#it’s a blessing to be hated by cowards

[boyczar]

please remember that it is a compliment to be disliked by people. most people don’t even like themselves. think about why you even want to be liked by somebody. why do YOU like YOURSELF?? why give a fuck about whether or not somebody with so much work to do on themselves doesn’t like you? they literally do not even like themselves. they can’t genuinely “like” you.

[mimir-anoshe]

Save what we love. #RenewTheAcolyte

Renew it Disney you cowards.

[simptasia]

i love how teenaged me went from being utterly repulsed by body hair to being attracted to zachary quinto. that’s like going from being terrified of heights to jumping out of an airplane in like, one weekend

[iichfilwypj]

his dreamy girl | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: i mention a hit? this is pure fluff to me im very bad at this. Also i was falling asleep and i thought of these so it might suck <3 ღ wc: 685 pt 2 - pt 3 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

“And then he tried to steal my sword! The one that literally comes back to me! How stupid can you be?” his rambles echoed through Cabin 3 that hot, dark night. Some hours earlier, the blue team had won Capture the Flag, and Percy was especially excited to share all the details with her. 

Like every other time, she hadn’t attended; not because she wasn’t skilled with weapons, but because no one had managed to wake her from her nap. When Grover tried, he received a slap and a mumbled, “The horses are hungry”, in response.

So there she was, lying on Percy’s bed in her pajamas with a face mask on, listening to him recount how he had hit Clarisse on the nose, how he had nearly eaten dirt, and how Annabeth had, once again, shoved him into the lake. His voice was extremely high-pitched, and she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

That was something she hated about being a daughter of Hypnos. Although her father had blessed her with the divine power to control her dreams –and believe me, being a demigod, that was very, very nice–, he also gifted her with a constant sense of fatigue. At breakfast? She was tired. Lunch? She was tired. Oh, she just woke up from a five-hour nap? So what, she was still tired. She couldn’t help it, no matter how hard she tried. 

When she met Percy, she quickly became friends with the boy who, instead of ignoring her for hours until she apologized for something she couldn’t control, set up a cozy little corner for her in his cabin, with pillows, stuffed animals, candles, and even tea bags. Come on, that boy was willing to challenge his dyslexia just to read something for her before bed.

“And then Annabeth goes, Well, you should run faster. Like, what!? I run very fast, sorry–” Percy’s shout jolted his friend out of her daydream, having closed her eyes as thoughts raced through her mind. She looked at him, watching as he fiddled with the sheets, and decided she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, ocean breath” she murmured, and to him, her voice sounded like a fucking angel’s. Seeing her there, in his bed made him feel like an idiot and a coward. 

He looked at her with curiosity, quickly recalling what he was about to share and feeling excited to tell about it. “What? I was about to tell you how she crashed into the tree,” but as her eyes slowly rolled back, Percy realized what was happening. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “Oh, Zeus, don’t tell me you’re tired!”

He moved closer to her, resting his head on his pillow and basically lying down on top of her. By the way her head was tilting to the side, he knew he only had a few minutes left before she fell completely asleep. 

And yes, he totally chose those last minutes to tease her.

“Oh god, you’re like a baby! No, like a puppy. Wait, was it cats that slept like sixteen hours a day?” the girl tried to push him away with the little strength she had left, but Percy knew that deep down, she enjoyed this. Well, maybe not being squished by him, but knowing that he didn’t see her sleep as a bad thing.

She would never know, but Percy's favorite pastime was admiring her while she slept –oh my god, of course he couldn’t tell her that, it sounded really creepy. He cherished every detail about her, and if she was happy sleeping, he would make the whole world fall into an eternal slumber just to please her.

“Go to sleep, dreamy,” he said, gently flipping them both so she was on top of him. After turning off the little lamp beside the bed, his hands found their way to her back, stroking it softly. She buried her face in his neck and sighed. He dared to say “I love you”

But she was already lost in her dreams, and he was completely head over heels.

again, i am slut for fluff!!!! <3

[nestastits]

You know Nesta really is HER.

She laughed at the children of the blessed.

She can see through Fae glamours and magic.

She told the human queens they were cowards.

She stole from the Cauldron.

She had the Cauldron, the most revered artifact of the fae that has the ability to create life and destroy everything by basically being the womb of the Mother, terrified of her to the point it went after anyone else but her.

She slapped her sister’s toxic fiancé in the face and told him he never deserved her anyway after he insulted her.

She scared off her baby sister’s toxic ex, told him off for his treatment of her sister, pointed her finger at him, and told him she’d rip his head off if he told anyone they were in spring.

She changed the entire trajectory of the books bc Sarah just couldn’t hate her

Sarah’s original plan was to have her with Lucien but the moment Nesta and Cassian saw each other it was a done deal and Sarah (basically the real life mother/cauldron) had to rewrite the books.

She did the math on how many ships the human lands would need in order to evacuate from the war.

She scared a death lord with her Made Sword

She can willed all three dread troves and has a special connection with them to the point of being able to portal them to her

She has a special connection to THE MOTHER. And a bargain with the Cauldron.

She’s been called a Death God, Kingslayer, Lady Death, Queen of Queens, Witch, Pillager of Death, Witch from Oorid, and Death Herself.

She is a Valkyrie and Oristian.

She encouraged some of the priestesses from the library (ones who have spent centuries in there without leaving) to join training by showing them there was nothing to fear.

She got a a usually disdainful blacksmith to smile with her inquisitiveness.

She marked the king with a death promise then beheaded him in the war when she got the chance. And held up his head in victory of her promise being acomplished.

She killed the first Kelpie seen in hundreds of years. Beheaded it and held it’s head in the same way.

She awoke a House and made it sentimental by befriending it with her magic.

She stabbed a man’s dick in the Blood Rite.

She led her team through the Blood Rite. Like any good General would do.

She held the line, giving up the chance of the win, so her found sisters could survive.

She spoke about becoming the leader of the first complete female fighting group in Prythian after five hundred years.

She had actual Death Gods speaking highly of her. Fearing her too.

The most powerful high lord in prythian feared her.

She unmade someone to avenge her mate. Her power stopped time when she unleashed it fully. She saved her sister, nephew, and brother-in-law all in the same morning after completing the blood rite. Gave up a fraction of her power for it, but made a bargain with the cauldron and spoke with the mother. Told her baby sister “I love you” for the first time, this was also the first time Nesta had ever said ily out loud to anyone. Decided that she wanted to have a mating ceremony. Hugged her brother-in-law after his mate and babe almost died even though they had some issues. Again all of this happened in the same morning.

She gave her Mask to an untrustworthy friend and by doing so saved both Prythian and Midgard. Perhaps other worlds and universes too.

She has infinite range👏👏👏

Please add anything that I left out! My girl has done so much I forget to list them all.

[recklessfiction]

What to do When You Retire from Sainthood

Take the jewels from your eyes. You must learn to see the world differently now that you are no longer blessed. When before the world was beautiful and cast eternally in the glow of glory, now you will see it for what it is; and the loss will drive you to madness.

You must keep hidden. Disappear into the woods or mountains, hide your face in the cities, for there are those who still worship you and kill in your name. They would consecrate your body again, should they find you; they would drill holes in you and fill them with libations, paint your feet with their blood. The trauma of losing a patron saint is too great, they cannot allow it.

Do not answer their prayers. You will hear the screams of the innocent and the demands of killers, all begging for power, control, peace, victory. You have no power to help them, but still their voices will ring in your ears. Do not promise relief that you cannot bring. False hope will only increase their suffering.

Your name has been struck from the scrolls. Take a new one. An empty name with no meaning and no power. A name unknown by the Divine you once served. It will keep you from being called back into service.

Do not visit your churches. Those shrines are for a you that you are not anymore. Paintings and sculptures stare back at you like mirrors, a tryptich showing your birth, canonization, and death, all painting so lovingly by the hands of your disciples. Laypeople light candles and kneel before your image, pleading for your intercession. You torture yourself. Come, let us leave this place.

Your wounds will begin to fade now. The crack in your heart, the brand on your skull, your fingers, your eyes, they will all return and heal but only this once. You will not be granted this clemency again.

Another will take your place and become favourite and perfect in the eyes of that Holy Thing. They will visit you in the place you have hidden yourself and they will look upon you with pity and jealousy. Here, see how they extend their hand to you, offering you mercy and salvation? See the sneer that catches their lips? The desperate desire in their eyes? They hate you. They cannot help but adore you, for you were the first. They pray to you now, every moment of everyday their wretched voice cries out to you;

WEAK THING! TRAITOR AND COWARD, they scream, hands clasped and knuckles white as the kneel before your image, I WILL SERVE YOU. I WILL SHOW YOU! I AM ABOVE YOU, I AM FAVOURED! WHY WON'T YOU LOOK UPON ME? ROTTEN THING! PATHETIC, LAUGHABLE, BEAUtiful, adored, perfect, perfect.

[etherealily]

𝒮𝐻𝒜𝑅𝒟𝒮 // 🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​ ​🇯​​🇦​​🇨​​🇴​​🇧​​🇸​.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Slur used.

This one is loooong.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Bender? Nah, bend...her (to your will).

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

Nate didn't really seem the type to get anxious.

Okay, scratch that. He got anxious when you weren't there to high-five him before a game.

But even that didn't come close to whatever the fuck he was feeling when he called you that evening, yelling as if you'd killed his fucking cat, or something.

"Come faster, come faster!", he urged, ignoring you as you informed him you were only human, and you were on your way as fast as possible. The lewd joke was right there, and he didn't take it. Something was seriously wrong.

"Why the hell are you so jumpy?"

"I'll explain when you get here. Slight change of plans. You're wearing something... conservative, yeah?"

"What?"

"Like, jeans and a T-shirt is fine, I guess.", he muttered, on the other end of the line, as if he was mentally picturing exactly what he wanted you to be wearing.

"Did you think my original plan was to show up in lingerie?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, stop being so fucking defensive!"

That was a slur that you just heard in his voice. "Are you drunk?"

"You're scarily good at this."

"Why are you drunk already?" Wasn't even dark yet.

"Can you just fucking drive, please?"

You rolled your eyes, taking a small moment to sadistically picture his head caught in the wheel, before placing your phone down and speeding up the car that unfortunately had to relive the trauma of driving because Nate Jacobs told it to.

The Jacobs household was infuriatingly stereotypical. Of course he'd have a pretty spectacular front doorstep. It was almost designed to lure you in.

You weren't even allowed to ring the doorbell, he answered the door much before. That was a shame. You wanted to be the one forcing him to come somewhere reluctantly, for once.

"Don't speak unless spoken to." Well, hello to you, too.

"What?"

"It's not just us."

No, no, no, no.

"Nate, you fucking asshole.", you hissed.

"I didn't know! My brother found out you were coming over and told my parents, so they cancelled plans to meet you."

"Why?"

"'Cause our Dad's a jerk, and my Mom's probably going to judge you, and my brother's a coward who hates me."

That was way too much Jacobs drama for one single minute, and you were not even two steps into the house.

"Wait, just-"

"It's fine, just sit next to me, shut up, and don't like... make eye contact."

"Am I meeting your family or getting into the cage with a fucking tiger?"

"Also, don't cuss.", he warned, pointing a finger at you and guiding you by your shoulders further into the abyss he called a home. "Smile. A lot."

Was it really even a normal family dinner if you had to be prepped this much? No, probably not.

"Hey, look who finally showed up!", he chuckled, the fakest breeze in his voice as he steered your shoulders towards a chair.

The rest of the Jacobs family looked up at you.

And suddenly, you'd have been fine clinging to Nate, because he was evidently the mildest of them. Rich freaks.

"Oh, the project partner." His mother, laying plates down on the table before patting your head, was a sight to behold. "Bit late.", she remarked, sickening sweetness lacing her tone as she stared pointedly at Nate behind you as if you couldn't fucking see it.

"Yeah, well, she's just learning to drive, y'know? Goes really slow."

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, mama's boy, just say you had no intention of having your family here tonight.

"Nate, you never told me she could legally drive."

That must be the brother - the coward. He looked like he'd fucking rip you apart with just a glare.

"I didn't tell you anything.', he mumbled, more for you than him, before making his voice louder. "Y/N, this is my brother, Aaron, Aaron, Y/N."

His eyes made your skin crawl. Like you were a weapon he'd just been able to use against Nate.

"And, uh, my dad. Dad, this is, uh-"

You had no idea when your name had become so hard for him to pronounce, the way he was unable to get it out.

"Y/N, yes, I heard. I'm Cal. Cal Jacobs."

You'd take Nate forcing a gun down your throat to the feel of Cal's hand shaking yours any day.

In comparison, Nate's gun was basically the gentlest thing you'd ever be able to feel. A caress, essentially.

"Sit, sit.", he instructed, gesturing at you to do as he said in his own house or else. "So."

He was so fucking drunk. You could see it in his eyes.

Both Cal and Nate Jacobs were shitfaced.

Nate, you understood, because after hearing his description, even you seemed to need liquid courage to get through a dinner with his drunk dad.

"So.", responded Nate, blankly, as he sat down next to you, as promised.

The chairs you were on were fancy but seemed tired, in a way. Like they were putting up a strong front.

"What, pray tell, is this famous project that you've apparently been sneaking out for, according to Aaron?"

Oh, that was the problem! The sneaking out! Oh, that was okay, that was in your jurisdiction, you could just fix it. Make it sound like there was no other time to meet up. Cool cool cool.

"It's just this thing for psychology. About athletes and superstitions."

"My Nate doesn't have any superstitions. He wins because he's the best.", interjected his mother, as if you'd been holding a gun to his face and she'd just jumped in front of him. You looked at the giant plate she'd just set down. Fucking steak.

With a knowing glance at Nate, you nodded. "Yes, but jocks don't really like admitting it. So I just ask him about his buddies who do have superstitions. Seeing as he has none of his own."

You didn't bother to look at the fuck-you-so-much glare he was sending your way.

"Oh, yes, Mom, Nate's just the best. Don't you think he's just the best, Y/N?", cooed Aaron, clearly hinting at something only he and Nate were in on.

"Yes, yes, he's very good at what he does."

"What he does?"

"I mean, you are talking about him as QB, right?"

He took a gulp of water, nodding as he searched into your eyes for some tell that he'd expected you to have. "Right."

Nate subtly shook his head after you frowned at him. Let it go.

"So, you've taken psychology."

His dad didn't really seem the jerk that Nate had made him out to be. Sure, he had the whole terrifying handshake thing going, but he wasn't all bad. He was the only one with his sanity intact, and the fact that he was plastered yet normal was both relieving and mildly concerning.

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Always been interested in how it works."

"Can you read minds?"

"Essentially."

"Read mine."

"I... don't know you well enough."

"Later, then. When we know each other a bit better. Meanwhile, dig in."

Involuntarily, your gaze turned back to the asshole you'd had the misfortune of interacting with for the past three weeks, and he nodded, either telling you you did well, or giving you permission to eat.

Either way, your mouth was now shut and would continue to be unless someone forced it open. The awkward clinks of glasses and clangs of cutlery rang through the room, battling fruitlessly to dissolve the tension.

"How's the food?"

Why was Nate trying to get you to talk?

"Oh, great, I really like it."

Nate's mother smiled at that. "Well, thanks. It's actually a new recipe I found on some obscure old cooking show tape my mother had recorded, back in her day! God, I'm telling you, those were simpler times."

Oh. So Nate hadn't cooked. Couldn't say you were surprised.

"Well, it's lovely.", you replied, smiling down at the garbage you had to put into your system. It was nothing personal, really, steak was just gross.

"I must say, Y/N, you're so much more polite than that girl. She was a real-"

"Mom. Mom.", warned Nate, shaking his head and waving his hand in front of his throat in a cut it out motion."She's friends with Maddy."

The entire table suddenly went silent, as if he'd just confirmed your involvement in a pyramid scheme. "Oh.", said Aaron, and his fucking eyes showed you he was full of pure mirth. "That's interesting."

"You're friends with both Nate and Maddy?", questioned Mrs Jacobs, as if trying so desperately to figure out your intentions for her baby boy.

"I'm friends with Maddy, and have been for... basically my whole life. And, yeah, I guess now I'm friends with Nate for the project. I don't get why it's so-"

"She's pretending to be her friend, Mom, alright? It's a childhood loyalty thing, but no one likes Maddy, she's a fu- she's not likeable."

Oh, so now Nate could suddenly write out your entire story and replace it with a script of his own making?

Acting as if she'd just dodged a cancer scare, she placed her hand on her chest, sighing in relief. "Thank god. You could've said that, dear. I was worried for a moment there."

You looked back down at the food. You couldn't shake the feeling that your lack of response had been a form of betrayal, though it was rooted in fear.

"So you and Nate are friends?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I don't know, Aaron, why do people befriend psychopaths? To save their own asses, of course.

"I mean... what do I even say to that?", you laughed, and it was supposed to mock him, but it just showed how nervous you really were. Fuck. Blood in shark-infested waters. "I guess he's... a nice guy, so, y'know."

Even you didn't believe that. Even NATE didn't believe that.

"That's a new one."

You nodded, clearing your throat as you continued to work on slicing up your steak. All three Jacobs men watched the piece go into your mouth and you wanted to throw it right back up.

"You think he's hot?"

"What?"

"Nate. My lil' bro. You think he's hot?"

"Aaron, honestly!", muttered his mother, shaking her head as if this was all just a playful banter session. "Stop it. Nate said they're friends, so they're friends."

Your phone buzzed.

'I really didn't know they'd be here.'

'Shut up.'

'Ur doing great.'

'I said shut up.'

'Lol.'

"Nate, didn't you tell her we've got a strict no-phones-at-the-table rule?"

You stuffed the phone back in your pocket, as well as any hope you'd get out of this house anytime soon.

"I mean, you're a total smokeshow. And he's..."

"Aaron."

Aaron smirked through his chewing, winking at you. "Well, he's attracted to smokeshows. Total match. But you're, what, a cheerleader? That's his real type."

"No, I'm not a cheerleader."

He sucked in breath, sharply, tutting as he shaked his head. "Tough luck."

"Aaron.", warned Nate, sucking his teeth. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying. It's not surprising he hasn't dicked you down yet."

THAT escalated fast.

"Aaron! No cussing at the table, and especially not in front of guests.", hissed Mrs. Jacobs, as if her youngest son's entire vocabulary didn't consist of the word 'fuck'. "I'm sorry, he gets like this when he teases his brother."

"Or maybe he... oh, wait, didn't he invite you here alone first?", mused Aaron, frowning in mock curiosity.

Nate's hand found your knee under the table, patting the side of it as if he could tell you were losing it. There was some kind of psychological warfare underfoot, and you weren't in on the joke, the origin or the punchline. You were being blindsided. Let it go. Fuck what his eyes told you, you'd fucking riot if you didn't get out of there right now.

Cal, who'd been perfectly silent for all this time, leaned back in his chair, his fork down and apparently, his booze-filled blood shooting up. "I'm curious, too. In more polite words than that. Why are you and Y/N just friends?"

Okay, this was clearly not your jurisdiction. This treatment was not because he'd, like, broken curfew or something.

"Dad, we're just partners. Project partners."

"Shame. She's a knockout."

Okay, Aaron saying that was creepy enough.

"No, seriously, Y/N, you're really beautiful. Nate couldn't do better if he tried." Sounded backhanded, and it probably was. "If you're not attracted to him, it's kind of an insult to me, isn't it?", he inquired, innocently, his eyes twinkling. "Aren't I good looking?"

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" It was weird seeing Nate playing the white knight in your story and not the dragon, but hey, you'd take it.

"I mean...", continued Cal, taking a bite of his food, all the while gazing at you. "Unless your issue is just with his personality. Because then..."

What. The. Fuck.

"Y'know.", said Cal, offhandedly, as if the entire fucking table didn't know what he was implying. "Just food for thought."

"What the fuck are you guys doing?", he repeated, his voice sounding more strained by the minute.

"Nate."

"No, Mom, I will fucking cuss, if they're sitting here being fucking assholes about it!"

"Don't you DARE talk to me like that, son!", yelled Cal, and suddenly, you felt like a voyeur zooming in on someone else's life, someone else's argument, someone else's issues.

Aaron lifted up his hands in defense, standing up as well. "Hey, man, I'm just saying. You're disappointing men everywhere if you don't hit that."

"Oh, you're one to talk, you bitchless waste of FUCKING space."

"One goddamn night! One goddamned night without this bullshit, please!"

"Oh, come on, Marsha, you know full fucking well you're no innocent here! You've raised these boys up so goddamn weak that they can't even fucking do their own laundry, and CLEARLY can't fucking learn RESPECT!"

Evidently the no-cuss-rule was out.

Nate's hand slammed down on the table next to you so hard your plate shook, and suddenly, you wished you had shown up in lingerie. At least the mother would've kicked you out as soon as you'd walked in.

Your eyes stayed on your fork, the shitty fucking steak, and you waited. For what, you didn't know. But eventually, Nate sat back down, and so did the other two Jacobs men.

Okay. Phew.

And then Nate muttered 'faggot', and suddenly, Aaron was ushering you into a room - Nate's room, he informed you, in a hurry - and you were locked in. Screams, the sound of things slamming on the floor, and a distinct crack ensued.

FUCKING CHRIST.

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The light from the living room beamed into the room with the monogrammed pillows -pathetic, you had to remember to mock him for it later- about twelve minutes later.

You knew that because you'd been keeping track.

The entire evening was surrounded by a lack of clarity, and after whatever had happened out there that you were not allowed to be privy to, thankfully , you were now completely in the dark as to what the whole stiff, insinuation during dinner was all about. What, they thought you guys were hooking up, was that it?

But all that just dissipated once you saw Nate standing in the doorway, looking at you as if he had just accidentally broken your favourite toy on the playground at five years old. And he was even drunker than he was before.

And once more, you allowed your heart to break for Nate Jacobs.

Wait, no, scratch that.

Your heart broke for him, with none of your own volition. It just fucking happened.

"Are you okay?" What you were really asking was 'did he hurt you?', but you didn't say it.

He didn't respond, and instead took cautious steps toward you, as though you were a bomb he'd never learnt to dismantle before.

But the caution wore off quite fast, because suddenly, your hands were stroking his hair and he was clinging onto you like a vine. Or a python with its prey. TBD.

He kept muttering things into the crook of your neck, things that vaguely resembled 'I'm sorry', but, I mean, it was Nate.

That was usually followed by some kind of blackmail, right?

Blackmail, not pained moments when his mind led him to thoughts that made him grip tighter onto you, like the hug was his lifeline. RIGHT?

"I'm so fucking sorry."

Evidently, you'd heard him right the first time.

"It's okay. Shh. It's okay." At this point there was nothing else you could do except lie to him.

"I fucking hate him, he's a fucking asshole!", he grunted, his words muffled but strong in your hair.

"It's fine, I wasn't offended." You understood. People are weird when drunk. Not usually asking a minor to fuck them kind of weird, but maybe that was just your lack of exposure.

He pushed you away, looking at you as if you'd just suggested cannibalism or something even more sickening. "It's fine? You weren't offended? Y/N, my dad literally asked to fuck you! What, do you want him to, is that why you were looking at him like that?"

'He's sloshed, he's sloshed, he's sloshed.' , you reminded yourself, lest you punch him again.

"Nate-"

"No. I have a question.", he said, closing his eyes and then opening them wide for a moment. This told you that the liquor had just pierced his skull. "You- You fuck Shane Crestin, the biggest fucking cunt in the world, you wanna fuck my DAD, but you won't fuck ME?", he asked, his voice increasing in decibel and his finger repeatedly slamming against his chest, like he apparently wanted to do to you.

SLOSHED, SLOSHED, SLOSHED. Remember.

"Nate, I didn't fuck Shane, I don't want to fuck your dad, and I- I don't wanna fuck anyone!"

"Why not ME? Do you not like me? You think I'm a prick? I'm not good enough for your whore ass?"

"Nate, I'm just-"

"HOW ARE YOU SO FINE WITH MY DAD WANTING TO FUCK YOU?!"

"I'm not! It makes me sick, but-"

"SO WHY WON'T YOU SAY HE'S AN ASSHOLE? SAY IT! SAY IT!"

"Nate-"

"FUCKING SAY IT!"

You almost cried at how fast you had to dodge the lamp that came whizzing your way before crashing and disintegrating against the wall behind you.

It amazed you how you knew that this boy's mother and brother were probably still lingering in the same house, hearing this bullshit, and yet not a peep came out of them. Fucking jerks.

"Nate."

"I swear to god, Y/N, if you don't say it right now-"

"Fine, he's an asshole!"

He looked up at you. He didn't believe it. It's fine, you didn't give a shit anymore. It went without saying, and if he needed you to say it, he was an idiot. "Bullshit."

"You're not apologizing?"

"For what? Yelling? No, I'm not."

Deliberately obtuse, just like always.

Speaking of which, you were a hundred percent sure you'd been grazed at your temple. Your fingers returned from the site with red all over them.

"I could've been hurt." You displayed those fingers to him, right in front of the eyes, so he could better view the same scarlet gore you had to see in his first ever text to you, but he looked at them like you'd showed him his own face in the mirror.

'That's normal', his look said.

"You could've fucked my dad, too, but neither of those things happened tonight." This was what he actually said.

It was like he'd forgotten what happened two seconds ago. Like the shards of glass lying in front of his wall had always been there, and were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Okay, that's fucking it.", you scoffed, shouldering past him on your way out. You'd hoped he wouldn't stop you, but you'd known he would.

"No."

Okay, you'd expected 'wait', or something nicer.

"Shut up, Nate, don't push me."

"You're bleeding. The corner store doesn't have first-aid. I do."

He said it like that was the answer to everything. That you should never have any more questions about his actions.

You let him lead you back to the bed, the silence gnawing at you both. He seemed more than happy to let it devour him whole, seeing as he was tight-lipped and disinterested, almost, when he turned on the light in his bathroom, foraging around for his first-aid kit, or whatever.

He looked like he was about to go batshit for a second time that night, the frantic manner in which he was throwing stuff off his counter to find it, yanking the drawers open so forcefully they'd scream if they could.

Luckily, though, he found the damn thing, tossing it to you from where he stood. Catching it, you opened the box, wordlessly rummaging through for cotton or band-aids or something to keep your hand and eyes - and most importantly, mind - busy.

The cotton sitting nervously in your hand, you took tentative steps into the bathroom, wisely keeping your distance from Nate, who stood still, ruminating on something with one hand still on the drawer's handle.

You stood in front of the mirror.

The mirror lied to you. It always has, always will. Your damage looked minimal, but that was excluding the emotional one.

You looked away from your reflection's eyes to focus on the side of your forehead, and sometimes to your left, at the occassional huff that escaped him.

Mirror-you grimaced just like real-you, as you harshly rubbed at the skin around your cut. So much red.

At this point, it was impossible to avoid your own eyes, those essentially vapid pools of numbness at this point. You didn't know what was going on, and lord knew if you'd understand it even if it was explained to you like a five year old.

Because it couldn't be real. You couldn't be standing right next to the guy who almost maybe blinded you, maybe even KILLED you, had the impact been angled differently.

Your pain only seemed to be getting exacerbated the more cotton you used up. The piece of glass you were trying to remove from your temple was stubborn, like the man who helped transform it from its shape to a shard.

When you finally did remove it, you were quick to try to put a stopper to the gushing blood coming out of it, but the way you did it had you wanting to scream in agony.

"What the hell are you doing? You're supposed to dab, not rub.", he muttered, sucking in his breath sharply as he slapped your hands away, seeming furious at you for not knowing what to do after you get impaled by a piece of broken glass. "The rubbing makes it worse."

His finger turned your jaw toward him, and he snatched the cotton from you before dabbing softly at and around the wound where the little refracting fragment of glass had sat before, and intact, unblemished skin had sat once before that.

Dutifully grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from the first aid box, he tilted it so that it would gently stain the cotton, before pressing it to your temple, shushing you softly as you winced.

Jovially traumatizing what you imagined to be every single cell in the wound, the antiseptic finally fizzled out, its effect no longer sharp and concentrated and debilitatingly painful.

"You're a mess." His voice was so cold, so unkind, so... detached.

You're one to talk.

"Are you going to say anything?" He sounded almost... bored.

You stayed silent. If he thought you were going to give him more things to throw shit at you over, he was sorely mistaken.

He sighed, his jaw ticking slightly. "Y/N."

Your eyes moved away from the mirror behind him and back to his.

He paused his lazy movements to look down at you, your eyes, specifically, before gently bending down so he was suddenly looking up at them.

What that was supposed to achieve was unclear, but what it did affect was your ability to look away.

"I want to hear your voice.", he informed, his eyes moving between yours.

Like a bull craves the muleta.

Glancing down at him, you realized his eyes didn't match his tone. There was something almost dead about them.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Cuss me out, maybe? I don't know. I don't like the quiet."

"Why, 'cause it makes you think?", you scoffed.

"Yes, actually.", he replied, looking at you deadpan. "It does, and that's not really what I wanna do right now, okay?"

He wasn't bored, you realized. He was numb.

"Okay."

"So say something, damn it."

"About what?"

"Y/N. Listen to me when I'm talking to you. I don't give a shit. ANYTHING." He shook your shoulders as if that would cause you to spit out a good conversation in the aftermath of this night.

"Okay, uh... you promised me you'd listen to Queen with me."

He stared at you for a good while before his face softened, just enough for you to wonder if you'd imagined it, and then he frowned. "I did?"

"Yes."

"Then I will."

You nodded. "'Kay."

"Tell me about Queen."

"Look, man, I don't know-"

"Y/N.", he warned, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he reached for a band-aid, eyes never leaving your wound.

"Jeez, fine. Uh, 'We Will Rock You'. 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. 'Another One Bites The Dust'."

"That was them?", he mused softly, the words dying out a little before they reached your ears, as he ripped the cover open with his teeth, then unwrapped the band-aid.

"Yes. Freddie Mercury's the lead singer."

"The one with the teeth?", he inquired, pressing slightly on the band-aid to ensure it stuck.

The sheer dichotomy of what he was doing - cleaning up a wound caused by him that might have killed you- and what he was saying - some quip about the lead singer of some '70's band he'd barely heard of - was astounding.

"Yup." You popped your p, hoping that would echo around the room and fill the silence for long enough that Nate wouldn't pester you to talk again, which was the last thing you felt like doing.

He gazed at your wound for a little while longer before nodding. "Done. Don't touch it for another week, maybe two."

"Okay."

"And I'll get you, like, a blanket or whatever, let me just put this shit back."

"A blanket?"

"Well, yeah. You don't get cold? What are you, superhuman?"

"I'm not staying here. I'm going home."

"Like hell you are.", he laughed dryly, opening his drawer and carefully placing the box back in before moving to the sink again. His hands moved quickly, squeezing paste onto his brush. "Not this late."

You looked down at your watch. "It's nine."

"It's late."

You snorted. "Thought you were the badass curfew-less one. Now you're freaking out about nine p.m?"

Why were you even still talking to this... thing in front of you? Why were you arguing with him? You could just fucking walk out.

He rolled his eyes, his toothbrush being as thorough as possible for a couple minutes before he spat it out, gargling and then turning to look at you. "It's late."

"I'm not spending the night, Nate."

"You a sleep-talker? 'Cause that's crazy shit.", he said, spitting out his mouthwash and wiping with the back of his hand, walking past you as he opened a cupboard, and tossed a heavy-looking duvet down at your feet.

"Nate, I'm not staying over!"

"But the really creepy ones are the sleep-walkers, I'm tellin' you.", he continued, shaking his head as he picked and chose two of his pillows and threw them at your feet, too. "My cousin, back when we were eight, I woke up and found him, like, banging his head on the door. Ouija board shit, bro, I'm tellin' you."

It was clear he was blatantly ignoring you, but what infuriated you the most was that he expected you to sleep on the same floor which was strewn with dangerous, nigh invisible shards of glass.

"Nate!"

"No, seriously, I don't care if it's like, a medical condition or whatever, they're like the fucking Conjuring movie, bro!", he declared, throwing his hands up as he distractedly moved to the other side of his bed, now, checking his phone. "You're not one of 'em, right?"

"You're such a fucking asshole, I'm leaving."

"If you step out that door, I will fucking kill you."

What unnerved you was that his eyes never moved from his phone. This was as casual as his reply to his Mom asking what he wanted for breakfast or something.

Saying he'd kill you was like saying 'pancakes with butter' to him.

"What?"

"I'm going to kill you if you leave." , he huffed, tiredly. And this time, it was clear he really was bored. Bored of the conversation, bored of your resistance, bored.

"You're fucked up."

"Look, sweetie, we've both had a long day-"

"Don't fucking call me that."

He let out a breathy snicker, nodding. Almost like he'd been wondering when you'd call him out on it.

"Fair. Look, bitch, we've both had a long day...", he corrected himself, with a self-satisfied grin, before continuing, "... and I'm not letting you drive home alone with a bleeding forehead."

"I thought you fixed it."

"With the way you're yelling right now, the blood vessel you're about to pop could rip the bandage from the inside out. Look- I- I can't deal with this shit, Y/N, okay? Not tonight. So shut up and close the fucking door."

"My family's expecting me home."

He raised a brow, as if you'd just said something so pathetic he almost felt sorry for you - like you'd just said you still fucking watched Disney Channel, or something. "They know you're here?"

"No." As if.

"Where do they think you are?"

Oh, he'd expected you to have told them you were with another friend. Sorry to disappoint, asshole, but some people aren't as prepared to stay over because their friend had a psycho family.

"I'd rather not talk about it - I don't like to recall my lies."

His eyes widened, and it looked like, for the first time that entire, painful night, he was actually amused, and fuck you for being so pathetic, but you were actually glad you'd mitigated the agony, at least a little bit. "They still think you're at your internship? You didn't tell them?"

"Tell them what? That some jock thinks touching me is his good luck charm, so he stalked me, found out where I worked, and cost me my entire internship by barging in?"

"Or you could've just said your boss was a perv, and you quit."

"He wasn't a perv."

"I'm a guy. I can tell."

Wow, way to dig at an entire gender's ability to perceive danger.

You shook your head, rubbing your forehead. "What is your problem, Nate?"

"I care too much."

You laughed loudly at that, and he looked too tired to even be mad. "I just don't like the thought of you driving home alone at night, okay? Simple as that."

"Then don't think the thought."

"You're staying."

"Like hell I am."

He groaned, putting his phone back down and rubbing his face as he walked towards the front of the bed - towards you. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. Because my family-"

He rolled his eyes, reaching into your pocket and grabbing both your wrists to keep you from stopping him as he scrolled through your contacts - god, you had to get a fucking passcode.

"Maddy- no fucking way.", he mumbled, his thumb racing across the screen. "Cassie- one of Maddy's minions, so no- oh. Who's Lex?"

"Alexis."

"Oh, Alexis Howard? Lexi? She'll cover for you, right?"

"Not without telling Cassie. Now give me back my phone!"

"She won't tell Cassie. How's this? 'Lex, tell my family I'm sleeping over at yours, ok? Love you, xoxo!'", he read out, his voice attempting to mimic yours.

"Is that what you think girls talk like?"

"Yeah, with a scary amount of emojis."

"Misogynist."

"Badge of honour, baby. I'm sure Lexi, one of your best gal pals will cover for you."

Yes, of course, but that was besides the point.

"That's not the point-"

"The point is that you don't feel safe enough to fall asleep around me."

"What?"

"That hurts, sweetie."

"You know what else hurts?", you spat, pointing at the band-aid at your temple.

"It'll heal." He was still refusing to apologize.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

"Smash or pass, uh... McKay."

You almost laughed right then and there. "Smash."

"Really?"

You looked up at his ceiling, imagining him up on the bed, judging your smashability-scale.

"Yeah, why not?"

"You could never do it, you know? Realistically. You're not his type."

"Shut up. Smash or pass... Kat."

"Pass. Hard. Pass."

"Why?"

"I should say it's because she's close to Maddy, but you and I both know the real reason is 'cause she's so fucking ugly that-"

"Alright, shut up."

"See, this is the problem with you girls. Just agree. She's ugly."

"I don't think anyone's ugly. I think it's all action-based."

"God, then you must think I'm hideous."

He scoffed at the silence that followed. "Ouch."

"I don't think you're hideous, Nate. Just extremely unattractive."

"Superlatives, really? Y'know, whatever, I deserve it. Uh... smash or pass, Shane."

"Uh... pass."

"Why?" The glee in his voice was evident and mildly amusing.

"He cussed me out after I said the date wasn't going well."

The laughter that escaped Nate seemed to go on for hours on end. "In the middle of the restaurant?!"

"We weren't in a restaurant."

"Where were you guys?"

"He took me to a club or something."

Nate's face came into your peripheral view as he peered over the edge of the bed to face you. "On a first date."

You nodded. "Yup."

"The guy's both a fucking tool and a miserable little cunt. Anything other than a restaurant is fucking unacceptable for a first date."

"I know, even a bowling alley's fine, but a club is stupid, right? I mean, like, at the very least a café."

He nodded, his mouth curling down slightly. "Yeah, at least. Bare minimum."

It was uncomfortable, him looking down at you with pity the same night that his father had embarrassed him and cussed him out. Wasn't right. "Well, whatever. Smash or pass, uh... Rue."

"Rue Bennett? We got history, so, uh, I dunno."

"History?"

"A miscommunication during prom.", he told you, shrugging, but it was clearly something much more serious. "She's hot when she's off the drugs, I guess."

You rolled your eyes and he smiled.

"Hey, Y/N?" He didn't move back to his pillow, instead letting his arms dangle off the edge of the bed as he reached and toyed with a strand of your hair, glancing down at you. "I'll leave you alone after tonight, okay?"

"What?"

"Like, I- tonight? It was... bad. And I'm... I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm, I'm sorry. If you just, y'know, fist-bump me before every game, we'll be good. Okay? I won't bother you outside of that."

See, he said this, but his thumb kept returning to your lower lip every two seconds. You'd be a fool not to take this deal. But you'd be a liar if you said you remembered anything about life before Nate.

"Okay."

"You should get to sleep. It's two."

"What will you do?"

"Try to sleep.", he mumbled, his eyes moving away from you and towards the glass, which lay several feet away from you, on your left - almost like it was trying to reach your heart.

Your eyes followed his, and you sighed. "For the record, I don't want to fuck your dad."

"Yeah. I got that now."

"You gotta stop drinking, man."

He chuckled, nodding. "No. But thanks for the concern." Rolling back over, he left you staring at the ceiling once more, as if there were clues there as to the enigma that was Nate Jacobs.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

When you'd pulled up to your driveway the next morning - Sunday - it hit you that you were free of Nate forever. Last night, you'd have probably not known how to feel about that. This morning? Fucking elated.

You didn't even have to draw out a map, or take a single moment to think it over - every single problem in your life over the last month could be traced to him.

So fucking yay. Good riddance.

And the next day, Monday, you realized something.

School had never been so fucking fun.

Your classes started making more sense, seeing as you no longer had to look over your shoulder for some motherfucker who'd slit his own throat if you didn't go where he wanted. Fucking yay.

No, seriously. That's it. We're done here. No more Nate. End of story.

...

Ha.

So gullible.

----

Nights after Nate had always been the hardest.

Because you always found yourself losing your sanity and you knew that the only person who could even remotely get your mind off it was Nate himself.

Maybe that was his allure.

Hurting you then comforting you.

Making you cry then wiping the tears away.

But that night, he wasn't there with a blunt or tequila. Hell, you'd have even taken the gun. And you should've been ecstatic that he'd finally left you the hell alone, but at this point you had no clue what you were supposed to be feeling.

The only thing you could do was block him. Show him how mad you were. In your past experience, that didn't really matter to him, but you were running out of options.

And you probably shouldn't have done that, because you might have gotten a heads up about Tuesday.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

You should've had your guard up as soon as you saw Nate walk into the school library that Tuesday afternoon, his eyes somehow darker than when he'd asked you to your face, no less, if you wanted to bang his father. You had no clue whether you had to hide or just keep doing what you did.

Flight or flight was fucking useless.

But your guard wasn't up, at least not immediately, because it was Nate. Because he may terrify you and almost kill you, but he'd never hurt you, because he just... worked differently. Things that may make someone psychopathic, he thought were normal. No biggie.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't secretly hoping he'd come back to further provoke you, because not-being-mad at him was kind of a grey area for you. It wasn't your usual state of being.

The moment your guard went up, though, was when Aaron walked in behind him. Hands in his pockets. Did he have a knife in there? Money? Or would he just flip you off?

You didn't want to find out, but it also didn't seem like you had much of a choice.

[ficretus]

I am getting kind of annoyed both at takes I see at rwde as well as anon who spammed my posts few weeks ago. Basically, they argue that on top of being awful character, Jaune also completely ruins his literary allusion, Joan of Arc.

Of course, you are free to like or dislike Jaune, however, when people claim they hate Jaune because he is a coward, I get really confused. Jaune is not a coward, he is pretty brave, to the point of it being kind of flaw since he has low regard for his own safety. If he was a coward, he wouldn't have went with Ruby, Nora and Ren to Haven, he wouldn't have challenged Cinder to the fight, he wouldn't have tried to infiltrate Salem's base to save Oscar, etc. They are pretty on the nose with it in Volume 8 when Ren states Jaune feels no fear.

However, meat of my gripes is with people not understanding Joan of Arc and how to translate her character to the story.

No, Jaune not being giga chad isekai self insert protagonist level of strong is not an issue or insult to his primary literary allusion, it's the opposite. I don't know do people get their Joan of Arc knowledge from Fate Grand Order, but Joan herself wasn't skilled fighter. She was never properly trained and never directly fought someone. In pretty much every major battle she fought she was wounded or knocked out (hit by an arrow at Orleans, knocked out by a rock at Jargeau, hit by an arrow at Paris, knocked off from her horse at Compiegne). In fact her knowledge of sword fighting was so lacking she accidentally broke her treasured sword when she struck a prostitute with its side. There is no good reason for Jaune to be some kind of prodigy when he is based on a character that never properly fought anyone.

No, Jaune relying on his team to solve problems doesn't make him pussy and isn't unlike Joan. Once again, Joan of Arc wasn't front line fighter, she was moral support to the army. Her greatest triumph, siege of Orleans, was just her directing armies where to go whenever she got a vision. And Jaune's Semblance makes sense for someone based on Joan of Arc. It is essentially morale boost Semblance considering boosting an Aura buffs both your health, defense and offensive abilities. It matches what Joan did for her comrades. Jaune relying on his team to accomplish things is not a bug, it's a feature.

No, Jaune failing doesn't make him an insult to Joan of Arc. Joan of Arc herself wasn't perfect and suffered handful of failures herself. After her victory at Orleans, she won at Jargeau, but then lost the siege at Paris. After that she was stalemated in Perrinet Gressart campaign, won a battle at Lagny and was then captured at Compiegne. After failed siege of Paris, and especially after stalemate against Perrinet Gressart, Court started doubting her abilities. It is simply different order of wins and losses with Joan peaking in her first battle while Jaune was completely useless during the Fall of Beacon but has upward trajectory after that.

Jaune's Joan of Arc is the one without any special abilities but with the same aspirations. He wants to be the hero and save the world, but he wasn't blessed with divine power that gives him unnatural charisma and allows him to see future events. People's gripes and suggestions how to "fix him" usually boil down to turning Jaune into generic power fantasy protagonist. Which is not only boring and misses the point of the character, it also misses the point of Joan of Arc. If Jaune was some kind of prodigy kicking ass since Volume 1, he wouldn't have been Joan, he would have been Roland, Arthur, Lancelot or whatever famous legendary knight you can find.

[olympushit]

ARES DOESN'T DESERVE THE HATE HE GETS. 10 REASONS WHY:

Apart from being the god of war, he was also the god of generalship, manliness and civil order, which means that he was the god responsible for the correct function of every ancient city in order of laws and politics.

As the god of manliness, he was considered to be the patron of a fine man that every man looked up to. He was a fighter, not only as a merit from being the god of war, but he always fought for his beliefs, just like at the Trojan War when he complained to Zeus about Athena's unfair action. Also, he was the best father to his children and always supported them and their mothers, just like Cycnus fighting with Heracles, or when Aeropos' mother died during childbirth and he made it possible for the baby to drink milk from his dead mother's body.

He was the only greek god that never raped a woman. All his sexual encounters were consensual and he always seemed to respect his lovers, because he kept his private life low key and none of them suffered or were subjected to tortures, unlike Zeus' or Poseidon's lovers did.

He was the god of dance. Legend has it that before he was taught how to fight, Priapos, his tutor, refused to teach him unless young Ares knew how to dance. Afterall, war is considered to be the ultimate dance a man could perform in ancient times. Also, he appeared to dance for his daughter's Armonia wedding with joy, leaving behind the animosity for her husband Cadmus. Finally, in the feasts of the Gods, it was said that Apollo played the lyre, while the Harites, Artemis, Hermes and Ares danced with great joy.

He was a forgiving god. Despite his enraged and bloodthirsty behavior, Ares knew how to forgive someone and appreciated what they were doing to gain his trust. After Cadmus slaughtered the Dragon, he was put 8 years under servitude to indulge Ares. Finally, Ares not only forgave Cadmus for his crime, but he also blessed his wedding with his own daughter Armonia. Cadmus, in order to gratify the god, built the city of Thebes and made Ares its patron god.

He wasn't a coward. Many greek myths refer to Ares' lack of courage to face danger. This is far from true. At the Trojan War, when he found out about Ascalaphus' death, he disobeyed Zeus' order with the risk of his immortal life in order to go to the battle amd avenge his son's death. He was later stopped by Zeus' thunderbolts. Also, when the Aloadai were about to take Olympus, he was the first god to interfere in battle in order to save Olympus. Afterall, one of his epithets was "Olympus' Protector".

He was sentimental. At the Trojan War he was seen greaving for his children's loss and always wanted to inervene for their safety. Also, he understood the rejection of his parents towards him and he was a lonely god that lacked love. But he found the love he was seeking to Aphrodite, and did not only lust her, but he loved her deeply. Together they had 8 children, and both of them were jealous about each other's affairs, because of Adonis and Eos. They also had an open relationship, because he never refrained Aphrodite from her nature, which was love and sex. Afterall love is not meant to be given to only one person.

He was the protector of women. When Hallirothios attempted to rape his daughter Alcippe, he flashed in the scene and brutally killed the rapist. From that moment on, a temple in Athens was built for Ares "Gynaikothoinas", which means the one feasted/worshipped by women.

He knew the feeling of loss. A war has two sides, the winners and the defeated. A war isn't always to be won, and everyone must learn what it is to lose. He lost many wars, but he also won many. That's why he is among the Olympians.

He was a god of justice. That is because he was referred to be "Themis' Ally", which means that he was a helper to the goddess of justice. One of his least famous daughters, Adrestia, was the goddess of balance, justice and retaliation. Also, "Areios Pagos" or aka "The hill of Ares" was named after him because he was the first man ever to be tried for substatial homicide, for slaughtering Alcippe' rapist.

DON'T TREAT MY BOY LIKE THAT! HE IS JUST ADORABLE!

[15-lizards]

I now present to you Tumblr in Westeros

Themaidenfaire: *painting of a weirwood* this is so gender #just wait until I meet some children of the forest…then u will all see

Floriansfool: regicide would fix me idk

Tuncan-the-Dall: literally call me the kingslayer the way I want to fuck the queen rn #JUST ONE CHANCE PLEASEEEE YOUR GRACE

Oldtownboy: I literally HATE the citadel my Maester makes me want to kill myself the stuffed Little Valyrian looks at me while I’m forging my links and says go white boy go #rant

Jadempress: I need pussy from a guy at the wall

Black_dreaded: *tapestry of Harrenhal* this is where I blog from btw #mmm rot

Your-best-westerosi-girl: literally call me the kettleblacks the way I want to fuck the queen rn #need crazy lady pussy NOW #would push a kid out the moondoor for it

Pykedyke: all of u are cowards. If I saw lady stoneheart I would fuck her. #you like your milfs crazy I like mine rotting we aren’t the same

Dragondreaming: me and my friends would beat Joffery to death with hammers I can tell you that much #rhaegar coded

Kingslayers-golden-hand: FUCK the riverlands I’m killing myself #personal #literally can’t have shit at riverrun

Sunlightinherhair: she long on my claw until I get beheaded

Arthurs_big_naturals: if you actually think dragons are back you all need to have lobotomies ❤️ #you are all so dumb. Gods bless

[str8rat]

In Stars And Time - Fear and Hunger AU

ALSO WARNING, loss of limbs

remember kids, an unspoken rule of the artists; when they've got no twinkles in their eyes, you know they've had it bad.

WOOO ISA'S THE NEXT CHARACTER I DECIDED TO TRAUMATIZE!!!!! YAY!!!!

Mirabelle will be next <3

~ ~ ~

Isabeau; Ophthalmophobia ( fear of being stared at )

Effects; Lost his right arm

Info;

TW!!! DISMEMBERMENT IG aka backstory to how Isa lost his arm

A retired Defender of Jouvente. He capital-C-Changed his body, hoping to become someone that others wouldn't be ashamed of knowing. Lost his right arm months before the party reached Dormont, protecting Mirabelle from a fatal strike coming from a powerful Sadness.

Despite his loss, his bubbly and highly supportive personality remains, always caring for his companions. And even though he does mourn the fact of him most likely never being able to become a clothing designer with just one arm, he does not regret his decision one bit. He's just a stupid Defender, afterall, and Mirabelle is the Chosen one, the one blessed by the Change God, to defeat the King. She is more important than some puny guy that likes bad jokes.

Gets phantom pains quite often. He desperately tries to be the strong, optimistic member of the party, keeping up their morales and spirits, never wanting to let them down. Always hoping that his laughter will light up the room and help everyone forget about everything, if only for a little bit. He also lost his left earring in one of the battles against Sadnesses. Generally he is the person constantly getting hurt for his party, despite the scolding he gets for it regularely.

Due to his phobia, he dislikes crowds and the public, always feeling like he has eyes at the back of his neck. He hates it, and always tries to avoid eye contact while talking to someone. With the party's help though, he's been making progress! The feeling of eyes looking over his body reminds him of all his imperfections, and it makes him spiral, wondering if he is being stared at due to the flaws in his crafted body. It makes him want to Change into someone else.

And yet, he still silently hopes that maybe, just maybe, in an unspecified time in the future, he could make up for the missing earring, and put a bonding one in it's place, if he'd ever dare to confess to Siffrin. He cannot bring himself to do it though, thinking that maybe, even after everything, he may still not be good enough and worthy of being loved. All in all, he still remains just a coward.

~ ~ ~

Sooo yeah. I in all honesty could not find a better phobia for Isa. I've thought about the phobia of love ( his inability to confess ) or maybe the phobia of failure ( failing his friends ) but in the end I settled on a phobia that has him feeling like he is constantly stared at, so much so that he decided to Change his body. Honestly a terrifying phobia. And a very self-destructive one.

Anyways, that's all! see you tomorrow! we're ruining Mirabelle next <3

[tsuy4n]

Wee, edited. Bastard x likes the bastard (mad about it) / Classic opposites attract / Enemies to lovers, etc. You name it! ;D

>Leo< [Donnie] [Raph] [Mikey]

Leo: You're so cute when you're irritated

[Y/n]: I'm going to slit your throat.

—

[Y/n]: I hate everyone.

Leo: *leans in with a smirk* Except me, right?

[Y/n]: Especially you.

—

[Y/n]: I wanna do bad things to you.

Leo: Like what? ;)

[Y/n]: Break your legs.

[Y/n]: Chop you to death.

[Y/n]: Push you off a building.

Leo: Kinky

[Y/n]:

[Y/n]: I'm gonna kill you, you little piece of shi-

—

[Y/n]: *falls downstairs*

Leo: *catches them* I think you just, *smirks* fell for me.

[Y/n]: Put. Me. Down.

—

Leo: Truth or dare?

[Y/n]: *exasperated* Truth.

Leo: Do you want to kiss me?

[Y/n]: Dare.

Leo: *leans in* I dare you to kiss me.

[Y/n]: Never have I ever–

Leo: ThAT's nOt ThE gAMe.

—

Leo: Why don't you have a girl/boyfriend?

[Y/n]: *rolls eyes* That's because I'm not looking for one. Why don't you?

Leo: You aren't looking for one yet.

—

Leo: Guys, look! [Y/n] gave me this!

Donnie: That's a dagger.

Raph: They gave you a dagger??

Mikey: I saw them threw that at you!

Leo: *smiles fondly as he tears up* Aren't they so sweet?

—

Leo: *Yelling from the rooftop* Come back with some delicious pizza!

[Y/n]: *Yelling back* I ain't buying you shit!

[Y/n]: *Buys it for him anyways*

—

Leo: *smiles*

[Y/n]: *blushes and slams hand down on the table* that's fucking it, I'm killing him.

April: Or don't be a coward and ask him out.

[Y/n]: K-Killing...is easier.

—

Donnie: You attract what you fear, Nardo.

Leo: Ahh! I'm so scared of [Y/n]!!

—

Mikey: *gasps with stars in his eyes* You have a crush on Leo!

Donnie: *smirks* They, in fact, do.

Raph: Are you planning to confess?

[Y/n]: *shakes head, exasperated* I don't have a crush on him. He's just someone I stare at and when he's not here, it ruins my day.

—

Leo: *does something stupid*

[Y/n]: I don't know him.

Leo: They're lying. We're dating.

—

Leo: Ask me why I love you.

[Y/n]: *tired, sighs* Why do you love me, Leo?

Leo: *Pulls out a 200 slide presentation* I'm glad you asked!

[Y/n]: *Actually became invested*

—

[Y/n]: *sneezes*

[Y/n]:

[Y/n]: You aren't even going to say "bless you?"

Leo: I'm sitting here with you, you've clearly been blessed.

[agatharkn3ss]

The meaning of the Macbeth witches

As I continue raking the episodes for all the cool hidden messages, let's address the painting that Agatha has in her living room and, in her Agnes O'Connor delusion, she thought it was a one-way-mirror.

By now lots of people have identified the painting to be "Macbeth and the three witches" by Francesco Zuccarelli, based on William Shakespeare’s play “Macbeth”. I think it provides a fantastic insight into the characters and the direction of the show. Long post, but worth it!

(I am using lots of sources but not referencing them, because it would make this post a lot longer. Hope that's ok!)

The Three Witches (aka Weird Sisters, Weyward Sisters or Wayward Sisters) serve their mistress Hecate (nod to our Triple Goddess). They reveal to Macbeth his prophecy, which will eventually lead to his demise, and they hold a striking resemblance to the three Fates of classical mythology. The witches generally symbolize the supernatural in Macbeth and they call into question the nature of free will.

Why include this painting at all? There can be multiple meanings but I think the most obvious reason would be to continue the feminist theme of how witches/women are portrayed and therefore mistreated – highlighting the tendency to marginalize and discriminate women who uphold their individuality.

 In the painting the three witches are shown as repulsive and ugly, with one of them holding a stick with a snake wrapped around it. And in the play they represent pure evil, as they drive a “noble and heroic man” into a power-craving ruthlessness which induces him to betray his friends and nation. However, people start to catch on that the treatment of the witches reflects the oppression and misogynistic values women experienced in the past.

We could probably draw some parallels with our witches. Lilia is driven out of every village she passes through for accurately predicting tragedy. Jen is called an inconvenient woman and bound – likely because of being a successful midwife. Agatha is being thought of as the evil, “most infamous” witch-killer. Lilia even goes as far as saying that Agatha is the very reason why those stereotypes even exist. But as the layers peel off, we get to see that she is a much more complex persona than just your “black” or “white” character. It is becoming clear that both Agatha and Lilia have shared a huge amount of prejudice and backlash just because of their unique abilities – not only because they can’t control them, but also because they are different. Lilia hates this discrimination and eventually hides from it like a “coward” (as Agatha noted), even though she might enjoy the things that make her a witch (like flying on brooms), while Agatha embraces the negative perception and uses it to her advantage, to create this defence wall around her and make people fear her. In their different ways, they both end up being slaves to those stereotypes.

I think there is also a bit of foreshadowing here, because it is interesting to set up this narrative and then introduce the character of Teen aka Billy Maximoff – the boy who (as we saw in Wandavision) was named by papa Vision specifically in honour of none other than William Shakespear!

Shakespear is not only the author of Macbeth, but has also been widely criticised for his treatment of women characters in his plays – they are shown to be emotionally weak and inferior to men. Even women in power are portrayed by him as manipulative, not to be trusted and with questionable morals (sounds familiar?). There are so many papers that explore this, but I think this one illustrates is best:

“In Ancient Greece, Hecate was a Goddess, who used to bless people with good luck, health, wisdom and victory. People often used to put a statue of her at crossroads or entrance-ways to scare the evil spirits. In other words, she was a goddess of ‘positive energy’. (...) In Macbeth, Shakespeare too presents Hecate as leader of the negative force who hatches a plan with the three weird sisters to misguide Macbeth towards a deadly end by keeping him in illusion. (...) Doing so, he denounces her godliness and demeans her stature by using the male centric religious perspective that causes much harm to women’s body and mind across time and space.”

While I don’t at all want to suggest that Teen is in any way set up as a misogynist, there is still that moral superiority complex - we see a glimpse of it in episode 5 when he essentially says he is better than them: “So that’s what it means to be a witch? Killing people to serve your own agenda? No, not for me.” Then of course he completely contradicts that in the next moment, when he literally buries the witches in the ground.

He seems to completely ignore the fact that it was him who wanted the Witches Road in the first place. The initial reaction of every single witch in the coven was always the same: “The Road will kill you.”, “The Road is a death wish”, “It’s a dead end. Literally”. Billy CHOSE to ignore this and actively pressured each of the witches to join. He needed them to serve HIS own agenda, knowing fully well that some of them could die. I hope he will soon realise that he is no different than the rest.

We can immediately see how he really is “so much like his mother” who chose to trap the Westview citizens, then when they got their identities back and told her about their torment, she literally tried to gaslight them by telling them they were fine and “at peace”. Then had the cheek to excuse her actions and show her superiority to Agatha by showing her the bodies of her original coven saying “You see the difference between you and me is that you did this on purpose” – the irony being of course that Agatha clearly couldn’t control her powers in that moment, so I doubt this was on purpose - same in Alice’s case

 (sidenote: I think the reason Wanda thought that, was because she entered her mind and saw that Agatha probably blamed herself for it, maybe even believed that if she tried a bit harder, she would’ve been able to control it).

So…. Why use that painting in the interrogation scene? I’m sure there are many possible hidden meanings, but my interpretation is that in that moment Agatha/Agnes are playing exactly to take advantage of the stereotypes. Billy claims to know who she is. But really, he just knows those stories that she allows people to believe. He calls her out for not having “respect of her peers” or a “fulfilling home life” – as if that is what every “respectable” woman should want. Instead of feeling embarrassed, she immediately latches onto that and reminds him that this is exactly what makes her dangerous. “Hey, you know those three ugly witches? They brought Macbeth down just with their words!”. I am sure there could be further meanings if you really look deep into it. Could Teen be interpreted as Macbeth himself, surrounded by witches and relying on their help?

Another element here is of course Rio, standing on the other side of the “mirror”. The painting itself has allusions to death: the witch in white is often compared to a ghost and “the dark sky above the mountains is a metaphorical representation of death lurking around the king, around Macbeth, around every man confronted with his own destiny.” Yet again, we might be getting another hint as to Rio’s true identity (let’s face it – is there anyone left by now who doesn’t think she’s Lady Death?)

It is not entirely clear where Rio is at this point (she can’t be standing behind a painting?) and Billy doesn’t acknowledge her presence – he likely hasn’t even realised Rio intervened when Agatha kicked him to the floor. At one point he asked why she was looking at that painting (although, he might have said it as a misdirection, to bring her to reality). So maybe in this “Agnes of Westview” show, Rio really is equal to a ghost, hiding in plain sight and lurking through a window of Agatha’s mind. She is the only one who appears to actually SEE what Agatha is seeing (“Is this really how you see yourself?”), even goes as far as provide her with more “evidence” (fake victim/flower photos). She seems to know Agatha’s thoughts on the case even before she voices them – sometimes it looks as though she’s actually putting those thoughts in her head (what was that about the three witches defying the concept of free will?...) . Finally – Rio times it to perfection when she shows up at Agatha’s doorstep, (mis)quoting Pride and Prejudice and clearly aware of the sad scene Agatha had just experienced. So maybe Agatha is the Macbeth of the story? Is she destined for self-destruction?

I have yet to form my theory on Rio' involvement and her intentions. But I can’t help but think that her appearance is not quite as it seems – that we are “looking at it the wrong way” - is it a painting or a mirror?

To finish this off (phew!), I particularly like this one analysis of the Macbeth painting that points out the different sublime elements – the repulsive witches, the grandeur of nature and the loneliness of the hero. I think it fits Agatha's position as it concludes:

This theory of the sublime opposes the sublime with beauty as two exclusive concepts (like light with darkness) while recognising that both can provide pleasure. Sublimity may evoke horror, but the knowledge that the perception is a fiction can be pleasureful.

Edit: I have also spotted the clock in that scene states 3.33. There are more nods in the show to number 3 and Shakespeare uses the symbolism of trinity throughout the Macbeth play as an idea that tragedy/death comes in threes (3 witches, 3 apparitions, 3 murders etc.). So I feel there is some foreshadowing here as well (e.g. Agatha's wearing a jersey with no3 in the same episode that Alice dies).

Witch 1: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. Witch 2: Thrice and once the hedgepig whined. Witch 3: Harpier cries “’Tis time, ‘tis time.”

[secriden]

so i wonder if anyone else has thoughts about mame's choices regarding sky vs tongrak's stories and how she tackled the complexity of loving and being loved.

when i first heard about love sea, i saw a lot of people say that fortpeat were just re-cast as sky and prapai but with tongrak being older and richer than mahasamut. personally, i think that's a pretty reductionist view because mame explored the idea of being afraid to love and be loved from very different angles and perspective in these two stories.

i will give that there are some similarities on the surface - peat's character does that whole 'pretends to hate it but secretly loves it' thing; the cat-like 'push and pull' thing and fort's character is still a overly excited, loveable golden retriever of a human being with a strong sense of self; also both sky and tongrak have had experiences which make them both fearful of 'love'.

but i think while sky's main fear is being loved, tongrak's is very much a fear of loving.

like, sky's story is very... raw. it's an exposed nerve, tender and painful and present. sky's fear is so immediately tied to his trauma which he's still in the throes of. the betrayal he faced was from the one who claimed to love him and it's telling that sky's first flashback is not triggered by his feelings FOR prapai but by prapai expressing his 'love' for him. this trauma is intimate and physical and close, but that means that the start of his healing journey can begin because of an external force (prapai) giving him that safety but also physically removing the threat. when sky begins to feel safe again, he is able to begin healing.

in contrast: tongrak's trauma is relatively... hmmm, separated (? not the best word but...) on a physical level. it doesn't make it less or even less painful (or more, or more painful), but his fear of love largely stems from how he sees the people immediately around him being hurt by love. he's internalised the idea that love doesn't last. mahasamut starts confessing his feelings pretty early on; like episode 4 mahasamut straight up goes, 'well you can't stop me from loving you' and tongrak's disapproving but he's not triggered. what's the difference between this and episode 10, i think, is that tongrak's actively fighting his own awareness of his feelings for mahasamut. it's why his fight or flight response is triggered by vie calling him out about his feelings in episode 8 and also why he tries to force parameters back into their relationship (my take: i don't care if you love me but i won't love you) in episode 10. but it's also why his healing doesn't actually come from an external force - yes, vie kind of knocks him out of his depressed stupor by hiding the bracelet, but note that tongrak's has that breakdown realisation ('please come back, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, can't you please come back to me? i'm afraid you'll end up hating me (emphasis added) if you love me') before he has that chat with vie. he's already realised that the root of his fear of mahasamut's love isn't the love itself, but the fear that if he admits his own love for mahasamut, it will eventually get betrayed. it's also why even after he resolves that he wants to try at a relationship with mahasamut, he still can't say it. at this point, his father's a non-entity in terms of the fear of him going after his loved ones - he's already been proven a weakling and a coward and also they're physically on the island so removed from jak that it shouldn't be an immediate fear anymore. no; this struggle is completely internal and it's why we linger on his heartbreaking attempts to confess (also, love sea had some pacing issues but i'm so so grateful they took time to show this part; bless fort for insisting on it!). tongrak's afraid to love but he pushes and pushes himself, and finally breaks through and its entirely on his own terms because of his own strength.

i'm not saying sky's weaker for (in a sense) needing someone else to rescue him before he could heal, but i think it just speaks to mame really telling quite a different story of healing with tongrak.

like... have you ever thought you'd healed from something and then it comes back in an unexpected way but then your response to the trigger is also different? the pain is there but it's... at once deeper but also more distant? a deep pulse rather than a high pitched shriek? and the way you go about beginning this new phase of healing is also different? i think that's whats happening here.

it's fascinating how us humans can fear vulnerability in so many ways, so many forms, on so many levels but i think the lesson mame's stories tell is that sometimes it really is worth it to become vulnerable. not with everyone, and not all the time (goodness, that would be foolish). but also, keep holding onto hope. keep looking for that right person, keep being kind to yourself and others. know that it's ok if your healing feels different, if you didn't catch it some point in the past, its not too late.

you'll be ok.

[kirkshouseplant]

Look we don't know what's gonna happen. The polls aren't over yet. But let me get one fucking thing straight: I am NOT going to just lie down and take my friends and I'm rights being stripped away because of some felon being re-elected for a second term.

I will not go back in the closet. I will not allow for my friends to be beaten and slaughtered and abused because they DARED to be themselves. I will stand up for them.

I will stand up for those who want or need an abortion for any reason. I will stand up for BIPOC individuals who may face years worth of equal rights being whisked away on a whim. I will stand up for my transgender siblings who are only living their most authentic lives. I will stand up for my queer siblings who are only loving who they love.

I won't go down silently. I refuse. I will bite, claw, and scratch ANYONE who dares to harm anyone, my friends included, in these categories.

Because if you're brave enough to beat up another living breathing human being, just because you don't "agree" with their existence, then you shouldn't be afraid to throw hands with an AFAB person who is "cis enough" by your bigoted standards. You're a fucking coward if THAT is where you draw your hateful line.

Because dammit this country will not fall to fascism, to a dictatorship, to the start of a new genocide on its own citizens. Over a man who should never have been allowed to be president in the first place.

God bless this broken and fucked up country. Land of the questionable free and home of the fucking stupid.

[reaper-in-reverie]

—come, stay a while.

(though it's not nice to see a familiar face.)

preview.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

synopsis. kaiser, and how his change doesn't seem to change much at all. angst. character interpretation.

warnings. derealization. typical kaiser backstory implications - abuse, neglect, etc. alcohol/alcoholism mentioned. blood but only very little. 1k words. not proofread.

notes. ooc definitely lol. i think it's a bit too melancholy but i don't plan on fixing it. I am projecting so hard. the hyperspecific details are actually references to me :3

He could physically feel himself get worse on more stressful days.

The dull bathroom light illuminated the mirror as Kaiser stared into it. He brushed his blond locks from his face, scanning his own features; the stress of the day etched into them, the natural gleam of attractiveness in his eyes.

He'd accepted a long time ago his life was but a reflection of people before him.

In the mirror, in puddles of rain, in the words of people around him — "you look just like your mother!" It used to sting, the reminder of a mother who looked exactly like him yet he never knew; never loved him as a mother should. First there was anger, spreading over his whole being like a wildfire — why compare him to such a coward, run from home and left her blood behind?

He hated it, disowned it like his mother did him; he hated his blue eyes, which seemed to naturally have a charming gleam in them; he hated his blond hair, which seemed so naturally beautiful he had to make an effort to keep it shaggy, to try to keep him as different from his mother.

The acceptance took years to settle. Eventually he'd come to live with the fact that his reflection was the only thing his mother had left for him to keep. He'd come to find comfort in this fact — somewhere in his blood he was both blessed and tainted with memories of his mom. Truly, engraved within his blood and soul, he still belonged to something. Almost comfortingly, he belonged to his mother. But he did not know his mother. She had no arms to hold him, no voice to guide him; just a face, haunting him in every reflective surface.

Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and not see himself.

Now Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and expect to his mother.

He brushed his blond hair falling into his blue eyes again, in search for something to belong to.

This time, there was something else.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

For the first time, Kaiser felt the intense urge to cover his face. He winced at himself, looking into his own eyes with extreme disgust and judgment, his own expression reminding him of someone else. Why would his father make an appearance now? He'd just never thought he'd find himself looking like...

He tried looking himself in the mirror again, brushing some of his bangs out of his hair. Some pathetic part of him searched for his mother in the reflection, yearned for her care the same way he had when he was younger. And still, like before, there was no one who came to his side. He couldn't unsee it.

He took a sharp breath in, rubbing his eyes long enough until he had splotches of black in his vision. Kaiser looked himself in the mirror again—

And still, his father was there. Silently staring from the mirror in judgment.

Suddenly Kaiser was ten again. When he looked up to the low ceiling, there were splashes of milk stretching out from above his bed up to the corner of the room, painting the ceiling with stars. The pads of his tiny fingers were bleeding from trying to open a can of tuna. The familiar scent of alcohol filled his nostrils — his father was drunk in the living room — but he didn't move from his bed to ask his father for bandages. He did not move to ask his father to open the can himself.

His bedroom walls slowly rotted away, cracks in the corners, the paint peeling off. It didn't take much to notice how many things were in bad condition; entering the house itself had the doors creaking, hell, even the door to his own rotting bedroom creaked loudly when opened.

But Kaiser did not ask his father to get the walls fixed. He did not ask his father to oil his doors' hinges. He did not ask his father for anything. Excluding maybe all the times he'd beg not to be hit...

But he did not ask his father for anything.

And to think that but a child was soaking up such an environment. A polished and unassuming to-be-copy as it sat in the corner of the room. All he could do was reflect what he hungrily absorbed.

That's enough. Kaiser turned away from the mirror, hastily shutting off his bathroom lights. He didn't want to keep seeing his father in himself. He didn't want to see at all.

He walked into the connecting room, leaving the bathroom door open and grabbing a glass to fill with water. He swallowed with fervor, a dizzying feeling of misplaced yet familiar paranoia washing over him in waves.

He had to remind himself he wasn't ten anymore. There weren't any more rotting walls and no more drunk fathers in the living room.

So what was scaring him?

No, what was scaring him more: that it still felt as if his father was here, looming over his every move and judging his every mistake; or that he was the one bringing his father into his own life, in his own actions and in his very reflection.

That somewhere deep down, down to the very nature of his soul, he was bound by blood to a monster.

That somewhere deep down, he belonged to something.

Kaiser glanced towards the rest of his home now. A small apartment. He didn't even live in Germany anymore. Still, he felt he was carrying some part of himself with it. Eerily, it was like nothing had even changed.

Some of the paint on the walls were peeling. He placed the glass of water down to nervously rub the pads of his fingers together. He noticed the bathroom door was still open. Crossing the room to get his hand on the handle, he took one last glance at the mirror. It was dark in the bathroom. He couldn't see himself. He pulled the door closed.

The door creaked loudly shut.

║Ⓒ reapkusho on tumblr. 2024. all rights reserved. refrain from translating, copying, or stealing in any way, etc.