time) so adding this final scene with overlapping events from mc's point of view was so much fun.

oooh we also have more hints of 2seok being a thing™.

"Taehyung," Seokjin mutters. "I think he's been stabbed. There doesn't seem to be a lot of blood loss; I think he's delirious from being high." Beside you, both Yoongi and Namjoon let out a deep sigh. 

i laughed when i wrote this, and i am laughing again as i read it. they're just like "what is it this time???" lmaooooooooooooo.

what a fun chapter. slowly, they are growing in length and becoming more complex, both in terms of story and in terms of emotional turmoil.

added Slow Running by Miso as the song for this chapter!

(lol @ seeing author notes where i apologize for slow updates because college has caused my life to spiral. same, same a year later lmaoooo.)

Collateral 🗡️ 10: We know everything, dove

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

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🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon 🗡️ word count: 12k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+ 🗡️ warnings: daddy kink, fingering & oral sex, squirting, graphic depictions of violence with blood, vomiting, character injury

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! <3 

🗡️ posted sept. 2022 | read on ao3

Steam fogs up the ensuite quickly as Yoongi’s large tub fills with hot water. Yoongi’s bathroom is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Everything is black marble with gold accents and light wood cabinet doors. Along one wall is a sink with two large vessel bowls and a large mirror. 

Past the sink and a modest toilet is a shower that is nearly a room of its own, with glass walls and doors, several ceiling-mounted shower heads, and tile shelves along one wall. On the other side is a spacious cabinet across from the sink, and near the shower is a square, black jacuzzi tub, which is large enough to fit four or five people.

Jimin sits on the closed lid of the toilet seat while you dig through Yoongi’s cabinets, sighing at the lack of bath-related items. While a glittery bath bomb may not be the best idea for a tub with jets, you had hoped for a nice scented bubble bath to act as aromatherapy to ease Jimin’s nerves.

“I’m going to run to my bathroom quickly, okay?” you ask, and Jimin nods, though his eyes stay glued to a fixed point ahead. 

You move quickly, scurrying from Yoongi’s room to yours. The mansion feels eerie with everyone gone or asleep and with most of the lights dimmed, so you opt not to linger and find out if it happens to be haunted as you run through your room to grab a bottle of eucalyptus-scented bubble bath from your bathroom shelf and run back.

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[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Wanna Make Me Their Queen

Summary: Adrien was raised to fill the role of King. Gabriel spared no expense to give Adrien the best tutors his influence and wealth could buy to make sure that the Agreste, and no other, embodied the role of King to perfection.

There was only one problem: Adrien hated it.

Notes: Based on the BAMF Royalty AU post by @paperstarwriters (IDK if you know anything about these characters. Hopefully, it's still intelligible 😅. I'm just experimenting with this really.

-----------------

Adrien held himself with dignified restraint, smiling blandly at the assembled citizens as he recited word for word the speech he rehearsed. Not a line of the drivel was filled with any of his own thoughts.

The applause that followed Adrien off stage filled him with no satisfaction. From the perpetual scowl on Gabriel's face the same was true of his father.

"What was that?" King Gabriel demanded. "I thought you understood what was expected of you."

Adrien held his expression in a carefully crafted mask of remorse his tutors told him made the other party feel it was actually their fault. And in this case it was. "I performed the prepared material exactly as instructed, Father. I-"

"King Gabriel!" Said King clenched his fist behind his back. "I expect you to address me accordingly."

Bowing slightly, Adrien mimicked the mannerisms of that one Baron that Gabriel couldn't stand as he held his right fist over his heart. "Of course, my King."

"The coronation is in a month! I cannot have you messing up when we are so close! I will have words with your tutors about this."

Adrien resisted reminding his father that, as Prince, his training was supposed to be personally overseen by the King himself. Not handed over to others.

"I don't have time for this. The council is expecting me so that we may discuss important matters."

Case in point, it was generally protocol for the Prince to sit in at these meetings so they could learn how to run the nation. But Adrien was never invited. Gods forbid he actually learn how to do his job.

The irony probably went over his father's head as Gabriel stalked off.

"... I think that's enough nonsense for one day," Adrien said to no one in particular. Heading over to practice the singular art of Kingship he actually enjoyed: swordplay.

----------------

Fortunately, the training hall was empty.

His body moved with a precision and intensity born from years of study. And not a little bit of frustration. The blade in his hands flowed like an extension of himself. Lunging at his fath- at his imaginary opponent.

"Are you going to join me or just stand there?" Adrien asked without stopping.

"I was admiring the view," Kagami stated by way of greeting.

Adrien was rather proud that his sword didn't go flying out of his hands as a rosy blush colored his cheeks.

Kagami stepped into position with her own sword. "What is it this time?"

Ringing their blades together the match began. Adrien knew her so well his body acted almost on instinct, dancing around her and parrying her strikes. Kagami equally knowledgeable of Adrien's movements. Able to predict his chaotic fighting style with her own.

"I was under the impression that Kings spoke their own thoughts. Not acted like someone else's mouthpiece." Adrien's annoyance seeping into his blade as it sailed through the air.

"King Gabriel isn't doing a very good job of hiding his ambitions." Kagami blocked his swing. "Mother thinks she can get the council to overturn your election to Prince."

"Get someone not under the old King's thumb," Adrien observed. "Duke Tsurugi is a wise woman."

Brow furrowing, Kagami pushed against their blades. Making Adrien stumble. "Unfortunately, your patronage of the orphanages makes the council members 'not under Gabriel's thumb' see you as an excellent candidate for King."

Catching himself Adrien was just in time to block her attack. "What was I supposed to do? Not help orphans?"

Kagami's blade hovered over Adrien's neck. A smile gracing her lips as he proved her point.

His face flushed a deeper crimson. "... Okay, so I wouldn't be terrible at it."

"If being the most powerful individual in the nation is so unappealing-"

"One of, the most powerful individuals."

"-then give it to me."

Adrien blurred past Kagami's blade and was suddenly behind her. Pinning her arms to her side he leaned into her ear. "King Kagami does have a nice ring to it."

"You'd make a fine Queen."

Adrien's heart skipped a beat as his grip loosened ever so slightly.

Kagami twisted out of his grasp and used her bodyweight to pull Adrien onto the floor. Knocking the breath out of him. Straddling his chest her smile turned amused. "Come on, Adrien, really? How long have we been together?"

"... I can't help it if I'm falling for you all over again," Adrien grinned, showing no sign of discomfort at his predicament.

Scoffing fondly, Kagami stood and sheathed her sword.

Adrien sitting up as she did. Pouting at the loss of contact which she pointedly ignored. "... Do you really think I'd make a good Queen?"

Kagami caressed the side of his face as she looked him in the eyes. "I'm not in the habit of complimenting dishonestly."

He looked down as his face heated up, shy smile beaming. "Then I have an idea..."

-----------------

Adrien walked down the grand throne room. Council members and court officials packed on either side of the aisle. Even some ambassadors from other nations in attendance.

And at the very end was his Father. Face as inscrutable as ever. By his side Lady Nathalie who everyone whispered was the real mastermind behind the crown. Duke Tsurugi with Princess Kagami at her side. Queen Cheng stood behind them all in the most inconspicuous dress (for royalty) that she had.

Drawing more attention than necessary to the Queen's position was always unwise.

Adrien tried to ignore the whispers. A King choosing his flesh and blood as successor was highly unusual. Not forbidden just... Discouraged.

He suppressed a smirk. Won't they be surprised.

High Priest Bustier welcomed Adrien as he reached the throne. His heart pounding in his ears and Gabriel's gaze like ice on his skin. Only catching every other word as Bustier went through the ceremony.

"... May Creation and Destruction guide you as you guide our nation." Bustier gestured King Gabriel forward, who removed his crown and placed it on Prince Adrien's head. "Rise, King Adrien!"

The throne room was filled with the expected applause. Adrien waiting until it died down enough, ignoring the stare his Father gave him. Gabriel had prepared a speech that Adrien was "highly encouraged" to take as inspiration.

Clearing his throat, Adrien let his voice boom across the assembly. "My first decree as King! ...Is to name Tsurugi Kagami as Prince!"

"WHAT!?" Gabriel roared.

His voice lost amid the din of confusion from the crowd. Bustier slamming her staff on the ground to bring the noise to a more manageable level.

"I hereby announce my abdication as King!" Adrien felt a weight lift off his chest as the words left his lips. Even Gabriel slowly turning red as his forehead vein pulsed couldn't bring down his mood.

Kagami's mother stepped forward. "I, Duke Tsurugi Tomoe, recognize the appointment of Tsurugi Kagami as Prince."

Gabriel whirled on her. "This is an outrage! You cannot be thinking about going along with this farce! Imagine what the other kingdoms will say!"

"I have spoken, Lord Gabriel."

Gabriel fists clenched in a white knuckle grip.

"I, Duchess Bourgeois, recognize the appointment of Prince Kagami."

Adrien probably shouldn't have taken so much satisfaction in the look on Gabriel's face. Once Audrey learned that it was Gabriel who blocked her daughters' consideration for the positions of Duke or Duchess she came around quickly.

Adrien barely had to push for a majority of the council to recognize his decree. It helped that the candidate for Prince was someone already considered highly competent. 

As more members of the court, including some that simply saw which way the wind was blowing, backed Adrien's play Gabriel's expression became more and more murderous. Good thing weapons weren't allowed during a coronation.

"... The King has spoken!" Bustier stated to the crowd. "The council accepts Prince Kagami's appointment!" Her eyes turned pointedly to Gabriel. "Before the eyes of our nation and those of our neighbors it is done."

There was confused but still quite loud applause as Adrien and the other Royals were whisked away to discuss things in private.

--------------------

"I can't believe you two," Queen Cheng chuckled. "Pulling one over on that self-righteous moron. Who's idea was that?"

Adrien raised his hand tentatively.

Queen Sabine smiled as she shook her head. "Oh, I should have tried harder to get you appointed to Princess. So much time to make up for."

"Wait. I was always a candidate for Queen?"

"Of course, dear. Potential Princes might be publicly announced but we keep the identities of Princesses close to the chest.

Kagami's look was a smug 'I told you so'. "I trust we can count on your support, my Queen."

"Prince Kagami, you know I can't stand the former King." Queen Cheng's eyes flicked to Adrien. "And considering how you just declared your abdication in front of the whole world we'd look even more foolish if we tried to back out of it now."

Adrien smiled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. Kagami had the audacity to not look the least bit sorry.

There was a knock on the door. "Excuse me, my Royals, but Lord Gabriel is causing quite the stir," a court official called through the door.

Queen Cheng waved Adrien and Kagami back down as they rose. "I'll handle it. I've been itching to give Gabriel a piece of my mind."

"...Oh gods," Adrien sank into the well padded armchair as the tension in his body stopped holding him up altogether. "I can't believe it worked."

"Of course it did." Kagami sat in his lap with her knees over the armrest. "It was your plan."

"That's why I was so stressed out."

Kagami flicked his forehead.

"Ow."

"Give yourself more credit." Kagami wrapped her arms around his neck. "You convinced key members of the council to publicly turn against your father. An underhanded scheme worthy of the most venerated Queens."

"Yes, I feel so appreciated right-"

Kagami cut him off by pressing her lips against his. Adrien fighting back a grin as he sank into the kiss.

"... I feel a little more appreciated now," Adrien said when they pulled apart. Face tinted red.

"Good because I don't plan on keeping our relationship a secret," Kagami announced as she leaned her head onto his.

"A King and a Queen in a relationship? That's almost as scandalous as choosing your blood born as your successor," Adrien teased.

Kagami turned Adrien's head so she could kiss him again. "Well, they'll just have to get used to it... My Queen."

[vlindervin7]

I love ure fics, i was thinking maybe a kieu my/fatou one where they're in fatous bed and the cash queens come over, and then idk how it'd go it depends if it's pre/post fatou telling them about kieu my but basically just cute awkwardness from them and not knowing what to do/say and the cash queens realising kieu my isn't the ''ice queen'' they thought she was 🥰🥰

Can u make a fic about Kieu my and Fatou cuddling on their bed and kissing, pure fluff ✨from Kieu my’s pov

Here to say that I loved your kieutou works! Thanks for sharing them with us! Could you write something about the girls still being unsure about the relationship because they don’t know kieu my well and them witnessing how fatou and kieu my are together? It could be after everything is solved between the cashqueens and kieu my (she has apologized to ava for the past) but the girls aren’t still 100% sure of her feelings for fatou and get to see how soft kieu my is for her.

Read on ao3

Fatou is looking at her and the weird thing, the slightly uncomfortable thing, is that Kieu My wants her to keep looking. Her gaze is hot on her, scalding, and it almost burns uncomfortably, but it’s just on the right side of too much, like a hot shower after a winter day. Usually when people look at Kieu My she has the impression of standing on a podium, under bright spotlights, focused on the play she’s putting on. Fatou’s gaze is like a breeze that catches her off guard and caresses her face, makes her shiver, but feel held, too. It’s like she said that one time: Fatou sees right through her. She’s not party Kieu My to her, not popular Kieu My, not the picture perfect pretty princess she pretends to be. She’s just Kieu My, in her purest form. And Fatou loves her for it. She doesn’t even have to try.

She doesn’t have to try.

She doesn’t have the words to describe how incredible that feels. Sometimes it feels like nothing comes naturally to her. Every single thing she does, every person she interacts with, is a challenge she needs to overcome, something she needs to adapt too. But with Fatou… With Fatou the only thing she ever had to actively try to do is staying away from her and not fall too deep. She miserably failed at that, clear by the fact that she’s currently in her bed and in so deep she can’t remember what the outside of it looks like. Effortless.

She’s snapped out of her contemplation when Fatou shifts on her side slightly and reaches out to stroke her cheek softly like summer.

‘What are you thinking about?’, she asks.

Kieu My hesitates for one second, before recalling her freshly made realisation that around Fatou it takes more effort to hold back than to let her in, so she answers truthfully. ‘How easy this is.’

‘This?’ Fatou’s still absentmindedly moving her thumb against Kieu My’s cheek.

Kieu My gestures between the empty space separating their two warm bodies on the bed. ‘This.’

A smile grows on Fatou’s face. ‘Us?’

Kieu My nods once, and moves closer to Fatou on the bed, until her forehead rests against Fatou’s chest and her arm is around her. She can’t remember ever feeling this safe to just let go.

She stays there for a moment, simply breathing. With every passing second she feels her thoughts slow down more and more, until what’s left is a background buzz she can easily ignore for the feeling of Fatou all around her.

After a while, she lifts her head from her chest and looks up at her. Fatou squeezes her tight, before letting go. Kieu My moves upwards until they can look each other in the eye. And now she’s smiling again.

She can’t help but laugh at how happy she is. She feels so calm and somehow it doesn’t really scare her anymore.

Fatou looks at her with a semi questioning look, but most of it is fond like she gets it, so Kieu My simply shakes her head and kisses her. It soon turns a bit more intense than originally planned, but she doesn’t mind and, by the look of things, neither does Fatou.

She’s just starting to really get lost in the feeling of Fatou’s lips on her when a sudden knock on the door shocks her right out of it.

***

When she knocks on the door and then passes her head through the crack in the doorway when there’s no answers, Ava is met with the sight of Fatou and Kieu My quickly sitting up as if suddenly caught doing something private. Ava figures they were in a way, judging by the state of their hair and the sheets, the embarrassed looks they’re sending each other. Especially Kieu My, usually exuding such strong confidence, is looking anywhere but at Ava, possibly in an attempt to hide how flushed she is.

‘Can we come in?’, Ava finally asks, referring to Nora and Mailin standing behind her in the hallway.

Fatou checks her phone and, upon seeing the time, grimaces. ‘Sorry’, she mumbles sheepfully. ‘We lost track of time.’ She looks at Kieu My when she says it, and she seems to relax the slightest bit seeing Fatou’s expression.

‘It’s fine, chibi’, Ava answers. And it is. She knows Fatou doesn’t mean it and wouldn’t deliberately forget about their meeting. Who can blame her really? She’s so in love Ava can feel it radiating off of her.

‘We get it’, Nora says, with a teasing smile, making her way into the room and settling on one of the poofs. Taking on an old lady voice, she continues, ‘I remember being young and in love.’

Fatou lifts her hand to half-heartedly hide behind, says ‘shut up’ and drops it. ‘We lost track of time.’

‘We’d gathered, yeah’, Mailin answers from where she’s now sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Ava, now being the only one still left standing, makes her way to Fatou’s desk and sits down on the chair. She considers the bed for a second, but with Fatou and Kieu My on it, it suddenly feels like it should be just heirs, a small space carved out for them in the midst of the room, their own private island.

She notices Kieu My still hasn’t said anything since the girls walked in and has avoided eye contact beyond the small smile of greeting, but she also notices Fatou’s hand moving closer to Kieu My’s on the bed and Kieu My’s shoulders relaxing when she finds it, like Fatou’s touch is the anchor she needed to pull herself above water.

‘So are we still up for lunch?’Ava asks finally, pointedly glancing at what Fatou’s wearing, obviously still the clothes she slept in, but then she makes sure to catch her eye and smile to make sure she understands that she’s not upset.

She doesn’t think any of the girls mind waiting a bit longer. They’d been so wrapped up in their own worlds lately that they’d failed to take note of how the perpetually bright light in Fatou’s spirit had dimmed over the past few weeks. It’s especially obvious seeing her now, with that sparkle in her eyes and smile that would take more effort to try to suppress than to constantly wear. Her little quips come quicker and more often like when they first became friends, and she’s always been the warmest person Ava’s ever met, but now she seems to point that warmth at herself, too, instead of giving it all away and leaving herself shivering.

Of course!’, she Fatou reassures quickly and loudly, ‘I just uh. Need to get dressed and all that.’

She looks at Kieu My then, just a raise of her eyebrows in question, and Kieu My answers with something between a shrug, grimace and smile. Ava doesn’t speak fluent Kieu My the way Fatou clearly does, but she thinks she can safely say she’s uncomfortable. Ava hadn’t really paid it any mind before, but she suddenly realises she’s never seen Kieu My not dressed up before, bare-faced and bleary-eyed, wearing one of Fatou’s old t-shirts. She looks surprisingly vulnerable, holding herself differently like she’s shed off all her armour. It makes sense, Ava thinks, for her to surrender in the safe presence of Fatou, but she probably wasn’t prepared to forget all defences when it comes to Ava, Mailin and Nora. It almost makes Ava want to look away.

‘The reservation’s at twelve, so we have a little time left’, Nora comments after checking her phone, and Fatou looks away from Kieu My upon hearing her voice.

She hesitates a moment before saying, ‘I’ll be quick’, and making to get out of bed, but Ava stops her. She knows why she hesitated, and while, since Kieu My apologised to Ava and they smoothed everything out, Ava’s completely fine with the idea of her being Fatou’s girlfriend, she admits that she’s still not entirely comfortable around her. She’s never spent much time with her after all, but Fatou’s possibly the person she loves most in this world. She should get to know her girlfriend.

‘Are you coming with, Kieu My?’, she asks then. She’ll start as soon as possible.

‘That would be cool!’, Mailin adds, and Nora is enthusiastically nodding from her place on the pouf. After smiling at Ava gratefully, Fatou turns to Kieu My with her puppy eyes fully turned on, and even before Kieu My gives in Ava already knows she won’t stand a chance.

‘Yeah, sure. Thanks’, Kieu My says, looking at Ava in particular. Ava recognises part of the same sentiment she just felt reflected in Kieu My’s eyes. Maybe they haven’t found much they have in common yet, but they can start building a bond stemming from their shared love for Fatou.

She gets up from the bed, clearly wanting to get dressed as soon as possible. When she does, Fatou falls on her back and stretches out her arms with an angelic smile on her face. ‘Help me up?’

Kieu My fondly rolls her eyes before obliging and pulling her all the way up and out of bed. Fatou drops a kiss on her lips when she’s finally out of bed, and Kieu My flushes but she lets it happen.

‘We’ll be back’, Fatou exclaims, grabbing Kieu My’s hand and pulling her out of the room.

After the door closes behind them, the girls catch each other’s eyes and burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of their friend. Ava ‘s so happy to be back on good terms with them. The few weeks they were fighting was so hard for her, even though she maybe didn’t show it. She truly loves them a lot and to feel so completely misunderstood and taken for granted by the people who are supposed to have her back always is not an experience she’d care to repeat. They all need to do a little better.

It doesn’t take Fatou and Kieu My much time to get back to them, the waiting filled with chatter and laughter. Ava doesn’t mean to listen in on their conversation, but she’s sitting the closest to the door, and as much as tries to block it out, she can’t help but overhear Fatou ask, ‘You feeling okay now?’, standing in front of the door to her room, clearly waiting to make sure Kieu My is comfortable before rejoining the others.

It’s quiet for a moment in which Ava imagines Kieu My is nodding or something similar. Then, in a quiet voice she answers, ‘Yeah. Just felt like I was violently being woken from some perfect dream. I wasn’t prepared.’ She says the last part accompanied by a laugh as if trying to brush it off, but knowing Fatou, she’ll take it seriously.

It’s silent again, for a slightly longer time. Ava tries not to actively imagine what’s happening to give them privacy, but she has an idea anyway. Her brain doesn’t have the same moral compass as she herself does. After a few minutes, Fatou breaks the silence and whatever else that’s going on, ‘Ready now?’

When Kieu My laughs this time, it sounds much more genuine. ‘Ready. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

When they enter the room, Ava pretends to shake herself out of something she was reading on her phone. She doesn’t know if she’s convincing, she’s never been much of an actress after all, her emotions right there for everyone to see, but she thinks the girls are too wrapped up in each other to notice, either way.

‘Let’s go?’, she asks enthusiastically, getting up from her chair.

‘Let’s go!’, Fatou cheers, pulling the others into her infectious excitement, holding Kieu My’s hand and smiling blindingly at Ava.

Yeah, inviting Kieu My was definitely a good idea, Ava decides. There’s not many things better than seeing her chibi so completely happy.

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

idk where this came from. kairi ramblings, in which i repeat myself a lot, with a smidge of soriku:

how i interpret the dynamic of destiny trio, mostly from kairi’s eyes. headcanons ahead. i also project onto kairi a lot. i label them with brother/sister terms, but i’m not saying that’s how she labels them in her mind. found family doesn’t need to follow traditional roles. family can just be people closest to you. anyway—

i see kairi as the little sister. the only girl, boyish, a little shit but also precious, isn’t weak but is perpetually under the guard of the older brother anyway, her world revolves around her brothers and she has attached much of herself to them.

i see riku as the big brother. kairi’s known him all her life, strongest, smartest, most experienced, always there, couldn’t imagine her life without him, a guardian.

and i see sora as the younger brother. he’s closest to kairis age, her partner in crime, he is under her wing as much as she is under his, is perpetually “little” and must be protected even if he’s taller than her, a baby beneath it all, silly and precious.

this is how kairi sees them, in a way. and that’s why even though she’s often with riku (game-wise), bc younger siblings usually gravitate towards the eldest, she’s always more vocal about making sure sora is safe. because you always take care of the kids, first. she doesn’t see him as “littler” than her, but by virtue of being her equal, or close to it, she feels that he needs protection similarly to her. she also feels like she could give him that protection, even if she couldn’t fully protect herself. this could be why she mimics sora’s battle pose and not riku’s, bc she feels sora’s style is something she could achieve and that could benefit her. bc she sees more similarities between herself and sora.

this is actually part of why she comes across as kinda “pointless” in her appearances. she thinks she can be there for sora, bc like i said she naturally sees him as closest to her equal. but because she can’t even protect herself, her attempts to protect sora fall flat.

that’s also why she doesn’t really voice any concerns about keeping riku safe. one, because he’s the older one, and has always been the strongest one, she’s never felt the need to, not as prominently as for sora, and two, she partially feels she can’t do that. if there’s something riku can’t protect himself against, she doubts she’d be able to do it for him. but it isn’t a primary concern, bc there’s little riku has ever needed protecting from.

this is why she shares paopus with sora, and not riku. she’s resorting to the supposed “magic” of the paopu for luck, for a way to keep sora safe.

riku on the other hand, is the strongest of them all, and older. she believes he knows what’s best for himself, and that he can take care of himself, better than she ever could, so she lets him be. she’s let him be for most of her life. sora is the one who’s always needed talking-to’s, after all. riku will always be there, but sora’s the one who would suffer more if he strays from the path. riku couldn’t be kairi’s responsibility, but sora could.

to me, it’s a matter of “scaling”, or even just relativity. sora and kairi have always been the closest by virtue of being the same/similar age. riku, despite being only a year older than them, IS, in fact, older. he’s “the big kid” in their group. and that’s part of why there’s always been a gap between riku and them. kairi can see sora as her peer and equal, but with riku, despite kairi being under /his wing/, she sees herself as /under/ him regardless. (not in a derogatory way relax)

it doesn’t help that riku always tried playing the part of the older brother until recently. and kairi and sora were very much partners in crime. kairi could be a brat at riku, but sora’s the one she could hit and boss around and scheme with.

there’s less fear that riku might not come back to her than that sora won’t. to a degree, it probably doesn’t even fully register in kairi’s mind that she could lose riku, whereas that caution is a real fear when it comes to sora.

for sora, it’s actually probably the same. at least in regards to kairi. because he and kairi really are equals. protecting kairi is a prominent priority in sora’s mind, because he sees her as “small”, or young/younger.

but his feelings aren’t the same when it comes to riku.

riku may be older, he may seem untouchable, but sora obsesses over staying close to riku anyway. not necessarily protecting riku, but staying /with/ him. sora /needs/ to know riku is safe, and preferably by his side, physically, even though sora knows they’re always together. (this is fact, see: DDD)

Sora is way more vocal about wanting to be with riku than kairi is about riku, because sora is in love with him. That’s the difference.

Kairi is family. Kairi brings sora comfort, and happiness.

Riku /completes/ him.

Kairi has been attached to Sora in a slightly less than healthy/optimal way. She feels like she needs sora (and less obviously, riku) to be physically with her to be okay. If Sora or Riku aren’t physically with her, in the same place, she feels alone.

Sora, on the other hand, can be without riku. And this is because sora knows riku is always with him, even when it might seem like he’s not. Though naturally, sora would rather he and riku be together, physically.

All of this reflects on why kairi’s relationship with sora and riku is lacking. She doesn’t feel their togetherness, because their bond is weak, or weakening.

Sora and Riku’s relationship is—I don’t even know how to put it, honestly. Sora and Riku’s hearts resonate with each other, gravitate to each other, they are literally shining onto each other, and all of this is why Sora and Riku can feel each other. Because no matter what, they’re always together in heart.

This is part of why Kairi in Melody of Memory is great. She’s beginning to realize and accept that she can’t be with sora and riku until she can at least /be/ there /for/ them. She’s never been able to do that, so hopefully her training, /her decision/ to train, will be the beginning of her learning and experiencing more things.

Who knows where her path will lead. Maybe it’ll lead her back to Sora and Riku, or maybe away from them. But that’s the whole thing. She has to break away from the one thing she’s always known, out of the rut she’s been stuck in, to discover what it is she really needs and wants. to grow as a person and a character.

again, these are all my personal interpretations, based on my own relationships and views of my brothers. but it’s what helps me connect with kairi when at face value, she doesn’t feel very interesting or compelling.

i doubt this reads as “i hate kairi” bc after putting thought into it, i’ve discovered that i really do like her, and her role in the general story. it’s maybe a role i don’t see often, or done well. i’m starting to think kairi really is top notch, even if her role is unappealing, and difficult to fully appreciate, because that’s the whole point.

i’m sure i’m not the only person in existence who’s ever been afraid of change, taken my personality from the people around me, invested too much of myself in others and forgotten myself, lost something very important in childhood that’s held me back in the years since, been overdependent on others, unable to connect with people in the healthiest way, etc.

people sometimes say kairi feels like an empty shell of a character, but maybe some of us forget that sometimes, there are people who feel like an empty shell of a person, too.

i’m not tryna get philosophical here, or pretend i’m smart. i’m just saying i really relate to (my interpretation of) kairi, and i’m tired of certain kinds of people reducing kairi to “girl who likes sora”. even if she did, she’s so much more. fuck off.

to anyone else who read all this, thanks lol

[james-winston]

My dad died a few weeks ago and I thought I'd share a few of my favourite stories about him. Please feel free to re-tell these as, "my friend's dad..." - he was a great storyteller and would be thrilled at having an international audience.

[Also, as fun as it is to imagine your faces reading these without the warning, it's important to preface these stories by saying that he grew up in Northern Ireland during the troubles.]

• He was one of 14 children, 12 boys and 2 girls, and all the brothers look the same - broad, tall, dark haired, big Irish heads.

• Unlike most of his brothers he was quite shy and quiet, afraid of getting into trouble. His brothers knew this, so when the troubles began they kept him fairly out of it. My da was often lifted off the street by the British army or the RUC because, as I said, he looked almost identical to his brothers, who were very much NOT afraid of getting into trouble.

• He was once brought in for questioning in relation to something they thought his brothers had done, and he immediately told the police everything. He felt awful and told his brothers, who said, "Ah don't worry Gerry, we knew ye would tell, that’s why we always lie to ye."

• He moved to Dublin with one brother to find work. My da got work as a builder, and his brother got work robbing banks. He came home one night with about half a million punts (euros) and my da left Dublin the next day because he couldn't handle the stress of just knowing the money was in the flat.

• This is the same brother who "stumbled upon" a set of Canadian cheques and gave them to people all over the city to cash in, and he would give them a cut. (This was back in the 70's, so it was weeks before the cheques would bounce idk how it works. Also there was some legal loophole he exploited because he was eventually caught and released.) Anyway, in his first trial run he dressed my da up as a priest and sent him into a bank to cash the cheque so if it went wrong they wouldn't expect fraud. They accepted the cheque no problem, and then said, "That will take a few weeks to go through, do you need anything to tie you over Father?"

At which point my da panicked and said, "Aye, I -uh, I suppose a wee bit, just to uh-, just to get by."

My da asked for a small, reasonable amount and went back to his brother, whose eyes lit up like Mr. Krabs' and said if my da hadn't been so terrified, and so soaked through with sweat, he'd have had him in every bank in the country doing the same.

• The same brother again who gave my da money for an ice cream van, but, as you may have noticed, my da was a soft touch, and he went out of business OVER THE SUMMER, because he gave free ice cream to the children who couldn't afford it.

• His brothers tried to teach him how to fire a gun, just in case he ever needed it to protect himself, but he kept closing his eyes when he went to pull the trigger so they quickly shelved that idea.

• He dropped out of welder training but moved to London and pretended he was qualified anyway. On his first day he built a frame in the wrong dimensions, panicked, and moved back to Ireland. (We've all made a mistake at work that's left us making plans to leave the country let's be honest.)

• He did one gun run for his brothers in the seventies and threw up when he got home because again, he was terrified.

• Two of his brothers got the rota wrong, and robbed a bookies the night after they'd emptied the tills. As all Irish sons are, they were petrified of their mother's reaction, so they didn't tell her. My da, none the wiser, tells my granny, and she lights into the pair of them when they get back for being so stupid and how could they not know when the tills were being emptied?

• He adored his mother, and he and his brothers used to sit at her feet, even as grown men, having a drink by the fire. Not a wild story, but a nice one.

• He had a hell of an imagination and used to tell us all sorts of lies and ghost stories. Any time we were camping near the mountains he'd tell us about the banshee.

"Can you hear that? I think that’s her scream?"

My ma, also a wuss: "Naw it's the wind because we're halfway up a mountain facing the Atlantic Ocean.”

My da, a perpetual wind up: "Naw children, it's the banshee, my time could be up any minute now, I've heard her."

• As he got older, and after my parents divorced, his health declined and he went to live in a sort of assisted living place, where each resident had their own flat, but there was a shared communal space etc. Anyway, he had a quick eye for a quick temper, and didn't waste time writing fake letters from the landlords to certain tenants, explaining that they'd been barred from the communal area for inappropriate behaviour. He'd then sit back and watch them all kick off at each other and the receptionists demanding to know why they were barred. Little did they know my da had roped the receptionists into it.

• He once worked as a caretaker in a day centre for old people, and he would often "borrow" from the boss that he didn't like when he was cleaning her office. Nothing big, just her pens, her stapler, any nice biscuits. There is home video of us as children following him about and "borrowing from Marie." 

• Another time he went for a walk with a brother who was, unbeknownst to him, on an MI5 watchlist, and whom the British Army were tailing, hoping he would lead them to his weapons stash. Anyway, off they go on their walk, which in Ireland just means taking the scenic route to a pub, where they sat over a few pints. The British army surveilling him have a brain wave and think they've been lead to the secret weapons, because why else would two 20-something Irishmen be in a pub in the early afternoon, and they begin a full raid, smoke bombs, guns, the lot. At which point my da is dragged through the back of the pub, and out a first floor window. Given that we've established his tendency to talk under pressure, when he asked his brother, "what the fuck was all that about?" His brother wisely responded, "haven't a clue Gerry."

• He once went to a dance with one of his brothers, who got very drunk and very offended by some other man. So drunk was he that he couldn't remember which man had said what, so my da told him, but asked him to leave it. So he did, and off the brother went home. Or so my da thought. Half an hour later the brother turns up with a shotgun and starts threatening this guy who'd said something. He fires the gun into the ground by his feet to scare him, but accidentally hits him in the foot, and runs away. Turns out, in the half hour it took for him to get his gun, he'd forgotten what the guy looked like again, and shot the wrong person. The brother and his victim became good friends in the following years. (I don't know how, and my da didn't either, he just said, "awk sure it was a mistake, there was no harm.")

This was a beige imitation of these stories, but I hope they provided some enjoyment. I spent many a happy year listening to these over and over again.

Congratulations on making it to 71 Gerry, we should be so lucky. 🇮🇪

[day-writingdaydreams]

You Will Be Found - Chapt. 1 Anybody Have A Map?

A big Thank You to @khanofallorcs for being a wonderful Beta, and to @noirequin for creating the Spin the Record Challenge

Can also be read on AO3

🎵“And the scary truth is I’m flying blind, and I’m making this up as I go!”🎵

“Marinette, are you okay?”

Marinette turned slightly from her position, leaning on the railing of her balcony, looking out at the world to see the little red and black spotted being who had asked her the question.

“Yeah, Tikki,” she said in a quiet, almost sad voice. “I just… woke up an hour ago and couldn’t fall back asleep. So I decided to come up here to do some thinking.”

Tikki flew over to her chosen, a concerned look crossing her tiny little face as she faced her. “What seems to be troubling you?”

The dark-haired girl blew out a raspberry, ruffling her fringe. “The question should be what isn’t troubling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” she trailed off, the beginnings of being overwhelmed evident on her face

“Can we try to have an optimistic outlook?” The Kwami of Creation interrupted her holder, knocking her out of the downward spiral for the moment. “Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart? Maybe this day we decide we’re not giving up before we’ve tried? Today, let's make a new start.” Tikki said as she gave Marinette’s cheek a nuzzle.

A sudden noise interrupted them, making the two glance in the direction from whence it came. Noticing it was her phone with a notification, the designer picked it up to see that Alya had texted her.

“I wonder what Alya wants this early,” Marinette said with a sidelong glance to her Kwami. Tikki gave her a shrug, just as confused as the girl sitting beside her.

Ladyblogger: hey gurl wat up?

                      R u excited about 2day’s project?

MDCDesigns: Yas!

                        I can’t wait 2 c who I’m partnered with!

Ladyblogger: Whoa!

                      Ur awake!

                      Wait, y r u awake?

MDCDesigns: Couldn’t sleep.

Ladyblogger: That sux    

                      So…

                      Who do u think ur partner is gonna b?

MDCDesigns: idk

                       But I hope its not Chloe

                       Or Lila

Ladyblogger: y not Lila?

MDCDesigns: sorry Als,

                       No offense

                       but...

                       I don’t trust her on a project this big

Ladyblogger: gurl.

                      I don’t know what ur issue is wit Lila

                     but u need to stop being jelly of her

“How did this get turned into me being jealous of her?” Marinette asked out loud, turning to face the little red embodiment of Creation with wide eyes.

Turning back to her text conversation, the dark-haired girl furrowed her brows as she tried to get her point across to her supposed “best friend”.

“Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook,” the dark haired girl quoted with a sigh as she began typing again.

MDCDesigns: I am NOT jealous of her, Als!

                       I just don’t trust her.

Ladyblogger: so you say gurl

                      I’ll see u in class

“Another stumble as I’m reaching for the right thing to say,” she muttered quietly with a shake of her head, dismayed at the direction the conversation had taken. “I’m kinda coming up empty, can't find my way to you...”

MDCDesigns: yeah...see u

With a sigh, Marinette exited the text messaging program, checked the time, and slipped her phone into her handbag. It was still pretty early for her to head to school, but she figured that there was a first time for everything.

“It's a ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ kind of day, isn’t it, Marinette,” Tikki commented as she phased into the bag, giving her holder a sympathetic look as she did.

“Oh, Tikki,” the designer said with a humorless chuckle, pinching the bridge of her nose as she headed towards her trap door. “It most certainly is!”

Her parents were surprised to see their perpetually late daughter up and about so early.

”Marinette,” her mom called out before the girl could make her escape. ”We’re going to need you to help out after school today. A big order came in that your father and I need your help to take care of for tonight.”

The dark-haired girl stifled a grimace. She normally didn't mind helping out in the bakery, but today wasn't exactly a normal day.

”I would, Maman, but I'm being assigned a big group project at school today, and I'm not sure when the due date is yet,” Marinette said tactfully.

”I know that your schoolwork comes first, dear,” Sabine countered gracefully as her husband lumbered over to join the pair. ”However, we really could use your help. It would only be for about an hour, give or take.”

It was the give or take that worried her.

Resigned to her fate, Marinette bowed her head dejectedly and mumbled, ”Yes, Maman.”

”Thank you. You're a good girl, Marinette, ” said her father, patting her on the back before heading back to the ovens.

Grabbing a croissant and a to-go cup of coffee, Marinette left her parents with a kiss to their cheeks and a wave before starting her daily walk to school.

As she started up the stairs at the school’s entrance, she was met with the one person who would sour her day.

Lila.

“Well, if it isn’t Mari-brat,” the Italian vixen sneered.

“What do you want, Lie-la?” Marinette asked as she continued up the front steps, keeping her eyes to the front.

“What I want is for you to go down in flames,” the brunette said in a sing-song voice as she walked beside the secret heroine. “Are you ready to give up yet?”

At the top of the stairs, the designer spun to face her nemesis, blue eyes flashing like lightning. “Let me tell you something,” she growled. “I do not make deals with liars, and I never give up easily.”

“Oh,” the fake fox said coyly, “but you will. I’ve already won, you know. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

With a flick of her brown locks, Lila sauntered away, ready to claim her next victim.

Marinette glared after her, wishing with all of her might that the bitch would finally get caught up in her web of lies. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Another masterful attempt ends with disaster,” she muttered, bringing a hand to her face to give it a slight rub. “Pour another cup of coffee and watch it all crash and burn,” she continued as she headed to the locker room, ready to just get the day over with.

Opening the door and finding the room empty, the designer kept singing under her breath as she reached her locker and gathered her belongings for the day. “It’s a puzzle, it's a maze. I tried to steer through it a million ways, but each day’s another wrong turn,” she took another deep breath as she closed the locker door. The secret heroine felt her Kwami pat her through her purse on her hip in reassurance.

“Does anybody have a map, anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this? I don’t know if you can tell, but this is me just pretending to know,” Marinette sang slightly louder, looking around as she left the locker room and crossed the courtyard, confident now that no one was paying attention to her. “So where’s the map? I need a clue, ‘cause the scary truth is I’m flying blind… I’m flying blind... I’m flying blind, and I’m making this up as I go...”

Reaching her classroom, Marinette discovered it to be empty. 'Just as well,' she thought, setting her bags down and pulling out her tablet, sketchbook, phone, and earbuds. ‘It's bound to be a long day.'

Feeling inspired, she sat down and opened up her sketchbook to an empty page. She then pulled up the ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ soundtrack on her phone, plugged in her earbuds, and set to work.

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[yeoldontknow]

Hi! Can I ask question about the movie Paris Texas? I am not sure if youre the right personbut i have always wondered why it is so highly revered. Like I liked the movie, i thought it was good. i could feel the longing the characters are going through, i liked how it was shot(?),i can see why the 'booth' scenes are always replicated in music vids & other shows & stuffBut idk what makes it iconic- like everytime i listen to people talk about films, they bring that movie up.

my favorite actors and directors for around the world even mention that filmLike i enjoyed it and know its good, but i am not sure on what makes it great. what are your thoughts on this film?

ahh hello! lmao im so happy people are asking me to talk about film lmao this really does excite me. and im so glad you came to me with this! just in general! thank you!

trust me like...i get it. paris texas is a great film, and i did enjoy watching it, but i see where you come from. i can understand why its been so revered, so hopefully i can shed some light on that for you. but! i really do understand where you come from. if im honest, theres a lot of flaws and issues with the film. its slow, doesnt actually handle the heavy themes the script attempts to portray very well, and doesnt really actually offer any nuance to janes character. shes actually a really complex character, but shes boxed into the role of like...the manic pixie dream girl, except not that. shes not and ideology of freedom or growth or perfection the way that trope is usually portrayed. instead she exists to further a male centric narrative and the depiction of women is really shallow, so trust me i get why there is a dissenting opinion. 

that said, there are a lot of things that make the film as cult and important as its become among cinephiles. they range from the use of americana as a plot device, colour theory, voyeurism, the breakdown of the american dream, etc. ill be breaking down some of the major points here under the cut, but there are even more ways to read this. and!! i stress!! it is ok to read all of this and still disagree! thats the beauty of film studies.

to really understand fundamentally why this film is so important we need to focus on two intertwining notions - that the film is a portrayal of america and this portrayal of a america is coming from a foreigner. the director of the film is win wenders, a german filmmaker, who has always claimed to be fascinated by the history and character of america. effectively, america itself becomes a character within the film. it does not matter that ‘america’ is the backdrop - it plays such an integral role in shaping the narrative of the story, one could argue it has more autonomy than jane. take for example the opening scene - it opens with the scene of a man walking aimlessly through the desert with a gallon of water - nameless and aimless. from this very first moment, we are presented with land. an endless expanses of land in which there is no real ownership; from this moment, we are meant to understand this america shapes the lives of its people as much as this perspective on america is shaped by the director of the film. 

furthermore, if we consider the opening shot; the saloon; the fact that a full 26 minutes elapses before the main character says a single word, we can argue the mise en scene within each of these scenes a visual alignment to the classic genre of western cinema. here, too, in this genre is the stress on land as it relates to and symbolizes the importance of freedom, autonomy, and identity, but moreover is there a stress on the notion of the anti-hero. by cultivating this understanding of america and the western, we can immediately align travis with the failed man, the failed husband, a failed owner of land, and a failed dream. 

but...did he fail? or did the notion of americana and the american dream fail him, instead? this seems to be the case as we considered the continual use of americana references. one of the fundamental aspects of americana is the nature of nostalgia - americana is traditionally idealized as the desire to return to small towns and cities from the turn of the century. the hope of creating a home, only for that essence of home to be lost; the period of exploration from 1820 to 1880, and then the comfort of being settled from 1880 to WWII. these are the fundamental aspects to understanding americana but they are foundational in the nostalgia that drives the narrative. aspects like: a barber shop, a diner, route-66, etc these small town notions are the driving pieces of nostalgia. and these are the elements of nostalgia that generate the plot device of paris texas.

im taking a moment here to really stress the following: western films and the concept of americana is inherently problematic. it exists on wester colonization, appropriation, and genocide. americana is a white-washed version of history and that, explicitly, is why all the elements of americana, nostalgia, and the american dream fail within this film because, again, it is america from the perspective of a foreigner and the perspective is profoundly unforgiving. 

(also, like, i literally hate western films because they are so racist and sexist and hyper-masculine, from any historical or modern perspective, so again...me being me saying i understand why you might have had a hard time with this movie lmao but when you realize this is not speaking in favor of those things it kind of hits you like...oh, damn. like, imagine this film from the perspective of a white american male, you know? travis would be a king, someone admired rather than someone youre not even sure you like or tolerate by the end)

right! so! now that we understand how important the elements of a failed america and american dream are to this film, we can see how nostalgia continually presents itself - not for a home lost, but for the hope and the opportunity lost. consider: the colour, the wide, open expanses of land (could have been owned, but are entirely empty), the way characters gaze at their own reflections - hell, the conversation between jane and travis at the end, double sided mirrors, jane forced to look at herself in the mirror while travis looks at nothing because its his memories and his memories are presented at a visual and emotional distance. memory presents itself through illusions, reflections, and disorganized narrative structures - it is not that they cant remember, but that they want to remember without criticism. this comes to a head when they view the home movies, another example of how life was or could have been - how it was supposed to be, and the sudden confrontation that it very much is not that. 

primarily for me, the thing that makes me enjoy the film (apart from realizing wenders has an extremely unforgiving view of america) was the colour theory. you cannot talk about this film without discussing the colour. the predominant tones in the film are red, white, and blue - americana and american flag. but why all the green (i.e the doctors office)? why the isolated events of solid red (i.e the strip club)? well, green and red are put perpetually at odds with one another. green, a usually soothing colour, is subverted to denote internal conflict; red, becomes regret, falsehoods. the colours in the film exist to at a sub-textual layer that speaks for the characters when they refuse to speak for themselves. and by the end, the colours return to a normal palette. black, beige, tan - travis recounting their history to jane in a room that is natural. things are finally exactly as they are meant to be, the intense colours of their emotions faded by distance and time, and forced now to confront their truth. 

but still...the elements of voyuerism exist. because he can see her...if he chose to. she cannot see him. she can only see herself. and so we are left, then, understanding that there is no hope. no connection. the achievement of the american dream is a falsehood of nostalgia that exists to drive our motivations, forcing us to live in a time or a place or a hope that never once was tangible, but craved just the same.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 112 Thoughts

Congrats to Eren on giving all the good people contributing to his series’ Wild Mass Guessing page a shout-out. Good on you, man. You’ve got my vote on your cult not doing anything wrong or aggravatingly stupid ever.

Also, Zeke!

It’s rare we see such a prime example of a leader in a shounen manga knowing how to delegate. Props, my man!

I hope Annie kicks both your heads off!

This is an emotional chapter.

Before we begin, I have one thing I need to get off my chest.

Thank you for your time.

First thing first!

I love how Nicolo’s entire theory is, “something shady is up with the wine and idk Zeke and spinal fluid sounds right????” This entire chapter is one long tribute to everything the fandom has ever screamed about and it is fantastic in that one aspect.

Also, hey, hope for Falco. Zeke waits until all the bottles are empty before he screams, so I would guess that he at least prefers his victims to be properly dosed. Falco should be okay. The blunt force trauma might actually be the more concerning bit for the bright and shiny little one.

Another thing I love is how every single mention of Marley somehow makes Marley come across even worse.

Sorry, that’s not fair.

I love how every single mention of Marley reminds and confirms that they are the worse, and the reminders serve to dig that knowledge deeper into all our souls until we almost don’t mind when innocent civilians are wiped off the map if it means that structure no longer exists.

“Almost” being subject to innate character and morality.

Eren does not recognize the union of “almost” and adds the asterisk of “younglings” after “innocent civilians.”

Hell though, Nicolo. At least you found yourself, even if it did come after battering a child into unconsciousness. And you kept Connie and Jean from drinking the bad juice.

I really like the interaction between Nicolo and Sasha’s dad. Nicolo’s not the man he is. He loses himself in his anger and only chance stops him from crossing a very serious line.

But Mr. Blouse is the type of man Nicolo can see the merit in, and define himself by that gap because the end of that gap is something so much better than the man who come close to murdering children.

Some people are still learning to be better, even now, because of the good people they surround themselves by.

Gabi has been surrounded by nothing but warmth (barring Nicolo and Kaya’s trauma) since arriving to Paradis. Falco is a good guy. Mikasa and Armin are good people. The family of the soldier she killed are good people.

She isn’t charging at Mikasa and Armin (and geez every time these kids get a distance shot when the other characters are standing up it fucks me up; they are too tiny for any of this). She’s been passionately defending everything she and Marley has done, but now she’s quiet, and all she can do is ask for her friend, who keeps saving her life, to not be killed. All she can do is offer up her life to make up for the crimes that she can’t imagine being forgiven.

She is so young. Killing and violence and death are the obvious conclusions to her. She’s been taught that, and she excels at that, but now she keeps finding people who are willing to stand down and not kill her.

Reiner’s character is a slow stumble into his morality breaking his mind. Slowly, the idea that these people he’s surrounded by are people encroaches.

Gabi’s thrown into the deep end and the plot keeps shoving her head down when she struggles to the surface to breathe. None of this has been kind on her. The violent assault on her sanity is the kind she’s only ever been exposed to physically.

I haven’t put much thought into what I want from the Warriors, because thoughts of anything Marley adjacent always tend to irritate me. They’re trapped in a broken cycle that they’re perpetuating, and that makes them impossible to root for.

But I think Gabi needs her cousin.

She’s always wanted to be strong for him, and he’s only clinging to life because he wants to be strong for her and Falco.

Reiner knows what it’s like to learn that your simple world is infinitely more complicated than you can bear. This is his little cousin, and she’s gone through the crash course version of his nightmare. She doesn’t need the right answer that makes it all okay (there isn’t one), but a hug and someone understanding all of the twisting moral paradoxes shattering her insides would be such a helpful thing.

Heck, it would be good for Reiner, too. Seeing all of his pain in someone he doesn’t have the heart to blame. Maybe he could find some sort of path to peace in that.

Then everything just goes straight to hell.

Despite this chapter’s... this chapter...ness, Eren stepping straight into the backroom with his hand covered in blood? Hella fucking cool. Like. That is one thing I absolutely did not see coming, and it is a great way to bring him on back in.

I thought he wouldn’t get to talk to Armin or Mikasa until his plan exploded and they needed to bail him out. I never once expected him to just walk right in and take his buddies hostage for a nice, quiet conversation.

That said, yike.

Yike, yike, and dare I say it, yikes.

Grior reveals Our Heroes’ location, and that’s... really scary in itself, because Grior tells him that he’s grown too close with Eldians, yet Grior is helping the fanatical Eldians act in accordance with Zeke’s plans.

So it isn’t that Nicolo’s gotten too close with Eldians, it’s that he’s grown close to them without the purpose of exploiting them. Which, as every Marleyan soldier knows, is a bad thing.

And Floch doesn’t mind. He’s accepting the help of Grior without any comment.

Let’s do a brief headcount: Yelena, Zeke, and Eren run a cult of fanatic Eldians under the banner of a new Eldian Empire. Paradis’ military is theoretically running Paradis but really sentenced to the whims of said cult. At least one prisoner of war sides with helping out the cult. The Anti-Marley Volunteers (or at least Onyankopon) are in the dark.

Floch is, partially, willing to let Zeke’s plans play out however they may because they can work to destabilize the current Paradis government.

It’s fitting that this chapter is called, “Ignorance.” Willful and unwillful.

And as Eren says, nothing is further from freedom.

Now let’s get to the fun happy times of EMA.

See? Eren gets out of prison and the first thing on his mind is talking to his best friends! Such a touching, emotional sentiment!

...

Yeah, do you guys know where to begin? I don’t.

This is just.

Honestly, I keep moving back to yikes?

Eren is gathering people he has no emotional attachment to to his side, and aggressively pushing his friends away. He is doing everything he can to abandon them on the roadside and make sure they will have zero desire to come crawling back to him.

The question is if he’s doing this because he believes it’s best within his own head, he believes it’s the best response to being threatened into this, or if Eren’s just gone completely haywire in the membrane and his PTSD is finally attacking people besides himself emotionally.

This kind of deliberate cruelty has like. motive.

Mikasa tries to talk to Eren by reminding him of how kind he is. The warmth is what saves her in her mind, not the violence. She’s the one to bring up the kidnapping.

Eren counters.

Nothing like kindness saves her. It’s biology. Friendship doesn’t bind them, slavery does. Happenstance brings them together and keeps them there.

Mikasa argues. She says he’s wrong, and tells him it’s because of him that she’s strong, meaning him as a person.

Eren doesn’t address that. Despite being the one to ask how he’s wrong, when he’s given an attempt at an answer, he keeps monologuing rather than respond to Mikasa’s feelings for him. He brings up her headaches.

Mikasa is dead, and a slave, and he hates her.

“Do you know who I hate most in this world? Anyone who isn’t free.”

Ignorance is furthest from freedom. Even in this script Eren has adopted, no matter how much of it is the truth, if Eren’s seeking to relieve Mikasa of her ignorance, he’s seeking to bring the slave he hates so much freedom. From him.

Funny, she might protect Eren automatically, but she doesn’t have any problem with headaches when Armin punches Eren and makes him bleed.

Armin earns a less prolonged speech before all of it, and it’s...

For both of them, this is the worst thing they could hear from Eren. Armin, as a child, always feels useless next to his strong friends. His huge moment in Trost comes from realizing they never see him that way. It’s all in his head.

This isn’t in his head. This is Eren, telling him he’s useless.

Telling him that Bertolt, who’s only in his head because Eren fought tooth and nail to put him there, is interfering with his free will.

(Also even if everything Eren is saying is the bull it feels like, can has Frieda!Eren? Memory seepage. Canonize my brotp, manga. Do it.

(Double also, lol at Eren saying that memories are part of who you are, and Armin having Bertolt’s means bad things, but Eren having... lots has no effect, he is teh free as a bird. Kiddo, you are not a good bad guy.))

Eren calls himself free before he starts talking. He’s free from his ignorance in a way they are not, and he chooses to enlighten his friends.

Good grief. And more grief. Less than good grief?

Terrible grief?

ALL the grief.

Eren’s the one who wants a peaceful talk with his friends. All so he can beat the crap out of them physically and emotionally.

Eren.

What in the fuck. What reason could you possibly have to need Armin and Mikasa that far away from you? Why do they need to be pushed out of trying to see the good in you?

I’m sure there’s a reason, because story.

But wow.

Killing younglings was one thing. Lording the high ground and your blood brother over your real family?

Your heroic sacrifice where you finally die and everyone’s crying about how you did all this stupid stuff alone but truly for a good cause had better make me cry like a damn baby kid, or you are dead to me.

Additionally, heeeey. Guess what.

Guess what Eren’s learned about important things.

And throwing them away.

Can you guess.

Can you.

It’s the family he has that isn’t pro-murder.

That’s actually of serious interest to me, because one of the things I think the story has been moving towards is an actual examination of the belief that you need to sacrifice things to change things. While Armin states that in a philosophical, hey, this seems like how we win, way, the story has, more and more, focused on the love that keeps people from making certain sacrifices.

Eren’s thrown love, the only reason Armin’s alive to punch him, away.

For as dark as this story is, that’s never been the right choice. Letting people go is understood and respected. Disloyalty is scorned and rejected.

My theory for a while has been that the true answer to these sacrifices is that if you throw away the things you care about to change the world, that world will have changed into something abominable.

The world would be a different place if Sasha didn’t care about killing children.

Sasha being Sasha is why Nicolo tries to fight Zeke’s plans.

Eren’s world without Armin and Mikasa is not going to be a better one for him, and possibly not for anyone else, either.

Then we lead into...

Things that just make me really, really uncomfortable.

I don’t mind people like Levi suggesting that someone eats Zeke, then dies in a few months when Historia eats that person. I. That’s fine. That’s a fine plan, and it makes sense for where they’re at, and anyone who agreed to that would agree, no issue.

Historia’s plotline continues to make me... uncomfortable is really the word. Not the tragic, devastating uncomfortable that Eren’s stuff is. Just... the sickening kind. The fact that people have, off-screen, come to terms with perpetuating the same kind of bloody sacrifice of their children that plagues their entire society after we had an entire arc ending with Historia going hey, actually fuck that...

A thirteen-year-old being bred to eat its mother is a disgusting concept.

I know I’ve said it before, and I realize people are probably done with my feelings on the subject, but if that is really the story being told--even if it avoids that conclusion, the fact that a scheme like that is allowed to get so far without any comment to the contrary except by the Kylo Ren wannabe at the very start--

Why in the fuck should I care what happens to these people?

You raise a child to die for you, you don’t deserve to live.

What happens if they don’t consent in thirteen years? What if they don’t want to eat their mommy? Oh well, we’re going to force you, just like every other Eldian society from the dawn of time? Or guilt you into it because thousands of lives depend on you having none?

Fuck all of you. If that’s your plan, I don’t mind Zeke killing each and every last one of you. I will naturally prefer if he dies in the process, but it’s not the prerequisite you might think.

(Repeated statement that at this point, I will be doing my fandom activities until the series ends, but yeah. This is the place where I choose to opt out, emotionally, if it’s really going down like this.)

Um. In news that actually matters to people who aren’t me, heeeeey, Levi alone in the forest with 31 titans.

This is why the SnK kinkmeme was created.

It’s also really sad.

They killed the titans inside their home.

Zeke’s bringing them back.

Annie needs to kick so many people in the head I can’t even.

[sybvrites]

hi angels! im bee, 20, a general mess... u get the picture. this is hugo and he’s... idk what he is but he’s my baby :))) this is really long so you the best if you read it in full && as always my discord is the uk's weird farmer cousin#1697 if y’all want speedy replies for plotting !

tw: death & drug use.

( xavier serrano, cismale, he/him, twenty-two ) — have you seen hugo talbot, the history and politics student around oxford yet ? i hear they can be acerbic and meticulous, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of driving too fast on an empty road, the whipping wind in a thunderstorm, cashmere turtlenecks & worn poetry books when they’re around. rumour has it that his parents died during the execution of an insurance scam. is it true ? only time will tell…

FULL NAME: hugo byron talbot DATE OF BIRTH: november 3rd, 1996 PARENTS: gregory talbot & marianne cunard-talbot  NATIONALITY: english  IMPORTANT LINKS: statistics & pinterest.

BACKSTORY

hugo was born on november 3rd, ironically the same day as his mother’s birthday, born twenty-six years apart. marianne cunard-talbot was, to put it bluntly, not the motherly type. her own mother left her and her father when she was one, and since kenneth cunard had no other possible heir to the family business ( and fortune, mind ) the proverbial crown was laid on her brow. with no mother figure in her life, it seemed the capabilities escaped her, as they escaped her husband too. gregory talbot, as a second son to a wealthy family, had little to inherit but a mind for business. when they met at cambridge, both studying literature, in the eighties it wasn’t a match made in heaven, it wasn’t love at first sight, but they made a good team — it was enough.  two more children followed after hugo, and while they lacked a significant amount of guidance from their own parents ( or any sort of guidance at all, really ), they made do with themselves. while hugo and his siblings stayed in london, his parents continued to live in southampton where the headquarters for cunard corporation was, and let the nannies that they’d hired handle the raising of their kids. the lack of supervision and general parenting only served to create an air of entitlement around hugo. he knew from a young age that he was going to be an important man when he grew up, that he would be a powerful man. it was only enforced by the fact that when marianne and gregory would visit it was mainly to nitpick at their children, enquire after their grades and ensure that nobody was stepping out of line.  at thirteen hugo had to leave his siblings behind to attend eton. despite the fact he would return every weekend he still felt the separation from his siblings keenly, they had after all barely been apart for their whole lives. on his first day at eton, he tripped over someone else’s suitcase as he exited his car, and when he turned to angrily confront the owner of the case, he came face to face with thomas. they became fast friends despite the fact that hugo couldn’t help but remember, and wish to rebel against, his parents wish for him to befriend the heir to the throne. the tom he knew wasn’t the crown prince, but rather the boy who had never been allowed his own freedom, a boy who was only just beginning to discover who he was without his parents telling him who he had to be.  by the time hugo was sixteen, and tom seventeen, both had begun to dabble in illicit substances. their reasons were different of course, but it wasn’t as if they necessarily needed reasons to get high and pretend they weren’t going to have the weight of the world on their respective shoulders in ten years. but while hugo usually kept sober unless there was a party, tom seemed to want to spend his time being perpetually high. it was easy to ignore it, his best mate seemed happier after he’d done a few lines, but he also seemed flirtier. tom had come out almost immediately after they’d met, and it was like all the weight had lifted off of his shoulders, sharing his secret with another person seemed to help him immensely. hugo couldn’t say when he began to realise that tom had a crush on him, maybe it was from the very moment they’d met, but throughout the years it started to become abundantly clear. at a friend’s twenty-first birthday party he still felt completely blindsided when tom got high and wasted, and then tried to convince hugo to sleep with him. 

he was eighteen when his parents passed away, it was strange to him because despite their lack of presence it always felt like they were hovering nearby, just waiting for him to mess up, or for his brother or sister to, so they could blame him. it was an accident they said, something went wrong on one of the ships and unfortunately, it took his parents with him when it sunk. his grandfather pulled him aside at the funeral to tell him what happened, he claimed it was hugo's right now, considering once he left university, it was all his. he told hugo about how the cunard fleet was losing more money that it was making, how there was a plan to sink the least valuable to bring in more money, to supplement the loss of money. he told hugo how the plan went awry and the ship didn't sink when it was meant to on its return from australia, and when they went to inspect the ship and why it didn't go down, it sank with them on it. the money was still going to be beneficial to the company, and now the insurance company would be hard pressed to believe that the ship was tampered with, considering who was aboard. the secret had to be kept, he was going to have to keep it for his whole life if he valued his handle on the company and their resulting wealth. it was hard, losing his parents and being burdened with such a secret. his only solace was tom, who didn't know what it was to lose family, but understood what it was like to feel so disconnected.

he would never admit it to his best friend, hell, he’d never admit it out loud, period, but while his mate had been harbouring feelings for him, hugo had a crush of his own. tom’s sister eleanor was quiet around him, he wasn’t sure they’d ever really had a proper conversation and yet every time he caught sight of her when he’d visit tom his heart would kick up and his palms would sweat. it all came to a head when, at tom’s cousin’s twenty-first birthday, he rescued nora from a handsy party-goer and began seeing her in secret, namely so tom wouldn’t find out. their relationship was easy enough to hide, he would stay with tom and sneak off to eleanor’s room once he’d passed out, she would arrive at his door with a hermès scarf to shield her face and hair from those who might recognise her. by the time it had become abundantly clear to the both of them that it was a completely serious relationship and decided that it was time to go public and share their news with tom, and scheduled a press conference ( because an instagram debut was awfully uncouth ), they’d been together for almost a year and a half. 

with the press conference scheduled for the monday after their respective birthdays, and having resolved to sit down to dinner on sunday with eleanor’s family to tell them the truth, both hugo and eleanor went into the weekend confident and happy. tragedy was never far away though, it always seemed to loom on the horizon. after a wild saturday night, tom and hugo found themselves back at buckingham palace, hugo drunk and tom exceptionally high. a quick slip of the tongue ( “ god i’m going to regret this in the morning, nora’s going to kick my ass if i go back to her in this state. ” ), had him thinking he’d ruined everything before nora could present her arguments to her family. instead, tom gave his blessing and sent hugo off to his sister to enjoy the rest of his birthday. he’d thought it was the best weekend of his life, he went home to get ready for dinner and was interrupted by his phone ringing — it was the phone call that he felt turning his life upside down. his girlfriend told him how the maid came to wake him, he was late for breakfast, she shook him and he didn’t wake up. a heart attack, nora told him. the press conference planned for them was used to announce his best friend’s death, the best weekend of his life so quickly turned into the worst.

CURRENTLY

hugo is still trying to work through losing tom, he’s not about to admit to anyone that losing someone who he’d just assumed would be there for… well, forever, was taken so quickly. it also impeded the announcement for his and eleanor’s relationship and forced them back into the dark when they’d been preparing to be able to not sneak around, and now they’re back to where they were before. 

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: astute, meticulous, loyal NEGATIVE TRAITS: acerbic, calculating, imperious  hugo is, above all else, extremely sharp. when it comes to people it usually takes approximately a sentence to leave their mouth before he's made his judgement on them. this also applies to his schoolwork and actual work ( on the occasion that his grandfather requires another set of trusted eyes ). in all things he does he is exceptionally precise, mostly a result of the scrutiny he faced with his parents expecting every move to be absolutely perfect. above all else, and probably the trait he would tell a person he possesses, he is extremely loyal, mostly to his family. there are few people he would go to the ends of the earth for and without a doubt his siblings are the first two ( and eleanor ). he was never raised to be soft, he was raised to run a multi-billion dollar corporation, and as such he never learnt to edge his words with honey, his words always tend to sound as if they have an edge to them, almost confrontational. if a person knows him well enough, they would understand that he usually means nothing by it, he doesn't care enough about most people for it to mean anything. when approaching any situation, his cunning is one thing he has no problem in using, it's often little more than a means to an end as long as it benefits him or someone he cares about. he also has a habit of coming across as quite pompous, he's lived a life where he hasn't ever wanted for anything, everything is served up on a silver platter. as such his view of the world is also quite skewed and his knowledge of simple things like grocery shopping is nonexistent. it makes him come off as conceited and haughty, once the layers are peeled back he is definitely a different person, alas he's hard pressed to let anyone close enough to see him.

PLOTS

okay, i'm definitely spitballing because connections for him are genuinely hard, i can almost guarantee that while i don't think he makes enemies, he's certainly not making friends with many people. he's probably friendly with most people in the riot club, but nowhere close to someone he actually considers a close friend. in saying that, here are a list of connections i can see, but i'm so happy to brainstorm some fun things up ! 

close friends ( 0/2 ) — would have also been close to tom, and i imagine each of them brought a different dynamic/layer to the group ( for instance i definitely think tom was hooking up with one of their mates ). past hookups ( 0/? ) — obviously he isn't hooking up with anyone right about now but i definitely think he was a bit of a fuccboi before eleanor.  childhood friends ( 0/1 ) — hugo never really got out much as a child, but when he did it was usually with this character, their parents were likely friends of his own parents and thus, this character would have been ' approved '. party friends ( 0/2 ) — i imagine that these two were the ones who helped him get through tom's death where eleanor couldn't, he had, and still has, a lot of frustration regarding his friend's passing and i can see him just wanting to go out, drink far too much and forget about things for a little while. riot friends ( 0/? ) — he's not very... chummy with many people, but considering everyone in the riot club are of a similar calibre, he definitely feels more comfortable calling most people in riot more than acquaintances. 

[hellholland]

Drunk Me is Stupid Me || Sebastian Stan x Reader

Hope you enjoy this shit! It took me a long time to write it. I’m not fully back on Tumblr and honestly idk when I will be, but in the meantime I’m trying to write for you guys. I’m currently working on part two of remember the pattern and a peter parker request that is insanely overdue. I hope this satisfies you even though it’s not Tom. xx -Ciel 

[IMPORTANT: I’ve altered Sebastian’s age to about 26 for the sake of their friendship timeline and me being shit at math, but it’s still essentially 2018 so that’s a little reference thing]

 Knowing he could see your every move just made you shaky. Sebastian’s eyes followed you steadily, the one drink he had only knocking his perception skills slightly. At parties like this, he was usually watching out for you, as he had for years, but tonight was a different stare. It sent nervous shocks through your body. You were dancing, laughing, smiling, but your eyes betrayed your external feelings. Only you remembered your entire exchange from the previous night, which led to uncomfortable silence between you two since then. He didn’t know why you weren’t talking to him.

For him, some words could ruin  a relationship. In the near seven years of friendship you had, you’d only ever heard him say those make-or-break words to his mother, and in Romanian.

“Te iubesc.”

The day you asked him what it meant three years ago, he only replied “something special.” After sitting in on a few more phone calls with his mom and a Google translate search later, you figured out what it meant and why he refused to say it to anyone but his mother. I love you.

“Anyone you meet, you could lose them at any given moment. I know it sounds selfish, but I guess I’m scared to admit to such a powerful statement. There’s some people you’re kind of stuck with, like family, but you never know how long friends and lovers will stick around. You might think you know that person like the back of your hand, but humans are spontaneous. They say and do stupid things. I’m scared of giving up the control that comes with that sentence. If I keep the use of it limited then I don’t have to worry about giving a piece of me to someone who doesn’t reciprocate feelings...or someone who’s just temporary.” Sebastian rambled, kicking at pebble by his foot, the other foot bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’ve lost people I said that to. Loving people, or at least admitting out loud it makes it real. It hurts.”

“I think you have to lose some of yourself to feel. There has to be a negative and you’ll have to give up things you don’t want to. I guess you have to go through a lot of bullshit to learn and find someone who won’t leave you. That might just be my opinion, though.” You replied quietly, your heart almost dropping after processing everything he said. Someone fucked him over.

You’d known him for maybe twelve years, best friends in high school, drifting apart after senior year. When you both ended up in L.A you reconnected for a bit, but about a year after he began dating his ex, he hardly talked to you. You’d recognized why and to an extent you understood why he stopped, but it still hurt you. They dated for nearly four years till she broke it off.

That was two years ago. He never talked about her, or rather refused to when you asked. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but you knew you’d lose him. You didn’t want to ruin anything you had. He was your world and your one best friend. Why lose that because of a damn crush? Was he still in love with his ex? Would he actually feel the same?

“You look tired,” someone said in your ear, trying to get your attention over the music. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just got distracted. I’m fine, it might just be the drinks.” You turned, dragging yourself out of your mind to identify the voice. “Hi, Chris.” You smiled at him half-heartedly and gave him a hug.

“You’ve only had sparkling grape juice, (Y/N). You sure about that?” His hand rested protectively on your back, his head hanging close to yours so you could hear over the blaring noise. “I feel like you’re having other issues.”

Evans was concerned, he was uncharactiscally good at reading people. He was the peacemaker out out the Marvel friends and probably cared a little too much about how everyone was getting along. You guess this is an important problem to an extent.

Blackout drunk Sebastian confessing his undying love for you about eight hours after you got cheated on was a bit of a big deal. While three or four years ago you were completely sure of how you felt about him, there was the paralyzing fear that came with your jeapordizing your relationship. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. There was something about loving someone that wasn’t available that was painful, but addicting. As long as one of you was off-limits, there was absolutely no risk of fucking everything up. He was safe. You were safe.

“Yep.” God, you hated confessing your problems. You bit your lip, looking up at him. His eyes were focused on you, eyebrows pulled together. “I did a lot of stupid stuff. I felt stupid stuff. Now I don’t know what to do, or how to feel, how to function. You know?”

He took a deep breath, pondering over his words carefully before replying. “Is it Seb?”

Someone saying his name, his nickname especially, out-loud made you wince. Just because you didn’t want to hurt him didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. When Chris saw how you froze when he asked, he already knew.

“Damn. I can guess a little bit of what happened but I’m just gonna leave you with this because I know I can’t get involved at this point. He’s over her, your boyfriend was a douchebag and doesn’t deserve you or your mourning, and this has been going on for what, seven years? Just...talk. I don’t know. Yell or something. Even if it doesn’t fix things, you need to be open. Have discussion on the table, okay?”

“We were kids- I, I don’t know if it’s real? What if this is just gonna fuck everything up? I genuinely don’t know how it’d work? What if I’m still in love with Brendon? Or I’m not over him at least? I’m-”

“For the sake of everyone else, please try?” He looked at you expectantly, moving away slowly, taking your drink with his so you couldn’t hide behind it. “Take it slow.”

“I-I don’t know.” But he’d already walked away.

You stepped back, finding support against a wall, trying to think. You wanted him so bad, but you were only fearful. If you lost him, you weren’t sure you if you could recover. Brendon was a one-year denial relationship that obviously fell through, and somehow you managed to reject the trauma. Nothing was setting in yet, your brain was just a whir of panic and confusion.

Members of the MCU cast littered the room, talking and laughing, the other half of party-goers being staff and plus-ones. The enviroment was perfect, something you usually enjoyed, but with everything going on it only suffocated thoughts you were trying to sort through.

Sebastian was talking to three girls you didn’t recognize, smiling and scratching the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between his feet and them. Flirting.

Jesus Christ.

You spun away quickly and walked out of the party, bolting for stairs you only hoped would go to the roof. Just far enough till you could only hear muffled basslines, no voices or anything.

He kept looking for you, stealing quick glances, but you weren’t there anymore.

One steel door was positioned at the top of the staircase, hinting at a nice view of L.A and air that wasn’t tinged with alcohol. The clink of the metal door handle snapped you into reality as you stumbled forward, taking in everything around you. You swung your feet over the ledge, perched on the edge. There was a branch of the building only eight feet down, promising safety if you managed to fall.

He doesn’t remember anything he’s said to me, and he doesn’t know why I’m upset. I’m leaving him in the dark.

But I’m also in the dark. Everything came out of nowhere. Maybe it was because I was sobbing into his chest with a half-empty plastic Ikea cup of wine that spurred him to attempt to comfort me with his own confession?

I was a kid when I loved him, do I still? Is this dumb? I don’t know how to figure out my brain. I don’t know if any of this is reasonable. Am I the one messing this up or is it him? What if this is all a big mistake and I’m not gonna love him like that in a month? I was a little excited, but at the same time really terrified-

Fuckin’ incoherent.

You stood up, shaking as you paced the cement. Rapid ideas passed through your brain, only perpetuating severe stress. None of it made sense. What is even it? What the hell is going on? Fresh air wasn’t working.

“Goddamnit!” You shouted at the sky, arms thrown up in defeat. “Can someone just figure this out for me?”

“Figure out what?” A raspy, familiar voice asked.

You froze.

“(Y/N)?”

You didn’t want to turn around. You didn’t know what you’d do. Or what he’d do. Am I unecessarily complicating this? How convenient of Sebastian to show up now, it’s like a movie or some shit-

His footsteps grew louder till they stopped next to you, and you kept your eyes shut tight. He sighed. “Please talk to me?”  You could see him, messy dark hair, blue eyes and all, staring at the city lights and wondering how he messed up. What he did to make you mad. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Completely against your mind’s will, you scoffed. His eyebrows tightened, the left one slightly crooked up. Even though you still refused to look at him, you could tell exactly what he was doing. If you made eye-contact or anything, it’d make it real.

“Really?” He seemed to be taken aback based on the tone in his voice.

“How do you not remember? How do you-” You whirled around, a shocking anger bubbling in your chest. “You’re not gonna lose me, I don’t know - we might wreck everything we have as best friends but, God, I’m just kind of freaking out because I literally can’t process anything that’s happened in the past four days-”

“Hold on.” he was just as shocked as you but gripped your upper arms to try and steady you. “What do I not remember? Why would we wreck eve-” His eyes widened after a moment of silence before he dropped his hands from you and pressed them to his face. Realization settling in quickly. “Oh, fuck me.”

“I thought I was hallucinating or something, it’s only a little scary right? Nope! I kind of wanna cry and scream and hit someone right now but it’s fine, cause’ my brain is a fucking nightmare!” Your breathing was still erratic like the past twenty minutes, and nothing was changing.

“Are you drunk?” He inquired, hands sliding off his face, his eyes glossy.

“No but I think I’m having a panic attack, it’s all good--I’m just gonna sit down real quick.” You plopped down, not caring whether or not your dress got ripped or dirty. You kind of just wanted to sleep. You felt like you were just trapped inside your skin, unable to control anything or even your own legs.

“Okay, hey, hey (Y/N), you and me both, right? It’s gonna be fine.” He crouched down by you, hesitant to get too close. If it was any other situation, any other panic-attack of yours he might’ve even picked you up, but now he knew that you knew...

“I just don’t know why I can’t think. I could be happy and smart, but I’m not. Maybe I have a weird complex for all of this? Confused-complex?” You started laughing at yourself and your nonsensical rants. Sebastian didn’t.

He just sat with you, staring at you in concern. It was a slightly stressed stare, too. You couldn’t handle it, so you just shut your eyes again and leaned back, trying to steady your breathing. You tried and tried, so badly wanting to only see the backs of your eyelids. No other distractions. “Can I-” he reached out to you, his hands lightly grazing your back. Your muscles tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

When you stayed frozen he just wrapped you in a sort-of bear hug, pulling you onto his lap. “This doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to, I’m-I’m just worried about you.” He mumbled into your hair, where his chin and lips nearly pressed down and stayed there, but he pulled away.

“Au revoir, don’t be stupid,” Seb said, pressing a chaste kiss to the very top of your head. You laughed in response and didn’t whisper a word to try and keep your feelings contained.

This was a pre-date ritual; Sebastian’s blessing could only mean good luck. Anytime you did something big like this he’d end up hanging out at your apartment, waiting there for when you got back to hear every detail about how awful your date was-or nice, and on occasion he’d have to leave before you got back for ‘reasons.’

Every single one of those dates was just a cover-up and distraction. You’d completely convinced yourself you weren’t in love with your best friend anymore, but somewhere in the back of your mind, just a faint idea lingered. What if?

“I’m sorry,” you began, interrupting the silence that had grown between you two. “For all of this. For me. For making a big deal out of this and not talking about it like any other person would do.”

“Don’t be, I’m used to ‘you’,” he said, exhaling sharply as if he wanted to laugh but his heart wasn’t in it. “If it helps, I’m scared too.”

“Yeah?”

“Drunk me is really stupid.”

You paused before responding. “Drunk you is just honest. Honest with yourself and everyone else. Remember when you got drunk at Chris Hemsworth’s baby shower and cried because ‘babies are really cool and Chris is good at making them’?” You started giggling at the memory, earning your friend’s laughter too.

After a long breath he continued his thought. “I just feel like I fucked us up and lost you or something because you clearly don’t feel the same way, and-and this is all exactly what I was terrified of, I’m kinda out of my mind at this point-”

“Who said that?” You cut him off, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Said what?”

“That I didn’t feel the same way...about you?”

At this he gently pulled you off his lap, but had you slightly turned so you’d be forced to look at him. “You’re serious? You’re not fucking with me?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

His hands went to his face again, and he tugged at his skin in excitement. The man rocked back onto his tailbone then to a standing position where he broke out into a smile. “Oh thank God,” and in his moment of pure relief, you could only awe at his features, his toothy grin, crinkled eyes and 5 o’clock shadow. “Holy shit...wait but then--why Brendon?” The actor sat down again quickly, eager to talk.

“Cause’ I was trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong and I wasn’t in love with you, because as long as one of us was not available I didn’t have the opprutunity to mess our friendship up I guess? That’s kind of my thing that’s stopping me. Being scared of losing you.”

“Why would you lose me?”

“Romantic relationships are unpredictable. I can’t flush the twelve years of my life with you down the drain if something were to happen, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” You took a deep breath, your throat beginning to hurt with everything you were admitting. “An old friend once poured his heart out to me years ago. He said ‘I’ve lost people I said ‘I love you’ to. Loving people, or at least admitting out loud it makes it real. It hurts.’”

Sebastian’s face fell when he recognized his own words; a subject he’d mulled over hundreds of times. “I have a friend who said something like that, and you know what that friend’s friend said to him?” You smiled slightly at the response. “‘I think you have to lose some of yourself to feel. There has to be a negative and you’ll have to give up things you don’t want to. You have to go through a lot of bullshit to learn and find someone who won’t leave you.’”

“I can’t give you up Seb, I dont want you to be a messy breakup or the “bullshit”, I can’t lose you, I-”

“Then don’t let me be that okay? Maybe Brendon’s the negative, he’s the bullshit, what he did to you causes you to lose some of yourself, and-and now you can feel. Now you can figure it out.”

Your eyes were swelled up, a few tears trickling down your cheeks. He was desperate, trying to get of his words through to you, wanting any of them to work or be comforting.

“What if I’m the someone who won’t leave you, (Y/N)?” His voice was gentle now, pleading and tugging at your heart strings. He was sitting with his legs crossed over one another, and your legs were folded underneath you, your knees basically in his lap.

He gripped your hands, pulling them to his chest. Butterflies woke up in the pit of your stomach and your heart picked up. You looked up at him, finding his striking blue eyes in the dark immediately. They were scanning your face, then locked with yours. “One chance. That’s all we need. I’m just as scared as you are, but we can make it work. If I’m being honest  I’ve waited nine years for this, even when I didn’t know it.” one of his hands still held yours, but the other hand cupped your face, his thumb resting nearby your lips.

He looked beautiful. His cheekbones almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, and his mouth was pursed, still intent on watching you. The noise of the streets was only background noise in your ears, as you could only focus on his eyes. You felt like you were falling, or cliff-diving into them. Eyes you’d known for so long, but now it seemed like you could explore them even deeper.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispered, teetering forward. You mirrored his movement, only slightly unsure of your actions.

God, he’s captivating.

You moved further, hands sliding to the back of his neck. His breath fanned your cheeks as you cocked your head to the side, trying to take everything in. His nose bumped yours till finally, his lips softly landed on yours.

It felt like an explosion in your chest, energy pounding through your body. His free arm wrapped around your back, willing you to press closer regardless of how you were seated. You wanted all of him, to be even closer. You ran your fingers through his hair, something you hadn’t done in since he’d fallen asleep in your lap after his breakup. That time it was in comfort, and now it was purely because you just could.

Together you moved in unison and synced movements till you felt him smile again, letting out a breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Your lips curved upward when you heard him.

“Nothing’s funny.” He looked down, almost embarrassed.

“Then what is it?” Your fingers wandered up and down, linking together behind his neck.

“I’m kissing the fucking (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N),” he announced, radiating happiness. “And she said she loved me. Kind of indirectly.” He shifted forward so you rolled onto your back, him ending up on his hands and knees above you, kissing every part of your face he could, sending you in a fit of laughter.

“You’re gonna ruin your tux Sebastian,” you protested, shrinking up at his tickling touches. “That’s expensive.”

“I don’t care, but you might ruin your dress, so,” he leaned back, pulling you up by your hands, still glowing. “Should we-uh, head back downstairs?”

“I don’t really want to,” you said as he stepped towards you, wrapping one arm around your back, the other resting on the side of your neck. “But we should.”

“Five more minutes then?” The man suggested. “I forgot to tell you that you look really pretty, mostly because you weren’t talking to me but yeah, you do-”

“I’m gonna pretend that I wasn’t a bitch for a minute and that that didn’t happen, so, thank you.” You raised your feet a bit, leaning in to kiss him again eagerly. Your excitement only deepened, his arms tightening around you. He moved lower, pressing fleeting kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping slightly one or twice. By instinct, you tugged at his hair. “Sebastian…” you moaned quietly, eyes widening when you realized what you did.

He looked up quickly, surprised at first, then his shock quickly turned into a devilish smirk. “Well (Y/N), if you keep doing that I don’t know if I can do just five minutes, let alone go back to the party.”

“Then don’t.”

“I love that idea.”

“I love you.”

[taeilm]

potc!au | nct

drink up, me ‘earties (never shall we die)

3 ships, 3 crews, 18 boys sailing the vast atlantic

warning lowkey dark bc potc

TAEYONG: Captain of La Vipère

loves the sea more than anything

has probably sailed more waters than any other pirate (he does own the fastest ship out there)

fears neither death nor life

but has a gentle heart so therefore...too many weaknesses

cares about his crew a lot, especially jaehyun

brilliant swordsman; one of world’s best

it’s mesmerizing to watch him amidst battle bc he fights like he’s dancing

confident & courageous & will face anything head-on

charismatic; ppl are naturally drawn to him

ten’s nemesis; their vendetta against each other is never-ending (though neither is sure how it started)

romantically unavailable bc he’ll only ever be in love with that distant horizon and boundless sea

SICHENG: Quartermaster of La Vipère

taeyong’s most trusted right-hand man

aloof, mysterious; no one rly knows why he’s here or what he wants

ex-british royal navy commander but he left all that behind for the uncharted sea, bc taeyong somehow convinced him

pretty boy

his beauty is literally deadly bc ppl let their guard down around him then lose their lives for it

terrific fighter

doesn’t talk much

can be very cruel if needed (to enemies & crew alike)

extremely disciplined but slowly trying to unravel the navy orderliness that has defined most of his life

TAEIL: Boatswain of La Vipère

loves the ship more than his crew

carefully maintains her so she’s always running at 100%

will probably go down with the ship if she ever sinks

looks harmless but is actually p good with a sword

doesn’t like fighting though

taeyong consults him a lot

experienced & versatile bc he’s worked on many pirate ships before

but for some reason everyone trusts his loyalty to la vipère

has a lot of good stories to tell

loves singing haunting tunes about dying sailors; it sets the crew on edge but his voice is too beautiful to make stop

JAEHYUN: Sailing Master of La Vipère

inexplicably attuned to taeyong’s feelings and desires

prob bc they’ve known e/o since they were little pirate boys

shares his captain’s love for the sea

taeyong trusts him with his life

doesn’t like making empty promises

soft-spoken & gentle

has the face of a heartthrob but doesn’t use it to his advantage

very precise with navigations

seems to always know where taeyong wants to sail before he even tells him

JOHNNY: Master Gunner of La Vipère

chill and laidback; nothing ever fazes him

joined the crew bc he was bored & wasting his life away on land

master gunner for no reason other than that he gets a sick thrill out of bombing other ships to oblivion

he only feels alive during battles; the more chaotic the better

so unsympathetic that ppl think he’s missing a nerve but rly, he’s just perpetually disinterested in everything

can be very charming from time to time depending on his mood

loves thunderstorms & hurricanes

JAEMIN: Surgeon of La Vipère

childhood friends with jeno; they were both orphans living off of scraps in paris

doesn’t talk about it bc they’re kinda enemies now but he worries over him a lot (taeyong knows this but can’t do much about it)

initially joined la vipère to find jeno

adapted well to life as a pirate; anything is better than the starving hell he grew up in

a surprisingly capable doctor even though the only experience he’s had was from treating his and jeno’s cuts & bruises from larceny punishments

very stealthy & nimble

good at stealing

loves his crew members

+++

+++

TEN: Captain of The Black Pearl

taeyong’s nemesis; would kill him but would highkey also fuck him (their relationship is rly twisted & intense idk)

a playful trickster

nothing but snide remarks tucked under his tongue

devil-may-care attitude; little thoughts given for the future

so unbelievably selfish and narcissistic it’s amazing he has a crew at all

but he’s fun!! and clever and charming as hell

can wiggle his way out of any trouble

very good at lying & acting

speaks a lot of languages

legendary swordsman; on par with taeyong

only shows genuine affection when talking about the black pearl

sleeps with countless ppl every time they dock at a port

DOYOUNG: Quartermaster of The Black Pearl

basically in command of the ship bc ten rarely does anything for the crew

smart, organized, well-rounded

revered and somewhat feared by the crew

hides his emotions v well

ppl think he’s heartless but tbh he’s not rly; he’s just good at separating task from feeling

has a soft spot for jeno; thinks the boy is wholly unsuited for this barbaric life

doesn’t seem very invested in piracy (he wants something more but he’s not sure what)

loves the sea at night when everything is calm & quiet

prefers peaceful sailing to battle frenzy but that doesn’t mean he can’t fight well (he’s actually the second-best swordsman onboard after ten)

KUN: Boatswain of The Black Pearl

similar to taeil, the ship is his pride & joy

does a good job overseeing everything on a daily basis

greedy; loves gold more than anything

always the first to locate the treasure hoard on a conquered ship

dreams of being the wealthiest man in the world and thinks piracy is the quickest way to achieving that

everything he does is for his own gain; the crew to him is just another means of aiding him in the bigger scheme

takes care of yukhei the most bc he thinks that kid is their best asset in battles; ppl mistake it for affection but kun would drop him in a heartbeat for even the tiniest materialistic gain

loves rum

JENO: Sailing Master of The Black Pearl

the kindest & most thoughtful boy

very good-looking (his beauty is famous across all the seas; even mermaids fall for his allure)

childhood friends with jaemin; misses him but doesn’t dare to say anything bc if ten ever finds out, jaemin will likely die just so ten can see jeno’s reaction for his own entertainment

not very fond of his captain

only joined the crew bc ten saved him years ago from nearly getting his hand chopped off for stealing (“now, boy, i need me a crew, so what do you say? join me and i’ll consider your debts paid”)

separated from jaemin due to that but fate has her own way and now they’re enemies on sea (he’s not sure if he’s thankful or angry)

has a natural affinity for directions at sea despite having been a parisian street rat his whole life

YUKHEI: Master Gunner of The Black Pearl

epitome of the ruggedly handsome pirate™

crazy fucking bastard

doesn’t know what holding back means

blasts cannons like there’s no tomorrow every time the black pearl engages in battle

loves joking around with the crew

says he adores & would die for everyone but no one knows if he rly ever means it

so reckless w everything he does that it’s a feat he’s still alive

drinks a lot but rarely gets drunk

honestly just wants to live life to the fullest

that’s why he loves being a pirate!! nothing else can give him the same dizzying rush of being alive, knowing he’s always on the verge of death

huge womanizer... always gone the moment they dock, just like ten

JUNGWOO: Surgeon of The Black Pearl

shy & quiet & seemingly innocent

but no one knows of all the shit he’s done in secret to get to where he is today

obviously he’s darker than he comes off as if he’s survived for this long on the sea

ppl always want to protect him and he goes along with it bc false impression is his favorite weapon

so tbh he’s as good of a liar as ten is

pretends to act like an airhead but is acutely perceptive to everyone and everything around him at all times

a highly skilled surgeon; was trained as a pirate doctor’s apprentice since v young

+++

+++

MARK: Captain of The Flying Dutchman

cut his own heart out and locked it away; no one knows where it is or dare to ask

cursed with the ship; can never make port and is doomed to sail the seas for eternity

acts cruel and merciless but is deep down very sensitive

ppl say no one knows love like he has known love

self-destructive, moody

lone wolf; pushes everyone away but somehow his crew is unshakably devoted to him

superior swordsman; second only to ten and taeyong

controls the kraken; the entire sea is envious of him for that

RENJUN: Quartermaster of The Flying Dutchman

ex-british commodore

was so so devoted to great britain like literally exemplar pawn of the empire; would’ve died for his queen with zero hesitation

drawn to ppl who are better than him

which is why he was enthralled by mark during one great battle bt the british navy & the flying dutchman 

and then promptly abandoned everything he ever stood for just to follow this boy

has a pride complex where he simultaneously pines after & wants to kill those who’ve bested him

very good with guns & pistols

YUTA: Boatswain of The Flying Dutchman

loves being a ghost-pirate; he was made for the undead life

had an intense affair with sicheng from years ago but was betrayed and nearly hanged for piracy 

so now he’s bent on revenge (but some fucked-up part of him is still in love with sicheng) (he’ll never admit it though)

tongue sharper than ten’s bc he always speaks with the intention to hurt

very manipulative

holds grudges

joined the flying dutchman bc it’s the most feared ship on the seven seas & he thinks it’s his best chance at finding & killing those he’s been wronged by (rn primarily sicheng)

despite everything he’s p loyal to mark bc there’s something about cutting one’s own heart out that intrigues him to no end

CHENLE: Sailing Master of The Flying Dutchman

navigates the ship to various locations to collect sailors who died at sea & ferry their souls to the next world

good judgements when it comes to sailing

often climbs onto the crow’s nest to stargaze or watching the rising sun bc they’re the only things that calm him

absolutely devoted to mark bc mark plucked him out of an abusive shanghai orphanage & basically saved his life

has a dark side but is generally a sweet boy

confides in renjun a lot bc he trusts him the most

DONGHYUCK: Master Gunner of The Flying Dutchman

would die for mark in a heartbeat

he’s in love with his captain? maybe?

rude/sarcastic little shit

jack of all trades; very smart but puts 20% effort into everything

disobedient as fuck bc he wants to get a rise out of mark but has never succeeded

sunshine boy on the surface but won’t bat an eyelash when spilling blood

gets a sadistic kick out of firing cannons and pistols

likes playing games with their captives/hostages

good at telling jokes & stories but everyone finds him annoying

JISUNG: Powder Monkey of The Flying Dutchman

suspicious of everything & doesn’t trust anyone

bad at managing emotions & relationships (his captain can relate)

a quick learner; can honestly take over any position on the ship if he wants to

gets along well with chenle but isn’t super close w anyone

his mother tossed him overboard at birth w the intention to drown him but mark saved him by chance

yuta jokes that mark only picked him out of the water bc he didn’t want to ferry another dead soul

he considers his life to be mark’s; 100% at his captain’s disposal

excellent fighter despite being so young

[notseriousjustshootingthebreeze]

if i did a ted talk y would they ask me to idk they never would and honestly heres why

Guys hahahaha let’s start this off with an honest moment I’m really scared to be up here like I’m really shaking in fact I wrote this down to say because I knew I would be but to help me can someone please like heckle me right now.

Does anybody here think they’re cool?

Does anybody here think they’re cool for not saying they thought they were cool just then?

Does anybody think they’re cool for completely zoning out and not hearing what I just said?

Does anybody think they’re cool for zoning out but not thinking they’re cool for doing it but actually feeling bad?

Does anybody think they’re cool here because they think they’re not cool?

Hope I covered everybody. Whew. that was exhaustive.

In High School I thought it was cool to wear whatever everybody else wasn’t really wearing, but not to look like I was trying to do that. Because I didn’t think trying was cool.

But then you “graduate” high school, (long story ask me about it later *asterisk winky face*) so it’s not cool to look like you’re in high school anymore, so I dressed like that, but it wasn’t cool to act and care a bunch like an adult, but it was cool to know and do all the adult things, like drugs and sex and paycheques being beautiful all the while whilst melancholy and pretending like you didn't really care about anything.

But not in a way that was obvious but more so like, I care so little that I cannot even care enough to consider how much I care about things so if you were to accuse me of caring about not caring I would simply be unaware of what you were talking about. Boom! I have ascended…. to COOL. the funniest thing is though I’m pretty sure people around me were just like. What is her deal man. Like is she … okay?

At one point in my life, saving all my money to buy one ridiculously priced designer item was cool, but then it wasn’t because I mean cmon man climate change!

So then it was cool to only thrift, but no where anybody else I knew thrifted of course!

but on apps like Depop where people from the UK were selling me old designer clothes they looked for for weeks and overpriced the crap out of.

but then ugh!! here I am again *hold back of hand to forehead dramatically* trying.

I got it! should just MAKE all my own clothes. So now in my never ending quest to be cool I must master the art of tailoring.

I’m pretty extreme in this and the thought processes I just described may be known to some of you as what the docs are calling “social anxiety” or simply… “mental illness”

BUT what you may not know is that… you all have experienced what I have just described in some way shape or form.

The raw aching truth at the bottom of all of this fancy misdirection I was dead set on performing for the rest of my life was that I really, really, REALLY, did not like myself. *a small hush falls over the crowd*

It’s so crazy guys because I would have literally spent the rest of my entire life trying to be cool because I felt so uncool inside.

BUT! sometimes people would say cool things about me like, “Talia, you’re crazy!” or “Talia, you’re so much fun!” or even “Talia, you’re so talented, funny, beautiful, smart.”

I could never equate this to the Talia I saw and felt inside so constantly to be the real Talia.

A Talia I felt no one would be saying those things about, if they really saw.

Guys, I wanna get to know you, so let’s get one thing out of the way real quick here I do have quite a lengthy rap sheet of diagnosed mental illnesses and disorders.

Are these things a part of who I am? No. 100% not. I honestly see them simply as the clinical, worldly, and temporary explanations for the pains and aches and dings and factors of living in the world we do.

and honestly if I had enough time and formal education and attention from each and every one of you I could probably give you all a few diagnoses as well.

But the reason I mention this is because, these mental illnesses very much so perpetuated how I saw the “inner” Talia.

The “inner” Talia in consideration to these, was sick, insane, confused, empty, angry, in need of apparently hundreds of thousands of dollars of therapy, and a list of prescriptions to keep me afloat for the rest of my life.

I am afraid of all of you, as I said at the beginning, I am quite scared. As scared as I would have been a few years ago? no definitely not. But nonetheless I am afraid, of what you’re thinking of me, what you could be thinking of me, how you could be seeing me as I stand before you right here and now. For the most part because I know the worst things we think about people are never the things we say to their face.

Are my perceptions of how you COULD be perceiving me based on my perceptions of you… correct? accurate? Who can know. Alas as much as my feverish imagination could paint a convincingly self informed picture of this moment, I cannot trust it to be true.

This is pretty stupid right? I mean like, in the GRAND SCHEME of things. To be so concerned with this looking glass that isn't even accuracy ensured. I mean! I’m TWENTY TWO years old! Shouldn’t I have a “serious” job or kids or an original Netflix show right now or something? It can’t be that hard. Have you seen most Netflix originals lately?

Ahhhh *large sigh.* I wish I could cast this obsession into a deep sea of forgetfulness.

But! Perhaps! If only….

I might MAKE, nay, SHAPE myself into the person I want you all to perceive me as. I mean theres no way to ensure I would actually fully truthfully be said person, but all I need is a little smoke and mirrors.

You see, I often flip between these two polar opposite Talia’s, the inner, “real” Talia, and the Talia I consciously project to others.

TALIA, *italic, all caps* is gonna live up to all those cool things people said about her. In fact, she’ll SURPASS them.

because it’s not enough to be worthy of a little compliment here and there.

I have to be UNDENIABLY, UNFLINCHINGLY awesome, cool, an “IT GIRL” if you may.

Let’s have a little flashback, to middle school specifically. Ooohhhh did you like the emotion those two words drew out of you?

I did not.

*old person voice* When I,,, was young, I attended a girls school. But this was not satisfying to little Talia (Imagine me but, a lot shorter, like 5”8 or 5”9)

So, I begged mom and pops dearly, shall I not transfer to the public school our neighbours goeth to? Shall I be deprived of such pleasures of going to a boys AND girls school?

They said, so be it! And off I went! and I got bullied! Really bad! Because apparently bringing your ukulele to school to make improv songs about what type of funny monkey every person in your homeroom would be was not cool! But no one told me this!

All of the sudden… people were saying things about me, but like. I couldn’t really understand exactly it was they were saying.

But I knew they were because, in my 12 year old experience, you didn’t look directly at someone and whisper something to the person next to you unless you were saying something about them.

But fortunately! these mysteries did not elude me for long, as people graciously just started saying such things to my face.

I had little detective work to do to find out that in fact, most everyone was starting the say the same things about me.

and if their words did not cement the reality of what they were thinking and saying about me, they were faithful to go the long mile in DOING things to me to make this known.

So as I moved on from these experiences, in my forever coming of age (I’m still 12 on the inside don't get it confused) I had made two fundamental discoveries on my path to being cool

INSERT TWO FUNDAMENTAL DISCOVERIES

INSERT PART ABOUT ME FINDING THE SECRET TO SELF CONFIDENCE

[starsandsupernovae]

Silk and Shadow

Summary: Peter is dead(?), someone has to take the spidersuit. Enter Michelle Jones Ships: spideychelle A/N: basically i wrote this, but i have a lot i need to write before I continue and idk if people would even like this enough for me to, so if you do want more, like, reblog, comment, something to let me know and I’ll write more after i’m done writing what I have to do!

Michelle folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m fine, completely fine. I barely even knew him.” she spoke into her phone. “No of course I’m sad. I’m not completely numb to the world.” she let out a small bitter laugh. “Yeah, ok fine I’ll see you tonight, coming home for thanksgiving weekend, Mom, I gotta go, I have class now. It’s not like high school, now I actually need to attend the classes to do well.” She hung up, stabbing the ‘end call’ button with her finger.

Of course I’m sad.

She should be sad. It was the proper response after all, the effect after the cause. She could picture it written down properly as a fact- ‘if someone known to 

a person dies, then the person will be sad’. But if she had to confront the one thing pervading her mind ever since she had heard the news, not even directly, overheard from two students whispering in hushed voices glancing her way, if she had to identify the lead in the pit of her stomach that hit her as they explained, pity in their eyes, it wasn’t sorrow.

It was anger.

She wasn’t sure at whom she was angry, but the rage filled her nevertheless at the sheer stupidity of it, of the idiocy of how things had happened. Of how one day he was there in front of her, talking about something with some other guy, running a hand through his already messed up brown hair, eyes bright and vibrant, laugh ringing out loud and alive, and the next he was gone. No not ‘gone’. Michelle refused to let her mind do that, make it sound better than it was, like everyone kept saying, as though he was just ‘gone’ for the weekend. He was dead. And he was never coming back.

She kept walking down the path, kicking a loose stone ahead of her, letting her hair fall into her face. She did have class now, about that she had not lied, but that wasn’t where she was heading. She had planned to go back to her own room, but a quick glance in, enough to see her perpetually perky roommate sitting on the bed with two of her friends, confirmed that she needed to look elsewhere for some proper alone time. She made her way back to the back of the building, her mind flitting back to the only person who had found her there, poking his head in with that stupid smile appearing as he saw her.

“What’re you doing here?” She had asked.

“You left your book behind.” He had held it out, and she had taken it, both of them standing awkwardly, not exactly knowing what to say. They had become friends over the senior year, and, the rage faded a bit as she remembered at the end of their final decathlon, the thrill of the win and the grin that spanned his entire face prompting her to pull him towards her, and kiss him. But then….life had happened, and they both agreed that they didn’t want to go to college in a relationship, it didn’t make sense, it wouldn’t work out. Michelle had made half these arguments herself, they were right, they were logical, and she hated them. They were still friends, but over the months they had drifted, him finding new friends and her finding a group of people she could tolerate being around. But she had still kept track of him, in the back of her mind, seeing him out of the corner of her mind. And now she wouldn’t even be doing that. The rage came back full force, an ice cold streak of raw anger, that this should happen, that the life of a nineteen year old kid who was kind of awkward, kind of funny, very smart, very kind, very- very him should end this way. A car accident they had said. Some driver didn’t see the sign, someone had the wrong signal, someone had screwed up, and this was the consequence. And it was just stupid.

She turned to leave, unable to stay in one place, filled with an energy she couldn’t contain when something caught her eye, the tail of knapsack trailing out from under some pipes. She didn’t know why she did it, why she picked up the bag, why she had unzipped it to reveal the red and black suit inside. She didn’t know why she pulled it out, why she looked on the bottom of the bag where she saw a small label, fallen off from something else with the initials P.P. She knew she should put it back. She should leave it and walk away. The rage thundered through her as she held the suit, the owner of which she now knew would never be coming back. In a split second decision, she took hold of the lightning coursing through her veins and compressed it tightly, hiding it away, where she knew it would only grow, where she would have to let it out later, grabbed the suit stuffed it back into the knapsack and left, back to her room, now empty, the girls having to actually go to class. She crossed to her desk, drawing out the suit and let her eyes rove over the surface, turning it inside out and admiring it despite herself. It was more than just multi colored textiles, that much was clear. She found the places where it could be connected to a computer, found the different pockets, the different equipment holders, and just stared for several minutes before putting it back into the bag and crossing to the larger bag she had packed for the weekend. She was going to need more space.

She spent the four hour ride on her laptop, wires trailing into her bag where she kept the suit just under the zippered surface, going through the coding within. The deeper she went the more she realized she needed to get out, this was stark level coding right there, but she felt no fear as to what would happen if she got caught, just a mild annoyance at having to bypass so many barriers to disable communication, security and tracking, the lead in her stomach still present, and still bottled up tightly but ever growing rage in her mind.

She went through the motions of coming home mechanically, the hugs the ‘how are you’s until she was finally alone in her room, with the suit. She took it out gingerly, and, as though watching someone else, a stranger in her body, she donned it, before pressing the spider emblem on her chest, feeling it conform to her body, and the AI come online.

“Peter Parker, welcome b-” the smooth female voice began before cutting off.

“Yeah.” Michelle muttered. “Not Peter. He’s not wearing this anymore.”

“I’m sorry, would you care to tell me your name?”

Michelle paused before giving the name she had stopped going by after high school, the one that now nobody called her.

“MJ”

“Hello MJ. Welcome to the spidersuit! I am Karen. Would you like to view the tutorial?”

“Yes.” Michelle answered immediately, determined to learn all she could, sitting through Karen explaining how it worked and how, in fact, it could help her, not be spiderman of course, she didn’t possess the athletic skill, but maybe, she thought, she didn’t need to. Karen finished the tutorial with-”And of course Peter has experience, you can talk with him if you have further questions.”

“Peter’s gone.” She hated saying it, and realised, talking to a computer she could just spit it out. “Peter’s dead.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry.” Michelle added.

“There is no reason to be sorry. I am a computer. I do not express any emotions. I only work and fulfill my tasks.”

Michelle opened the window of her bedroom and slid out, the suit’s adhesive’s letting her climb down the wall.

“Allright. Let’s work.”

[puttingfingerstokeys]

an egg in this trying time

Nanowrimo 2019 day 5 Featuring Brick and Mordecai, OG Vault Hunters, Borderlands What genre is borderlands? B...orderlands. Shlooter?idk Brick and Mordy, slice of ANGST, ficlet Unfinished and unedited

COMPLETE VERSION ON AO3

“Those had better not be the kind that bite, amigo; I’m still sore from the last ones,” Mordecai grunted, not even looking up from the beautiful rifle upon which he was performing routine maintenance. He had a collection of well-kept firearms, mostly of the revolver or sniper rifle varieties, but there was a small selection of repeaters to the hunter’s name and of which he was exceedingly proud. 

“I checked ‘em this time,” Brick promised, fully entering the doorway of Casa de Mordecai, a cave system that the hunter had outfitted for his comfort. Animal skins and stuffed heads lined the floors and walls. His favorite skin divided his “room” from the rest of what could only have been described as a stone-hewn studio apartment. This place was rent-free, however, which suited the painfully frugal Vault Hunter well. 

At one end, the area was dominated by a massive hole in the rocks which acted as a window, a sniper’s nest, and a launching point for Bloodwing. His perch was notably empty, though a rosary hung from one side; this twitched in a light breeze, but otherwise, all was still. Brick didn’t focus on it long and instead set the flowers in a vase near the door. There were flecks of blood on it, likely from the last set he had brought. These latest were more of a peace offering, compensation for the bitey ones, found in the Atlas biodome complex. 

“I licked ‘em,” the berserker added, by way of explanation. Mordecai looked up, raised a brow, and then shook his head. He had no trouble believing Brick had done this. Nothing could surprise him anymore. His years traveling the galaxy had taught him to expect the unexpected; Pandora had reeducated him thoroughly and had shown him that there was simply no way to do this. Here, he had learned to surf, so to speak, riding whatever wave came next. 

“‘Course you did.”

Brick moved past the table where Mordecai worked, skillful fingers finding parts and pieces, oiling them carefully and sliding them back together. This weapon, Brick recognized as a trophy piece called Reaver’s Edge. He suspected Mordecai only kept it around because the head of its former user had been vaporized beyond recognition and he couldn’t put that on his wall. 

Once more, the berserker’s eyes fell on that empty perch. Thence, they followed a veritable trail of rakk ale bottle piles. They weren’t lined up like dominos, which he had half-expected; Mordecai had a pattern and this was part of it, but contrary to that visual, he’d at least done himself the courtesy of stacking them here and there for easy access later. Pandora had no recycling program, unsurprisingly, but bottles made for satisfying targets. 

Brick’s attention finally landed back on Mordecai and his workbench. It was filled with gun parts, fewer now than when he had walked in, and empty bottles. As he watched, the hunter lifted one to his lips and emptied it without missing a beat. He had been bad when Moxxie was finished with him, but this was so, so much worse. Brick half expected alcohol poisoning to take him and to have to grab a runner and pick his friend up at the nearest New-U station, cursing and spitting that he had wasted money. It would have served Mordecai right, but the thought did not sit well with Brick. 

“Lilith asked me to see if you wouldn’t mind helping me do a job for Hammerlock,” Brick rumbled finally, approaching his friend from the rear. That was a dangerous move for just about anyone else. Mordecai did not shift, however, and continued cleaning the Edge, as if he had not heard Brick. The berserker knew his friend had registered him, however. The minutest shift in posture had told Brick everything. Mordecai was a broken man, in more ways than one, but just now, it looked a bit like putting his pieces back together was going to be like gluing powder, rather than shards. 

“That all?” Mordecai’s voice was low, dangerous, caustic, and absolutely several bottles in. He was in no shape to go on any mission, especially not the one Lilith had proposed. It was likely their siren companion had suspected this and thought perhaps Brick’s renewed presence would have sparked something in the hunter. As yet, it had not, but there was always hope. 

“More for me,” Brick responded, shrugging. “But he’s offering a lot.” 

Sir Hammerlock was an amicable fellow and unlikely to bother Mordecai while he was clearly in mourning. He was also not as familiar with the man’s pattern and predisposition toward spiraling self-destruction. Lilith, Brick thought, had made the right call enlisting his help. Besides, this kind of thing was right up Mordecai’s alley. 

Cautiously, Brick laid a hand on Mordecai’s thin shoulder and squeezed it. “Mordy,” he began, “I’m sorry… About all this… About Blood—”

“Don’t you say it! Not his name! NOT here, pendejo!” The firearm was reassembled, the final pieces fitting in with a few flicks and twists of skilled fingers and wrists and suddenly the barrel was shoved up under Brick’s chin. Brick had forgotten for a moment just how quick his friend could be when he wanted, even deep in his cups. He did not shift to remove the barrel, however, opting instead to stare the other man down. 

“I know it hurts,” Brick continued. “But this cave is killing you.”

Mordecai’s jaw tightened visibly, but he lowered the rifle and stood fully, brushing past Brick to replace it on its rack. Reaver’s Edge had a special place on Mordecai’s wall. Every trophy did. There was a place for everything and everything was perpetually in its place. He only took certain items down and then only to clean or maintain them. The man was surprisingly fastidious when his mind was not bogged down by loss. 

“No it’s not,” said Mordecai resolutely, “I am.”

Brick bristled then, feeling the rage pooling in his guts. He despised it when Mordecai talked this way. It was not often, though the man could be a bit of a downer. This was serious. Something about the tone rubbed the berserker the VERY wrong way, but rather than punch his way out, the usual tried-and-true method, he choked it back and crossed huge arms over his chest. 

Mordecai stood for several moments, his back to Brick. He wanted the man to leave, craved solitude. He needed to think, or maybe to drown his thoughts. He desired sleep, long, deep sleep, but his thoughts were racing. It was difficult to resist such an offer, but at the same time, he knew full well he was far from his peak and there was no way he would allow Brick to carry him, literally or figuratively. Decent vantage point though Brick’s shoulders might have been, now was hardly the time. 

“How long are you going to run?” It was Brick who broke the silence. The words hit Mordecai in the back like a volley of darts, stinging him. They did not dig deep enough to bleed him out, but the pinpricks of accuracy were enough to drive him almost mad. He clenched his fists at his sides and then wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing tight, as if he could force the breath out and have done with it. Brick half expected to hear a rib crack. What he heard instead was Mordecai’s voice, still low, but resigned. 

“Long as I have to.”

That was all Brick could take and he turned, leaving without another word. Hammerlock had work and Mordy wasn’t biting. That was fine. If he spent another moment in that depressing cave, which smelled of booze and stale air, he would have lost his mind. The Slabs were preferable to his best friend right now and that was not a good sign. Those guys, he could kill on a whim, for fun if he wanted. Mordecai was different. He loved Mordecai, hated seeing him suffer, and hated most of all that he had imposed a good bit of it on himself. 

What was he going to tell Lilith? Likely, it would be nothing she did not expect, but the delivery would hurt all the same. They both cared for their friend, but could think of nothing to do to help him. He had to help himself. The worst part was knowing that Mordecai also knew this and was actively choosing not to do so, almost fighting against recovery. It was as if he craved this spiral into despair and darkness. Maybe he did. Who could say? 

The sound of the runner roaring away was the hunter’s signal that Brick had given up and he finally turned, pointedly avoiding Bloodwing’s empty perch. He was headed toward his makeshift bedroom and the longest nap he could manage before Handsome Jack’s horrid, mocking voice snapped him back to reality and reminded him that he was alone.

~ 

It was a fortnight before Mordecai saw Brick again. He had only begun worrying after the first week, and had even reached out to Lilith at Sanctuary, to see if she or Hammerlock had seen the Berserker. It was this worry which had compelled him to finally step outside his cave and smell fresh air for the first time in months. 

The wind chapped his exposed flesh, of which there was very little, and brought an invigorating shiver to his whole, lanky frame. Patrolling without Bloodwing seemed wrong, but he had no choice if he wanted to find Brick. He had not returned to Hammerlock for payment, which meant he was either still on the mission, or was doing other things to make the trip more efficient, picking up and fulfilling various tasks and bounties on his way. 

Mordecai tried Lucky’s Last Chance first, in the Dahl Headland and found it predictably overrun with scythid-worshiping bandits. He mowed them down with hardly a bead of sweat for his efforts and moved on, inquiring after him in the Dust, which almost netted him a date with Ellie, a charming if rough-hewn woman who, for all her charms, was simply not Mordecai’s type. He found himself in Thousand Cuts eventually, forced to massacre the Slabs just to find someone who spoke in intelligible, full sentences. This, too, yielded little.

His last option was Hammerlock on Sanctuary. Mordecai had not wanted to seem worried when he asked after Brick the first time, had played it off as if he simply wanted to drink with the man, or that Brick owed him some money. Mordecai was tight-fisted, they all knew that, and owing him was bad news. He resolved to give it one more day and headed back to his cave. He needed a drink, nap, and then a little more courage to swallow his damnable pride and speak to Sir Hammerlock. 

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen him since he took on my mission in Jakobs Cove, old boy. I’m certain your punchy friend is just taking his time, enjoying the sights. The Cove has trees you could live in, by golly. If I didn’t already have a fabulous hunting lodge out on the wastes near Hollow Point, I might invest. It has been years, I’ll admit, but I’m quite certain the rumors about shambling corpses are highly exaggerated.”

This did not instill confidence in the hunter, who had seen Jakobs Cove much more recently than Sir Hammerlock and knew firsthand what kind of undead horseshit lurked there. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it. He pulled himself belly-up to the bar and ordered a shot. Moxxie obliged, but lingered a moment.

“You look like hell, Sugar. What’s on your mind?” The music thumped and the people jostled as Mordecai spoke, quietly, in confidence, so only she could hear. Somehow, she was still easy to talk to, an open ear and an even more open mind. He stopped himself staring at her cleavage, which became easier as he spoke, seated at one corner of her counter, away from everything as much as he could manage, spilling feelings he had not wanted to acknowledge to himself, much less another soul.

“Oh, Mordy, baby,” she cooed, reaching out to stroke a wind-burnt cheek. There was very little exposed flesh on the hunter’s body, but this was one of the exceptions. He leaned into it, eyes closing behind his goggles. 

“I gotta go to Jakobs Cove,” he said finally, unable to meet her gaze. Overcoming his fear of the undead would have to happen quickly. He didn’t know what kind of trouble Brick might have found, but if it was keeping him this long, there was no telling. The thought of Ned’s mutated, gut-spewing form flashed behind Mordecai’s eyelids when he blinked and the hunter shuddered 

“No, you need to go home, Mordecai,” said the bartender, smiling softly, “and sleep this off.” She gestured to the bottles. “Don’t worry. It’s on me. Go home.”

He groaned and stood, knees cracking. Moxxie was right. He was a good shot drunk, but not drunk and scared. There was no doubt that the corpses which had inhabited Jakobs Cove before would still very much be present and he was in no condition to meet them head on today. Maybe not ever, but for Brick, he would do it. 

He returned home, crashed hard, and slept the rest of the day away. The wind howled and shrieked through the mountainous area he called his casa, whistling as it caught the hole in the wall that served as a window and still he slept on. He was not young and his body took time to catch up with his various activities. Drinking was only the tip of the iceberg. 

~

The next morning found him rising to the sound of footsteps in his cave and the prickle of terror upon his flesh. A chill settled in his guts like a stone and he moved, quickly and silently, to the edge of his bed, gripping an old Tediore revolver, jaw tight, ready for anything. He had not even gotten himself dressed, such was his alarm. On the other hand, he had only managed to unwrap his upper half the previous day, which meant that, conveniently, he was still very much armed. 

“Freeze pendejo!” Mordecai’s firearm was leveled at the intruder instantly as he emerged swiftly from behind the curtain of his room. Whomever it was, they’d crouched low near Bloodwing’s old perch. “Back off!” The hunter’s voice was raspy, but sharp, commanding and absolutely not playing. Bloodwing’s perch was an altar to him, the holy of holies and nobody was allowed to lay hands upon it. The intruder stilled the swinging rosary and stood, turning. Mordecai knew the frame.

“Brick…?” The revolver fell, dematerializing into the hunter’s thigh-mounted storage deck. His heart slammed at his ribs as everything he’d said to Moxxie came rushing back. It was painful, he found, to feel all of this, all at once. He swallowed hard. “Where… where’d you go, amigo?” 

He hated the hitch in his voice, but swallowed it, wanting answers, first and foremost. There was no reason for any sentimentality, after all. Brick was invincible, as far as Mordecai was aware. He was just messing around in Jakobs Cove, enjoying giant trees, zombies, and wereskags. 

“Jakobs Cove,” said Brick slowly, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world and Mordecai was ridiculous for asking. “TK had some other shit for me to do, so I took a few days… and uh… Well I kinda… felt bad…”

“Felt bad?” Mordecai felt himself wrapping his own skinny arms around his upper body to shield it from the chill and exposure. Why did Brick feel bad? He was the one who’d acted like a dickhead. Brick had been trying to help, which of course Mordecai knew now. Hell, maybe he had always known. He just didn’t want to face it. 

“About Bloodwing,” Brick clarified. He held up a hand when Mordecai opened his mouth to protest. “C’mere.”

The hunter approached with caution and apprehension, doing his best to look anywhere but the perch and the swinging rosary. Brick had laid something at the base of it, had surrounded that something with torn cloth and what looked to be sawdust, perhaps some leavings from the Jakobs Cove sawmill. 

It was an egg. More specifically, it was a rare corpse-eater egg. “Turns out, Hammerlock wanted to study one of these babies, but I figured you should have it instead.” Contrary to his very nature as a Vault Hunter, Brick had passed up a huge payoff to deliver a gift to his friend, something which meant more to Mordecai than all the money on all of Pandora, which was a considerable sum. 

Mordecai fell to his knees at the base of Bloodwing’s perch, leaning forward and examining the egg, touching it gently, choking back something thick, heavy, and hot in his throat. It wasn’t the usual thick, heavy, hot thing, either. Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, making them prickle and it was only then that he noticed he’d forgotten his goggles. But what did it matter? It was Brick, after all. 

Anyone else wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale of those amethyst irises filling with tears and spilling over on gaunt cheeks, falling on the egg like diamonds.