#ive never felt more lonely than i have around these fucking people

[navysealt4t]

the gay experience of slightly wanting to kill yourself in your grandparents bathroom

[warping-realities]

Rich People Problems

This was my tribute to the works of the incredible @callmecallmecrazy (seriously, what are you doing that you haven't read the legend yet?) and the no less amazing dumb-and-jocked, if you're reading this bro know that we all miss you immensely!

Repost with new images and minimal changes to the story.

.....

Cris sighed for what felt like an eternity before stepping into the luxurious and refined ballroom of the Country Club. This was going to be a painful experience. An engagement party, out of the blue. His mother, Carol, had been widowed a few years back and since then had thrown herself into her work as a lawyer. She was a staunch defender of human rights, fighting hard in court for the less fortunate. Cris greatly admired his mom's work and never judged her for her absences; what she did changed lives, and from an early age, he understood the importance of her work. Even so, because of that, he had always been a lonely kid—absent father, distant mother, and a social awkwardness that kept him from making lasting friendships. Books were his greatest companions, ranging from children's classics to true masterpieces, and it was through reading complex political works that he decided to become a journalist to fight against the ills and injustices of the world, just like his mom.

So, you can imagine Cris's enormous surprise when he found out that his mother had decided to marry the notorious multimillionaire Archibald Sutterland III, a guy with a rep for being a hard-ass boss and totally averse to workers' rights. “The Third,” muttered Cris with disdain. Rich people and their pretentious names, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped into the room.

He walked through the place, crawling with pretentious people, all dressed to the nines, casting judgmental looks his way. But he didn’t let it get to him; this was, after all, his mom’s engagement, and he’d wear whatever the hell he wanted. Not that he had time to find “appropriate” clothes for the occasion. Having been snatched by a couple of giant security guards from his college dorm earlier that day, bundled into a private jet, and taken to a stately mansion, where a pompous outfit awaited him on the bed of a room bigger than his former home, he decided to ignore the getup despite the protests of his “guardians,” who, finally defeated, dumped him in a freaking limousine and dropped him off in a place that felt totally alien and hostile to him.

“How does crap like this even happen?” he muttered to himself as he searched for his mother, determined to confront her about this madness. Speaking of madness… he finally spotted her, standing by the bar, wearing a dress he could never have imagined, a goofy smile plastered on her face. Just one more piece of info for the list of absurdities of the day.

“Mom? What the hell is going on?” he asked irritably.

“Cristhian, my dear, I'm glad you made it in time! But what are you wearing? Archibald made it clear to the staff that you should be handled properly!”

“Handled? What the hell, Mom! I'm not some puppy to be 'led' around. And what the fuck is going on anyway? What ridiculous idea of marriage is this?”

“Just be quiet, please, Cristhian. Don't embarrass me in front of the society.”

“And since when do you care about ‘society?’” he said, emphasizing the word with obvious disdain. Forcing a smile in hopes no one noticed the altercation, his mother pulled him aside as she spoke.

“Calm down, let’s talk…”

….

Watching the scene from afar was Archibald Sutterland III, accompanied by his longtime partner and friend, Forrest Gordon-Lenox IV.

“You have to admit, the boy’s got some flair, Archie.” Forrest was one of the few allowed to use that nickname since they’d known each other since childhood, but only when they were alone.

“I should’ve seen it coming that the boy inherited some of his mother’s fire, but if I’ve molded her into an impeccable example of a woman, believe me, I’ll get the brat out of the way. In fact, I think this might be the perfect opportunity to test my own heir,” he said as he saw a handsome young man approaching.

“Good evening, Father. Good evening, Mr. Gordon-Lenox. Looks like Carol is having some issues with her son,” said the handsome muscular blond young man with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Good evening, Chadwick. Your father and I were just talking about your future brother’s peculiar ways.”

“Chadwick, the time has come. I could do it myself, but soon you’ll graduate, and you'll need to step up. I don’t care much for society gossip, but something like this could have negative repercussions on business. So I need you to take care of the kid.”

“Yes, Father, with the greatest pleasure,” replied the young man with a sneaky smile.

….

“Mom, it feels like I’ve walked into a bad adaptation of Stepford Wives! This makes no sense. How can you drop everything, years of career, to marry an old man and become a housewife?”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful with words spoken in such an environment, my friend,” said a sassy voice. Turning around, startled, Cris came face to face with a handsome young man in a light blue suit, matching his eyes, which were currently assessing him with a predatory look.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Chadwick Sutterland.”

“So what…?”

“So what, friend, if we’re going to be brothers, we might as well agree on some things.”

“Brothers???”

“Chadwick is Archibald’s son, Cristhian, so after the wedding, he’ll be your brother.”

“How wonderful,” replied Cris, exasperated.

“Indeed, I think we’re going to get along just fine, Cristhian.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it!”

“Cristhian! Enough of that!” Carol whispered, anguished.

“Let me handle this, Carol. Your son and I just got off on the wrong foot, but let’s fix this together. Cristhian, can’t you at least try this for your mom?” Chadwick concluded in an accusatory tone. Seeing the anguish on the face of the most important woman in his life, Cris relented.

“Okay, since it looks like this craziness is going to happen anyway… but I’m not wearing that pompous crap.” He responded, disdainfully eyeing his future “brother’s” attire, not caring if it offended him.

“Apparently, someone always has to be on top. I think I’ll call you Topper, brother, and since we’re among bros, you can call me Chad.”

“You can call me whatever you want; this ‘brotherly’ relationship won’t last long. So come on, I need a drink.”

“Excellent, follow me, please. Carol, if you’ll excuse us!” Chadwick finished, dragging Cris with him across the hall.

….

“Drink this, bro,” said Chad, handing Cris a glass of bourbon. He had pulled him into a locker room near the Club’s gym. The pompous and polite demeanor faded, replaced by a relaxed attitude and carefree vocabulary, which made Cris’s initial dislike for the guy diminish considerably.

“What you need to understand, now that you’re joining our circle, is that appearances are everything—the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, the way you dress… so this behavior won't help you Topper!” He continued, using that stupid nickname, apparently a bond between brothers or something, and no matter how much Cris protested, Chadwick was Chad, and Cristhian was Topper. After some failed attempts, Cris finally stopped objecting; after all, he intended to have as little contact as possible with Chad after that night.

“I don’t give a crap about that, Chad. My mom can commit this madness if that’s what she wants, which I still have a hard time believing. But once tonight’s circus is over, I’m going back to college without looking back.”

“I understand your indignation; I was also blindsided by my dad’s decision. My mom passed away less than a year ago. So understand, you’re not the only one upset here, bro. But my father is used to getting what he wants, and he wants your mother. He met her a few months back in court, oddly enough. She argued her case against one of our companies with such ferocity that it warmed something in the old man’s icy heart. Since then, he’s been courting her relentlessly until she accepted the proposal last week. It might’ve seemed sudden, but as I told you, my dad gets what he wants, when he wants,” concluded the boy, bitterness creeping into his voice. This earned him a few more points with Cristhian. Maybe not everyone there was that awful. But still full of indignation he continued to complain.

“I don’t understand why my mom didn’t tell me anything; it’s not like her.”

“Bro, you know how women are; no one can predict their crap.”

To avoid an unwanted discussion with someone he was trying to create some kind of sympathy with, Cris let the sexist comment slide.

“Still, I don’t understand why I need to wear this!” he said, looking at a suit identical to his future “brother’s.”

“Appearances, brother. Coming here poorly dressed not only tarnishes you, but also your mom, my dad, and our family name. Come on, try it; I bet you’ll feel a lot better.”

With one last sigh, Cris began to undress. As he prepared to put on the pompous outfit he suddenly found himself very close to a grinning Chad, holding a bright red gem in his hand.

“Not yet, Topper; first, we need to make some changes.”

The stone began to emit an intense glow. Afraid of what he was seeing, Cristhian tried to escape. But suddenly, his legs went rigid and immobile, as if glued to the ground.

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“Silence, now is your time to listen. You will only speak when I say so.” Cris felt his lips tighten, not painfully, but still totally unable to form a sentence; his vocal cords incapacitated from producing any sound.

“I like you, Topper, really, you’ve got some guts. I think we could still be real brothers. But the way things are, it won't work. Do you know why? Because of what you are. Or what the people who matter think you are. And do you know what they think, Topper? I’m sure many in that hall looked at you and thought: a nobody. But what they haven’t thought of is what you really are—an opportunity.” Chad continued, grinning with a disturbing glint in his eyes, reflecting the gem strange glow.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a bench. And Cris felt compelled to sit down, the movement returning to his legs. But when he tried to turn and run, he ended up sitting right where Chad instructed him.

“Such a good boy,” sneered Chad, the red gem held in his hand.

“You know what that is, Topper? That’s why your fierce mother became a trophy wife-to-be. And that’s also the key to the future—mine and yours, bro. So I guess I owe this version of you an explanation.

“This stone has been in my family for generations, passed down from father to son, ensuring our lineage, our money, and our name continue to live on. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the reason old Dorrance Sutterland, the founder of our line, got his passage on the Mayflower. But I confess, for some generations, the Sutterland men have used it for more… mundane purposes. When you have everything money can buy, it’s hard to find something that really needs the use of this little beauty.”

“I didn’t lie to you when I said my dad met your mom in court a few months ago; that’s the absolute truth. And I wasn’t lying when I said he tried to woo her either; he did… but was rebuffed, which only ignited the fury inside him even more. And the more the fire inside my father grew, the more the desire to dominate and extinguish his mother’s flame consumed him.”

“You see, this stone has power over reality itself; there’s nothing it can’t do, with few limitations. The curious thing is that my dad doesn’t know this; my grandfather never told him all its potential. To him, it’s only capable of influencing people’s minds, shaping their wills, and even redefining their personalities. But he never suspected it could do so much more.”

“It’s all because my dad has always been a huge jerk. With his stupid rules, his obsession with control, his insufferable rigidity—and the biggest problem of all, his boredom. My grandfather would’ve loved to use the stone on him, but that wasn’t possible; that’s one of the limitations of the stone’s power—it doesn’t work on men of our lineage. We’re the only ones who can use it, but never on ourselves, although there are some interesting ways to at least partially circumvent these rules. Furthermore, each Sutterland man can use it only once in his lifetime.”

“So, my grandfather was forced to live with his boring son, who, despite having a great knack for finances, always showed a total inability to enjoy the pleasures of our way of life. So, as a small form of revenge, he withheld essential info from my father but told me everything, as I was a much better heir to our legacy.”

“My father used his chance with the stone to turn your mother into his trophy wife, Topper. After all the speeches, all the scolding, all the talk of responsibility, he used the stone to win over a woman, just a few months after my mother died! How undignified is that? And when he refused to hand me the stone, he even had the audacity to repeat the usual litany.”

“The same litany that isolated me my whole life, that prevented me from having a true friendship, from living the life I’m entitled to. For my dad, everything I wanted was frivolous; everything was a waste. And everyone looked at me with pity, pity for the poor rich boy. Of course, my peers accepted me and never had the heart to do anything to me; I’m a Sutherland, and that name means a lot. But not even that name can create a real bond. Maybe if my dad had put me in a boarding school, things would’ve been different; maybe some real friendship could’ve been established. But no, I needed to be under his constant surveillance.”

“While my buddies are enjoying their holidays in Ibiza or the Alps, I’m stuck sitting next to him in a dusty office! Even my frat brothers, as much as they talk about the unbreakable bond that unites us, don’t really see me as one of the guys; they respect my name and my position, but it’s clear I’m among them because I’m a legacy. Can you imagine how it feels to see all your ‘brothers’ getting ready for Spring Break, knowing you won’t be able to make it? My dad denied me not only my grandfather’s name but also the opportunity to live my life the way it should be lived by our people—with respect for traditions, sure, but above all, with fun. Yes, with fun! What’s the point of having mountains of money if you can’t enjoy yourself? That’s all I want, Topper—fun!

“You don’t have the slightest idea how much I wanted to get my hands on the stone, but the old man took precautions to keep it away from me, as if I didn’t have my own means. And today, thanks to this outrageous engagement dinner, I finally managed to get my hands on it. And thanks to you, Topper, I’m finally going to find a way to enjoy my life the way I deserve!”

So, put a metaphorical smile on that face because you’ll be enjoying everything with me, bro!” he sighed, concluding his long villainous monologue with a maniacal grin.

Christian, motionless, lips sealed, listened to all that madness, unable to believe it. That was impossible. But so was his current situation. And the story, as absurd as it was, provided an explanation for his mother’s altered behavior. Still, that was all impossible, wasn’t it?

“My grandfather informed my father of specific rules and ways of speaking and ordering the stone, instilling a fear of what might happen if those safeguards were not used, in addition to the obvious omission of its full power. My grandfather was diligent in his revenge, Topper. Thanks to him, my dad lost his chance to achieve something truly extraordinary, but I won’t lose mine. The stone doesn’t need specific and detailed orders; those things only limit its functioning. It’s intimately connected to the deepest desires of its bearer, so just ask, and it will provide. Goodbye, Cristhian; welcome, Topper, bro!” he concluded.

The stone began to emit an intense red glow in great waves, which, in Cristhian’s vision, seemed to distort everything around him, with Chad’s hand becoming a blur.

“That shit was real,” was his last coherent thought before being enveloped by the red light.

…..

Memories came in waves—totally alien to his identity but intrusive, forcing their way in. Two blonde toddlers, so alike you’d think they were twins, in an elegant living room, arguing animatedly about whose father owned the bigger yacht, eliciting giggles from two pretty blonde women, their mothers.

“Yes, he and Chad knew each other from the cradle. No, no, what the hell was that?”

“Their mothers were best friends, college roommates, and in the same sorority, and their fathers had common business interests, so it was natural that the friendship extended to their kids.”

“No, his father had been a college professor, not a businessman, and his mother had never been in a sorority. And for God’s sake, what kind of spoiled brat talks like that?”

Seemingly the same kind of kid who spends their afternoons on the tennis courts at the Country Club while their parents excitedly discuss business. Occasionally pausing to flash an approving smile in his direction, in Cris’s… Topper’s case. Or a stern look in Chad’s.

“Uncle Archibald was always a pain in the ass, but spending time with Chad and Dad was awesome.” It was the thought that popped into Cris’s head while that memory solidified.

Thinking about his father brought up an old and painful memory of Cris, which was quickly overridden by the overwhelming power of the stone. The memory of a thin, brown-haired boy, on a cold winter afternoon, feeling lost and alone was replaced by that of a blonde boy, physically active but with the same feelings of sadness marking his face. But that gradually faded when he felt his best friend’s hand on his shoulder, a warm feeling spreading through his body, knowing he had someone with him.

Although that feeling was interrupted by a flash of irritation when he saw his “Uncle” Archibald whisper something in his mother’s ear. His father had just died, and there was ambitious old Archie harassing his widow, no doubt imagining a way to cash in.

Cris struggled with the conflicting and confused feelings inside him; he knew that none of that was real—not the anger at a man he didn’t know, not that great friendship, not that warmth. But at the same time, it would’ve been nice to have a friend by his side when his father passed away… it had been so nice…

After his father’s death, Cris became responsible, at least in name, for the family’s legacy. His mother, contrary to what one might think, was a true lioness; she took over her late husband’s business with great interest, expanding the family fortune and ensuring every wish of the heir was granted. But at the expense of the son’s loneliness. Christopher Lauder Hawthorne IV, Prince Topper, fourth of his name, heir to a fortune, surrounded by everything he could want... and alone. The exception was his friend Chadwick Sutherland, but even if the two wanted to spend all their time together, that wouldn’t be possible. But his mom made it happen! He didn’t know what kind of deal she made with Archibald, but sometime after his dad died, Christopher, along with Chadwick, was sent to a boarding school.

What would have been torment for other boys was liberating for both of them. Away from his father’s stern gaze, Chadwick enjoyed life for the first time, while Christopher found in his friend a true brother. There was nothing Topper wouldn’t do for him. The two formed a beautiful pair—handsome and charming—soon surrounded by a growing group of friends. Topper, with his outgoing ways and the certainties in life that only the very rich or the very foolish possess, and Chad, with a more cunning way of thinking, but still eager to have as much fun as possible. Leaders among their own.

But anyone who thought those boys were stupid was dead wrong; Chadwick could never let his grades slip, under penalty of losing the ironic freedom the school had granted him. As for Topper, well… he had Chad to help him with the complex stuff and a mom willing to overlook her precious son’s academic incompetence. Even more so when it became clear that the boy had a natural talent for sports when they joined the school’s lacrosse team, which soon morphed into a passion for all sports they could participate in. Topper’s tactical ability on the field and court demonstrated something his poor academic record failed to do: he was incredibly intelligent and capable when he wanted to be. The truth is, most of the time he just didn’t care. The exception was sports, which became a true obsession, which Chad shared to a slightly lesser extent.

As a result, the two muscular men who finished school barely resembled the two boys they once were. Topper cherished the photograph taken with his friend after their team winned the intramurals.

No, no, no! I’ve always been a good student; I have no idea what the rules of lacrosse are. I’ve never been to boarding school, and I’m certainly not some pretentious mountain of muscle who thinks he has the world at his feet," Cris thought.

"But I am," Topper replied, making Cris freak out, not knowing where the strange voice inside his head came from, while new memories flowed.

With the end of school and before college, which both boys would attend together, Archibald decided he wanted Chad by his side to instruct him in the truths of life or some such nonsense. As if Topper would let his brother be stuck in an office all summer. Negative. The two of them would have fun, even if he had to kidnap Chad to do so. Which wasn’t necessary, because once again, Carol Lauder Hawthorne used her magnificent powers of persuasion to ensure her beloved son had his best friend with him during those vacations, where they explored the Old Continent together, taking yacht trips through exclusive islands across the Mediterranean, a brief pause to ski in the Swiss Alps, and the cherry on top: the craziest sexual experiences in Eastern Europe.

“Ah man, the flexibility of that girl in Prague,” Topper reminisced fondly about that particular night.

“I’ve never been to Prague, or on a yacht, or in the Mediterranean, and I’d certainly break my legs if I tried skiing,” Cris argued.

“Nonsense, I’m a natural athlete,” Topper replied.

“But I’m not you,” Cris shot back, finally losing the ability to perceive the strangeness of the situation.

“Of course you are, you idiot. Who else would you be if not me? I’m such a dumbass!” Topper laughed inside Cris’s head, echoing:

“A dumbass, he he he.”

And suddenly, he also burst out laughing, their laughter mingling as if they were one.

After an unforgettable summer, college time finally arrived. Continuing the established partnership, the boys rented a luxurious apartment near the campus. Archibald had the nerve to try to send Chad to a shared dorm, as if Topper would allow it. He’d never agree to live in a dorm; he deserved the best, and the best was having Chad by his side. This time, Carol’s intervention wasn’t necessary; Archibald simply wasn’t informed of the arrangement, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t bother him. Of course, such an arrangement would be temporary. Both boys were legacies and would soon be inducted into their parents’ old fraternity.

Chad had no option but to choose business-oriented subjects to study, knowing ahead of time that his major would be in business. Topper briefly considered studying sports sciences due to his love of sports, but it wasn’t like he needed it, so why bother? He then decided to enroll in the same subjects as his friend without worrying much about it. After all, college was much more than listening to half a dozen stilted old-timers; it was about making contacts, having new experiences, and above all, having fun!

“But I’m a great student, and business? I’m going to be a writer, aren’t I?”

“Ha, I couldn’t even write the grocery list if I didn’t have someone to do the list and the shopping for me… and great student? I’m always great, even if the grades say otherwise. If I tried a little harder, I know they’d be a lot better, but it doesn’t make any difference in my life.”

“No, education is important!”

“Of course it is; that’s why I studied at the best schools and went to college. But those things only get you so far. When you want to go further, your name and your contacts do more for you than any major.”

Speaking of contacts, Chad and Topper were perfect fraternity material. The two made it through Hell Week unscathed, quickly rising within the organization.

Now, nearing the end of their junior year, the two held positions on the chapter’s board, strong competitors to assume the presidency.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Topper knew that one day he’d have to take responsibility for the family business, but he had no interest in taking on any real responsibility before it was necessary, and he wouldn’t let his best bro do it. Archibald would certainly put pressure on his son, having been president in his day, even if the sour old man never understood anything about what fraternal life really was. No, it was Topper’s duty to make sure his friend had some kind of fun. Helping organize the parties, managing the house, and guiding the newcomers, showing them the path to follow, was more than enough. Man, how he loved to see the terrified looks on the pledges when the blindfolds were taken off, and it was his face they saw first, not knowing they were looking at the guy who would make them men—the right kind of men. They were a family, after all, and he took great pride in being the cool big brother role model.

“It would’ve been nice to have so many friends, to feel part of something.”

“Yeah, man, I love this.”

However, not everything had been perfect; unexpectedly, the angel of death struck the pair of friends again. Sybil, Chad’s mother, died of a sudden illness. And suddenly, Topper found himself in the opposite position from so many years ago. Chad was a grown man and not a boy, yet Topper saw his long-ago image reflected in his friend’s sad eyes on the day of the funeral.

The funeral forced Chad to present himself in a way that his father found appropriate, making him say goodbye to the long hair and stubble he had developed in his time away from him. Topper, as a good friend, supported him, even though he didn't care in the slightest about the grumpy Archie's opinion. Knowing the power of a helping hand, he stayed by Chad’s side the entire time. This was a pain that could only be eased with time, so Topper decided to numb it the best way he knew how. That night, he took Chad to a bar with the intention of drinking him into a stupor.

“Thanks, bro. I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side… Oh god, I’m sounding like a crybaby.”

“Chad, your mom just passed away; today you have the right to look like a crybaby, dude. Which doesn’t justify you being one for all the years we’ve known each other, bro,” Topper replied with a smile.

“Asshole…” replied Chad with a sad smile.

“Speaking of assholes, how’s Uncle Archie doing?”

“Being himself, if you know what I mean? You’d think his wife’s death would soften the old man, but no, he didn’t even give me a hug…”

“I’d hug you, brother, if it put a real smile on your face. But I think I have a better solution.” Topper pointed to a pair of beautiful girls standing on the other side of the bar.

“Oh man, I don’t know…”

“They’re hot, bro. Look, your mom would want you to get on with your life, and right now you need a distraction, soooo… blond or brunette?”

“Both!” Chad replied with his first real smile in a while.

That was a wild night. To avoid unwanted attention from the parents, they took the two women to one of Topper’s apartments in the city, and there, washed down with a lot of alcohol and weed, the four of them ended up in bed in a foursome.

“That was freaking awesome.” Said Topper.

“Yeah, dude, freaking awesome.” Agreed Cris.

Chad spent the next few months in a mood that ranged from depressed to euphoric, usually with a little help from Topper, but gradually improving. Until a new blow hit the duo. On a sunny afternoon less than a week ago, during a college break, as the boys rode through the huge Hawthorne property, they were called by Carol for a chat.

“Boys, an announcement is coming soon, but both Archibald and I would like you to know in advance. This summer, he and I are getting married.”

“What the hell is this, Mom? Are you kidding?”

“Language, Christopher. And no, I’m not kidding. I’d like you to think of it as a… business arrangement—a very beneficial arrangement for both parties.”

“A beneficial arrangement? Mom, we have more than enough money.”

“Christopher, my dear, I raised you better than that; there’s no such thing as enough money.”

“And Aunt Sybil? Your best friend’s body has barely cooled down, and you’re ready to swoop in on her husband. Sorry, bro!” Topper concluded when he remembered who he was sitting next to. But the friend didn’t respond, preferring to direct his attention toward Carol.

“How long? How long have you two been planning this… arrangement, Carol?” The “aunt” was unceremoniously dismissed.

“Archibald and I have been discussing this for some time, and it’s going to be very profitable.”

“Profitable and convenient, isn’t it? You’re still a young woman—not even forty yet. And I must say you hid it wonderfully well, but now looking closely, I can’t help but notice the signs. When can Topper and I expect our brother or sister to be born?”

“Chadwick! How can you say…”

“Drop the act; only something like this would make sense!”

“Okay, I really am pregnant; I never imagined this could happen. Boys, you must understand, nothing happened between me and Archibald while Sybil was alive. Chad, his parents were my biggest source of support after Topper’s dad passed away. Sybil was truly my best friend, and when she left, I felt… empty. Imagine how you would feel without each other? Archibald may seem cold, but he also felt her loss, and in our grief, we ended up supporting each other. One thing led to another, and one night after a few glasses of wine, we ended up…”

“Fucking,” interrupted Topper!

“Christopher, that’s enough; I’m your mother, and I deserve respect.”

“Respect? How can you talk about respect after telling us this?”

“Topper, it’s okay; she’s right; there’s nothing more to be done. Getting rid of the baby isn’t an option; the scandal if this story leaks… I imagine the wedding will be soon, to allay suspicions, although it’ll probably still raise some eyebrows…”

“Yes, it’s the best arrangement we could come up with. Christopher, my dear, I’m really sorry, but it’s for the best. Besides, you always wanted a brother.”

“I already have a brother,” he replied, looking towards his friend.

“Yes, Christopher, and now you will indeed be brothers for real. Think about it. And you, Chad, Topper told me all about how you feel about Archibald, and I’m no idiot despite what anyone might think; I see the way he treats you. I can be a very powerful ally; never underestimate my powers of persuasion, especially when I’m carrying Archibald’s son. You may not believe it, but all his behavior comes from the hopes and expectations he has. It will be very good for you to have someone to share that weight with.”

“Just think about it, brother. We will be real brothers, on paper and in life, and with one more of us on the way. Doesn’t look so bad. Even more so if that way you can get your dad off your back,” Topper said, letting himself be carried away by his mother’s notorious power of persuasion without realizing it.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad, not really, brother,” Chad concluded, smiling back at his friend.

And so the two ended up at that event at the Country Club, where they had spent most of their lives, commemorating the future union of their parents, which would formalize their status as brothers. Topper arrived late, and accompanied by his friend, went to the locker room to put on appropriate clothes before heading to the ballroom. And now the two of them were there, face to face. Topper looking down at his friend’s distorted hand, the glowing red stone emanating constant waves.

“Quite a… quite a story… but… it’s not real… none of it is… real.” Cris reappeared, gathering what was left of his energy.

“Dude, of course, it’s real. If you want it, it’s real; I want it, and I’m you, so it’s real!”

“No… I’m not you… you’re an… invention, you’re nothing but… a rich asshole… who thinks he owns the world… who thinks… has… the world at his feet… your life is all about money… and… parties and…”

“And fun, and not worrying about tomorrow, and friends, real friends, and a mother who does whatever I want, and a brother—a real brother who was always there for me… how could that be something bad?”

“No… no… no… it wasn’t real… no… it couldn’t… be real…” Still, new memories rushed toward him, like a giant wave of red, flooding every inch of his consciousness until there was no empty space left.

Chad studied the face of the young man with glazed eyes and an empty expression sitting in front of him.

His hand burned with heat as he gripped the stone, and he couldn't help but think that maybe it was too much, that maybe he had messed up beautifully.

“It has to work, it has to work…” he muttered. Then the stone emitted its most wave, momentarily blinding him. Upon regaining his sight, he found himself in front of a completely different man. Sitting naked before him was an example of male perfection. A face that looked like it was carved from marble, golden hair in beautiful curls, with the broad, defined musculature of someone who could easily be a fitness model. For a moment terror dominated him, as it seemed that Christopher tried to resist the process with greater intensity, however it did not last more than an instant as another waves come and soon the gargantuan figure that replaced Cristian began to feel and test his gigantic muscles almost automatically with a distant and unfocused look, gradually being replaced by one of extreme confidence and arrogance. If Marvel ever decided to reboot Captain America, the man in front of him wouldn’t be a bad choice—except for the fact that he’d never put himself in that position… unless he thought he’d have fun with it.

And how did Chad know that? He knew this because he suddenly remembered a whole new life, which made his previous life look pale and gray—all thanks to the man in front of him, Topper, his best friend, his brother! And with a smile on his face, he woke him up to reality:

“Hey bro, you okay?”

“What? Chad, bro, sorry I kind of zoned out; damn jet lag. But it was worth it; you should’ve gone with me; Brazil is everything we were told.”

“Not everyone can afford to fly all the way to Rio and hook up with a supermodel whenever they want, bro.”

“True, but we can.”

“Speak, for you, brother.”

“I speak for both of us. If there's one good thing to come out of this whole situation, it's that my mom will get Archie off your back, and we'll finally be able to enjoy life the right way,” Topper concluded while opening a closet and pulling out some clothes. Putting on pristine white boxer briefs, more immaculate than a virgin's soul, but which ironically would make many virgins fall into sin just by looking at the man wearing them. Before putting the other garments he flexed both arms and admired himself in the mirror. “I’m so swole, man.”

“Something had to make up for the lack of brains, brother!”

“You only say that because you're jealous of me, tiny boy.”

"I wouldn't call anything about me tiny.”

“True, but nothing compares to my size, little brother!”

“Some of us prefer classic beauty, Topper.”

“And some of us decided to be real men, Chad.”

That was Topper's mocking response as he walked past his “brother" and gave him a playful pat in the groin.

“Dude, leave the gems alone!”

"Stop being a whiner, I wouldn't do anything to hurt my future nephews," Topper said as he admired himself... again. “Dude, I’m fucking hot!”

“I didn't know jt lag caused brain damage, bro. I thought we'd already been through this whole discussion about your ridiculous handsomeness. Be careful; you don’t have much brain in that head of yours to waste.”

"Asshole, your envy doesn't faze me, try as you might," he replied, finally putting on his suit, the same shade of blue as Chad's.

“So how are the lovebirds doing? I imagine the news about him having another boy to torment has given Archie a break from his usual boredom.”

“Incredibly, yes. Your mother really has a hold on my father; he pestered me a lot less than usual. Although I don't think he's very happy about your delay."

“I couldn't miss the chance to see Archie's eyes pop, especially since he knows he has no power over me. Soon, he won't have any power over you, and I promise you, he won't have any power over that baby either. When he’s born, you and I together are going to show the little one how to live. Now come here, brother; you may not be as handsome as I am, but we still make a great pair.”

….

The two returned to the hall together, always attracting attention from everyone around, but they were used to being the center of attention, and frankly, they deserved it!

They found their parents sitting together at a table, and to both their surprise, Archibald looked more relaxed than they had ever seen him, while Carol turned to both of them with a Cheshire smile.

“Hey boys, we have news. But since Christopher took up so much time, maybe we should save it for another moment…”

“Carol, boys will be boys, so let them be.” Archibald intervened, making the two boys look at each other in disbelief. His expression seemed softer and less predatory than usual.

“Anyway, what Carol was trying to say is we've decided to have the wedding in early summer in Malta, and the good news is you're going a few weeks in advance to get everything ready. We count on you—don’t hold back on effort or money,” Archibald concluded, not seeing the sly smile that Carol gave behind his back, which made the boys' jaws drop—metaphorically, of course, since neither of them would commit such an indignity in public.

….

And so it was that in early July, Chadwick Sutterland found himself enjoying the best that life had to offer on an exclusive Mediterranean island alongside his lifelong best friend, Christopher Hawthorne IV. Thinking about a red gem and gray fading memories of a reality that, for the world, had never existed. He had done really well, in his own opinion. His father was dominated, so much so that he didn't even bother with his son's behaviour in the last months. He had a fierce ally ahead of his family business, even more so now that she was expecting a Sutherland boy, who, when the moment came, he would deliver that stone to be used in a time of need. An unforeseen but very favorable outcome, the stone indeed acted in the best interest of the wielder if its power was allowed to act freely. And the greatest proof of that was his best friend, the brother he had gained, who was at his side talking to him at that very moment.

“Hey bro, what’s with the serious face? You should be enjoying your first real vacation paid for with your dad's money, dumbass,” Topper said with a smile.

“Fine, you asshole,” Chad replied, assuring himself the stone was safe and looking at his brother. “Let’s have some fun!

[pearlsinmyhair]

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: death. suicidal thoughts. grief. angst. miguel being a hardass. cursing/adult language.

notes: ok, here we go. the last part. star girl kisses hobie on the cheek, and they have some romantic implications. HOWEVER. i did not write them to be romantic. i just see hobie as a very physically affectionate person (especially since i’m this way.)

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

word count: 2.6k

part v : void

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

cursed daughter,

uttering insanities no one believes,

do you regret taking the vow?

“you die.”

it felt like the ground was dropping out from under you, like the void had somehow traveled from your dead universe to this one to drag you down where you belonged.

in the grave. in the ground. gone.

you were staring at lyla. or maybe you weren’t. her orange form blended and swirled as tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. all the fight, the rage, the energy, was gone. snuffed like a candle flame.

just like you should be right now.

“i was supposed to die.” you whispered, more to yourself than miguel or lyla. “but i was somewhere else.”

anger lit in your chest fast, ignited by the frustration that had grown for months in your mind, words yelled at mirrors and whispered to the ceiling.

you turned to miguel, still on the ground as you raised your voice.

“i was somewhere else because of your sorry ass beating a mother fucking teenager to death! because i had to protect a child! from you!” you stepped up, rising slowly even as your knees shook. “if i hadn’t been worried about miles or you or your determination to keep the canon intact, then it would have been fine! i would have died, and everyone in my universe would have been okay!”

deflect, ignore the problem, fight, rage, scream.

you hated how similar you were to miguel.

you hated him.

he stood still as a statue, watching you with a defeated expression as you self destructed.

“y/n…” he tried, voice the softest you had ever heard it.

and you broke.

your knees buckled, but he was there in an instant, hands looping under your arms so that you didn’t fall. he pulled you into him, even as your fists beat against his chest.

“i hate you so fucking much. i hate how you make me feel and i hate what you did and i hate you-“ you sobbed, trying and failing to grapple with the weight of what had happened.

and through it all he just held you, tucking your head under his chin.

“i know, mija.” he whispered, his hand resting against the back of your neck to pull you against him.

“if you hadn’t been an asshole and chased a kid then it would have been alright. all those people would be alive and-“

“and you’d be dead.” he finished, his arm around you tightening slightly. “and i think we both know i wouldn’t let that happen.”

you felt repulsed, like his hands were burning, a betrayal to a boy beaten by the same palms. but you were also desperate, clinging to a life you lived for nine months only to be stripped from it completely. you wanted this contact, craved this hug.

your mind cried TRAITOR and your heart cried HOME. it was a contradiction that made you ache, a reminder of what was gone and would never return.

your hands clenched the material of miguel’s suit tight, bunching it as you wheezed. you felt so small, and yet so large. grief scratched at you with newly sharper claws, and guilt followed at its heels.

miguel’s hold tightened.

your mind switched to analytical thinking, trying to procure a solution, to fix what you had broken.

the answer came clearly, emerging from the darkest spot of your mind like a banished creature.

“you need to kill me.”

miguel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to your upper arms to grip you in an unyielding hold. his eyes filled with a solemn determination that made you want to sob, made you want to scream.

“it won’t bring them back.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “nothing you or i or lyla or anyone does will bring them back.”

the void at your toes, ready to swarm. an ocean of black silence, waiting to drown you.

“there has to be a way, miguel. please. if my universe collapsed because i didn’t die, then maybe if i died it would come ba-“

“do you think i didn’t try that when gabriella’s universe disappeared?” he asked, voice firm but expression soft. “i tried for weeks, never truly sleeping. i went through data and experimentation just for a chance to reassemble a universe. it doesn’t matter.”

your chest tightened, your breath limited as you tried to force a rhythm.

in, hold, out.

all those children.

in, hold, out.

mothers and fathers.

in, hold, out.

AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT.

miguel pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

the thoughts muted, the world dark and warm as you pressed your face to his chest. his arms, keeping you safe from the outside.

the tears didn’t stop for a long time, and neither did your choked cries. but it didn’t matter to him. it didn’t matter that there was a wet patch in his suit that most definitely included snot as well as tears.

he guided you through breathing, moving his hand in rhythmic circles on the upper plane of your back as he whispered “in, and out” over and over until your heartbeat calmed.

miguel knew that this was just the beginning. there would be late nights and frustrated yelling and breakdowns for a long time. it would take months to heal, months to work this guilt out of you.

but he’d be there every step of the way.

he refused to leave you again.

“you’re a hypocrite.” you whispered, and again he pulled back to look at you.

your eyes were set in firm decisiveness, as though you’d been thinking about this for some time. his gut twisted and his frustration flared slightly, but his inclined his head to let your speak.

you took a breath. “you’d save me for the sake of your own benefit. you care for me- i make you less lonely.” she held up her hand when his mouth opened, and his words died on his tongue. “you’d let my entire universe die just to have me.”

your voice faltered as tears balled in your throat, but you swallowed and carried on. miguel needed to hear this, and you were pretty sure you were the only person he’d hear it from.

“that’s selfish. incredibly so. but.” she trailed off, piecing the words together and preparing for his rebuttal. “when miles wants to save his father, it’s a cardinal sin.”

“y/n, it’s diff-“

“no, it’s not.” you cut him off, and again his mouth shut. he had forgotten just how quick your words were, no doubt sharpened by your temporary grounding.

“you’re sympathetic to me, but you slam a boy, a boy, miguel, into a train because he wants to save his father. meanwhile, you’d save your daughter without so much as a second thought? that’s hypocrisy.”

his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“all i ask is that you give him the same grace. can’t you understand why he refuses to follow your orders?

miguel sighed, keeping his eyes on you.

“miles is an anomaly, he’s was never meant to be spider-man-“

“enough of that. that has nothing to with the canon event. the universe didn’t collapse when he was bitten. it’s not his fault.”

“he is the beginning of this, the reason why there even is a spider society.”

your eyes narrowed, anger rising as you remembered the broken boy with bandages on his chest. “so you’re going to traumatize him? as punishment? he doesn’t deserve this blame, and you should never have reinforced it into his head. he’s fifteen, miguel. fifteen and scared. and now his head is full of your rhetoric, full of this hate that he doesn’t deserve. it’s not fair.”

you paused, and miguel worked his jaw, speechless.

“there must be another way. the canon has been flexible before. we can’t bring my universe back, but maybe we can save his. without making him watch his father die.” a tear slipped from your eye as you shoved down your sadness, forcing yourself to move on in order to help miles.

miguel’s thumb caught the tear before it fell, and you leaned into his palm.

“i think you need to sit this one out.” he whispered, eyes full of concern as your own blinked open. “i made the mistake of training you too early after your mother died, i won’t make the same mistake by allowing you to rush into this while you’re falling apart.”

you watched him, processing his words.

he was right, of course. it wasn’t healthy to push grief aside for later, especially this kind. the kind that poked at your throat and dug into your stomach. but the clock was ticking. a little less than two days.

you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a bed and cry. but you didn’t have time.

“i need to do this. and i need you to be there with me when i do, at my side. not against me. and after we figure this out, i’ll go to therapy and we can eat ice cream or whatever shit people normally do when they’re sad. ok?” you said.

this was the price of the name. sacrifice. pain. suffering. all for the greater good of the people.

miguel’s thumb stroked across your cheekbone as his jaw feathered.

“please. let me finish this.” you whispered.

miguel’s decision appeared in his eyes before it came out of his mouth.

“is this our tradition now?” he asked, and your face broke into a watery smile.

“fucking shit up despite our metal health? i guess so.” you laughed as you rubbed the heel of your hand against your eye, rubbing tears from your face.

“lyla?” you called, and she appeared at your shoulder. “can you help me reach hobie?”

lyla nodded, but miguel’s eyes hardened. “what do we need him for?” he asked, already sounding exasperated.

you smiled. “if you want to really fuck the system, you call the anarchist.” you said as you tapped at your watch.

i need some help defying the canon. you in?

it only took a few seconds for a reply.

let’s raise hell. meet you at my place in an hour.

i have miguel. but he’s leashed.

miguel looked over your shoulder, scoffing at the message.

“leashed?” he asked, and you smiled wickedly.

“you will be if you don’t listen. i’m not above webbing you to a wall and taking Rapture away from you.” you patted his shoulder. “just behave.”

you opened a portal when a thought rose suddenly.

“do you have any causal clothes?” you asked over your shoulder, and miguel raised a brow at you.

“for what?”

you grinned. “hard to be incognito in a spider suit. we need to blend in where we’re going.”

he smirked. “and what about you? think no one’s gonna stare at that suit just as much as mine?”

your teeth flashed as your grin widened. “i have clothes at hobie’s place.”

miguel’s amused expression dropped, and the glint in his eye told you that you may have to stand in front of hobie when he came back.

when he returned with clothes, grumpy as ever, you turned to the portal and jumped in, miguel at your heels.

₊ ⊹

“i cant fold it right, mine keeps bursting open.” you sighed, showing miguel the embarrassment of an empanada in your hands.

he shook his head at you, having already made a pile of at least ten. “it’s too much filling. you’re smart: use deductive reasoning.”

you elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be wounded, letting out a fake gasp of pain.

you had both gone to the grocery store as soon as you entered earth-138, grabbing the necessary ingredients for a meal for the kids.

you had resolved that, if miguel couldn’t fully verbally apologize yet, then he could at least make them dinner.

and miguel had dragged his feet, refusing to give his input as you walked the aisles of produce and food. but when you fixed him with a glare and a sharp word, he had straightened up, explaining what exactly you needed.

and that brought you here, assembling empanadas with salsa verde and mexican rice on the counter of hobie’s house boat.

the group was late, though hobie had messaged you telling you that it was because they were talking miles into actually going in. the boy was terrified, but hobie and gwen were assuring him that everything was fine.

miguel placed the empanadas in the oven as the door to the boat clicked open and the spider band stepped though.

thank god it was spacious, you thought as the filed in.

you stepped forward to hobie, who embraced you with an arm around your waist and his mouth to your ear.

“one word and he’s a dead man.” he murmured to you as his eyes stayed fixed on miguel over your shoulder.

you garnered that miguel was staring back based on the tingling feeling of your skin.

“i got it. but noted.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pulled back.

his hands found your shoulders, leaning down to level a look at you. “you good?” he asked earnestly, his eyes concerned.

your smile was small, but it was a start.

“i’m good. better now.” you whispered, and he squeezed your shoulders.

he moved to the side, and your eyes caught miles’s, who stood with his arms limply at his side in a corner of the room.

you walked over to him, and his jaw clenched.

“i’m so sorry.” he whispered, and your heart ached.

“its not your fault. fate is a bitch sometimes.” you said as you slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. his arms wrapped around your back gratefully.

you reached a hand to gwen and pavitr, and they joined the hug.

“my baby spiders.” you cooed. “i missed you.”

you pulled away to look around at the others, nodding to noir and peter b and fist bumping peni.

you met miguel’s eyes, and he nodded.

deep breath. it’s not like this is the end of the word or anything.

“we have less than two days to find a solution to save miles dad. the cannon is temperamental, but it is flexible. there must be a way other than jefferson’s death that can prevent earth-1610 from collapsing. any ideas?”

you gazed around the room to blank stares and thoughtful expressions. silence pressed against your ears as no one replied.

“my dad stepped down.” came a hesitant voice.

you turned to find gwen staring at you with a hopeful expression.

“he stepped down from being captain.” she said again. she looked to the side at miles. “after he found out my identity.”

something like hope grew in your chest as you glanced again at miguel. he looked back with a soft expression, tilting his head at you.

“he’ll never step down.” miles sighed, his fingers finding his temple.

“but it shows that there’s wiggle room.” you said, and miles’s eyes peeked at you.

“nothing is black and white. it’s not simple, but it’s a start.” you said as you walked over to the oven, getting out the empanadas.

“brain food?” asked peter b, and you smiled.

miguel stood beside you, preparing plates.

“not bad, y/n.” he said, and you leaned your side against his for a moment.

“where there’s a will, there’s a way.” you said, passing out plates before taking a seat next to hobie on the floor.

you looked around at the group, a smile rising on your face.

“spot’s on the move in 1610.” announced lyla, and hobie turned to you.

“okay, star girl. what’s the plan?”

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　fin　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

taglist: aka my little stars

@brittany69 @ladyfairenvale @teamwolverine @kinkybandages @lunamhm565i @dhadiirah @pearlssdiary @zeyzeys-stuff @alexisabirdie @ifuckyourmom @hagdgishr @migueloharaslxt @ladynecromancer @leviathxn @khaylin27 @dulceteris @mouthfulofpearls @alecmores @kissitoffme @mvlanchqly

oh my goodness. thank you all so much for your love and kind words. this is my first finished series, and it’s crazy to think that it all started with a thought of

“what if miguel had a daughter who’s universe collapsed?”

and it’s become a series with followers and people who love it. i’m so incredibly thankful for both your love and your patience- i went through a very hard friendship breakup that kind of ruined my spirit for a while. hence why this took so long.

i know there will be some of you who are not satisfied with this ending. i myself am never truly honestly satisfied with what i write. but i wanted to get this out into the world. BUT. my asks are always open for questions, requests, and headcanons for this story. it’s very dear to my heart, and i’m just so amazed at you all.

my little stars, i hope you enjoyed ‘the price of the name’.

all my love,

pearl ♡

[ultimateloserboy]

sorry dhmis fandom i havent been around to ramble as much because i was off getting mad bitches and touching grass. but im back and ready to get really sappy and emotional and compare my life to old man yaoi. so anyway. do you ever think about how lonely the main three are despite being right next to each other. how they really do love each other but they dont trust each other nor do they know how to properly treat each other. like they try their best but their best isnt enough. they try to teach themselves how to love but its made them selfish. growing up in shitass nowhere alabama, traumatized as fuck, this is how friendships have sometimes felt for me. nothing is serious, everything is ignored, everything is funny no matter what. our words may sting each other but we stay silent and fake a laugh. and then those friendships would fade into weird gay bromances. and yeah those middleschool ass homo-friendships might be shitty but theres something so nice about the moments in the dark, when you realize you like looking at each other. when you realize that maybe you should be kinder. maybe you should trust them more. maybe if you hold their hand long enough and close your eyes tight enough you wont have to go back to pretending to be cruel. and it might notve worked back in middle school, we may have crashed and burned, but i still look back fondly on those moments in the dark. and now that im older, and ive learned to be kinder, and ive met others whove learned the same, im finally with someone that likes looking at me even when the lights are on. im surrounded by people whove lived and learned. like sonic adventure two am i right guys. but seriously. ive said this before and ill say it again. dont hug me im scared makes my fucked up life feel represented, but it also gives me hope. those gayass puppets may forever be trapped in toxic yaoi, but i am not, we as real people are not. theyll learn how to love and forget in an hour, their efforts are hopeless, but ours are not. GO OUT AND KISS YOUR HOMIES TODAY. BE KIND. LOVE YOURSELF AND LOVE EACH OTHER. HOLD THEIR HAND IN THE DARK AND IN THE LIGHT. THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE DESERVE MORE THAN A MINUTE OF AFFECTION. YOU DESERVE MORE THAN A MINUTE OF AFFECTION. WE ARE HUMAN AND WEVE MADE MISTAKES, AND WELL MAKE THEM AGAIN, BUT WE CAN CHANGE, WE CAN GROW, THEIR LIFE WILL NEVER CHANGE BUT OURS WILL. THEY WILL NEVER DIE BUT WE WILL. YOU ARE NOT A BAD PERSON FOR THE MISTAKES YOUVE MADE, BUT YOU SHOULD FIX THEM WHILE YOU CAN, BETTER YOURSELF WHILE YOU CAN. DONT SPEND YOUR LIFE DRIFTING AND WAITING FOR A FRIDGE SCENE TO HAPPEN. MAKE EVERY DAY YOUR FRIDGE SCENE. AMEN

[zomaku]

i feel . . . at ease .

after all the bitter remarks , all the threads / lives ive tore from people , and then reliving death . . . im satisfied .

im satisfied knowing that me and nomaku will finally be on the same plane of existence for the rest of eternity . i can hold their hand . i can hold . . . them . we are no longer bound to the confines of the earth . no longer bound to anyones rules . i was able to empty the plate a little bit with doug and guy which felt . . . conflicting . i know that nomaku is displeased with my actions but at the same time im doing this all for them . i always dreamed of having a world all to ourselves , where there was no need to be scared anymore , no more need for fighting . we could look down on the corpses of those who dared step in the way of our love .

but , being with nomaku now and feeling safe knowing we are truly together , i can only look around and feel content . not with the world we could have had , but the world we built together . the world we made memories in . the world we made friends and enemies in . the world we made good decisions and bad decisions in . we have lived and we have died but it was never about winning . it was all about nomaku . it was all about spending the time i had with you .

i also realize that . . . ive chosen the wrong path to win your heart . my goal was to eradicate the living , and leave us as the lone survivors , so you wouldnt have anyone else to so much as be on your mind . just me and you . but . youve made so many friends . i tried to . . . take that away from you . i am no better than the ones that have stolen from you that i despise so deeply .

and for that , @nomaku-3laf , i am sorry . i am sorry for everything i tried to take from you . i dont expect you to love me back after everything ive done but know that the flame in my heart burns ever brighter for you always . i hope youll grow accustomed to the spirit life with me <3

guy , @ask-douglas-3laf , i apologize for taking the life you two had with each other . they say love is blind , but it appears love has blinded me . i dont expect forgiveness . i understand . im happy your daughter will forever be able to live life in peace . to feel the breeze and the warmth of the sun . you got your happy ending , i hope .

@3laf-kaazisscared , thank you for the aid and assistance youve given nomaku and milk when you were alive . i did enjoy your company in the limited time we had . you never felt like a threat . i wish we had more time together .

@celestial-wanderers milk . milk . . . its to you that i feel deserves a larger apology . all ive ever seen you as is a threat . someone that will steal nomaku away from me . watching everything unfold from the sidelines without being able to intervene grew my resentment slowly but surely , and finally being given the gift of life gave me power . too much power . i flew too close to the sun and my "saintly" wings have melted. i dont know how open i am to the idea of "sharing" nomaku , but i will tear down this bedrock wall i have built around them for you .

and @bonkabon-3laf , fuck you .

[finnyphcntom]

notorious.

--------

Chapter One : The Word Hate

--------

Did he over exaggerate? Yes. But something inside of him just.. felt weird when Dandelion was shamed upon. Geralt wasn't that bad of a dude, especially to Dandelion.

Lambert hated to say- yes, hated, that word again. He hated that he actually enjoyed Dandelion's presence.

--------

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh but id lovee to convince you. maybe we can get a lil tipsy and ill go home with you, yeah handsome? ;)'

--------

Lambert was... notoriously known, for many things. What things? Well, the list is long, but here is the simplified version;

Being a bitch.

And then there was... well, thats about it.

He hated, hated, just about... Well, all? Of Geralts friends. Eskel would always say, "hate is such a strong word,"

Well no shit. He knew that, used it for a reason.

Speaking of hate, he hates when they hang out.

He was rather tired of everyone hanging out without inviting him. Yeah, he'd decline with a 'fuck no' or 'i hate triss lol' but, hell, he still wants at least an invite.

But no one bothered to invite him anymore.

They act like he doesnt know, isnt aware, of these events. Hes heard them talk, all because hes 'too angsty.'

Be real. If they had an Aiden, and then said Aiden died, theyd he angsty too.

Which, he will say, Geralt does have his Aiden.

Dandelion.

Lambert hated to say- yes, hated, that word again. He hated that he actually enjoyed Dandelion's presence.

And do you know what he hates even more?

That hes jealous.

He hates that he's jealous, and hates that he doesnt know what over.

Over Geralt? Maybe.

Over Dandelion? Maybe.

The fact that Dandelion gets invited to hangouts? Maybe.

Oooor the fact that Geralt, who treats Dandelion like shit, gets to keep his best friend. And he doesnt. Bingo, baby.

Well, okay, maybe it was a mix of all four.

But no, he heard of this party that was happening at Yennefer's house. How could he not? Kiera informed him alllll about it.

And another thing he was known for; not only being a bitch, but a petty one at that.

He was going to show up at that damn party.

~~~~~~

Lambert expected many things in his day. To fold clothes, deal with shitty customers, fold clothes again, to fix registers because somehow no one else knew how to do that, and then to again, you guessed it, fold clothes. Oh, and deal with shitty customers.

And then, he would go home around 3pm, just to clean horse shit and feed the goats on the farm. Only sometimes would he find holes in his perfectly good jeans.

But what he didnt expect? His phone to light up with a text. Ever since losing his girlfriend, he hasnt had a single text, other than from Eskel.

Eskel was a family man. Soft, sympathetic. He thinks he would have a little bit more trouble lying and hiding stuff behind his back. He thinks any of these people who are hosting these parties, throwing the- his phone dings again.

Oh, right. He was so used to a lonely phone that he forgot it went off.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : hey lambert, i know we dont really talk but what time is that party tomorrow? ive got a performance that day and want to arrange an uber ^-^'

Holy fucking shit? It had to be Dandelion. No one else in the group was talented enough with music to perform it.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : also!! how come u never go? :('

That was the second message.

Did Dandelion not know?

What does he do? He hated to say that his heart was racing. Why was his heart racing? It was just Dandelion. Just a rising celebrity with like seven degrees- from Oxenfurt no less- and his brothers best friend.

His heart was fucking racing. Does he be cool? Does he be mysterious? Should he even answer?

No, no he had to answer.

The few times hes talked to Dandelion have been.. amazing, actually. Of course, Dandelion had an issue with talking to strangers, and also, well, sleeping with strangers, but that was fine. Lambert felt like Dandelion enjoyed talking to, well...

Lambert.

Not Geralts brother, not a bitch (which he will admit he is,) not a depressed, angsty man who practically lives in his room at the farm he grew up on. Which he was.

His phone dings again. Shit.

Lambert grabs his phone off of his car mount this time, sitting in the parking lot of his shitty retail job at Cavill's Combat.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh shit my bad i probably shouldve clarified. this is dandelion im sorry'

Be chill Lambert.

'lambert : heyy yeah no youre good lol'

The multiple y's were cool? Right? Showed he was calm. One Y was boring, three was excessive. Right?

'lambert : as for the party, i have no clue thats a geralt question.'

He decides not to answer the second question. For now.

He puts his phone back on the mount and his car in drive, pretending like he didn't flinch at the sound of the bluetooth connecting.

His phone dings again, and he cant answer, but he does peak at the message.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : well i wou .. geral ... mad ... ignoring me ...'

That was all he could see for now. Quit frankly, that was all he needed to see.

Did Geralt ignore Dandelion whenever he was mad?

My brain was shut off upon hearing the first Hollywood Undead song start.

~~~~~

When I arrived home, I was bombarded with questions. Eskel was that type of man.

"How was your day at work?" He said from the kitchen, where Lambert was trying to sneak on by.

"Long." Lambert said. "Henry wasnt there."

His boss. Whenever Henry was gone, Lambert had to pick up all the shit- as an assistant store manager.

"Didnt have to fix anything today though, right?" Eskel said.

What a fake fucking bitch, Lambert thought.

"So... do you want me to fix you something to eat?"

He heard it, but didnt register it.

Being the odd one out was quite the funny thing. He lost his best, childhood friend of 14 years in his sophomore year of college to suicide.

He drops out of said college. Decides to start therapy; ends up getting sent to a psych ward.

And now hes working at some shitty fucking retail job; and still working at his adoptive fathers farm.

Yeah, life was fucking great. A ball of fucking sunshine.

Eskel was a doctor. Geralt was a successful Butcher, working under their adoptive father.

And he was a depressed man with a shitty retail job.

"Hello? Lambert?"

Without thinking, Lambert grabs the nearest item which just so happened to be a decorative vase, squeezing it tightly...

"How are things since you ended it with Kiera?"

and throws it.

Right at Eskel.

He's rather lucky it misses. Shatters all over the ground instead of on Eskel's mass.

"You're fake. Did you know that? You're a liar. You're a fraud. Stop with the fake fucking persona that you care about me."

And with that, he has no choice to storm away.

~~~~~

In his room, hes able to check his phone again. The text from Dandelion was sitting there, menacingly.

'lambert : does geralt always ignore u when hes mad at u?'

With how busy Dandelion was, you werent expecting an immediate response.

But you get one.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : typixally he tellsme to fuck off and rhats how i know hes mas at me'

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : u should go :( ive never seen u there, i know u dont like me'

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : but i got a few tricks up my sleeve to convince u too ;)'

It takes Lambert a bit to decipher Dandelions absolutely awful typing. For a man with an english degree, he is sure as hell bad at English.

Lambert kept reading the, 'i know u dont like me.'

Who the fuck told Dandelion that? Because Lambert has never, not once, discussed any sort of dislike for Dandelion.

If anything, Lambert actively defends his name. He remembers all the times Geralt spoke about ignoring Dandelion, called Dandelion annoying.

Lambert would always stick up for him.

Were there any good reasons why? He had a bunch, personally.

One, and the biggest reason, was that Lambert would kill in cold blood to be able to talk to his best friend again.

Two, is that Dandelion was a good person with good morals. And incredible talent. Dandelion deserved love and praise, not hate from his closest friend.

Three, he was oddly drawn to Dandelion. He didn't know why.

Did he over exaggerate? Yes. But something inside of him just.. felt weird when Dandelion was shamed upon. Geralt wasn't that bad of a dude, especially to Dandelion.

But it's common decency not to talk shit about your best friend when the person you're talking to lost theirs to suicide.

Kind of inconsiderate, Geralt.

'lambert : lol who told you that? i like you'

He suspects it was Triss. Maybe Yennefer had assumed? Lambert didnt really like anyone, it was a safe assumption. But Geralt knew- knew Lambert actually at least tolerated Dandelions presence.

He even told Geralt that he wanted to be Dandelion's friend. That Dandelion reminded him of Aiden. He opened up to Geralt, surely his own family wouldn't do him dirty like that?

Dandelion didnt answer, and Lambert didnt know why, but it disapointed him.

'lambert : i gotta know what those tricks are though, care if i ask for a little more convincing? ;)'

Lambert was going to shit his pants.

First, he double texts. Which is fine, because Dandelion like... quadruple texts. But then he had to hit on the man.

It was playful, right? It wasn't gay. Playful. A game.

Why was his heart racing again?

He was straight anyway.

~~~~~~

Eskel was full of concern at the dinner table when Lambert didnt show up. There sat Geralt and Vesemir, but Lamberts seat was eerily just.. empty.

"Lambert skipped his farm work today," Vesemir said, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes, before grabbing salt and shaking what seemed to be half the bottle in it. Taking another bite, he seemed satisfied.

"He didnt respond to my texts at all. Read every single one, too." Eskel said. "And he..."

Eskel did not want to throw Lambert under the bus. Not when it seemed something was seriously wrong.

"I had to pick up his fucking slack," Geralt said. "Seriously, this kid needs to grow up. We all work in jobs we don't like. I don't like slaughtering pigs and looking at blood, and I'm sure that Eskel doesn't like performing surgery. But we aren't babies about it."

Geralt was chewing into his food like a rabid animal, clearly angry. The steak that was on his plate was massacred, cut up and stabbed.

The walls at Kaer Morhen were pretty thin. The farm itself was nice, but the house wasn't in the perfect condition. It was pretty, but old, some of the rooms half-finished.

Therefore none of the men were surprised or so much as even flinched when Lambert yelled, seemingly speaking to his T.V screen and taking his anger out on Overwatch.

90% of Lambert's free time was spent on video games. It used to be with his girlfriend, Kiera, but she slowly started avoiding him.

He hardly noticed the change. It was gradual; slow, but eventually he caught on. She wasn't the same.

For his own sake, he left her. He will admit, he loved her, but it wasn't hard. She messaged him once every few days.

"He broke up with Kiera, Geralt." Eskel says. "And now hes having a rough time. Maybe we should cut him some slack."

"Don't really care. Shouldn't of been as toxic as he was." Geralt said.

"We should try to understand Lambert. He comes before a girl, Geralt. Put those events with her aside, it's clearly driving a wedge between the three of you."

They could hear Lambert; which means Lambert could hear them.

Toxic? That was funny. He devoted everything to that girl. She ran a small business he would fund- which typically took his full paycheck from Vesemir. Other than that, she didn't really work. He paid for everything.

Toxic was funny.

"Lambert was too much stress on her. Shes a girlfriend, not a therapist. Girls don't like emotional guys, I cant help that." Geralt says, sharply and angrily.

"Lambert hardly talks about emotions." Eskel corrects.

"Sure as hell corrects me all the damn time about them. Sick of him calling me ungrateful and shit. I cant control his losses." Geralt said, with a tone that ended the conversation there.

~~~~~~

Toxic was funny. Really, really funny. Was it toxic to correct your brother on his own toxic behavior?

Lambert didn't understand.

Geralt. A man who ran everything in his life with his dick, not his brain. Who cheated on women, who verbally abused his friends. Who ignores his so called "best friend" because he's mad.

Thats actually not really that bad, but whatever. Lambert was mad, and petty, and wondering why Dandelion hadn't answered him.

Why was he thinking of that? Not okay, Lambert. He's busy. Probably recording music and getting yelled at by his directors.

Toxic was funny, when Lambert was so loyal. When Lambert tried his best to fit in, he just genuinely never did.

Toxic was so, so funny.

His mind ran off, to a different place, one where theres grass and tulips and roses and fuck- Dandelions.

Dandelion.

Would Dandelion prioritize Lambert over Geralt? Sure, they'd talk. But when he's mad at Geralt. When Geralt's not around. He would be a rebound for a best friend.

Just like he was to Kiera.

He had just won a match when his phone dinged and lit up three times.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : hi ! sorry had to finish up recording a song for my album. stupid director :(

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : oh but id lovee to convince you. maybe we can get a lil tipsy and ill go home with you, yeah handsome? ;)'

Lambert was kicking his feet, giggling, and squealing like a high school girl. Well, his face was stoic, but mentally he was there. Mentally he was going insane.

He had never been hit on deliberately like that. Like stated before, he was the odd one out. With Geralt and Eskel his brothers, he was known as the ugly one of the family.

He was surprised when Kiera wanted him. Him, out of the three. He had made the move, god forbid a woman make a move on him. But she still accepted- still chose him.

She used to fuck with Geralt a couple years back, back when Geralt and Yennefer would cheat on each other. He always had girls left and right. Kiera, Yennefer, Triss, and boy, did he have a shit ton of one night stands.

He wasn't surprised when Kiera got distant. It hurt at first, but he realized one thing- thats life. She lost interest.

When people normally got to know him, they would see Geralt and run. They'd lose interest in him, all of the sudden. But Geralt would never take them from him though, he wasn't that bad a person.

And he wasn't a bad person either. But Geralt's best friend currently hitting on him? It shouldn't make him feel giddy inside. It shouldn't make him so happy that it felt like someone had chosen him over Geralt.

He couldn't help but smile.

But it was playful. It was all playful.

He couldn't help but feel his smile drop, as he went to read the last message from Dandelion. His face contorted in anger; wanting to lash out all over again.

'+1 xxx-xxx-xxxx : it was geralt. glad to see youve changed ur mind tho! <3'

[lovediives]

strangely enough. i have come to the terms i am not part of the self ship "community" i self ship. but i think im more content with just sayin "yeah i self ship/yume ship" then "yeah im part of this community" idk how else to explain. ill probably just use this blog to post some shit and interact with like 5 people and spend most of the time on x (twitter if youre based) im kinda too old and busy to keep up with people anymore.

plus every other day i get updated and disappointed with people abt things. its PROBABLY because i didnt curate my space properly. but its #never too late to do so. so im curating my space around my pre-established friendships that i cherish and love where i dont have to shake in my boots that they might end up being weird. to clarify this isnt a vague of sorts towards others. but its just me coming to terms that i joined an online space that i only showed interest in because at the time, i felt like i had to in a sort because i was "lonely" but it turns out i have weird fucked up bpd and i was being too much of an attention whore.

tldr. id rather call myself a kinnie over a self shipper. at least kinnies were funny.

(extra, extra, hear all abt it! i still cherishes a lot of my oomfies here. ive i talked to you more than once. its a christmas miracle!! i will always talk about what u love and hold dear to because i do care for yall!!)

[gayspock]

okkkk sorry shutup time

groundhog day bullshit . sunk cost fallacy fucking life. you gothsifar its so fuckingpointless just desperately clawingplease say any second fo this bulskhit was fucking worht it when you know its not and its nevergoing to be and i jsut i dont know i dontknow i dont know whats wrong with me. i mena i do. i feel like itsall the little things i jsut. lack of this and that and ita ll jsutstacks up to some fucker whos alwaysjust going to come short of everything no matterwhat i do because its got to besomeone right and whats the point in it whatsthe point at all im so fucking lonely every fuckingday i just spend somuch f my existencew just fukcing doing wha t and i talktomyself cosntantly . the mst fucking substancwe ive got out of anyhtingfor years id when ive been high out of ymmind and hallucinating someone in the roomwith me because pleasjeust look at me for fuckingocne anyone please

and idid try i did like havethat hope thatmaybe maybe its not pointless i tried i reallydid just to tryands talk topeople bt every single time if eel like im just shattered and its always jsutgoing to be the things thatlike. i dontknow. again iknow its selfish but i wishpeople were just honestand would admit to things than trying to paper mache overi t i just.

im notgood enough for anyhting adyes i dothink that matters dude. i reallyfthink it does. i canttalk well any more . ive gotntohing in my life that i can manage to hold on to. i lead afuckingempty fucking existence . i dont have passion oraynthing that people are drawn to . im gross and im annoying . theres not. like yeah. of coursepoeple dont want to conenct witht hat. its utterly reasonable to ask people to catre. even if you careback i dont know its notfair to ask people to care whenyou just. what do you give to anybodybut that and what will that ever matter when anyone can care dude yourejust. h.

andits not that people willhate me right. itsjust im never going tobeenough to ffind a place anywhere ithink. i meanthat. ikept triyng . i keep trying.itjust happens on a loopand you havetobury it all inside ofyou and jsut fucking write it on your tumblr blogforwhat because theresnothing else. andi wonder aboutall the people whove forgotten i existed butmight have remember me once or twice with some slight superioritylike ah yes. well they had it coming for themselves. and itslike i dont know. maybe i do in the end.theres a part of me that just wishes i took itmore when i felt isolated like. dde just be happy people are around you at all itdoesnt matter they cut you out of everything all the time it doesnt matteryoure not taken seirously buthten i just remember how fucking utterly more miserable it sall is every single time and its like. id ontknow. am i a cunt. i just wonderhow or what its like to ejust exist so naturallywith people. i feel like every single time and i mean it every single fuckingt ime ijsut felt like i was clawing at things that. i knew deep down was just desperate and pathetic and its like ijust feel fucking rotten like what am idoing here but just making myself sad and inadvertently making everyones lives just that little bit worse cuz its sad to look at and yes that is the truth . it IS the truth . and iwish i culd ujust have that raher than i dont fucking know man.

i think about stufflike that like relationships and howpeople keep telling me well we';re all lonely but again. peoplehave partners and theyre so close withpeople and i jsut. i dont think anyone would ever see me like that .i feel so fuckng cold and sad all the fucking time because i jsut . again itsjust how... natural it is to peop;le when youre sat in a group and theyre allmaking plans and talking about things that you didnt even know about becaus e its alwyas sonatural to leave you out of everything and itslike. i know its childish i fuckingknow it is but even whenyou speak upithappens timeand time again andno it doesnt happen to anyone ELSE like that and you jsut like god what am idoing here what am id oing anywherte and theres that fucking fear in your fuckingbones youve been taken along as the joke or the fuckingguy to talk to when everyone else is busy cuz god forbid i remember all theufcking times. insert redacted moments . and i dontknow ijust. i feel so fucking inadequate in every fucking aspect ofmyself and its so fucking embarrasisng because im sf ucking pathetic i cant do anyhrting i dont have any life to myself and of coruse no one wants that so of cous eim alone with itand im sad im mserable i cant i dont have the enregy for anything everything hurts all the time and im so tired and i jsut go in loops and loops and loops and ijust hate myself i get soangry with myself i miss hurting myself properly but idont know whrat to do any more and i jsut

and ijsut. ifeel so fucking sad . just wathcing everyone else and they all have lives or something to go to.eve n if theyre alone they have some sort fo existence around them and ijsut i dnt know. i go to work. thats it. i donthavemuch outside of that. i dont find happinesisn my work. i think i usedto tellmyself evenif im alone for forever maybe i can havwthat before oh yeah reaility .being able to talk to people is always going to be the fucking crux of everything likabilityi is the crux of everything even if you werent mediocre even if you were goodat things it wouldnt matterbecause yourejust. what is there to youlike and what is there out of any of ityoukeep chasing it people tell you JUST ! GO! FIND! SOMETHING! and you ekeep chasingit and youre just more miserable bythe second becausepeople just dont like the reality of your situation i go out i tryot talk to people but im weird and idontknow why im so fucking weird butim justlaughed at like everyones . so fucking crtuel. i mean that all in seirousness. the number of times im yelled at on the street and thats theonly timeive been noticed that day and ijsut feel so fucking . wrong i dont know whats wrong with me i feel like i need to do something soon i canttttt BRO

[angel-9mm]

all i know how to do is give everything i have. literally everything i have and even more than that at my own detriment. i'm a bleeding heart and not in a poetic or romantic way. i believe i don't deserve love unless i'm giving everything. because if i give everything than they have to love me right? and following that childish logic shouldn't my partner have to give up everything and too much too? i don't know how to love with this bleeding heart of mine. no matter how much leaks out of my body i have a never-ending supply. on one hand that is beautiful and precious. on the other hand, it is a curse for me to bear. i want to change. i don't want to forsake myself anymore. i don't want to be attached to anyone anymore. all i've learned from all of this is no one truly has your best interest at heart. they can love you all they want, but at the end of it all, when there's nothing left, people always choose themselves. and that's what i'm failing at, because i always choose the other person. i'm drowning in insecurities, shame, sadness, and anger. i don't want to be like this forever. i feel resentful and hate those who can choose themselves so easily, because ive been betraying myself for so long i don't even know how to stop. i've never felt more alone in my entire life. i have so little people around me now. i'm holding on so tightly, too tightly, and in turn i'm only choking myself. i have to help myself. i can't be mad at myself forever. i can't keep putting blame on myself. i can't keep letting the cycle continue. i have to break free of my systems. i have to. i don't think i'll make it if i don't succeed. everything feels so lonely and impossible. i feel like no one understands me. no one feels the way i feel. just once, i want to feel 100% safe and cared for. just fucking once i want to be loved unconditionally. but it will never happen. not even for the one time. because unconditional love doesn't exist. i don't even love unconditionally. not anymore. i'm tired of being an addict to love because one day i might actually overdose. i'm exhausted and everything feels like it's falling down. no one is the same. i can't count on anyone. truly anyone. only myself. and i barely even like myself which makes me so fucking sad. how could i let it get this bad? how could i believe what everyone said about me? to me? my emotions are a fucking livewire and the littlest things set them off. wouldn't it be nice to not feel at all?

[frost-bites-slushies]

please.

please leave me alone im sorry for what i did i apologised i let you use me like a punching bag i left so you never had to see me again i left so you never had to think about me or see my face but youre still following me. youre still tracking me and im so scared. i still start to shake when i hear about you and i start to cry when i see your usernames because im so disgusted with myself and what i let myself do becasue i was selfish. im not stupid, i knew what i was doing but i thought i could have my cake and eat it to, i was just lonely and desperate for friends so i jumped at the first chance i had before i thought too hard about it. it felt so good to have a group of friends i could talk to and hang out with and express myself to even if i was being manipulative and using you in the process. i never asked for forgiveness because i know i dont deserve it, i never asked you to say sorry because i knew i was in the wrong, but i am so scared of you. ive had threats and insults and i deserve it but it still makes me panic when i see them. i never deserved to be your friend, i know how horrible of a person i am and i know what could happen to you because of what i did, but please. please. please just let me have something. ive done what you wanted and stayed away, ive done everything i could for you already, ive exhausted myself but its never been good enough. all i ask is you stop fucking watching me, i may have hurt you so much more than ill ever know, but im also hurt. i lost my friends, i lost my account, i lost my portfolio, i lost my following as small as it was, im scared to even step back into the fandom i was in before because im terrified of someone alerting you of my presence. im terrified that youre watching me and that i would have no idea, it makes me fucking paranoid and drives me to tears when i think of you.

please. please all i ask of you. leave me alone. you use to be the closest people i ever knew and i confided in you my fears and my sensitivities and everything. you should know how sensitive i am and how scared ive always been of being "cancelled", i purposefully didnt get my hopes up for starting a social media account because i was scared shitless that i would make one wrong step and get death threats because of it. i didnt make just a wrong step i know, i made a lot of wrong steps, i ran a wrong marathon, but im still scared regardless. youve put information and art i gave ONLY to you up for everyone to see, and im going to be scared as long as i have this user of someone stumbling across that fucking post. my friendships and what spaces i can be in all rely on a fucking algorithm that could reccomend that post to ANYBODY. youve made it so i could never grow under this name or i risk that post being spread further than it already had been, or anybody im close to possibly getting harassed because they fucking associate with me. youre forcing me to give up the online identity ive had for years or else im likely to be haunted forever by this. im not allowed to grow from what ive done because of a fucking post floating around. im genuinely just scared. i found out only now that youve been following me and im panicking. i dont deserve to be upset by this because of how much ive hurt you and how i betrayed your trust but i still am. im anxious and panicking and terrified and i dont know what to do anymore. im fucked and thats it, and i have no idea what to do. i cant have anything and i honestly dont deserve to have anything, but im still begging for something. please. please believe that im not fucking stupid and that ill be able to grow from how badly ive hurt you, please believe that ill keep my promises and never have you see my face or think about me ever again. please. please just leave me alone. please.

[harmonicunt]

i rly cant see myself as separate from the primordial soup. every flaw i see in others is a reflection of myself, every joy too. every cruelty, all kindness. so many people see themselves as leaning towards one or another, but thats wrong, isnt it ? we're capable of all, in our own particular ways. youll pin yourself & doom growth if you put yourself in one corner.

narratives about who you are are mostly about who you think you are--and the thinking is only one fractal of it. i think ive been afraid of defining myself by the "doing" part of my existence because for so long i didnt feel like the "doing" was anything important or interesting or fulfilling. i didnt have language to show what it was teaching me, what it really meant--it was all isolation, and boredom, and rage. it was that, and it was more, and now that im still doing many of the same things alongside that which i truly want, which i find self respect in, which i am fulfilled through, i can see how i could've used different language to spin it in a different light, to be less lonely and afraid of myself. as my story evolves and changes each time i tell it, as others' stories of me grow (and i learn to listen to them, and trust them), im open to all the ways i hadn't seen before, and i understand how blind we are to who we are in one particular moment. reflection must come second.

thinking & doing are two pillars of our selves, pillars we learn to build and tear down and build again. i'm trying to figure out where our control over those pillars lie. i know there are more--we are more than what we think and what we do--and i know we can change and reshape them, but the first shaping is amazing to begin with. is the first shaping the one everyone else does when we're young, and we don't know how to do it ourselves? or the one we do when we emerge, when we look at how our pillars been formed for us--a necessary evil, unfortunately,--and we decide that it should be something else, something that belongs to us? some people never make their own, and i think many of them are very unfulfilled. each one is unique. the idea you can control it utterly, shape yourself into anything you want, is partially a false narrative, addressed by the fact that at first we have no control over what shape it takes. then, i think almost everyone finds there is an immutable self they can never put a finger on, no matter how long they circle around it. you repaint, and carve in new grooves, and add height or branches. you circle around a self you won't know until you've found them. we have many methods of circling around to the self, of seeing what fits with the pillar we think we want to create, and then adjusting when we realize that's not quite the look we thought it'd be.

i've employed a few strange ones through my life, one of the most curious that i come back to often being kin & kinning. a sort of pinning that often felt like a chicken/egg situation, even while i was in it i found it fascinating. what i was and what i wanted to be and what i thought i would be (i was kinning when i was 12-16ish, so i wasn't much of anything but a ball of energy and wanting) merged together into these grand pulls to characters who werent necessarily favorites but made me fucking insane because of what of myself i saw in them (sometimes it still happens, but it's gotten weirder and more specific as ive aged, and harder to explain or project to others who dont already know me.)

i dont know where im going with this. can we ever know ourselves if we dont know who we are to others ? if we dont listen to what they say about us? it feels bad when someone doesnt take what youve said about them, compliment or criticism or neutral, seriously. people who ignore compliments or use them to insult themselves, and people who ignore criticism and tell themselves that they are the best at something you have been struggling with them for, convincing themselves that the problems they run into are external and eschewing responsibility. how far can we push our own self actualization before collapsing? how happy can we convince ourselves we are, not knowing the joy on the other side ? what tells us that we're miserable in the shape that's been built for us? why do we all seem to forget from time to time that everyone else has been using the same scale of time that we have been to build theirs? why do we flatten them to the pillar we see in one moment, inconsiderate of what came before ? it's self-centered, and that's seen as very dirty, but we can't be anything but self-centered when we're only in our own heads, right ? generosity, consideration, kindness, respect, so much of that is in the eye of the beholder. what we think of as universally decent can make another think of us as deeply annoying, even rude, culturally or personally. idk. we're all the same and we're all different and it's weird and i could add questions and ponderings to this forever but ill stop here. i love you.

[chronic-escapist]

i just can't do twitter and all this keeping up with everything shit anymore lol. i need to like go outside, read a book, go like actually have a face to face conversation with people. i can't like constantly keep up with whatever's going on, but like fomo is a bitch and i am fomo's bitch.

but also i don't really have any friends. i don't have to think about that if im constantly looking at whatever's going on in the world, whatever's going on in fandoms. but it's also fucking exhausting, but i feel like if i switch off from that stuff then i really am alone. like the only people i regularly interact with outside of my family is people online, as fucking sad as that is lol.

idk i just got used to someone else being around. ive always been fucking lonely, and then i wasn't for a bit and now i am again and it's you know, idk ive never done very well when im left to my own devices. ive never been very good at making friends, i always felt kinda different. but i think maybe most people do. and that's kinda where my love of fandoms and online communities comes from, there i finally had people to talk to about things or people and music that i love.

i mean you can look into the loneliness epidemic, as a society we’re more connected than we ever have been and yet we’re the loneliest, that’s fucking sad. and everything these days is pretty fucking sad, idk how to have an optimistic view on that. but if you have any answers to any of this shit lmk. sometimes i kinda wish i was religious, but also if there is a god maybe that’s even sadder.

[bottomburt]

gonna be a big venty post about a lot of things im sad about

its not gonna be everything obviously

also dont worry, im ok, im absolutely terrified of dying so my life isnt at risk or anything

i honestly hate my apartment, i wish i didnt have to pay 2000+ dollars a month for what feels like a hotel room. i wish i could be in a house. i want to live in a place that feels like where a person would spend their life in, and this apartment just doesnt feel like that. i hate having to use a community laundry area. i want my own laundry room i want a place that feels like an actual fucking home and not a pair of rooms joined together with some extras like a bathroom and a kitchen. i want an actual living space. i want a front and back yard. i dont want to have to climb 2 flights of stairs just to get back home. i hate living in this place. theres roaches every now and then and im scared theyre gonna keep coming back. i hate not having a garage. i hate having a closes thats barely enough to fit most of the things i have. i dont like the general feeling of the people around me. i dont like being around university students. i hate living right next to a shopping center when its loud as fuck late at night. i wish i had chosen something different.

i hate feeling so lonely lately. 3 out of the 7 days in a week im just at my desk or in my bed just waiting until i feel ready to stream and talk to fucking no one for hours on end. i dont want a roommate though because i like the experience of having to take care of myself. it only sucks when im by myself with my own thoughts and nothing to do and everything to think and the sound of my own voice in my own head gets so grating i just want to hear another person speak to me for once. and the days i do have social interactions are just classrooms where im so burnt out from the classes that i just dont have much to say.

my classes are so fucking stressful. im more stressed out about classes than i ever have been. it doesnt help its adding onto the stress of renting an apartment but the classes feel so much more time consuming and exhausting this semester. one of my classes requires 10+ discussion posts on full chapters of reading and i really just am not motivated to do any of it. the in class time is honestly really good and i like my teachers, but the time outside of class just feels like a 30 ton weight on my shoulders that i just have to drag around until may.

i miss inky so much.

i keep ordering food and it really bothers me. i have the greatest opportunity to cook for myself but i either keep ordering food or the times i do cook for myself end up feeling unsatisfying. i feel like im fucking up cooking rice. i dont even know how thats possible. the rice keeps getting weirdly soggy and gross every time i make it and it just hasnt been the same since the first time i made it. i dont know what im fucking up. its so annoying trying to make rice that just doesnt want to turn out how i want it to.

i have so many boxes that i need to throw out but havent had time to. i know it'll make me feel better if i do but i just can never get any sort of motivation to do it.

the light strips i have put up have been barely hung up for months now. theres a big section of the light strip that i havent put back up so like half of it has just been hanging off the wall and honestly ive just been hoping itll fall on its own so i finally have a reason to put it back up properly. itll just stay like that i guess.

im generally unhappy with my streams as of late. its the same feeling ive felt before where i put in so much effort to my streams and it just never feels like it pays off. i could never quit though because i absolutely love streaming, but even just having a tiny piece of the interactivity that other streamers have would be nice.

i think thats all im really sad about, it felt nice to put it somewhere

[ketavinsky]

I like the house analogy a lot. I’ve never had any long term friendships, I tend to drift in and out of people’s lives. I don’t seem to make meaningful connections or leave an impact on anyone the way they do for me. It definitely makes me feel like wandering. If I had it my way I’d live nomadically, packing up and leaving anytime I got too familiar with a location. Maybe it’s a bit of a self-sabotage but I never learned how to be okay with being known. I think I regret deleting the pictures but not for me. I have trouble with memories so I regret losing the parts of my friends but I have no regrets about my own image. I’ve never had a strong sense of self; I can’t recognize myself in pictures or mirrors. I hate looking at pictures of me because it feels wrong in the back of my mind, like something is off or missing. Being trans only made that more pressing for old pictures. I’m trying to learn to take more pictures now for memory sake, mostly of places I go or people I meet rather than myself though. Have you found people you fit with yet or are you still wandering too? I suppose if I’m gonna keep bothering you I could maybe sign off? -N

hullo N! youre not bothering me but i apologise for the long response times. i have a weird thing about only responding to messages when i feel like... i would be able to give an appropriate dedicated/interested answer..... like. i dunno i kind of see online shit as the last frontier of non performative interaction so i try not to be disingenuous in ways that make sense to me as often as i can. esp on this site. the viscera site. anyways. that aside. i get what you mean when you say like... you dont feel like you have an impact on anything. obviously i cant comment on anything goin in your life but i do... i do understand the sentiment. i got a friend who's a big wanderer, real nomadic, just wants to travel and travel and circle back every so often like hes some kind of planet goin round on this massive orbit but.... im not sure about you but the concept intimidates me. not the wandering i suppose but the lack of security like- what do i do if something goes wrong? what do i do if i need somebody? what do i do if its still and silent and i cant bear it and ive been swept away to some place and past all the dancing and the gorgeous ephemerality and the wraithlike presence what do i do if i need somebody? you know? would appreciate your thoughts.

i get what you mean with the photos. i also deleted a lot of my photos. even when i was a kid like real little i felt a deep sense of nauseous disgust almost when i looked at photos of myself i always felt like even in pictures where we were all like 8 9 10 years old and playing in the grass that it was immediately noticeable that i was different in some irreconcilable way and i couldnt stand the idea of anyone else noticing it. i dont. i dont know why. i can kind of circle around what i think is why (?? does that make sense) but i still dont know where the feeling comes from. do you? i feel like all the pictures i see of myself are different actors and i think thats because at any given moment im always really just staring at myself from some outside voyeur pov. it's a little more manageable now but when i turned 23 i began to realise how... well. virulent? harmful? destructive? it was to my sense of... self. i dont know. what's it like fr you?

now i wish i could say that id found my people and after so long of feelin so lonely everythings okay now but this year has been tough and its only just started. do you ever miss times in your life that were really horrible wherein you were incessantly miserable, for the ability to feel? that's how it is. i oft find myself revisiting memories with people who were objectively not good for me and my love for them was in a way destroying me and every single day was some fucking trial but i miss the certainty of... knowing who i was in those times. what i was. ive been writing about that a lot. i have a paragraph somewhere here that vaguely mentions it but i have to immerse myself in the feeling to write my book shit so i just think about it all the time, really, all the time without end. fair warning there for lots of weepy waxing on and on over Just Stuff That Happened. i think now i have people that are good to be around and i love them deeply and i think i can trust that they love me but each day it feels like the chasm between me n them widens you know? and you ever feel like sometimes people dont really know the things that you know? at least not in a way that matters?

[insufferable-talkstuck]

fo da classpecting

first things first I am incredibly lonely; come to think of it, my entire family is lonely. I was pretty isolated in my childhood, and no matter how I tried to talk to others, people eventually forgot I existed. I dont socialize with a lot of people now and i dont know how to. Same deal with my family, they think they have new friends in a new neighborhood and suddenly nobody is talking with them much anymore. In some instances its kind of funny when people forget that im there, and whenever I leave its like their short-term memory deletes me from their brain.

I was also a very very angry child. Im still angry but i repress it around people. One thing that really annoys me is when people assume im "pure" or "innocent" when i do not view myself like that at all. Its so goddamn weird when I do something and someone else is like "you're a little ray of sunshine!" no i am not. Stop acting like i am a baby. Im an angry and vengeful person who's become depressed enough to not have the energy to actively pursue my vengeance spree. I can only do it in my mind because of the no-energy thing, where im fucking shit up in a violently physical way. in my mind, they always deserve it.

I dont care about liars at all, however its a specific type of liar. if you lie to protect something other than yourself, thats fine. if you lie for malicious reasons i hope you get dropped off a cliff. I destroyed someone elses friendship on purpose because I lead them into exposing their own lie. It was me and 4 other people against the 1 person, and i put the idea of and encouraged/pushed the other 4 into essentially ostracizing the other person from the group. and yknow what? it was really fucking fun to do it. felt great.

Going back to the socialization thing, letting people know me is an awful feeling. I could tell someone online only my name and im already contemplating fake-deleting my account so i'll never have to talk to them again. I have been hurt repeatedly in the past by friendships and people ive trusted, so ive just adopted the principle that people cannot hurt me if they do not know me.

And not gonna lie, i do not expect to live long. im nearing the age i thought id die at and im slowly losing faith in the fact that i'll die by then, and i dont know what to do because that belief has been with me for most of my life. My whole life has just been "whats the point if im gonna die soon? why plan for anything?" and now i gotta start planning for shit because life doesnt work like that.

Prince of Time

princes are probably my favorite class, can you tell? the other classpect i thought about would be thief of space, im putting that out there if you think it's more fitting but let's get into prince of time

you say you're a very lonely person and have trouble socializing, the space bound are the designated lonely players—

—Time and Space are opposites, each one across of eachother in the aspect wheel and very different in themselves, when a player falls under a destructive class however they often neglect their own aspect and portray the opposing one ( Dirk being the prince of heart; having trouble expressing emotion, having "mind-control" like powers, destroying heart and soul.. all that. as well as Eridan the prince of hope; having outbursts of rage, destroying all hope within his session, deeming himself "hopeless" )

Time players are also associated with destruction and decay—do with that what you will i thought it should be stated considering your whole outlook on things

aand lastly the age concern, in hindsight it's extremely stupid to take a depressing attitude you have twords living and turn it into a reason for classpecting but that's what you're here for and I deliver. being a Prince of Time somebody who destroys time wouldn't be too uncharacteristic of an assumption to make about someone who doesn't think they have a lot of time left

๑ a prince of time would be extremely dangerous to have in a session and could very easily break the game, anyway, this was the best i could do go hit some clocks bye ๑

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part