#kinda screaming into the void here. doubt anyones going to see this

[anontransman]

So. A arguement I've seen a lot when it comes to describing transmasc issues (specifically by people who. Arent transmasc) is that transandrophoia (and other variants) is a inherently misogynistic term and we should all use anti-transmasculinity instead just feels. Odd to me. Like yes I do believe that anti-transmasculinity is useful but also. Why cant we have any words to describe our experiences. Why are we being told to just use anti-transmasculinity (I also personally feel as though transandrophobia is more inclusive of people outside of just transmasc than anti-transmasculinity is personally? Like people who are in someway genderqueer but dont personality identity as transmasc.)

Like anti-transmasculinity is a aspect of transandrophobia but I feel like transandrophobia is a lot more complex than just that.

[dorothygalewrites]

I know this isn't really what my page is for, but I don't really have a platform to discuss books like this besides Goodreads, and while I could do individual reviews on both of these books, I want to talk about them in tandem and what I like and don't like about them. I'll put it under a cut because it'll probably be somewhat long and spoilery, and maybe when I'm done with the back half of this quartet, I'll write a review of those two as well. But no one I know has read these books, so I just want to scream my thoughts into the void and if anyone wants to add theirs, feel free. With all that being said, here we go.

I really liked the first book in the series, I think the first hundred or so pages of this were really strong. It gripped me as I read it in a B&N cafe (which is pretty good, because most books don't). It was fun and action packed and I liked Cassie and wanted to see this new environment of teens using their special talents to help the FBI solve cold cases, while also being drawn into the ongoing case. I like that it connected her to her mother. I like that even though we got the one reveal, we still don't know who killed her mom. The plot was great. The characters? Weeeeellllllll

I like Cassie, but she's about as complex and interesting as watching paint dry. I know that Michael sees all of these different emotions in her, but eh. It was even more infuriating to watch Dean and Michael fight over her when she barely said ten words to Dean (she had, at that point, said more to Michael, but put a pin in it). Like most of what I can tell you about Cassie is stuff that happened to her, not her personality. And that's a problem.

Lia was fun in a shit stirring kind of way, but I won't lie, now that I'm two books in, I'm kinda getting exhausted with her schtick. Not that I blame her, if she developed that quickly I'd also call bullshit because Cassie's only been there for five minutes. But her being a bitch and lying (and calling others out for lying because she's a natural lie detector) and playing hot and cold with everyone is starting to get annoying. I know all the Naturals stick together because there's so few of them, but I find it hard to believe that in any other social setting, Lia would be accepted at all. Let alone allowed to get away with her bullshit. But like. Lia's fine. I don't have any major complaints about her. She's a bitch and she knows it. Thank you, moving on.

The one character that is always fun, always fresh, always is a 10/10 whenever they're on the page is Sloane. Sloane is their resident data analyst and if I had to give her a character comparison, I'd say she's closest to Spencer Reid. She's always spouting facts and statistics and she's a little awkward, but she's got the spirit. No notes.

Where both books fully lose me is the love triangle. It's present in the first one, but it's worse in the second one. Which is kind of the theme of this. But here we go, Cassie goes to this school and she meets two boys, Michael and Dean. One of them is actually layered and complicated and complex, and the other one only the author thinks is. Straight up, Dean is the most boring love interest in history and I don't know why Barnes thought it would be a good idea to ship Cassie with herself except Boy Variant, especially because (in my opinion) it seems like Michael was always being set up to be the Main Love Interest. Michael's the one who kisses Cassie first of his own volition, Michael is the first to tell her how he feels, Michael rescues her from a creep and gets shot going after her to protect her. Michael's the first person she meets in the Naturals program. He's the one that gave Cassie a nickname. He's the one that tells Cassie to figure out how she feels, that he'll wait for her to make a decision. Sure, I knew there was going to be a love triangle, but there was no doubt in my mind that it would be Michael and Cassie in the end. And I was wrong. Which is fine on it's own, but not when the story doesn't support it.

Let's talk about Michael. He's a natural emotion reader. He's a rich kid with an abusive dad, so he grew up having to read his father's emotions and that helped him hone his natural abilities. He's complicated and a rebel and will push you to a fight. If they won't hit you, make them hit you because at least you'll see it coming. He doesn't like authority. He reads Jane Austen. He does stupid things for girls he likes. He's open and honest about how he feels. You get the feeling that even with all the layers of rebel bullshit, he's a good guy with a good heart. Even when he's poking the bear.

And Dean? Dean's none of that. He's your standard, typical broody boy with Daddy Issues (Blond Variant) and basically just the same as Cassie in that his dad is a serial killer and so is her aunt (on top of her mom being murdered). He's also a natural profiler like she is, so they even share that in common. He's closed off and quiet and boring. I'm sorry, he's boring. I can't even bring myself to care about his family angst in Killer Instinct because we saw it all in The Naturals with Cassie's family. He really is that redundant to the team. I for the life of me cannot figure out what made Barnes think it was a good idea to put him and Cassie together. I'm not even mad because I think he'll be a bad boyfriend, I'm mad because the more interesting dynamic, the one that was properly set up and foreshadowed, is the one that got left behind.

I know I'm talking a lot about the love triangle, but really it's the only thing in this book series worth discussing because it's where Barnes fumbles the most. Well, maybe not the absolute most. Killer Instinct basically being a Dean reskin of The Naturals is pretty bad too. Cause that's just it. There are little changes between The Naturals and it's sequel, but it's also almost an exact copy of it's former book. And like I said, idc about Dean, so that didn't help anything.

I do like the pseudo found family vibes, I just feel like that happened way too quickly (at least in terms of everyone + Cassie, the other four I can kind of see), and I liked seeing the small bits of character development from book one to book two. But it still doesn't feel like enough.

Not helping matters are the juvenile way this was written. And look, I'm definitely not the age range for YA anymore, and I take that into consideration whenever I talk about how teenagers behave in these books. However, Cassie is seventeen and this is supposed to be "Criminal Minds for teens" so you would assume it's for an older YA crowd, but it's from Disney Hyperion and the writing repeats and hammers in everything because of everyone's ability. The reader never has to question things or infer things about personality or emotions, because there the characters are, telling us what a person is like or feeling or lying about. It's definitely the younger YA crowd, and if I had known that when I started reading, I probably wouldn't have bought them, because I don't want or need that much handholding in my books. And I don't know if I should blame the writing style on Barnes (I haven't read anything else by her) or the fact that it's under the Disney banner.

Overall, there were things I enjoyed about the first two Naturals books: Michael, Sloane, the actual case solving (when the group was actually doing that and/or allowed to actually do that), but the love triangle and how it worked out and the writing style really bring down what could otherwise be a really solid book. I'm going to finish out the quartet, but my hopes of it being a new favorite are pretty much dashed, I think.

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Hermittober Day 21: Slay

-

At this point, System had no idea what anyone was talking about anymore, but he wasn’t about to let everyone know that.

He jabbed the bound and bleeding E with another spectral arrow from Martyn’s quiver. His daggers were sitting right at the edges of his sleeves, ready if the fugitive tried any funny stuff. But they looked so defeated that he doubted the masked something would as much as mouth off as long as the threat of the ‘upper door’ was present.

{Republic here. Man, seeing this scary guy fall to bits at the suggestion of a high place really is something, isn’t it?}

System bit his lip to keep from gasping in surprise. {Downtown here to Republic. And to what do I owe the pleasure of you finally speaking up?}

A slightly different voice crackled over the Shrieker as Tomo hauled E to their feet, while Hels protested as loudly as he dared from his place dangling from the ceiling. {Informant speaking. He was scared of the fight, that’s all. Simple as that.}

{Republic—Salem!? I thought you were on my side!}

{Informant. I’m on Empire’s side, mate. But it was rational to be scared; who knows what Mainframe would have done if we interrupted them.}

Cub’s face grinned, and his voice was at the forefront of the chorus of thoughts. {Mainframe. Indeed. I thank you, Informant.}

{Republic! Who in End’s Name gave them radio discipline!? And a call sign of Mainframe of all things!?!}

Grian cracked a smile as he walked E towards the room at the end of the hall. {Empire speaking. I did. Why do you think that was a bad idea? And it seems that you’re the one that needs better discipline, Republic.}

Mini chimed in for the first time. {Mafia. I don’t think it was a bad idea. Just to throw my hat in the ring.}

{Informant. I agree. It was a good idea.}

{Republic. Uggggghhhh fine. It wasn’t a bad idea.}

Impulse readied his massive crossbow again, loading it with a low-power firework. He leveled it at E, and the masked fugitive flinched. System sympathized with them; he’d seen the emperor angry only once before, and that look combined with the possibility of getting exploded in a shower of sparkles was *not* something he wanted to experience.

“Get up, E. We’re going to talk.”

Grian pointed at everyone except for System, Impulse, and Etho. “Stay here. Plant-of-the-Void, do you want to stay here with Hels, or bring them with us to the upper door?”

Cub’s head tilted, and his voice was strong in the multitude that spoke. “We will come, and we will bring the Knight. Is the duel-wielder taking care of the sheep?”

At that moment, Zedaph ran out from a doorway, still screaming his head off as Netty leaped onto his back and put both swords at his neck. The glow of the spectral arrows was still strong as he lay facedown for the second time that day.

Netty looked up, and simultaneously spoke and transmitted. “Oh. {Museum. Uh, did I interrupt something?}”

Cub’s face grinned again. “{No. Good job, Museum.} Let us go and talk.”

The mass of sculk and the half-vex abruptly dropped from the ceiling, the veins sliding away as Cub’s body grabbed Helsknight and began dragging him up the dark stairs. The knight didn’t even resist. Impulse gestured with his crossbow, and E staggered to their feet as they began to move.

The Evo birds watched as the rulers and Etho and System walked up the stairs to the sounds of Zedaph whimpering about his monetary losses and sweaters.

{Etho speaking. I feel kinda bad for these guys. This may be a conspiracy theory, but if Helsknight is anything like Welsknight, he would rather have died than been captured.}

Plant-of-the-Void buzzed their wings in reply. {Mainframe. Really? Should I slay them, then? Maybe E will be more willing to speak.}

Impulse hissed under his breath. {Impulse. Absolutely not.}

Etho came to the shuttered upper door, and felt around a bit before finding the button that opened it. The sequence was far clunkier than that of the lower door, creaking and squealing with disuse. After it finished, nothing was visible but a tiny balcony with a tiny railing, and a night sky mostly obscured by windblown snow. But a distinctive dark patch was visible right on top of the railing, roughly the size of a person in a long black coat.

Hypno turned around and jumped down from the railing to face the newcomers. His face was obscured from the bridge of the nose upwards by his bandana, which was pulled down oddly low. Despite the windchill, his jacket was open, the four split ends flapping freely in the wind alongside limp wings. The mercenary had been waiting for a while; ice had formed on the ends of his hair that stuck out from his bandana, and damp patches of melted snow had formed on his shoulders.

“Hello there. I know I’m in the minority, but I quite like heights.”

[cheekygreenty]

In My Head - The Darkling x Reader

Supppeer angsty and kinda sad?

The fire engulfed the golden kefta in a water-like rhythm. The cracks and sparks echoed in the open field amongst the silence that settled around all of you. Alina was exhausted, Zoya was grieving, the Ketterdam criminals looked shaken too. But you were unmoving, as still as a painting and not showing a single emotion. They had all witnessed your heartbreak as it fell and crashed the world around you, breaking every part of you. They watched as realization flooded you that you never truly knew Aleksander. They watched as he tore your heart from your chest and threw it into the depths of the Fold to rot.

Painted a picture,

I thought I knew you well

It was humiliating. Alina had tried to warn you but you played her off as selfish and unwilling to use her powers for the good of all Grisha. You told her she was stupid and foolish for loving an otkazat'sya when in reality you were the fool for loving a man that didn't exist.

You told her she was crazy, that Aleksander would never lie to you and that he was good because you knew him. In truth, you were no better than him. You blindly followed everything he said, completely ignoring the alarm bells in your head. You had grown used to them as weeks went by, to the point of the alarm playing a low comforting tune in your mind all day and all night.

There weren't enough apologies in the world to say sorry for the things you'd done and said to Alina and she'd insisted that no apology was necessary because it wasn't your fault, 'It's not your fault you only see the good things about people' she whispered to you before she left to change. But the good things about him weren't there; they never existed. It was all in your head, a mind so desperate for love it concocted a whole new Aleksander, one which you loved so much and would do anything for.

I got a habit of seeing what isn't there

'We were all fooled Y/N, Don't blame it all on yourself' Despite her grieving and sorrow, Zoya's hand rested on your shoulder briefly as a sign of comfort. Without her, you wouldn't have been here right now, alive and breathing.

'I don't blame myself. I hate myself for being so blind'

'Me too'

I thought that you were the one

But it was all in my head

------

You could feel the nothingness of the Fold threading through your hair even inside Alina's tunnel of safety. You stared at her shackled feet, pushing the guilt away and replacing it with a sense of righteousness. There was nothing else that could be done to keep her in check, if she wanted to escape and hide from her destiny forever then she would do so over your dead body.

The Fold needed to be gone and if chaining her to the skiff was going to be the only way she obeyed then so be it. Your mind quickly spiraled back to her hasty words back in the tent. She was panicked and desperate, clinging to your arm like a wailing child begging to be heard. Her lies were bizarre and abundant, no doubt the works from her long journey to the Stag but they were unbelievable. So extreme even a Fjerdan would laugh at their ridiculousness.

The skiff suddenly stopped, Novokribirsk visible in the distance with lines of First-Army troops standing in neat lines.

'Why have we stopped?' A dignitary asked and you wondered the same thing. You searched the skiff for anyone with an explanation, but everyone looked equally as confused but Alina looked mortified. What is going on?

'One more demonstration. You’ve seen what the Sun Summoner can do' You whipped your head around to him slightly moving away but his arm pulled you back to his side with an edge. You heard the loud jangle of Alina's chains as she tried to move. 'Now bear witness to what I can do… with her power.'

He pushed you to Ivan, who took no time in holding you back by the arms, caging you in his grasp. You resisted on the simple basis that you didn't know why you were being restrained just like Alina but the answer came all too soon. There was no time to shout or gasp as Aleksander raised his own hands and the black shadows of the Fold expanded into Novokribirsk, killing everything in its path.

You stood motionless as the horrible sounds of volcra swarming and humans screaming flooded the air. Alina's words came back to you again but you didn't listen. No, you didn't want to. Zoya seemingly came down from the mainsail and looked at the black void in a hypnosis-like stare but nobody dared say anything. There was a silence on the skiff while hundreds and thousands of lives ceased to exist in a matter of seconds.

The comforting tune in your head had suddenly turned into a blinding screech, rendering you frozen and flabbergasted. He did this, Aleksander did this. How could he do this? You tried to fight the heartrenderer off, squirming desperately in his arms to cover your ears from the slaughtering sounds. Your knees had given out by now and Alina was on the floor of the skiff, struggling to get up due to the heavy and awkward chains. I put them there.

'Today, we redraw all the maps. With the power of the Sun Summoner at my command, I control the Fold.' A sob erupted from your throat right at the minute you realized Alina was right. You didn't listen, this is all my fault. Ivan pulled you back up, roughly smacking a hand over your mouth to stop your pathetic cried of betrayal. You fought a little harder, trashing around in hopes of escaping his hold or at least getting someone's attention but nobody seemed to care. They all feared for their lives.

'All countries will answer to us. For who would oppose us now?' He briefly shot a look in your direction but spared you no emotion. It was then that you saw the real Aleksander, blood-thirsty for power and revenge. The Black Heretic.

Everything you are made you

Everything you aren't

The next five minutes were a complete blur. You somehow found yourself fighting for your life and those around you. Your head was empty of its usual whirling thoughts as survival mode kicked in. Kill or be killed. You stopped counting how many hits you got or how many bruises were forming on your body. It was primal and in your Grisha nature to protect those around you, and in that haste of battle you made your allegiance to Alina obvious.

There was no time to think about Aleksander. You weren't quite sure you wanted to think about him. He was on this skiff with you, on the opposing side that just murdered a town full of people yet the part of your brain, your imagination, craved to be by his side. To please him by obeying, to get his touch in return. You were addicted to the man who had ruined your innocence.

'You betrayed me' His voice was right behind you as was his hand, creeping up the side of your throat and forcefully pushing you against the barrier of the skiff, ready to throw you over to the unlit Fold.

'I betrayed you?!' Your shout was loud and hearty, overflowing with sadness and shame at being relieved for being next to him again. You clawed at his tightening hand, feeling your airways restrict and your vision become fainter and fainter. You would die at the hands of the man you loved.

'Look what you made me do Y/N, do you think I want to kill you?' Your head bopped but your stupid heart grasped at the sadness in his words, he still loves me. 'I don't want to. I really don't'

'Then don't' you chocked out, your hold on his wrists becoming limp. You felt the ever-so familiar touch of his lips grace your temple and then he retreated.

The world went dark but your body hit the deck of the skiff, not the soft sands of the Fold and your lungs abruptly filled with forced Squaller air.

Yes, I did it to myself, yeah

Thought you were somebody else

'What are you going to do now?' You still sat by the fire while everyone stood. Zoya had left your side and was talking with Alina but you filtered out the noise. Your head was too full of your own self-hatred to stand any more voices so Jesper's question to you went unnoticed. 'Y/N?'

You looked at him and shrugged. You didn't want to move, your body still ached too much from being dragged away from the brink of death to make your way somewhere safe.

You would never admit it around anyone, but as Alina spoke of the Darkling being dead, a wave of grief washed over you. It was cold and unpleasant; unwelcome. But you knew love didn't disappear overnight. You didn't know who saved you on the skiff, whether it was he who had let you go, or was it Zoya who battled to have you freed from his grasp.

As much as you had created the Aleksander you viewed, the foundations were all him, you had only added on or omitted the parts you did and didn't like. You prayed it was him who spared you, you prayed there was something real about your Aleksander, that that was a foundation.

The tears that fell down your face in a stream were assumed to be for the betrayal and the horridness of what the Darkling had done to you and others, when if fact they were for him. You cried because you would never see him again, you cried because the people who had helped you get out of the Fold were the same people who had killed him.

-------

When Mal caught your deathly stare in his direction, he had to do a double-take. You had the same look in your eyes as the General did when he fought him in the Fold, that exact replica of coldness and rage; revenge. But surely he was wrong. You were happy to know the Heretic was dead. He betrayed you the most out of everyone here and almost killed you. Why would you be vengeful?

He waved it off with a shake, it's all in my head.

------

Masterlist

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[thefirstknife]

Sorry for the long ask, but as somebody who's recently been enjoying the tries revamp and the accessibility it gives to middling pvp players, I've been getting into the lore on the trials gear, and there's a lot of entries so I'm having trouble keeping track. I've mostly been interested in Sola, who only seems to come up a few times? She ends up torturing a guardian in the trials, looking for 'something inside them like in her.' It's interesting though, because the power she wields, (and seemingly seeks when Aunor catches her tracking an anomaly in arrivals) isn't described as darkness or stasis, but some kind of corrupted void light? I can't find mention of anything else like this, and I feel like there's lore entries I'm missing?

Anyways, Trestin, another trials guardian, gets killed unnecessarily viciously by Sola (I think, that lore entry mentions they're competing against Crimiq-5, who is on Sola's fire time, so this seems right) and later goes on to become obsessed with stasis, torture house salvation refugees as well as her own fireteam, and gets put down by Aunor as well. Is this a coincidence? Does Sola do what she does to Trestin because she sees the same temptation towards corruption? Or is it more direct? It almost seems like she passes it on, virulently, and I'm mainly wondering if that's something that has any other evidence when it comes to corrupted guardians. I figure you might know, I'm having trouble searching since some of it is trials gear, some isn't, and they don't all mention everyone's name

Took me a while to get the full info on this because I wanted to put all of the lore entries in order and they're kinda scattered around!

Okay, so, this story is told on Trials weapons lore. First batch was released in Season of the Worthy and then the sort of conclusion in Season of the Chosen. There's a minor update in Season of Arrivals on non-Trials gear (Temptation's Hook). The first batch of lore details a single Trials match between two fireteams.

One fireteam consists of Trestin, Yara and Sadhij. The other fireteam is Sola, Crimiq-5 and Katake. Roughly in some semblance of order, the lore on items is as follows:

The Summoner - This seems to be the start as it shows Trestin meeting up with her fireteam and going into the match. The one important thing to note here is that Trestin was apparently deeply affected by what happened on the Moon (during Shadowkeep and the discovery of the Pyramid) and seems to be resigned that the end is coming and that there's nothing anyone can do about it. It appears she was somewhat influenced by the Pyramid into despair and losing hope.

Astral Horizon - This is somewhere at the start of the match. Sadhij tells his teammates Trestin and Yara that he's going for one of the enemies (Katake). He charges with a shotgun and uses Thundercrash which completely obliterates Katake. No surprise there. However, at the end, there is a rifle shot and then silence.

Exile's Curse - This details the start of the match from the other team's perspective. We see the same event of Katake being Thundercrashed by Sadhij from the eyes of his teammate Crimiq-5 who warns Katake about being out of line of sight. Crimiq-5 witnesses Katake being obliterated.

Eye of Sol - Again from Crimiq's POV, he is standing in the back with a sniper rifle and he watches Sola attacking Trestin. He seems to be very distraught about this:

Sola had ripped through their previous opponents with off-putting ferocity, and Crimiq was ready for this to be their last match of the day. He looked over her through his scope. Sola's silhouette marinated in an eerie shimmer that distorted the air as she moved.

He shoots a warning shot at her position to keep the third opponent (Yara) in cover. Then he hears Katake's cry for help against the Thundercrash and aims there, killing Sadhij. That's the rifle shot at the end of Astral Horizon lore.

The Scholar - This moves us to Sola's POV, where it's described that she's torturing Trestin and telling her that she can feel "it" in her too. I assume that both Sola and Trestin were deeply affected by the Lunar Pyramid and were both in the early stages of corruption by it. Sola felt it in Trestin.

"So…" Sola's intent bit deeper, malleable claws that flexed against her prey's Light. They probed through blood and muscle to an umbral center. "…it's within you too."

After the torture incident, Saint steps in to end the match and reprimand Sola. He also reprimands Crimiq, but Crimiq says he doesn't want anything to do with Sola. This further angers Sola and she leaves, telling everyone they're "as good as dead anyway." Note the same kind of despair and loss of hope that Trestin exhibited even before she was attacked by Sola.

Tomorrow's Answer - This brings us a bit back to the final person who has a POV which is Yara who witnesses what Sola did to Trestin:

A violet shockwave pushed away the dust. Trestin knelt a few paces away, beaten. The Warlock bent her glowing hand into Trestin's chest plate, lodging a vortex grenade into her armor. Yara met her eyes and saw the Void overtake her. She did not hear the scream, or the splitting armor. She only saw flickers of Trestin break apart and scatter as the vortex ate away at her.

Sola lodged an entire vortex grenade into Trestin. Horrible way to die. Yara yells at Sola about Trestin not deserving that and Sola snaps back:

"None of us 'deserve.' It's about what you can get." The Warlock smiled and raised a hand of gnarled Void. "Brace yourself."

This shows how far gone Sola was. Definitely far more corrupted than Trestin. Presumably, Sola also finished off Yara in the match before it ended.

In Season of Arrivals, there's an update about this on Temptation's Hook. It's shown that Sola has been captured by the Praxic Order. The Praxics lead by Aunor know that Sola took another Guardian "to the outer system" and that they did not return with Sola.

I assume "the outer system" means Europa, but that's only because now we have additional information from Season of the Chosen. Since this is from Season of the Worthy, it could also mean that Sola and Trestin went out further into the outer system and met with the Black Fleet (the Black Fleet lurking at the edges of the system is mentioned in this lore). Sola also says some strange things:

"I learned the secret. The one your hounds have hidden away in that quaint little vault." Sola smiles red through split lips. "You're on the losing side."

"Do you think you have nothing to lose, or that I wouldn't take it from you? You're sorely, and soon to be regretfully, mistaken."

Sola spits in Aunor's face. "You have limits. You have masters." A twisted Light shimmers in Sola's hand as she moves to attack. "Enjoy hanging to death in your strings!"

This is probably referring to the presence of Darkness on Europa to which Sola and Trestin were either directly exposed OR they may have been told about it during their visit to the Black Fleet (depending on where they went exactly). It appears her Ghost was also exposed. Both Sola and her Ghost are contained by the Praxic Order: Sola killed and her Ghost disabled from resurrecting her.

The next, roughly chronologically would be The Messenger. Some time has passed. Aunor meets with Ikora about the problem of another corrupted Guardian who tortured Eliksni civilians, asking them about Eramis and how she accessed Darkness, as well as torturing her own teammates. It's revealed that the Guardian in question is still located on Europa and trying to access Darkness as well as that the Guardian's name is Trestin.

That leaves us with the final entry which is Sola's Scar. In it, we follow Trestin on Europa as she's nearing the Darkness obelisk, eager to get its power. She details how she betrayed her fireteam and what was driving her:

Over the radio, Lord Saladin's voice grew staticky: "Cabal incursion… Vex… up ahead." Without a word, Trestin's Ghost switched it off. There were others nearby to carry out the Iron Lord's orders. He wouldn't miss them.

She doubted anyone would—her ex-teammates least of all. She had betrayed them, or so Sadhij had screamed: "We're supposed to be the thin line drawn before the Darkness, you traitor!"

|| Thin indeed. So why not step over it? ||

Because they didn't have it in them. She checked. Cracked them both open and dug deep, just to be extra sure. But it wasn't there. That hunger, immense and buried, like the ocean under Europa's glacial crust. A riptide, undetectable from the surface, yet unrelenting in its pull. She never meant to betray anyone. She just wanted release.

|| Soon, you will have it. Soon, you will be freed. ||

She has brief memories of her fireteam, namely one of Yara's jokes. Darkness makes sure to tell her that such attachment is weakness. Just before Trestin reaches the obelisk, Aunor catches up to her and asks her to come quietly. Trestin disobeys and Aunor strikes her down with a sword.

I assume the name of the weapon where this lore is written, Sola's Scar, refers to the "scar" that Sola left in Trestin when she tortured her during the Trials match. Both Sola and Trestin seem to have been deeply affected by the Lunar Pyramid and it drove them to extremes which eventually led to both of them becoming corrupted and betraying the Light. It's interesting that in Sola's case, there's no Stasis involved: her Light was corrupted. Specifically her Void.

Not sure about Trestin and if she ever got Stasis and which other power and/or knowledge she was seeking from the Darkness, but either way the corruption of both of these Guardians came from the same source, entwined them together and eventually led to both of them being taken down by Aunor.

It's a really tragic story and the reason why I really like this type of lore about just some other Guardians and how they're experiencing the events we go through with in the game. Especially how it highlights just how much of an outlier the Young Wolf is and how things we do are really difficult or downright impossible for other Guardians to deal with. Both Sola and Trestin were victims of powers they could not handle.

[bakugoukatsuki-rising]

I'm. The new covers, op. The new covers. Gosh. Both of them hold so much symbolism. And technically they both are canon, they are both original ideas that could perfectly be valid. Horikoshi simply found something better. But anyways, I'm going to go ahead and ramble about it because Im- Op, prepare for a long ask! Hope you like it!

So!

On the one where Katsuki's the one in the picture, he's not on his knees like he is in the other two covers. Instead, he has his face down, body forward, one hand on one leg, the other one holding out for something...He's bowing. Bowing in Japanese culture is a pretty big deal. Hes not just tilting his head a bit, his head and body are on full on commitment.

Such a tilted bow means a LOT, specially from THIS guy, Mr dont let anyone walk in front of me. Even more when hes not just bowing, but accepting such an open display of given help, Mr shonen anime lone wolf. Accepting something he always has trouble admitting to. Accepting the past, accepting the wrongs. Accepting Izukus help means so much, and that's what these three covers have in common.

His hand is sctretching out. He's ready to say yes to that hand out in the air.

(Ps. I wonder if he's watching his own reflection on the water in this panel, as well?)

Hes in middle of the picture with those childhood friend at the back, which means audience. It means letting people see what hes done, what he's sorry for. He is being open and exposed and vulnerable. That's no fighting stance.

Remember guys, in case you haven't noticed before, Horikoshi puts lots of metaphorical value in his manga and on his covers. Sometimes you've got to dig in deep and think to get the bigger picture. And in this case, the bigger picture screams regret and wanting to make things right from the start.

This cover occurs in the past, at the moment where everything started, and Katsuki fully remembers this. Katwuki has thought of this, is thinking about this. He's had eye bags for gods sake, he's clearly troubled by all of what it means.

These three covers are the visual explanation of what's going on inside Katsuki's head, because this is clearly focused on him and his perspective.

(Ps. Rivers symbolise the massage of time. If that doesnt add to everything else, I dont know what to tell you.)

So! Next!

Wow, if this isnt one of my favourite things ever. Okay. Christ.

I have two options here. Scratch that, three options. Scream into the void, scream into this post, or actually make a good presentation of my inner turmoil. I'll have to go by the third option. (Haha. Just like horikoshi did. Dont # me, I'm funny in my head.)

This cover melted my insides, froze them all over, and hit me with them like a hammer.

I know they're kids, but let me get this straight-so kids seriously look at their friends with these looks in their eyes and think "ah, yes. This is my very good friend. This gentle smile and kind look I'm giving him as if he was my whole world? Well, hes just a very good friend."

I looked at my childhood crush this way, I dont know what to tell you.

Anyway, let's actually jump to the information at hand.

This panel seems like it's making a reference to what Katsuki wishes could have been. And if that's not absolutely soul-crushing...this cover is Katsuki's feelings, guys. These are probably his very thoughts. This scene has gone through Katsuki's head at some point.

We've got Izuku in his stuck up pose all over again, in just an awkward angle. It's like katsuki isnt looking AT this katsuki right now, but at the spot where the actual past Katsuki, at some point, was. As if this Isuku is frozen in time. Dont believe too much in this paragraph, I still have my doubts about that, but I feel it's a possibility. Izukus eyes seem to be focused on the water, while Katsuki is just the tiniest bit back, reaching for Izukus hand. And gosh.

I dont think I've ever seen older NOR child Katsuki have this look plasted into his face before. He's...sheepish. Kindly, awkwardly sheepish. No hate, no anger, no shame, no nothing. His face is clear and sweet and has this "Whoops. You got me. But thanks." kind of expression on.

The hand behind his head, just the tiniest but embarassed? That little smile? It's all so soft.

Rambling about softness though- I really liked the hand scene in this particular panel. If you close up your view, you realise that theres no effort to pull anyone out of nowhere. In this panel, they are simply holding hands in frozen time for no purpose at all.

Katsuki has his hand around Izuku...simply holding there.

Again, because the angle is awkward, it's kind of messy, but you get the point.

It's all simply beautiful. Horikoshi clean likes give me life.

And lastly. The actual cover.

I screeched so hard when I saw this. My first instinct when seeing this for the first time was to straight up go trigger happy fingers and write about it to my friends. Christ.

Everything is so...SOft. horikoshi made a good decision by mixing both previous drawings in one. We have parts of the two covers in one, which is amazing. In this one, Katsuki isnt alone, as Izuku's there too. But we dont have the audience either. Probably because the main focus on this panel is no one else except them two.

Again, Katsuki looks like he's bowing, but instead of looking all the way down, he's in the middle. Not looking at Izuku nor looking at the ground, like it shows in the previous covers. Instead, Horikoshi found a middle ground. He's looking at his hand. At the gesture.

Hes not holding hands quite yet, but his hand is there. At arms reach. Not close enough but there. Wanting.

Theres so much regret and again, softness.

Again, like you Op said a bit bad, the angle is off here. This is present Katsuki remembering his past. The angle is off because this Izuku isnt holding out for our Katsuki. This is a memory. A wish. Katsuki's wish.

(Ps. Izukus trousers drenched in the rivers water. This detail was so nice. It's a subtle action that describes Izukus characterization so much. Izuku went in the river with Katsuki in mind, not caring if he got his clothes soaked in the process too. For Izuku, only Katsuki was there. And for Katsuki, only Izuku is.

As a plus, I can't believe the cover of this is literally called Bakugou Katsuki rising. They named the entire thing after that one chapter. Actually, I very much, totally believe it. It's the moment so many people have been waiting for, after all. The moment so many scenes have been amounting for, little by little.

*dreamy sigh*

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little thing, I had to get it out of my system and dont want to bother my dear friends anymore than needed.

Have a good day, OP! I'll stay updated!

You kinda just...took my heart and curb stomped it, not gonna lie. Your observations are so beautiful and so accurate. The sketch with little Bakugou taking Izuku’s hand is so...raw, and yeah, that expression is definitely one of love. Those eyes, the way he is HOLDING Izuku’s hand, not TAKING it. He isn’t taking it to stand up, he is literally just...holding it. 

That isn’t the way you take someone’s hand when you’re trying to pull yourself up. It’s an awkward angle and just...wouldn’t work right. No, he is literally just holding his hand, and that’s exactly what Bakugou wishes he did all that time ago. He wishes that he not only took Deku’s hand, but held onto it. Held it as if it were something precious, something to be cared for and protected. 

These are Bakugou’s true feelings expressed in these drawings, and I think Horikoshi released them on purpose, to show us more of what he wanted Bakugou to be feelings through all of this. Since after all, we know that Bakugou expresses himself in action, not so much words. And because Horikoshi is an absolute genius, he thought to give us these other glimpses in how he feels through these actions. 

And the other sketch with him bowing his body to Izuku, and the way the log looks like it’s on his back with his ‘friends’ on top of it. 

The pressure of needing to be the coolest, the strongest, the best. Those kids put that kind of pressure on him, even if they never realized it. They encouraged his behavior and fed his ego, and it never allowed him to see how he was wrong. But now he is realizing it, and he is bowing himself in light of that acknowledgement. He is lowering his head and putting his pride away, so he can get back what he lost all those years ago; the opportunity to take Izuku’s hand.

To take the hand of the only one of those kids that ever loved him unconditionally. Who never pressured him or expected him to be invincible. Who saw all of his flaws and was completely prepared to support him despite all of it. The only one. 

I’m just a mess over all of this, and I am so incredibly thankful to Horikoshi for creating this beautiful relationship. AND IN A SHOUNEN MANGA, NONETHELESS!!  

Thank you friend, for your beautiful thoughts. I think they’re spot on, and I am so emotional all over again because of this. 

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this. 

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason. 

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable. 

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan. 

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life  was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

 “It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together. 

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded. 

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was. 

 “Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

 For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why. 

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?” 

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years. 

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs. 

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing. 

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand. 

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you. 

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence. 

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly. 

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and  counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

 Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned. 

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go. 

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze. 

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago. 

 The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat. 

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better  before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline. 

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is. 

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way. 

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out. 

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

 Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday. 

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

 Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala. 

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you. 

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time. 

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least. 

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting. 

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time. 

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love. 

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days. 

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken? 

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it? 

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain. 

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t. 

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane. 

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that. 

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face. 

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself. 

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features. 

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Here

The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Some angst, A happy ending because I couldn’t bear giving them a sad one

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: After a million more years I finally finished it. Thank you to all who have been sticking with me and the story!

*Italics - Flashback

Out of Love // Lovely // Start Over

-

Din watched you from afar. 

Your smile radiated throughout the small little valley. He used to think it was the most beautiful thing in the world; your smile, your laughter, your eyes, your nose, your—he could go on and on. 

It’s not that he didn’t think any of that anymore, oh definitely not. He couldn’t imagine his life without you. 

But, there was his little girl. His little girl, with his hair and your eyes, grabbing a handful of flowers with small, grubby hands. The Child ran behind her, or as much as he could; he was having fun regardless. 

His little girl, who brought him nothing but happiness. Who gave him a whole new meaning to his life, who saved him from his own self destruction. The little human girl that Din would undoubtedly and unconditionally love for the rest of his days, and even after if that was a possibility; the one he would give up everything for. 

So yeah, you used to be on the very, very top of that list of beautiful things he’d seen in his lifetime. That was before she came along. And when he first laid eyes on your daughter, his daughter, he couldn’t stop crying after getting over the initial shock that this beautiful baby girl was a part of him. It amazed him that someone like him, hard, vicious, quiet, and dangerous, could create something so precious and small. 

Din, however, never planned for any of this. He never prepared himself for a family. For a quiet, settled life in a nice little valley. For you. Even watching his small but perfect family ahead of him, he still couldn’t fathom that fact that this was his. At first, it just didn’t seem… right. 

“Din?”

Cara thought she was going to have to grab Mando and shake him. Slap him even, if it woke him up from his anxiety induced trance. You stood there, swollen belly and a fury of emotions; shock, a double take, comprehension, grief, acceptance, then anger. Pure anger that even had the ex trooper scared. 

“Y-Y/N.” Din breathed. It felt—good, saying your name like that again without the pain punching him in the gut. The guilt, yes that was still there of course. But you were there, standing in front of him, carrying his child and looking like you were absolutely ready to murder him. It kinda made him feel whole again. 

“Cara,” you said with a calmness that made Cara shiver. “Can you please leave us alone for a minute?”

Din was rightfully terrified. You may have been heavily pregnant, but he knew without a doubt that you would and could destroy him. 

You were seething in your silent rage. He could sense it. And because of that, he didn’t dare say another word until you did. 

“Why?” You said calmly; a hidden storm waiting to explode with devastating rage.

That one word, so simple and short, was enough to make him shudder out a breath, so filled with unshed tears and a heartache so strong that it was going to kill him.  

“I had t—”

“Don’t,” you snarled, your voice layered with the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare say that, Din. You didn’t have to, you wanted to.”

His heart broke all over again. He made the love of his life, his rock, his world, believe that he—he didn’t want her. You truly believed him when he said it, and he knew it was no one’s fault but his own, but hearing it from you was a whole nother thing on its own. It made it feel even more real, a sin he couldn’t cleanse. 

“So tell me,” you continued when he didn’t speak. “Tell me why you’re here. If you didn’t want me, or…” she gulped, furiously wiping away the tears, not that it did much good. “Or love me anymore. Why are you here?” Then realization dawned on you. “Cara.”

“She brought me here. I didn’t know…” That probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but it was the truth. 

Your face hardened and your eyes became colder. “How long are you staying?”

He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t find the words he wanted to say, the words that crippled him and ate away at him. The words he wanted to say to you. 

You laughed humorlessly, all the while cradling your bump. Din couldn’t stop staring at it, and at the same time he had a hard time looking at it too. 

“Fine. Just… just leave me alone, Din.” You said and started to walk away. 

It’s like time slowed down and his life flashed before his eyes. His heart pounded with a vengeance and everything just… stopped. 

And he couldn’t do it. Not anymore, and not this time. He let you go before, practically threw you out, and this had to be a chance, right? His second chance at redemption. Not just for leaving you, but for everything bad thing he had ever done in his life; every life he’d ever taken, every bad decision he ever made, it was all screaming at him, taunting him. 

“Stop!” He shouted. 

You halted right in your steps, stiff and back turned towards him. You didn’t turn around, only tilted your head to the side to let him know you were listening. 

“And why should I Din? You made it perfectly clear last time—”

“I’m sorry.” He stopped you. “I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for leaving you, for not being there for you. I’m sorry that I thought of myself, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you…” He could’ve kept going if you didn’t interrupt him. 

“Didn’t tell me what?” You demanded, now facing him. 

Your eyes held so much in them. Blurred and red from your tears but still just as breathtaking, especially in the sun. Din couldn’t take his eyes away from them, despite the fact that you couldn’t see, and took a step forward. When you didn’t flinch or step back, he took another, and another and another until your stomach barely touched him. 

“I—there knew your name.” He finally said. “Quarries, dangerous people. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Before, well it wasn’t as strong before—kriff you know what I mean, right?   Along the lines I… I fell in love with you and I never stopped. I’m weak. I’ve become so weak in my desperation to—to save you, that I just…”

He didn’t know how to finish it. He hoped that you could understand what he was saying to you. He hoped that you could see beyond his helmet, his armor, like he was so convinced you could do. He hoped that you could forgive him. It didn’t have to be now, but he hoped. 

You didn’t waver, only looked him over with hard eyes. He let you assess him, even growing increasingly nervous under the cover of the unknown. Your jaw clenched and you bounced on your heel; Din immediately recognized this as you breaking. 

“Din,” you suddenly whispered. “I can’t… if you have no plans at all, of staying and fully committing to this child.” You shook your head, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from sobbing. Sobbing at the image of Din walking away from you again, the man you gave practically everything to, the one who opened himself up to you—it was a sight you couldn’t stand, but you would do anything for your baby, and you would not let anyone, not even the Mandalorian, hurt him or her in any way. 

Din nodded. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “This is all… very new to me. I can’t say I’ll be a great father, or a—a lover.”

“Stay,” you said. “I—I’m not going to entirely forgive you right away, and there’s gonna be a lot of moments where I’m going to be very pissed off at you, and they’re going to come randomly. There’s going to be moments where I may not trust you to the fullest extent. We’re going to have to really work at this if we want it to work. Understand?”

He nodded to the point of giving himself a little headache under the weight of the helmet; the joy of another chance overweighed the uncomfortableness. “Yes. Thank you.”

You gave him a final stare and hard nod before saying, “Alright then, tin can.”

You smiled then, small but fuck. It was perfect. A whole new light of hope that he could touch. Speaking of—

“M-may I?” He asked nervously. 

It took you a moment to register what he meant, but when it clicked your face relaxed and warmed up. “Yes.”

It felt so… he couldn’t describe it. You were like an foreign object to him—no, it was the baby growing inside of you. His baby. He wasn’t sure on how to touch you, or how he was supposed to eventually hold this special creature. Din was going to try his fucking damnest to make it work. 

He recalled that memory with a fond smile. It brought him to this moment. Now, without the familiar weight of the Creed on him, he took a deep inhale of fresh, sweet air and exhaled with a tilt of his lip. 

“Din?” You said again.

Din blinked down at you lazily, smiling in his haze. “Yes, cyar’ika?”

You wrapped your arms around his waist with a lopsided smile and squinted eyes; there wrinkles around them now, and you were just as beautiful as the day he met you. His own wrapped around yours, holding you tightly to him.

“I think there’s a storm coming.” You mumbled into the crook of his neck, lips barely brushing against the juncture of it but still giving him shivers. “We gotta get the kids inside soon.”

“Hmm.”

You looked up at him curiously. “Hey,” you whispered. “Where’d you go?”

The laughter of his children continued to echo. It used to bring nothing to him other than an occasional longing for something more than the life he had. But now, it was so much more and he had you to thank. It all started with you. 

“No where’s.” He whispered back. “I’m right here.”

Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags​, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie​, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @mrsparknuts​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @bunniotomia​, @thisisthe-way, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997​, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine​, @sunkissed-winter​, @oloreaa​, @equalstrashflavoredtrash​, @dyn-djarin​

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot (Part 2)

Hey to anyone reading,

I’m so sorry for the gap between the last fashion week review post and this one! Argh. I had no idea I posted it as long ago as the beginning of March but I think we can all agree that lockdown has fucked with our perceptions of time completely. I wish I could say the delay in posting was as simple as me being busy but I’ve also started to reflect on whether or not I want to carry on this format of posts for the time being; on the scale of problems, this one is wayyy down there in the very lower quartile of the first world region, but my motivation to carry on this kind of content in the form of long-winded text posts is...meh...not so much there anymore. At first I was thinking the issue was that working on these was my last priority on my daily to-do lists but as I’ve got back into writing fiction, it’s kind of occurred to me that the fact I was putting these posts on my to-do lists in the first place along with things like doing the ironing and contacting student finance speaks volumes. When I’m back from work or winding down, opening up Tumblr and coming back to this draft isn’t something that I think of as a fun stress reliever in the way drafting stories is. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my imagination or my creativity or expressing myself in any way and it’s not much of an escape from day to day life in the way that writing dialogue or exploring characters is. Maybe it’s because I’ve done quite a few of these posts now but I just tend to feel like I’m repeating myself, you know kinda like when you’re writing an essay and trying to fill up a word count; of course there are collections that I do have a lot of opinions on but by and large, sometimes it boils down to THESE CLOTHES ARE JUST FUCKING PRETTY, OKAY?! There’s only so many things you can say about a tulle skirt or an exaggerated collar before you want to strangle yourself with said tulle. I used to think iF VoGUe RuNwaY wRitErs CaN dO iT WhAT's MY exCusE until I realised that 1). Vogue Runway writers actually get paid and 2). for the most part all they do is explain the designer's intentions behind the collections verbatim without giving a critical opinion anyway.

I think a lot of the pressure I feel to justify what are in reality quite simple observations and opinions goes back to some of the feelings I explained in my first ever fashion week review where people who know more about fashion and have a formal education in the subject tend to be kind of gatekeep-y and elitist. It can never be that you appreciate different things about a collection but rather than one of you has taste and the other doesn’t and if it wasn’t obvious, the taste level assigned to you by the powers that be tend to positively correlate with the amount of money you have available to spend on a degree that has a reputation for failing to provide a steady income, which for most makes it an unrealistic avenue to pursue. I know, I know, the pressure is totally self-inflicted and wholly imagined seeing as I have under 500 followers on here and those who do interact with these posts most likely do so for the pictures but I still feel it, and given that I’m going to have enough external pressure to write essays when I return to uni in September, why on earth am I wasting time putting it on myself? When just posting photosets of my favourite looks is not only actually enjoyable for me but is also what other people WANT to see too? Nobody wants to read a self-indulgent paragraph like this when they’re here for the clothes and to be honest, for the most part I don’t want to write them anyway unless it’s something I have strong feelings about or if a collection can only be properly appreciated with analysis. I think I’ve made pretty clear which designers I’m a fan of, do you really need to hear me raving about Gucci or Zimmerman or Miu Miu or Balenciaga again? Is there gonna be anything revolutionary in yet another rant about Maria Grazia? Course not. I mean, if you are reading, you might have to witness those things one last time because I do intend to finish off this season’s review in this format for consistency purposes and because I’ve already got all the notes now but on the whole, I doubt anyone will miss my rambles.

So, with all that in mind, I think after I finish my S/S21 posts I am gonna start just uploading these posts without the written part. I mean, for one, the simplicity of doing this means I’m much less likely to procrastinate making them which in turn means I’ll be able to get them out right after the shows as a kind of summary as opposed to months later when they’re no longer as relevant. This will also give me more time to work on the writing I actually enjoy. Right now I’m going through and editing my 17 year old self’s “grown-up” take on the Pretty Little Liars blackmail murder mystery style plot line which I wrote back when I was completely and utterly obsessed with the show and bitterly disappointed by the last couple of seasons. The writing is pretty mediocre and often hugely cringey to read back now but I am still a fan of the basic plot and I’m genuinely motivated to see if I can make it something actually worth reading, and to get onto that ASAP; this feels especially important right now given that the HBO version of the series’ apparent upcoming release has sent that ever-present writer’s fear of seeing-your-same-storyline-done-better-by-somebody-else-thus-forever-relegating-your-version-to-being-the-poor-imitation-so-you-gotta-get-there-first into overdrive (or maybe that’s just me and my neuroses). Again, it’s a totally unfounded fear based on the fact that the HBO show will probs get millions of viewers whilst I will be doing little more than shouting into the void but anybody who’s used Turnitin to submit an essay that ultimately counts for little more than like 1% of your grade or degree will know that no matter how irrelevant your work is, the concept of failing a plagiarism check, be it via a computer algorithm or one random stranger on the internet’s assessment, is enough to conjure visions of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping towards you screaming “START THE WHOLE THING AGAIN” before releasing a hoarde of 2015 Chanel vs. Walmart style comparison memes.

Now, speaking of Chanel, I should probably get back into the reviewing. 

So for the last time for a little while, here’s Christian Siriano:

Siriano’s designs are a great example of work I feel guilty enjoying. I know that when it comes to quality, the high fashion community have a lot of (negative) things to say and I really can’t speak to that because quite honestly, I know very little about textile manufacturing. Solely from my own point of view though, I do like his work a lot. I wouldn’t claim for a minute that he’s a pioneer in terms of his creations but I would 100% love to wear them and I DO hugely admire his commitment to putting women of all sizes on the runway and designing pieces that don’t simply cater to straight up and down types which is more than can be said for most brands. I get that his collections are pretty formulaic, taking what has worked for the likes of Chanel and Alessandra Rich, De La Renta and Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors too (who is kind of guilty of the same thing himself), but that’s not to say his work is bad. Let’s be real, we’ve been on this planet thousands of years, we’re all taking inspiration from someone, and maybe figures like Kors and Siriano could wait a *little* longer before taking said inspiration but their aim at the end of the day is to sell clothes, not break barriers, a task which although often left to the big name brands, they too often fail at. I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling this whimsical mid-century tea party vibe, it’s elegant and it’s cutesy and My Fair Lady-esque, and you bet your arse I would be absolutely thrilled to wear one of these looks on a summer red carpet. I just can’t say no to anything tulle-maybe it’s that I was on Toddlers & Tiaras in a past life or maybe it’s that I watched too many Barbie Princess films growing up, but I like pretty much everything going on here, especially Siriano is giving us matching fedoras too. Plus, can we take a moment to praise Siriano for his COVID relief efforts? Near the beginning of the pandemic, he turned his studio into a mask manufacturing factory in order to send them out as donations, and I think that is very cool.

Then there’s Christopher Kane who once again came through with the most insanely gorgeous prints:

I mean, paint splattering is hardly a new technique but I haven’t seen it done as a print so tastefully before-it eats the Moschino biro scribble print (which apparently was copied too speaking of the tendencies of designers to “borrow” inspiration) for breakfast. It’s shit because there weren’t many looks in this collection and they weren’t really shot in a way that does them any justice but I thought I’d include the few I saved.

Comme Des Garcons is a fave of the high fashion community and one I look forward to seeing at fashion week but can never quite get behind. I appreciate the what-the-fuckery of it all with this show totally being able to pass as a run-through of some kind of nuclear waste themed scare house at one of Thorpe Park’s fright nights. I assume given that and the plastic Mickey Mouse print it’s supposed to be some kind of reference to the part late-stage capitalism has played in the hellish landscape we find ourselves in today? Or something all intellectual? In which case I made my interpretation with farrrr too much confidence. But Anyway! Who knows! I’ll leave the analysis to the fashion students, and give it one word: trippy.

Onto Dion Lee, a brand I truly do get excited to talk about because it’s rare that I don’t LOVE his work.

Without fail, Lee manages to be confidently ahead of the curve without going out of his way to announce it and his genius to everyone with flamboyant shows and exaggerated designs and extortionate prices. He is very much an underdog in the fashion world in terms of big names but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love his collections. His S/S21 collection is one of my favourites of the bunch. I love seeing something I’ve never seen before and the palm leaf breast plate is so odd but so cool and so perfectly Dion Lee at the same time; we’ve seen jungle/tropical inspired collections sooo many times *cough cough D&G cough cough* and THIS is how you make them fresh and unique. I mean, never in a million years did I think I’d get behind the resurgence of the gladiator sandal trend but Lee has me changing my mind. This is one of the very rare times you will ever see me using this meme to praise a man but:

I mean, he has Fernanda Ly modelling for him, that the man has taste goes without saying.

Now for a bit of a full circle moment, given that I did actually praise Dior’s haute couture collection in my first ever post; Maria Grazia did GOOD. Well, with haute couture at least.

She’s always pretty hamfisted with her references, there’s no denying, with that Grecian Goddess style RTW collection typifying that statement completely, but luckily she struck gold this time round; as someone who studied the Tudors for A-level history, seeing a modern take on the exaggeratedly feminine renaissance silhouettes with the baroque prints and the deep jewell tones got me super excited especially when you throw in the dreamy tarot theming and the nods to the mystical and arcane. Seeing as the Heavenly Bodies Met Gala (I know, I know, I need to move on) was some time ago now and Cersei Lannister’s *SPOILER* been crushed by a rock (could also be seen as a metaphor for the irrelevancy David Benioff and D.B Wise condemned GoT to when they aired that shitty ending tehe) and so probably won’t be getting a collection based on her costumes any time soon, this is the only fashion take on this kind of period dress I’m going to get…and you know what? I’m okay with that. Thanks Maria, I guess?

Her RTW collection wasn’t absolutely awful either, and slightly better than the past few collections at least. Put a monkey in a room with a typewriter (or show it enough similar well-received collections) and it will eventually write something that makes sense, don’t they say? I like the nomadic feel of a lot of the looks and there’s beautiful layering going on but the aura of exotic opulence unsurprisingly didn’t stick around for long and I found that there was a decline in quality in the midsection of the show that landed a lot of the outfits in either awkward mother of the bride at a beach wedding or The Only Way is Essex Ocean Beach PLT sponsored poolside party territory. The looks picked back up a bit towards the end stretch of the show but I wasn’t a fan of the Gucci style oversized glasses which were so out of place with the rest of the theming that if anything they seemed like a cheap grab at relevancy. So yeah, a middling, subpar Etro-esque collection which is better than usual for Dior I suppose.

Next, Elie Saab, whose S/S21 collection was kinda disappointing, tbh. Oh how the turns have tabled given that positive Dior review and my usual love of Saab’s collections.

I know his dresses lose some of their appeal when we can’t see them in motion but even ON the runway I can’t see myself being dazzled by any of these pieces the way I usually am. They’re lacking the level of detail and craftsmanship I associate with the brand seemingly in favour of block colours and suits and the issue is that the whole Disney Princess fantasy has always been the appeal for me because the silhouettes aren’t interesting enough on their own. They’re not ugly pieces, they’re nice, but does nice really have a place in high fashion when the pieces are so basic in both their design and presentation that the shots could pass as ripped from a catalogue? The strongest parts of the collection were when it did go down the more delicate route with the muted blue suits and the white feather trimmed dresses, the small, ornamental gold details reminding me of a very toned down nod to Schiaparelli’s hardware, but with regards to the bright coloured pieces, I can’t lie-they did look like something you could find in the M&S Per Una holiday section. Then you’ve got the weakest parts, which were just flat out ugly: sheer giraffe print, sweat band style elasticated waits, and long chiffon shirts that I hate to admit read as frumpy. There are times where I’ve not been particularly excited by an Elie Saab collection in the past, but I do think this is the first time I’ve actively disliked parts of it.

Conversely, Erdem’s S/S21 collection was super strong, and solidified the brand’s place in my mind as a dependable source of kooky maximalism, this time round giving us  Anya Taylor Joy’s Emma wardrobe on speed. You could tell me Erdem Moralıoğlu had just raided the Bridgerton set’s fitting rooms and put it on a runway and I would 100% believe you and I mean that in a positive way because to give my unpopular opinion, the clothes were the only good thing about that show. The endearingly florid details of exaggerated bows and clashing florals were still there but this time in a way that felt more subtle and self-assured, as if the calming influence of the wooded set’d had a direct hand in the designs, giving the rugged, ethereal feel to the collection I associate with brands like Brock and Simone Rocha, all whilst keeping the parts of Erdem I’m so fond of.

Is it really much of a shock that I included pretty much every look from the Etro S/S21 show?  Like, you know that Christian idea of God, like, (the voice in my head is very much taking on the dumb valley girl voice that anybody who reads this is most probably getting too) knowing our souls? I think Veronica Etro knows mine. So no, no surprise. Though there were a few unconventional touches thrown into these looks (the campier prints and nautical theming we see with the 80s beach towel print, for example, reminded me a bit of Versace) the mystical bohemian it girl that Etro designs for would still be highly satisfied. Sure, it might be a wardrobe fit for a holiday less adventurous than backpacking but if she wanted a tropical poolside holiday, this collection is the one, the paisley print chiffon mini and maxi dresses especially. I’m just gonna pretend I don’t see the monstrosity that is leggings worn as trousers-it’s a fashion rule I refuse to abandon-because they are the only stain on an otherwise expectedly gorgeous collection.

Next, an unusually reserved RTW collection from Fendi:

More in line with the wardrobe of a European fashion editor than the glamorous trophy wife (who let’s say uses that facade as a guise to ruthlessly run her husband’s whole business empire from behind the scenes because in this house we do complex female characters only), these pieces are lot “smarter” and more professional looking than Fendi’s typical offerings; where I feel Fendi usually designs for the society girl who wouldn’t mind a front page scandal, these are the kind of outfits a young member of Monaco’s royal family would wear for a positively received but business-as-usual press tour. I know, Fendi is an Italian brand, but this is more Southern France to me. We’re talking some 2nd page shots of a Kate Middleton type on a yacht on the Riviera smiling and waving as her PR team’s ideal scenario. Still, whilst fewer exaggerated silhouettes, animal prints and overtly luxurious fabrics (real leathers, silks and furs for example) mean that the drama’s a little toned down, it’s all still very expensive looking and combines the classically feminine glamour of the past and the minimalism of modernity in the artful manner that we’re used to. Maybe it’s me being a basic bitch but I always love seeing Ashley Graham on the runway too, even if brands to tend to use her as their single token plus size model.

Kim Jones’ debut haute couture collection for Fendi, however, wasn’t a very well received one. I don’t hate it personally but I can see where the criticisms are coming from. Whilst it’s closer to the version of Fendi I’ve come to expect and there were some stunning pieces which completely encapsulated that distinctive aura of luxe and glamour, there were quite a few lazy pieces which could’ve been from any designer. I also felt the collection was a bit upstaged by what seemed to be a who’s who of the modelling world; having Bella, Cara, Kate and Naomi ALL walk in one show was a bit distracting and took the focus off the clothes completely.

Giambattista Valli’s RTW collection was gorgeous as ever; the man has undeniably mastered the art of delivering classic, objective elegance, the kind of designs I feel would make you light on your feet and smell like strawberries and cream the minute you put one on. Whilst as a brand his RTW shows are rarely trendsetting, they reliably produce a plethora of unfailingly graceful and demure pieces, as appealing to your mum and your grandma as they are to young women and little girls, and this collection is another victory lap for Valli when it comes to upholding his signature tea party and artisan cupcake making and rose garden strolling and bottomless rosé brunch appropriate aesthetic. There were a lot of outfits that were bordering on overly juvenile, with structures a little too basic to justify the amount of sequins thrown on, but when it’s good, it’s so sweet that regardless of how to formula it is, I can’t help but fall in love.

Valli’s haute couture collection was stunning too and for sure a more exciting offering than the RTW. There was of course a lot of the signature tulle but it was head-turning, over the top in a way that leant far more towards the experimental than I expected. The photos themselves are 100% believable as a some kind of Vogue behind the scenes editorial shoot on the set of live action Disney princess movie (in between takes of the climactic ball scene if you wanna get specific with the vision); if you are looking for a prettier alternative to the primary colours and disruptive shapes of a Molly Goddard collection, this is the one. It’s giving the themes of excess and abundance I associate with that of the Hunger Games Capitol but through the softer lens of a Sofia Coppola movie, and being the typical cinema loving white girl I am, I’m obviously on board with that vibe.

I did SUCH a 180 on Givency’s S/S21 collection from when I first saw it to writing a review. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, I guess simply because Givenchy has given us so many bold pieces and presentations over the last few years whereas this is more low-key. After properly considering it though as I would any other brand, I came to the conclusion that I do actually really like it. It’s still got the strange, androgynous silhouettes popping up throughout and the futuristic space-age details but with a more down-to-earth, streetwear feel, albeit a very slick, glossy spin on the trends of the rabble (that’s us guys) of course before we go believing it’s achievable. On the one hand, the devil horn accents are a touch Claire’s accessories halloween range but at the same time, done with confidence they’re kind of cool and bring something new and fun to the table in line with the dark theatre of Givenchy’s last few shows.

Now for Gucci, which for the first time I have to say, if I'm attempting objectivity, is not a standout. 

Like, can I just start by saying though the format it’s presented in is cute, it’s not ideal as a way of actually showing the collection. I get that the vintage shop bin vibe is a huge part of Gucci’s brand but polaroids make it SO hard to actually see the clothes, and that’s what we’re here for right? I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like what I see here-the clothes are gorgeous, an idyllic ode to the off-duty wardrobes of Studio 54-ers, bohemian style icons like Charlotte Rampling and young Olivia Newton-John, psychedelic rock guitarists and the inhabitants of San Fransisco’s Haight during the late 60s and early 70s, Alessandro Michele’s favourite period of reference. I can’t pretend otherwise, or act like I wouldn’t want to wear the shit out of this collection. Buut, for Gucci? It’s a little underwhelming. These are the kind of filler looks we get in a typical Gucci show to go alongside the more statement pieces, which this collection is lacking. It’s just that these are designs which usually gets people talking and these pieces don’t do that. It sucks because for most other brands this would be a stand out collection, an immersive, luscious vignette of what people tend to think of as a cultural golden era, but when you’ve had a show that involved models carrying replicas of their own decapitated heads down the runway in the last 5 years, of course something more toned down like this is gonna generate a lot of “is that it?”s.

I owe Hermes an apology. Looking back, I have disliked all their previous collections for the same reason that I now really like this one; maybe it’s in part down to the frustration of still having to whack out the winter coat on occasion in May (fuck British weather and climate change), but suddenly I really appreciate the value of some good quality, versatile outerwear. Hermes is giving us that in spades here and for that, I bow down to them. The pieces on offer are clearly well-made and genuinely practical, and through the minimalist approach manage to retain both an air of timeless sophistication whilst also being youthful and on trend. The leather tactical vest co-ord I can easily see edged up and taking centre stage on one of those insane Seoul street style slow-mo TikToks that were big a couple of months ago and there are several pieces that could tie together a grunge influenced k-style look just as well as they could exist for years on end as the wardrobe staple of a high-powered businesswoman. Designer Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski’s strengths really come through with the simpler looks and it’s the patterned pieces that drag down an otherwise flawless collection; I guess because the aesthetic is very minimalist, the patterns can’t be anything overly decorative but unfortunately this has a bit of a dowdy effect when you pair it with such modest silhouettes. Disregarding those elements of the collection though, it was super good.

It goes without saying that Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture collection was breathtaking; if the fashion community can agree on anything, it’s that this woman’s work is consistently awe-inspiring. She captures the wonder of the universe, the biological structures and kaleidoscopic colours we don’t even register, through fashion in a way that others can only imitate, to mesmerising, truly transcendent effect; I can only assume Van Herpen has mother nature whispering into her ear because how the hell else do you explain her ability to take the kind of microscopic organisms they show you images of in an outdated GCSE science powerpoint and make a dress that resembles one so stunning? Care to explain, Iris? Because if there is some kind of line of communication between the two of you can you please tell the bitch I’m over this weather and that I have cute summer outfits I’m waiting to wear so can she pack this torrential rain shit in? K, thanks xoxo

See it seems shady as fuck to go from IVH to Isabel Marant like this because we are talking 2 designers with totallyyyy different approaches to fashion; Iris Van Herpen is haute couture for starters whereas Marant is commercial, and that’s her thing, but unfair comparisons aside this collection is still a bit of a let down. This is considering I do usually really like Isabel Marant collections based on whether or not I’d wear the pieces, which seems a more appropriate barometer to use to come to a quality verdict. Whilst there were a few of the elegant bohemian pieces my mind goes to when it comes to her brand, the steps outside of that comfort zone didn’t pay off; graffiti print (can be cool if done with some subtlety which apart from a few exceptions was not the case here), cheap looking reflective fabric, and MC Hammer style dungarees, it seems to be an attempt to merge 80s trends with modern urban culture, and an attempt that at times verged on the disastrous. It’s good for a brand to experiment, of course, and appeal to a wider client base than usual, but when it’s bad the unfortunate take away is that the design team don’t have the chops to pull off straying from familiar territory; designers wouldn’t be showing at fashion week if this was truly the case because disregarding the influence of nepotism, fashion is an area you need real talent, perseverance and business smarts to excel in, and so it doesn’t do a team justice when they do fail.

J.W Anderson, on the other hand, really put his best foot forward this season and presented this work in a really cool way too which only added to the positives; whilst the way the shots were edited was funky af, it didn’t detract from the actual outfits, and if we are to see the same limitations when it comes to the F/W collections being released, this is something a lot of designers and editing teams should take note of. The idiosyncratic exaggerated shapes that we see as a recurring feature of Anderon’s collections were still on show but this time round with added femininity, billowing skirts and trailing jewellery that channel the stage looks of Stevie Nicks in a way that’s modern and functional and maybe even fit for the office if you were to work in a more creative industry with a chill boss. Could also work for a coven of witches who practice meditation by bonfires in the moonlight and burn the letters of men who wronged them in some Arizonian desert, so like I said, functional! Who doesn’t like versatility? The only thing I’m not too keen on is the shoes but they’re not so bad that it affects my opinion of the collection and they look comfy I guess.

Lastly, we’ve got to talk about Jacquemus, one of the most influential names in fashion at the moment. And yes, this time round, I’m doing it: I’m buying into the hype.

This collection is gorgeousss! I can see already that a lot of the recurring elements of the show are going to be big summer trends for this year (the cut outs and strappy details on the blouses are everywhere already) even though it isn’t hot enough to have collectively decided the time to start dressing for heat is upon us yet, and that’s always a good indicator of how successful the designer was in their vision and attempts to assess the needs and wants of fashion enthusiasts; whether I’m as big a fan of his work as everyone else seems to be, there’s no denying Simon Porte Jacquemus has always excelled at this practice if the buzz around him is anything to go by. It makes sense given the last year of us all being stuck in and suppressed that a lot of us are already romanticising the summer ahead, anticipating picnics and beach days and general Theresa May running through wheat fields type shenanigans galore, in spite of how dubious an assumption it is to make that British weather will allow for this; Porte Jacquemus has very much catered to this wishful thinking and the popularity of the whole escapist “cottage core” aesthetic, sexing it up a little bit with pieces that hug the body in ways only Mugler knows how whilst being lightweight and relaxed enough to look good with windswept, sandy hair and a little dose of sunburn. I’m talking enough to give you some cutesy freckles and rosy cheeks not PSA on the importance of suncream territory, guys, what is it with those of us on the gen Z/millennial cusp not taking sun damage seriously!? Why do I have to beg so many of my friends to wear it!? Does nobody else remember those photos they’d show you in PSHE in English primary schools of burnt people’s skin under UV lights? Or is that just me being weird and only having such a vivid memory of the images because teachers told us we had to wait until year 6 to see them due they to their “graphic” nature only for my gore-loving self to be extremely underwhelmed when we finally did get that lesson? They showed us a woman giving birth in year 4 for fuck’s sake. THAT was traumatising.

Back to the actual point anyway, with just a couple of negatives, the first of which being that the pieces are very similar to those feminine looks we saw dotted about the Jacquemus menswear collection from last year that were all over fashion Twitter. In Simon Porte Jacquemus’ defence though, it makes sense that those tones and silhouettes would be revisited in a full womenswear collection for that very reason; considering they went down so well and that lockdown gave us a bit of a half-baked summer in 2020, expanding on those elements enough for a whole new collection makes good business sense. We did get some cool additions too, mainly in the form of accessories, with the hardware details on the belts similar to those included in the Givenchy collection and the abstract hair slides being standouts for me. It was all exquisite-the shoes, the jewellery, the styling, everything 10/10. My other nitpick, and I say nitpick not because it’s not important but because it’s an issue that’s hardly restricted to Jacquemus (this casting team are far from the worst offenders, Saint Laurent I’m looking at you), is that I WISH we’d see more diversity with the models. Despite what my body dysmorphia yells at me, I am small, and yet seeing all those fucking minuscule waists made me die a little inside; it’s crazy to me that in 2020 the lack of variety in body types on the runway is still such a problem.

I must have said this a million times but I don’t want to end on a negative note so let me reiterate: this collection was STUN. NING. Plus there were some others I’ve talked about in this post that I’m sure will make it into my top 20 in the final part, Jacquemus, Dion Lee and Etro for sure; we even got some gorgeous pieces from Maria Grazia which I thought was a sentence I’d never type out. Have I said enough to not leave a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who read to the end of this post? I hope so, lol! TBH, it’s impressive given everything that’s going on that the majority of designers did roll out collections in September as usual so serious respect to them and their design teams for that.

In the next post, I’ll fingers crossed be able to include everything from Kim Shui (exciting!) through to at least Off-White (actually pretty good this time?!) and make this whole thing a 4 parter before getting straight on top of the photo posts I’m thinking about doing for the time being for the F/W21 shows. So as usual, if you did read to the end thank you so much and I respect the perseverance you must have to get through all my rambling, lmao. Hope everyone is well and coping okay and again, my inbox is always open for any post suggestions, constructive criticism, or just a chat for anyone who needs a listening ear.

Big love and thank you again!

Lauren x

[bedrockbros-hell]

Ok so I couldn’t stop thinking about the epic confrontation between c!Tommy and c!Dream that’ll probably go down Thursday/Friday when Tommy breaks into the prison so I wrote it out :3

TW: blood, gore, PTSD, death, manipulation, swearing, graphic depictions of torture and violence

(Seriously this got kinda intense, make sure you stay safe ok?)

(Also I’m ignoring the whole Wilbur-gets-revived thing for now)

*DISCLAIMER* I do not condone or support torture or murder, nor do I condone or support any malicious action of c!Dream’s (e.g. manipulation, child abuse, etc.). All characters in the story are referencing the DSMP characters, not the content creators.

****

It was time. The plans had been made. The break-in had been executed. The TNT cannon had worked and Tubbo was off somewhere distracting the Warden. Tommy stood at the threshold of the cell, at the precipice. It was time.

Tommy recalled the last instance he had been at the prison, swearing that it would be the final visit. And he remembered how sourly things had gone: instead of healing, his visit had left him more broken than before. And now, being back there, staring at the wall of lava, things felt a little too familiar...

No, Tommy reminded himself. Things are different now. He pulled out his Axe of Peace, its dark netherite surface glowing with magic. Things were certainly different now. This time, it really would be the final visit. He stepped onto the platform and pushed the button.

Waves of heat rose up around Tommy as the moving platform brought him through the molten liquid, and he could feel himself sweating underneath his netherite armor. As he got closer to the cell, his heart began to pound from old fears and he worked to steady his breathing. Tommy gripped his axe tighter to stop his hands from shaking. The platform halted and Tommy stepped off, facing the wall of netherite blocks. As the platform receded, the curtain of lava closed behind him, trapping him inside. Tommy fought down his panic. He knew he could leave whenever he wished, but it didn’t stop himself feeling suffocated.

Suddenly a mechanical groan and whirr distracted him from his thoughts. The wall before Tommy split apart, the top receding into the ceiling and the bottom sinking into the floor. Inch by inch, the innards of the maximum security cell were revealed to him.

And there he was.

Dream sat cross-legged in shadow, directly in front of Tommy, his back against the cold obsidian wall. He wasn’t wearing his mask, though his unruly hair had grown long enough to cover his face. Looking around, Tommy found the mask a few feet away from him. It was cracked in half. Everything else in the cell, Tommy noticed, was pretty much the same as when he had last been there. The chest, sink, and small bookshelf were tucked in the same corner, wood moulding from the crying obsidian. An empty space by the sink showed where Dream’s clock had been. The low orange light cast from the lava gave the whole place an eerie glow. It was all too familiar. Tommy swallowed, reminding himself again, this is not the same. I am in control.

As Tommy stepped into the cell, Dream spoke, without lifting his head. “Welcome back. You’re earlier than usual.”

Tommy halted, surprised. “You’ve been expecting me?”

At the sound of Tommy’s voice, Dream whipped his head up. His eyes widened. “Tommy! It’s–I thought you were...” He paused. “Never mind.” Suddenly, Dream smiled. “You’re here! You’ve come back to visit me!” He stood and began walking towards Tommy, arms outstretched.

Tommy raised his axe. “Stay back! Stay the fuck away from me! I didn’t come here just to visit you.” Dream stopped, lowering his arms and eyeing the axe. Tommy took a few deep breaths, his heart racing in his chest. “Just shut up and listen to me ok? You have caused me so much pain, Dream. And not only me, but everyone on the server. I thought locking you away in here would put a stop to all that, but I was wrong. You are still ruining people.” Dream was silent, no longer smiling. He was still shadowed, and his eyes were unreadable. Tommy continued, “I am here to finally end your reign of terror, permanently.” The netherite axe glinted wickedly in the dim light.

Dream said nothing. Then, astoundingly, he burst into wild, humorless laughter. Tommy bristled, taken aback. “What the fuck is so funny?” he yelled over the cacophony of Dream’s cackling. “I’m here to kill you!”

All at once, Dream stopped laughing, though the crazed light hadn’t quite died from his eyes. “You’re here to kill me, Tommy?” he repeated softly, smirking. “Are you sure that even death can stop me from–as you put it–ruining people?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked roughly, his voice betraying the fear that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. “I know it will. You’ll be dead!”

“Tommy,” Dream said, as one speaking to a child struggling to understand, “death doesn’t have any power over me. I know this, and I know you do too.”

Memories cascaded over Tommy. The body-wrenching pain and the mind-shattering numbness. White light. The images were like hands tightening themselves around his wrists, his neck, his heart. His very soul ripped from his body. The void. Wilbur...

Tommy shook his head, forcing these thoughts out. “Stop it! This is different. There won’t be anyone to bring you back.”

“Won’t there?”

Tommy faltered.

Dream chuckled softly. “Ah, of course,” he said. “You don’t know.”

“Know what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Dream said nothing. Then, slowly, he stepped into the light, and Tommy felt the axe slide out of his grip and hit the floor with a clang as he processed the full horror of what was before him.

Dream’s body was utterly broken. His face was black and blue and covered in gashes, and there were gashes on his arms and legs showing through the shreds of his prison jumpsuit. Some of them were still bleeding. His nose was crooked, and trails of dried blood ran down his lips. There was blood everywhere: on his hands, in his hair, stained on his clothes. He walked with a limp, which Tommy hadn’t noticed before, and looking down, he saw that one of Dream’s feet was bending the wrong way. Many of his fingers were also bent at unnatural angles, and in fact... Bile rose in Tommy’s throat as he realized that not all of Dream’s fingers were there.

Tommy dug his nails into his palms to stay alert. He had just enough presence of mind to pick up his axe. “What the fu...what–what the hell happened to you?” His voice was pitched with hysteria.

Dream grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “Let’s just say you haven’t been my only visitor.”

Tommy was at a loss for words. For all that time spent preparing for this final confrontation, running through a million scenarios in his mind, he had never, ever, expected something like this. He cursed himself. It was supposed to be simple, straightforward. Find Dream, kill him. But now, though he was disgusted with himself for being so, Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for Dream. The axe lowered slightly as Tommy wavered in indecision.

Dream tilted his head, shifting his hair, and Tommy saw that a chunk of his ear was gone. “So are you gonna kill me or not?” he asked innocently, though Tommy knew Dream could sense his hesitancy, and was enjoying every bit of it. “You know, at this point, death would probably be preferable to what I’ve had to endure here,” he said, almost nonchalantly.

“I–,” Tommy stammered, trying to collect his thoughts. “No, no wait. What did you mean before, when you said, ‘you don’t know’? What don’t I know?”

Dream barked out another dry laugh. “Oh, Tommy,” he said, “there’s so much you don’t know.” Tommy hated this, hated feeling like Dream was always two steps ahead of him. It made him feel powerless, despite his weapons and armor. “You wanna know the reason I look like this? Where I got these injuries from?” Dream asked, coming closer to him, and Tommy had to look upwards meet his eyes. “I was being tortured. Every day.”

Shock boiled inside Tommy. He was torn. One part of him was screaming in vindication, the other was absolutely sickened. Even Dream didn’t deserve this, did he?

“Know why I was being tortured?”

Tommy said nothing, his mouth completely dry. He didn’t want to know the answer, but his voice stuck in his throat.

“The revive book, Tommy,” Dream said. “Someone wanted to know how to use it.”

With great effort, Tommy managed to get his throat unstuck. “What–what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” His words were raspy and shaky.

“It has everything!” Dream screamed so loudly it reverberated off the obsidian walls. “Everything to do with this! Do you know how fucking long I endured what would have had you crawling and pleading in two minutes? You know how many days I spent with nothing more to look forward to than the destruction of my body and sanity? And I could have gone on longer,” he said, punctuating his words with hysterical laughter. “Oh I could have gone on until they chopped off all my arms and legs and I was nothing more than a half dead chunk of meat on the floor! But guess what?” Dream stepped closer, and Tommy could see the manic glint in his eyes. “Guess what? I chose to give in. I let them in on my powerful little ability. Know what that means?”

Tommy took a step back, revulsion rising up inside of him. This was too much. It was too much. This was not what was supposed to happen, everything was going wrong. Tommy hated feeling so out of control. A voice inside him was screaming at him to just put the fucking axe through Dream’s face, but Dream was so clever; he always knew exactly what to say to derail Tommy, make him doubt himself.

“Know what that means, Tommy?” Dream asked again. The light from the lava behind Tommy painted Dream’s face in an evil red glow. “It means there will be someone to bring me back if I die. I have a safety net. You can’t kill me!”

“No.” Tommy shook his head. “No, no, no, no! You’re lying! All you do is lie, Dream!”

Dream shrugged. “I mean, you can think that, if you want. And who knows, maybe they won’t want to bring me back. But the thing is, now there will always be a chance that I could come back. As long as one person knows how to revive the dead, the dead can’t be gone forever.” Tommy’s eyes widened with the horror of revelation. Deep down, he knew Dream was right. And just like that, his entire plan was all for naught.

“So go ahead, kill me,” Dream continued. “But I’ll never truly be gone. You will always live in fear that one day, I’ll come back. So you see? You can never escape me, no matter what you do.” Dream stepped even closer to Tommy, who was frozen in terror, and put a mangled hand on his shoulder. “Did you actually think,” he said, bending down, his beaten face inches away from Tommy’s, “that you would ever get closure from me?” Tommy’s skin crawled, and every part of him wanted to recoil at Dream’s touch, but he had been cornered against the lava. It burned the back of his neck. “You didn’t actually think I would ever let you be free of me, did you?” Dream’s voice was deathly soft, quiet but dangerous, like hidden poison. “No. You may think you’ve moved on, but I will always reel you back in. You may think you have me under control, but I will always have you right where I want you. You might be able to physically leave this prison, but really, we both know you will always be stuck in here with me.”

Something snapped in Tommy’s mind. Without thinking, without pausing to let his brain register what his arm was doing, Tommy swung his axe. He felt it connect with something solid with a sickening crunch. He pulled back and swung again. And again. And again, even after Dream’s lifeless body fell to the floor. It was as if he had been possessed by a hateful monster, avenging himself for all the suffering Dream had caused him. He didn’t even realize he was screaming until he was out of breath. Tommy continued hacking away until the violent energy seeped from his body, until he was utterly drained.

Tommy stepped back, breathing hard. It was over. It was done. Dream was dead. But was he truly gone? Tommy looked around him, as if Dream’s ghost might be in this very room. Stupid, he chided himself. Tommy wasn’t going to let Dream get the best of him anymore. He was done. Fuck whatever Dream said about there being a chance of him coming back. With new purpose, he cleaned off his axe, wiping away the stain Dream had left on it. Tommy would see to it that Dream stayed dead. This really would be the final visit. Now all he had to do was deal with the person that knew how to use the revive book. Tommy turned away and left the prison. For the last time.

[maximumsnow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Faith (Airdorf Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: John Ward (Faith Video Game), Amy Martin (Faith Video Game) Additional Tags: Michael is kinda here too but not the main focus, yet anyway, First game has five endings but here's another one because I don't have problems, Faith Crisis, Other note John is Specifically called A Young Priest so he's like mid-twenties here, Canon typical violence referenced, I've been calling the verse this leads into the demon children au, But I'm not sure how much further I want to go with dedicated writing, So enjoy this and I may or may not come back with more.

Summary:  What if John was able to speak with Amy at the end instead of only having the option to shoot her or leave her to die?

The gun was heavy in John’s hands. There was only a single bullet in it, and the words written in red on the wall made it clear who it was for.

“KILL HER.”

This was the only way to finish the job, wasn’t it? Amy was already too far gone physically to be brought back, and putting her soul to rest was how he had to end it.

Wasn’t it?

That’s what his teachings had taught him. They had been very insistent that there was generally a point of no return, and Amy had crossed it.

Then why would she run? Was it a ruse?

Why was a demon telling him to end her life? That in itself should be a red flag, shouldn’t it?

When had he gotten to the point that killing a child would be the kindest mercy he could offer her?

John knew what the demon possessing her could do. He had been front and center to the performance, and it still haunted his nightmares, despite what he had told the psychologist. The fact that everyone kept telling him it couldn’t have been real only added fuel to the fire of his broken mind.

His reflection felt less and less like him as the days passed.

He shuddered as he stepped out of the broken down house. The woods were eerily quiet outside of the wind blowing through the trees. The white creature that had chased him was nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t hear the telltale rustling of trees that warned him of its coming.

Even if she was still possessed, Amy’s body would still be weak after the confrontation in the attic and throwing herself out of the window. Whatever he did next had to happen now, or all the lives lost would be for naught.

The blood trails were hard to follow, but even when the red blended in with the foliage, the sharp smell of rust would guide him along.

If she wasn’t dead yet, he doubted she would be alive for much longer. Human bodies only had so much blood they could lose, and demons were quick to forget that when playing with their pawns. The consequences were only temporary for them, after all.

He had to finish this. Not break down like he had a year ago.

That was what he told himself as he continued his hunt through the dark woods.

The sound of crashing through the underbrush caught John’s attention, and he swung the gun in that direction and waited with baited breath and a thundering heart.

When a herd of deer ran by, he didn’t ease his stance until silence fell again, and he was sure that whatever had spooked the animals wasn’t coming behind them.

He contemplated going in that direction, on the off chance Amy had gone that way, but the blood trail was too fresh for him to ignore. And the likelihood of finding something else was high.

Eventually, the trees opened into a clearing, and at the far end, he could see Amy. The torn hem of her dress was flecked with blood, and even from this distance, he could see blood seeping through the cuts in her back. She was facing away from him as she staggered towards the woods.

John had to make a choice.

He could shoot her and end it now. He could let her live, and the demon could use her for more death and destruction before she perished. He could leave her, and she would die from her injuries because the demon had already left.

One could never tell which ploy a demon would use to kill their victims. It was often safer to kill a vessel to make sure the demon couldn’t hurt anyone in that form anymore.

But she was a child.

And he wasn’t even a decade older than she was.

Please, God, take this cup away from me.

His eyes were starting to blur.

… When did his face get wet?

Trails of tears were falling down his face as the weight of what he was contemplating fully hit him. The grip on the gun had grown shaky as it pulled him down.

He dropped it when he dropped to his knees.

I can’t do this, Lord.

The safety was still on, thankfully, but the impact made a noise that made the mostly purple blur turn into a brown and purple blur.

When he wiped his eyes, he could see the red void her face had turned into pointed in his direction.

I’m going to die.

The realization should have scared him. Especially since he knew how violently his end would be at her hands. But all he could feel was a vague sense of relief and guilt. It would no longer be in his hands to do this, but everything indicated that he had failed her again.

Unless…

“Amy, is that you?” He didn’t mean for his voice to catch on her name, but he knew he was throwing a hail Mary.

“You’re that priest? Why are you...” He wasn’t sure how she could see given her condition, but the way her head moved indicated that she was looking him up and down. He could see her body tense as he assumed she saw the gun.

She backed away from him, but her legs did not agree with the movement and she fell to the ground. “It’s gone! I swear!” She started to scoot herself backwards. She probably didn’t think he’d believe her.

Did he?

The distortion in her voice was gone, but that was something the demon could easily turn off when it wanted to. That was how it convinced the officers that what happened the year prior was a vast misunderstanding gone horribly wrong.

John’s arms refused to move. “I-”

Why can’t I do this? I can’t fail her again. I can’t. I can’t. I can’tIcan’tIcan’t-

“Watch out!” Amy’s voice cracked as she suddenly jumped to her feet. The movement wasn’t smooth given her condition, but she started bolting in his direction.

He couldn’t do it. Instead he fell forwards onto his hands in fear as he waited for the end.

That’s when he heard it. There was rustling behind him, and he was again reminded of the other creature hunting in the woods.

“FAAAaaaATHhHEEeeeERRRrr!” The cry activated the habit of yanking his crucifix out, and he swung it around behind him as he tried to turn and stand at the same time.

It wasn’t necessary.

As the creature leapt towards him, a red arm swung out over him, caught its face, and threw it against the ground.

His eyes traced the arm back to its owner, and it went back to Amy’s face. The connection made him scramble away from her, but she collapsed as the arm retracted back into the void.

“Leave her, demon!” He cried out as he pointed the crucifix towards Amy. At this point, he wasn’t expecting the command to work, but the gun wasn’t practical to grab for now, and the protection the crucifix offered was better than nothing.

“Purge the demon, now! Before he gets back up!” She called out instead. She wasn’t jerking away from the cross, but she wasn’t really in a state to run, either.

… He couldn’t point the cross at both of them, and the tangled limbs on the white creature were already starting to scramble to stand up again.

He had to take a chance.

John finally stood up tall and pointed the crucifix towards the demon possessed creature and started to recite the Latin that Father Allred had forced him to memorize. Even if his own faith in a higher power was fading, his faith in the words was strong.

The creature caught on to what he was doing, and the unnaturally long arms and legs started to crawl backwards.

Until the red arm once again appeared and latched onto a wrist that was far too thin for a creature this size.

It struggled against the grip and screamed a wordless cry that reverberated in John’s ears, but he could vaguely still hear Amy over the horribly loud noise. “Keep going!”

He kept speaking the words of the rite even as his ears started to ring, and he persevered even as a clump of dirt was chucked in his direction.

As he finished the last word, the screaming and flailing suddenly stopped as the creature suddenly dropped limp.

The red arm disappeared as well, and John could fully take in the scene. The white vaguely humanoid creature was laid out like puppet with the strings cut, and the glowing red eyes were shut as if they were asleep. Amy’s bloody form was nearby, and since she was face down, it was easy to forget what had happened to her.

She hadn’t reacted to the crucifix even when the creature had pulled her into the line of fire, and he now had to consider what that meant. As well as figuring out whether the rite had worked on the other… what he had to guess what had once been a human.

Neither reacted to the cross being pointed at them now, and even if the host appeared unconscious, demons did not like holy symbols being directed towards them.

The gun was close by, he remembered. Even if it only had one bullet… He stopped.

Instead he stowed the crucifix away and stood over Amy with an offered hand. “Can you stand?”

There was a moment of silence, and he suddenly feared that maybe it was too late. Then a quiet voice said, “Yeah. It hurts though...” She turned over and weakly reached for his hand.

He pulled her up and offered her a shoulder to lean against. “You lost a lot of blood. I have some bandages in my car, but we have to get there first.”

“What about...” She trailed off as she looked towards the unconscious person.

John weighed his options, before lightly pushing her away. She got the hint and balanced herself so that she could stand without him. In a move that he only learned from one of his college friends, he picked them in a fireman’s hold. The hands and feet were only barely off the ground, but despite the their relatively large size, they were much lighter than he expected.

Whatever that demon had done to this person’s physical body was extreme. He highly doubted this would ever come undone. Much like what had happened to Amy’s face.

Thankfully, Amy could manage without his aid, because even if the other formerly demon possessed person was lighter than expected, he was not someone who lifted for a living.

The trek back to the car was extremely quiet. He had so many questions to potentially ask Amy, but he didn’t think she would be able to give straight answers right now.

He also had questions for the person passed out on his shoulders.

The car was a welcome sight on the side of the road, and for the time being, he laid the person down in the back seat. It was cramped, to say the least, but there was a chance that someone could drive by, and possibly freak out if they saw them.

As for Amy, he bandaged the worst of the wounds, but the first aid kit he kept in his car was not meant to handle so many at once.

“We should probably go to the hospital,” He said as he patched up a nasty gash on her arm.

“How are we going to explain this?” She said with a wave at her face. If her face had simply been mutilated, it would have been difficult, but the red void made it impossible to explain to an everyday person.

He sighed. “I don’t know. But you jumped out of a window-”

Amy interrupted, “I know. I was in the backseat of my own body.” The reminder made her voice tremble.

There was a visible flinch as he muttered an apology. Instead he tried to go back to the original topic. “We can try a mask or something, but most places don’t like it if they can’t see your face,” he mused aloud.

“You know that won’t work.”

“… I know.”

With the worst taken care of, she sat in the passenger front seat, and he got in the driver’s side.

Night was starting to fall as he followed the winding roads back to the town he lived in, and Amy passed out within a few minutes of the drive starting.

With both of his passengers out cold, he could think on the last few hours without interruption. He hadn’t needed to take a life tonight, and he was grateful for that above all else. He hadn’t signed up to be a priest in order to kill people.

… Frankly, he hadn’t really signed up to fight demons like this, either, but that was what his training had been focused on, for some reason.

While he once would have attributed his success to Providence, now he wasn’t so sure. There were a lot of lucky circumstances today, for sure, but a part of him was. Uneasy. About what was to happen next. He wasn’t considered experienced enough to say that the exorcisms were successful, but they had to be if they weren’t reacting to the crucifix anymore, right?

He wasn’t sure even what the next move could be for Amy and the other person, but he had a few contacts in the Church that were still willing to speak with him.

Maybe someone else with more experience would know what to do.

[photochoco]

New Recruit

After an unfortunate run-in with a client, Wisteria finds themselves with a curse. Luckily, Black Cauldron is here to help.

Pinprick and Bianca had been the closest to the disturbance. Patrolling had its perks, one of them being that you never knew when you might conveniently stumble upon magical mayhem. 

Well, they didn’t stumble upon it so much as they heard a pained screech split through the air as they walked along. Rushing towards the source, they rounded a corner and into an alley-

Someone in a pointed hat stood with their back to the Cadets, holding a second person up by their throat. Magic crackled in the air like static.

A witch.

“HEY!” Bianca yelled. Pinprick rushed past her, talons outstretched. 

The witch barely sidestepped his swipe in time, their hat getting nicked in the process. Scrambling onto their broom, they rose up into the air and took off above the buildings. 

“Pin, go after ‘em! I’ll take care of the kid.”

Despite being a giant, Pinprick was very fast. He gave a single nod and leapt up onto a nearby house, hopping from rooftop to rooftop in pursuit. 

The civilian was laying in a heap on the ground, unmoving. 

Bianca swore under her breath as she skidded to a halt next to them, grabbing their shoulder and rolling them over. Whatever had happened with the witch, it seemed like they'd put up a fight, smeared blood drying on the corners of their mouth. 

“Damn kid...I’m sorry…” Bianca muttered as she noticed the streams of multicolor flowing in rivulets from their closed eyes. It coated their hands as well; it was no doubt caused by a curse. At least they were breathing. Bianca considered calling for backup before Pinprick leapt down in front of her.

He wore a frustrated scowl. “The witch got away. They were too far ahead.”

Bianca sighed in resignation. “Dammit. Well, let’s at least count it as a win that they didn’t kill this kid here. Look at ‘er eyes though, I think they got cursed. We gotta- hff- get ‘em to Tracy- Geezus they’re a deadweight-” she sunk under their weight as she tried to hoist them up, an arm around their shoulders.

“Here, let me-” Pinprick gently scooped them into his arms. Their head sagged against his chest and they didn’t stir beyond a small mumble that was barely audible. “Poor thing…” he murmured, cradling them carefully against himself. 

“Let’s get 'em back to BC and see what the damage is. Hopefully nothin’ too bad.”

---

A myriad of voices reached her ears, but she couldn’t really understand what anyone was saying through her exhaustion. She wanted to go back to sleep.

Consciousness came slow, discouraged by soft, warm blankets. Yet they couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible had happened…She scrunched her face up. It felt like...there was something...

“Oh shit, they moved!”

“She’s waking up!”

“Oooooh do you think she’ll wanna become a Cadet?”

“Whaddaya think happened?”

“Ok everyone, that’s enough, off you go! There will be plenty of time for meet and greet later!”

Coherent thought was returning in a steady stream, and it was now that she realized there were bandages around her eyes. Bandages? Is that why her eyelids felt so hot and swollen…? Or was it because her eyes felt hot and swollen that she had bandages…? Did something happen to them?

She sat up rather abruptly, hearing a squeal of surprise in response to her quick movement. Her eyes...were really itchy. They itched, but they stung more, like a dull ache. Like someone had blown pepper flakes into her eyes…they automatically watered in response to the thought. 

Her head throbbed. Ugh...it felt like something was hammering the inside of her skull...She pressed a hand to her temple in protest of the sudden headache.

“Welcome back, dear. You gave us a bit of a scare, being out for so long.”

She jumped at the voice and heard a soft chuckle.

“No need to be jumpy, now. You’re at Black Cauldron. My name is Tracy Pan, I’m a nurse here.”

“Black Cauldron…” she echoed. “You mean the guild for cursed people…?”

“The very same. One of our teams found you in an alley. It looked like you had been attacked. Does that seem familiar at all?”

It did. She nodded, her mouth suddenly becoming dry. If she was here, at Black Cauldron, did that mean…?

“I’ll get straight to the matter at hand. When our Cadets found you, you seemed to have color streaming from your eyes. When you got here, your eyelids were pretty irritated and swollen, hence the bandages as a precaution. It’s very possible you’ve been cursed.”

Wisty was silent as the nurse methodically unwound the gauze and peeled the medical tape off the pads over her eyes. 

“I...don’t really remember a lot about what happened. They were a client of mine, they were angry about...something about the art I made for them? We got into a fight and...they shot some sort of spell at me.”

“Hm hm! And what’s your name?”

She could barely squeeze it out of her rapidly tightening throat as dread coiled in her gut . “...W-Wisteria. Wisteria Inkwell. Or...Wisty...”

“Pleasure to meet you, Wisty. I’m going to remove your bandages. When they’re off, make sure to open your eyes slowly. If you are cursed, there’s a high likelihood that it affected your eyes.”

Please don’t let it be what she thought it was.

Please let that have been from shock. Please...

“Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she opened them.

Everything was grey. Greys and whites and blacks, like she was looking at an old photograph. Monochrome. The color was gone. Wisty’s heart had started to pound so hard she could feel each thump in her chest. The dread uncoiled and shot through her veins, bringing with it a wave of cold.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot--

No. No. No. No way. This couldn’t be happening.

She would not cry, not in front of other people, let alone a stranger. Emotions she couldn’t place were whirling about inside her so fast. But her face was blank as she willed the tears back. She felt very dizzy.

“Hm hm!” A small plump woman popped into her view, a troll? She leaned in close, examining her eyes. “It would seem it is indeed a curse on your eyesight. Or is it perhaps a different version of soul loss…? Your eyes are voided out like another one of our Cadets, but his are white, yours are black. What do you see?”

Wisty fought off tears. “There’s no color. I can’t see color, I--they-- they took color from me...they--”

“Interesting, interesting…and how else do you feel?” Tracy continued.

The room was spinning.

“I...uh…kin...kinda...dizzy...” Wisty mumbled. “I think ‘m gonna b’ sick…”

 “Hmm, you might be in shock. How about we… …”

The rest of the nurse’s words were lost to the static roar that started in Wisty’s ears. Everything sounded very far away all of a sudden, she herself felt like she was floating. She could see things, hear things, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it. She tried to breathe in steadily, but her chest was burning. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She felt herself falling freely through space.

Where was the color?

---

It was quiet when Wisty came to again. Jeez...what happened? Had they fainted?

They opened their eyes, slowly.

It was no less gut-wrenching the second time.

The world was still in grayscale, and the sickening feeling swelled inside them all over again. They looked around and listened, eyes already brimming with tears. They were alone. Good.

They buried their face into their knees and sobbed. They sobbed until they felt like they were going to be sick. Their throat was tight and their head pounded, they cried until they had no tears left. The colorful world they’d loved so much was gone. And it wasn’t going to come back. Small wails mixed in with their sobs, thankfully muffled by the blankets.

Finally, they calmed themself down with a series of long sighs that shook their frame. They wiped their eyes and looked around, sniffling. Urgh, now they’d given themself a nasty headache and they couldn’t breathe through their nose. They slipped out of bed to find the bathroom. They could use some cold water on their face. 

Wisty approached the door and went to open it, only to have it swing forward on its own, causing them to yelp in response.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t--excuse me--” 

The pair of legs in the doorway bent down, and an incredibly tall ghoul ducked through the threshold.

“Ahem.” He straightened himself up to his full height, easily over nine feet. “Apologies cupcake, I didn’t see you there. Actually, should you even be out of bed? You haven’t been taking your curse very well.”

Wisty squirmed and hastily wiped at her eyes. “I, um, I actually feel fine now. I just wanted some water.”

He leaned down, putting his face too close to hers, and gently pressed a long pointed finger onto her cheek. She resisted the urge to shrink away. What if he noticed--

“Now, why the waterfalls?”

Crap.

“I. Um.”

The ghoul studied her expression and grinned widely with a chuckle, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wisty averted her gaze. What colors was he? Frustrated tears bubbled up again. The ghoul cocked his head and continued to grin. Then his eyebrows hopped up and his smile dropped in surprise.

“Oh my. That doesn’t look normal.”

“H-Huh?” Wisty wiped at her eyes and was startled to smell...what was that? Ink? She pulled her hand away.

Some sort of dark substance was smeared across the back of her hand. She looked at it. Looked up at the ghoul. Back to the ink. Then the ghoul. He stared back with a surprisingly calm expression.

“Side effect of your curse, perhaps?” he suggested.

Fighting back the urge to just up and scream, Wisty replied, “Uuuhhhhh maybe? Hope this isn’t a permanent thing-”

“Yo Pin, quit hoggin’ the doorframe!” 

A girl with long gelatinous-looking hair squeezed past the ghoul, her eyebrows also hopping up when she saw Wisty.

Oh, you’re awake! ‘S about time too, you were startin’ to freak us all out! Especially after you fainted right outta the bed.”

She stuck her hand out, and Wisty took it in her own. The girl’s hand was very warm.

“I’m Bianca Frost, and this is my partner Pinprick! We make up Team B of Black Cauldron. We found you in an alley.”

“Oh--oh my god, you guys saved me? Thank you!!”

Bianca shrugged and rubbed the back of her head, looking away.

“Eh, it was nothin’. I’m just sorry we didn’t find you sooner. Uh, how are ya feelin’ now? You know your eyes are...uh, leaking, right?”

“Y-Yeah, dunno what’s up with that. I’m...better. It’s still kinda a big shock,” Wisty rubbed at her eyes again. “Do you have a bathroom in here? I wanted to get some water and clean my face.”

At her insistence that she felt fine enough to do it herself, Bianca pointed Wisty in the direction of the restrooms. They were easy to find, tucked around the corner from a bar area. There were several people sitting at tables, and they all swiveled their heads to stare at her as she walked by. With a weird flip in her stomach, Wisty hurriedly shut the door behind her as whispers began.

Purposefully avoiding the mirror, they splashed their face with water, sighing as it soothed their itchy, swollen eyes. Wisty braced themselves, head hanging with one hand on either side of the sink. They stared down at the wisps of ink mixing with the water as it all swirled down the drain. They could deal with this. It would be fine. They’d be fine. They’d find a way to keep making art, this was fine. They cupped their hands under the stream and took several thirsty gulps. This was manageable. People got cursed all the time. (As unfortunate as that was.) 

Wisty sighed again. They wondered if the curse affected how their eyes looked. Steeling themself, they looked in the mirror. Their eyes were completely black, no visible iris or sclera to be seen. 

“Whoooooooaaaa,” They couldn’t help the exclamation as they leaned in closer, staring at their reflection with wide eyes. “Haha, what the hell…?”

They pulled their eyelid down and rolled their eyeball around, looking this way and that; the whole thing was as solid and black as an 8 ball and reflected no light. Kinda like that pigment of black they used once-

A thought struck them- what would people think if they saw their eyes? Would they avoid her? Would people commission art from a cursed person who couldn’t even see the colors she was using? Cursed people in Salem were viewed with pity, and sometimes worse, outright scorn for being damaged goods. Would they have to wear sunglasses or something? What if--

There was a knock on the door.

Pin’s -that was his name right?- voice sounded on the other side, muffled, “Hey cupcake, are you almost done in there? John wants to talk to you.”

John? Who’s that…? Wisty opened the door. Two people dressed in Ironmaiden uniforms were waiting to greet her. One was a tall, imposing-looking woman with her greying hair neatly twisted into a bun. She looked severe, but her eyes looked at Wisty gently. Next to her was an equally-tall oxen hybrid, standing with his arms crossed. He looked at Wisty just as kindly, despite his intimidating appearance. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, clenching it in her hands.

“You’re Wisteria Inkwell, correct?” the woman asked. Wisty nodded.

“My name is Elanor Pan, founder of Black Cauldron. This here is John Bullock, chief of the Iron Maidens.”

“We wanted to ask you a few questions. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” John said, noting Wisty’s sudden nervous expression. “We wanted to ask you about the witch that cursed you. It’s our understanding they got away after attacking you.”

“Oh, no! I don’t mind at all…” Wisty replied, feeling relief wash over her.

“Good. Now, if you’ll come this way…” John ushered Wisty into another room. Before the door closed, she looked back at the entourage that was still gathered. They all stared at her. 

Wisty rubbed at her eyes.

---

She ambled back out the door a good while later, now rubbing at her temple. John and Ela had peppered her with questions about her assailant until her head was spinning. They certainly were thorough. She’d drawn them a picture of the witch that had cursed her, which ate up even more time as she tried to recall as many details about them as possible. Then...more questioning. A drop of whatever-the-heck was dripping out of her eyes nearly ruined the whole damn drawing. 

Wisty wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to have happen. Did she want the witch to be arrested? Did she want revenge? Out of all the things she was feeling, anger wasn’t very high on the list at the moment. Both John and Ela had assured her the drawing she made, as well as the details she provided, would be put on the wanted board in Black Cauldron.

On that topic… Ela had said…

The people still in the bar area chose that moment to pounce, all but swarming around her.

“Hey! Did Ela talk to you about becoming a Cadet?”

“What kind of curse do you have?”

“Want some soda?”

They were all talking over each other so loudly Wisty could hardly piece together what any one person said. She was luckily saved by Elanor, who swept out of the room behind her.

“Really now! I’d said there’d be time for introductions later, but this poor child has had a very long day and she certainly doesn’t need to be bombarded by you all at once. I know you’re all excited about the prospect of a new Cadet, but please, be considerate. Don’t scare them off just yet!” she said, a good-humored smile curving her mouth. She placed a hand on Wisty’s shoulder and looked down at her, still smiling. “Think about my offer, won’t you? I think you’d be a valuable member here.”

“I’ll think about it, for sure,” Wisty said.

Ela nodded. “Good. In the meantime, would you like to stay here awhile until you’re feeling better? Maybe get yourself acquainted with some of our Cadets here.”

“I’m- Thank you very much Mrs. Elanor-” Wisty managed to squeak out as Bianca grabbed her wrist and began to pull her away.

“Just Ela is fine, dear!”

Bianca ushered a bewildered Wisty into a seat, and the remaining chairs at the table were very quickly filled in. A stout girl with hair that curled at the ends trotted up to the crowd, notepad in hand.

“Hi! I’m Cameilla, a waitress here. Can I get you anything to drink?” she chirped, smiling wide. 

“I’d looooove a soda-” a boy at the table started. “She was talking to the new kid, not you,” someone else retorted. 

“Well...if it’s not too much trouble, I’m literally dying for a lemonade right now,” Wisty said.

Cameilla smiled and hopped away towards the kitchen. “Cameilla is the youngest Cadet,” Bianca said. “She’s not keen on the whole fighting thing, so she works as a waitress here instead!” 

She returned a very short time later with Wisty’s lemonade, and the questions began. 

The first to speak was Pinprick. “So, my dear, care to share with the rest of the class? Why don’t we get those introductions out of the way.”

“Oh! I’m Wisteria. Just Wisty is fine.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly. One of the Cadets tapped near their eyes and pointed at her.

“Oh right, my curse. Well...I can’t see color anymore,” Wisty found it was easier to talk about than she had anticipated. “I can still see and all, but it’s like--you know black and white photographs? It’s like that. I can still see value, but all the hue and saturation is gone.”

There was a wave of nods and aaaaaah’s that quickly turned into a collective scream as a thick, viscous liquid trickled down Wisty’s cheeks.

“Holy shit your eyes are melting!!”

“No no no no they’re not! They’ve been doing this ever since I woke up. I’m...really hoping this isn’t a thing my eyes just do now…” 

Bianca slid a napkin dispenser her way and Wisty grabbed several, hurriedly rubbing at her face, grumbling in frustration.

“I swear, if this is just a thing for me now I’m gonna go feral,” she muttered.

“Being colorblind looks pretty metal,” a boy with glowing white eyes said, blowing a cloud of smoke out through his teeth. A cigarette was clenched between them.

Wisty wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag into the napkin. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke. The Cadet sitting next to the boy must have noticed, because he deftly yoinked it out of his comrade’s mouth.

“Yo Harvey, what the hell man?!” the boy squawked as the person in a bunny mask crumpled the cigarette in his hand.

“If you paid any attention to her face, you’d have seen your smokestack was making her sick, dumbass.” He turned to Wisty and stuck out his non-ash covered hand, which Wisty took and shook. “I’m Harvey. I make weapons for Cadets here. This idiot next to me is Dex.”

Dex gave a short wave, grinning widely. “Yep, that’s me! Dex, the resident heartthrob.”

Wisty blinked. “Oh, I’ve seen you before! You nearly ran me over with your bike once.”

Everyone present swiveled their heads to stare at Dex. He blinked.

“I’m sorry about him. He tragically lost all his brain cells years ago.“

“...I did?”

“Oh my god Dex that is NOT what you say to someone you nearly flattened with your dumb bike!”

“Hey! DeeDee is NOT dumb! She--ow ow ow ow!” his words cut off with a squeal as Harvey sitting next to him grabbed him in a headlock.

“I’m sorry about him. He tragically lost all his brain cells years ago.“

Wisty couldn’t help but giggle. “Um, have you all been here long?”

“Some of us have, yeah,” Harvey said. He released his hold on Dex, who sucked in air theatrically.

“Caldwell, the guy workin’ behind you? He helped form BC with Ela. They go way back,” Pinprick said. “Then we all joined one by one! There’s many more of us who aren’t here right now, but it’d be lovely if you met them, cupcake. We’re definitely a rag-tag bunch with a myriad of curses to match.”

Bianca tossed her hair, grinning in a way that seemed very much prideful. “A witch set me on fire and I turned into a lava elemental! Best thing that ever happened to me!” 

“I mean, it’s fairly obvious for me,” Pinprick added, grinning equally widely. “Black Cauldron’s resident ghoul.” 

Harvey was silent until Dex leaned on him hard enough to nearly push him off his chair.

“Oh god fine!” he relented, placing a hand on Dex’s face and shoving him away. “I was dared by some buddies of mine to put this mask on and it never came off,” he said. “Happy now?” he added to Dex, who was watching him with his chin in his hands, smiling mischievously. 

“How do you eat then?!” Wisty balked.

“With a straw, duh.”

“What about you, Dex? Wh-”

“Sooooo!” Dex cut in. “Are you thinking about becoming a Cadet?”

“I mean, Ela did make the offer to me. But I dunno how much of a help I’d be to be honest. Fighting sounds interesting, buuuuut all I’m really good at is making art.”

“We can help teach you, if you join. And Harvey can make you a weapon!” Dex said. “And if ya want, maybe you could team up with someone, like Alphus over there, or—”

“I work alone, Dex boy,” the woman leaning on the wall nearby said.

Wisty shrunk in her seat.

“Oh, don’t mind her cupcake, she can be a little standoffish towards everyone at first,” Pinprick said, placing a reassuring hand on Wisty’s shoulder, nearly knocking her off her chair. “Honestly Alphus, be nice!”

Alphus shrugged. “Hey, never said I was against backup if I’d ever need it, which I won’t. Just so long as no one gets in my way.”

“So what was this about you being an artist?” Harvey inquired.

“Oh yeah! I mostly do commission work and run my studio outta my apartment. You might’ve seen some of my stuff if you visit the underground city.”

“Oooooh, can you show us some of your work?”

“Can you draw something right now?”

---

It ended up being pretty late when Wisty finally set off back home. A slight breeze wafted through the city streets, and they initially felt oddly at ease, despite everything that had happened. But as they walked along, gazing at familiar sights, a pit opened up in the bottom of their stomach. How were they going to deal with this? What would they tell their friends? Their family? The streetlamps that once felt so warm seemed frigid now, a dull grey. Values were mixing together and hard to tell apart. Wisty impatiently flicked away yet another trickle of black from their right eye.

Black Cauldron…

They’d heard of them for a long time, but they never imagined they might end up joining one day. And even now, they were still unsure. Everyone they had met were very friendly, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to become a Cadet. Maybe they could make recruitment posters or something. Or something. The last thing they wanted to be was a hindrance to anyone. 

A single day at a time.

“Ugh!” Wisty shouted aloud, throwing their fists in the air.

They had time to think it over, even Ela had said so! There was no rush.

They’d take it one day at a time.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Didn’t want to post this but I just realized it was more than one tweet so eh (I only checked to see if it was deleted cause a tumblr reblog got deleted that I was replying to so fkldsajfljfd didn’t know if the the tumblr/twitter user were the same person, but considering it happened within 24 hrs of each other, but yeah I saw they made a few other tweets about it b4 the one I saw and I’m like “mmmmm I wanna set a few boundaries for future ppl that come on this blog”) And it was bothering me and I dunno if it was an accident on their part, but in case it wasn’t yeah....wanna set a few boundaries.

Listen if you don’t like my opinions it’s fine (I know I’m not exactly screaming into the void I now the void can scream back), and if you want to openly disagree and open a discussion that’s totally cool too! Or if you want to privately complain to your friends (aka I’m not following you or it’s a private message, or really just any way I won’t see it like even stumbling upon it) that’s neat too! 

But uh.......I never thought about it till now, but I don’t think I like ppl complaining about me in private (name cropped or not) and then tagging me so I can see their complaints. I dunno that makes me a bit uncomfortable. Like go ahead, tear my 3 am rants apart or bad mouth me, that’s fine, I don’t care. I don’t care cause it’s outta sight outta mind. But you do that and then tag me? So I can see it? Kinda makes me uncomfortable. Esp if it’s not to open a discussion. 

I’m gonna give them the benefit of the doubt that it was an accident (probably meant to do “@/” so as to not directly at me but forgot the “/”). But in case it’s on purpose and other people think of doing it, please don’t (this goes for Twitter and tumblr). Want me to see something? Want to ask me a question? Want my input? That’s ok! Want to rag on me/my opinions/something related to me, then at me, and leave it at that? No please don’t. 

I’m not mad, just uncomfortable (and paranoid in case it happens again). And I also don’t want a witch hunt, I just wanna set boundaries. 

Ah......also, again cause I’m paranoid (constantly paranoid about this tbh), I really hope that I don’t come across as hostile. I know I can get heated in my rants (never aimed at any anon or any person, just at P5 or whatever is angering me at that point.....usually P5), and I figured y’all are here for my long winded ness and my harumph harumph-ness or the fact it reads like a fever dream....it def feels like one when I type kelfjsadfja (when it comes to those kinds of posts at least), but even at my most salty I don’t want anyone feeling like “ah def don’t feel comfortable countering her or asking questions.” Obviously this isn’t a “positivity only~!” place, but I want it to at least feel like people feel respected. orz

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #311

“somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend that i had in february of last year.”

What is something that is so awful it gives you pain in your teeth? Extremely sweet and/or cold treats. What is something you would like to teach someone? I love educating people about meerkats, snakes, tarantulas, opossums... lots of animals. What is something people tend to come to you about? For me to take pictures for them. What is something you would be willing to gamble? I don't mess with that. What's something you're absolutely 100% sure about yourself? Uhhh that I really like creating things and just being artistic. How often do you self-reflect? Probably too much, really. When was the last time you realized that you were the problem, if ever? I feel like a problem now, still living with and financially depending on my mom. If applicable, what's the furthest you've traveled because of a hobby? Ha, Mom and I got lost driving one day looking for roadkill for me to photograph (that will always feel weird saying) and wound up pretty far north from home, kinda close to Virginia. It was a fun afternoon/evening. What are some sights around the world you would like to see some day? I'm honestly not crazy about pursuing ancient architecture, but I'd take the opportunity for some if I could, especially in Egypt. OH! Venice would be cool, and whatever that city is with the umbrella "ceiling" layer outside. Do you have souvenirs from other countries? If so, what and from where? No. Apart from sleeping, name something you enjoy doing in bed: Sit on my laptop or read. Do you believe in ghosts? Yeah, or at least something of the sort. Do you stay friends with your exes? Girt and I are close friends, while the others I don't have contact with. Not because we're on bad terms (I may be w/ Jason, but I think our last meeting was freeing for both of us and distilled any remaining tension), we just don't talk. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight? Pretty sure no, I'd crash. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you? One or two. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for? No. How many pregnant people do you know? Good Lord, a lot. People are bored in quarantine apparently lmao. Who was the last person to play with your hair? Myself, outta boredom, kinda just twirling it. Have you ever seen the inside of a computer? Yeah. ^If yes, can you name any of the components? I could probably identify the motherboard. If you could get a new phone right now, would you/which kind? I would. Idk what kind, though; I'm not very familiar with what's up-to-date. Have you ever cut your own hair? No. If you had the chance, would you start your life entirely over? No. How old is the eldest member of your family? I don't know really, given both pairs of my grandparents are dead. Probably some aunt or uncle on Mom's side. I don't remember their birth order. Do you drink the milk from the bowl after you eat all the cereal? No, it grosses me out for whatever reason. UNLESS it's after a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, then I'll drink it. Do you know anybody who has had an online relationship? Yeah, me, and some others. One thing that your guy best friend doesn't like about you: He's never told me about something he doesn't like, so I can't speak for him. How about your girl best friend? Ummm you'd have to ask her, too. Do you loan your friends money? *recites the usual financial woe story* Are you taller than your siblings? No. Do you have “photoshoots” with your friends/family members? Definitely not regularly by any means. Are you generous? If you ignore monetary generosity for obvious reasons, I think I am in other ways. Are you afraid of lizards? No no no, I love those tiny lil dinosaur boiz and gorls!!!!! :''') Ahhh, I want a tegu especially one day. How legible is your signature? It's perfectly legible, imo. How hot are your neighbors? I don't even know my neighbors. Well, Mom's spoken to the woman to our left more than once if they were both outside, but I know she's an older woman whose appearance I never really noted, but regardless, I know I wasn't attracted to her. Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who's your buddy? Yeah, I can finally play it regularly since they began offering a daily box with a few items in it, like the balls. I'm not checking, but I think I'm like... around 23? My buddy is Charmeleon because I love love loooove that evolution line and absolutely want a Charizard ASAP. :') What's the most daring thing you have ever done? I guess that would be the story about how I challenged my rather intense fear of fair rides that can trouble the stomach by going on whatever the thing's called where you slowly go very high up and then drop down abruptly. Yeah yeah yeah, I was safe the whole time, but it was daring by my standards, haha. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced? It's been pierced twice already; the first time it closed while I was in the psych hospital and had to take it out, and the second one I just gave up with it after I kept losing them in my sleep and they just fell into the fucking void or something because I could never find them come morning. I eventually had none left to replace those I'd lost. And yes, I wore the curved types, they still just came out somehow???? Probably didn't help that I sleep like, ON my face sometimes, but... lol. I've been thinking of doing it one more time, but this time with a hoop ring. Nostril piercings are just really cute to me. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Somehow. Are you friends with your best friend’s boyfriend or girlfriend? She's single. Do you have tan lines? HA. Absolutely not. Not even in the summer. Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip piercing? Yeah, he had snake bites. Has anyone told you they were in love with you? Yeah. Have you ever seen a bald eagle in person? Yes. Have you ever been vomited on? What about in vice versa? Oh my fucking god no, don't even make me imagine it. What is one family member you wish you were closer to? My sisters. When and where did you lose your virginity? Since then, what was the longest time you've ever gone without sex? I dunno, his bed or mine when I was maybe like 16 or 17. Been many years. What is your biggest fear about making a total commitment to someone? That I'll experience heartbreak again. Do you think that your life is exciting enough to be made into a movie? Do you think anybody would actually enjoy it if it were a movie? lol fuuuuck no If you were the opposite sex, would you be attracted to you? I don't know? If I was a different person, I'd obviously have unique tastes, too. Have you ever walked around your house naked? Oh no, I'm way too uncomf for that. Do you prefer profile pictures of you by yourself or with someone else? Me by myself. Did it bother you to find out that Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Toothfairy were not real? Not really, no. I'd been suspicious about it for a long time anyway. Is there a food that you only recently started to like? If so, what is it and when did you start liking it? How often do you try again foods you don't like to see if your tastes have changed? Hm... I'm unsure about "recently." I'm not very adventurous with food at all, so the answer for the last part is not often at all. Who would you NOT want to read the surveys you've posted on here? What would most likely happen if they did read it? Is there anyone you actually wish would read your survey answers but doesn't? Probably my therapist lmaoo. It'd spark some concern, especially regarding my PTSD, for him to be able to see "wow, she is deeply scarred." I don't really "wish" anyone else would read them, other than the occasional answer I wish He Who Shall Not Be Named could hear. Do you watch Glee? If so, which song do you want to hear on there that they have not yet done? If not, which TV show do you think has the best soundtrack? I don't watch it. The answer is obviously Supernatural, like good good shit right thar. Do you think you would be able to pull off a crime perfectly, without being caught? What about other lies? For example, cheating on your partner without getting caught? Would you be able to get away with it? Ha, hell no. I'm way too clumsy in more ways than physical and would overlook so many details. And I wouldn't WANT to get away with cheating on my partner, thanks. Do you know anyone who has divorced and remarried the same person? What do you/would you think of someone who does that? I don't think I do, and it's not really my business, but I'd have silent doubts, probably, depending on why they split. Do you say goodnight to anybody before you go to bed? If so, does it feel weird if you go to bed without saying it to them? I say goodnight to my snake Venus; even if she's in her hide, I say it when I walk past her terrarium. It probably wouldn't feel weird not to, but I want to, even though she can't even hear me lmao. How do you react when you're scared? Do you scream, jump, cover your eyes, etc.? I am VERY jumpy, tend to gasp easily, and sometimes scream if I'm seriously scared. Who is the best storyteller you know? What do you find best about their storytelling? Is there an interesting story of theirs you'd like to share? I don't know. Do you strongly dislike (or even hate) any bands or musical artists? If so, what caused such a strong negative emotion towards them? Not for purely their music, that's just stupid, but I could certainly dislike artists for what they do as people. For example, I haven't looked into it whatsoever, so it could be a load of bull, but I know Manson recently had some sexual misconduct or assault allegations rise against him, and honestly, I'd believe it. He's one of my favorite artists (emphasis on the "art"), but definitely not high on my list of favorite people and keeps doing things that are making me lose more and more respect for him. Then there's Otep... again, one of my favorite musical artists. I agree with a good handful of her values, but she is nevertheless an absolute holier-than-thou, intolerant bitch. I don't like her as a person. Do your parents have any collections? If so, what do you think of those collections? Dad collects Cleveland Browns and Carolina Hurricanes stuff; it's all over his "mancave." I don't have an opinion on them. Do you have a favourite role of Johnny Depp's? If you don't like him, what is your favourite role of an actor you like? I'm not familiar enough with all his acting roles for this, but I know he's incredibly good at what he does. If you were in a competition to win your dream prize, and you were allowed to decide what the competition would be (trivia about your favourite band, a foot race, singing, etc.) , what would you choose and why? Uhhhh maybe facts about meerkats? Reason being it's something I'm honestly very knowledgeable about. What is your least favourite thing about the English language? Are there any other languages you prefer besides English? It breaks its own "rules" ALL the time. If I was fluent in German, then I might actually prefer it. There are many parts to the German language that make it very precise and clear what and whom you are addressing (ex., there are two different "you"s for singular and plural usage); the only real downside I see to German is the sentence structure is odd, but then again, I mean, it does encourage active listening to get all the parts of a sentence you need to understand what is being said. Would you be upset if a long-term partner confessed that they had committed a serious crime before you met? How do you think it would affect your relationship? Hm. I guess it would depend on the crime? I sure wouldn't be happy hearing they committed an as you said serious crime, but I'd have to consider if there were other red flags for danger going on, again, if it wasn't massive in my eyes. Do you enjoy watching the special features found on most DVDs? What do you usually enjoy more: the deleted scenes, the bloopers, the audio commentary, or the behind-the-scenes footage? I have to be seriously into whatever I'm watching to explore these. I do love me some bloopers, though. Was there something you were afraid of as a child that just seems silly to you now? I had that usual "monster (or in my case, skeleton) in the closet" fear. Have you ever had a crush but then found out he’s gay? Almost positive my puppydog-love middle school bf actually is gay. I also had a crush on a closeted gay guy for a little bit that same school year. Nowadays he is so open about his sexuality and even does drag, and he's great at it! It's wonderful seeing how far he's come in his confidence. Would you ever be a porn star? What'd your name be? Oh no, hunny. Does blood make you squeamish? No. What's your favorite Pokemon? Ninetales. <3 I also have a very soft spot for Charmander, though. What was the last event to cause you any sort of heartache? My older sister got in a wreck yesterday because some impatient bitch ran a red light. She's fine but did break her clavicle and is going to be using a sling for probably a few months. It was definitely upsetting to hear about. What do you do when you like someone? I tend to get very shy around them, more than I naturally am, and smile a lot. I try to stay in contact with the person, and it's maybe a 60/40 chance I'll wait for them to make the move versus me, but I've done it. Do you mind if people just show up at your house unannounced? YEAH. Especially as someone who needs to mentally prepare for company, don't do this. Do you enjoy rain? To a degree. If it hangs around too long, it affects my depression. I LOVE going to sleep to rain pattering on the window, though. You love Jesus, yes? I don't believe he was a bad person; quite the opposite, actually, but I don't "love" him. I won't go too deep into why just because I'm not in the mood to offend people today lmao. Who’s your favorite person in the whole world? My mom. She's my rock. How many different beverages have you had in the last 24 hours? Just water and Mountain Lightning (a Mountain Dew ripoff for us poor folk, haha). Oh wait, I did have a meal replacement shake for lunch yesterday, I think? Or that might have been the day before... How many brothers does your father have? None, unless I've seriously forgotten him having one. He only has a sister, to my knowledge. What kind of camera do you use? I have a Canon EOS Rebel T6. If you could change you name, what would you change it to? I wouldn't. 25 years with a name I quite like has worked out fine. What was the last song you listened to in the car? Uhhh it was "Drugs" by Mother Mother, I think. Are you the youngest, oldest, middle, or only child? I'm the middle child between my parents. What's the best thing about the place you currently live? Hm. I would say for practicality's sake that we're very close to pretty much everything, but seeing as I enjoy long car rides... With that in mind, I'd say who our landlord is. She's a very close family friend who is very understanding of our financial position, so pretty forgiving with some things. Do you eat breakfast daily? Yessss, I need breakfast to start my day off. Can you hear anyone talking right now? No, just singing. I'm listening to Motionless In White's cover of "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers. What's your favorite flavor of ramen? I solely enjoy the spicy pork bowl by Yakisoba. I've never had another I've liked. I lived off that shit in the apartment. I guess what they say about college kids is true, haha. Never realized that. When was the last time you had a bowl of soup? What flavor? Back when I got my snake eyes tongue piercing, I tried vegetable soup only to find I didn't like it anymore. Do you have any tinned foods in your cupboard at the moment? Yeah, lots. I couldn't name 'em all, besides like, diced pineapple, corn, and beans. We always have those. What was the last food item that you tried for the first time? On Thanksgiving, I was actually brave with food for once and tried that sweet potato dish that's topped with marshmallow, and it was okay. I never liked sweet potato before, and while I couldn't eat a lot of it, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Does anyone in your family have green eyes? No. What was the name of your first ever pet? I was born into my family with a beautiful collie named Trigger, but I have zero recollection of her because she passed away from old age when I was very young. My first personal pet was either my guinea pig Squeak or Chinese water dragon Shadow (no, I have no idea why I named a green lizard that); I can't remember who came first. I adored them both. I feel so bad looking back though, I was so uninformed on how to properly care for a water dragon that she (or he, we were never sure) was, as far as correct husbandry goes, horribly taken care of and stunted from having a tank too small. I consider myself lucky she seemed to really trust me and loved being held, even sleeping on me, and she did live out her full lifespan. I was lucky; please, please, never adopt a reptile until you are properly educated on their unique care. Where was the last place you went out for lunch? What did you order? Mom bought me McDonald's a few days back because I was really craving it. I had a double cheeseburger and for once large fries, because that's what I was seriously wanting. I usually get small or medium. Where was the last place you went for an evening meal? What did you order? I feel bad and selfish for breaking my own "stay the fuck home but for emergencies" rule, but my mom, one of my sisters, and I went out to the Cheesecake Factory for my birthday. I think I ate a chicken sandwich with Chipotle sauce? I actually don't remember for sure. I do however remember the cheesecake I got: some cinnamon swirl one that was fucking glorious. Oh yeah, and we had an appetizer of these pretzel ball things dipped in fondue. I ate waaaay too much, but it was a special occasion, so whatever. Have you Googled anything today? What? I ensured I spelled "clavicle" correctly. Yaaaay, I did. What do you like to eat for breakfast these days? Special K cereal, a sandwich, sometimes those pancake & sausage on a stick things I mentioned at some point in the last survey I think, or a Jimmy Dean breakfast bowl. Maybe other stuff I'm just not thinking of. Is anyone in your family a nurse? No, but I have family in the medical field. Do you like to wear lipstick? What colors do you think suit you best? Not really, no, but I will sometimes for pictures. It smudges too easily yet is also hard and annoying to get off. I only really wear black. Who was the last person to recommend a book to you? My therapist recommended a book for the whole PHP group, but I can't remember what it was. Something self-care related. Who was the last person to tease or joke around with you, in a friendly way? I wouldn't be surprised if it was Tobey, the "family friend" I mention a lot. She probably said something technically rude that she thought was an appropriate joke. Is there a jar of peanut butter in your house? Yeah, always. Does anyone you know own a tabby cat? How about a cocker spaniel? Tabbies are very common, so yes. I don't think I know anyone with a pure cocker spaniel, but my late dog's mother was one. Do you have blinds or curtains in your bedroom? What colour are they? I have those slanted blinds that you can close by pushing them upwards or downwards with a stick thing. They're white. What was the last beverage you tried for the first time? Some form of juice I wasn't a fan of. Orange and peach, I think? Who was the last person that said you were beautiful? I think a friend on Facebook when I changed my profile picture. Is/are your pet(s) fixed? My cat is neutered, but obviously my ball python isn't. Roman would mark the house like crazy before we got him fixed... but even if he didn't, we still would have done it. Please make spaying/neutering your cats and dogs a financial investment priority. If you do the research, you would marvel over the "damage" especially one fertile cat can cause. Hell, my childhood experience with cats is enough proof of that.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

i am very much enjoying my vague void! it's currently blasting hozier at full volume and that's almost louder than my internal screaming (don't worry, everything is fine, i just saw a spider)

i've never once in my life have followed a recipe correctly. all of my measurements are completely random and whatever happens happens. it is no longer in my hands. whatever eldritch entities exist take the wheel. and i absolutely refuse to spell anything in english without autocorrect because y'all have way too many double letters and random vowel placement

thank you! sadly, i won't have a break right now, because we just had christmas vacations, but the start of the new semester is always pretty chill. and you're absolutely right, i should take up necromancy! the snow and the cold will add to my mysterious vibes. i just need to get a big black cape with a hood to complete the aesthetic

i definitely picture everything above 5'6 feet as the same height. 5'7 and 6'2? the exact same thing. no difference here

how is morepork a real bird name. it's just... more pork? but the bird is magnificent. i completely approve of your first order as bird queen, not that you need approval from mere peasants like me, but it's a great order. ohhh salps look really cool, and it does look a lot like it! when you said boob implant i thought of mermaids and them using salps as boob implants but then i realised wait wouldn't jellyfish be better for that? because of their shape? ignoring their little leggies they're quite boob shaped, no? and then i realised that i was thinking about mermaids and alive boob implants... if i had to think it, you have to read it. i'm sorry

i was sold before but now i'm even more sure that i want to hire you. and I'll make sure to have lactose free cheese for the backflips (unless you want the lactose version? i'm not judging). will the biting of ankles cost extra?

that sounds like a brilliant set-up for a horror movie where they kill off all the children one by one. it's absolutely horrifying. if something like that would've happened to me i would've most likely just passed out. whatever happens afterwards is not my problem. and now i really don't want to know what the hell your leg was caught on because that seems like knowledge that would get me killed

ah so you're a fellow dirt eater? according to my mom my favourite thing to do outside when i was a little kid used to be eating sand. just shovelling handfuls of it into my mouth and crying when my mom made me spit it out. which i refuse to believe. if there are no photos it didn't happen

you warm climate people are starting to make me think that i'm better adjusted to the cold than i thought i am! it's either that or our buildings are better heated. i definitely don't know if anyone else calls hot water bottled hotties but i like it so from now on i'm using it

that's so cute! i was clearly a way more selfish child because when i found any amount of money i just kept it and bought candy as soon as i could. i clearly couldn't save money then and i can't now. we have stores like that (or i'm assuming that they're like that solely based on how they sell lollies) and they used to be my favourite thing because you could get so many lollies for such a small price!! and my mom even used to let me order for myself sometimes so i always felt like a very big girl jsjshsbsjk

also the fact that i can't send pictures on anon is a crime (yes i know why and it's good that that's not possible because can you imagine anons being able to send pictures? oh no is all i have to say about it) but anyways. because i have this one super cursed photo that reminded me of you and now i can't share it :((

duuuuude, sick void bro. sounds like a vibing void. I feel like I haven’t seen a spider in awhile. Other than daddy long legs. But they’re chill. They mind their own business. 

I nearly always follow recipes exactly. My mum is like oh cook this for about 7 minutes? Yeah sure. I’ll take a wild guess. I’m like they say exactly 7 minutes so I’ll set a timer for 7 minutes and start a stopwatch so if it does seem to need more than 7 I can keep an eye on the extra time and be aware of exactly how long it takes me for next time. Other people are like oh let's see I have [lists 5-10 things in their fridge], hmm...oh I know what I could make with that! I’m like I have beans in my freezer because one recipe required them and no other recipes I know how to make do so what am I supposed to do with these now,,, this is stressful,,, basically I barely know how to cook and recipes are the only things saving me in that area. That is entirely fair. Except for the fuck duck, and murder is not the word you want surely, situations, it’s pretty helpful.

Ohhh I see. At least the start is chill! For a little! Before your entire situation spirals out of hand and you’re behind in every class and it’s taken you a whole day to read 10 pages and you’re exhausted and it’s only week 2. Just me? ok. fair. anyway. I want a cloak so bad. One of my uni friends tempted me to class because she said she was wearing a cloak so my depressed ass honest to god dragged myself out of bed and to said class just to see it. It was worth it. They’re incredible. Everyone should own a big cloak for the aesthetic.

I’m glad it isn’t just me hahaha. I can visualise my own height in feet but everything else is just the same size that is a vague amount taller than me, mentally.

It’s also known as the ruru. But the name morepork amuses me. It’s named after the call it makes haha. It does sound like it’s asking for more pork if you know to listen for that. thank u for ur approval, it means a lot, turns out becoming bird queen didn’t ACTUALLY get rid of my anxiety disorder weirdly enough so validation is great! lmaooo. What if the jellyfish stung them tho? At least salps wouldn’t do you dirty like that. The mermaids would just look like there are hundreds of bugs crawling around in their boobs, flesh shifting as they float around. Which is a vibe. If you’re into that. Jellyfish WOULD make a more solid, single, implant, some of them are definitely boob shaped. But that’s kinda boring no one’s gonna be traumatised by that. Salps on the other hand...yeah, that sight will DEFINITELY traumatise someone.

To be PERFECTLY honest I haven’t done a backflip in years but for lactose-free cheese? Dude. I’ll be going back to training. Gonna be the best backflip you’ve ever seen. As long as it’s not Tasty cheese I am content, but lactose free IS better. The biting of ankles will not cost extra, it is a pleasure to be allowed to do that.

Oh it absolutely would be. It’d be very funny if it reached the wider world bc people would probably be like ok but who would send kids into the bush like that,, it’s an odd concept. meanwhile everyone who grew up in nz is gonna be like y’all, you’re not gonna fuckin BELIEVE what i experienced growing up, it’s real dude. On one hand, I feel like murdering kids in a movie is questionable, on the other hand, It exists, so maybe people would be down for it. I feel like it’d be a good concept even if it wasn’t murdery tho. Like psychological horror? I’m not sure if I’m using that category correctly I don’t watch much horror. A kid following the rope but then being shifted into a different horror dimension but they never take the blindfold off because their teachers said not to and they’d probably have to let go of the rope to do it...I feel like this could work super well as a short film. The viewers see everything. The child just knows something is off and no one is coming when they call for help. I am so down for this. I also do not want to know what my leg was caught on. Some things I am better off not knowing.

yes! I am a fellow dirt eater! We had a sandpit at home (that’s a little bold. It was a large plastic shell that my parents filled with sand. technically a sandpit. but not fancy sdflsdkfsdf) but I don’t think I ever tried to eat it. Then again, I possibly did and just don’t remember because there’s no photo evidence of that one. I’d have to ask my parents sdfhsjdfs, I would however fully believe them if they said yes. it’s very characteristic of me. I don’t doubt it for a second. muuuum that’s my emotional support sand don’t make me spit it out smh the disrespect these days.

Oh I’m absolutely terrible even by most people’s standards around here when it comes to cold and hot temperatures. I remember sitting in the sun in my school shirt and school jersey in summer on a blazing day like it’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? Meanwhile my friends were in the shade absolutely dying from the heat. Likewise in winter I’d be shivering, teeth chattering, dying with my long sleeve thermal, my school shirt, my school jersey, my school jacket, my longs, warm socks and sneakers and gloves and school scarf while ppl would be walking around in a shirt and shorts like it’s a bit warm this winter huh? my body didn’t learn how to thermoregulate and it shows. But yeah NZ does also have a reputation for shittily insulated buildings and such. It shows. skhdfsfs if it’s not common use maybe don’t say can i have a hotty to someone without context but otherwise go ahead lmao. it’s a fun shortened version.

I was typically a very good saver, to the point where my extended family started gifting me gift cards and vouchers for Christmas and my birthday because if they just gave me money I’d put it in my bank account to save towards uni once I hit like, 12 years old. Which I think was a smart move. But apparently, I’m supposed to buy myself ‘something nice’ with it. I think I’m still an okay saver but I’m not as strict anymore. I’m aware of how much I can spare and I’m not just like you can never get anything for yourself ever, so I do get lil things for myself sometimes. oooo yay! At least you know what I mean. But yes. They were the gold mine for lollies. Absolutely terrific stores. My mum would be like hey lindsey how about you order? And I’d be like mother, I am 7 years old and I have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder everyone assumes is child shyness why would you think I would want to do that. Instead I will whisper my choices to you. After therapy tho I felt pretty rad for picking my own lollies by myself. I was like 13 at that point but sdfkjhsdf listen I got there in the end.

sdfkjsdfkjhsdf I like that a cursed photo reminded you of me. That’s all I need to hear. Tumblr said no anon dick pics but they also said no anon cursed photos either,,, very sad. for the latter part. the first part thank god. If I could turn on photos on anon I absolutely would just to see this but I don’t think I can :(

[theoceanoflife]

10/31/2020

I decided to start writing a diary. I've beeen thinking about doing so for the better part of the last few years. I guess shit finally got deep enough again that I decided to give myself another safety net. A place to vent. To scream at the void. That's what this app is about anyway right? By the way I'll figure out a post schedule eventually. And I'm not using any real world names here just incase.

I'm depressed. Pretty sure I've got BPD or something similar. I'm tired. Yesterday my girlfriend, Ella, and I started a break and it's already really hard. I don't even know why. We kinda had to though, she's got kids (PLENTY of drama here, we'll get to that) and obviously wants to keep them. Her husband, (yeah yeah save it) Jay and their counselor think it's for the best. But I don't see why taking a break from our relationship would make things ANY easier on anyone *except* her husband. It certainly isn't going to save the marriage. They've been married for a few years, their daughters are adorable, and from the outside it almost looks like a good mormon marriage.

Except she's gay. As FUCK. She thought she was pansexual, but she'd only been with the one man, and had only recently come to terms with being attracted to women. They decided to give polyamory a try a while back, and had discussed their rules. Jay found this chick to start dating (ironically, my ex, and don't worry. She's too big a part of my past *not* to be discussed further eventually) She decided to fuck him, he went along with it because his idea of poly was "oh hey I get a family *and* all the sex I want whenever" and not "I need aditionally romantic, sexual, and emotional attention that my partner can't provide so we're going to see other people too."

Ella took issue with this. Especially because they didn't use a condom. Idk how the fuck she doesn't have any stds, but my ex can't get pregnant either, so no worries ultimately. Still. Not cool. Wrap it before you tap it dude you don't wanna bring a nasty surprise back to your wife. (or your best friend's cousin. Another time tho.) They also had specifically talked about him *not* fucking around in the early stages, but that's all he wanted to do so 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Anyway. After a little less than a year it was time for round two, Ella's turn. For reference, Ella and I have known each other since middle school. My sister was one of her friends, and we played trumpet together in band so we had plenty reason to be close. We always had a thing for each other apparently but never had the guts to do anything about it. I even took her on her first date *ever* AND to prom "as friends." because she was mormon mostly. I had recently figured out I was trans (earlier this year I had my egg cracked) and had even more recently come out to her because I knew she was a "progressive Mormon" and would likely be supportive. I was correct.

She invited me to a group chat with two of her friends and her husband. Eventually Ella mentions she's looking for a gf. In the gc. Where there are two girls she's *obviously* attracted to. No one says *anything* it's painful how hard we ignored her. My heart kinda started beating faster though. She kept posting things like this periodically in the gc until I got the gumption to throw my hat in the ring.

I'd like to be clear in that I've only known I'm trans since about April. So I don't pass for SHIT. I didn't know if she was attracted to trans girls. I very much look like a boy. I was SHOCKED when she said yes. And so fucking excited. Ella's in cosmotology school so she can teach/help me with all the girly things I haven't had time to experience yet, had a bunch of old clothes for me, and is basically just the most supportive human I know.

We've been dating a little over two months now. And both of us feel a deeper connection than anything we ever have. This break isn't fair, to either of us. But she needs her kids, and I know better than to stand between a mom and her kids. So I'm doing everything in my power to help, even if right now that means being absent. I'm not ok guys. But I will be. We'll hear from Ella in a week to see *if* our break is ending. But I doubt it. The counselor said 4-6 weeks. I think the one week check in is just a consolation. Whatever. I'll make it. I just *really* fucking miss her.

P.S. thanks for reading! I don't care what you think, but feel free to share your opinions with each other. I plan on continuing this for the foreseeable future so stay tuned I guess