#it's an uphill battle and I'm tired

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Happens here too. The US.

And I tried to address a lot of this stuff and some of the things said in my cab driver novel.

The problem it's "hard to connect" to by an industry predominantly filled with people who've never experienced that and don't understand the impact to people, character, and how much that changes personal narrative and thus back into a fictive one from that perspective.

Your entire thought process on life and risks and everything are different.

There's an expectation for certain Asian communities to fall into the model minority trap.

Also be: submissive, meek, compliant.

When I first pursued acting I saw this stereotype enforced and expected almost unknowingly by people.

Same in fiction.

It's changing now, but...it's an uphill battle.

Take for example the history of Sikhs in warfare. Used as cannon fodder by the British, well respected warriors, served in armies around the world, even WWI and WWII for America as well, not just the British. But you don't hear about that. It's something that's talked about in Asiatic circles.

With what Bruce Lee did for the Chinese community. He smashed through stereotypes and showed badassery. Chinese martial arts. A Chinese ass kicking hero. But there were obstacles.

And it's what motivated me to write a book based off things I saw and experienced and also understand - trying to address stuff I don't think people are aware of especially in fiction. And, make a narrative that actually reads in that way - the pacing, considerations, and more.

We're told to always have actiony/ACTIVE characters.

But what we forget is a lot of poc's don't have that activeness/agency in their own lives due to certain systems, expectations, and things like this. And, other concerns. So what then does that narrative actually look like? And, what does that fight and reconciliation with one's self to get that agency look like as well? I worked hard to answer that and more in The Cab Driver.

I def need to thank WaylandSmith1 and ZacTopping for reading, liking, blurbbing, and vetting the accuracy of certain law enforcement, gang, and other aspects of the novel too.

But, yeah. It's been on my mind.

[bushfulofbirds]

Tired RW,BY fan braves hbomb video after three years (he finally downloaded it of Internet Archive), more at 12

[evan-buck]

i need to make sure the only opinions i see about good omens and this whole situation are on my dash. impossible for sure, but like don't show me instagram or twitter or let me hear people speaking about it in the street etc. everyone else is so stupid, i just want to stay here.

[fanvoidkeith]

some jackass: autistic people just don't feel emotions the way the rest of us do

my hyperempathetic autistic ass: okay so then why do i have this fucking mountain of feelings about everything then

[gentlethorns]

i hate my fucking body. i hate that it's turned against me and now it seems like there is always something wrong w me or something not working the way it should. i feel so much anger towards my body bc it literally feels like it works against me constantly and ik that's not a good relationship to have w my body but it's so frustrating to constantly have to overcome how my body feels so i can do the things i want or need to do

[exospherethoughts]

I don't know how to feel. My psychiatrist told me I do have OCD, and now I just, don't know how to feel or what to do. I know logically speaking, having the label doesn't change my symptoms or what my daily experiences are, but it still feels so devastating to know there's another separate thing wrong with me. Some of the things I thought were just quirks are compulsions, habits I picked up that I *need* to do to keep my anxiety manageable are things I'm going to have to learn to stop doing, I'm questioning the source of every single thought I have now, I don't know how much of who I am is actually me and how much of it is the OCD (which things are quirks and which ones are compulsions? which thoughts are really mine and which ones are seeds of intrusive thoughts? do I even have any thoughts anymore that aren't obsessive spirals?), I feel the need to tease apart what is OCD and what's ADHD but that in and of itself is a compulsion, I feel like I have to monitor everything that goes through my head to check if it's an obsession/compulsive rumination (is that a compulsion too?), I'm so tired. I want a moment of peace and quiet, just a moment of silence, a break. But nothing makes it go quiet. Drinking helps for a little while but even that just numbs things out a bit, it doesn't make my mind go properly quiet. I wish I could put my head through a bloody wall.

[shadowed-dancer]

Villains and Their Fates - A Tragedy Would Have Been Fine By Me

I've seen a lot of people who try to write off frustration with the league's fates by saying "you just wanted them to survive" or "you're just upset your favourite character died". And while that may be true for a few people, I know that it's at least not true for myself (which must mean there are others who feel the same way). So today I'm here to share my thoughts. Despite liking the villains and wanting them to be redeemed, I was also willing to accept a well written ending if they died. I just wanted to ramble a bit about the three main villains (mostly Toga) and how I felt a tragic ending could have been improved.

The only villain I felt should have lived is Dabi, but that's more because of the awkwardness his unconfirmed death caused for Shoto (read this beautifully written analysis for more). If Dabi had to die, he should have died on the battle field OR in the hospital surrounded by family where he gets a few last words in. Leaving his fate unconfirmed leads to the ruined Shoto arc, but is also just weird for a character who has existed for so long. You're telling me that even Overhaul gets a confirmed ending but DABI doesn't?

I've also talked a bit about how Endeavor's survival ruins the subplot, and in 426 he continues by making Touya's final appearance about him (rather than the two brothers) but that's something I've talked about too much. If Endeavor has to be alive and hogging screen time, the least Hori could do is imply Touya will survive rather than die, so at least Enji isn't literally stealing time from his other family members to have some interaction with Touya.

If Touya has to end up in that machine, an ideal ending would have been the doctor saying "it will be a gruelling and near-impossible uphill climb to recovery" and then Shoto can smile and say "he's done it before". Boom. Simple as that. Leave it open, but at least on a positive note so we can assume that the family will have plenty of time to reconcile, as opposed to an unknown (but limited) amount of time that Enji vows to use to talk to him (yeah I know it's supposed to be a sweet gesture but even Touya calls bullshit on it). Let Shoto and Touya eat their soba, damn it!

For Shigaraki, my grievances extend to the writing of the entire final battle between him and Deku. As such, I don't have much to say aside from that because it really is just a product of poor writing. Neither were really allowed to talk before the big moment (hell, the vestiges were narrating Deku's emotions half the time like "he must be upset, this quirk meant so much to him". Why not let him tell us???) and the back-and-forth of Shigaraki being destroyed and then not only to be destroyed again was too much. It felt sloppy and hard to follow, and once you figured it out it just felt dumb. It's as if each chapter needed some massive reveal, but the story had done it so much at this point that it just felt tired and like it was happening "because Hori said so", and that should never be what drives a story.

Speaking of "because Hori said so"...

Oh Toga. Out of all the villains, I actually liked her confrontation the most. (Lies. If Dabi vs Shoto was the end of Dabi's fight, THAT would have been the best. But the Endeavor fight ruins it). Despite having limited screen time, Toga and Uraraka had a surprisingly well-built dynamic. Their few interactions were actually meaningful and created a strong foundation for a fight, and at the very least they had more of a personal connection than Deku and Shigaraki ever did. I think that Toga giving her blood to someone she loves (as opposed to drinking/taking their blood like she had said the whole series) is a beautifully tragic end to her character, but still something that could have fit.

To me, the problem comes with how she died. Let me replay the scene for you: Toga stabs Uraraka in the stomach and Uraraka bleeds too much because she keeps moving around. Toga then realizes she doesn't want Uraraka to die. To save her life, Toga has to do a blood transfusion with herself as a donor and she dies because she has to give ALL her blood.

Now... sure. Ok. Fine. Yeah. Maybe by real-world logic this makes sense. I guess. Whatever. But within the world of MHA, this setup is laughable.

Here's a list of things characters survived (or at least, they survived LONG ENOUGH to get to a hospital rather than dying on the battlefield): Deku shattering his bones with 1 million percent, whatever happened to Best Jeanist when AFO attacked him, Nighteye getting a massive spike through the torso, All Might with "his entrails strewn across the ground", Bakugo becoming Swiss cheese, Grand Torino being punched so hard a crater forms beneath him, Touya being a literal flaming skeleton, Bakugo's heart exploding, Edgeshot becoming a worm. Mirko getting a limb ripped off and then running full speed at Shigaraki. That's just off the top of my head, I know there's probably more.

But you want to tell me that Uraraka getting stabbed and then moving was a fatal wound that required ALL TOGA'S BLOOD? ALL OF IT? The reason Toga's death bothers me is that the setup cheapens the actual moment of sacrifice. It feels preventable, so when she tells us that Uraraka is going to die without her blood, all I could do is roll my eyes because I'm not allowed to use critical thinking skills, I have to just accept what Hori says and take it at face value.

If the author wants you to live as Edgeworm despite saying you were gonna die, you can. But if the author needs a stab wound to be fatal and require ALL of someone's blood? Well tough luck bud, that's just how it goes. Mirko can run and move all she wants after having a limb ripped off, but moving a bit after one stab wound is fatal. Why? Because I say so.

If Uraraka's wound was actually serious then this ending would have been a beautiful tragedy. But as it stands now, the ridiculousness of her wound makes it all feel preventable.

Oh, there's also the fact that Toga switching blood types when she transforms was never established, but I've rambled enough.

That's it. Thanks for reading!

[xoxoavenger]

Hey! Since you’re taking requests, can I request a sort of part two (not necessarily it could jsut be a stand alone) to Days of Future Past where what if younger Charles had a wife in the 70s where reader decides to break it off with Charlie’s casue the love she had for him begun to slowly dwindle because of all the events that happened in the last fic. And while she does care for him as the father of her son and fully expects him to still be in his sons life, she can’t be with him anymore since it’s to much

Broken

pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

word count: 739

warnings: angst, no comfort

notes: Days Of Future Past was posted a year ago for my birthday celebration, so it's only fitting that I post the long awaited part 2 for another birthday celebration 🥰

Days Of Future Past (part 1)

birthday celebration main masterlist

The thing about change is that it doesn't happen overnight.

When Logan went back to his own time, Y/N never expected Charles to go back to normal immediately. She knew it would be an uphill battle. But she was pregnant and tired of waiting.

"You're joking." Charles says. They're in his study, Y/N standing even though she is due in a week. They haven't had any conversations that aren't about their son since Logan came, and they need to have this conversation before there's a baby taking up all their time. When she brought up her decision, he didn't seem to like it.

"I know you're on cocaine." She says point blank. She's known for awhile, but it's finally time to force him to get his shit together.

"If you're going to leave me, you might as well go before our son comes." He doesn't think she'll actually do it. He goes back to his work, sitting behind his desk as if she'll huff and walk out. But His words just make her more sure in her decision. She takes a deep breath and looks over at him.

"Charles. I am leaving you. We're not arguing about that right now. What we're talking about is if you're going to be in our son's life or not." She can tell this makes Charles mad, but she has to think of herself and her son. She can't stay with Charles, not when he continuously puts her through tough times. She doesn't know how she's even gotten through this pregnancy when all he's done is get high or drunk and act like she wasn't pregnant for six months.

"What the fuck?" Charles blinks, looking up slowly. "You can't just leave as we're about to have a kid!" His argument infuriates her.

"I'm not in love with you anymore!" She screams, the room going completely quiet. They stare at each other, both hurting.

"What does that mean?" He whispers, and she almost wants to take it back. She can't though, because it's the truth.

"I'll always love you, Charles." She tells him, walking closer slowly. "But after what you put me through, I'm not in love with you."

"I need you." He tells her, reaching out when she gets close enough and grabbing her hand. "I can't get through life without you."

"I'll be here." She assures, moving his hand to her protruding stomach. "There will be a piece of us in this world soon, and I would go through everything again for him. But you and I cannot work together. At least not now." Tears begin to fall from Charles' eyes.

"I can quit." He mutters, and she nods.

"I know you can. And you're going to for our son." She moves to sit on his desk. He puts his head against her stomach, tears soaking her shirt.

"I need you." He repeats, and she just shakes her head.

"Our son needs you." She cards her hands through his hair. "Maybe in another time, we can be together, but you've put me through too much."

"I'm sorry." He finally whispers, and she nods, trying not to cry. "I love you so much."

"I know you do." She tells him. A part of her feels bad. She knows he's trying. But it's too little too late, and she can't sacrifice any more of herself.

"I can change." He promises.

"Charles," She pulls away from him, looking down. "I know you can change. But I can't wait for it. I can't keep giving up pieces of myself to fix you." She feels the need to kiss him, for the comfort and the repetitiveness. But it'll only hurt worse.

"I don't need to be fixed. I just need time." He begs, and it's the same thing Y/N has heard over and over.

"I don't have time to give you." She tells him truthfully, moving away from him now. "Our baby will be brilliant. He will have two loving parents. But they will not be together. For their sake and his."

"Y/N," He starts, but he doesn't have anything left to say. He has nothing left to beg with.

"I love and care for you." She whispers. "But I am not in love with you. You have taken things from me that you cannot give back. Broken things you can't repair. And I can't forgive you for that."

She walks out without looking back, going to move her stuff out of their room. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace  @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,” as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

[hymemena]

Sadderday Prompts

Feel free to change pronouns as necessary, and remember to specify muse for multimuse blogs.

CW: Self Deprecation, Depression, Anxiety, Mental Health, Medication, Abandonment Issues

—

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why me?"

"It's not fair, is it?"

"It feels like it's always an uphill battle."

"I'm tired. Like a bone-deep, never getting better kind of tired."

"If you want it that way, then fine."

"What's the point?"

"I'm too tired to fight anymore."

"Whatever light was in my life walked out with them."

"Don't leave."

"I can't stand seeing happy couples."

"Sometimes it just... Hurts. It still hurts."

"There's nothing left of the person you used to know."

"How many times are you going to call me dramatic when I'm telling you something is wrong?"

"Hope's a curse, or poison, or something similar."

"You say 'tomorrow's another day' like that means it can only get better. News flash: It never gets better."

"I want to be alone."

"I'm at my wit's end."

"I can't."

"I can't keep doing this."

"It's not enough anymore."

"I'm not taking my meds. They make me feel like a zombie."

"I'm not crying."

"I... I don't know. I guess the dam just... Fucking broke."

"Don't stay."

"You should have left already."

"I don't want to be alone."

"Look, you shouldn't love me. All I ever do is let down anyone that's ever had faith in me."

"I... Know it's been a while."

"It's only been a couple years. You couldn't have missed me that much."

"What's there to even miss?"

"Have you even met me?"

[justheretobreakthings]

As an aroace who frequently feels frustrated by the inability to escape romance and sex whereever you turn, it's easy to become very cynical about the state of media and the uphill battle. So it's definitely really encouraging to see that there's a viable market for aroace-friendly content, one that's significant enough that perhaps in the near future we'll get to see more big media companies catering to that market. And that's in addition to the fact that today's younger generation is a lot more aware of queer identities and diversity than those who have been the big players in media creation for so long now, which means it's very likely that soon we'll get to see more creators who are willing to break away from the narrow standards of character relationships that writers often stick to now.

This article is from October 2023, so it's pretty up-to-date, even though being accustomed to Internet Time makes me feel like I'm super late to this. Anyway, have an excerpt from the article for some highlights:

Teens in the US are wondering why they don’t see more platonic relationships on screen. And that’s just one of many key takeaways from the second-annual Teens & Screens report released today by the Center for Scholars and Storytellers (CSS) at UCLA. [...] When it comes to the types of relationships shown on screen, teens are tired of love triangles and “will they or won’t they” storylines. A majority of respondents (55%) expressed a desire to see more focus on friendships in film and TV.  “While some storytellers use sex and romance as a shortcut to character connection, it’s important for Hollywood to recognize that adolescents want stories that reflect the full spectrum of relationships,” noted Uhls. More than half (51.8%) of all teens surveyed also said sexual content was not necessary in most series and films. Another indicator of what CSS calls a “nomance” trend is the fact that 38% of the teen sample said they are particularly keen to see more aromantic/asexual characters.  On average, all of the respondents ranked romantic clichés among their five least favorite fictional stereotypes. (And that’s quite a shift from when love triangles reigned supreme in fairly recent teen-skewing film franchises like To All the Boys and Twilight.)

Here's a link to the report discussed in the article for those interested.

[bloodiedrogue]

DELIVERANCE, DELIVER ME (13)

SUMMARY: You and the party finally discover what Ketheric (and company) are up to.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,770

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (I'm sorry), canon typical violence, (sort of) major character death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd like to apologize for posting this chapter and then taking two weeks off. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

It’s an uphill battle for a while. As the minutes turn to hours and the hours quickly become what ends up being a day and a half of solid movement, you finally find yourself deep within the belly of the Illithid colony.

Gripping tightly onto the blade that resides in your hand, you can feel the membrane floor beneath your tired feet squelch as you creep further in, threatening to trip you with the way it gives each time you step to follow Wyll. 

Directly in front of you, you watch as he instructs both Lae’zel and Gale to keep a close watch from behind while the rest of you continue exploring. “We have to be getting close by now,” he grumbles. Then, he motions you and Karlach to move ahead, making you sigh.

You’re a bit scared to admit it but you’re almost too exhausted to continue. After countless battles won against various foes, you’re at the point of barely being able to see straight. Against the dimness of your surroundings, your eyes feel heavier with each passing step, threatening to close as you walk through the tissued door ahead, hearing Karlach hum.

“It’s all clear,” she says, lowering her axe. As she does, you drop your knife and raise a hand to rub your eye, emitting a low yawn just as some devourers rush across your half-obscured vision, shifting your attention to watch a grouping of them scuffle around your feet. 

“You know what? They’re honestly kind of cute, don’t you think?”

You blink at Karlach who’s ogling at one of the stragglers, lowering her body slightly downwards to give the brain a good pet before it squeaks in response and dashes away. 

“You think a brain with legs is cute?” 

Now at your side, Shadowheart scowls at the same creature, shaking her head while the rest of the group merely looks around, surveying the area further.

Unsurprisingly, it looks like every other section you’ve found yourselves in. Covered head to two in bodily innards, thick strands of membrane hang from the walls, dangling wetly above your heads, making you cringe as the group continues to speak. 

“I mean, yeah, look at their little feet! You can’t tell me that’s not the most adorable thing you’ve seen all day!”

“I very well can.”

Next to Shadowheart, Gale smiles at Karlach. “They’re rather interesting specimens… in their own way. A bit easy on the eyes but I supposed I can understand the appeal.” 

Shadowheart rolls her eyes then, causing Lae’zel to snort before telling everyone to focus. “We mustn’t allow any distractions,” she says. "We must focus on Ketheric Thorm and his inevitable death.” 

“Possible inevitable death,” Astarion corrects with a smirk.

At that point, Wyll gives him a questionable look, prompting the rest of the group to follow his gaze, watching Astarion respond with a shrug. 

“What? He might be useful.” 

This time you snort, shaking your head as the group of you come up to another fleshy door, watching it tear open at your arrival to reveal another similar-looking room.

Upon entering, it becomes clear then that there's a long road ahead of you. Another lengthy journey of walking and fighting and whatever else it is you manage to do through the exhaustive stupors you’ve been experiencing. Almost immediately, just the thought alone makes you want to flop onto the ground, regardless of how disgusting it is. To curl up in a ball and have a good cry, realizing just how stressed you are. 

Having been in constant fight or flight, you can feel the mask of bravery you often wear begin to slip. The closer you get to where you know you’ll meet your hardest fight thus far, the less poised you become. You can tell Astarion notices this by the time you’ve found Mizora. As she and Wyll exchange a few choice words with one another, you can feel him watching you fade. Staring far too intently at the way you shove your gloved knuckles into the base of your eyes, emitting a quiet groan in response. 

It’s obvious then that he’s worried. His face shifts anxiously each time you so much as close your eyes after that, watching with caution as you drift alongside everyone else, your mind not all there. 

By the time you make it to the platform that’ll inevitably lead you to Ketheric, you feel his hand on your arm, loosely gripping the leather of your armour until you turn to face him, blinking through the haze. 

“You’re exhausted,” he points out. And even though it’s obvious you still shake your head in response, offering a tired smile as you continue to blink. 

“I’m fine.”

He looks at you angrily before turning to the others who are already busily coming up with a plan, chaotically bouncing off one another until Astarion clears his throat and motions toward you. 

“She can’t fight,” he says simply. “Not unless we rest.”

You open your mouth in annoyance only to close it over a yawn that pushes through, prompting Astarion’s face to transition into a smug expression as he huffs. 

“We don’t have time to rest,” Lae’zel says, causing both Wyll and Shadowheart to awkwardly glance at one another, realizing she’s right. 

It’s only a matter of time before things get worse. Considering how long you’ve spent wandering the halls of the colony, you know Ketheric’s already well onto the road of recovering from your last encounter. 

Thanks to his endless amounts of resources, he’s probably already up and ready to maim every single one of you without so much as batting an eye, and because of this, you merely shake your head and brush Astarion away, telling him you’re fine. That you just need a little water —maybe a health potion or two and you’ll be good as new. 

You can tell by the hurt expression that takes over his face that he doesn’t believe you. That your poorly produced lie has fallen on deaf ears, further spurring the confusion in his eyes as he watches you pull a flask out of your pack and begin to drink. Swallowing hard, you avoid his gaze then, moving to focus it on the area below.

Illuminating in a pale green light, the area calls to you —commanding you to descend as your tadpole violently wiggles behind your eye. 

Groaning through it, you raise a hand to your temple and tightly shut your eyes, hearing Astarion swear under his breath before the feeling quickly surpasses, leaving you fearful as you glance around the party, realizing they felt it too. 

“We must continue now before it’s too late,” Lae’zel says then. Through clenched teeth she clicks her tongue and moves towards the apparatus, turning to face the rest of the group once she’s directly in front of it. “Do you need healing?”

You almost shake your head, but before you can Astarion’s already grabbing your wrist and setting a potion into your open hand, glaring with narrowed eyes. “Take it,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle. “And don’t argue —the last thing I want is to have you dying in my arms.” 

He mutters it low enough so that only you can hear, making you roll your eyes through a hidden grin, obeying his command. 

“Fine. But only because I love you.”

Unlike him, your words are loud enough for the rest of the team to hear, prompting Astarion to clear his throat and turn away when Karlach loudly gasps in response, causing a quick moment of uproar before Shadowheart shuts it down.

Glancing playfully at Astarion as you continue to sip the potion, you can tell he’s thankful for the subject change. Considering all the feelings between you are still a bit fresh, it’s obvious he’s nervous —cautious in the revealing of your private partnership. 

It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. In fact, you completely understand his reservations, knowing the severity of everything happening. With Ketheric and the Absolute and all the other issues that seem to cross your path each time you so much as blink, it’s probably best you keep your feelings a bit closer to your chest. To keep him safe in the confines of your yearning chest. 

Because of this, instead of teasing him like you’re tempted to do, you merely mouth out a silent sorry, love before brushing past to join Lae’zel on the platform, watching him hide a grin of his own as he and the others follow behind.

Once you’re all on and accounted for, Lae’zel then triggers the apparatus to begin its descent, causing your frame to roughly shift and stumble back, catching Astarion’s arm in the process.

“Falling all over again, are we?”

You give him a narrow-eyed look and peel your hand away, forcing back a smile of your own just as Wyll begins to formulate a plan. One that involves a lot of careful preparation, prompting everyone to listen as he discusses who should get up close versus attack from afar. 

“Gale and Astarion, keep your distance,” he begins, motioning to both of them. “Flank from the sides or above —whatever you like. Just keep yourselves hidden until I say otherwise.” 

Both of them nod in agreement as Wyll continues to speak, telling Lae’zel and Karlach to rush into the thick of things while the rest of you sit somewhere in the middle so that you can jump back and forth if need be. 

Overall, it’s a simple formation. One that you’ve used countless times over the last few weeks, making it easy to follow. And because of this, there’s an immediate wave of optimism that surrounds your senses once you step off the platform and move into Ketheric’s domain, sneaking through the membrane that shields you from his gaze.

Once there, all of you crowd towards the ground to watch him pace across an entirely different platform. Slightly above, you can hear him sigh and groan, his footsteps echoing until they’re suddenly stagnant and an unfamiliar voice begins to speak. 

“You said it was under control.” 

The voice is calm —low and calculated. Narrowing your eyes, you slide around the structure that hides you, taking a few hurried steps towards another so that you can see the voice’s face, noticing there are others. 

Two men and a woman join Ketheric in discussion. Beneath the woman, one of the others sits crouched and helpless, eyes desperately shutting as she sits on his back, playing with the knife in her hands. Beside her, the other man talks to Ketheric as if he’s above him, speaking of their failed plan —of you and the rest of your party and how Ketheric’s new plan was to lead you down here. 

Upon hearing this, you glance at Wyll who’s clenching his jaw and moving forward, prompting Karlach to pull him right back with a shake of her head. At that point, you remember then that the man practically folded into the ground is unfortunately his father, Ulder. A man he hasn’t seen for quite some time thanks to Mizora and his inevitable banishment. Realizing this, you frown but look back over, watching Ketheric’s fist fly into the air just as the woman’s blade stops at his neck, prompting everyone to stand down despite the tension. 

After that, you can hear a fit of laughter push through the woman’s voice. As she repeats the word again almost manically, pulling her knife away from Ketheric’s throat, she then talks of Baldur’s Grave. How Ketheric must lead some sort of murder march to it.  

It’s a strange sentence. The kind that has you narrowing your eyes, trying your best to focus on the conversation further in order to understand her words as they continue their back and forth, speaking of a weapon before informing Ketheric of their dwindling patience. 

“Orin and I can wait for you no longer,” the dark-haired man says. “The plan proceeds —we’re going to the city, and we expect you to follow— army and weapon in tow.”

None of you are entirely sure what he means. At least, not until he’s moving towards the edge of the platform, raising his hand to reveal a gleaming stone as he calls the edict of Bane. At which point, you share a worried look with Astarion. Both of your throats swallowing hard as the woman then calls for the lash of Bhaal, triggering an eruption beneath you. 

Gripping onto the structure that resides in front of you, you feel the ground begin to shake. At first, it’s rough, tossing you around a bit but quickly it settles once the presence of a tentacle rips through the water, crashing just a few feet away. 

As it happens, your breath catches in your throat. Failing to exit, it sits tight against your vocal cords like an enemy's hand, threatening to suffocate you as a large brain begins to ascend amongst the waves, pulsating disgustingly. 

Cringing at the sight, you take note of Ketheric as he joins the duo, calling forth the testament of Myrkul, triggering a different voice inside your head. 

It’s the same voice you’ve been hearing throughout your journey. The voice that initially saved you through the wreckage. The one that’s been entering your dreams unannounced and feeding your information. As your tadpole twitches enthusiastically, you can hear it loud and clear, informing you that the creature that continues to rise through the air is in fact an elder brain. A creature so powerful and cruel that, upon discovery, you visibly shudder at the thought of what it’s capable of. 

Well, this obviously wasn’t what I expected.

Without hesitation, Astarion’s voice clears away the rest of your thoughts, pulling you back to look at him jerk his head towards the enemy, noticing the woman grip Ulder’s head, granting the elder brain’s tentacle enough access to shove a tadpole in his eye.

As it happens, you cringe at the sight, remembering your own experience as the two men continue to discuss the details of their shared plot. About how Ketheric’s meant to attack the city so that the other man, the supposed hero, can save it.

It’s a simple plot. One that you know will be convincing enough considering the state everyone’s in. Based solely on your experiences throughout your travels, it’s obvious that everyone can feel it coming. The shift they’ve been weaving behind closed doors. 

Wherever you’ve found yourselves the tensions have felt higher than they need to be. Difficult to navigate thanks to the wariness of the Absolute and its ever-growing presence. Normally, people refuse to trust you on instinct but lately, they’ve been borderline hostile, attacking you without much reason —forcing you to fight when all you want is peace.

It’s why, by the end of the discussion after everyone but Ketheric seemingly disappears into thin air, the breath you were previously holding stumbles out like a gasp. Forcing you further down towards the ground, you run a hand down your face as it happens, realizing then just how big this has become. How, despite knowing that the Absolute was already dangerous, the last thing you expected was a shared plot between the harbingers of death and chaos itself.

Suddenly breathing hard, you discard the act of hiding to rush over to Wyll, placing a hand on his shoulder for support, watching him scowl at Ketheric who finally clues into your presence.

“There you are.”

Like all the other times you’ve spoken to him, you notice the eerie amount of calm that radiates through his voice. As if he already knows how this will end. Annoyingly, it manages to send a shiver down your spine as he begins to clue you in on everything you’ve missed. About his God and their deal —about Gortash and Orin and their shared plot to grow and take over the Absolute all in exchange for his daughter’s life. 

In the moment, it’s a lot to take in. The idea that these Gods have essentially been working together. But quickly you snap out of the shock, forcing yourself to listen to his threats —to hear him talk of how he’ll kill you and then raise you as his undead servants.

As soon as he finishes there’s a moment of silence before Lae’zel attempts to take the first swing. With her longsword, she leaps and strikes the edge of Ketheric’s abdomen, angrily scraping away the armour with a hearty scream that triggers the rest of you to move. Seemingly all at once, you all then scatter into position, watching Gale and Astarion begin to strike the undead soldiers that rise from the earth on opposite ends while you and Shadowheart move towards the middle, using magic to do the same. 

“It’s no use, True Soul,” Ketheric taunts then, dodging Karlach’s swinging axe with a snort before he swings his sword right back, catching her in the arm. 

As she cries out in pain, Wyll slices through an undead’s skull before turning his attention to the injured tiefling, immediately rushing to her aid.

After that, all of you fall into the same rhythm. When one of you is struck there’s an instant urgency that takes place, causing whoever’s closest to help the other before you relocate and reset. 

Because of this, it takes a while to weaken Ketheric’s defences. To strike him down hard enough so that his power begins to dwindle. So much so that by the time you’ve regained your focus after helping Wyll up a second time, you finally notice the reason you were sent to the mausoleum in the first place.

Struggling against conjured shackles, Aylin, the woman you met deep within Shar’s domain —the one who attempted to help the first time you fought Ketheric— now stands, calling your attention, screaming for you to release her so that she can help. 

Without even thinking you nod your head and rush to her aid, narrowly avoiding an arrow that whizzes by your face along the way. Panting through the exhaustion, you move as quickly as possible, forcing your body to climb up a ladder of flesh, ignoring the ooze that slips through your fingers. 

Once upright, you continue moving towards her, watching her struggle against the bonds through gritted teeth, begging you to help. 

Drawing your sword you begin to hack at the magic upon her request, groaning with each strike until you can see it cracking under the pressure. Breaking down bit by bit until—

You see the blade before you feel it. The way it angles down from your left shoulder into the air in front of you. Narrowing your eyes, it takes a moment, but not long after you notice the blood, you finally feel the shooting pain of your injury. How it spreads like wildfire throughout your torso, threatening to stop your lungs.

Shakily, you crane your neck to see the undead soldier loom carelessly above you. Somehow its hand is still locked tightly on the handle of the blade as you begin your descent to the ground, gasping for air just as Aylin breaks free and immediately kills it, saying something you don’t quite hear as it happens. 

Despite not being able to make out her exact words you can tell they’re angry. Loud and irritated as she motions toward your body, making you groan. Making you realize that despite wanting more than anything to live, your eyes are slowly closing.

After that all you do is feel and hear, struggling to process. 

Because without your eyesight, it’s as if everything else has been sorely amplified. Within your chest, the only thing you can feel is the blooming of your blood coating you in a heavy ache. The way it warms your skin beneath the already-heated leather of your clothes. As you lay there covered in it, you feel it bubble up your throat, obstructing every lick of air that fights towards the surface, causing you to gag. To fearfully reach for your throat as your ears begin to ring, reminding you it’s time. 

You can’t fight it anymore. 

As much as you want to, the injury is too severe to remedy with the lack of resources you and your party have. Despite wanting to live, even when you feel those familiar hands pull you into a tight embrace, clutching your face with those cooling hands, you know that you're done. That your time here has finished and there’s nothing more you can do about it except hope that it meant something.

Feeling your body shake against the one that holds you, you hear a garbled sound of despair. A sob so visceral it only serves to further rip right through your chest, causing a whimper to sound through the stream of blood that coats your lips. 

I thought I fucking told you not to die!

The moment you hear Astarion’s voice inside your head you’re already sobbing. Between each gasp, the pain of his presence immediately pulls you from your last few moments of peace. Forcing you to realize that you’ve let him down. That like all the others in his life, you’ve abandoned him. 

Why can’t you listen?

You can hear the anger in his voice as he begs you to stay. To fight for survival —to fight for him. To stay so that he doesn’t have to be alone again as he reaches for your hand, taking it tightly in his own. 

You try your best to hold it back. Faintly, your fingers twitch but ultimately fail to hold any weight; much like your mind that refuses to let you speak back to him. To tell him that he’s going to be fine. That the others will help him. That you won’t just be fine but that you’ll be okay too. 

Now crying with you, you hear him yell through the ringing again. A piercing sound of syllables that echo in your skull as you attempt to open your eyes. 

Like the soldier from before, he’s looming above you, only covered in tears and blood, pressing his lips together to hold back the quivering mess he’s become when Shadowheart finally makes it to his side, saying something about you. About letting you go but Astarion refuses to oblige, tightening the hold he has on your frame until Shadowheart’s fully yelling his face and tugging at his clothes, forcing him to let go just as your eyes begin to shut again, feeling her hands turn you to your side to rip the knife from your flesh. 

-

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi@rainonarden@oceanbluesixeyes@bodtyworship@maydayitsjay@greasyslimebucket@yeeteth-the-raven@fantasyfairysworld@allexthakatt@flowersaretheshit@morglyne@thespectacularspaceace@cephiss0@use-your-telescope@furblrwurblr@kloverfield@angelofthorr@writervaul-t@starved-kitten@minixluvr@crowley--aziraphale@sapphicwren@alionera-blog@jennithejester@dezedrol@thisisew@saladalpaca@applepiewithbacon@httpbiohazard@aurasyn@nerdoodles@kingpinthedevil@itzkawaiix@domainoflostsouls@silverskylan@uminootome@helpidkwhatimdoingwrong@deadlyinfernos@blackbirdswhispers@sarahskywalker-amadala@writingmysanity@f3v3rs@jayjones03@quietlyebbie@optimisticprime3@eyes-for-daze@sunnytalia3@megoshh@maddiedott@cappsikle@mostbeautifulnightmare@lynnlovesloki@simpytheshrimpy69@astarion-archive@smaranshakthi@autistic-deer@shadowfeart@freckled-petals@candied-lavender@hp-art-studio@ghouligan@satelliteapotheosis@waywardwitch-hel@pandimoostuff@mythoughtsofinsanity@ilovelovelylove@oneandonlyizabelle

TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

[celebrate-lesbianism]

Butch Self-Esteem

Sometimes feeling good about yourself is an uphill battle when you are butch. I often feel like I am not enough by anyone's standards. All of the insecurities I have about my body (being short, curvy, too soft) are confirmed by other people on the internet when they run butches down, call us ugly gremlins, 2/10s, compare us to men, etc.

I'm tired and I've had enough, so here are some things that I've been doing to build myself back up:

I refuse to make self-deprecating jokes anymore.

When I say something bad about myself in my head, I must say something positive to counter it.

I follow people who look like me on TikTok and notice positive attributes we have in common.

Before leaving the house, I say one good thing about how I look.

When I find myself sizing myself up against someone else, I remember that person has insecurities too and that we can look different and both still look good.

I exercise and make good choices for my body.

I spend quality time with people who make me feel good about myself.

[starlene]

Medical tmi + health thoughts under the cut:

If everything goes as planned, I'm about to have the last period of my life this month. How should I celebrate? I bought a bag of chips, but somehow, that doesn't quite seem to fit the momentousness of the occasion. Maybe I should've also bought some dip to go with them?

Of course, I'd much rather not have any of my organs go so haywire the best course of action is to remove it... but if one of them had to, I guess it's good that it's the uterus and not, say, the lungs or the heart or something. At least this time around. Anyway, I've never had any kind of surgery before, so this is a bit scary, though I'm sure it'll be fine. Just a bit creepy since I don't know how anesthesia and waking up from it will feel for me.

Besides that, I'm still tired literally all the time and oftentimes exhausted. I'm still trying to get help for that, and it's as much of an uphill battle as it's ever been, which is of course not great. But I'll keep on trying.

None of this is great. Frankly, I'm incredibly done with all of this, but it is what it is and dwelling on it not only doesn't change anything but also makes me feel depressed, so I try not to.

So how about eating some of those chips and maybe some Crusader Kings instead, now.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Heard you need Sky content? :0

Short, but id been intending to put out some LU content for awhile, so hope u dont mind me dropping this short thingy here?

Sky takes care of you when ur sick! :)

✨️🌠✨️

Wild's Hyrule was something else.

The burning deserts, the excessive lightning that practically chases you, and now, freezing temperatures.

Sky was going to have words with that Champion, as soon as he didn't die from frostbite.

The portal had come unexpectedly, and was arguably one of the worst yet. It'd come just after a huge battle all the heroes and you had waged against a group of black-blooded monsters. Simply popped open under your very feet, and it was all Sky could do to get his whip (already in hand luckily) to wrap around your arm and yank you into him.

You'd both got the shock of your lives plopping right into freezing snow and biting winds. You'd recognized his Hyrule, having seen all the other Links' Hyrules in some form or another, as far as Sky knew.

You'd quickly hauled ass through the knee-deep snow, seeing a shrine stuck deep in a cave not too far off. It was a long trek uphill, and Sky had started to wheeze a little from the high altitude.

You, however, despite being the one to drag him along, are much more worse for wear.

The dark blonde had already noticed you cominf down with something two days ago, and had been subtly getting Wild to cook more soups to help out. Along with gently offering his water canteen a little more often.

Surprisingly, hiking in freezing conditions, through feet of snow, and less oxygen will in fact, make sickness worse.

By the time you two had stumbled into the rocky cave, a full on snowstorm had begun to set in. Flurries rushed outside the cave entrance, and you practically collapsed off against the side wall once making sure Sky had made it in. You were stubborn about things like that he'd noticed.

Shaking off the white powder that'd collected on his shoulders, he immediately sets to starting a fire.

After getting a blaze going, with luckily some supplies Wild must have left behind this shrine, Sky pulls off his sailcloth.

Frowning and frantic with concern, especially as you get more and more tired, Sky quietly calls out, "Hey, don't fall asleep on me just yet, ironic coming from me I know. We should get some food in you..."

He's worriedly mumbling by the end of it pacing around the cave, unpacking both of your belongings. Rolling out your bedrolls and pulling out a few fruits and nuts. He huffs frustrated sighs, the resident cook was the only one with a way to preserve stuff like soup. Maybe he can ask Legend when they find the rest of their group again if there's some kind of enchanted bag that'd let him do that?

Sky mourns being able to provide for you, as you cough pitifully by the fire (he'd carefully helped you waddle over in his sailcloth onto your bedroll).

By the end of the night, the sweet hero had made the best of you two's food supplies (luckily only burning a few nuts), made you down no less than three potions, and taken his shirts out of his own pack to layer on top of you.

(And if he'd purposefully subtly put his bedroll nearly on top of yours, well it was clearly for body heat only.)

You blinked blearily, turning in a burrito of clothing that smelled like petrichor, pumpkin, and something uniquely Sky.

You finally wiggled enough to face him, and complained, "Ugh, you're too nice to me. And I'm still cold, can you believe it?"

The dark blonde lets out a small laugh, eyes dark blue and nose scrunching cutely, "I knew you were sick, and I don't mind. I like watching out for you, you never seem to take yourself as seriously as I do."

He moves a little under his single blanket, and you finally notice why you smell him so much, what with all his entire wardrobe piled on you.

You protest, "Hey! What's with the self-sacrifice shenanigans?? Take some for yourself! I can recover from sickness, but you can't get back up after frostbite Sky!"

He sticks his tongue out playfully, little bastard he is, and then looks a little surprised. He seems to debate something with himself before going even more pink (the cold having already chapped his plump cheeks).

Sky coughs awkwardly, before opening his blanket a little, his arm raised as if to include you in his bedroll.

He seems a little embarassed but his eyes look kinda, glittery? How'd he even do that.

Sky asks you quietly, "Well, you mentioned your still cold, and that I need more blankets so... wanna share?"

Sky is warm. Though that could be the fever talking.

But one things for sure, as he tentatively tucks his head into your neck, and you into his pillow, he's very nice to cuddle. His arm is heavy with muscle, and locks around you comfortingly, like the best weighted blanket you've ever had.

You nearly flinch out of self-conciousness as you feel his soft plump lips barely brush your collarbone.

You decide to desperately beg your mind to try and go to sleep before you have a heart attack.

Whoops.

You'd meant to bury your face into the pillow, to avoid Sky's face being so close, but instead missed because you deliriously closed your eyes.

You'd instead buried your face in between his plush chest. Wow, he really did have some serious muscles under his somewhat loose clothing.

Link chokes a little before slowly wrapping both arms tighter around you.

Good, because you were in too much shock to apologize.

(...fuck.

You really hope Wild isn't the first to find you two, he'd absolutely take a picture as blackmail.)

✨️🌠✨️

Hope you dont mind this!! Sorry its kinda long for an ask, 💀

I couldnt change the ask to not be my main blog, so anon it is lol

Hope you feel better soon!

Peace out,

🌙

:0

DHDHSJHSJSAJJS

YOU.

[fromtenthousandfeet]

What is it gonna take for HYBE to give Jimin the support he deserves? Will it ever even happen? Because I'm tired of feeling so miserable all the time. I even wanna delete all my socials and just find something else in my life to fixate on. I feel terrible for feeling this way because it's like I'm abandoning Jimin (even if I'll still be streaming his music). I'm tired of all of this, it's not good for my mental health at all.

All this corruption and evil simply can't keep winning like this, can it? Are we just supposed to make peace with JK being BTS' "break out star"? Really? I naïvely thought that they'd abandon their sinister plans after seeing how poorly he's been performing in comparison to the crazy amount of push they've been giving him. What the hell is going on at that company?

Anon,

I'm sharing with you this poor quality video of Michael Jackson calling out Tommy Mottola and Sony because it's worth remembering that record labels using and abusing their artists is the rule, not the exception. Not even The King of Pop was immune.

At around 3:20, MJ mentions that he "owes" the label two more songs and then he's a free agent. He says he writes about 120 songs per album, so he'll just pick two songs he's got hanging around and then he's done.

I bring this up because I suspect Jimin might be doing something similar. Having as few solo songs under Big Hit as possible is smart, because he likely won't own the rights to his own music if/when he leaves. The less they own, the better. Writing and recording two albums at once was efficient. Also, by keeping his marketing budget (ads, playlist placement, music videos, etc.) as small as possible, he'll keep more of the album sales and streaming revenue. All those expensive marketing costs are deducted from an artist's earnings, so best to keep them at a minimum if the plan is to make the most money possible. Between the writing credits, lower marketing budget, and the high profile brand ambassador deals Jimin's got, I feel like he's positioning himself to create his own company or label. This is my hope even if I have zero proof.

The way FACE went down really bothered me. I knew the company was behind Jimin's sabotage immediately and it drove me crazy that it took so long for others to catch up. But look at the response to MUSE. Jimin really does have an army of dedicated fans who are calling out the company's (intentional) incompetence 24/7. In reality, it's fun to watch PJMs catch the company and create a stink. It's almost like a game. Don't take it too seriously. Plus, in the long run, who cares about charts? The quality of the music itself is far more important.

Once again I've droned on way too long, but hear me out. I think HYBE/BH is investing so heavily in JK because they have to. BTS isn't going to last forever, and if Jimin leaves, they've lost a huge revenue source. But please trust me when I say they have an uphill battle before them because JK doesn't currently have the artistry or charisma to enthrall the west the way Jimin does. Don't expect them to abandon ship anytime soon, though. And if he does make it big, so be it.

I really wish BTS fans, or at least PJMs, didn't feel so much hate for Min Hee Jin because there's a lot to learn about Bang Si-hyuk and HYBE when you follow the whole ADOR saga. There are some astute NewJeans fans out there who've sized up Bang PD so well and their observations help explain Jimin's treatment by the company. He breaks people down (the idols, staff, and fans) using the "death by a thousand cuts" method. Endless small transgressions and slights, that individually appear like no big deal and are therefore not taken seriously by the media or fans, but collectively are detrimental to careers and one's mental health.

You know what? If Jimin announced he's leaving the music industry after military service, I would say congratulations and thank you for all the amazing music and performances during your BTS and solo career. Have a wonderful life! While I don't think he'll do that, it's worth remembering that none of this is all that serious. Enjoy his music. Take a break from social media, because in the real world nobody cares about this stuff.

Anon, did you make to the end of this long post? Way to use the umlaut on naïvely!