#like i remember the things she used to say to us and how she used to treat us on her worst days

[therootbeersprite]

Professional Home Organizer for ADHD here! Kill With A Vengeance the idea of where things "should" go or not. Put things *where you use them*! @ralkana's socks above are a really fantastic example of this - The external ideas that laundry hampers *should not* go in the living room and that socks *should* go in the dresser were arbitrary rules that did not serve the reality of the situation, and disregarding them allowed for real working solutions. Now the clean socks go where they get put on, and the hamper goes where it can best collect the dirty socks - They go where they are used! Good job ralkana!

Try to think critically about traditional tidying rules: What is the intention behind the tradition? Is that core intention something that matters to you? If so, is that traditional method the best available way for you to address that intention? What are the effects of using an alternative method? How do you then address those effects?

Remember: Your home is a place that needs to work best for YOU and YOUR needs. A beaver den wouldn't work best for a horse, and a barn wouldn't work best for a beaver. Stop trying to organize your home around someone else's needs!

I also thoroughly recommend Susan Pinsky's book. For me, it contained a lot of little practical tips that I had mostly already figured out through trial and error, but perhaps it will have some new ideas for you before you go through all the frustrating errors that I did. At the very least it, will help to get you into a pattern of thinking about how to keep things easily where you need them. To me, however, the biggest value in this book is written permission from an authority figure to throw the traditional tidying rules out the window. For a lot of people, this book is the first time anyone says to them that of course those methods aren't going to work for them and that it is more than ok to not use them.

I also really like Jessica McCabe's youtube channel How To ADHD. She just published a book this year, though I haven't read it.

So my therapist has been helping me get to grips with my ADHD, and also the concept that I’m not shit at being an adult, I just can’t do things the way everyone has always told me to do them. Like every single “organize your life” books have always left me wanting to cry with frustration, and after I got hold of a copy of Organizing Solutions for People with ADHD by Susan Pinsky I realized that was because they primarily focus on “aesthetic” over “function”. And the function of most standard “organize your life books” is to “make things look Show Home Perfect”.

So the standard “hide all your unsightly things by doing xyz” may look nice for the first week or so, but by the end of the week it’ll look like a tornado made of pure inhuman frustration ripped through the house as I try to find the fucking advil.

To give you an example of the kind of hell I’ve been fumbling my way through the last 20 odd years: dishes will be washed and left in the drying wrack but never put away. Which means I can’t wash more dishes, which means dishes pile up, which means I can’t make food, which means I don’t eat, which means my CFS gets worse, which means I don’t have the energy to put the dishes away, and so on so forth until I have a meltdown, cry to ETD (who also likely has ADHD but has never had it confirmed) about how I can’t cope with life, and then we fix it for a while, but inevitably end up back at square one within about a week.

Pinsky’s solution to this was “remove an obstacle between you and your goal, if that means taking all the doors off your kitchen cabinets to make things easier, so be it.”

And lemme tell you, fucking revolutionary.

Laundry never ends up in the hamper??? why???? is it a closed hamper??? Remove the lid. Throw it out the window. Clothes are now miraculously finding their way into the hamper??? Rejoice????

Mail ends up spread out over every available flat surface? Put a sorting station right where your mail arrives. Put a shredder or “junk” basket under it. Shred or dump the junk immediately. Realize you only actually have two real letters that need attention, feel less overwhelmed, pay your bills on time.

Like I’m not saying this book is miraculous, but it did help me realize that I was effectively torturing myself by trying to conform to certain ideals of “perfect house keeping”, and presenting a certain image rather than just allowing myself to live in my space as effectively as possible. And why? Why was I doing that? Cause people with different lives and capabilities are perceived as the norm? Fuck that. If this was a physical problem I wouldn’t be forcing myself to conform to an ableist standard, so why am I doing it with this?

My lived space will never look a certain way, and that’s okay. It will never look show home perfect, and that’s okay. It will likely always be cluttered and eclectic where nothing matches, and that’s okay. Sometimes I will have odd socks on because sorting them out required too much mental energy, and that’s okay. Actually fuck sorting socks, just buy all your socks in the same color. Problem solved. Boring sure, but also one less thing to do, which means more time to hyper fixate on fun things. Which really, what else is my life for if not to write screeds and screeds of vampire shit posts, I ask you.

[senseandaccountability]

"I'm me again"

Yes well this is me getting a little sappy - again - about the spirits/demon thing as a metaphor for the human experience, must be Friday. 

(Yes, this is about Solas.)

Last night my Ingellvar was tending to the graves with Emmrich and she said “demons” and immediately corrected herself, because of course she meant spirits but people outside Nevarra so easily call them demons and Emmrich, one of the kindest and most insightful people in the entire DA verse, would of course never do that. Because he sees them all as spirits. Some of them may be twisted, embittered, furious and cruel but to him they are still, at heart, the same being as their more positive virtues. You are always you, as Solas tells Cole. 

Which is also what Solas argues for all of DAI.

Which is also what Solas personal quest actively shows us in DAI.

His friend, broken and twisted by the mages' bindings, dies a spirit of Wisdom, thanking him and telling him not to be sad. “I’m me again.”

Which is also a very strong theme in Solas entire arc. 

But it’s really not just Solas, or the elves. The eternal struggle of spirits is a reflection of the human soul and what it means to be human. What parts of you does the world let you cultivate, what parts are hidden and twisted in the dark, what virtues would you be remembered for if you died tomorrow? What sort of person have you become? What person could you be? DA is crammed with these themes.

Since the spirit reveal/confirmation, I’ve seen a lot of very detailed and very cool discussions about the specifics of spirit virtues and demon characteristics and that’s some good shit right there, but you can also be lazy like me and very much just read it as various aspects of human nature interacting with each other. We’re all so many things over our lifetime, to different people, in different contexts. We all carry such endless capacity for goodness and gentleness and we’re all so very capable of hurting each other.

In the codex entries we see Solas try over and over and over again to appeal to the better nature of the Evanuris. He is described as brilliant and wise, he is pulled out of the Fade specifically for his wisdom and he tries to get them to reflect that, to listen to his concerns, to use their powers differently. Why don’t you make creatures that can protect the People, he asks Ghilan’nain. Why do you need to push your power further, he asks Elgar’nan, the people are already submitting to your rule, why must you shackle them? War may have twisted him up already but there’s nothing he says that isn’t extremely valid and wise about the Evanuris’ approach to ruling.

But as we learn from the Spirit of Command in Crestwood in DAI, wisdom is considered a soft virtue in a world of war and hierarchy and his reasoning falls flat or gets interpreted as fear or insubordination. Unheard and undervalued, his wisdom grows sour and prideful. He isn’t wrong, he knows he isn't, and he will show them. You are not gods, I will make you see that you are not gods. I will humble you until you understand that I am right. 

This is a profoundly human experience.

The ancient elven empire ultimately falls to its own greed and hierarchies and lack of boundaries - all of which Solas pointed out, all of which he and his rebels opposed. But the Evanuris didn’t listen, they were caught in a power scheme where only individual power matters and everyone else becomes pawns. How ironic then that their empire falls to its own foolish pride and boundless cruelty against the Titans, the first children of the earth. They hurt themselves by hurting them. They wound the fabric that binds them all together. 

Solas as a character is an open, ongoing conflict between "spirit" and "demon" aspects, between light and dark, between identifying as a solitary creature or part of the whole. It’s never more visible than during the final act of DAV where he is at once Solas, standing with the Shadow Dragons against the blight. And also Fen’Harel, scheming to get there in the first place, treating people in his way like dehumanized pawns to reach his final destination, a goal that can be argued to be entirely tainted with pride at this point, a way to soothe his conscience and need to be right more than it’s a way to save the world. And he’s the Dread Wolf, physically embodying the struggle against the corrupt powers since he, unlike the Evanuris, doesn’t believe in binding creatures to fight his battles. It’s significant that while he fights alone, he cannot do it without help from Rook. Elgar’nan directs all of the blight at the Dread Wolf and it takes a sacrifice from the team to free him from its grasp. It’s a battle orchestrated by a god. 

And Solas, powerful as he may be, is not a god. 

That is why it’s so lovely to me that the ending isn’t just a matter between Solas and his conscience or between Solas and Rook or Solas and Lavellan. Because we are not single entities. We are not islands. That’s why we need each other, because we respond to each other, we affect each other, we abuse and love each other and we cannot really understand in which ways until we connect. We use each other to remind us of who we are, or who we could be. Every Benevolence needs a Wisdom, every Command needs a Compassion, every one of us needs someone else in some way, shape or form. We are not meant to be solitary. We all share Solas' deepest fear of dying alone. We all share Solas’ ongoing conflict with the better and worse parts of our nature. We all reflect each other. The ending brings in the past, the present and the person that knows Solas not as a god but as a person.

We are shattered fragments of a greater whole and it was, as Morrigan points out, Solas’s love for and loyalty to his people that set him on this course long ago. And he broke the world. He broke his people. He couldn’t save them, all the horrible things that he has done and he still couldn’t save them. Ultimately and emotionally to him, this isn’t about wisdom or pride or good or evil or any such dichotomy, this is about grief and regret and broken humanity.

That is why it’s so powerful to me that a romanced or friendly Lavellan is so kind to him in DAV. They approach him carefully, they kneel down beside him to make a connection, they are understanding and compassionate and it may not be what he deserves on some grand justice scale of things, but it is without question what he needs. Pride and regret and grief need compassion, hope and benevolence much more than it needs to be proven wrong or challenged, kindness breaks the cycle.

They reach out to him not the way one would reach out to a god, but to a person. Because that’s what Solas needs to be reminded of - his humanity. That’s what their love and friendship has always reminded him of, that's what the Inquisition taught him - that the world is worth caring about because broken as it may be, it is also full of people. 

And people matter. They might not matter to the Dread Wolf, but they have always mattered to Solas.

That's what the good ending represents.

"I'm me again." 

[dreamscapeee222]

Got a request: Arcane characters x Noxian deserter reader. As in after the final battle, the reader leaves the army after seeing the wanton carnage and how the world almost ended there.

A/n: Hello!! Hope what I did has suited what you had in mind ^^

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi doesn’t say much at first, but you can see the way her eyes soften when you tell her what you’ve left behind. She’s been there too, walking away from things that don’t sit right. "You don’t have to be that person anymore." The way she says it is gentle but firm, like she’s giving you permission to let go of the weight you’ve been carrying. She’ll help you rebuild, side by side.

Jinx

She’s all wild eyes and rapid-fire thoughts, but there’s something comforting in the chaos she offers you. "Leaving was the right thing, right? We’re rebels, remember?" She’ll pull you into her whirlwind world, but it’s clear—she’s not leaving you behind. She’s got her own demons, but she understands what it’s like to break free. The two of you might not have the answers, but you’ll face the future together.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s quiet, calculating—thinking about what this means for you, and how she can help. "I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, but I know you don’t have to carry this alone." She’ll make sure you have a safe place to land, even if it means putting herself at risk. She’ll never rush you, but she’ll be there when you’re ready to talk, ready to rebuild something better, together.

Ekko

Ekko’s got this way of making everything feel like it’s possible. He won’t judge, won’t force anything on you. He just wants to give you a reason to hope again. "You’ve got a second chance. Let’s use it—together." It’s his way of saying you’re not alone, that there’s a future ahead of you both, one where the past doesn’t dictate what you’re worth. He sees a way out, and he wants you to see it too.

Jayce

Jayce respects the hell out of the choice you’ve made, even if he doesn’t always understand it. He’s got this idealistic, almost naïve belief that anyone can start fresh, and he wants to help you with that. "You’ve done what you could with the cards you were given. Now, let’s make something better together." He’ll offer his resources, his time—anything to help you find a new path. He wants to believe in redemption, and he wants you to believe in it too.

Viktor

Viktor’s more of a quiet support. He understands the cost of war, the toll it takes, and he respects that you’ve chosen to leave that behind. "It’s not too late to build something new. You’re not the person you were." His words are calm but heavy with the weight of experience. He doesn’t rush you to move on, but he will give you the tools you need to rebuild yourself, and he’ll be there to help you do it.

Mel

Mel understands the quiet agony of leaving a past you can’t undo. She won’t push you to talk, but she’s there—steadfast. "You’ve chosen to be more than your past. Let’s build something different, together." Her support is the kind that wraps around you like a soft blanket. She’s not trying to fix everything, just offering a steady hand while you figure out what comes next. You’ll find peace with her by your side.

See pinned.

[danexist]

Going to actually make an addition instead of hiding in the notes because this will be LOOOONG.

So. Doctor Who: one of the longest running, most loved shows on television to date. I love it, my parent's generation love it, my great aunts and uncles love it. But this great show that's been running for longer than my father has been alive, recently, it's gone downhill according to MILLIONS of viewers.

So what made it so loveable in the first place? Well, it was a really fun show about a time-travelling alien who runs around in a blue box with a companion. That's basically the gist, if you haven't seen it. But I hear stories from my grandma even, she and her siblings would watch Doctor Who on TV after dinner whenever it was on, well, after they got a TV that was. When it wasn't on, my grandma's generation would talk about what would happen in the next season, who the Doctor would be next, everything! They knew a next season was coming for certain. And I think that's what made it a really great show for my grandma and her siblings at least, a sense of reliability.

But what's that got to do with us, here in 2024? Since 1972, a lot has changed. Channels have been added, you could tape things, record them for later, DVDs came out, and now, we are in the age of the streaming service. The show has been running since 1963, and television as a whole has changed. Through 15 Doctors, 41 seasons and 2 different renewals, it's DEFINITELY changed. But it followed mostly the same 'alien-of-the-week' format, and I'd say the new season does that, it's just how it has been excecuted.

So, the show that kids have grown up loving for the past 60 years, FOR FREE might I add, is basically hidden behind a pay wall. In Australia, we grew up with the show on the ABC. I don't actually know if the new season was ever shown on the ABC, but it sure as hell isn't on iview. To find the absolutely appalling, very very short season of television, you have to find it on Disney+. It's no longer the show you'd get on Channel 22 after Spicks and Specks, it's another streaming service 8-episode show that's going to be forgotten in 8-10 weeks.

But what in the new show is bad? What about it makes it so easy to hate? First of all, Ncuti Gatwa is a fantastic actor, but it's similar criticism to Jodie Whittaker's Doctor, great actor, terrible writing. Why is that? Well, opposed to Russell T. Davies' first seasons of Doctor Who, it is complete and utter garbage. We have gone from Rose Tyler, the girl who wrote herself into the stars because she loved the Doctor so much, to Ruby Sunday, an overall forgettable companion who could do so much better if they had better writing happening. People talk about Rogue, saying it was a really great episode of television, but look me in the eyes and say it didn't remind you of series 1, episodes 9-10, The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances or Torchwood series 1, episode 12, Captain Jack Harkness. Why is that? Because Russell T. Davies has basically just recycled the same character he wrote 20 years ago, Jack Harkness. He could have done something better, like recast the character of Jack Harkness (don't get me started on that drama, that's a whole different can of worms) with Jonathan Groff and created a seriously great few episodes, but he didn't. And to end a first series with a finale relating to episodes of television tons of the viewers don't remember or are too young to have watched, it's a crappy way to end it.

The fact that it is only 8 episodes long totally astounds me. They have been doing 22 episodes or 12 at the least per series, but this time it's different. It's nearly like they're TRYING to create an immediately laughable version of Doctor Who. I, personally believe Disney had something to do with that, but that's a different post. We used to have action-packed 22-episode series of television we could talk about until the next one came out, but now, we are simply left with an overall forgettable series of television.

Do better, BBC.

[leclercsainzz]

COOL FOR THE SUMMER

PAIRINGS: drew starkey x fem!reader

TYPE: social media au

A/N: their summer fling slowly turned into a deep and genuine connection, as they realized they couldn’t bear to be apart from each other

yourusername

liked by drewstarkey, hichasestokes and 799,972 others

yourusername: when in doubt, photo dump(:

tagged: @drewstarkey @madelyncline

view 7,736 comments

user: when in doubt, post drew starkey

user: MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN (drew starkey)

madelyncline: mom, i made it to the photo dump!

madelyncline: body so tea the british are coming 🫦

madisonbaileybabe: damn— im speechless 😍

user: drew is soooooo fine oml

austinnorth55: cutie 😘 @drewstarkey

↳ hichasestokes: more like HOT

↳ user: they’re just like me frfr

user: soooooo are you and drew dating or?!?!?

↳ user: girl— they’re just friends

↳ user: “friends” okay

user: MARRY ME??!? OMG 😩

user: i’m confused on whether they’re dating or not

user: BODY OMG

user: i get it, drew, i do

user: ma’am, i have feelings for you

user: she stays feeding us with the drew content

user: YN & DREW TOGETHER DURING THE SUMMER BREAK?

user: so ya’ll fucking or what?

↳ user: straight to the point, i like it 🤣

drewstarkey: who’s that fine man in the third post?

↳ yourusername: 🤷🏻‍♀️ just some weirdo i met

↳ user: so you admit he’s fine?!!?? 😏

user: how lucky of drew who gets to worship her bodyyyy

user: body goals

carlaciagrant: woah— she’s hot!!! 🥵

user: mother is mothering once again

user: body-ody frr

user: LORD PLEASE, PUT ME IN DREW’S SHOES 🙏🏼

user: the hottest girL ever, i swear

user: wowzers 🫦

yourusername

liked by jonathandavissofficial, drewstarkey and 801,028 others

yourusername: hot girl summer

view 5,927 comments

user: GIRL— thE last post?!?!?

user: that better be drew 🙂‍↕️

user: drew is definitely the one taking these pics 😉

madelyncline: did mamacita get her margarita?

↳ yourusername: she did;)

user: i looked at her post and sighed

user: that looks like drew’s hands, no?!??

user: drew and her DEFINITELY fuck

↳ user: i just know they fuck good!

↳ yourusername: we’re just friends

↳ user: LMAO “just friends”

carlaciagrant: SEXYY 😍

↳ yourusername: right back at you 💗

user: excuse me?!!!? the last post?!!? yn?!? what is this?!!?

user: @drewstarkey you lucky son of a bitch

user: the definition of mamacita is literally yn

user: his hand is under her hoodie?!!? HELLO?!!?

↳ user: i noticed it toOO 😭

rudeth: that last post? keep it pg, please

↳ user: LMAO

kelseaballerini: stunning girl

↳ yourusername: 🫶🏼 love yaaa

user: girl— is that drew?

fionapaloma: hottie

↳ yourusername: mwah 💋

user: ooh to be yn

drewstarkey: stunning

comment has been deleted

drewstarkey: you got lit, huh?

user: praying that is drew’s hand 🙏🏼

user: body goals fr—

user: yndrew nation rise up

hichasestokes: “friends” they say

comment has been deleted

user: idk if i wanna be her or date her

↳ user: i wanna be drew

drewstarkey

liked by yourusername, madelyncline and 819,937 others

drewstarkey: 🎭

view 5,849 comments

user: CHOKE ME OMG—

user: BUZZCUT?!? DREW GOT A BUZZCUT?!? 🫦

user: he just got 10x more fine with that buzzcut

user: is that yn in the third post?!??

user: HE REMEMBERED HIS PASSWORD 😭

user: um? the cake?!? hello?!? SAME

rudeth: i made that cake with extra love ;)

↳ drewstarkey: 🙂‍↕️

user: nOt rudy baking the cake omg

user: is that yn in the bed?!!?

user: biceps omg— 😍

user: the things i would do to have his hands wrapped around me

user: getting the buzzcut was THE BEST decision ever omg

user: if you zoom in on the third post, it’s literally yn

madelyncline: buzz 🐝

yourusername: thanks for cropping me out on the first post(:

↳ drewstarkey: this isn’t about you, darling

↳ user: DARLING OMG?!!??

↳ user: “we’re only friends” my ass 🙄

user: my man finally remembered he had an account

user: joseph andrew starkey 👅

user: babe, come home! the kids miss you

user: yn getting that everyday omgggg 😩

hichasestokes: ooh wow 😍

user: chill— my girl is on this app

user: everyone wake up! drew posted

user: that’s literally yn, no? there’s no way they’re “just friends”

user: he called yn, “darling” sbsolslandndssksodn

user: he can choke me till i pass out with those biceps 🥰

user: need him bibically

jonathandavissofficial: 🤩

user: getting that buzzcut was the best thing you could ever do

user: @yourusername lucky mf, i fear 😭

↳ user: she fr bagged my man

user: the man of my dreams

user: HOT

user: i need to touch grass omg makslspa

yourusername

liked by carlaciagrant, austinnorth55 and 837,026 others

yourusername: 🇮🇹

view 4,836 comments

madelyncline: my girlfriend

↳ yourusername: hii babyyy;)

madelyncline: SEXc 🫦

user: so that girl on twitter wasn’t lying

↳ user: what girl?

↳ user: this girl on twitter tweeted that yn & drew were in italy

user: MOTHER 😍

user: tHAT’S LITERALLY THE RESTAURANT OMG @user

↳ user: I STILL CANT BELIEVE WE WERE SOO CLOSE TO THEM

↳ user: so you’re the lucky girl huh? 😭

user: that’s definitely drew in the corner of the fifth slide

madisonbaileybabe: ooh lala mamacita 🙂‍↕️

↳ yourusername: te amo 🫦

see translation: i love you

drewstarkey: stunner

↳ yourusername: 😘

↳ user: i am NOT normal about this omG— ajdjsksnsns

↳ user: “friends” yea right

↳ user: they’re definitely dating

↳ user: biTch omg???!??

madisonbeer: gorgeous girl!

user: do you ever not look good?!?

rudeth: wow, you’re fancy, huh?

user: babes, you’re literally so hot

user: alexa— how to be drew starkey?

carlaciagrant: my god, you’re sooo fine

↳ yourusername: are we about to kiss rn 🙂‍↔️

user: feed = blessed

user: yes yes yes yes! 😍

user: i wanna be drew so badly omg

user: drop that white boy and come my way 😩

hichasestokes: where was my invite?

user: girllll 😍

user: wishing i was drew

user: hottie alert

imessage

chase — yn

imessage

madelyn — drew

yourusername

liked by kendalljenner, drewstarkey and 844,829 others

yourusername: tomfoolery

tagged: @madelyncline

view 5,528 comments

user: born to be her man, forced to be her fan 😭

user: please, drew is so lucky

user: stunning!

madelyncline: i love yaa, girlfriend 😘

madelyncline: HOTTTT

drewstarkey: pretty lady

↳ yourusername: 🙂‍↕️

↳ user: PARENTS OMG

user: okay bodyyy

user: ur perfect

user: so are her and drew together?

↳ user: YES

↳ user: no lol

↳ user: nothing has been confirmed so 🤷🏻‍♀️

user: OBSESSED with you omgg 😍

leahkateb: gorgg

↳ yourusername: noo, that’s youuu 🫶🏼

user: when you bless our feed >>

user: 😍 soooo stunning, i swear

user: body so tea

madisonbaileybabe: the hottest :3

user: yn, give me one chance

user: are we just going to ignore drew’s comment?

madisonbeer: hello, pretty girl 😍

user: mother

user: @drewstarkey give me my wife back 😭

user: you have the prettiest smile ever

user: yndrew who? we only ynmadelyn

user: her man is definitely the lucky one

user: what’s the deal between you and drew?? 🤔

user: i think we can all agree that drew took these pics

user: in love with youuu 😩

drewstarkey

liked by madelyncline, rudeth and 823,017 others

drewstarkey: 😼

view 5,037 comments

nick_v_cirillo: 😍 wow

↳ user: yn’s biggest competition has arrived

| liked by yourusername

user: gUYS— she likes my comment kmsbdjsns

↳ user: what comment?!!? 🤔

↳ user: the onE with nick being her biggest competition

user: hey baby daddy

user: Is THAT YN?!??

user: yn?!?!!?? 👀

user: the laSt slide 😭

user: HE’S BACKKKK

user: THE white boy of my entire life 😩

user: smash

user: @yourusername oooh girl, you’re sooo lucky 😭

user: “just friends” my ass

madelyncline: are you cheating on me:( @yourusername

↳ yourusername: NEVER, my love

user: the second photo has me going FERAL 😍

user: bitch— that’s literally yn in the last slide anskdndn

user: i’m so confused 😭 are him and yn together or???

user: question of the century tbh

hichasestokes: sexy

user: sexiest man alive, i swear 😍

yourusername: hot 🫦

↳ user: girl?!!???

↳ user: this confirms they’re together right?

user: the way he’s holding her 😭😭😭

user: i just wanna be one of your girls

user: he’s so fine omg 😍

user: oooh to be yn

user: the last post, i can’t—

user: drew starkey, my man

user: making the second slide my wallpaper

user: thats the loml

user: drew starkey, the man that you are 🫦

user: i NEED him sooooo bad

user: ON MY KNEES 🧎🏻‍♀️

user: yn, you lucky bitch 😭

austinnorth55: 🤩

imessage

yourusername

liked by rudeth, madisonbaileybabe and 875,940 others

yourusername: life lately with my favorite guy drew starkey 💋

view 5,937 comments

user: oMG OMG OMG

user: i just fell on my knees in walmart 😭

user: friends or???

jonathandavissofficial: oh? 😏

user: what— UH SINE WHEN?!!?

madelyncline: YAYYYYYYYYY

user: i thought they were just friends?!??? 🤔

↳ yourusername: we are haha

user: the fourth slide, hello???!?

drewstarkey: pretty girl 😘

↳ yourusername: 🫶🏼 ilyyy

user: wait— are you guys dating or???

↳ yourusername: just friends lol

↳ user: i’m confused, hold on— 😭 what?

user: “friends” LMAO

user: i love how she’s trolling everyone with the whole “friends” bs

hichasestokes: the hottest pair of besties

📌 pinned

user: friends who fuck, maybe

carlaciagrant: love you both!!

austinnorth55: your best friends hot;)

↳ yourusername: sooooo hot

user: baby girl, i’m genuinely confused 😭 are ya’ll together or?

↳ yourusername: he’s actually the loml

user: bItch the FOURTH SLIde????

user: wait, so they’re together together??

↳ yourusername: 🙂‍↕️ yuppp

↳ user: oMg oMG SHE CONFIRMED IT

user: MOM AND DAD 😍

user: tHEY’rE TOGETHER, IT’s cONFIRMED

leahkateb: hottie

↳ yourusername: besitos xx 😘

see translation: kisses

user: WE FINALLY GOT YNDREW 😭

user: about time, omg

user: theY’re so hot together

user: SCREAMING OMG

user: OMG OMG OMG AKANSLDLSBDKDKFJ

user: the second and fourth slide 😭

user: took my man just like that

user: it’s over for us yn girlies

nick_v_cirillo: ❤️

drewstarkey

liked by yourusername, hichasestokes and 885,836 others

drewstarkey: fun times with my favorite girl yn ln 🫶🏼

view 5,736 comments

user: its official, they’re together 😭

yourusername: hiii babyy

↳ drewstarkey: come give me a kiss;)

yourusername: SEXc 😍

user: the text message

user: confirmed obx cast is yndrew’s children

user: YES YES YES YES

user: i feel so single 😭

user: we’ve lost him, girlies

hichasestokes: hey dad 👋🏼

↳ drewstarkey: hi son

user: drew really bagged the baddest girl ever 😭 iktr

| liked by drewstarkey

madisonbaileybabe: my favs! 🥰

user: his sneaky link turned into his girlfriend 😔

madelyncline: my parents 🫶🏼

jonathandavissofficial: much love for you both

user: can ya’ll adopt me too, please?

user: @nick_v_ cirillo they took your man

user: they’re so hot 🫦

user: all aboard the yndrew train

user: we get it, you’re taken 😭

user: ooh you lucky girl @yourusername

user: i love when hot people date

user: FINALLY OMG

user: about time

user: yn’s sooooo gorgeous 😍

user: idk who’s luckier him or her

user: friends or dating??

user: its official anskkssn, they’re dating 🥳

user: thank goD he remembered his insta password

user: this man is sooooo fine 🫦

| liked by yourusername

user: i love them together omg 😭

user: they make such a beautiful couple, i swear 😩

user: mom and dad

user: their babies are gonna turn out cute

user: my family 🥺

user: hottest couple ever

user: yndrew nation rise!!!

user: he’s hot, she’s hot, they make a hot couple 🤤

user: SCREAMING OMG

user: it was about time omg ajajaksndnd

[scarletemeterio]

hii, saw u wanted arcane requests. from what ive seen on tiktok, apparently jinx was able to escape after the explosion in the very last episode and survived and ran away on that blimp thing, so could u please write a jinx x fem reader where after the explosion, jinx comes to get reader and they run away together happily to another region to have a fresh start and have a quiet, peaceful life. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 pls and thank you.

A Fresh Start (Jinx x Gn!reader)

Warnings: mentions of death, use of (Y/N) once

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Fandom: Arcane

Summary: see request

Word Count: 1.6k

No set pronouns for reader

•••

You still remembered every detail, every word said, replaying the moment in your head. You'd had a fight with Jinx, nothing serious you'd thought, but when she and Ekko found you, you could see the pain in her eyes. She came running to you, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean all those things I said,” she apologized, her voice breaking. “You've always been there for me, and I've been ungrateful about that.”

You hugged her tightly, with your arms surrounding her waist, hiding your face in her shoulder.

“It's okay, it doesn't matter now,” you mumbled. “Are you okay?” You asked, breaking apart and caressing her face.

She simply nodded, but you could read her like an open book, and you knew that there was something she wasn't telling you.

Before you could keep questioning her, Ekko decided to speak.

“I hate to interrupt the sweet moment and everything, but we have to hurry if we wanna survive,” he said. You gave him a confused look, slowly breaking your embrace with Jinx.

“Yeah, the world is basically about to end,” the girl said. And both she and the boy tried their best to give you all the information you needed, trying to come up with a plan.

When you were almost finished with the globe, Jinx pulled you apart for a moment, wanting to talk to you.

“I really am sorry about before," she started saying, “I just couldn't think straight at the moment and I took it out on you.”

“Hey, I said it was okay and I meant it,” you comforted her, grabbing her hand.

“I just don't want us to be on bad terms, we don't know what could happen out there,” she whispered, trying to hold back her tears.

“We're not on bad terms, okay? Don't worry about that, my love,” you answered, not wanting to think about the worst case scenario.

“Thank you for not giving up on me, (Y/N), I'm so lucky to have met you. You mean the world to me, and I love you so much.” Tears were already falling down her cheeks, making it hard to contain yours too.

“I love you, too, baby.” You pressed your foreheads together, closing your eyes to better savour the moment. “Don't worry, we're gonna be okay,” you tried to reassure her. “I'm not saying today will be easy, but we'll make it, and soon this will all be just a dark moment from the past.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck once again, not being able to control her sobs anymore. You were taken aback from the sudden action and her reaction. Her embrace was tight and almost filled with dread, almost as if she was certain something bad would happen. You decided to get those thoughts out of your head. Danger was knocking at the door, and you couldn't ignore it anymore; the moment to fight had come.

When you got to the fight scene, Vi quickly joined you, and so did Vander. Ekko took control of the globe, making it crash into the building, knocking the air out of your lungs. When you finally got back on your feet, you quickly went to help Vi and Jinx against Vander, but a hard blow at you was the last thing you remembered before losing consciousness.

You had no idea how long you were out of it. Ekko's figure was the first thing you saw when you woke up, and he helped you sit down slowly.

“Hey, easy there,” he said. “You got hit pretty badly.”

“I'm fine,” you groaned. “Where’s Jinx?” He ignored your eyes, tilting his head. “Ekko?”

He only had to look at you, and you could instantly feel the world crumble around you. Tears quickly flooded your eyes, still looking at the boy in front of you.

“Tell me it's not what I'm thinking,” you pleaded.

“She sacrificed herself to save Vi.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. You wanted it to be some sick joke, for her to get into the room and tell you that it wasn't true, that she was fine and you didn't have to worry about anything. But you knew her, and you knew something felt off about her in that last conversation you had. Turns out something bad did end up happening.

•••

Not many days had passed, the pain still fresh. You were lost in your thoughts, staring at the city in front of you. You were in the spot Ekko had shown you not long ago, trying to find a bit of peace in contrast to the mess in your head.

Life in Zaun was very unpredictable, which made it difficult to make long-term plans, but also made it easy to not get attached to anything nor anyone. But Jinx was the exception. You just couldn’t stop yourself from getting attached to her, and now you were suffering the consequences.

To be honest you wouldn’t really change anything, not even the pain you were feeling right now. Changing things would mean not even getting to know her, and you were grateful to have met her, to share your life with her. You were simply paying life’s price for love.

You suddenly felt a presence behind you, but you kept your gaze to the front.

“I'd really like to be alone, Ekko,” you said, assuming that the boy had come to check on you.

“I'm not Ekko.”

You froze in place. You had to be hallucinating, it had to be the only explanation. She was gone, and nothing would change that. You shook your head in disbelief, looking up at the sky.

“I'm even hearing her voice now,” you said. You could feel that presence even closer now, and you quickly grew frustrated with what you thought was your own mind. “Leave me alone!” You screamed, turning to the presence behind you and freezing once again when you finally saw her.

“Hey, it's me,” she whispered.

You quickly got up, never breaking eye contact.

“But- You- How?” It was all you could say, barely whispering, still not truly believing what you were seeing. She was right there.

“I guess being injected with crazy amounts of shimmer to keep me from dying had its perks,” she explained almost jokingly, trying to lighten up the mood. “I managed to escape the explosion.”

“But I don't understand. Why didn't you come back right away? Why let us believe you were dead?” You had a million questions in your head, and you could feel your heart beating like crazy.

“I needed everyone to believe it, to have a fresh start. Vi would never give up on me if she knew I was still alive; she'd follow me to the end of the world.”

You still kept your distance from her, it all seemed unreal. A few minutes ago you were grieving her, and now she was right in front of you, as beautiful as ever. But you felt anger inside you as well. She could've told you, she could've saved you from that horrible pain of thinking she was actually gone for good.

“You knew you were gonna fake it all along, didn't you?” You realized, thinking about that last conversation you two had. “That's why you were so emotional, so shaken and distressed.”

“Baby, I-.”

“You knew, right?” You interrupted her, voice cracking with your words.

“I did.”

You closed your eyes. You didn't really know when you'd started crying, but the tears kept falling down your face.

“You let me believe you were dead, Jinx! Dead!” You didn't even try to hide how emotionally distressed you were. You needed to let everything out. The blue-haired girl broke the distance between you two, holding you in her arms while you sobbed into her chest, quickly collapsing to the ground.

“I'm so sorry, baby. I made a mistake and I should've told you,” she said while running her hand through your hair. You could tell by her voice that she was also crying, filled with guilt. “I'm sorry, please forgive me.”

“I get why you did it,” you told her after a while. “I don't blame you for wanting peace, but you have no idea how much it hurt me to think that I'd lost you.”

She cupped your face and made eye contact with you before pressing your foreheads together. “I'm sorry,” she repeated, feeling like she could never say it enough times to express just how much she regretted not letting you know before.

“I'm just glad you're actually okay, love.” You leaned in to her touch, savouring the moment after such turmoil.

She gave you a kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“I want you to come with me,” she uttered.

“Come where?” You questioned.

“I don't know, away from here,” she replied. “I really want that fresh start, but I know that trying to live without you would be absolute hell. I've had many uncertainties in my life, but you just feel right. If there's something I'm sure of is that I love you, with every part of me.”

“I love you, too,” you told her. “And I'd also follow you to the end of the world.” You let out a hopeful smile, and so did she before cupping your face to kiss you.

Her lips against yours felt absolutely right, like it was just the way it had to be, forever and ever. You belonged together, and there was nothing you wanted more than to build a future with her, away from all the ghosts from the past. You knew it wouldn't be easy, both of you had a lot to let go of but with her by your side everything felt a bit easier, and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful.

•••

i absolutely loved this request, thank you anon! i'm a sucker for angst

also i'm 100% sure she's still alive

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve's half asleep on the couch when Dustin arrives the next day, and Robin lets him in.

“Hearts out,” Dustin demands immediately.

Steve winces. “Not a good idea, bud. My ribs are-”

“It's not your ribs,” Dustin interrupts. “You think I didn't see some blood when you were waving your heart around? Don't treat me like a baby, Steve, come on.”

Robin looks at him, and Steve shrugs.

“Okay,” he says, and Robin takes his heart out from her chest.

It looks better than it did yesterday, but it's still pretty pulpy, and Dustin goes pale.

“Steve,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“It's getting better,” Steve promises.

Dustin frowns, looking between him and Robin. “Are you having trouble breathing again? Why is Robin holding it?”

“It heals better when someone else has it,” Steve says. “Some kind of science thing.”

Dustin's frown deepens, then smooths out, and he holds his hands out to Robin. “My turn.”

“Dustin, I'm not going to ask you to-” Steve starts.

“You can't ask, I'm telling you I'm going to,” Dustin retorts. “I'm the first person who carried it, remember?”

Steve looks at Robin. She shrugs, and he can feel that she's not opposed to it, so he shrugs back. She hands his heart over to Dustin. There's some fumbling as Steve gives Robin's heart back to her and takes Dustin's instead, and then -

Huh.

Dustin is just as stubborn as he's always seemed, but underneath that is a quiet fear and a sense of love deeper than anything Steve's ever felt - other than from Robin.

“Come here.”

Steve gives him a hug - or as much of a hug as he can manage - then leans back on the couch again. “Breakfast's in the kitchen,” he says, already closing his eyes.

—

The next time he opens them, it's to the sound of half a dozen gremlins talking in what's probably supposed to be hushed tones.

“How did you all even get in here?” he asks.

They jump, then Dustin juts his chin out.

“I called them,” he says.

“We are here to help,” El says solemnly.

“Dustin told us what happened,” Lucas says.

Steve grimaces. “Look, you guys don't have to-”

“Will it work?” El asks.

Steve blinks at her. “Will what work?”

“If I try to heal your heart. Dustin says he looked it up, and it works best if it's someone you care about. Am I?”

Oh, that's just cheating. How is he supposed to protest with those eyes looking at him.

“Yeah, Ellie, of course you are. It'll work.”

She holds out her hands determinedly. "I don't have my powers. I couldn't save my - my dad, but I can do this. I can help you."

And that's that.

The next thing he knows, they've scheduled up a rotation along with Robin, and taken over his house, setting themselves up to watch TV or play games or do whatever else.

He finds himself alone with El, and he looks at her for a moment before asking, “Do you like cookies?”

Of course she likes cookies.

Steve can't actually do much work, but he can sit at the kitchen table and give directions, and she determinedly follows all of them as she puts together cookie dough.

He can feel the rough edges of her grief and her hopelessness, and he tries to give back as much support as he can.

She isn't alone.

“May I ask you something?” she asks, when a batch of cookies are in the oven and they're eating cookie dough.

“Sure,” he says.

“Dustin is not your brother.”

That's not a question, but he answers it anyway. “Not the way Mike is Nancy's brother or Will is Jonathan's, no.”

She frowns. “I don't understand,” she admits. “Mike says you are brave. That he likes you better now that you're not Nancy's boyfriend. I thought - you are like Mike.”

Oh, he is definitely remembering that for later. “Like Mike how?”

“Mike stepped off of a cliff for Dustin.”

Steve's brain screeches to a halt. “Mike what?”

“There were mouth breathers - bullies. They threatened to hurt Dustin if Mike didn't jump. He did. I caught him,” she's quick to reassure him, like that's what he's stuck on. “So - I thought you are like Mike. You protect your friends.”

“Like you, too,” Steve says, deciding to table the whole Mike thing for now. “You protect your friends.”

She smiles at him, a tiny, fleeting thing before her face scrunches in confusion. “But Max and Dustin and Lucas were not always your friends. Max says you jumped in front of a demodog the day you met her. I don't understand.”

Yeah, Steve's not sure he really understands either - a feeling she must pick up, because she looks even more confused.

“I just - wanted to help.” It sounds even lamer than it did when he said that about cleaning up the graffiti at the theater, but it's what he's got. “Maybe - we don't have to be like anyone, you know? We can just be like us. We can just want to help.”

Her expression smooths out, and he can feel - she kind of likes that.

“What I like,” she says, which is clearly a call back to something else with the way she's feeling, though he has no idea what.

It's okay. He doesn't really have to know what, he thinks - they understand each other.

And they have cookies.

—

He calls Mrs. Byers, just to make sure she knows where Will and El are.

She does, of course, but he also wants to check on her.

Her voice is unsteady and thick with grief, but she tells him not to worry about her, asks how the kids are doing, how he is.

He doesn't want to worry her, either, but he tells her what the kids’ plan is, how hard they're trying to help him.

How guilty he feels about it.

She's gentle when she tells him to let them help, that they care about him and they want to be able to do something good. He promises he will, and that he'll look after them.

He wishes he could do more.

—

Mike's up next, like he wants to get it over with.

Steve wants to tease him about the whole thinking he's brave thing, but when he's hit with everything Mike feels - worry and love and pride and protectiveness and how can I keep them all safe what am I supposed to do, he finds he doesn't want to give him a hard time.

Mike's angry at him, but he's angry at him because he's scared. Because he doesn't want to like him, doesn't want to trust him, but he does.

Mike likes him a whole lot, actually.

And Steve guesses that Mike can feel his own slightly amused fondness, because the kid scowls at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies.

He thinks for a while, while Mike sullenly sits at the kitchen table with him and pretends like Steve doesn't know that he actually has feelings.

Eventually, even though he knows it's going to get him scoffed at, he says, “Do you know why teams have co-captains?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Because they're too stupid to figure out how to play themselves?”

He tamps down on his irritation, though he knows not quickly enough, because Mike looks smug.

“So there's more than one person to make the hard choices. So if one person can't be there, the other can. So no one has to be in two places at once. So one person doesn't have to be everything to everyone,” Steve continues.

Mike scoffs, but Steve can still feel that it resonates with him. “Your stupid sports game is way less important than real life danger.”

“Yeah, sure. But so is your dragons game, and you guys use that all the time.”

He can feel that Mike wants to protest, though he also reluctantly thinks that Steve's right.

“So, what, you think we should pick captains for our Party?” Mike asks.

“Nah. You're already the party leader, right?” Steve asks. He knows that's how Mike sees himself, knows that's the pressure he puts on himself.

Now more than ever.

“But last time and this time, we had to split up, right? And you can't be everywhere.”

“You don't get it,” Mike says. “It's my job to protect them. How am I supposed to do it if I can't look out for everyone?”

“You get some help. Look - that's what I'm here for, all right? Let me help watch out for you guys.”

Mike snorts. “You?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think it's worked out so far.”

Mike glances away. Whatever he's thinking of, there's the faint memory of fear and an unbidden, reluctant wash of relief, of safety.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever, you're in the Party.”

Steve doesn't point out that he's already been in it, according to some of them. He has a feeling that's the most he's going to get out of Mike, for now.

It's enough.

—

It's easy, with Max and Lucas.

Probably easier than it should be.

He and Max swap, and he sits with her angry, confused grief. He can feel her daring him to say something, so - he doesn't.

He opens his arms, and he says, “Come here,” and she's exhausted enough that she does.

He hugs her tight while she cries into his chest, angry with herself for crying and angry with Billy for being so terrible and saving her life anyway. Angry with Steve, too, but that one's too complicated for him to figure out with the echoes of the feelings he gets from her.

“I'm here,” he says after a while, even though it makes her cry harder. “I'm right here.”

He sits with Lucas, after, staring at the door where El and Max have retreated to try to get some sleep.

“I don't know how to help her,” Lucas says.

He doesn't sound lost, but his heart beats in Steve's chest, and he can feel it anyway.

“Me either,” Steve admits, because he knows Lucas can feel it from him, too.

“What am I supposed to do?” Lucas asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “Be there for her. Don't push her, but make sure she knows you're there. That you're not going anywhere.”

Some of the helplessness fades, and Lucas nods.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

They're quiet for a little bit.

“I want to try out for the basketball team,” Lucas says suddenly, then shoots an almost shy little look over at Steve at his pleased surprise.

“That's awesome, man. You want to get some more practice in after a few weeks?” Steve asks.

Lucas nods, then hesitates. “I don't think that Mike and Dustin and Will are going to like it.”

Steve frowns. “They like me okay.”

“Well, yeah, but that's different. We used to think you were a douchebag.”

It startles a laugh out of Steve. “Wow, thanks, Sinclair.”

Lucas shrugs, unapologetic. “We know you aren't now. But they're going to think I'm abandoning them.”

Steve considers. “Are you?”

“No! I'll still play D&D and stuff with them, we'll still be the Party. I want to prove you can do both. I want - I don't want people to mess with them. I want to do what you did.”

Steve swallows, suddenly a little choked up. He wishes he could blame it on his injuries, but he knows damn well Lucas can feel how touched he is.

“You're gonna be great, man,” he says when he has himself more under control. “You're gonna be way better than I ever was.”

—

When Will's up in the little rotation the gremlins have worked out, he lingers a few steps away, hesitant.

"Hey, man, you don't have to," Steve says awkwardly. "I can tell the other gremlins that you're needed at home."

Will looks at him for a moment. "Do I count?"

"What?" Steve asks.

"You didn't hunt a demodog with me, or barricade a bus in a junkyard, or fight off a bully, or go to the Upside Down tunnels, or invade a Russian bunker. You just let me into movies for free and let me hang out at your house with everyone. Is that enough?" Will's tone had been very matter of fact, but it goes a little bit more tenuous there.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, it is."

Will comes up to the table, holding his hands out expectantly, and Steve drops his heart into them.

It doesn't hurt, but by now, he doesn't expect it to. Steve's not sure he'll ever be able to thank any of the kids for this, but if Joyce is right, if being able to do something helps them after everything they just went through, then he guesses he's glad for that.

The awkwardness lingers a little after they've exchanged hearts. Probably because now they can feel an echo of each other's feelings. It makes Steve scramble for a topic.

"Mike and Lucas apologize to you yet?" Steve asks.

Will looks at him in confusion. "What for?"

"You think I didn't notice they've been kind of shitty? My money's on Mike being more insensitive about it, but Lucas has been right there with him, you know? Ditching Dustin half the time since he's been back, and before that it was always you playing fifth wheel."

Will looks a little surprised. “How'd you even notice that?”

"Because the same thing happened to me," Steve admits.

"I doubt it," Will mutters.

"It did!" Steve insists. "I had two best friends growing up. Then in middle school, they started dating, and suddenly every time we hung out I was the third wheel. It drove me nuts at first."

Will frowns. "Wait, but. You were always dating girls."

"Well, yeah, because I knew I was supposed to. I did a lot of things because it was what I was supposed to do." Steve'd liked all of them well enough, enjoyed dating them - especially once he started having sex and realized how good at it he could be - but he's not going to pretend like there isn't a reason his relationships didn't last very long.

Nancy'd been the only one he could see a forever with.

The kid's brows furrow, like he's not really sure what to do with that information.

"My point is-” Steve points at him with his spoon. “-don't let them rush you, or make you feel like you have to do something you don't want to do just to fit in with them. They're a lot better friends than mine were; they'll understand."

Will considers that. "Jonathan says I should never like something just because people tell me I should. That it's okay that I'm a freak, because he's a freak, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “What'd you say back?”

Will scrunches his nose. “I asked if that was why he didn't have any friends.”

He shouldn't, but Steve gives a little snort of laughter. Oh, no, Will is funny.

“Your brother has friends,” Steve protests, to counter his laughter. “He's got Nancy and me.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Nancy's his girlfriend.”

“Point in your favor,” Steve admits. “Still leaves me. And Robin will be his friend.”

Will toys with an apple from the fruit basket on the island. “Are you and Jonathan even really friends? It's not like you guys hang out.”

“Ouch, Byers, I thought you were the nice one,” Steve says, giving the kid a fond little smile to show he doesn't mean it. “There's different kinds of friends, I guess. Did, uh. Did Jonathan ever tell you how I got involved with all this?”

“Not really.” Will says with a shrug. “Just that you and him and Nancy fought a demogorgon.”

“That's because your brother's a good guy,” Steve tells him, then nudges the chair across from him.

It only moves a handful of inches, making Steve grimace - he'd wanted to kick it all the way out from under the table, but clearly he's not at full kicking strength. Still, it does the job, and Will takes a seat.

“I saw Nancy and Jonathan together on her bed one night, when she and I had just started dating. She couldn't tell me about the Upside Down stuff yet, but I knew she was lying, and I thought they were seeing each other behind my back.”

Will's looking at him, eyes huge, and it makes guilt twist in his stomach at the thought of what he said to Jonathan that day.

“We got in a fight the next day,” Steve admits. “I was really mean to him. So I went to your house later to apologize, and that's when I stumbled in on him and Nancy setting their trap. I gotta tell you, it was a really rude awakening, getting my apology speech interrupted by a demogorgon.”

“Try getting your bike ride home interrupted by one,” Will says dryly.

For a moment, Steve wonders if he should feel guilty bringing it up and potentially traumatizing the kid, but - Will doesn't look like he wants to be tiptoed around, and he can feel the faint trepidation from the kid's heart beating in his chest. The fear that someone's going to treat you different.

So Steve snorts instead. “Okay, you've got me beat,” he concedes. “You win the gold medal of demogorgon attacks.”

“Thanks.” It's just as dry, but Will's smiling at Steve like he said the right thing, so he'll take it. “Do I get an actual medal?”

Steve gives a surprised little laugh. “You know what? Sure. Come on.”

His pace is slow as he heads upstairs, and out of the corner of his eye, he's pretty sure he sees Will's hands twitch like he's debating trying to help him up. Steve resolutely ignores it until they get to his room, and then he unearths his first place medal from the medley swimming relay in eighth grade.

“Hang on, let me-” Steve digs around for some duct tape and a sharpie, then slaps a strip of tape on the back of the medal, pressing it down to get it to stick well. He writes demogorgan attack on the tape, blows on it to get it to dry, then hands it to Will with all the solemnity as if he was actually presenting him with a first place medal.

“Oh my God,” Will says, looking a little gobsmacked. “You're a nerd. You're one of us!”

“Hey! You spread that around, and I'll take your medal back!” Steve threatens.

“No way,” Will retorts. “Come back when you get dragged into the Upside Down by a demogorgon for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Steve says. “It's all yours.”

Will is beaming at him, and Steve kind of hates to ruin the mood - but he also really has to sit down. The downside to having them all on a rotation of heart exchanges is that he can't hide when it gets really bad.

He sits down on his bed while he can still do it without just dropping down onto the mattress. Will watches him for a moment, then carefully sits on the bed too, a foot or so away from him.

“So - that's why you and Jonathan are friends? You apologized and you fought a monster together?” Will asks.

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, there's different kinds of friends, right? There's the friends you have because you share a class together, or the ones you play the same sport - or, uh, hobby with, or the ones you just hang out with sometimes. And then there's the good ones, the ones who know you. Jonathan and I might not hang out outside of school, but I know he's got my back, and I've got his. Any time he needed me, I'd be right there.”

His feelings about Jonathan are - complicated, but that's the truth. Whatever else, Steve cares about the guy a hell of a lot, trusts him like he trusts very few others.

Steve's not sure what Will can pick up from him, but it must be enough to convince him that Steve's sincere, because he just quietly says, “Oh.”

“That goes for you, too,” Steve tells him. “Okay? You need me, I'm there.”

Will's cheeks go just a little pink, and there's a faint flutter of some kind in his heart, but Steve can't really tell what it is. “Okay.”

They're quiet for a moment, but it's not really awkward anymore - or at least, not beyond Steve trying to figure out how long before he's going to be able to get himself back downstairs without leaning on anyone.

“Did you date Nancy because you were supposed to?” Will asks after a while.

“Nancy's different,” Steve replies automatically, hearing an echo of himself saying the same thing to Dustin the day they were looking for Dart, and knowing it's just as true now as it was then, even if he's over her now - or as over her as he thinks he'll ever be.

Will mulls that over. “So - I might find a girl one day that's different, even if I've never liked girls before?”

There's something about the way that Will says it that sends him back into the Starcourt bathroom with Robin, watching her stare at him as he said but Tammy Thompson's a girl, waiting for it to click into place for him, and -

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit, he thinks he's accidentally implied something he didn't really mean to imply here. He thinks about trying to stutter out a clarification, that when Steve said he did it because he was supposed to, he didn't mean that he didn't like girls - he loves girls, girls are fantastic -

But.

But there's Eddie.

Will's voice had been so small, and whatever he can feel from Steve's heart in his chest is making his eyes go wide and scared, and it -

“Maybe,” Steve finds himself saying before he really knows what he's talking about. “But maybe not. And that's - that's okay. Whoever you like, or don't like, whoever you want to date or not date, it's okay.”

Steve pauses, feels like that isn't enough, and scrunches his face up. “Unless they're like, objectively terrible. If you get a crush on some little asshole, I can and will make fun of you.”

There's a ghost of a smile there. “Like Dustin and Suzie?” he asks.

“Way worse than Dustin and Suzie,” Steve says. “I had to be nice about Suzie, because everyone thought Dustin was making her up. I'm talking no holds barred here.”

—

"Do you think that guy's dead?"

Steve doesn't have to ask what guy Dustin means. He grimaces a little, because even if he wanted to, there's no way he can lie with their hearts in each other's chests. "We blew up their lab, man, I think most of them are dead."

Dustin frowns, looking like he's not sure if he thinks that's a good enough answer.

"I guess," he says finally. Then, so quietly Steve can barely hear it, Dustin asks, "Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Steve asks, thrown. "You've saved the world how many times now?"

Dustin gives him a look. "The same amount of times that you have."

Steve bumps Dustin's shoulder with the back of his knuckles. "Saved Nancy and Jonathan, maybe, but not sure how much world saving I did the first time. You got one up on me."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Basically the same."

"All right, all right," Steve says. "We've saved the world a few times. Bad people don't usually do that."

Dustin fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "Billy did. Kind of. He helped, at the end. Does that make him a good person?"

Shit, Steve is way too concussed for this.

"No," he says after a little while. "I don't think so. Maybe if he had more time, but I don't think one good thing that he did while he was already dying makes up for all the other bad things he did."

Dustin screws up his face in concentration, then nods. "Me too."

Steve'd really like to just end the conversation there, but he's pretty sure Dustin needs him to keep going, and, well.

He's always going to be there when Dustin needs him.

"What makes you think you're a bad person?" he asks.

Dustin stares at his hands for a little while. "I don't feel bad."

Steve tries to make sense of that for a moment, then gives up. "You lost me."

"I killed that guy," Dustin says, looking back up at him almost defiantly. "And I don't feel bad. I'm not sorry he's dead."

Guilt stabs through him so strongly that he knows Dustin must feel some of it, and he grimaces a little when Dustin frowns at him.

"What was that?" Dustin asks.

"I'm sorry that you had to do that," Steve says. "It's not fair."

Dustin scoffs. "None of this is fair."

All right, yeah, Dustin's got a point. Okay, new tactic.

"Look at me, Dust," Steve says softly.

Dustin pulls a face. "I am looking at you."

"Ugh, no, I mean look at me." Steve waves a hand at himself.

"You look like shit," Dustin tells him.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "You know why I look like shit?"

There's an echo of something remarkably similar to the guilt Steve just felt.

"Because of me," Dustin says, voice small.

Shit.

"What? No! How is this your fault?" Steve asks.

"I pushed the Russian message thing. You only looked into it because I wanted to," Dustin says.

"That's not - I looked into it for the same reason I helped you look for Dart, okay? Because I'm in this, and we're in this together, and if there's something out there, it's going to find us. That's not your fault."

Dustin doesn't look convinced.

"There is nothing that's going to keep me away from being in this with you, okay? Even if you didn't push me. Even if you didn't even tell me. I'd find out, and then I'd be mad." He pauses. "Like, really mad. Like telling your mom you ditched me and got in trouble so she doesn't let you leave the house for a year mad."

"Okay, okay," Dustin says, but he looks happier. "So what was your point, then?"

His point?

Right, his point.

"I look like shit because of the dead guy and his buddies." Part of Steve thinks he should hedge around this, try to sugarcoat it a little, but - treating Dustin like he's a kid who can't handle this isn't going to do anything. "You saw my heart, Dustin. You think the guys who did that were just going to let me walk out of there?"

Dustin looks at him, eyes big. "No," he admits quietly.

"The only reason I'm still standing here is because of you. I mean it, man - I'd be dead without you. And it sucks that you had to do that, and I wish I could have been faster or better, saved you from being the one that had to, but I'm not sorry that he's dead, either. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I'm a bad person because I would do the same thing, because I'd have killed all of them to protect you and I wouldn't feel bad at all."

Dustin's lip quivers a little. "You're not a bad person, Steve."

"Neither are you," Steve tells him.

The kid's eyes look suspiciously wet. Steve shifts, straightening up a little and lifting his arms.

"Come here."

Dustin drops down onto the couch, squished into his side. Steve drapes his arm over his shoulder, gingerly hugging him, and pretending that he can't hear Dustin's quiet sniffles or feel the shake of his shoulders.

"You're like the best person I know," Steve says softly.

"You too," Dustin replies, voice a little wet. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

His heart might not ever be the same, but with all of them trying so hard to keep it together and help it heal - it makes him feel pathetic, but he kind of thinks he might be even better.

It seems a good enough response for Dustin, who stays tucked in against his side, eyes slipping shut like he's going to fall asleep right there.

Steve wants to bitch about it, but he also doesn't want to move, so he just lets it happen.

"I used to be so jealous of Mike and Will," Dustin mutters sleepily after a while.

"Yeah?" Steve asks absently.

"All this sucks, and they had Nancy and Jonathan," Dustin says.

"Mmm," Steve agrees, feeling pretty close to sleep himself.

"I'm not anymore though."

"No?" Steve asks.

"Nah," Dustin mumbles. "You're way better than Nancy and Jonathan."

----

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta

[lizardinkart]

Happy US Thanksgiving, here’s what I think Parahumans characters would bring to a friendsgiving:

Taylor- She’s a dry stuffing/dressing type person. It’s not bad, but it IS bland.

Lisa- Mashed potatoes that aren’t bad tastewise, but she did have to be talked down from something with oysters in it. Because she’s a psychological terrorist

Brian- This man has experienced true thanksgiving even with all the shit he’s been through. He would cook the whole meal if they let him. His mac n cheese will make you believe in god.

Aisha- She forgot, so Brian also made some slow cooker green beans for her to show up with. (She didn’t forget. She knew Brian would make it anyway because he’s picky)

Rachel- Turkey. It’s really fucking good. No one knows where she got it. No one asks.

Alec- His Canadian ass didn’t bring shit. He complains about not celebrating his thanksgiving. He shoplifts some skittles. Charlie Brown type items

Victoria- Fruit tray she bought on the way over and some box mix cornbread muffins (really good).

Amy- Something with jello, cool whip, and fruit pieces in it. That might actually be ham pieces. Someone take the Cold War era cook book away from her

Sveta- Cupcakes and other dessert items that she has decorated to the nines. They all taste immaculate.

Kenzie- Your grandmother’s homemade casserole that you distinctly don’t remember giving her the recipe for

Chris- Chris was banned from contributing meal items to friendsgivings after the “Mystery Meat” incident.

Tristan/Byron- It’s debated whether they should bring one or two dishes. They settle on a half-and-half corn salad, half the way Byron likes it, half the way Tristan likes it. One has considerably more chiles in it than the other.

Ashley- Cranberry sauce out of a can. Straightforward. Iconic. Beloved.

Rain- Rain O’Fire Frazier’s insular cult upbringing raised him to know how to cook for a crowd and leave them desperate for more. He makes 2 sweet potato casseroles, one with marshmallows, one with brown sugar and pecans. Both are gone before you go back for seconds. He makes cream corn so devastating it makes you forget all your parahumanity-related trauma for a bit. You ask him for the recipe. He cannot not tell you. He says you just kinda have to “feel it.” You weep. Some things in this world you can never know.

[fanficsformyfaves]

Us

Agatha Harkness x Fem Witch!Reader

WARNING: ANGST, SMUT 18+, Mentions Abandonment, Mentions of Violence, Mentions Of Death, Panic Attack, Hickeys, Fingering (R Receiving), Oral (R Receiving)

PREFACE: Reader and Agatha met during the 1920's in New Orleans, when Agatha had to move once again as to not arouse suspicion for not aging. They were together for years, but one night, everything changed and Agatha leaves. A century later, she finds Reader again and convinces her to walk down the Witch's Road alongside her and her new coven

A/N: Flashbacks In Italics!

Letter In Purple And Italics!

ONE THING I'MMA DO...IS NOT CRASH THE FUCK OUT AFTER WRITING THIS (I'm reminding myself)

After narrowly escaping Alice's trial and making sure Teen was okay, gathered and started a campfire to brace the cold winter night, before resuming our journey down the road.

"(Y/N)", called out, as I turned to face her.

"Why don't you show us your battle scars?"

I take a quick glance around the group and shrug, thinking 'why not?'.

I pull up my shirt and show them the scar on my stomach, taking notice of the way Agatha's eyes lingered on my exposed skin.

"Bar fight with some random chick who thought I was looking at her boyfriend", I scoff.

"Damn", Alice muttered.

"Yeah, she took a bottle and broke it off on the table and...well. I'm pretty sure you guys can guess how that ended", I say, rearranging my blouse.

"Like I swung that way", I added, watching the ladies turn to each other chuckling.

Just then, Agatha pipes up.

"I have a scar"

"Yeah, the one on your arm", Lilia pointed out.

"Not just that one", she interjected, shaking her head.

I narrow my gaze, looking down at her. More than a hundred years later and I still remembered every inch of her body from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. If my memories served me right, that was the only scar she had.

"A long time ago...I loved someone", she began.

My heart sunk slightly, realizing who she was talking about.

"And I had to something I did not want to do...even if I had no other choice"

That was bullshit and she knew it. She did have a choice and she chose to be a coward.

"And it hurt them", she added.

Back in nineteen-twenty, the start of the Roaring Twenties era, Agatha and I met, when she walked into the speakeasy I was performing at. I was singing my final song of the evening and I spot her sizing me up from the front row. Of course, I grew bashful at the attention, but remained committed to finishing my set.

Once I was done, I take a bow, expressing my gratitude for the crowd's enthusiasm.

"You've been lovely this evening, I'm (Y/F/N), goodnight!", I bid farewell, as the room erupted with applause.

I get back to my dressing room and change into a more comfortable dress, before making my way to the bar.

"You did great, kid", the barkeep praised, handing me my usual.

"Thanks, Rusty", I say, taking the martini.

"Dirty", I hear a voice say behind me, causing me to look over my shoulder.

It was the woman from earlier.

"Pardon?", I say, narrowing my eyes.

"The drink?", she said, smirking.

I look back at my drink and that's when I realized what she was referring to.

"Oh!"

She chuckles, taking the seat beside me.

"You've got quite the voice", she complimented, bringing a pinkish hue to my cheeks.

"Thank you", I replied, avoiding her piercing gaze.

I could sense a certain air about her that intrigued me. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"The name's Agatha Harkness", she introduced, extending a hand.

Harkness....why did that name sound so familiar?

"(Y/N)", I said, offering mine, lazily bent at the wrist.

She takes it and runs her thumb over my knuckles, causing my breath to hitch over so slightly. I couldn't help but bend to my curiosity's will.

"You said your last name was...Harkness?"

"Yeah, sound familiar?", she asked.

I had to be careful. I couldn't risk exposing the fact that I was a witch to the wrong person.

"I believe so. It might sound silly, but a long time ago, I had family that migrated out of Salem"

Her brows raise and she looks me up and down again, releasing my hand.

"Or at least that's what my mother told me. Any who, she had this book of our family's history and I think I might've seen that last name somewhere"

"Is that so?", she questioned.

Her voice sultry and soft.

"I told you it was silly"

"Not at all", she disagreed.

She takes a quick glance around the room, before subtly nodding at a waiter serving drinks.

"Watch him right there"

I do as she says and in that moment, the waiter's eyes glow a brilliant shade of purple, before he drops the tray.

My hand goes over my mouth in shock, as she let out a snort of laughter.

"You're a witch", I whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

"Yes and I know you are one too", she says, looking over at me.

I couldn't help but grin in excitement. Not only had it been years since I'd even seen another witch, but I was actually speaking to one.

"Wanna blow this joint?", she questioned, offering her hand once more.

And since that night, we'd become inseparable, spending every waking moment together. If we weren't out and up to mischief, we were on each other like fever on skin. Not a day would go by before she replaced one fading love-bite with a fresh one.

"Just so people know you're happily spoken for", she exhaled against my neck.

I was sure I'd finally met the person I was meant to be with. The twin flame that reignited the parts of me that I thought were gone for good...which only made it hurt all the more, when that fateful night came.

We were walking home through the quiet empty streets, after one of my gigs.

"Hey", she leaned in to whisper.

"Keep the corset on tonight", she said, making me chuckle to myself.

"You are insatiable"

"Can you blame me?", she sarcastically quipped.

Just then, women in cloaks began to emerge from the shadows. Sensing potential danger, Agatha immediately shields me behind her.

"Can we help you?", Agatha questioned.

"Traitor", they hissed, before the head of the group stepped forward.

"Agatha Harkness", she called out.

"You are found guilty of the murder of your coven"

My stomach drops, hearing the accusation.

"Agatha, what is she talking about?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetness", she reassured, not taking her eyes off of the seven women before us.

"Seize her!", the head ordered.

I use my powers in an attempt to knock them back, only for her to ricochet my spell and heating me right in the stomach, causing me to double over in pain.

"No!", Agatha exclaimed, before facing them once more.

They all began reciting an incantation and a beam of blue struck Agatha, causing her to groan out.

"Agatha!", I say, trying to get back up to help.

"Don't!", she yelled, holding out a hand to keep me where I was.

Just then, the stream of blue magic turned purple and within seconds, the woman began to age rapidly and grow weak. My brows knit in confusion, as I tried to process what was happening.

Eventually, they all dropped to the ground one by one, leaving Agatha in a stand off with the head of the group.

"You...were born...evil!", she struggled, before following the other women's fates with a harsh thud.

Agatha dusts herself off, rushing back to me.

"Are you okay?", she whispered, cupping my face.

"Yeah", I exhaled.

Whether or not I was honest about how I was feeling, I didn't want to burden her more than I knew she already was.

The walk home was silent, but not the kind of silence that brought comfort or peace. It was tense and daunting. I had so many questions, but knew it wasn't the right time. Even as we got to my apartment and slipped into bed, my mind raced. Who were those women? Why did accuse Agatha of such a horrible thing? Most importantly....were they telling the truth?

"I'm so sorry", Agatha muttered, holding me closer against her.

Her voice giving away that she was on the brink of tears.

"Why?", I say, turning to face her.

"That you got caught up in all of this"

I sigh through my nose, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"You would've done it for me"

Her face crinkles in agony.

"Let's just get some sleep. You can explain everything in the morning", I reassured, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

She nods, pulling my head into her chest.

But when that morning came, my eyes fluttered open to a cold empty side. Panicked, I got up and immediately went looking for her, afraid more of those women came back in the dead of night. But when I reach the living room and find a note on the table, my heart met the floor with a smack.

My dearest (Y/N),

Meeting you was single-handedly the best part of the life I was given. You've shown me kindness, patience and a love I could never forget. I didn't think I was capable or even worthy of that kind of love, but you came in like a whirlwind and turned my whole word upside down.

And as much pain as it brings me to say this, that is also the reason why I had to leave. To ensure that I'd never bring harm to you ever again. Where I go, trouble follows and you deserve better than to live your life in fear simply because of me. I love you far too much to allow you to do that to yourself.

Sincerely,

A.Harkness

I collapse to the floor in tears, sobbing and struggling to breathe.

She was gone. Just like that. It felt like a part of me, the part that was only ever hers, was ripped away from my grasp. Years pass, people grow old and die and there I was, haunted by the one that got away.

"She is my scar"

Her eyes meet mine and the moment they did, I could feel my eyes begin to tear up and my throat start to tighten. Not wanting the group to see me upset, I got up.

"I'm gonna take a walk", I announced, trying hard to hide the tears threatening to spill.

I walk a good distance away, whilst breathing in to keep the tears from escaping. Agatha takes a deep breath, going to follow me, when Lilia grabs her by the wrist.

"She needs time", she reminded.

Agatha scoffs and rips her arm away. She eventually finds me at the top of the hill, overlooking the rest of the road. Her hand gently meets the small of my waist and that was all it took for my tears to escape.

"Don't", I say, shrugging away from her touch and turning to face her.

"Don't", I repeated, shaking my head.

"(Y/N)-"

"I don't wanna hear it. I'm only here cause Teen asked for my help", I struggled through my fading unbothered-facade.

She sighs, bowing her head.

"You're hurt", she muttered.

"Like you care"

"Don't say that. I do care"

I scoff, wiping my tears.

"That's rich coming from you. The same person who dragged Sharon into this, knowing she wouldn't survive"

"I did what I had to-"

"Stop saying that!", I cried out, causing Agatha to be taken aback.

My face scrunches up in agony, as I clutched my chest. Each breath was getting harder and harder to find.

"You...You", I broke out into sobs and Agatha rushes to sit me down.

"Is it a panic attack?", she questioned, hastily.

I try to get her away from her, but to no avail. No words would come out and all I could do was pathetically wail in her arms. All the feelings I managed to bury were all hitting me at once and there was now way of stopping them.

She takes my back against her chest, rubbing up and down my arms in an attempt to ground me.

"Count the trees. Count the stars", she ordered.

I look around and in my haze, I could make out the six surrounding trees and about a dozen solemn stars spread out across the sky.

"How many?"

"Mmm", I shake my head, fighting to find the words.

"How many, (Y/N)?", she repeated, firmer.

"Six...thirteen", I take in a shaky breath between the numbers.

"Good....good. Follow my breathing", she whispered, brushing my hair back away from my face.

We take a deep inhale, hold it for a few seconds and let it out. She repeated this till I was calm again to sit up on my own.

"That's it", she muttered softly.

She still remembered how to ease my anxiety, something I was sure she'd forgotten how to do. We sat in the tense silence for a minute, before I finally found the courage to speak again.

"Why did you come back for me? And don't say it's because of the road"

She looks down at her lap, hesitantly.

"I wanted to see you again"

It was now my turn to avert my gaze.

"What? Do you think I'm lying?"

"Well, that's kind of what you're known for-"

"Not to you", she cuts off, taking my hand and causing me to turn back to her.

"I knew you could handle it and survive, yes...but I had to know you were okay"

I stilled, contemplating whether I should take my hand away, but seemingly unable to do so.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. How you were, what you were doing, who you were with, if you were still alive. The not-knowing drove me crazy, but it didn't matter...cause I knew keeping you safe was more important. I was a walking target and I couldn't risk getting you caught in the cross-fire", her words faltering, as her eyes began to brim with tears.

"It scared me too much", she admitted, hanging her head in shame, as tear after tear hit the ground.

"So I left...because it was easier to lose you by choice"

Her words shattered the parts of me I had just finally put back together.

"I still loved you...even after what happened", my voice reduced to nothing but whispered sobs.

"Even after you left...even now"

She turns to face me with a look of surprise.

"And I hate it", I whisper to myself, as my eyes fell shut.

She carefully cradles my face with shaky hands and my eyes reunite with hers once again.

"You have every right to", her voice stern, yet gentle.

"You needed me and I bailed. That was on me...but I need you to understand where I was coming from. If you were in my place, what would you have done? Would you have dragged me along, even if it meant putting me in danger?", she questioned.

I had no answer. I thought long and hard, but eventually came up short.

"What I did hurt you, I'm not denying that, but it was for the best. I would've never forgiven myself if...", her voice trembled.

I was stumped. Thinking about if I was in her place opened my eyes. Maybe she was right.

"If I let anything happen to you", she whimpered, sniffling.

Her eyes of ocean blue bore into mine with a sense of desperation.

"Please...I am so so sorry", she choked, sliding onto her knees and burying her face into my lap.

I take in a shuddering breath, gripping her shoulders to pull her back. I cup the sides of her face, as her eyes pleaded me not to let go.

"I love you", she muttered.

I could no longer fight it. The years of grief and solitude had finally caught up to me and before I knew it, my lips met hers in a heated exchange.

She pulls me atop of her by my waist to straddle her thighs and my fingers tangle into the roots of her hair. She then turns us over to gently lay me down against the fallen flower petals. Her lips stray from mine to my cheek and down my neck to leave a fresh bruise on my skin. I hiss, feeling her teeth graze against it, as her hands tightened like vice around my waist.

Finally, she pulls away only slightly to bunch up my skirt to reveal my lower half. Looking at me once more to ask for permission to proceed, I nod breathlessly. She spreads my legs apart, pulling my underwear to the side and wasting no time to lick up my slickness. I moan out, grasping at the roots of her hair.

"God, I missed you", she mumbled, dragging the tips of her fingers up and down my entrance.

"I missed you", I emphasized through my pants.

She hummed against my sensitive bundle of nerves, sending vibrations through it. I had almost forgotten just how good she used to make me feel. With a gentle motion, she slips two fingers into me, as I cried out her name.

"Agatha!"

"I know, baby", she reassured, stroking my outer thigh with her free hand, as she continued to devour me.

With each stroke of her fingers, she coaxed me closer and closer to my climax.

"Oh god!", I whined, bringing a smirk to her lips.

"That's it, my love", she encouraged, as she quickened her pace.

She knew just what to do to drive me up the wall and she relished in that fact, for no one else could make me feel the way she did.

"You taste so good", she praised.

I felt myself beginning to pulse around her, bringing a red hue to my cheeks from how embarrassingly fast she managed to get me to my peak.

"I feel you, baby. Do it...give it to me", she demanded, ramming directly into my g-spot.

I was then thrusted over the edge , as my vision faded to black from the overwhelming pleasure. After she was finished licking up the mess I made and helping me ride out my high, she crawled back up to share the taste of me with a desperate kiss.

"Do you taste yourself?" I nod, continuing to move my lips against hers.

Once I stilled, she rolls over and pulls me atop her chest, basking in the sweet afterglow.

"I'd say that was successful reunion", she teased, earning a scoff from me.

[crystallizsch]

jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

[mywitchyblog]

Why i will Nver take Antis seriously

Okay, let’s talk about why I will NEVER take anti-shifters seriously. 💀 These people seriously think they’re serving some type of intellectual argument, but let’s be real—they’re just pathetic dick riders with no valid point to make. Sweetie, they think they can just hop on some anti-shifting bandwagon, pretend to be “woke,” and act like they know better than us. But we know the truth, and it's so obvious how weak and desperate they are. The only reason they’re even talking is because they can’t handle the fact that the shifting practice is real, and people are out here thriving while they’re stuck in their flop era. 🙄

I usually just scroll right past the negative content, but one day I saw this video that made me roll my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. This girl is doing a makeup tutorial, all casual and cute, and then she drops the bomb: “Remember when we all used to shift in 2020? Can we admit that it was all a lie?” Like, girl, please. 💅 Immediately, the comment section is filled with people agreeing, “Yeah, it was just lucid dreaming.” “It was maladaptive daydreaming.” Sweetie, no. Just no. You’re out here acting like you have some epiphany, but it’s really just you looking for attention because, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on. 💔

Here’s the thing: If you’re gonna pretend like you’re some kind of expert on shifting, at least do the work. At least try to understand what it actually means to shift, and not just repeat what everyone else says. 🧐 This girl comes out here saying she “shifted” and was “diagnosed with schizophrenia.” Girl. I had to pause and check if I was still watching the same video, because that was a whole mess. You’re throwing around terms like mental health issues just to sound edgy and relatable? Nope. Let’s be clear: schizophrenia is not something you just casually throw around to justify some half-assed clout-chasing narrative. If you really shifted, you wouldn’t be out here trying to “debunk” something you clearly never tried to understand in the first place. You pretended to shift for attention, and now that the hype died down, you decided to flip the script and start bashing shifting because it didn’t give you the clout you wanted. Pathetic. 🤭

And let’s not forget how she conveniently chose to make this video the one that blows up. 5.2 million views, girl? 😱 But the rest of your videos barely make it to 5k? Sis, we see you. We see how this is the only way you can get any traction. Your “I’m exposing shifting” video is your only shot at relevance, and it’s clear as day that you’ve jumped on this anti-shifting bandwagon just to get some views. The flop era is real, and it’s showinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. You had one moment where you got some attention, but the rest of your content is crickets. 🦗 I mean, honey, if you were actually serving something real, you wouldn’t have to rely on dragging people down to make a name for yourself. 🤦‍♀️

The truth is, she’s out here just riding whatever trend gets her noticed. That’s all she’s doing. When shifting was trending in 2020, she hopped on the wave pretending to be a part of it, and now that it’s not the "in" thing anymore, she’s throwing it under the bus to stay relevant. She’s the definition of a dick rider. Trying to latch onto whatever’s popular and ride the wave for as long as she can. But we see you, and it’s not cute. 🙄 You thought this was your moment to “expose” shifting and act like you’re somehow above it, but you’re just showing how desperate you are for attention. You're chasing views like a lost puppy, and it’s pathetic.

And don’t even get me started on that comment section. Why are these people agreeing with her, parroting the same old tired “shifting is just lucid dreaming” nonsense? Where are the real thinkers in this comment section? Sweetie, if you want to speak on something, at least educate yourself before you start spreading false info. 🙅‍♀️ It’s like y’all are too lazy to actually look into shifting, spiritual hygiene, and the depth of the practice. But instead, you’re just echoing a 2020 “shiftTok” narrative, regurgitating outdated and ignorant opinions like it’s fact. I’m honestly embarrassed for you. Do your research or stop talking. Simple as that. 🧠💡

The truth is, these anti-shifters don’t care about anyone’s mental health. They’re not “protecting” anyone; they’re just mad that they couldn’t get in on the trend or didn’t put in the effort to understand it. They want to act like they’re doing some grand thing by “debunking” shifting, but all they’re really doing is exposing their own ignorance. Like, sweetie, just admit you’re jealous. You couldn’t get the attention shifting gave others, and now you’re bitter about it. 😝 You couldn’t connect with the practice, so you’re going to try and tear it down. But guess what? It’s not working. 😘

Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. The real shifters—the ones who do the work, who research, who respect the practice and the boundaries it requires—we’re still out here, and we’re still shifting. We’re still growing, we’re still thriving, and we’re not letting some random, clout-chasing person get in the way of our personal journeys. The real shift doesn’t come from attention or clout; it comes from within. It comes from dedication, intention, and respect for what we’re trying to achieve. And trust me, anyone who genuinely shifts knows it’s an empowering, transformative experience—not something to be mocked. 💫👑

So to all the fellow shifters out there, don’t let these clowns get to you. Don’t let their negativity and petty arguments distract you from your journey. You are doing something real, something powerful. While they’re stuck in their flop era, we’re out here creating new realities, growing, and elevating ourselves in ways they’ll never understand. Keep going. Stay true to your path. And remember: the truth speaks for itself, and the real ones will always rise above the noise. ✨💖 Keep shifting, keep evolving, and never let anyone who doesn’t understand the practice try to dim your light. You’re not in the same lane as them—and you never will be. 👑💫

[randombush3]

te hacemos falta

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero, busco lo de antes

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 4715

content warnings: bit of smut

notes: the end was written way before the beginning. i couldn't decide what to do with this for a while but it came to me in the shower earlier today so here we are, finally completed

there will have to be more parts to this because i'm not done yet 🙄

The duvet falls to the floor. 

Swathes of tanned skin spread over your smooth legs, encapsulating, suffocating. It’s good though, so good. And it’s exploration of somewhere familiar, crevasses that she knows, divots that you wish you did. Dimples where muscle tenses and relaxes and veins that throb at the sight of… this. Oh, how she has missed this. 

There’s a hunger in her eyes – desperate, ready. Her tongue is warm and wet as it slides down the valley of your breasts and your stomach and the apex of your thighs. She’s moaning, you’re moaning. It’s a cacophony of sound and pleasure and this might kill you, might just end it all, because is this what it used to be like? Blazing, fiery, passionate sex? 

She sucks and bites and kisses and you’ve never been at anyone’s mercy quite like how you are at hers, back arching, legs clamping tightly until blonde hair and stars are all you can see. Her breath sears and your skin must be branded: ‘Alexia, Alexia, Alexia’ it must say. The sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears, louder than her name falling from your lips, louder than her appreciation that you are here and doing this. 

It’s better than it ever has been. And it’s building. Climbing, growing more intense. Her tongue swirls your clit and it’s almost enough, your hands gripping the sheets as though that will anchor you on your ascent to Heaven. You might be screaming. She’s making you scream. 

Your stomach drops as you go soaring through the sky. And then it’s gone.

“It’s a sex dream.” You look up, ignoring the heat of your cheeks, trying to remind yourself that you’re allowed to feel like this in therapy. “The same one, right?” 

“I wake up sweating.” 

Your therapist nods, her expression neutral and free of judgement, pen poised on her knee as she waits for your confession to settle, really making you sit in it. Then, she speaks, measured tone like always, “And when you wake up, what’s the first thing you feel?” 

Her question is gentle but purposeful. She is a deliberate woman. 

“Embarrassment, mostly.” She doesn’t quite buy it. “Sometimes I… get off? After?” 

“Are you asking me?” 

“It’s uncomfortable,” you fire back, defensively. “She’s in the next room to me. My daughter is in the same flat. I’m acting like a horny teenager.” 

“Sex is biological. Your body was accustomed to the regular hormone release, a stable sex life. You’re young and you were both in high-stress professions. Is it so absurd for you to crave it?” You shake your head, although her rhetoric is clear. “And as you’ve already said, you’re attracted to Alexia, memories or not.” 

“I’m not blind,” you protest. (Is it really a protest?) 

Your therapist nods again, considering your words with slight amusement. “Not blind,” she repeats. She inhales. “What about the feelings that come with that attraction? Are you angry with yourself for still wanting her, even if the memories aren’t there?” 

The leather sofa creaks as you shift in your seat. You briefly wonder how many people she has made want to die of discomfort in this office, but she’s pretty good, you’ll give her that. “It’s not anger,” you murmur, the tightness in your chest still constricting in its nameless fashion. “It’s… guilt, maybe? Frustration? She looks at me like I’m supposed to remember, like I’m supposed to love her the way she clearly still loves me. And I want to. God, I want to. But I feel like I’m trying to love a stranger.” 

She leans forwards slightly, eyes deep and gentle, subtly glancing at the clock above the door before refocusing on your face. “You said you still feel attracted to her. That’s not nothing. Desire can be a bridge – it is for many relationships.” 

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. Months have dulled the ache of your head, the physical pain of the accident now almost gone, but nothing seems to have stopped your insides from howling in anguish. It echoes in your emptiness. You’re not sure if that makes it worse. “It feels hollow. We wouldn’t have fucked for a while, not if I had Amaia – she would’ve been so young.” The clock ticks over another minute. “And she deserves more than just me physically. It would be failing. Her. Amaia.” The crack of your voice betrays the steadiness of your tone. 

“She’s not asking for perfection,” your therapist says carefully. “She’s asking for effort, for honest. And if she didn’t believe in you, she’d have left, wouldn’t she?” 

“She wouldn’t do that.” 

“She wouldn’t do that to you,” she corrects. 

That merits a pause. It’s true, probably. When you have concocted some kind of response, you shuffle your legs so that they are crossed, one over the other – a pose Alexia had claimed to be the signpost of being ‘lawyered’, shivering as she’d said it. “Every moment we try to connect, I mess it up. She’ll talk about something we did, some moment that was important to us, and I just sit there. Blank. It is only a matter of time until she gets fed up and leaves. She’s surely just patient.” 

“From what you have told me about Alexia, she is not a patient person,” she rebukes. The harshness of her voice is not explicit, more like the piercing shot of a pistol equipped with a silencer. It makes good contact. “Have you told her how this feels for you?” 

You don’t reply. 

“Alexia might be holding onto the version of you from before the accident, the person she remembers,” your therapist continues. “But she’s also here, now, with this version of you. That tells me she’s willing to rebuild, even if it’s from the ground up.” 

Fuck. “You have a point.” 

She smirks. “Of course I do.” 

…

Alexia sits at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee clasped tightly in her hands. The hum of the fridge does nothing to mask the rustling of your sheets, nor the music Amaia thinks is too quiet to be heard. No one is asleep, yet no one is together. She wants to scream. 

Her coffee has long since cooled, her last sip maybe even hours ago. Time is no longer real. Time has fucked her over and she’s really renounced it. 

The decorations are starting to peel their way off, the tree going brown, the batteries in the lights dying. Maybe the horror of Christmas will also be lost, and maybe that’s for the best; awkward gifts, dinners where inside jokes left you on the outside, alcohol doing nothing to jog your memories or ease you into making new ones. Amaia’s birthday also carried that same awkwardness, worse at night, when she had asked to be cuddled and you’d frozen the moment she had fallen asleep on you. 

Nights suck. 

Nights leave space for Alexia to remember everything you don’t, cold in a bed that isn’t hers, with no one there to hold her as tears spill out and make her feel fucking pathetic. She pretends not to notice, but Mapi’s texts get later and later each day, as though she has caught on to the worsening bags under her captain’s eyes and the dark swirl of her mind. 

And at night, under the covers, all Alexia can do is picture you. 

She’d felt the shift when you had come back from Bilbao. She’d seen your body tense – no stranger to its signals. It’s been a waiting game ever since. 

She suspects it has something to do with Amaia. Your responsibility is unfaltering, even if you seem to not recognise it, and it is reminiscent of the first time round, when Alexia had been refused sleepovers and late nights, working with quick makeouts in daylight and steamy kisses in the five minutes you’d allow her to pull over for on your way back home. “My daughter needs me more than you do,” you’d joke, batting her hands away, grinning at the whines she’d let out. “And someone needs to teach you how to wait.”

“So many women would jump at the chance to sleep with me,” would be her instantaneous response. She’d say it to your back, because you’d already be on your way out. 

Sex shouldn’t be on Alexia’s mind like this. She felt guilty about it then, and she feels even guiltier about it now. 

You’re attractive. Beautiful. Intelligent. You’re more than the sound you make when she’s pressed inside you just right. Or the swears you hiss when you’re returning the favour. 

You’re the words you say when you’re trying not to let Amaia down: careful, caring. And the look of support when Alexia is watching nothing ring a bell and wanting to die because of it. 

And you’re still you, if not set on different tracks with different thoughts and feelings and perspectives. 

You are still the woman she loves – which she knows and clings onto. And you’re braver than she is, because she would not have survived this situation. 

Alexia pictures you again, when she finally gets herself into bed, hand wandering down her sculpted body, jerking away at the slightest sound like she is not allowed to be doing this. She does it anyway. 

It’s a relief, a fleeting escape, and the only thing that doesn’t make her feel so fucking hollow. Briefly, the world hasn’t ended. Her fingers find familiar paths, mapped out by yours as she’d melt beneath your touch, and, for a moment, it isn’t her hand. It passes, and the pleasure is only a ghost of what it once was. 

She tries again. 

Her breath hitches as her mind fills with memories – your face, your voice, the sparks beneath her fingertips, the heat between the two of you. A lump grows in her throat. She has to stop. 

A part of her wants to give in completely, to let the tension in her body break, to seize the satisfaction that’s right in front of her. But another part of her recoils. Guilt settles, a weight on her chest, as she thinks of your blank stare. 

She pulls her hand away, her body trembling. She feels pathetic. This isn’t what it used to be. Love is too distant, too faded. 

And there’s the other thing. What she doesn’t want to admit. 

She can’t do it alone anymore. 

She rolls over and buries her face in the pillow. This might be her breaking point. Where the fuck does she go from here?

…

To establish a sense of normalcy when your physical injuries finally get written off by your doctor, your therapist suggests you take Amaia to a football match. Obviously Alexia’s match. WIth her tickets. And her mother. 

Although Amaia looks like you, there is so much of Alexia in her. Her enthusiasm, her dedication, and… her love for football. You imagine they must have killed you with their obsession with kicking a ball into a net. They tend to not talk about it now, most family dinners casting a glance backwards to catch you up about the last decade. 

She is radiating excitement beside you as you take your seats. 

The stadium roars as fans pour in, a sea of blaugrana that your daughter slips into, donning her jersey with pride. You wince a bit at the sight, but Amaia is quick to whisper that she doesn’t wear it when Barça plays Bilbao. She speaks with such familiarity. She hardly lets on that her mother doesn’t know who she is. 

Alexia’s own mother, Eli, is a very nice woman. You once employed her, which is how you and Alexia met. You get why she was a good fit – wise, reliable, kind. You also get why she managed to set you up with her daughter. Eli can apparently see right through you. 

Thankfully, she says nothing during the match, the buffer of Amaia actually working. 

You had glanced at the news before, stuff with Alexia’s name in it always catching your attention, and, of course, you’d admired a few photos. But it doesn’t compare to the real thing. 

Since September, Alexia has fumbled her way around you, cautious and unsure. On the pitch, she is the opposite. Determined, commanding, majestic and she swerves and dribbles and takes out players left, right, and centre. She seems to read the future, apprehending attacks, anticipating defensive lines and destroying them before they can even be formed. This passion, this intensity… this is the woman you must have fallen in love with. You’ve been getting to know a shell of her.

You get a lot of things now. (You should’ve let your therapist convince you to attend a match way sooner.)

The final whistle blows and you feel transformed. Not reformed, but, rather, made anew. A butterfly emerging from its cocoon. 

Okay. No. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. 

But right now, as a sweaty Alexia jumps the barrier and sweeps Amaia into her arms effortlessly, you are certainly less resistant to experiencing your recurring dream again. Something guilty ebbs and flows at the back of your mind, but if it were the ocean, it would very much be low tide. 

Her eyes are fixed on you as Amaia recounts the match with her own analysis like a mini-manager ready to sit down and review the footage. Her mother clears her throat once silence settles between the four of you. 

“Mama, we’re getting dinner,” comes the next spoken sentence. Not from Eli. 

You blink.

“Alexia,” Amaia repeats, tugging her arm. “Dinner.” 

“Zer esan duzu?” you mutter under your breath, accessing the private form of communication you have with your daughter like it is the Washington-to-Moscow hotline. It’s often too constrictive, too close, to Amaia for comfort – you’re not quite there yet, no matter how much effort you put into trying to bond with her. 

You’re not dignified by a response, instead met with an uninterested eye-roll (the cheek!) and commotion as everyone starts to move. Well, half the party. Eli kindly lets Amaia drag her away. 

“Did you enjoy the match?” Alexia asks awkwardly, waiting for you to pick your bag up from the concrete floor. She stops herself from getting it for you when you grimace, still getting used to the tightness that will always remain in your ribs. She knows you’d hate that.

“I don’t like football,” you say, because her hair is wet and falling over her face, and her neck is flushed, and her kit is sticking to her in a very flattering way. And you walk past her because you’re probably not going to get this relationship back. 

Your therapist does most of the talking in the next session. Internally, she is screaming. 

…

Sticky glue on clean fingers. Amaia grimaces. She prefers the mess of mud to glitter and paint, but the black pages of the scrapbook are almost full and her end goal makes it worth it. 

Alexia asks what she does in her room that keeps her so quiet, her voice laced with curiosity and that same exhaustion she hasn’t been able to shed since the accident. Alexia, with no answer given, probably assumes it’s reading, or homework, or some other thing that elevates her to saintly status – Oh, Amaia, aren’t you just so special. 

Special girls wouldn’t have been forgotten by their mothers… No. Amaia believes she should not digress. 

The scrapbook is her cure. Or at least, what she has convinced herself will help you, because she is a little girl and what would she know about ground-breaking neurological treatments and the effectiveness of a good psychiatrist? She sees the appointments listed in the calendar Alexia keeps on the dining table – an illicit activity only undertaken when no one seems to be ready to take her to training and she worries she has gotten the time incorrect – but they are just abbreviations and addresses to her. Pictures are real. Pictures cannot be cancelled or argued about or scheduled on top of school concerts and meetings with her concerned teachers.

It was difficult at first, finding the pictures. There were only so many on the iPad you let her borrow – then subsequently forgot about and allowed her to claim. She’d asked Eli for help (Eli would never reveal her secret mission), who told her about something called a disposable camera and then proceeded to go off on a tangent, showing photos of Alexia when she was a baby. But, eventually, when photo-Alexia had reached adulthood, Eli agreed to participate and the next time they convened, she had an envelope of at least three more pages’ worth of material. 

And so they got to work. 

Pages upon pages were slowly decorated with lost memories. Birthdays, holidays, first-times, last-times. If there was a photo of it, in it went. Afternoons in Eli’s kitchen were spent with gel pens and scissors, mornings before school dwindling in length as nights got later and alarms began to be snoozed.

You don’t know what to say when one day, red-cheeked from the exhaustion of the extra goalie sessions, Amaia barrels into the car with exciting news. You’ve been privy to this news, you think, because the coaches have already messaged you about trial dates for better teams (teams that wear blaugrana, to Alexia’s satisfaction), even if the Infantil-Cadet begins at the age of twelve. “I’m so proud of you, txiki,” you begin, before Amaia can speak, your joy bursting at the seams, barely contained in your voice. Affection for her has certainly been something you’ve mustered, even if it has grown from a seed all over again. She is not hard to love. “Alexia has been speaking to Cata and she is going to find time to give you some tips! The girls will be older and you’ll have to work with more powerful shots, more precision.” You’d had a conversation with your footballer (things are still awkward but Amaia is in no-man’s-land and requires civility), who had been monitoring this inevitable progression in Amaia’s life and already had an argument prepared for why she should be allowed to trial. Maybe in another universe, you would have said no. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be too much of a challenge for you.” 

You turn to watch for Amaia’s reaction, expecting elation or nervousness or something like that. Instead, you are met with confusion. “What’s wrong?” There’s nothing else to ask. 

“That wasn’t my news,” she states. The glimmer in her eyes – your father’s eyes – illuminates the cracks in her serious expression. “You’re going to like my news more, Amatxu. It’s not to do with football. You don’t even like football.” 

“I like football,” you instantly argue, indignantly mentioning Athletic Bilbao’s recent victory. 

“You didn’t before.” She’s somewhat insistent. She reminds you of Alexia, the way her smile is barely contained, her amusement too obvious, too profound. “When we used to go to Alexia’s matches, you’d just stare at her. And I would say ‘Amatxu, the ball is on the right wing’, and you’d still be watching her.” 

“I don’t like football.” 

“You like it when Alexia’s playing.” 

You huff in annoyance. You’ve been… lawyered? By a child. “Tell me your news, Ami.” 

“You stopped calling me that,” she points out.

“Alexia told me you like being called that.” Or, rather, implied it. 

“By my mum.” 

“I’m your mum.” Amaia looks almost prepared to disagree, which stings but in a familiar way that your therapist tells you is a part of healing. Therapy might still be a scam. “Tell me your news, Amaia.” 

“I like Ami.” The car may swerve a little, but then you see darkness and hear screaming and your hands are tightly gripping the wheel again. “My news! Yes, my news. I have a present for you. I’ve been waiting to give it to you for a long time.” 

That’s all you get until you arrive home. 

Alexia is making dinner, the smell of tomatoes and garlic wafting down the hallway as the lift doors swoosh open. She’s listening to music – happy music – and there are rhythmic thuds against the floor. You’re surprised Alexia knows how to dance. 

Her hips sway at the stove, grey joggers outlining toned legs and… Your daughter is right beside you. You blink and hope those thoughts disappear. 

“Ami!” Alexia exclaims at the telltale sound of pitter-pattering. The spoon drops from her hand, stirring be damned, as she swipes the girl into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “How was training?” 

“Seré la nova portera del Barça.” The excitement is infectious as Alexia lifts her slightly off the ground with the force of her hug. It’s immediately warmer, the room filled now that they are together. You try to feel included. The sight momentarily plucks a string somewhere deep inside of you, but before it vibrates, Amaia throws a glance back at you, her cheeky smirk a reminder that she is still hogging her news. 

Alexia sets Amaia down gently, wiping her hands on the teatowel slung over her broad shoulders. “What’s that face for?” she asks, raising a curious brow as the girl slips out her grasp and scurries towards the dining table, schoolbag in tow. 

You linger by the worktop, trying to work past the need to hide from Alexia and failing miserably. Amaia unpacks her bag – ludicrously capacious and stuffed to the brim with art supplies that make you question why you are paying school fees. “I’ve been working on something,” she announces, her voice just shy of a triumphant proclamation. Out comes a spiral-bound book, decorated like a unicorn ate a rainbow and then had diarrhoea. She’s eleven, you suppose. 

Then she opens the book and you regret judging it by its cover. 

She flips past pages filled with images that hitch your breath. Holidays you don’t remember. Birthdays lost to the void that exists between then and now. 

“What is this?” you ask softly, stepping closer despite yourself.

Amaia looks up at you, her expression both shy and proud. “It’s for you.” 

The slosh of sauce being stirred stops abruptly. You try not to look, but Alexia is leaning towards the table for a better view, bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes deepen and her chest grows heavier.

Undeterred by the silence, Amaia continues fervently, “I’ve been making it for months.” She pulls the scrapbook close to her chest for a moment, before offering it to you with both hands, glitter floating to the floor. “It’s so you won’t forget anything anymore.”

You freeze. The walls are touching your sides, too small. Alexia is watching you for your reaction. “Forget?” you echo faintly, hands trembling as they reach for the book. 

Amaia tilts her head, innocence piercing and painful. “Like how you forgot my birthday. Or, like, didn’t know it was.” 

The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. For a moment, you can’t move. You can’t breathe. Alexia’s eyes dart between the two of you, her jaw tightening as she grips the worktop. You know she wants to jump in, wants to soften the blow, but she doesn’t. Not yet. 

Amaia keeps going, her voice steadily reporting shortcomings like bombs she doesn’t know can kill. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I know that you don’t remember things because you hit your head really badly. So you don’t remember my first football practice, or when we used to go to the beach. So… I made this!” 

She flips the pages for you, her tiny fingers smudged with gel pen ink. “Here’s the picture from when we went to New Zealand and Alexia won the world cup.” You’ve seen that one before. She turns the page, “And this,” a small, faded photograph with fridge-worn edges, “is from when I won my first school race. This is in London, see?” She’s grinning widely, front tooth missing, a green field behind her with a grey sky that is certainly not Barcelona. 

Your throat tightens. You can’t look away from the book, each page a kaleidoscope of colours and slipped-away moments. Drowned memories that have sunken into a trench of blackness – still there, just unrecoverable. “Amaia…” Your voice cracks. You might break.

Alexia moves quietly, reaching a hand out to your back before steadying it centimetres away. Her warmth is felt only for a second before she remembers herself and moves away. “This is what you’ve been doing,” she deduces, her surprise comforting. For once, you were not the only one in the dark. 

Amaia beams but she is not looking at Alexia. “I told you you’d like it,” she says. You’ve not given your opinion yet. “Now you’ll never forget again, not even if you want to.”

Silence presses down on the room, save for the gentle bubbling of the tomato sauce on the stove. You clutch the scrapbook tightly, afraid that dropping it will send the wrong message. It’s not perfectly made – far from it. The edges are uneven, the colour clashing in some places, the glue smeared in translucent stains past photos. But it’s beautiful. It's yours, from Amaia. It is her love for you. 

Tears pinch in your eyes. “I don’t deserve this,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

Amaia frowns, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Of course you do. Zu zara nire ama.”

Your skin bristles as Alexia moves past you, hand resting on the worktop. “You do,” she agrees. She seems to want to say more, but Amaia, satisfied with her convincing, turns back to the scrapbook, taking it from your hands and opening it to the very last page. 

“This one’s my favourite.” 

The final page is a drawing, not a photograph. It’s sketched carefully, although a little garishly done in neon green, but it’s unmistakable. Three figures stand together, arms linked. Surrounding them are words (Catalan words, you think) and images. Alexia’s hand presses harder into the worktop.

“Alexia says Barça is the best team in the world,” Amaia starts smugly, “but she’s not right.” A grunt of disagreement comes from the woman beside you, but she allows the girl to continue. “We are.” 

The words fall from her lips like a statistic, indisputable yet hard to believe. 

“We’re like a football team, to help Alexia understand,” she then says with a smirk. “Badakit ez duzula gehiago behar, Ama. Oso adimentsua zara.” 

“I’m not stupid,” grumbles Alexia. 

She’s ignored. “You are the attack, Ama. You’re, like, the glamourous one, the one everyone wants to be like, with glory and success and shiny trophies.” You’ve seen Alexia’s trophies, but you don’t argue, assuming it will be pointless when your daughter can be so stubborn. “And then Alexia is in the middle. Attack and defence are a pair, but it’s not right to have them on a pitch without the midfield. It’s never as seamless. The team would be incomplete.” You pause to consider if Alexia is ever afraid of being loved by Amaia. She’d have had no reason to be. “Of course, I am in goal. Nothing slips through me, even if it’s really scary and the ball is coming fast. I make sure we don’t lose.” 

Your breath catches. Something inside you shifts, not the fragments left by Alexia’s football match a few weeks ago, but a new part of this new life. A root in fertile soil. “Thank you,” you murmur, pulling Amaia into a tight hug. She tenses at first, almost shocked by it, but then she is relaxing and hugging you back, face buried in your clothes as though it is what coming home feels like. “I love it. I love you.” 

Alexia watches, her expression softening as she steps back towards the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she announces, giving you both a moment to breathe. 

Amaia pulls back, her grin wide and triumphant. “I told you you’d like my news.” She pauses, glancing slyly at Alexia. “Much better than football, right?” 

The woman’s laugh is warm and free. You want to bottle it. “Careful, nena. You’re about to lose your biggest cheerleader.” 

“Never!” shouts Amaia, before leaning back into you. And for the first time since the accident, part of you is at home. 

[madameevil]

I'll try to divide this into 2 parts. First part using game codex entries, other DA canon media, etc to refute points or counter points. Second to point out how some of these points are due to personal interpretations differing. So basically... let's use "facts" for most of the first half and "opinions" in the second. No guarantee that'll work out as I type this but that's the goal at least.

"Solas already knows who Rook is. He doesn't need much time to know who Rook is, it's not a problem for him." Ok but he doesn't. He thinks he does. He thinks he has Rook all pinned down. It's why he doesn't expect Rook to escape the Prison of Regret but Rook does. Solas is convinced that all of his manipulation to get Rook to drown in regret is enough to keep them trapped in that prison. In his pride, he doesn't expect Rook to escape. He once again doesn't expect Rook to see through his final betrayal about the veil. He also doesn't expect Rook to have enough cards by the end to stop him (which is conditional based on what you do in the game)

"If Cassandra rebuilds the Seekers, she is able to deal with emerging cults and unrest quite swiftly (according to the endings)." The ending slide literally says "showing no interest in worldly affairs" - Are you thinking of a different ending slide? Or a different quote? I honestly don't remember this being mentioned at all and can't find any reference to it. Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

"Also, Friends of the Red Jenny are implied to operate throughout the entire Thedas and have quite a history (they've been mentioned since DA:O). So, for them not to be mentioned at all during the events makes no sense." They started as an organization based out of Ferelden and expanded to (areas that we know) Kirkwall, Orlais, Starkhaven, Tantervale, and Nevarra. They're not described as a powerful global organization. They're peppered throughout Thedas where they can get a foothold. We don't have proof or any mention of them being a thing in Tevinter or Antiva.

"Venatori should not even be a thing. Venatori rose to power only because of the Corypheus" The Venatori at their core are a cult of Tevinter-Mage Supremacists. That ideology doesn't just vanish or appear suddenly. The ideology is deeply rooted in the Tevinter Imperium. Even Dorian points out that many magisters still privately support the Venatori's ideas. While they won't outright sanction it. The Venatori's power increase may be directly tied to Corypheus but these ideologies have been present in Tevinter for a long ass time.

"So, at best there should be some Venatori cults present - but they won't be having that much power because they no longer have structure, they no longer have their god-magister, and they have nothing to sway magisters on their side - especially if they failed to provide any alternative to Corypheus in 10 years and went back to worshipping the Old Gods. [...] To make them the main problem is lazy writing." I don't think we need to get into a lesson on power vacuums here but let's just use the definition of "when someone in a place of power, has lost control of something and no one has replaced them." With Corypheus gone there is a power vacuum. A cult of fanatics don't just say "oh well, guess we'll go home now." According to Tevinter Nights (which the franchise being a mixed-media franchise has it's own problems), while a lot distanced themselves from the Venatori there were still a good number of loyalists who remained active. This leads to Aelia trying to fill in that role. She does gain a decent amount of support for it. Even when she's "captured" she has enough sway to escape prison and cause problems. Why? Because the Venatori's ideology is appealing to a lot of people in Tevinter even if they don't directly associate with the cult. However, with her "failure" we have another power vacuum present - so why is it "lazy writing" to have the emergence of another powerful mage that speaks like Corypheus and offer power similarly to what he did fill that?

"It makes no sense for the Venatori to be the main bad guys because the entire Tevinter fucking sucks already. It's has a horrible, hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class where dominating the weak is considered good manners. Dorian should be having his hands full by fighting the entire Senate on such concepts as "slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" - because Tevinter abhors change and its power is full of assholes like Aurelian Titus. The Venatori are just one shade of ugly the Tevinter has - and not the most prominent one." The supremacist ideology of the Venatori embody everything you're saying here. The examples you're giving are all part of the supremacist mindset. Hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class? Yep. "Slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" Those two concepts are directly against the supremacists ideology. We also do get some notes from Dorian doing just that Veilguard. The Venatori isn't just one shade of ugly, it's the embodiment of everything wrong in Tevinter. It's the supremacist ideology given form.

"Yes, it makes sense for Varric and Harding to take part in the search for Solas - but I can't believe that Rook at least hadn't been approved by the Inquisitor. and that Rook doesn't have means to contact the Inquisitor for further instructions in case something happens to Varric, or Harding or both of them. This is counter-productive." Varric is the one tasked with forming a small team. It's his responsibility to form that team and onboard people and vet them. With the way it's framed in "The Missing" Varric had full authority to bring on whoever. He didn't need approval. They kept in touch via Charter and sent correspondence to the Inquisitor but there wasn't any need for approval. Varric is the main path and Harding is the back up. That's 2 channels. Until the incident happens to Varric that seems standard. When the incident happens with Varric, then I believe Harding should have introduced Rook and the Inquisitor sooner to keep that practice of a back up channel open. Harding does reach out to Charter pretty early to inform them about what happened to Varric and mention Rook. I would have liked an Inquisitor meeting or letter sooner though.

I think below is where different interpretations come in.

"Solas knows how Leliana and Josephine operate, but that's not going to stop them - and it should not stop them when the fate of the world is at stake." You think they wouldn't let that stop them. I think they're smart enough to not continue to play an active part if any information they get or send off is information Solas is spoon feeding them. If their continued involvement would cause more harm then good then yea, I think they would take a step back. I think they would hand off the reigns to others.

"However, it's going to be insanely ha[r]d to prove the threat to anyone else and then tell them to go find Solas. At the same time, intentionally holding back information about what Solas really is means sending the "someone Solas doesn't know" to their death. They go after Solas, thinking it's just a really strong mage - and they don't know that it's actually an ancient god." Given Varric's line to Neve at the beginning, Varric is upfront with the information: "I also told you he was an ancient elven god." Whether the person believes them is dependent on the person. Rook has been tracking Solas with Varric for a year or so. I think by now they've witnessed enough to believe Varric's information.

"And she is going to stop now, after it's revealed that the threat isn't gone? There is no way she won't be an active participant. Even the fact that Seekers aren't welcome isn't going to stop her." I do actually think that the threat of severe political consequences should a southern religious military group make moves in a northern territory under a different religion would dissuade her. Cassandra isn't stupid. We also see her get less rash in Inquisition. We see her stop and think things through more. So actually, yes I do think that since mobilizing Seekers in Northern territory could at worse be seen as an act of war she would let it stop her. She even says at the end of trespasser "we need to be careful."

"Basically, it meant that the Inquisitor and their allies were going to try harder, learn what they can and find new resources, new information, any leverage possible. This is why the Inquisitor sets their course for Tevinter at the end of Trespasser: they were preparing to cooperate with a controversial state, pulling strings and calling favors, finding people with an ample knowledge of magic and ancient history that could assist them with finding any clues;"

L: "My agents have found nothing with the eluvians he could be anywhere"

C: [Dialogue about whether you disbanded or kept the Inquisition]

L: "We have what we truly need."

C: "We will need to be careful."

L: "Solas knows everything about us. Who we are. How we work. Our strengths and weaknesses"

Inky: "Then we find people he doesn't know." [Dialogue about if you are saving him or stopping him]

I do think this means they were going to find new allies and new people. Tevinter Imperium is a good place to start looking for that. And all this plays out through the comics and Harding and Varric's stories. (which again making the series Mixed-media has it's own complications) They do find new allies through their journey. They do find people who have ample knowledge of magic and ancient history. This idea also continues to play out in Veilguard. We find someone who has connections. We find someone who has ample knowledge of ancient magics and history. We find someone who has ample knowledge of the fade since that's what Solas was directly trying to manipulate.

I do not think it implicitly means what you've interpreted it to. I think that's how you interpreted that and I think that's a valid interpretation of it. Unfortunately that's not where they took it. That's also now how I interpreted it. I think a lot of the fandom interpreted this in different ways and that leads to disappointment if their interpretation wasn't correct. I think that's what's happening to you here. I don't think Bioware not catering to your interpretation means "they don't care." or anything like that. I think it's just that what you predicted or assumed based on the information provided ended up being incorrect. Other people predicted it correctly. If anything this just means that the marketing team could have done better at setting expectations and making sure everyone was on the same page.

oh my god that was a lot to type.

I don't think the game is perfect by any standards (no game is). There are things I wish they could have included or flushed out more, but I don't think any of that was done by Bioware devs "not caring." I think the Bioware team does actually really love their world and lore of Dragon Age. To quote their artbook (which is actually insane to look at):

"Art books like this one are the perfect opportunity to showcase what you don't see in the finished product: the inspiration, the blueprints, the unused drafts. We barked up a lot of wrong trees. We explored some wild directions--some ending in dead ends, others ending in precious treasure. We also created a lot of material that we liked but didn't have the capacity to build (in this game, anyway)."

If Bioware truly didn't love and care for their world and lore, the artbook wouldn't be as beautiful and jam packed as it is. There wouldn't be other medias of the series: books, comics, animations, movies.

But Bioware can't just make whatever they want. Bioware is owned by EA (not just published through them. OWNED by them). Bioware has to pay people to make the games. They need to get the funding and approval from EA to do so. This means that no matter how passionate the team is, there's only so much they can do and EA gets a huge say in what that is. EA who explicitly stated earlier AFTER BG3 released that they don't think single player story based games are worth investing in. WHICH IS INSANE TO ME. EA had them start developing the game one way. EA had them change development midway. EA had them remove all multiplayer pieces. EA cut funding to Bioware forcing them to make cuts in staff.

I guess if we say that a lot of the post is us disagreeing on how things are interpreted and not a misunderstanding of the source material then I can say my main problem with posts like this is that it targets the developers. The developers do seem to really love and care for their world and do want to do more, but they can't do it all. They can't just do everything they want. They have a parent company constantly controlling what they can and can not do. I could agree with a lot more posts if they actually targeted the company causing a lot of the problems, EA - WHO WE ALL ALREADY KNOW IS A SHIT MONEY HUNGRY COMPANY. Instead of the Devs who busted their asses for 10 years wanting to do more and being told to change it or scrap it at every turn.

Bioware writing team has a comfy, sheltered life and it shows

I'm sorry, but how come that the only people Inquisitor sent to look for Solas were Varric and Harding? How come that the only people recruited in 10 years of pursuing Solas were Neve and Rook? Do the writers understand that this is NOT how a serious effort looks like?

What about Leliana? Divine or not, she is still Sister Nightingale with an immense spywork. You'd think she won't mobilize everything she has to track Solas and his followers?

What about Josephine? What, she decided "nah, I'm done" and didn't use any of her diplomatic talents and connections to let the Inquisitor's agents have access, permissions or information they need?

What about Dorian? As a political figure, you'd think he will be the first Minrathous contact for the Inquisitor allies, the one arranging things and providing insights?

What about Cassandra and her Seekers? Isn't she interested in stopping another world-ending threat?

What about Sera and her sabotaging potential? If she organized the group of people for performing vigilante acts, people who are her eyes and ears, how come nobody from her group is helping with the effort?

I get it why Varric takes part in it - he knew Solas, the Inquisitor trusts him and his judgement, but for the game to imply that all the responsibility was lumped on Varric's shoulders is fucking disgraceful. I get it writers, Varric is popular character, and you would use him as bait to your heart's content, but the context you've created implies that Varric might have been the only one to take the threat seriously, while the Inquisitor and the rest were doing God knows what.

Varric should have been handing the Rook information on all the contacts they can recruit, all the useful agents, all the people to work with, not tell them to ask Neve because she might know someone because detective (Neve is a good character, but the fact that people who were supposed to spend 10 years chasing Solas look up to her for finding them contacts is appalling).

"Oh, but all these people were in the previous parts and we don't want to mention previous parts because muh new players" - well, you shot yourselves in the foot. Maybe, just maybe, you should have AT LEAST cared more about the choices made in DAI.

Congrats.

[d3vdgvrlll]

trauma ig

@gorelvr and anyone else who wanted it

i’ll start from the begining because it’s the one thing that will make my story similar to others. it will have a begining and an end just like anyone else’s. i have been sexually abused since i was seven years old. my cousin joe (obv not his real name i was in israel at the time) he was considerably older than me. 13, not too bad, but at the time it felt like a worlds difference. it didn’t start slowly, not at all, and pieces of it i don’t even remember. i do remember closets tho. it wasn’t just an rape either. he wanted me to like it- either that or he was just sadistic. he would make me smile and beg for it, make me please him as a lover, told me it was right since i was his blood. in fact, he would draw this blood quite often. he would pinch me, beat me, cut me, anything to make me cry, because he had a rule. if i cried, he could come back to use me again. he would do anything to draw out a mere sound of discomfort, anything, any excuse so that he could come into my room at night and violate me. he called me his wife. he called me his girl. and in my native tongue i had to tell him i loved him as well. when i was 9, after two years of this, with no one believing me (and if you ask how it’s possible, youve clearly never heard of arabic jewish culture-) i move to america. i lived in chicago, and suddenly, i was a normal girl. sure, i couldn’t speak english but i was clean. no longer dirty. i was far away from joe and i thought maybe id be far from the pain too. i was far from the bombs that rang in my ears as i walked home, the desolate shelters littered around playgrounds, the constant whisper of “you are never safe” far behind me. i was ahead of everyone else, and when i heard that another one of my childhood friends died of an attack, it didn’t feel better, but at least it wasn’t me. at least it wasn’t me.

this is where i met a friend named lucie. she was the first female friend id ever had. my wonderful grandma, who was like a second mother to me (at the time when she was alive my mother was still kind, the lines on her face less pronounced, her words filled with less poison) signed me up for swimming classes with lucie. after swimming class, me and lucie would shower together. it’s started off because i had conditioner that she needed for her blond hair, conditioner that i was willing to give up to her because she was so much whiter than me, so much purer. she then asked me for favors. to touch her. she’s press me against the wall and kiss me, and when i resisted, she wouldn’t even react. she asked me for more. she said “if you do it well this time, you won’t have to do it again.” and “kiss me for longer this time, you only did two seconds, you promised ten” and each request, no matter how hard it was for me to do, was done. and each time, there came another. no matter how much she promised it’d be the last one, there was always more. i couldn’t get away from it. i was trapped. i was scared, and i wanted her to be my friend. she taught me that if u don’t give people ur body, they won’t stay. she taught me that im worthless besides what i can offer to others. she taught me everything i know and live by, and then she left anyways .

seventh grade- i had a very nice science teacher. i was doing very well in his class. his name i really cannot say because he is still teaching at the school in illinois, and no one has believed me, no matter what i insist happened. we were doing a bridge project. i was failing, because my grandma was dying. she was dying, and she was my everything. watching her- it was the hardest thing i’d ever done. but i couldn’t avert my eyes because it felt sinful. it felt wrong to look away because it was hard to watch- she was my grandma after all, the one who raised me, loved me, showed me the good in the world. so i watched. i watched and stayed with her and read her books she couldn’t hear me reciting while she lay in her hospice bed barely breathing. i wrote down the stories she told me through her tubes, and i tried to imagine that the wires connected to her were flowers instead, that she was somewhere were her grimace was rlly a smile. she stayed alive until my birthday, my 12th birthday, because she didn’t want to ruin it. she stayed alive, in pain, riddled with so much terror, to see me turn 12. one day, i walked into her room and spoke to her, and watching her eyes try to open, her oxygen intake spike up, her stiff limbs try to reach me- it killed me. i love her and always will. it feels awful to group her with this awful man- my science teacher, but in this story they do go together, unlike in real life where my grandma was such a big and powerful woman she always stood alone. or with me. i digress, the man- let’s call him Mr.P- he failed me. i was excelling- frankly, because im very smart and quite good with physics and such, but he still failed me. (shortly after this whole ordeal i was neurologically tested and i have an IQ of 156). i walked into his class one day, and all i can remember is him smiling, saying that he would give me an oppurtunity for extra credit, but that it had to be secret- you can tell where this is going. i had already learned from lucie that nothing is good abt me besides my body, and so when he took mine, the second person to- i could just sit and cry. at least this man let me cry- at least this one didn’t kill my hair to get a reaction, with the promise of hurting me more the less i liked it. i don’t remember much besides my face being pressed against vents on the side of the classroom. i would “wake up” (ptsd) with blood between my thighs, and cuts on my face from the metal on the vents, because of how hard he shoved my face in them. he had a daughter- she was 6 at the time. when i graduated, he told me he’d do the same to her. that was the first time i cut myself. because i knew i couldn’t stop him. i knew that i couldn’t do anything. i knew that what lucid taught me was wrong. my body wasn’t even special- it wasn’t even “worth it”, it was just available.

i moved all over the US, living in austin, chicago, colorado, and florida for the longest times. chicago was my home though, and i know the city like the back of my hand. this is not something many people can say, but i survived being homeless in chicago during the polar vortex. for those who don’t know, the polar vortex is a phenomena that happens every year. winds from the arctic pass through canada and end up in the midwest, chilling the air to roughly -58 degrees F or lower. after my grandma died, my mother became mean. angry. she scared me. she hit me. it’s too much to get into and frankly, i live with her and my dad now and i feel odd talking abt it. it’s my current reality as well, but what i learned from them is that words mean nothing. so i wont spend them here. after a week of being homeless and running to and from school, living in an underpass, someone started walking “home” with me. his name was pat. this is the man i often reference in posts. he was my best friend, not at this time tho. we walked home together for weeks, not speaking a word to each other, until one day i caught an awful case of pneumonia, the second time id fallen ill with it in the month. this time, i couldn’t walk, stand, breathe, or talk. i was passed out when he found me, at least that’s what he told me. he said he carried me to his friends house and that’s were they saved me. his friends name was biscuit, and biscuit ended up being a huge drug dealer. he kept me in his attic- it had a hole in the roof but it was better than dying in the cold. i had already lost my left foot to frostbite- i still can’t feel it but i can walk on it now, which is better than before. in the attic, and idk much abt it because rlly the memory is so hazy- sometimes i wake up in a cold sweat bc im back there, and sometimes idk if im dreaming or if its real- but rlly truly i dont know for sure what happened. all i know is that biscuit used to bring his friends up there, while i was healing (they put tons of drugs in me idek what they used to help me get better but im pretty sure it was a combo of depressants and steroids)- they would pass me around. i just get hazes- visions sort of. i dont even remember. i remeber the feeling of their hands tho, and suddenly feeling a lot colder, feeling the wind on my bare skin. i remember waking up with wind rash and scabs from cigarette burns. i don’t remeber enough o accuse anyone of anything though, so i didn’t mention it to pat. in my head, he didn’t even know. i was wrong ofcourse- he knew. he always knew.

when we got better and went back to our respective homes, we stayed very close. we formed a trauma bond. codependcy. it was wonderful while it lasted, but soon, he started to fall for me. he never raped me, but he did other things. i don’t care to specify at the moment because i fear ive already gone into prolific detail about things i never wanted to think about again. truthfully, i love pat. i do. i hold no hatred towards him, and i really don’t like to talk about all the bad things he did to me, because he was my sweet boy. i never loved him like that- he was just my best friend, but when i speak about him people don’t seem to understand. he understood me, and it’s just. hard to talk about because there’s so much to say. i can’t write it all down in this small part of a bigger story because i have so much to say about him that i’d rather just give it out in pieces. if you see something tagged with #pat or #i miss him, it’s probably about him.

idk what else to say. i’ve been manipulated many times since. used, beat, thrown away. at least pat had the decency to lie to me about it while he did. i’ve never been anyone’s first choice, and i’ve never felt as loved as i did when i had him. he was my best friend, and while this story isn’t about him, it’s hardly about me either. long story short, people used me because they could. i was available. i was around. i used to feel like a victim until i realized im just not special enough to be that. im not special enough to be anything to anyone, and my body wasn’t even “chosen” to be used because its me, it was just convenience. idk. that’s as much as im willing to share. there’s more but - for now this is enough.

[m1ssunderstanding]

My thoughts on Beatles 64

Am I a terrible person or something because I’m genuinely having such a hard time wrapping my head around these people’s reactions to their president getting shot. Like I can count on one hand the people I’d give a fuck about in DC and I’m not crying if that happens. I’m angry. I’m scared. But I’m not sad.

Who is this covering all my loving? It’s pretty.

I will forever love Paul and George’s big and little brother dynamic. Deep, cloudy scouse: they’re in perfect synchronization. Bright, squeaky scouse: Are they? Like, where is George’s little chimney sweep costume?!

And Paul’s sharp tone calling John’s name. I don’t know, I could obsess over any little scrap of footage of them. I just love picking apart details that reveal dynamics.

George’s insecure, curious, “Are you filming now?” Compared to his over-it, sardonic, “Are you recording our conversation?” He aged about twenty years between 64 and 69.

John’s reaction to his own voice in his ears is always a straight shot of joy.

I like that they’re showing all the boys. You know, because if only girls like them, then they’re just a silly pop group, but if boys like them too, well. That’s something else, isn’t it?

One of my favorite moments. No wonder Paul took so well to shepherding. His blood pressure spiking if John gets out of arm's reach. And John is of course so happy to be pulled back in.

Their hair really was so fluffy!

John spreads his legs when he’s playing because he’s an anxious attachment. Paul keeps his legs closed because he’s avoidant. In this essay I will.

This mix of She Loves You is really highlighting Ringo’s drumming for me. He’s so talented and attractive.

This is why Paul’s my favorite, genuinely. Because he goes from the most polite, people-pleasing, tender-heart to an absolute mean girl cunty bitch in the span of less than a second.

Ringo is the quickest wit, I’m telling you, and if anyone says otherwise, I’m cancelling you for classism.

Why is it always Paul these middle aged creeps feel the need to touch? I mean, I know why. But it makes me sick. That kind of thing is reserved for the mutuals. Definitely not cops.

It’s literally sooooo funny for me seeing this guy choke up about She Loves You. Like I’m genuinely happy for him, but I was literally just over at my husband’s grandparents double-wide and they Still go on about how stupid the Beatles haircuts were and how they remember the days before the Beatles when there was ‘real’ rock and roll on the radio.

So, Paul’s been telling the story of Jim critiquing She Loves You for literally sixty years now, and originally it was with mix-ins from John and George and without a lot of artificial sweeteners. Here’s the sixty-year-old version:

Back home in Liverpool, we used to sing over some of our songs to relatives—I did to my Dad and my aunties,” he recalled. “My Dad would look at me looking disappointed. ‘I don’t know young Paul,’ he’d say. ‘I try to get you to speak properly, and you drop your aitches. Why sing ‘Yeah, Yeah’ when you mean ‘Yes, Yes?’ I tried to explain this was the whole point of the song,” Paul continued. John broke in: “Anyone ever heard someone from Liverpool singing ‘Yes’? It’s YEAH.” Paul continued: “Well, we just laughed. My Dad gave us some of the worst advice ever. He said this music thing will never last. It’s all right on the side, he’d say, BUT PAUL IT WILL NEVER LAST!” “Remember,” said George, “he always wanted us to sing ‘Stairway to Paradise’?” – Ray Coleman article 1964

What a cutie. Shouldn't be allowed.

“That wasn’t really the case.” (that America was the land of the free). He always almost gets to his political views. You know? Microdosing? Left-bating? Maybe both. Whatever.

I LOVE their funny little accents with all my heart. John does posh scarily well.

Ringoooooooo!

“Go on! Defy convention!” Quotes that define the speaker. He should sell t-shirts with that slogan.

This girl’s Brooklyn accent and her confidence are so beautiful!

Why did they buy John an ID I’m actually dying! Oh! They don’t mean, they mean like Paul’s and Ringo’s bracelets. Got it. Okay. I was like ‘are you trying to help him ten years in advance with his immigration struggle?’

The juilliard girl is phenomenal.

I want the nylons and I want the shoes.

“Would you do me a tremendous favor?” “I’m not gonna kiss you like Elisabeth Taylor.” See? Ringo is the funny one. Ringo is so fucking sharp and nobody gives him the credit he’s due.

Ronnie Spector you deserved better, Queen! I love her. She’s so gorgeous, she’s so cool, she’s so young and energetic!

Two excellent Lennonisms right in a row. “Have you been watching the newsies?” and “I don’t care,” I say as I care caringly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he has the most sunshiny smile in the Beatles.

Ringoooooo!

Not the picture of JohnandPaul singing together as “with lovers and friends” plays.

Love Paul offering Ringo a candy. In yet another accent. People need to make them talk in goofy accents more in fic because it’s incessant. But I just love them offering each other food. It’ll always get me.

See, this is what I love about John. “People have been tryna stamp out rock and roll since it started.” “Why do you think that is? What are they afraid of?” “I always thought it was cause it came from black music.” He’s not ‘honest to a fault’ or whatever the boomer men love to say. But he’s very, very blunt, and he’s not going to try and skirt anything. You know?

Literally the most embarrassing thing a person can ever be is white.

“I thought it was very weak. You know what I think, I call a spade a spade. I thought it was weaker than weak.” Cook him! And then the mimicking! I love him so much! Holy shit, that would’ve been so enraging.

And then the quiet sass of the guy being interviewed right after. “Well, the versatility, the originality. I like anything that’s original.” I love some clever tumblr web-weaving in my documentaries.

In my husband’s grandparent’s defense, the “real rock and roll” they loved before the Beatles was literally only black artists.

I love this picture for ever. Look at how tight he’s holding on to John with one hand and the other hand raised in joyous triumph, engagement bracelet visible. This is Paul in heaven.

“The whole assumption of male vs female is not prominent. They’re sort of in-between.” Yes. Love. Keep going.

Ringo’s got all the quips, again. “Ringo, look over here!” Puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”

I didn’t know Smokey Robinson and the Miracles went to the Cavern, that’s cool! And here I was thinking I wouldn’t learn anything new from this doc. His whole interview is very lovely and generous.

I always think “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” probably spoke to John in terms of his relationship with Paul, but I go there so easily. Anyway, Smokey Robinson had every right to be pissed that they released a cover of his song without even asking. Like that would be illegal nowadays, right? And yet he’s so kind about it.

We talk about how scary Beatlemania was and we should because it was, but it really puts it in perspective for me personally hearing Smokey say he was shot at for trying to use the bathroom.

Oh I love that we have footage of Paul taking Ringo’s picture! Makes me think of “eye of the storm” obviously, but also the way he’s mocking the photographer's jargon of the time as he’s doing it. The fact that he ended up marrying a photographer who made a point to depict him as not just “some doe eyed sex object” in her pictures, and also of his song “pretty boys” and his quotes about the sexualization of “male models”. Definitely not about anything he himself experienced. Anyway, thoughts. Strings. Pins. Etc.

Also Ringo turning to the camera still filming him, “what do you think I am, a monkey?” Remember that part in this footage where Ringo says something like, “are we ever going to have a break from all these cameras?” And he’s exhausted. It really seems like, from the footage selected by this doc at least, that Paul and Ringo were doing the bulk of the lifting at this time just with cooperating with the show biz stuff. And isn’t that (interesting? Sad? Poetic? Good?) that they’re the ones still cooperating sixty years later.

How dare they cut out “but we ain’t written no poetry!”

As John’s panicking, “how are we gonna – have you seen the kids? How are we gonna get in, then?” Paul’s just calmly going, “Hi girls!” With a patient smile and a cute little wave. “I’ll just go in and speak to the people first, okay?” I love Paul “calming-down-other-people’s-hysteria-is-my-calling-in-life” McCartney.

Cute, George introducing a song he’ll do a viral backflip to in twenty years.

I wonder what that letter is. John’s being very tender with it.

“You’re fired!” “It’s Love Me Do, whacker!” With the sweetest most innocent smile. I love when John is John, you know?

“To me they’re all obviously low or middle class, highly illiterate, unintelligent wild kids seeking a little fun and pleasure . . . I think there’s something very strange about it at the same time, something very sick. . . . I’m sure that sexual reasons have something to do with it. They find the Beatles sexually attractive and they’ve made some kind of psychological tie with them. I think the whole thing’s a little bit frightening and quite sick.” Where’s that old meme with Trump describing the democrats in the most hateful terms he can think of and people being like “yep that’s me”?

Paul stopping to say goodbye by name to each of the people who've been in their hotel room one by one. It’s giving *Opra voice* “and you please don’t hate us and you please dont hate us and you please don’t hate us”

Ringo coming back because he went the wrong way is the most me-core thing.

Paul will come in with the random shouts and yelling in the middle of a song he’s singing lead on all the way from the very beginning and all the way to the very very end, huh.

I just get filled with so much rage at this image of the Bernstein family, especially after the footage of the Gonzalezes. Like, I know I need therapy. I know. But it costs money. Anyway, all rich people can go straight to hell. “I was allowed to wheel the TV set down from the library, down the corridor and into the dining room.” Oh, were you! Well, you must be very special, then.

I wonder if Paul’s title of his exhibition has anything to do with this quote from John about “It was like being in the eye of a hurricane.”

The girl hanging on Ringo like a jungle-gym is me. I love the way he flirts, it’s so smooth, physical, casual.

Classic John moment and he doesn’t even open his mouth.

My dearest wish is that these two are happily married now, holding hands in the theater watching this.

The voice of the woman asking Paul “what do you think of the American TV” sounded extremely like Linda’s. I sort of panicked for a second. Linda’s voice is lower, but the accent and cadence and the sort of wealthy slouch is the same.

I love them picking up on the dystopian beginnings of America’s version of late-stage capitalism and broadcasting the ridiculousness of it all to a public that didn’t know any different. “The situation in China is very bad. Have you ever wondered, when you’re eating at home?”

The guys setting up wearing Beatles wigs? Ew. Why?

Ringo’s so funny! “Watch any band. If anything goes wrong, they go – Blame the drummer.” And he’s so endearing and sweet. “I just always wanted to be IN the band, not like ‘oh, I’m over here.’” Reminds me of his quote about being lonely as an only child and ending up with three brothers. What a tenderheart.

Huh. Always thought some idiots just set up his rostrum backwards. The rest of the stage spinning around it makes much more sense.

That little smile between the two of them.

George in tears! Poor baby! I really do think, with the way this affected him on another level than it affected the others, and with the way he talked about his experiences at the Inny compared to Paul (not that you can trust Paul to say anything actually gets to him) that George maybe was more sensitive to classism than the others.

I hope Paul said something to that affect to George after. “They’re working at an embassy. We’re on the road, rocking. I don’t give a flying fuck.” You know? I could see it.

Another thing I love about John. You need that guy on your team, whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish. That when people are being bitchy, you tell them to fuck off and you leave. I bet Paul, George, and Ringo were so relieved that John did that for them.

After Ringo talked about not wanting to be back behind and separate from the band, I’ve noticed all three of them stepping back sometimes to stand more in line with him when they’re not singing. I don’t know if it was conscious or natural, but either way, I love that they did that and I’m sure Ringo did too.

The looks and smiles

I usually maintain that Paul is only sexy from 60-61 and from 68-98 and from 18-now. But. This is just objectively hot, I don’t care who you are.

It’s so sweet to see George being such a ham, getting John to do silly bits with him, putting on a waiter’s uniform and passing out drinks, climbing up in the luggage compartment. I wish they could’ve somehow kept it at a pace that was manageable for him so he could’ve kept on being so happy with his life, you know? I mean it’s not like it just disappears completely. There’s some of it in Get Back and even in Anthology, but it’s just not the same.

This is what happens when you’re a slut, Paul. You get paternity suits that ruin your mood. Shame, shame.

Interesting that Paul points out Brian’s “defying convention” by having them play their scandalous rock and roll shows in all these “hallowed halls”. I’d never thought about it as Brian’s conscious decision but obviously it must’ve been, and that’s very clever and snarky of him.

“That man, who is strong enough to be gentle, that is a new man.” Betty Friedan is pro-beatle. We love to see it!

Watching Paul try to behave like a human being on stage with all of his early twenties energy is honestly painful. It’s like Kurt Vonnegut’s Harrison Bergeron, you know? Like I can just see him aching to let himself free, but there are weights put in place for a reason. I know Brian was right to calm them down, and this documentary is proof that if he hadn’t done his taming, either they never would’ve made it or there would’ve been all-out class warfare or something, but it breaks my heart, it really does.

Ronald Isley, again, just like Smokey Robinson, being so so charitable here, and managing to do so without playing down the fact that things were absolutely rigged against him and his group at the time. “We should be on the Ed Sullivan show doing . . .” Yes. Yes.

I looked it up, and this quote is genuine. “If it wasn’t for the isley brothers, we would still be in Liverpool.” – Paul McCartney. That’s one thing I love about him. He’s always giving – very much due – credit to his black contemporaries. People ask him about Elvis and he always says, “yes, and Little Richard.” People say he was the most innovative bass player of his time and he says, “yes, and Fred Thomas.”

Ringo literally gets me every time. George: I don’t remember Wales. Ringo: It was before you joined the group.

The way Paul talks about George living “the good life” is very much in the tone of an older brother who’s helped his little brother do well for himself, you know? It’s adorable.

Of course Paul’s out feeding seagulls.

Not even going to comment on the “i love you” thing. Nope.

Okay I do have to say, the end of this guy’s story about going to liverpool and getting deported is incredibly sweet. I was kind of ignoring him, and then when he said he met John during Imagine, I sort of braced myself. But it turned out absolutely adorable. I love John’s little antenna miming and that he promoted this guy just for having made the front page of the Liverpool Echo. It’s all very John, very endearing.

I hope Paul and this weepy old guy had a talk about healing yourself from abuse through music. There’s like a 1/100 chance, but I still hope they did.

John loves a good boat analogy, doesn’t he? “There was a ship going to discover the new world. And the beatles were in the crows nest on the same ship [as everyone else] and we just said ‘land ho!’

Love the use of “Roll Over Beethoven” as the final song.

[fantaatix]

"i have no home now"

i remember a while back when this episode was still being highly anticipated people were debating whether or not stolas would be stripped of his title and powers, maybe even hired by blitz, and why that might be a bad thing

i'll just rip this straight from the post i found in my likes:

"Saying that Stolas needs to abdicate so their relationship can be healthy implies that a commoner really CAN'T be with royalty"

the thing is that i don't think that's necessarily what the show is trying to imply. i'll give them some credit, they posted this in august, i forget when exactly apology tour came out but i think there was a general acceptance that they'd be back together by the end of the season

i don't think that's the case either and here's why;

i think one of the overarching themes of this season is how blitz simultaneously ruins and saves people--whether or not these are his intentions varies from person to person

for example, those he believes he's ruined are his sister, fizz, his mom, and verosika

verosika is an outlier because of the fact that a) the three prior were close enough to be considered family, b) the three prior can all be pinned down to the same event, and c) i feel like he definitely meant to at least piss her off, as a means to push her away

you don't "steal their car, run three rings to wrath and max my credit on shitty horse-riding lessons" because you think it'll brighten someone's day

those he's ruined mostly want nothing to do with him, or keep themselves at a distance; barbie wants nothing to do with him, verosika hates his guts (used to, rather), and while they definitely care about each still, his friendship with fizz is not what it used to be

but now, with IMP, he seems to be on a trend of making a life for himself and giving others a new chance

these images are always paired together as like, "before and after" and i'm sure it's been mentioned dozens of times, but again--there is an outlier, and i think in this case it's moxxie

with millie and loona blitz identifies their struggles himself

with loona, he sees how rough she acts on the outside but sees the soft interior and recognises himself--he wants to give her a real chance at a life, free of judgement

with millie, it's essentially the same deal, except millie straight up tells him about her struggle to make a living and he offers her a job

but with moxxie, there is no "identification", at least not to the specifics. he's in jail, moxxie's in jail, things suck regardless. if anything, maybe blitz figured that being incarcerated was "the struggle", which is probably fair; i don't think you're gonna get "my dad is a sociopath, my mom left/died and my boyfriend left me for dead" first try

moxxie was not special to him in this moment; blitz didn't recognise some divine struggle or empathic connection, they've known each other for 30 seconds and know literally nothing about each other. blitz is looking to break out and see his daughter, that is his goal here. the question was not, "what is this guy's struggle?" the question was "can this guy work a gun?" and the answer may or may not have been yes

and you can tell, like...just by the way blitz looks at him after. it is so possible that he just planned to ditch him after they both got out but ended up not doing so for whatever reason. like, "oh wow, that definitely meant more to him than it meant to me"

that seems to be the case with all of the people he's helped in one way or another; he can't even see that he helps. it's confirmation bias, all he sees is the bad. he needs people to reel him back into reality, people like millie or fizz or maybe possibly stolas later on cough cough

but now back to the point i'm trying to make (and what brought this post to life);

first off, the face blitz makes once he is confronted with the idea that people would actually miss him if he was gone:

and secondly, these two lines:

blitz: you need a ride home

stolas: i...have no home now. everything i have is gone.

this is stolas at his most vulnerable. he has no powers, no home, his daughter is in custody of his Bitch Wife, and he has no lover.

you could argue a few of those things in western energy but in this moment he has absolutely nothing to fall back on, he is alone.

and then blitz invites him to stay with him because that's what he does, he helps people at their most vulnerable moments. he gives them a home.

that is the point here--this isn't about their relationship right now, this about blitz having an irresistible urge to protect people he cares about and acting on it, because like it or not that's his job for the time being. he's not a bodyguard but he'll be playing that role until he dies or stolas gets his powers back.

he can finally actually protect stolas now, maybe even feel fulfillment in doing so, not having to fall back on things like "i didn't think you could get hurt" and seemingly forgetting to mention the fact that "oh yeah someone's plotting to kill you you should maybe look into that"

this is where they learn trust in each other. trust and devotion.